The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod

On his old black board they laid him down
His head on torn [?] Algebras propping
While the light of his whiskers shone around
As they curled for want of cropping.

Not a coffin was given the Freshman's pest
Nor a hearse nor a cart was found him
But he lay like a tutor a taking his rest
With the loves [?] of his life around him.

TO THE SNOWDROP

Sweet Flower when winter drear
Spreads o'er the cheerless earth his blighting wing,
Thou com'st to tell us better days are near
And bid us look for joyous spring.

Emblem of hope that speaks of future mirth
Dearer to me thou art than any treasure,
For thou dost teach there is no grief on earth
That is not mix'd with pleasure,
Sooth'd by the memory of happy hours
And hopes that years to come may yet be crown'd with flowers.

NO DEEPER, NO MORE FEARFUL CURSE

No deeper, no more fearful curse can be
Entail'd on man than a too tender heart
A heart alive to all the witchery
Of love and song, yet destined to a part
In life's great Drama which, Oh God! will sever
His dearest wishes and his duties ever.

GEM OF BEAUTY!

Gem of Beauty! Lovely star!
Shining dimly from afar,
Struggling faintly with the cloud
Whose misty folds thy lustre shroud,
Now emerging forth to sight
Lending thy soft ray to night,
Fading now, like childhood's bloom
On the border of the tomb,
Bursting the dark veil again
As spirits rend Death's feeble chain,
Dear Enlivener of the gloom
Like thee oh! may it be my doom
To struggle with the tempter's art
When clouds beset my weary heart,
The bondage of the grave to break
And in unsullied glory wake.

THE DREAM OF THE LOCK

I dreamed I clasped a silken curl
Of mingled gold and brown;
And oh! twas like the sunny rays
That streamed so brightly down.

I wist it was some elfin sprite
All beautifully fair;
Who bathed her brow in pearly dew,
That wore the glossy hair.

But then I heard a silv'ery voice,
Soft as the gale at eve,—
It murmured in my list'ning ear
'Twas bright Genevieve,

How wild the joy that filled my heart
And danced in every vein;
Like laughing rills, whose leaping course
Their banks can scarce contain.

But ah, the scenes of love and joy
That gladden in a dream:—
They shine as bright they pass as soon
As ripples o'er the stream.

LIKE THAT SOFT LUSTRE

Like that soft lustre on the [deep?]
When day and night have met
Or flowers which winds have bent and keep
Their beauty yet,

Like showers that fall from sunlit clouds
Upon a sunlit earth,
Like that bright bow which takes from light,
And gloom its birth,

The glance which trembles in thine eye
Appears to borrow,
Its hue from both extremes and shifts
From joy to sorrow

It cannot be that thou hast known
Night posts [?] in tears, not sleep—
Yet why? the loveliest flowers have tears
And skies must weep.

SONNET

IF ALL TRUE VIRTUE

If all true virtue was a fever glow
For action, Sister, then might'st thou lament
A powerless frame and means below content:
But think, our acts are but the outward show.
Except they spring from forth the parent heart

As naturally as sweet flowers from Earth,
Either to God or man they have no worth.
One of their highest ends is to impart
Knowledge of that which lies within the breast,
The Principle which is their life and cause.
And that is [in?] thine eyes made manifest
And in thy loving voice. Thy Being's laws
Have I not own'd, when in the dark unrest
Of Doubt, some holy scruple gave me pause?

FORGIVE IT, LADY

Forgive it, Lady, tho' it stand alone,
A sober strain thy sober thought to' engage,
'Mid the gay tokens with which love hath strewn
Each verse-inscrib'd, or Fancy-pictur'd page.

Fear naught that would repress the warmth of youth,
Bedim one smile or check one rapturous tear,
Not the austerest worshipper of Truth
Could give to censure these memorials dear.

An humble influence is theirs: They are
The sacred tributes of frail clay to clay,
I would as soon condemn the single star
Which cheers, but not illumes, the Wanderer's way.

If I could thus disturb thy guiltless hours
Or crush one happy feeling in its birth,
How should I dare to love the fragrant flowers,
How gaze elately o'er the glad green Earth?

Enjoy the passing bounties of the year,
Let Nature, for thy bliss, conjoin with Art,
I would not have thee miss one pleasure here
Which may be welcom'd by a kindly heart.

Only, recalling evermore how few
The moments which to mortal joy are given,
Strive to unite the beautiful and true
And fix thy treasure and thy hopes in Heaven

PERFECT LOVE

Love me, dearest, love me Marie,
If thou wouldst be happy still,
With the same complete affection
With the heart and with the will,
With the trustingness and power,
With the meekness and the strength,
Thou didst lavish on my childhood
But my folly lost at length.

Oh! believe me that the surest
Way to happiness and rest
Is to keep the feelings changeless
Which a youthful impulse blest.
So the flowers we used to gather,
So the stars we used to love,
Still shall seem to bloom as kindly,
Still shall prophecy above.

Go forsake thy old companion,
Go forget his former worth,
Let the vow preserved in Heaven
Be a slighted thing on Earth.
When thy new-form'd friends fall from thee,
Thou shalt think of these again,
Where will be thy past to cheer thee,
What will be thy future then?

Separated, separated
By the Lethe stream of change,
From the gardens of thy childhood,
There shalt thou no longer range.
In the present—Marie, hear me—
In the moment of thy woe,
Must thou seek the only solace
Which a faithless heart can know

Grant thy new-found friends be constant,
Grant them all I pray they be,
They will glitter [?] and be joyous—
Never sympathize with thee.
Living only in thy present,
Knowing only what thou art,
Ready play mates in thy pleasure,
Not associates for thy heart.

Never Marie, never Dearest,
Be thy life divided thus,
So shall earth seem always lovely,
And the stars be kind to us.

Still to be serenely happy,
I repeat the truth again,
Should the present, past and future
Constitute one perfect chain.

For the joy of life is measured
Not by isolated years,
Hope should lend her eagle vision,
Memory should bring her tears.
One harmonious strain of music,
Thenceforth life would be complete,
Every note suggest the other,
Harsh connected with the sweet.

Love me Marie, love me ever,
Love me all my love is worth,
Let us worship God together
And together walk the earth.
Then when we would reckon, dearest,
How much bliss is in our hearts,
We may add to past and present,
What the hope of Heaven imparts.

MY COUSIN LOU!

My cousin Lou! a soft name truly
To give a lady so unruly,
Whose every action proves to you
She should be call'd mischievous Lou.

Offended! ‘mille pardons’ sweet elf
I'd rather have to stand myself
Th' artillery of Rosa's eyes
With naught to pay her back but sighs,
Than thus alas! to anger you
And hence I'll style you cozening Lou.
For your quick glance betrays dear maid
Your aptitude for such a trade.

I'll suit you now my Queen of arts,
They say you've broken many hearts,
That gallants at your frowns look blue,
(They must mean green) Oh cruel Lou!

Well obstinacy will triumph
And I must give up to you. Humph!
So if a late consent will do
Your humble servant Cousin Lou.

MISCHIEVOUS! GEORGE IS OUT HIS SENSES

Mischievous George is out his senses
Or else his cranium very dense is,
I cannot call her aught (can you)
But pretty, simple, quiet Lou.

Her eyes soft glances that betray
Quicker than flies the solar ray
The stainless thoughts that glow within
A bosom never known to sin,

He calls a covering to cheat
As if chicanery could look sweet
He's felt your wit [?] (has he not Lou?)
And in his spite would slander you.

And if she's broken many hearts
'Tis not I'm sure by fulsome arts,
And if she keeps her-own still whole
'Tis not that she's in want of soul,
But like the flower—whose fragrance mild
Induces the delighted child
Its spotless folds to leave unharm'd
Her virtues pitying Love disarm'd.
Thus in her excellence secure
Could Cupid blight a bud so pure?
And with those witching beauties too
She always is the modest Lou.

Merit like this before his face
To yield consent with such bad grace!
I'd give my all (some two three sous)
To style her—only Cousin Lou.

WHAT ATHENS DULL

What Athens dull thou maudlin [rake?]
If ten long faces once could make
A city safe as Moses spake,
I can't tell where,
When threaten'd loud with fire and flake
For badness sair,

Sure then three of the bonniest lasses
With winsome forms and gleesome faces
As e'er spurn'd artful paints or laces
To make their beauty
A second trio o' the graces
Should teach your duty

STARS MAY HIDE THEIR GENTLE LIGHT

Stars may hide their gentle light
From the Wand'rers anxious sight,
But the clouds that intervene,
Glow with their reflected sheen,
Lending a soft lustre still
To the darken'd vale and hill.

Far within mysterious woods,
By the leaf-o'ershadow'd floods,
Nestled in some favourite tree,
Mock birds pour their notes of glee
To the thoughtful Poet laid
By the rill adown the glade.

