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2. Part II. Stories and Poems.
9
HOLIDAY SONG.
“Away with melancholy.”
DUET.
Come, school-mates gather round me,
For time with gentle wing,
Is floating o'er our pastime,
As we merrily, merrily sing,
Holiday!
For time with gentle wing,
Is floating o'er our pastime,
As we merrily, merrily sing,
Holiday!
CHORUS.
Then join the happy chorus,
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
DUET.
Releas'd awhile from duty,
Our minds are resting now,
Though boasting still the fruitage
We've cull'd from learning's bough.
Holiday!
Our minds are resting now,
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We've cull'd from learning's bough.
Holiday!
CHORUS.
Then join the happy chorus,
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
DUET.
We gladly take the flowers
That Leisure's hands have brought,
Though we shunn'd her idle bowers,
When study claim'd our thought.
Holiday!
That Leisure's hands have brought,
Though we shunn'd her idle bowers,
When study claim'd our thought.
Holiday!
CHORUS.
Then join the happy chorus,
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
DUET.
What youth shall wear the laurel,
When our joyful song is done?
He who with patient labour
His tutor's smile has won.
Holiday!
When our joyful song is done?
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His tutor's smile has won.
Holiday!
CHORUS.
Then join the happy chorus,
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free!
Holiday!
DUET.
What maid shall wear the red rose
Amid this smiling ring?
She who with modest sweetness
Her teacher's praise can bring.
Holiday!
Amid this smiling ring?
She who with modest sweetness
Her teacher's praise can bring.
Holiday!
CHORUS.
Then join the happy chorus,
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free?
Holiday!
And let our motto be,
To work with all our hearts at school,
And frolic when we're free?
Holiday!
16
WILL BANTER AND JOHN HOWARD.
WILL.
Come, now, let us kick up a dust,
Our master has gone out of school;
Tom Tricky I know will be first,
To break every tyrannous rule.
Our master has gone out of school;
Tom Tricky I know will be first,
To break every tyrannous rule.
Ben Dodd is beginning to swear,
And rips out his oaths in a breath,
But little for God does he care,
Though his friends are half worried to death.
And rips out his oaths in a breath,
But little for God does he care,
Though his friends are half worried to death.
John Howard, come out of that corner,
And join in our frolic, I say,
How can you be acting Jack Horner,
And fumbling your Virgil all day?
And join in our frolic, I say,
How can you be acting Jack Horner,
And fumbling your Virgil all day?
17
Excuse me, friend Will, and be quiet,
We have quite time enough for our fun,
Without getting into a riot,
And leaving our studies undone.
We have quite time enough for our fun,
Without getting into a riot,
And leaving our studies undone.
Not manly to me is an oath,
A jest that is gross I despise,
And when I am tempted by both,
Superior to both will I rise.
A jest that is gross I despise,
And when I am tempted by both,
Superior to both will I rise.
I will not join the reckless and rude,
Independent and firm I remain;
I have often your laughter withstood,
And I've courage to bear it again.
Independent and firm I remain;
I have often your laughter withstood,
And I've courage to bear it again.
23
FLIGHT OF THE MUSKOGEE INDIAN.
On the shore of Carolina an Indian warrior stood,
A captive of the Shawnees, and reddened with their blood;
Strange arts of varied torture his conquerors tried in vain;
Like a rock that stands the billows, he dashed them off again.
A captive of the Shawnees, and reddened with their blood;
Strange arts of varied torture his conquerors tried in vain;
Like a rock that stands the billows, he dashed them off again.
He shouted, and the echo shrill returned the lengthened shriek,
“I have rent you as the eagle rends the dove within his beak;
And ye give me women's tortures; see, I lightly cast them by,
As the Spirit of the storm-cloud throws the vapour from the sky.”
“I have rent you as the eagle rends the dove within his beak;
And ye give me women's tortures; see, I lightly cast them by,
As the Spirit of the storm-cloud throws the vapour from the sky.”
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“Ye are women!” the wild echo came wilder on the air—
“I will show a worthy trial for a Muskogee to bear;
Let me grasp a heated gun in this raw and bloody hand,
And ye shall not see an eyelash move to shame my father-land.”
“I will show a worthy trial for a Muskogee to bear;
Let me grasp a heated gun in this raw and bloody hand,
And ye shall not see an eyelash move to shame my father-land.”
They gave the glowing steel. He took it with a smile,
And held it as a plaything;—they stood in awe the while;
Then, springing like an antelope, he brandished it around,
And toward the beetling eminence upstarted with a bound.
