Melodies, duets, trios, songs, and ballads, pastoral, amatory, sentimental, patriotic, religious, and miscellaneous Together with metrical epistles, tales and recitations |
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 | POEMS.
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 | Melodies, duets, trios, songs, and ballads, pastoral, amatory, sentimental, patriotic, religious, and miscellaneous |  |
217
POEMS.
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
220
OUR NATIVE LAND.
In this vast rising empire of the west,With freedom, science, fame, and plenty blest,
Where earthly comforts in profusion flow,
Each virtuous bosom must with rapture glow;
For here, where Liberty her fane has built,
No grief is found, but in the path of guilt;
No pains, nor fears, the good man's heart annoy,
No tears are shed but those of sympathy or joy.
226
[The cross is rear'd, the Turkish cresent wanes]
The cross is rear'd, the Turkish cresent wanes,Grecia no more shall wear a despot's chains.
228
TO AMY.
What if the awful mandate should be given,
By Him who spoke creation into birth,
To blot for ever from the map of heaven,
The polar star—would this enamoured earth
Still pay its adoration to the spot
Where once it twinkled? Banish such a thought—
Believe me, dearest Amy, it would not.
By Him who spoke creation into birth,
To blot for ever from the map of heaven,
The polar star—would this enamoured earth
Still pay its adoration to the spot
Where once it twinkled? Banish such a thought—
Believe me, dearest Amy, it would not.
229
And would the widowed needle still present
Its polished point, to where that planet shone?
Would all its mystic powers be idly spent,
Its homage paid to vacancy alone,
While Love's warm star was beaming in the west?
O no—its influence soon would be confest,
And, till it pointed there, the trembler would not rest.
Its polished point, to where that planet shone?
Would all its mystic powers be idly spent,
Its homage paid to vacancy alone,
While Love's warm star was beaming in the west?
O no—its influence soon would be confest,
And, till it pointed there, the trembler would not rest.
Such is the heart—its favourite star is gone,
And is it doomed to tremble without rest?
O, must such matchless beauty waste alone,
Designed by heaven to make a lover blest?
O, no, dear girl! defeat not heaven's design,
Reward my love, O, say thou wilt be mine,
Or give me leave to hope, and I will not repine.
And is it doomed to tremble without rest?
O, must such matchless beauty waste alone,
Designed by heaven to make a lover blest?
O, no, dear girl! defeat not heaven's design,
Reward my love, O, say thou wilt be mine,
Or give me leave to hope, and I will not repine.
240
REJECTED ADDRESS.
When simple nature first devised the plan,
And gave the chart of life to erring man,
With tearful eye, dejected Pity traced
His cheerless path across the sterile waste,
Nor found, amid the wilderness of woes
A single spot for shelter or repose.
There roved the form and image of her God,
Wild as the dreary trackless realms he trod;
Savage and rude, uncultured, unrefined,
By turns the prey and butcher of his kind.
She saw, and sighed, in agony of soul,
And prayed that Mercy would revise the scroll.
And gave the chart of life to erring man,
With tearful eye, dejected Pity traced
His cheerless path across the sterile waste,
Nor found, amid the wilderness of woes
A single spot for shelter or repose.
There roved the form and image of her God,
Wild as the dreary trackless realms he trod;
Savage and rude, uncultured, unrefined,
By turns the prey and butcher of his kind.
She saw, and sighed, in agony of soul,
And prayed that Mercy would revise the scroll.
With magic pencil, dipt in hues of light,
Art touched the map, and all the scene was bright
A thousand islets, crown'd with sylvan bowers,
The freshest verdure, and the sweetest flowers,
With gushing fountains, pure meandering rills,
Delightful valleys, and majestic hills,
Refresh'd with dews—by fragrant zephyrs fann'd,
Seem'd scatter'd o'er that shoreless sea of sand;
The goddess saw—dismiss'd her false alarms,
And own'd that life was not without its charms.