Thus would I forever dwell
In some solitary cell,
While beyond my quiet hearth
Should my songs be heard on earth
Warbling hopes of peace to those
Who have sought, nor found repose

SONNET

“WELL I AM GLAD”!

“Well I am glad”! the first dear words that fell
Upon my soul like some familiar strain,
Breaking the silent witchery of the spell
Her eyes had wov'n about my heart and brain.
Like the low murmurs of the ocean shell
That softest breathe from sea when most remote,
Those trembling accents still around me float,
And calm the fears not even her smile could quell.
They have to me a meaning deep as tears,
Wide as the rainbow circle of her life,
Reveal the bliss of past and present years
And the pure hope with which her heart is rife.
Ah! may it too—that casual phrase—be long
In Earth and Heaven the burthen of her song.

ISABEL

A brow whereon the calm of thought
Like sunlight over snow is wrought,
The blest result of cheerful moods,
Won from the quiet solitudes
Of thy still spirit, flowing not
From outward things,
And independent of the lot
Which fortune brings,
A beauty and a nameless grace
Which captivates but not beguiles,

And in thy heart and o'er thy face,
A bliss too deep for smiles;
Such charms can hardly appertain
To grief mortality and pain,
And these are of the earth,
But only visitant below,
And come to cure or banish woe,
Thou art of Heavenly birth.
So at least my fancy deems,
So thou appearest in my dreams,
But a love-light in thine eyes,
Shining oftentimes thro' tears,
Like a silver-veil'd sunrise,
Or a dew-dimm'd flower appears,
But thy rarely breathêd sighs,
And still more the low replies
Whisper'd yesternight to me
When I lowly question'd thee,
Prove thee beauteous Isabel,
If not thine celestial worth
Yet a maiden loving well,
Yet a perfect child of Earth.

If mutter'd spell, or magic wand
Were mine for one brief hour,
And it were blameless to command
With supernatural power,
The treasures of the land and air,
Each wonder and each splendour there,
I would twine a wreath for thee
Half of stars and half of flowers,
And the latter should not be

Cull'd from amaranthine bowers,
But grove and garden mead and field,
A fitlier tribute should bestow,
And emblematic honours yield
To decorate thy brow.
Thy twin perfections thus exprest,
The human love, the saintly rest,
The heart to God and virtue given,
Yet faithful to a lowly hearth,
At once a glory for high Heaven,
A blessing to the hearth,
The world should then acknowledge thine
A soul all other souls above
According by a law divine
It's [sic] worship and its love.

AS THE LAST BEAMS OF STARS

As the last beams of stars long lost still mark their former sphere
Enlivening with delusive light the interlunar air,
The charms which play'd upon thy cheek, and brighten'd o'er thy brow
Have left their lustre in my soul and smile in memory now.

Nor are they false creations wrought from Fancy's treacherous wiles
Dead tokens of our meetings past—weak copies of thy smiles,

True as the heart that holds them they with life and grace adorn
A second image of thyself within my bosom born.

The blush thy presence kindled and the love that blush confest
Is mantling on my forehead yet and glowing in my breast,
Like odours tangled in the breeze, I treasure in my heart
Each lovely thought and gentle hope thy beauty could impart.

Those thoughts are like thy spirit pure—faint shadows of thy own.
Those hopes—oh! need I tell them? live within my breast alone,
Yet both are cherish'd equally, both burn with equal strength
For both bring memories of thee, though the last may fail at length.

LINES

WHEN YOUTH'S FIRST WARMEST HOPES

When youth's first warmest hopes have perish'd—
Friends ardently and dearly cherish'd—
Like flower-buds gather'd in the morn
Ere half their loveliness is born,
The wound is deeply felt indeed,
And inly does the bosom bleed.
But other sources of delight,

Stars hidden far within the night,
Break forth to gild the passing cloud,
Whose dim and solemn folds enshroud
The calm pure light of happier days
The future from the aching gaze,
Until the very cloud is made
A bright—though melancholy shade
But hearts which have lived on together
Through stormy night and sunny weather,
And like sweet sister flowers have long
To the frail stem of friendship clung,
Till thought and joy and life are wound
That cherish'd stem's existence round,
Oh! not for such hath Hope one smile
Or earth a beauty to beguile
That weariness of soul which blights
As soon as dream'd the days delights
When Death the only spring hath froze
From which those dear delights arose.
Said I that Hope possess'd no power
To light the darkness of that hour?
Ah! no fair Deity I wrong
The sweetness of thy magic song,
When thou hast made its glorious theme
No visionary earthly dream,
When brightest scenes of heavenly bliss—
Earnests themselves of happiness—
And thoughts first born on Calvary play
Through the low murmurs of thy lay.

Yes let such strains thy numbers speak
The breaking heart grows calm and meek,

To God's unerring will resign'd
Again the calm contented mind
Looks forward to that happy day,
When even thou wilt lose thy sway
And present pleasure be too deep
To wake desire for those that sleep,
As stars within the day light pale,
Behind Eternity's bright veil.

SENTIMENTAL—VERY

Live for thee! why yes, as dying
Would scarcely suit me at the present,
(I've so much need of breath for sighing
The loss of it would be unpleasant)
In that I'll ‘do my devoir’ well
And live—as long as possible.

A FIG FOR THE CRITICS!

A fig for the critics! I write not to those
Who are seeking for beauties but them that possess them
Who will never reck how the melody flows
So it murmurs their praises and merits—God bless them.

And suppose all my verses devoid of the [?]
Of which the bard-killers are evermore vaunting,
The light of a bright beaming eye will suffice
To throw on the page all the beauty that's wanting.

So a fig for the critics who prose in Reviews!
Let others risk sense for their adulation,
A soft heart for my judge, a dark eye for my muse
I shall win, however I write, admiration

CHOICE IN EYES

Some adore the soft blue eye
Where Cupid in concealment sly
Ready lies to wing a dart
On th' unwary sleeping heart,
Others love the darker hue
Which never condescends to woo,
But with its glances fiery warm
Carries hearts as if by storm.
The dove like brown, and searching gray
Hath each the lovers of its ray,
The Hazel eye delighteth many
But a kind one pleaseth any.
For me whatever be the dye,
The blue the black the hazel eye,
If it on me sweetly smile
'Tis my favourite—for a while.
When it frowns I break the spell
Another'll suit me quite as well.

SIX MONTHS'S SUCH A WONDERFUL TIME

Six months's such a wonderful time
For Chloe to smile on a lover,

All deem'd she was playing the mime
At least till the six [sic] month was over.
And then alas! it was found
'Twas but that another was failing,
That Chloe so long had not frown'd
On the youth who for weeks had been staling

From my heart I pity the wight
Who's next to be cheated to loving,
And made to believe one so bright
Could never be guilty of roving.
For he too will prove I'm afraid
That vows of eternal affection
Only mean with the changeable maid
Some five or six weeks' predilection

FOR HIGH HONOURS

For high honours care I nought,
Fame is ever dearly bought,
Care too oft accomp'nies treasure,
Give me a life of love and leisure.

I THOUGHT THY NAME

I thought thy name had lost its power
Thy charms forgotten too,
Our love what yon bright cloud will be
Ere falls the evening dew;

That eve'n the memory of that love
With all its happy hours—
Its smiles and tears its doubts and hopes
Had wither'd with these flowers—

The flowers thy fingers twin'd for me
The last last night we met,
Alone, beneath the watching stars
To vow and then—forget.

Alas! a favourite song has brought,
By some mysterious art,
The red blood to my changing cheek,
The passion to my heart.

The passion to my worn, worn heart,
The red blood to my cheek,
Regrets my pride is sham'd to own,
Sad thoughts I may not speak.

She look'd and sang so much like thee
I fancied every tone
Of that impassion'd melody
But echoes of thine own.

Thy own rich voice so often heard,
In the low tones of love,
When morning blush'd upon the sky
Or Evening gloom'd above.

Upon her cheek and brow I saw
A nameless feeling play,

As voice and glance grew softer with
The meaning of the lay.

And thus when words had failed to tell
The love within thy heart,
In music and in song wouldst thou
That love's deep truth impart.

Oh love forsworn and broken troth!
Which made that cherish' [sic] vow
A present grief—a pleasure past—
A theme for memory now.

TO CULL THE CHOICEST FLOWERS OF SONG

To cull the choicest flowers of song from Fancy's laurel'd bough
And wreathe, in one immortal lay, a garland for thy brow,
I may not hope as long as love is limited in thought
To that one radiant dream with which its inmost life is fraught.

The golden fields of Poesy, oh! never could I roam
Whilst in the shadow of thy soul, mine own may find its home,
No glory there could emulate the image in my breast
Like sunlight on a sable cloud on that dark page imprest.