And held it as a plaything;—they stood in awe the while;
Then, springing like an antelope, he brandished it around,
And toward the beetling eminence upstarted with a bound.
One leap, and he is over! fierce, dashing through the stream,
And his massy form lies floating 'neath the clear and sunny beam;
A hundred arrows sped at once, but missed that warrior bold,
And his mangled arms, ere set of sun, his little ones enfold.
And his massy form lies floating 'neath the clear and sunny beam;
A hundred arrows sped at once, but missed that warrior bold,
And his mangled arms, ere set of sun, his little ones enfold.
51
THE VERMONT CHILDREN.
Three fleeting years have come and gone
Since Ann Pomroy I met,
Returning from the district school,
Ere yet the sun was set.
Since Ann Pomroy I met,
Returning from the district school,
Ere yet the sun was set.
With her, her brother Francis stray'd,
And, both in merry tone,
Were saying all the rambling things
Youth loves when tasks are done.
And, both in merry tone,
Were saying all the rambling things
Youth loves when tasks are done.
The mountain tinge was on their cheeks;
From far Vermont they came,
For wandering habits led their sire
A Southern home to claim.
From far Vermont they came,
For wandering habits led their sire
A Southern home to claim.
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Fresh with the airy spring of youth
They tripp'd the woods along;
Now darting off to cull a flower,
Now bursting into song.
They tripp'd the woods along;
Now darting off to cull a flower,
Now bursting into song.
Oh, Ann Pomroy, thy sparkling eye
Methinks I often see,
When some young face in loveliness,
Beams up in smiles to me.
Methinks I often see,
When some young face in loveliness,
Beams up in smiles to me.
And when light rounds of boyish mirth
Laugh out uncheck'd by fear,
It seems to me that Francis' voice
Is floating on my ear.
Laugh out uncheck'd by fear,
It seems to me that Francis' voice
Is floating on my ear.
I said the hue of health they bore,—
Hers was the nect'rine fair,
And his the deep pomegranate tinge,
That boys of beauty wear.
Hers was the nect'rine fair,
And his the deep pomegranate tinge,
That boys of beauty wear.
They walk'd at early morn and eve,
And as I yearly paid
My visit to the Planter's Hall,
I saw the youth and maid.
And as I yearly paid
My visit to the Planter's Hall,
I saw the youth and maid.
At first, by simple accident,
I came upon their walk;
But soon I loved to pause and seek
The privilege of talk—
I came upon their walk;
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The privilege of talk—
Until my steps were daily turn'd,
But how I scarce can say,
When Ann and Francis came from home,
To meet them on the way.
But how I scarce can say,
When Ann and Francis came from home,
To meet them on the way.
They told me of New England hills,
Of orchards in the sun,
Of sleigh-rides with the merry bells,
Of skating's stirring fun;
Of orchards in the sun,
Of sleigh-rides with the merry bells,
Of skating's stirring fun;
And sometimes of a grave they spake,
And then would sadder grow,
In which a gentle mother slept
Beneath the wintry snow.
And then would sadder grow,
In which a gentle mother slept
Beneath the wintry snow.
When April's changing face was seen,
Again from town I flew,
To where the sleep of nature wakes
To sights and odours new.
Again from town I flew,
To where the sleep of nature wakes
To sights and odours new.
All things were fair,—the plants of earth
Look'd upward to the sky,
And the blue heaven o'er-arched them still
With clear and glittering eye.
Look'd upward to the sky,
And the blue heaven o'er-arched them still
With clear and glittering eye.
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I sought the walk I used to seek,
And took the little store
Of toys, that from the city's mart,
For Ann and Frank I bore.
And took the little store
Of toys, that from the city's mart,
For Ann and Frank I bore.
A rustling in the leaves I heard,
But Francis only came;
His eye was dim, his cheek was pale,
And agues shook his frame.
But Francis only came;
His eye was dim, his cheek was pale,
And agues shook his frame.
He saw me, to my open arms
With sudden gladness sprang;
Then raised a thrilling cry of grief,
With which the forest rang.
With sudden gladness sprang;
Then raised a thrilling cry of grief,
With which the forest rang.
Few words he spake, but led me on
To where a grave-like mound,
With young spring plants and evergreens,
In rural taste were crown'd.
To where a grave-like mound,
With young spring plants and evergreens,
In rural taste were crown'd.
And there he stood, while gushing tears
Like summer rain-drops came,
And heavings, as a troubled sea,
Went o'er his blighted frame.
Like summer rain-drops came,
And heavings, as a troubled sea,
Went o'er his blighted frame.
I did not ask him who was there;
I felt that Ann was gone;
Around his drooping neck I hung,
And stood like him forlorn.