Art touched the map, and all the scene was bright
A thousand islets, crown'd with sylvan bowers,
The freshest verdure, and the sweetest flowers,
With gushing fountains, pure meandering rills,
Delightful valleys, and majestic hills,
Refresh'd with dews—by fragrant zephyrs fann'd,
Seem'd scatter'd o'er that shoreless sea of sand;
The goddess saw—dismiss'd her false alarms,
And own'd that life was not without its charms.
Among those charms, designed by polish'd art
To warm the fancy, and improve the heart,
The Drama opes its bright enchanting scenes,
Its object use—amusement but the means;
For though the muse resort to fiction's aid,
Fiction is here but truth in masquerade;
And thousands, who her grave entreaties shun,
Are, by her borrowed smiles, allured and won.
To warm the fancy, and improve the heart,
241
Its object use—amusement but the means;
For though the muse resort to fiction's aid,
Fiction is here but truth in masquerade;
And thousands, who her grave entreaties shun,
Are, by her borrowed smiles, allured and won.
She shows what ills beset our devious way,
When reason yields to passion's lawless sway,
And what inspiring hopes his steps attend,
Who clings to Virtue as his guide and friend;
What glory crowns the hero and the sage,
Whose present labours bless a future age;
And what celestial ecstacies reward
Each act that conscience, truth, and Heav'n applaud.
Where'er is felt the drama's genial sway,
The mists of vice and ignorance melt away,
Refinement follows, and her empire grows
Till moral deserts blossom like the rose.
When reason yields to passion's lawless sway,
And what inspiring hopes his steps attend,
Who clings to Virtue as his guide and friend;
What glory crowns the hero and the sage,
Whose present labours bless a future age;
And what celestial ecstacies reward
Each act that conscience, truth, and Heav'n applaud.
Where'er is felt the drama's genial sway,
The mists of vice and ignorance melt away,
Refinement follows, and her empire grows
Till moral deserts blossom like the rose.
Thus has her power this growing city blest,
The pride, the boast, the mistress of the west;
Where genius, science, arts, and taste abound,
And every sweet embellishment is found;
And where the drama sees her cause extend,
Till virtue hails her as her warmest friend;
While bigot Prejudice, with scowl austere,
Views her new temple proudly towering here;
A fane, which we to-night, with rituals due,
Would consecrate to genius and to you.
Accept the offering—let this splendid pile,
Illumed by beauty's soul-inspiring smile,
Become the school of morals, wit, and taste,
By art embellished, and by fashion graced;
'Tis done, if you but deign to aid the cause,
Success is certain, blest with your applause.
The pride, the boast, the mistress of the west;
Where genius, science, arts, and taste abound,
And every sweet embellishment is found;
And where the drama sees her cause extend,
Till virtue hails her as her warmest friend;
While bigot Prejudice, with scowl austere,
Views her new temple proudly towering here;
A fane, which we to-night, with rituals due,
Would consecrate to genius and to you.
242
Illumed by beauty's soul-inspiring smile,
Become the school of morals, wit, and taste,
By art embellished, and by fashion graced;
'Tis done, if you but deign to aid the cause,
Success is certain, blest with your applause.
244
[That minstrel wakes the song in vain]
That minstrel wakes the song in vain,Who weaves no moral with his strain;
And he who flatters vice for pelf,
Deserves its penalty himself.
247
AN ADDRESS,
Intended to have been spoken at the Park Theatre, for the Benefit of the Widow and Orphans of HOPKINS ROBERTSON.
Patrons of worth—whose presence oft has graced
The mental banquet here prepared for taste;
But whose compassion led you here to-night,
To make affliction's burthen sit more light—
Deign to accept—'tis virtue's sweetest food,
The widow's thanks—the orphan's gratitude.
The mental banquet here prepared for taste;
But whose compassion led you here to-night,
To make affliction's burthen sit more light—
Deign to accept—'tis virtue's sweetest food,
The widow's thanks—the orphan's gratitude.