Yet flowers there are which deck the paths that love and passion tread,
And such as I may gather shall encircle thy young head,

The meanest the the noblest forms may often lend a light—
Were Earth not gladden'd by their smiles, would stars appear so bright?

Thou wilt not then, Sweet One, disdain the tribute which I bring,
Nor cast the tender'd lay aside—an unbelieved thing—
And if, at times, a passing thought thy souls clear mirror shade,
Of him who humbly at thy feet that humble off'ring laid,

Think of him but as of the tones woke by the passing breeze,
When, in its odour seeking flight, it woos the trembling trees—
A cloud that for a moment caught the radiance of day,
The rose once heaving on thy heart, now cast in scorn away.

WE WALK'D BENEATH THE SHADOW

We walk'd beneath the shadow
Of pines that moan'd around,
The dank grass rustled to our tread,
And frost was on the ground.
The moon rose dim above us
And sombre clouds conceal'd
Each star that should have witness'd
The love that night reveal'd.

But in our trance we heard not
The whispers of the pine,
Altho' they mingled with my words
And marr'd the tones of thine.
Thy passion was too fervent—
My heart too true to fear
The meaning in that darken'd sky
The warning on the air.

And still in hope unconscious
We wander'd through the gloom,
Nor thought one passing moment
Upon the waiting doom.
And still with heighten'd pleasure
I listen'd to the vow
Which pledg'd that faith forever
Thou hast forgotten now.

A LIGHT UPON MY PATHWAY GLEAMS

A light upon my pathway gleams
And flowers that never glitter'd there,
Spring up beneath those sudden beams
The long and dreary waste to cheer.

That light is darted from thine eyes
Those flowers are hopes forgotten never,
And secret tears and heartfelt sighs
The dews that cherish them forever.

[TO ARABELLA]

SONNET I

Bell! if that old exploded creed were true
Which made the bright stars arbiters of fate,
What a long heaven of bliss might I and you
And all who love like us anticipate!
For oh! how could they prophecy of woe,
Those mild forgiving stars that lend their light
Even to the clouds enshrouding them from sight—
Like goodness smiling on a treacherous foe—
And through the long dark night are ever shining
Alike on joy and hearts in sadness pining.
Why life would be a path ornate with flowers
Darken'd, it may be, with some transient showers,
But they would be of April, only given
That Earth might not become too much like Heaven.

[Sonnet] II

And do they not dear Bell! in sooth possess
One half the power of which old legends tell,
An influence to hallow and to bless—
Calypso's wand of love, not Circe's spell.
Look on them in their beauty as they shower
Smiles on each other light upon the earth
And joy and peace on all of mortal birth,
And then deny them life and love and power
Oh! we at least should yield them sovereignty
For the same stars shone on our natal [h]our,

An earnest that our hearts shall one day be
Folded like leaves within one lovely flower,
To bloom and fade together—Sweet, with thee
This were indeed a glorious destiny.

[LINES]

THIS MORN, THRO' MANY A PLEASING SCENE

This morn thro' many a pleasing scene,
In sun and shade, my course I held,
A weight of grief upon my heart
Which could not be dispell'd.

In vain I sought to catch the joy
That seem'd to move in leaf and flower—
The breeze came to me from the fields,
But with no soothing power.

Birds fill'd the air with noisy songs,
The Squirrel leap'd from bough to bough—
There was no cloud in heaven to throw
That Shadow on my brow.

What secret influence was there
To guide my thoughts, dear Babe, to thee,
And give relief I could not find
In Nature's kindly glee?

The Stream that wander'd by might well
An emblem of thy life impart,

But even its music fail'd to stir
The fancy in my heart.

That there are sweet similitudes,
I know, betwixt the flowers and thee,
Yet while a thousand flowers were near—
Not one occurr'd to me.

I only know that unannounc'd
Thy image glanc'd across my mind,
And like a transient sunbeam pass'd,
But left no gloom behind.

SONNET

ALL THE LONG DAY

All the long day, the restless storm had kept
A ceaseless moan of wind and fall of rain;
But now, the wearied winds and waters slept
And Beauty bask'd upon the earth again.
In joy I issued forth beneath a sky
Bright with the setting sun's reflected light
And clouds exhibiting a gorgeous sight
Of tower and temple to the astonish'd eye,
Chang'd, as I look'd, to hills and mountains capt
With golden hues—awhile I gaz'd enwrapt;—
But oh! felt then beyond expression blest,
When vanish'd mount and hill and shadowy dome
And every cloud, that glitter'd in the west,
Took airy shapes that mock'd my thought of home.

SONNET

MARY! I DARE NOT CALL THY CHARMS DIVINE

Mary! I dare not call thy charms divine,
But all the sweetest qualities of earth
Which constitute an humbler holier worth,
Grace, gayety and gentleness are thine.
A grace more glorious than the grace of form
And moulding less thy motions than thy mind,
A gayety not thoughtless or unkind,
Wild and yet winning womanly and warm.
A gentleness of heart that is not weakness—
Persuasive, potent, beautiful in meekness.
Only at times in some excited hour
A flash that lights the darkness of thine eyes
Reveals a secret and a deeper power—
A spirit he has hardihood who tries.

LINES

TAKE BACK THE RING

Take back the ring—but I demand
Before the gem again may shine
A star upon thy snowy hand
The heart that once was mine.

Take back the ring—but I require
Each tender or impassioned thought,

The burning sigh and glance of fire
With which that ring was bought.

Take back the bauble—is it worth
All that to thee was gladly given—
The gem is but a star of earth
And love a star of Heaven.

THREE COUSINS

First there's the pretty dark eyed Lou—
A mischief loving nymph she's too—
With wit as quick and heart as true
As ever flash'd
Or heal'd the wound her sharp tongue threw
On beaux abash'd

The second is a fairer Queen
Of hearts and arts than e'er was seen
The fairies of the moonlit green
Are naught to Rose,
And where that eye's blue glance has been,
Adieu Repose.

But of the third I've naught to say
Her name should never grace a lay
That limps so bad, yet by my fay,
I would give much
Aye let her steal my own away
Her heart to catch.

THE BEAMS OF THOSE EYES

The beams of those eyes first melted my heart,
But oh! when to thine it was press'd
The ice of thy soul its chill did impart
So 'twas frozen again in my breast.

SWEET IF YOU DEEM

Sweet if you deem I but pretend to sigh
That all my oft breath'd vows are fleet as air,
Turn thee and gaze in my impassion'd eye,
And see thine image back reflected there.

Yet even that evanishes you say
Should we alas! for one brief moment part,
True Love but then it only goes away
To be daguerotyp'd [sic] upon my heart.

THE BREEZES THROUGH THE WOODLANDS MOAN

The breezes through the woodlands moan
Another echoes back the sigh,
The Sun upon his course is gone
But planets tend him through the sky
The leaflet bends before the wind
'Tis upheld by the parent tree,

The lark breathes out his morning Hymn,
His mate joins in the song of glee,
All things in sympathy rejoice
But my poor desolate heart hath not an echoing voice.

Oh like that breeze were it alone
To sigh where bloom no flowers to kiss,
And like the sun compell'd to move
His mighty path companionless,
The tender leaf lopp'd from the bough
That withers on the ground and dies,
The hapless bird whose mate is dead
That solitary sings and flies,
Like these my course in life must be
Once and still worship'd One, with out a smile from thee

APOLOGY TO TOM FOR MALTREATING HIS ‘FRIEND’

If it be true as I have often heard,
(And this has prov'd its author has not err'd)
That “fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind,”
We could not wonder that thy heart inclin'd
To aid thy hapless pet and kindred brute.
But Tom forgive us that we scorn'd thy suit,
Hogs may be very pleasant company
But we had one already Tom in thee.

SONNET

IN THE DEEP SHADOW

In the deep shadow of the woods to lie
When to the music of the zephyrs dance
The rustling leaves, and through its canopy
Of branches wov'n to gaze with earnest glance
And raptur'd soul on the cerulean sky
That far off spreads serenely its expanse,
And there, forgetting earth's realities,
To dream of peace and love, this this is happiness

Alas! 'tis only there that these are found,
Felt in the hush that falls upon the heart
Heard in the answering melodies around
Where thousand voices unattun'd by art,
Pour forth the love that thrills in every vein
Of Nature's breast, Affection's sacred fane.

SONNET

HOW MANY YEARN TO TEAR ASIDE THE VEIL

How many yearn to tear aside the veil
That kindly overshades Futurity,
The hidden sea on which our barks must sail
With breezes fair or foul as it may be,
To gain or lose the port, who can foresee?—
A fool's desire, there may be much to dread
Beyond that veil, and wouldst thou have it known

That all thy hopes may soon be overthrown?
Blue skies above me, but a mist ahead,
I care not wish not that it should be rent,
The moveless calm at present 'round me spread
A courage to my timid heart has lent,
And I will onward steer with fearless soul
Though storms divide me from the long'd for goal.