I felt that Ann was gone;
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And stood like him forlorn.
“I soon shall die,” the mourner said;
“Here will they make my grave,
And over me the Cedar trees
And moaning Pines will wave.
“Here will they make my grave,
And over me the Cedar trees
And moaning Pines will wave.
“None then will come to tend the flowers
That blossom o'er her bed;
None sing for her the twilight dirge,
When I am with the dead.
That blossom o'er her bed;
None sing for her the twilight dirge,
When I am with the dead.
“I can not join the school-boy sports;
My head and heart are sad;
When Ann is in her silent grave,
Oh, how can I be glad?
My head and heart are sad;
When Ann is in her silent grave,
Oh, how can I be glad?
“And when I say my studied tasks,
Or gain the once-loved prize,
I weep, and softly pray to Heaven
To lay me where she lies.”
Or gain the once-loved prize,
I weep, and softly pray to Heaven
To lay me where she lies.”
I kiss'd his pale and suffering brow,
By early sorrows riven;
I talk'd to him of her he lov'd,
And rais'd his thoughts to Heaven.
By early sorrows riven;
I talk'd to him of her he lov'd,
And rais'd his thoughts to Heaven.
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And when the call of duty came,
To take me from his side,
He told me, with a sickly smile,
“'Twas best that Ann had died.”
To take me from his side,
He told me, with a sickly smile,
“'Twas best that Ann had died.”
Another annual season roll'd
Its cares and joys along—
Again I sought the country's charms,
Deep woods and caroll'd song.
Its cares and joys along—
Again I sought the country's charms,
Deep woods and caroll'd song.
And there I found two silent graves
Amid the vernal bloom—
I ne'er shall see those forms again,
Till Heaven unseals the tomb.
Amid the vernal bloom—
I ne'er shall see those forms again,
Till Heaven unseals the tomb.
Oh, Southern summer, false and fair,
Why, on thy loaded wing,
Blent with rich flowers and fruitage rare,
The seeds of sorrow bring?
Why, on thy loaded wing,
Blent with rich flowers and fruitage rare,
The seeds of sorrow bring?
57
A FABLE.
FOR A YOUNG FRIEND.
In a beautiful garden, my dear little maid,
A grape-vine had twined itself into an arbour,
And under its branches in beauty array'd,
A small but sweet rose-bush delighted to harbour.
A grape-vine had twined itself into an arbour,
And under its branches in beauty array'd,
A small but sweet rose-bush delighted to harbour.
The blush on its bosom was brilliant and light,
As that which on modesty's cheek oft reposes,
And it beam'd with a freshness as fair to the sight,
As youth in its innocent beauty discloses.
As that which on modesty's cheek oft reposes,
And it beam'd with a freshness as fair to the sight,
As youth in its innocent beauty discloses.
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Those thought, who had seen it, its grace and its bloom,
Resembled the charms of a sweet little child;
And while giving delight by its grateful perfume,
Compar'd it to her who was pleasant and mild.
Resembled the charms of a sweet little child;
And while giving delight by its grateful perfume,
Compar'd it to her who was pleasant and mild.
One beautiful morning while nature was gay,
And the sun in his elegant splendour was seen,
The grape-vine appeared in her fairest array
Of dew-drops, that hung on her mantle of green.
And the sun in his elegant splendour was seen,
The grape-vine appeared in her fairest array
Of dew-drops, that hung on her mantle of green.
She rais'd up her head and look'd down to the shade
Where the sweet little rose-bush was blooming below,
And then in rough accents contemptuously said,
With words that were chilling as pride could bestow:
Where the sweet little rose-bush was blooming below,
And then in rough accents contemptuously said,
With words that were chilling as pride could bestow:
“You have dress'd yourself out in a beautiful style,
To attract all the gazers that come to your view;
And perhaps you expect by your graces the while,
To become for a time even my rival too.
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And perhaps you expect by your graces the while,
To become for a time even my rival too.
“You poor short-liv'd creature, and do you not know,
That I am the shade which prevents you from dying?
That exposed to the sun you no longer could grow,
And around your fine head all your leaves would be flying?
That I am the shade which prevents you from dying?
That exposed to the sun you no longer could grow,
And around your fine head all your leaves would be flying?
“Put off your pretensions, you look like a fright,
And don't try to blush and to smile as you do—
You think by this folly to give some delight,
But when I am present pray who would see you?”
And don't try to blush and to smile as you do—
You think by this folly to give some delight,
But when I am present pray who would see you?”