No visage, wet with artificial tears,
No bosom, shook with counterfeited fears—
No feign'd affliction—no fictitious grief,
Now claim, from sympathizing hearts, relief.
The tears, now shed, from real fountains spring,—
The purest tribute gratitude can bring;
The sighs now breathed, to Mercy's footstool bear,
For you—and you—the widow's grateful prayer,
The sweetest incense that to heaven ascends,
To call down blessings on the orphan's friends.
And the reward is yours—for sure, to-night,
The happiest dreams will on your slumbers light:
Fancy will paint a family of grief
Receiving, from your generous hands, relief;
And smiles shall greet you, from the humid eye
Which your benevolence alone could dry.
No bosom, shook with counterfeited fears—
No feign'd affliction—no fictitious grief,
Now claim, from sympathizing hearts, relief.
The tears, now shed, from real fountains spring,—
The purest tribute gratitude can bring;
The sighs now breathed, to Mercy's footstool bear,
For you—and you—the widow's grateful prayer,
The sweetest incense that to heaven ascends,
To call down blessings on the orphan's friends.
And the reward is yours—for sure, to-night,
The happiest dreams will on your slumbers light:
Fancy will paint a family of grief
Receiving, from your generous hands, relief;
And smiles shall greet you, from the humid eye
Which your benevolence alone could dry.
248
But yet—so well I know each generous heart,—
You think this but a debt, discharged in part—
A payment, to the offspring and the wife
Of one who served you faithfully thro' life;
Whose talents, labours, time—were all combined
To please the fancy and improve the mind.
You think this but a debt, discharged in part—
A payment, to the offspring and the wife
Of one who served you faithfully thro' life;
Whose talents, labours, time—were all combined
To please the fancy and improve the mind.
Whether as monarch of these mimic realms,
Or peasant, 'mid our canvas oaks and elms,—
The hoary veteran, or the beardless lad—
The lover happy—or, the tyrant mad!—
In every character—or gay or grave—
You can attest the pleasure that he gave.
On life's great stage, he also play'd his part,
Cheered by the plaudits of an honest heart;
As husband, father, friend—his business ran—
The citizen—the patriot—the man!
In all, he acted well—yet, 'tis confess'd,
One scene eclipsed in splendour all the rest:
When hapless Richmond, on one funeral pyre,
Saw beauty, talents, worth, and wealth, expire—
When death abrupt on pleasure's precincts broke,
And held his carnival 'mid flames and smoke;
When shrieks of madness and despair, combined
To freeze the blood, and agonize the mind—
He stood undaunted, 'mid the unequal strife,
Encountering death, to save another's life!
Tho' blazing ruin revels o'er his head,
Pouring a tempest on the quick and dead—
Tho' thousand forked tongues of flame demand
Their rescued victims from his daring hand—
He still remains, the dreadful scene to brave,
Till hope expires, and fate forbids to save!
This to his fame the brightest ray has given,
And called down blessings from approving heaven.
Or peasant, 'mid our canvas oaks and elms,—
The hoary veteran, or the beardless lad—
The lover happy—or, the tyrant mad!—
In every character—or gay or grave—
You can attest the pleasure that he gave.
On life's great stage, he also play'd his part,
Cheered by the plaudits of an honest heart;
As husband, father, friend—his business ran—
The citizen—the patriot—the man!
In all, he acted well—yet, 'tis confess'd,
One scene eclipsed in splendour all the rest:
When hapless Richmond, on one funeral pyre,
Saw beauty, talents, worth, and wealth, expire—
When death abrupt on pleasure's precincts broke,
And held his carnival 'mid flames and smoke;
When shrieks of madness and despair, combined
To freeze the blood, and agonize the mind—
He stood undaunted, 'mid the unequal strife,
Encountering death, to save another's life!
Tho' blazing ruin revels o'er his head,
Pouring a tempest on the quick and dead—
249
Their rescued victims from his daring hand—
He still remains, the dreadful scene to brave,
Till hope expires, and fate forbids to save!