OH! MAY THY DESTINY BE HAPPY EVER

Oh! may thy destiny be happy ever
Thy life like an unruffled stream glide on,
By storms disturb'd, by clouds o'ershadow'd never,
Bright with the blaze of one undarken'd sun.

MY HEART WAS GAZING INTO THINE

My heart was gazing into thine
As thou wouldst in a mirror fair
And oh! what thrilling joy to find
Its very self reflected there

SWEET LET NOT OUR SLANDERERS

Sweet let not our slanderers witness that tear
'Twould be but a gem their tales to adorn,
As 'twas envy alone that dictated the sneer,
Why, as we are the envied let's treat it with scorn.

Let them talk of the prudence of selfish forethought
We'll cling (shall we not) closer still as they prate,
And tell them “Time's stay can never be bought
Go enjoy the heart's love whilst 'tis not too late!

LET V---Y PRATTLE

Let V---y prattle meddling S--- [?] growl,
And all their listeners disapproval scowl
Well can we laugh at their sage becks and nods
Whilst we're in favour with the God of Gods.

ACROSTIC

[TO ANNE WADDEL]

Around thee, Love, shall blessings always hover;
No sorrow such as racks this heart of mine,
No slight no doubts thy nature's kindness smother;
Eternal unmix'd happiness be thine.

Where ever thou mayst be thy loveliness
And grace of soul and form, the [sic] friends shall win,
Design'd to bless, thee man in turn shall bless,
Dealt kindly with by time, unknown to sin
Even Death, the tyrant Judge of mortal's doom
Low at thy feet shall crouch, and waft thee gently home.

LATE THE HOUR

Late the hour as I lay gazing
With an earnest glance,
Where the star of love was blazing
Through the dark expanse.

“Lovely planet give a token,
If the power be thine,
That her vows are yet unbroken,
And her heart still mine.”

Brighter seem'd the planet to me
Than before to shine,
As in answer it would show me
That her heart was mine.

I turn'd me to the light clouds fleeting
O'er the starlit sky
In thousand transient figure's meeting
To the gazer's eye.

Form'd like two hearts link'd together,
One appear'd above
Sailing as calmly through the ether
As glides an hour of love.

Now I know, cried I, delighted
By yon welcome sign,
That she keeps the faith she plighted
And her heart's still mine.

I DREAM'D THAT IN A SECRET NOOK

I dream'd that in a secret nook
Where all was silent save a brook
That coursing through the chequer'd glade
By turns in light, by turns in shade,
Laugh'd out as if in conscious glee
That it was bounding nigh to thee,
We two from every eye conceal'd
Our long long hidden love reveal'd.
Thou wert reclining carelessly
Beneath an oak tree's canopy
Which shelter'd from the noonday's heat,
Whilst I was kneeling at thy feet
And pouring in thy willing ear
Words which thou wast well pleas'd to hear.
I vow'd eternal love for thee
Thy sighs and blushes answer'd me
And softly breath'd into my heart
What language never can impart.
Thy hand was somehow sunk on mine
Immediately 'twas clasping thine,
And every glance I turn'd on thee
Was met by one as kind to me.

T'was but a dream, it rests with you
To prove it false or—make it true.

OH! IF SHE THINKS THE CORD TOO SLENDER

Oh! If she thinks the cord too slender
Which has around my heart been twin'd,
Say little Cupid, won't you lend her
A chain that willing heart to bind,
Whose strength not even she can doubt
Nor ever fear it's wearing out.

Without a murmur then I'll let her
Imprison it within her breast,
Nor mourn the closeness of the fetter
That holds it in a jail so blest.
But mind! as pledge to keep it whole
Give me hers prisoner on parole.

TIRED OF THE CRUEL SPORT

Tired of the cruel sport of shooting darts
With never failing skill at human hearts,
Cupid resolv'd on some one to bestow
His power of causing happiness or woe.
So he broke his leaden shaft and threw it down,
Thy power he cried belong to Anne's frown.
The golden arrows from the quiver's tie
Releas'd, he plac'd in Anne's laughing eye.

WRITTEN IN A PSALM-BOOK

What! must I not confide in men?
I'll ope my heart to woman then,
Make her the guide-star of life,
On her my every hope I'll fling,
To her in trust forever cling
For solace in this world of strife.

THERE IS I KNOW NOT WHAT ABOUT THEE

There is I know not what about thee
That makes me almost wish to flout thee,
But then there's something, I regret me,
And I know what, which will not let me.

WHILST I ENJOY'D THY SMILES

Whilst I enjoy'd thy smiles, Oh Love!
I never dream'd of sorrows nigh,
But fondly rank'd thy joys above
The purer pleasures of the sky.

When others told me, there was grief
That lay in wait to check my bliss,
I laugh'd and cried in unbelief,
‘Why! love itself means happiness.’

But now my incredulity
With deep and heartfelt sighs I rue,
For absence doubt and jealousy
Combine to prove the warning true.

I TELL THEE, LOVE

I tell thee, Love, when once ignited
With virtues fed by worth incited
Nor time nor doubt nor slight will smother,
And this I thought thy heart would prove thee
And banish all the fears that move thee
That I can ever love another.

Thou wert the first who in my breast
That Passion rous'd which steals the rest,
But in its 'stead brings sweeter pain,
Thou wert the first, shalt be the last,
For when Hope's one bright dream has past,
Who oh! who could love again?

This will not pass I would believe,
Thou art no false one to deceive
A heart that trusts so well in thee;
And if thy trust but equals mine
All doubts and fears thou wilt resign
And “love and live for only me.”

[LINES]

OH! MARIE THINK, SO MANY YEARS

Oh! Marie think, so many years
As I have numbered more than thou,
So many years as past ere I
Loved as I love thee now,

So many weary years I lived
I[n] utter thoughtlessness of thee,
So many weary years thou wert
An unknown star to me.

And yet how lightly beat my heart,
At least I know 'twas seldom sad,
And when we are not wholly blest,
'Tis something to be glad.

How Marie this could ever be
I really cannot understand,
No more than how a flower should bloom
In some dry desert land.

Unless indeed the joys I felt
Were mystic glimpses from above,
Dimly prophetical of thee
And promising thy love

Dear heart! I now remember well
How oft I seemed to breathe an air,

A more etherial medium than
The common atmosphere.

And dreams would come—I dream'd not whence—
My heart would throb—I guessed not why,
And sometimes when I felt no pain
A tear bedim my eye.

Philosophers explain these signs
By some cold metaphysic reason—
They do not know the tokens which
Precede a pleasant season.

Marie! it is my calm belief
And so must thou opine with with [sic] me,
That never joy sustained my soul
But took its power from thee.

And all my pleasures in the past
Still pointed to my present bliss
And pleasure never had been mine
Had fate denied me this.

AT NIGHT WHEN ALL IN SLEEP ARE STILL

At night when all in sleep are still
Save the heart that knows not glee,
And the wild sad notes of whippoorwill
Are echoed from tree to tree
When in her silvery loveliness
The queen of yon azure sea

Looks down on this world of grief and bliss,
I think of thee
Dearest I think of thee.

At noon when the busy tide of life
Is flowing uncheck'd and free
And sounds of woe and joy and strife
Mingle discordantly,
And sights that gladden aye the heart
Are present to the e'e,
Or to the soul a gloom impart,
I think of thee,
At all hours my thoughts are of thee.

I'VE HEARD, STILL DEAR ONE

I've heard, still Dear One, thou hast said
Thy soul's affection should be measur'd,
By his the flame who lit and fed,
In whose deep heart thy love was treasur'd.
That when his eye glanc'd cold on thee,
Or turn'd on others its warm light,
Thine too should gaze indifferently,
And be to him as [blank] as night.
Ah! that thy breast no warmer feelings thrill,
Yet hads't adhered to it, thou wouldst have lov'd me still.

FOR YET THY CHARMS RETAIN THEIR SWAY

For yet thy charms retain their sway
Resistless on my bosom's throne,
Whil'st my poor influence dies away
And leaves all dark and void thine own.
Still as the Ghebers lowly bow
The image of their their [sic] God before,
When night with dark and sullen brow
Has frown'd him down the western shore
Of Heaven's vast and vaulted height,
So my true love is thine in thy affection's night.

LADY I DEEM'D NO SPOT ON EARTH

Lady I deem'd no spot on earth
So dear as that which gave me birth,
No smiles so solacing as came
From her who bears a mother's name,
No love so strong our griefs to cure
As that which warms a sister pure,
Till I saw thee in beauty crown'd,
When in those eyes' dark depths were drown'd
Each other feeling, passion, pleasure,
Which was not thine, my brightest Treasure.
Yes, Dearest, yes! where e'er thou art
There is my home there dwells my heart.