The rose really blush'd the deep scarlet of pride,
To see one so much older so cross and ill bred,
And she hid her sweet face on a shrub by her side,
Which press'd to support her soft innocent head.
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And she hid her sweet face on a shrub by her side,
Which press'd to support her soft innocent head.
But sudden the skies darken'd into deep gloom,
While the lightning's red gleam was tremendous and wild;
The high grape-vine trembled in fear of her doom—
But the innocent rose-bush look'd upward and smil'd.
While the lightning's red gleam was tremendous and wild;
The high grape-vine trembled in fear of her doom—
But the innocent rose-bush look'd upward and smil'd.
And now the wild winds whistled hoarsely around,
And deep peals of thunder came bursting between;
The rude tempest fell'd the fair vine to the ground,
And the arbour laid low, with its ringlets of green.
And deep peals of thunder came bursting between;
The rude tempest fell'd the fair vine to the ground,
And the arbour laid low, with its ringlets of green.
The loud storm had ceas'd, and the sun's brilliant ray,
Shone gaily on nature and open'd each sweet,
When Mary, young, innocent, modest and gay,
Stole into her garden, her fav'rite retreat.
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When Mary, young, innocent, modest and gay,
Stole into her garden, her fav'rite retreat.
She paus'd as she saw the high vine laid so low,
And the lesson she learn'd found its way to her heart,
And she pray'd, that her God would his favour bestow,
And bid from her mind evil passions depart.
And the lesson she learn'd found its way to her heart,
And she pray'd, that her God would his favour bestow,
And bid from her mind evil passions depart.
She pray'd, as the rose, to be modest and meek,
Nor boast, like the grape-vine, of beauty and grace:
For pride spoils the bloom of a beautiful cheek,
And a heart that is pur is more fair than a face.
Nor boast, like the grape-vine, of beauty and grace:
For pride spoils the bloom of a beautiful cheek,
And a heart that is pur is more fair than a face.
66
THE MOTHER'S ANGER;
OR THE DISSIPATED BOY.
Tis the first time—the only time
That e'er she turn'd away,
And left me with the brand of crime
To curse this fatal day!
That e'er she turn'd away,
And left me with the brand of crime
To curse this fatal day!
For sixteen years her evening kiss,
Has dwelt upon my brow,
Or lip, or cheek, in gentle bliss,—
Alas! where is it now?
Has dwelt upon my brow,
Or lip, or cheek, in gentle bliss,—
Alas! where is it now?
Would that I were again the child,
Who lay upon her breast,
And looked into her eyes and smiled,
Caressing and carest!
Who lay upon her breast,
And looked into her eyes and smiled,
Caressing and carest!
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Would that I now could bend my head
Upon her knee in prayer,
And hear the holy words she said
When once I nestled there!
Upon her knee in prayer,
And hear the holy words she said
When once I nestled there!
Oh, had I dashed the cup away
That lured me to my shame!
I cannot weep—I cannot pray—
My heart—my thoughts are flame!
That lured me to my shame!
I cannot weep—I cannot pray—
My heart—my thoughts are flame!
Mother, dear mother, turn once more
And bless thy sorrowing son!
Look on me as thou didst before
Ere sin's dark work was done.
And bless thy sorrowing son!
Look on me as thou didst before
Ere sin's dark work was done.
Oh heaven! she comes—I feel her breath
Cool, on my feverish eyes!
She speaks—the burning torch of death
At her soft accent flies!
Cool, on my feverish eyes!
She speaks—the burning torch of death
At her soft accent flies!
Oh, mother, on my knees I swear
To spurn the tempting bowl,
Nor risk again where revellers are,
Thy love—my God—my soul!
To spurn the tempting bowl,
Nor risk again where revellers are,
Thy love—my God—my soul!
73
LUCY LEE.
I wandered forth, at closing day,
To breathe the evening air;
Not yet was dropp'd the curtain gray,
Which hides the flowerets fair.
To breathe the evening air;
Not yet was dropp'd the curtain gray,
Which hides the flowerets fair.
They blush'd in beauty 'neath my tread,
And all their rich perfume
Around in generous fragrance shed,
Unwitting of their doom.
And all their rich perfume
Around in generous fragrance shed,
Unwitting of their doom.
I could not choose but bid my eye,
In simple gladness, rest
Upon the gorgeous drapery,
That lin'd the lovely west.
In simple gladness, rest
Upon the gorgeous drapery,
That lin'd the lovely west.
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And fain was I to hear the note
The blackbird gaily sung,
As on the air it seem'd to float,
And o'er my heart-strings rung.
The blackbird gaily sung,
As on the air it seem'd to float,
And o'er my heart-strings rung.