This to his fame the brightest ray has given,
And called down blessings from approving heaven.
But ah! the worth which you have all admired,
With humbler virtues—tenderer, more retired—
Could not avail from early death to save
Him who had rescued other's from the grave.
His part is o'er—the manly form, which trod
These boards so oft, now sleeps beneath the sod;
But the immortal mind, which never dies,
To scenes more bright and permanent must rise;
There enter on eternity's vast stage,
And act an angel's part, an endless age.
With humbler virtues—tenderer, more retired—
Could not avail from early death to save
Him who had rescued other's from the grave.
His part is o'er—the manly form, which trod
These boards so oft, now sleeps beneath the sod;
But the immortal mind, which never dies,
To scenes more bright and permanent must rise;
There enter on eternity's vast stage,
And act an angel's part, an endless age.
Your generous bounty cannot reach him there—
But ah! he's left dear pledges to your care,
Whose fate may e'en affect his bliss in heaven,
As your protection is withheld or given.
O then continue—as you do to-night,
“To make affliction's burthen sit more light;”
Protect the hapless orphan—shield the form
Of widowed love, from misery's “pitiless storm;”
So will you hear angelic lips applaud,
And find the act itself a rich reward!
But ah! he's left dear pledges to your care,
Whose fate may e'en affect his bliss in heaven,
As your protection is withheld or given.
O then continue—as you do to-night,
“To make affliction's burthen sit more light;”
Protect the hapless orphan—shield the form
Of widowed love, from misery's “pitiless storm;”
So will you hear angelic lips applaud,
And find the act itself a rich reward!
250
EPILOGUE,
To the Native Drama of “Narrah Mattah.” Spoken by Mrs. Sharpe, in the character of Narrah Mattah.
The curtain's down—and while they're all behindDoffing their pilgrim dresses—I've a mind
At the gay modern world to have one peep,
And just say “how d'ye do?” before I sleep.
(Looks round the boxes.)
But how is this?—am I to understand
That these are the descendants of that band
Of pious plain-clad pilgrims, who came o'er
To seek for freedom on this western shore?
Why—where's the plain mob cap? the russet gown?
The puritanic coat? the close-cropt crown?
Where's all that neat simplicity of dress
Which marked the puritans? Egad! I guess
I wan't alone—more of them must have wed
With native chiefs, and mingled white and red;
Else why this taste for feathers, beads, and shells,
In their descendants? Why do modern belles
Paint their sweet faces, and from either ear
Suspend those sparkling trinkets? And then here,
(touching her own arm.)
251
In those huge silken bags that hide their arms.
O there's red blood in some of your blue veins,
And so there is in yours, ye dapper swains,
Or what's the meaning of those dandy chains
Extending from your bosoms to your pockets?
I wonder if you modern beaux wear lockets!
Nay, hope not to escape me—you will fail,
(laughing
These treacherous square-toes, I shall know your trail.
(Looks at the second tier.)
I see you there, but I won't tell your name,
He with the whiskers—yes—that's he—the same;
A mighty chief of some great tribe, no doubt,
You need not tell me—I shall make it out:
Yes, yes—I see—it plainly now appears,
Those artificial whiskers hide long ears!
But he with that blue blanket on one shoulder,
And feathered lip, must be a chief still bolder;
Perhaps a sachem, sagamore, or scribe,
O, I perceive, he's of the cockney tribe.
(Looks at the third tier.)
And feathered lip, must be a chief still bolder;
Perhaps a sachem, sagamore, or scribe,
O, I perceive, he's of the cockney tribe.
But what is that thing?—yonder—up above?
He with the eye-glass? There! he's dropt his glove;
What tribe claims him—or it—that taper shape?
I've strong suspicions it must be the ape!
He with the eye-glass? There! he's dropt his glove;
What tribe claims him—or it—that taper shape?
I've strong suspicions it must be the ape!
252
For I've a word with you before I go.