FRAGMENT OF A DREAM

Methought we walk'd alone
Within a deep but yet not gloomy grove
Where naught save falling leaves and breezes' moan
Broke on our words of love.

Thy hand was clasp'd in mine,
Thy deep dark eyes in kindness turn'd on me
Beaming with love ineffable, as shine
The stars on sleeping misery.

DIVISION OF LOVE'S EMPIRE

Fair Cupid's arrows once gave out,
He scarce knew what to be about
But wander'd sad and listless ever
Lamenting o'er his empty quiver.
The hearts of men impervious grown
Mock'd at his erst-revered throne
Till the boy maddened by their slights
Resolv'd somehow to win his rights,
And having a fine ready wit
Right soon upon a scheme he hit
He flew to seek on earth the maid
Who first in beauty was array'd,
Nor long sought he but found in—
The one well suited to his plan.
In sooth so lovely did she seem
She look'd the creature of a dream
Save that the rising of her vest

Proved that the spirit heav'd the breast.
Now he proceeds to work the charm
With which h'intends himself to arm.
He took from out those shining wells
Of soft'ning sympathy the cells
The tear that flows at “sorrow's tale”
Down the blanch'd cheek of beauty pale
The dew from off her honied lip
Which angels would delight to sip
The smiles that light her countenance
When starry hopes before her dance
And placed them in his little palm
And mix'd with them the sighs of balm
That heave her rising bosom meek
The blush that stains her damask cheek
He then threw in to color it
The composition made he lit
It in the sparkles of her eye
Brighter than than [sic] the noonday sky
Warmer than the solar gleam
Softer than a vesper beam
Then snatch'd one more delicious sigh
From the dear maid to waft it by.
Now sallies Cupid forth in glee
The virtues of his charm to see
And sooth it did work wondrous well
None could resist the magic spell
But every heart to him did yield
And every youth before him kneel'd
Young love once more resumes his reign
And lords it over men again

But grateful gave one half his sway
(And—retains it to this day)
To her whose potent charms restor'd
An empire to its rightful Lord.

A LITTLE SPOT OF DINGY EARTH

A little spot of dingy earth
The red coals glowing on the hearth
A fossil or a flower,
The beauty of the “common day”
Would send his fancy out to stray
In field and grove and bower.

No house in that wide town I ween
Presented such a wondrous scene
Of lovely shapes and hues,
Tho' deck'd with every costly gear,
Than did the humble dwelling where
He dined on books and stews.

Whatever might be brought from far,
From lands beneath the Northern star
Or by the tropic seas,
Bird, beast, or flower or butterfly,
He had a skill'd collector's eye
And lover's heart for these

Shells colour'd like the evening sky,
And gorgeous plumes of various dye,

And beauteus [sic] stones were there,
Nor these alone, but many things,
Some with, and some that had not wings,
More curious than fair.

Here by his side a kitten slept,
There hairy caterpillars crept
O'er treasur'd tufts of grass,
Stuff'd owls look'd thoughtful on the shelves
And playful squirrels saw themselves
Within the looking glass.

Except the charms of day and night,
He ne'er had seen one lovely sight,
And he had never heard
The music of the woods and streams,
Nor heard, except in nightly dreams,
Free song of breeze or bird.

Yet was he not to Beauty dead,
And volumes diligently read
Brought visions of delight,—
They taught him how to dream of these,
Of mountains, rivers, plains and seas
And Ocean in its might.

Man has not power to darken all
That decorates this earthly ball,
And in the stars above,
The mists and changing clouds he read
Lessons, on which his spirit fed,
Of the deep power of love.

And of the most familiar things,
Without the aid of magic rings,
Could build a mightier scene
Than, in the days when elf and fay
Like common travellers stroll'd the way,
Sprang from the famous bean.

A knot of grass would seem a field,
Now some recess for birds to build
A solitary nest,
A tree would represent a wood,
The smallest pond become a flood
With ships upon its breast.

Oh might some God in happy hour
But grant me that Protean power
Which prov'd Ulysses' skill,
Sometimes to clothe one's self with wings,
And be a thousand lovely things
With ever sportive will;

I'd be—what would I be?—the bird
Fame tells so oft at Evening heard
In groves how far away,
And thou shouldst lie in thoughtful ease
Beneath a canopy of trees,
And listen to my lay.

I grant the wish is somewhat trite,
But if you read my verse aright,
You'll pardon it again;
It suits, dear love, a present case,

And lovers scorn no commonplace
Which makes their meanings plain.

My song should be of glades and bowers,
Of rustling leaves and waving flowers
And of the sparkling streams,
Of love enjoy'd without its pains,
Afar from all the world contains
To falsify its dreams.

The clouds that deck the setting sun,
Or float around his course begun,
Should add their influence,
And Heaven with all its starry throng
Be mingled in the varied song
And lend a deeper sense.

Whatever else may harmonize
With smiling lips and glancing eyes
And love of gentle heart,
The music of the woodland springs—
All bright or calm or happy things
Their gladness should impart.

Nor measur'd note nor chosen word
Should in the flowing strain be heard
It's purport to reveal,
As stars commune with stars above,
The silent sympathy of love
Should teach thee all I feel.

Alas! at this prosaic day,
One might consume a life away

Ere such a wish were granted,
Not even in thoughts dare we be free,
Our thoughts have lost activity,
And life—more life is wanted

We're bound to Matter Space and Time
Our progress is in sin and crime
And bodily enjoyment,
Communion with the spirit land
Died with the last inventions—and
Sweet love's an old employment

I know that in the present state
Of man, regret is out of date
For such mistaken joys,
And, in the next love-lines I trace,
Practical sense shall find a place
With all its splendid toys.

I will return to Earth again,
Clasp falsehood in my arms—abstain
From old-world sentiments,
Give up the dear old rhyme to ‘hearts,’
Talk of improvement in the Arts
And touch on the percents.

NO WIND, NOT EVEN A FLUTTERING BREATH

SONNET I

No wind, not even a fluttering breath had given
Apparent motion to that land girt bay,
Still as the stagnant soul, the water lay
Sombre beneath the starless cope of Heaven,
Save where it met the shore, or rippled 'round
A few worn trunks that near it stood upright,
And there—broke into sparkling lines of light
Making a faint and yet not mournful sound.
An image, mused I, of our changeful life!
Dark must their course be ever, who repose
On joys [?] of sense, dead to all active good;
If happiness were rightly understood,
It would be won with struggles and with blows:
Our brightest moments are struck out in strife.

[Sonnet] II

Such were my thoughts or rather such my fears
For one brief moment of mistrusting grief,
Fears that have not become a fixed belief
In the still progress of some happy years.
True that an active life gives wider scope
To all those virtues which renown command,
But do not hearts at peace best understand
Their earthly duty and their heavenly hope?
If skies are brightest when few clouds are there,

And the vex'd wave bear stars upon its crest,
Go view that wave beneath the day at rest;
Only the wood or hill-embosom'd mere
Sleeps in eternal calm, by storms unriven
Fill'd with the image of glad earth and Heaven.

LET NOT THESE HARMLESS JOYS

Let not these harmless joys invite
Thy censure, Reader; nor excite
A self-complacent mirth,
For thus he nurst no worthless love,
Which serv'd to lift his thoughts above,
Yet bind him to the earth.

IMAGINE IF YOU CAN A BARNYARD SCENE

Imagine if you can a barnyard scene
With all its feather'd inmates cackling loud
A nursery let loose upon a green
A drunken or electioneering crowd
A wife and husband quarrelling over tea
A troupe of monkey's [sic] chattering on a tree
And you will have some idea of their singing [?]

THE HUNGRY OWLET HOOTS MELODIOUSLY

The hungry owlet hoots melodiously
At fall of eve in some deep hidden dell,
The creaking wagon lumb'ring slowly by
Makes cautious concert with the donkey's [bell;?]
Refused their sugar children sweetly squall
But oh that Buss! it far excells them all.

TWO LILIES ON A BROKEN STALK

Two lilies on a broken stalk
Two willows down a lonely walk
Two stars when languishing away
As night is trembling into day
Such are ye dear ones in your sorrow
And the gloom which clouds your morrow
May find its type in all that we
Behold of brief mortality.

FORGIVE ME THAT I DARE TO TRACE

Forgive me that I dare to trace
For thee once more the votive line,
As yet thou keep'st thy wonted place
Within this throbbing heart of mine;

Forgive me Lady, to the mind
Rack'd with disappointment's throe
Lost the bliss for which it pin'd
Silence is the deepest woe.