I reach'd the brook and mossy stone,
Where lingering still for me,
Was wont to sit, till twilight lone,
My little Lucy Lee.
Where lingering still for me,
Was wont to sit, till twilight lone,
My little Lucy Lee.
Her knitting in her merry way,
Would Lucy hold on high,
And all the progress of the day,
Upon the fingers try.
Would Lucy hold on high,
And all the progress of the day,
Upon the fingers try.
She was not there—not richly now
To me the sunset beam'd;
The blackbird carol'd on the bough,
But not for me it seem'd.
To me the sunset beam'd;
The blackbird carol'd on the bough,
But not for me it seem'd.
More bright than these was Lucy's look,
When yesterday it shone,
More sweet her voice, when o'er the brook,
She sent its joyous tone.
When yesterday it shone,
More sweet her voice, when o'er the brook,
She sent its joyous tone.
I hasten'd onward to the cot,
Where Lucy's mother dwelt,—
Why seem'd it such a lonely spot!
I never thus had felt.
Where Lucy's mother dwelt,—
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I never thus had felt.
The woodbine now as gracefully,
Around the porch was hung,
The little gate with motion free
As hospitably swung.
Around the porch was hung,
The little gate with motion free
As hospitably swung.
I paused a moment—and a groan
Fell deeply on my ear;
I enter'd, it was Lucy's moan,
She knew not I was near.
Fell deeply on my ear;
I enter'd, it was Lucy's moan,
She knew not I was near.
She knelt beside her mother's bed,
Her head was resting there;
The mother's struggling breath had fled,
Her daughter knelt in prayer.
Her head was resting there;
The mother's struggling breath had fled,
Her daughter knelt in prayer.
And tears came gushing on her cheek,
And sobs convuls'd her frame,
I heard the little sufferer speak,
It was her mother's name.
And sobs convuls'd her frame,
I heard the little sufferer speak,
It was her mother's name.
Come to my arms, poor child, I cried,
Come hither, Lucy Lee,
God has been lavish to my pride,
I'll share his gifts with thee.
Come hither, Lucy Lee,
God has been lavish to my pride,
I'll share his gifts with thee.
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She lean'd her pale cheek on my breast
I press'd her to my heart,
And from that sacred place of rest,
No more shall she depart.
I press'd her to my heart,
And from that sacred place of rest,
No more shall she depart.
81
THE FLOWER,
THE SUN, THE AIR, AND THE DEW.
My
father is the sun,
That shineth down on me,
And I grow beneath his sight,
Like a floweret pure and free.
That shineth down on me,
And I grow beneath his sight,
Like a floweret pure and free.
My mother is the air,
That softly fans my leaf,
And dries the pearly drop,
That falls in youthful grief.
That softly fans my leaf,
And dries the pearly drop,
That falls in youthful grief.
My sisters are the dew,
And, resting on my breast,
Cheer me when I awake,
Refresh me when I rest.
And, resting on my breast,
Cheer me when I awake,
Refresh me when I rest.
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But one is greater still,
Than sun, or air, or dew;
The God who gives them all,
And made the floweret too.
Than sun, or air, or dew;
The God who gives them all,
And made the floweret too.
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THE DUMB LUNATIC.
Mark ix. 17.
From amid the crowd what unhallowed tone—
What voice in misery cried?
It seemed like nature's lamenting moan,
For reason's blessings denied.
What voice in misery cried?
It seemed like nature's lamenting moan,
For reason's blessings denied.
Oh, behold that face with its pallid hue,
Like snow-flakes at twilight's chime;
And that eye so burning, yet rayless too,
Like the moon in her waning time.
Like snow-flakes at twilight's chime;
And that eye so burning, yet rayless too,
Like the moon in her waning time.
And the youthful form that with early pain,
Has withered in boyhood's glow:
And the tongue with motion so quick and vain,
And the restless look of wo.
Has withered in boyhood's glow:
And the tongue with motion so quick and vain,
And the restless look of wo.
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In anguish beside him his father stands
In a statelier mood of grief;
He is grasping closely those thin white hands,
And eagerly asks relief.
In a statelier mood of grief;
He is grasping closely those thin white hands,
And eagerly asks relief.
The Disciples of Jesus cannot bless;
He turns in anguish away,
And a smile of dark, unbelieving distress
Seems o'er his closed lips to stray.
He turns in anguish away,
And a smile of dark, unbelieving distress
Seems o'er his closed lips to stray.
But, behold! the Saviour of men appears!
A thrill to his chilled heart flies;
His faith contends with decaying fears,
And the warm drops fill his eyes.
A thrill to his chilled heart flies;
His faith contends with decaying fears,
And the warm drops fill his eyes.
A few soothing words to a father's wo,
Are breathed by that voice of power;
Sweet as the flush of a fountain's flow,
In the blaze of a noontide hour.
Are breathed by that voice of power;
Sweet as the flush of a fountain's flow,
In the blaze of a noontide hour.
A higher address of command is heard!
Oh, what has that accent done?
It has banished “the sickness of hope deferred,”
Has restored the maniac son.
Oh, what has that accent done?
It has banished “the sickness of hope deferred,”
Has restored the maniac son.
99
CHOICE OF HOURS.
FATHER.I love to walk at twilight
When sunset nobly dies,
And see the parting splendour
That lightens up the skies,
And call up old remembrances
Deep, dim as evening gloom,
Or look to heaven's promises
Like star-light on a tomb.
LAURA.
I love the hour of darkness
When I give myself to sleep,
And I think that holy angels
Their watch around me keep.
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As I innocently lie,
For my mother's kiss is on my cheek,
And my father's step is nigh.
MARY.
I love the social afternoon,
When lessons all are said,
Geography is laid aside
And grammar put to bed;
Then a walk upon the Battery
With a friend is very sweet,
And some money for an ice-cream
To give that friend a treat.
MOTHER.
I love the Sabbath evening
When my lov'd ones sit around,
And tell of all their feelings
By hope and fancy crowned;
And though some plants are missing
In that sweetly thoughtful hour,
I will not call them back again
To earth's decaying bower.
104
CHOICE OF COUNTRIES.
FATHER.I would cross the wide Atlantic,
And the cliffs of England hail,
For there my country's fathers
First set their western sail.
I would view its domes and palaces,
And tread each learned hall,
And on the soil where Newton trod
My foot should proudly fall.
I would gaze upon its landscapes,
The dell and sunny glade,
And tread with awe the cloister'd aisle
Where Addison is laid.
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I would seek the Indian Ocean,
Where the sea-shell loves to grow,
Where the tints upon its bosom
In gorgeous beauty glow.
I would chase the parting billow
For treasures new and rare,
And with wreaths of blushing coral
Entwine my waving hair.
CAROLINE.
I would be a ship's commander,
And find the northern pole,
While o'er untravelled oceans
My vent'rous bark should roll.
Or I'd seek untrodden islands,
Amid Antarctic seas,
And the standard of my country
Plant first before the breeze.
ELIZA.
Oh, give to me my birth-place,
My dear, my native home!
From its fair and sheltering borders
I ask not e'er to roam.
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My parents dear I see;
Oh, give to me my birth-place,
It is fair enough for me!
ANNA.
I do not know where England is,
Nor any other place,
But I love to frolic with my puss,
And see her wash her face.
I'll keep close by my baby-house,
And be very good all day,
If one I love will dress my dolls
And let me have my way.
MOTHER.
The whole broad earth is beautiful,
To minds attuned aright,
And wheresoe'er my feet have turn'd,
A smile has met my sight.
The city, with its bustling walk,
Its splendour, wealth, and power,—
A ramble by the river side,—
A passing summer flower;
The meadow green, the ocean's swell,
The forest waving free,
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Of kindliness to me.
And oh, where'er my lot is cast,
Where'er my footsteps roam,
If those I love are near to me,
I feel that spot my home.
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CHOICE OF OCCUPATIONS.
JOHN.I mean to be a soldier,
With uniform quite new,
I wish they'd let me have a drum,
And be a captain too:
I would go amid the battle,
With my broadsword in my hand,
And hear the cannon rattle,
And the music all so grand.
MOTHER.
My son, my son! what if that sword
Should strike a noble heart,
And bid some loving father
From his little ones depart?
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And brilliant dress bestow,
When you thought upon his widow's tears,
And her orphan's cry of wo?
WILLIAM.
I mean to be a President,
And rule each rising state,
And hold my levees once a week,
For all the gay and great:
I'll be a king, except a crown,
For that they wont allow,
And I'll find out what the Tariff is,
That puzzles me so now.
MOTHER.
My son, my son! the cares of state
Are thorns upon the breast,
That ever pierce the good man's heart,
And rob him of his rest;
The great and gay to him appear
As trifling as the dust,
For he knows how little they are worth—
How faithless is their trust.
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I mean to be a cottage girl,
And sit behind a rill,
And morn and eve my pitcher there
With purest water fill;
And I'll train a lovely woodbine
Around my cottage door,
And welcome to my winter hearth
The wandering and the poor.
MOTHER.