And before I break the chain
Clasp'd so fondly to my breast,
Ere to love thee was a pain
Which robs the soul within of rest,

I would ask thee, why that brow
Frowns where it was wont to smile?
Was the soon forgotten vow
Only spoken to beguile?

Say, did Time's relentless wing
This deadly blight to love impart,
Before it had outliv'd the Spring
Which bade it blossom in thy heart?

Was it coward Slander's tongue,
Trafficking in vulgar lie,
From thy breast esteem that wrung,
And chill'd the glances of thine eye?

Perchance thou didst but seem to love,
Perchance another—'tis in vain
Why [?] speak when I have ceas'd to move!
I cannot wake the flame again.

I will not seek one pitying tear
To ease the wound which time may heal,

Smile on in triumph, I would ne'er
That thou should'st prove what I must feel

I might recall that hour again
When drank my words thy thirsty ear,
But Pride commands me to refrain,
No weak reproaches shalt thou hear.

Take the pledge to me thou gavest
When absence sorrow was to both,
And he whom thou in coldness leavest
Never doubted of thy truth.

Take it,—it was wont to gladden
Every fibre of my heart,
Now alas! 'twould only madden
With the thought that we must part.

Fare thee well forever now
How well I lov'd thou canst not know
When we meet again it will not be
With the quivering lip and brow
With which I used to look on thee.

Not with the soul enrapturing sigh
That heav'd my breast when thou wert near,
No! my fix'd and changeless eye
Shall prove thou art no longer dear.

THE ROSE THAT BLOOMS

The Rose that blooms and blushes in the bower
Turns kindly to the nightingale alone,
And Rose the maid typified by the flower
In undivided love is all mine own.

SONNET

THE SPRING, THE SUMMER

The Spring, the Summer; Autumn, Winter wild
I love them all, and though they never stay
Their onward flight, yet like a fickle child
I find in each some charm to take away
The vain regret that steals upon the heart
That these with all their joys so soon depart.
And thus I would it were with Friendship, Love,
When these brief blessings perish, why should we
Weep o'er the change? Why should we never prove
That like the seasons Love alternately
May sicken die brighten and burn once more
Till the false Present smiles—as days of yore
When language was Truth's echo, and the breast
A home where joyous thoughts alone found rest.

IN BOWERS OF EASE

In bowers of ease, Unseen, Resistless Power
Thompson [sic] creates a fancied realm for thee
Where pleasure cheaply bought beguil'd the hour
And lazy wight withouten boisterous glee
Might easy live, ne die of ennui
But in our Carolinian atmosphere
We feel thy force in sad reality,
And all thy ills without thy pleasures rare
Weigh us poor mortals down, cooped in the school room here.

TO LOVE

All other themes will I disown,
My strains, sweet Love, are thine alone
And who shall chide? thou hast been long
The Poet's dream, the Poet's song,
And he who has not prov'd thy fears
Enjoy'd thy hopes and wept thy tears,
Can never claim the name of bard,
Or win one sigh—his best reward.
All other themes will I disown
My strains, sweet Love, are thine alone.

The Muse whose whisperings inspire
The breathings of the Poet's lyre,
Speaks in the beating of the heart,
And 'tis its feelings which impart

That touching pathos to his strain
Which Art may seek t'excel in vain
And Love has been for ages whole
The first emotion of the soul,
Whose dulcet breath wakes tenderly
The heart's Aeolian melody.
All other themes will I disown,
My strains, sweet Love, are thine alone.

I can admire fair Nature's sheen,
And where a violet has been,
Or rosebud throws its spells around
I deem the spot is holy ground.
But when I meet an eye of blue,
It seems to me of richer hue
Than ever deck'd the little flower
Of modesty in summer hour,
And the proud rosebud's deep'ning flush
Is nothing to a maiden's blush.
All other themes will I disown
My strains, sweet Love, are thine alone.

The stars that deck heaven's canopy
Like snow-white pearls in ebony,
The silvery moon whose tempering light
Softens the gloomy brow of night,
Are wondrous fair, but fairer far
Than silver moon or jewell'd star
The glance which tells without a word
The lover's suit is not unheard.
All other themes will I disown,
My strains, sweet Love, are thine alone.

The wanton wind that sighs among
The ‘garden's belles’—a countless throng—
The dew that glitters like a gem
On the flower-Queen's diadem,
Let others praise, the tear that wells
From the spirit's glistening cells,
The kiss that takes that tear away
Shall be the subjects of my lay.
All other themes will I resign
My strains, sweet Love, are only thine.

GOD BLESS THEE THEN!

God bless thee then! and thou wilt share with me,
The Desert's solitude, a hermit's lot,
Oh! I will deem the desert blooms like thee
When thou and Love may deign to bless the spot.

And we will stifle, in heart-swelling sighs,
The ruder sounds of terror and affright,
And with the rapturous tears that dim the eyes
Hide ought that might appal or pain the sight.

BEHOLD THE YOUTH

Behold the youth whose mighty mind
Leaves all competitors behind!
He translates Latin, thinks in Greek,
Well-nigh as fast as one can speak.

SONNET

FOR AN ALBUM

Lady! I've turned these pages o'er and o'er,
Rejoiced to see the many tributes given,
To one who would be innocent in heaven—
Ah! might I dare to add one tribute more!
Cold hearts may notice here imperfect lines,
But I would sooner criticise a dream—
For while affection constitutes the theme,
Flowers have no leaves inscribed with fairer signs.
Therefore I say—well pleased I read how love
Hath glorified the pages of thy book,
With meanings sweeter than thy last sweet look,
And passionate as pure—so may thy worth
Always receive its recompense on earth—
God will ensure its recompense above.

ODE

THE BREEZE THAT NOW BLOWS

The breeze that now blows from our beautiful Isle,
Wafts the white sail of peace o'er the bay that sleeps yonder;
And the ocean creeps up with a kiss and a smile
On the beach, where our maids and our youth love to wander.
Yet, brothers! 'twas there, amid battle's red glare,
That our forefathers won the proud emblem we bear—

The same breath that now wooes the dear lips that we love,
Bore the smoke of that fight to the calm skies above.

If the homes that we cherish are happy and free,
If the fame that was left us is stainless in story,
If the winds that come to us across the blue sea,
Blow over a land that is dreaming of glory,
'Tis to them that we owe the pure blessings we know,
And the night that now sleeps in default of a foe—
It sleeps, but shall wake at the first signal-gun,
And the sons will preserve what their fathers have won.

SONNET

LADY! I WILL NOT WRONG THY WOMANHOOD

Lady! I will not wrong thy womanhood,
By crowning thee with praise which is not thine—
I see thee lovely, and I think thee good,
But yet no angel, and not all divine.
For on thy brow, and o'er thy beauteous face—
As manifest in sorrow as in mirth—
There is a most bewitching look of earth,
And all the dearer for the mortal grace.
Aye! thou are earthly, and so tender-meek,
That I might deem much love doth make thee weak—
Did not at times, in some excited hour,
A flash that lights the darkness of thine eyes,
Reveal a secret and a deeper power—
A spirit he has hardihood who tries.

LINES

THERE WAS A FIRE WITHIN MY BRAIN!

There was a fire within my brain!
I did not mean to give thee pain.
I looked, I spoke—I know not what—
I loved, and felt—that thou did'st not;
And I was mad—perhaps was weak,
The consciousness is on my cheek
In blushes hot as molten lead,
And tears I blush as hot to shed.
God! that I could not hide my shame!
But needs must bare my heart of flame
To hearts so cold and minds so tame.
Aye think me weak, and smile with those
Who saw and jested with my woes.
Such still has been, such still must be
The doom, the meed of Misery,
When Misery permits the crowd
To guess the woe it strives to shroud.
That night indeed—it was not long—
I had no sense of right or wrong;
That night indeed—thank God 'tis past!
How could the reckless madness last
And I be breathing here!
Henceforth I shut within my breast
A ghastly and eternal guest—
Its deep and dark despair.
And thou and God alone shall know
The inextinguishable woe,
Intense, unmitigated pain

Which weighs on sense, and soul, and brain.
Oh, I will carry on my brow,
A smile like that thou wearest now,
As careless and as gay
As if this heart were brimmed with mirth—
And had no cares upon the earth
Which earth could not allay.
Yet if the smile I'll strive to wear,
Should sometimes wither to a sneer,
If what I look and what I say,
Have aught that's bitter in its play,
Forgive it and forget—
And think I speak not as I feel—
I would not pain, but must conceal
And cannot kill regret.
Aye think me weak, and yet—and yet—
What eyes have seen these eyelids wet,
Though I have wept as guilt might weep
When Hell reveals itself in sleep.

ODE

[_]

Composed for the Anniversary of the Battle of New Orleans

The land hath many a battle-ground
As rich, and red with crimson stains;
But Orleans is the very sound
To stir the blood in warrior veins:
There the young Giant of the world
Struck a last blow at England's side;

And the Free Flag of Stars was furled
Above the grave of England's pride.