Louisa, dear, an humble mind
'Tis beautiful to see,
And you shall never hear a word
To check that mind from me:
But ah! remember, pride may dwell
Beneath the woodbine's shade;
And discontent, a sullen guest,
The cottage hearth invade.
CAROLINE.
I will be gay and courtly,
And dance away the hours,
Music, and sport, and joy shall dwell
Beneath my fairy bowers;
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Within my laughing hall,
But the note of love and gladness
Re-echo to my call.
MOTHER.
Oh! children! sad it makes my soul
To hear your playful strain;
I cannot bear to chill your youth
With images of pain.
Yet humbly take what God bestows,
And, like his own fair flowers,
Look up in sunshine with a smile,
And gently bend in showers.
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CHOICE OF PAINTINGS.
WILLIAM.I choose the racked Ixion,
With his fierce and burning pain;
I love to see the pencil's touch
Such awful mastery gain.
LADY.
Yet let the thrilling punishment,
Its moral truth inspire,
And keep your spirit pure, my son,
Untouched by base desire.
LITTLE ELIZA.
I'll take the watermelon,
With seeds so black and nice,
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All round, a famous slice.
But oh! 'tis but a picture,
And on a summer's day,
If they would not let me eat it,
I would wish it far away.
HENRY.
Give me the brave Napoleon,
With his war steed thundering by,
Where the snowy Alps majestical,
Look upward to the sky.
LADY.
Oh! boy, that conqueror leaped o'er hearts,
With reckless cravings too,
While his own was cold and tempest stirred,
As the mountain scene you view.
LITTLE JOHN.
I choose the views of Lilliput,
Where the tiny people play,
Looking with great astonishment,
At birds more large than they;
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Attempt an egg to roll;
And some are diving, quite alarmed,
Within a little bowl.
GEORGE.
Oh! give me Ariadne,
With her soft and dewy eye,
Her lip of glowing coral,
And her forehead fair and high.
I feel th' Ægean breezes,
As they fan her braided hair,
And cool her chastened beauties,
Nor leave a dark tinge there.
MARIA.
I love the finished manliness,
That dwells on Bacchus' brow—
Where Earth and Inspiration,
Seem boldly mingling now.
The sunny hue of India
Glows burning on his cheek,
And lights those lips so eloquent,
That ask not words to speak.
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Yes! o'er the form that Guido limn'd
Our eyes enraptured stray,
And thrill with sudden joyousness,
As if 'twere new to-day.
Fine chain of soul-formed sympathy,
Electrical and strong,
Which, touch'd with by-gone intellect,
Through time is borne along!
Our eyes enraptured stray,
And thrill with sudden joyousness,
As if 'twere new to-day.
Fine chain of soul-formed sympathy,
Electrical and strong,
Which, touch'd with by-gone intellect,
Through time is borne along!
I bless you, bright creations
Of Painting's magic art,
Where classic dreams of poesy
In local beauty start!
Ye raise our cramped and earth-bound souls
To His creative power,
Whose sacred touch, omnipotent,
Gives genius its high power.
Of Painting's magic art,
Where classic dreams of poesy
In local beauty start!
Ye raise our cramped and earth-bound souls
To His creative power,
Whose sacred touch, omnipotent,
Gives genius its high power.
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“OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.”
Oh! why should children fear,
When sickness dims the eye,
To lie down in the grave,
And innocently die;
Since Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as they shall enter Heaven?
When sickness dims the eye,
To lie down in the grave,
And innocently die;
Since Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as they shall enter Heaven?
Then weep not, parents dear,
Because we go above,
We leave you here below,
To seek a tenderer love;
For Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as we shall enter Heaven.
Because we go above,
We leave you here below,
To seek a tenderer love;
For Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as we shall enter Heaven.
Sigh not o'er our pale brows,
Where death has set his seal;
Nor shrink at those chill hands,
That have not power to feel,
For Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as we shall enter Heaven.
Where death has set his seal;
Nor shrink at those chill hands,
That have not power to feel,
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That such as we shall enter Heaven.
Muse often on our graves,
But not in stern despair;
Celestial thoughts will spring
And teach kind lessons there;
And ask, if Christ his word has given
That parted friends shall enter Heaven.
But not in stern despair;
Celestial thoughts will spring
And teach kind lessons there;
And ask, if Christ his word has given
That parted friends shall enter Heaven.
Let our young playmates come,
And view the grassy mound,
And plant their early flowers
As if 'twere happy grounp;
For Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as they shall enter Heaven.
And view the grassy mound,
And plant their early flowers
As if 'twere happy grounp;
For Jesus Christ his word has given,
That such as they shall enter Heaven.