Than his who led, no sterner will
E'er couched within a human breast;
And his was human, and could thrill
To all that's softest, purest, best.
The hand from which the Briton fled,
And the bold savage learned to fear,
Could stroke a tender infant's head,
And tremble at a woman's tear.

The Roman of his country's fame,
The mighty Consul of the West,
No stronger arm, or haughtier name,
E'er gained a crown, or graced a crest;
Yet the white honor of his life
Nor blood could stain, nor power eclipse;
And having faced all shapes of strife;
He died with blessings on his lips.

So long as these bright arms, we bear,
May rest all spotless and unproved:
So long, we trust our hearts shall share
The homelier virtues which he loved.
But when the war-blast shall be heard,
And other battles must be won—
Be JACKSON'S name our battle-word;
And his great Shade shall lead us on.

LINES

WE MET BUT ONCE

We met but once—and yet—and yet
(O! Truth! thou dar'st not doubt me,)
I know that I shall not forget,
And she'll—ask God about me.

My heart!—she had it years ago—
It seemed so one rapt minute—
And hers—when I arose to go,
I left—a bud within it.

Perhaps this happy April day
Shall wake that bud to growing,
Perhaps the blue-eyed maiden May
Shall see it sweetly blowing.

THREE PICTURES

After the manner of Ferogio

Three girls, half-draped, stood by the sedgy bank,
Where, mocking with low laugh the noonday sun,
A cool stream flowed. Their robes of whitest linen,
Swept round their limbs, in large, uncertain folds,
Scarce knowing which, of all the varied charms,
From the bold day to vail; but 'wildered clung,
Betraying all the more what they would hide.
One dark-eyed maid, in whose voluptuous form
A passionate strength was glossed with gentle curves,

Leaned on a rock, and drooped her languid hand
Into the waves that rippled in blue rings,
As round a floating lily. Her deep eyes,
Moist with the dews of maiden longings, gazed
Down the still stream, peopling, mayhap, its depths
With gorgeous dreams, and visionary shapes
Of sensual beauty. Her half-parted lips,
Scarlet and wet as some red Orient fruit
To its core cleft, seemed oping to the sun—
Rich fruit of Love that burst in ripest hour!
Tossed in the wind, her black and chainless curls
Waved, like a pirate's flag, from her proud head
Defiance to the world! Stooping she stood,
With limbs half-quivering in convulsive grace,
Head drooping forward, with an unborn kiss
Fluttering upon her lips, and long, white arms
That, from sheer wantonness, twined round each other!
The hot wind, gusty with its mad desire,
Snatched at her robe; the while she did not strive
To gain it back, but stood, with heaving breast,
Proud in the knowledge of her beauty. She
Seemed a born Queen of Love. Her glowing form
Was but her soul in flesh; a reckless maid,
Whose very life was love, but whom much love
Could kill, or unrequited love might make
A murderess!

A blonde the second was.
Her simple robe drooped heavily around
The form that shone beneath. She leaned against
A rough-hewn wall, until her flexile shape
Seemed with its own weight bending. Sweet blue eyes,

O'erhung with carved white eaves of heavy lids,
As hangs the snow-ledge o'er calm Alpine lakes.
From head to foot the eye was led along
In curves of beauty rich and rythmical.
Unfilleted her head, and down her neck
Streamed the rich river of her golden hair
That on her shoulders broke, and, foaming, fell
Into her bosom's valley. One pink hand,
Like to some brooch from pale cornelian carved,
Clasped her thin robe o'er her rebellious bust,
That would be free. The other listless hung,
Curled like a sleeping blossom, while her feet,
White as the daisies that they crushed, were seen
Budding beneath her robe, as if too timid
To show themselves full-blown by day. A flush
Faint as the earliest dawn was on her cheek.
Along the rugged wall she leaned against,
The rambling eglantine came clambering, and pressed
Its starry blooms close to her face, and brushed
The vermeil down with countless honeyed kisses.
Above her head, between her and the sun
A maple spread its golden canopy;
And at her feet a throng of purple flowers,
That, night and day, gave all their looks to Heaven,
Now turned on her their young adoring eyes.
What charm was in the maid! An atmosphere
Of pleasure seemed around her, and a glow
Soft as the summer's breathed about her limbs,
Warming the air, as if young Love were near
Waving his ardent pinions! Soft and frail,
And with a beautiful humility,
She, drooping, seemed to ask from out those eyes,

Deep with unfathomable tenderness,
Something to love and cling to. She was one
Who craved, and not demanded to be loved.
With such a woman clinging to one's heart
Sorrow were sweet; 'twould be such great delight
To watch her calm assumption of one's griefs,
As if they were her birth-right. None like her
To suck the poisoned wound of circumstance,
Or soothe life's fever. Such this nameless maid
Seemed in her beauty; slender-shaped and frail,
But grand in her capacity for love!

Brown-skinned and glossy as a Spanish nut,
Lazy and warm, and with rich Southern blood
Mantling her full cheeks with a crimson dusk,
Like the last glow of sunset when the eve
Hath half o'ercast it, such the third fair maid.
Each round limb, heavy with an indolent grace,
Seemed made for repose. Of chestnut brown, her hair
Swept in rich, sleepy tresses round her head,
Which, as the wind did stir them, seemed to be
Silk curtains darkening round her dreaming eyes.
Through the arched portals of her parted mouth
Low, broken murmurs came, and went and came,
Like talk of sleepers. Gently-waving boughs
Made a green twilight o'er her as she sate
Swung in a cradle of lithe willow wands
Together woven, while a few bronzed leaves
Fluttered anear, and fanned the sluggish airs
Into faint breezes. Thus serenely passed
This maiden's being noiselessly along.
The basking earth, the hot, unwinking sun

Shone through a haze, and so all brightest things
Were softened in her eyes. Her very love
Was lazy and subdued as tropic noons
In matted palm-groves, where the heavy breath
Of orchids, like invisible incense, steals,
Drowsing the gloom. Indolence beautiful!
Slumber incarnate!

Through the parting boughs
A poet, listing to the singing reeds,
Saw these fair women, and insensibly
His fingers stole along his trembling harp,
And thus he hymned:

“Oh! virgins, pure and fair!
Beautiful Trinity! Like a music chord,
In which three harmonies are blent in one,
Ye strike upon my soul. Oh! thou dark maid!
Ideal of a Southern rhyme of love,
In which fierce pulses of a glowing breast
Beat the quick time, and broken trills of passion
Intoxicate the brain, and whirl the soul
Into mad revels—gazing on thy form,
I seem to hear the clink of castanets;
And lo! emerging from the far-off gloom,
Floating with sylph-like grace, but human step,
Until the air thou cleavest turns to fire,
Com'st thou! White, long, and undulating limbs;
Round bosom, heaving to the eloquent strain,
And arms that weave a white arch o'er thy head,
Beneath which thou dost float triumphally!
While in thy deep-brown eyes a half-vailed light

Burns with a rising lustre! Memories
Like these, in which the glories of the South,
Its songs, its dances, and its peerless maids
Are ever intermingled, thou dost call
From my soul's secret shades. And thou, fair girl!
Whose golden hair and azure eyes are bright
As Freya's when she wandered through the halls
Of lofty Asgard—like some Northern song,
In which love calmly floats, thou dost steal in
With no wild impulse, but with gentle tones,
Twining thy slender chains around the heart,
Unnoted till thou hast clasped them there forever!
Thou, lotus-bosomed! Houri from the East!
Fashioned in mould of Oriental grace;
Sunned into ripeness by the virgin light
That on thy land first breaks, and taught that Life
Is one long stream on which, from night till morn,
Thou may'st float calmly, gazing at the stars,
Inhaling spicy breaths, and trailing oft
Thy small hand through the waves—thy beauty mingles
With the two other harmonies, and makes
One glorious chord of beauty, on my soul
Striking divinest unison! For thus
Hath God ordained it; to the poet's eye
All beauty is alike, and ye, I swear,
Are beautiful as eve and noon and dawn
Shining together on the wondering earth!”

TO ANNA

(Written in an album)

Who hath not sometimes found a leaf or flower,
On which were traced, as by some spirit hand,
Dim lines that had a meaning and a power,
He almost could, yet could not understand.

Still those dark signs pleased better than if wrought
In letters legible by human art;
They kindled fancy, if they roused no thought,
And stirred some nameless feelings in the heart.

So, Anna, I would have thee always hold,
Whatever rhymes these pages shall contain,
Dear for the tender love they would unfold,
Dear for the wish they may not well explain.

The words may tell as little as the flower,
And will not always please a critic eye;
For few can write with all a passion's power,
And none can speak so warmly as they sigh.

Yet should'st thou prize them, Anna, far above
The well-coined flatteries of a polished art,
Each is a trophy thou hast won from love,
Each is a tribute to thy kindly heart.

A BRACELET

Gems have I none to shower at your feet,
But I may borrow the bright toys in verse
To weave a bracelet for you. These were culled
In Cloud-land, and they form the sweetest name
That ever graced a loving Poet's song.
Mark! as I call them over! There you see
Green chrysoprase, and purple amethyst,
Rubies and lustrous opals, ligurites
Of golden lustre, scarlet idocrase,
Blue napolite, and dim and gray that stone,
Like the pale skies from which it drinks its hue,
The elaolite of Norway! Note the clasp
And its device!—a splendid heliotrope
Cut like a heart, and spotted as with blood!
While in a golden circlet of like shape
Three stones are grouped,—an onyx triple hued,
And (like a red rose 'mid its wealth of green)
A crimson pyrope set in emerald.
My bracelet is a quaint one I confess,
And to a lady's taste might scarce look well
By sunshine, or a ball-room's garish light;
Yet—for the love's dear sake that wrought it—take
And wear it sometimes in your dreams of me.

LINES

I GAZE INTO THOSE QUIET EYES

I gaze into those quiet eyes,
But see no passion there—
They wear the hue of winter skies,
As still and coldly clear.
It may be they are beauteous books,
With noble meanings fraught—
But I prefer a few sweet looks
To worlds on worlds of thought.

I know no sounds that fitly mate
The music of thy lips—
But then it carries so much weight
The music always trips.
I grant that every phrase you speak
Is rich with wondrous lore,
But like your sister's blushing cheek
And tender silence more.

And wrapt in dreams of high desire,
And dead to common things,
You seem just fitted to inspire
A poet's visionings;
But while your spirit seems unriven
By one sweet earthly care,
You seem so very ripe for heaven,
I wish that you were there.

SONNET

IF ONE WHOSE NAME

If one whose name I may not give to air,
With naught to aid her but her woman's art,
And the true key of her own pitying heart,
Should trace the records I have entered here,
The gathered fragrance of one bounteous year;
Oh! would she guess, oh! could that heart divine
How love beneath each unexplainèd sign,
Hides a wild hope it only speaks in prayer!
Alas! the thought is idle! What should teach,
In this blank page, that every simple date
Calls her to pity or to bless my fate,
With tenderer and more passionate demands,
Than if with my whole spirit wreaked in speech,
I prayed on bended knees, with claspèd hands!

STANZAS

IT WAS MY HEART, DEAR FRIEND

It was my heart, dear friend, that sung
And that imperfect strain
Revealed the gloom, but not the grief,
The darkness, not the pain—
If Heaven depended on my song,
I could not sing again.

I have nor will nor skill to woo
The Poet's golden dower,
The breath that swept my spirit was
A feeling, not a power.
And the breeze that bore its fragrance off
Hath withered up the flower.

Then ask me not for verse again,
Or seek some other token—
I sung my last and only song
When my one grief was spoken.
The heart is aye the Poet's lyre,
And mine is almost broken.

Once, lady, in my life
I stood upon the brink
Of the river we call Love,
And I bent me down to drink;
But the stream ran lightly by,
While I scarcely breathed a sigh.

Since then I only watched
The waters as they run
Through the bad and busy world,
In the shadow and the sun;
And I swore I would not taste,
Though my heart should flow to waste.

Yet the waves are very fair,
And I could not help at times
From committing to their sport
A few hopes and many rhymes;
But they had no certain aim,
And brought me only—fame.

So I strolled along the bank
In a sort of vagrant way;
And I laughed to view the spot
Where the latest victims lay,
When, behold! I saw a face
In an unexpected place!

It looked so bright and frank
From its darling little nook,

As I paused to gaze awhile,
That I flung aside my book,
And before the face grew dim
My lips were at the brim.

And I drank and drank, and drank,
And when I looked above
The sky seemed full of bliss,
And the air seemed full of love,
And turn where'er I might
I saw that face so bright.

Need I say the face was thine?
Oh, Lady, could'st thou guess
What I cannot all conceal,
Yet dare not all confess,
Thou woulds't flutter like a bird
To my breast without a word.

HERE LET ME WRITE MY NAME

Here let me write my name
As I would write it on thy woman's heart
Not with a pen of flame,
Nor yet with cold and calculating art,

But with a wish to be
Regarded, howsoe'er thy life shall wend,
Less dear perhaps than many dear to thee
But still a cherished friend.

But once mine eyes have gazed in thine,
But once thine eyes have glanced on mine;
Yet, lady! go where'er I will,
I have thy face before me still.

Why when the star hath passed away,
The soul should still retain its ray,
I know not who on earth may tell,
Unless she can, who wove the spell.

If the brief meeting of a night
Thus stamps thy image on my sight,
I need not ask of maids or men
My fate if we should meet again!

110

SONG

(A Fragment)

Is it gone forever, my gay spring time?
Shall I never be as I was then;
And this dead heart that once beat so wildly
Who shall wake it, can it wake again?

From that sea where joy lies buried, shall not
Something like its shadow flutter up!
The bright wine of life I quaffed so madly,
Hath it left no sweetness in the cup!

Yet it is not that my youth hath perished—
If I count by years, I am not old;
Of that youth I stripped the buds too early,
And its leafless stem is all I hold.

Oh! doth no new autumn yet await me?
Thus I question Fate, but Fate is mute.
Is it autumn? Where is autumn's foliage,
And its golden store of luscious fruit?

University of Virginia Library

NOT A GRIN WAS SEEN

TO THE SNOWDROP

NO DEEPER, NO MORE FEARFUL CURSE

GEM OF BEAUTY!

THE DREAM OF THE LOCK

LIKE THAT SOFT LUSTRE

SONNET

IF ALL TRUE VIRTUE

FORGIVE IT, LADY

PERFECT LOVE

MY COUSIN LOU!

MISCHIEVOUS! GEORGE IS OUT HIS SENSES

WHAT ATHENS DULL

STARS MAY HIDE THEIR GENTLE LIGHT

SONNET

“WELL I AM GLAD”!

ISABEL

AS THE LAST BEAMS OF STARS

LINES

WHEN YOUTH'S FIRST WARMEST HOPES

SENTIMENTAL—VERY

A FIG FOR THE CRITICS!

CHOICE IN EYES

SIX MONTHS'S SUCH A WONDERFUL TIME

FOR HIGH HONOURS

I THOUGHT THY NAME

TO CULL THE CHOICEST FLOWERS OF SONG

WE WALK'D BENEATH THE SHADOW

A LIGHT UPON MY PATHWAY GLEAMS

[TO ARABELLA]

SONNET I

[Sonnet] II

[LINES]

THIS MORN, THRO' MANY A PLEASING SCENE

SONNET

ALL THE LONG DAY

SONNET

MARY! I DARE NOT CALL THY CHARMS DIVINE

LINES

TAKE BACK THE RING

THREE COUSINS

THE BEAMS OF THOSE EYES

SWEET IF YOU DEEM

THE BREEZES THROUGH THE WOODLANDS MOAN

APOLOGY TO TOM FOR MALTREATING HIS ‘FRIEND’

SONNET

IN THE DEEP SHADOW

SONNET

HOW MANY YEARN TO TEAR ASIDE THE VEIL

OH! MAY THY DESTINY BE HAPPY EVER

MY HEART WAS GAZING INTO THINE

SWEET LET NOT OUR SLANDERERS

LET V---Y PRATTLE

ACROSTIC

LATE THE HOUR

I DREAM'D THAT IN A SECRET NOOK

OH! IF SHE THINKS THE CORD TOO SLENDER

TIRED OF THE CRUEL SPORT

WRITTEN IN A PSALM-BOOK

THERE IS I KNOW NOT WHAT ABOUT THEE

WHILST I ENJOY'D THY SMILES

I TELL THEE, LOVE

[LINES]

OH! MARIE THINK, SO MANY YEARS

AT NIGHT WHEN ALL IN SLEEP ARE STILL

I'VE HEARD, STILL DEAR ONE

FOR YET THY CHARMS RETAIN THEIR SWAY

LADY I DEEM'D NO SPOT ON EARTH

FRAGMENT OF A DREAM

DIVISION OF LOVE'S EMPIRE

A LITTLE SPOT OF DINGY EARTH

NO WIND, NOT EVEN A FLUTTERING BREATH

SONNET I

[Sonnet] II

LET NOT THESE HARMLESS JOYS

IMAGINE IF YOU CAN A BARNYARD SCENE

THE HUNGRY OWLET HOOTS MELODIOUSLY

TWO LILIES ON A BROKEN STALK

FORGIVE ME THAT I DARE TO TRACE