Let old men wander here,
And with a natural sigh,
Think why we've reached our home
When they are lingering by;
And ask if Christ his word has given,
That their grey hairs shall enter Heaven.
And with a natural sigh,
Think why we've reached our home
When they are lingering by;
And ask if Christ his word has given,
That their grey hairs shall enter Heaven.
And let the worldly come,
Pause on their busy way,
And while a transient tear,
Rolls o'er our lifeless clay,
Ask their own hearts, if Christ has given
His word, that they shall enter Heaven.
Pause on their busy way,
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Rolls o'er our lifeless clay,
Ask their own hearts, if Christ has given
His word, that they shall enter Heaven.
Let sinners come alone,
And bow down o'er our dust,
And crush each wicked thought,
And seek a better trust;
For Christ to them no hope has given
Except repentant, to his Heaven.
And bow down o'er our dust,
And crush each wicked thought,
And seek a better trust;
For Christ to them no hope has given
Except repentant, to his Heaven.
We pray that all may come
This solemn truth to see,
If dust to dust, then soul to soul
Must be the great decree.
Where can so bless'd a spot be given
To learn of God, and think of Heaven?
This solemn truth to see,
If dust to dust, then soul to soul
Must be the great decree.
Where can so bless'd a spot be given
To learn of God, and think of Heaven?
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HOMESICKNESS.
The morning sun shines brightly,
But it shineth not for me;
The breeze is blowing lightly,
But my spirit is not free.
But it shineth not for me;
The breeze is blowing lightly,
But my spirit is not free.
There's many a hand to meet me,
But mine is sadly given;
I thank the friends who greet me,
But my heart is chilled and riven.
But mine is sadly given;
I thank the friends who greet me,
But my heart is chilled and riven.
My former home was lowly,
And this is rich and rare,
But to me 'tis melancholy,
And that was bright and fair.
And this is rich and rare,
But to me 'tis melancholy,
And that was bright and fair.
I know here is much smiling,
And graceful, easy mirth,
And ways of kind beguiling,
And words of gentle birth;
And graceful, easy mirth,
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And words of gentle birth;
And I try to check my sadness,
And look as bright as they,
And call a fitful gladness
To wile the long, long day.
And look as bright as they,
And call a fitful gladness
To wile the long, long day.
I sometimes think 'twould cheer me
To taste one little draught
Of the streamlet that ran near me,
Which in infancy I quaffed.
To taste one little draught
Of the streamlet that ran near me,
Which in infancy I quaffed.
If I could but see my mother,
And press her cheek to mine,
Or take my darling brother,
His flaxen hair to twine.
And press her cheek to mine,
Or take my darling brother,
His flaxen hair to twine.
If e'en my loving dog were here
To eat from out my hand,
I think I should not shed a tear
Amid this stranger band.
To eat from out my hand,
I think I should not shed a tear
Amid this stranger band.
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YOUTH.
I saw a streamlet flow,
With sparkles bright and free,
Still dancing to and fro,
To meet the rolling sea.
With sparkles bright and free,
Still dancing to and fro,
To meet the rolling sea.
It heeded not the rock,
Whose shadow frown'd about;
It heeded not the shock,
Of gnarl'd roots spreading out.
Whose shadow frown'd about;
It heeded not the shock,
Of gnarl'd roots spreading out.
And when a careless hand,
Disturb'd its sparkling breast,
And loos'd its wavy band,
It dimpled into rest.
Disturb'd its sparkling breast,
And loos'd its wavy band,
It dimpled into rest.
On, on the streamlet went,
Beneath the burning noon;
On, onward in content,
Beneath the midnight moon.
Beneath the burning noon;
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Beneath the midnight moon.
And thus in gay delight,
Does youth in beauty play,
Through visions of the night,
And pastimes of the day.
Does youth in beauty play,
Through visions of the night,
And pastimes of the day.
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EVENING HYMN.
'Tis evening, and the skies
With starry lights are spread;
How very fair the moonbeams rise,
And silver radiance shed.
With starry lights are spread;
How very fair the moonbeams rise,
And silver radiance shed.
I will retire to rest,
'Neath Heaven's o'er-arching sky,
And feel my nightly visions blest,
For God is watching by.
'Neath Heaven's o'er-arching sky,
And feel my nightly visions blest,
For God is watching by.
And if the wing of death
Should sweep o'er my repose,
Resign'd, I'll yield to Him my breath,
And rise as Jesus rose.
Should sweep o'er my repose,
Resign'd, I'll yield to Him my breath,
And rise as Jesus rose.
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