Yes, do smile! In mercy don't look grave,
For 'tis your tribe must either damn or save
The little bantling just gone off the stage.
Forget its faults, but not its tender age.
What if it be a little rude and wild,
Remember that a parent loves his child:
And I'll be sworn he's somewhere here to-night,
With feelings none can know but they who write.
So be good-natured, now, ye critic tribe;
Nay, do not frown—can I not name some bribe?
Yes, here it goes—don't let the new play fall,
And Narrah Mattah vows to kiss you all.
[Great applause.
'Tis safe!—'tis safe!—your generous hands decide it.
There—take a kiss among you, and divide it.
[Kisses her hand, and exit.
262
TO CAPT. J. B. AND LADY,
ON THE DEATH OF THEIR THIRD AND LAST REMAINING CHILD.
“Insatiate archer! could not one suffice!
Thy shaft flew THRICE, and thrice my peace was slain!”
Young.
Thy shaft flew THRICE, and thrice my peace was slain!”
Young.
Weep on, bereaved ones—there's no sin in tears,
When nature's tenderest ties by death are broken,
For He who pities while he chastens, hears
The sigh of sorrow, as submission's token;
And He remembers, too, when Lazarus slept,
His own divine compassion—“Jesus wept!”
When nature's tenderest ties by death are broken,
For He who pities while he chastens, hears
The sigh of sorrow, as submission's token;
And He remembers, too, when Lazarus slept,
His own divine compassion—“Jesus wept!”
Weep on—but mourn not with a hopeless sorrow,
Raise your moist eyes to scenes beyond the grave,
And own that He, from whom each bliss we borrow,
Takes back in mercy, what his mercy gave:
He takes them home—'tis love's, not fate's, decree,
That where our treasures are, our hearts may be.
Raise your moist eyes to scenes beyond the grave,
And own that He, from whom each bliss we borrow,
Takes back in mercy, what his mercy gave:
He takes them home—'tis love's, not fate's, decree,
That where our treasures are, our hearts may be.
Weep on, bereaved ones—'twas for this your God
Severed the ties that kept your hearts below;
Thwart not his purpose, but revere the rod,
And meekly kiss the hand that gave the blow:
The keenest pangs are all in mercy given—
Humility's the only path to heaven.
Severed the ties that kept your hearts below;
Thwart not his purpose, but revere the rod,
And meekly kiss the hand that gave the blow:
The keenest pangs are all in mercy given—
Humility's the only path to heaven.
Weep on—but waste not one delicious tear
On the cold surface of their earthy bed;
Your babes are risen—nought but dust is here,
Why seek the living, then, among the dead?
Their souls have risen, from the mouldering tomb,
To scenes of bliss, where joys eternal bloom.
On the cold surface of their earthy bed;
Your babes are risen—nought but dust is here,
Why seek the living, then, among the dead?
Their souls have risen, from the mouldering tomb,
To scenes of bliss, where joys eternal bloom.
263
Weep on—but, like a sunbeam in a shower,
Let this bright truth—a ray of light from heaven,
Shine through the gloom of sorrow's darkest hour,
The smile of peace—the hope of sins forgiven:
The sweet assurance, that the ties of love,
Can ne'er be severed in the realms above.
Let this bright truth—a ray of light from heaven,
Shine through the gloom of sorrow's darkest hour,
The smile of peace—the hope of sins forgiven:
The sweet assurance, that the ties of love,
Can ne'er be severed in the realms above.
264
EPITAPH.
O that the icy touch of death should blight,Just in the bloom of youth, a form so bright;
When smiling hope illumed a cultured mind,
Rich in endowments of the fairest kind!
By all respected, by the good approved,
By kindred hearts, how tenderly beloved!
Yet, cease to mourn—for virtue cannot die—
The youth still lives in realms beyond the sky.
267
MASONIC ODE.
When the great Architect of heaven and earth,
Spoke this magnific system into birth,
And bade its numerous orbs in order roll,
To perfect wide creation's wondrous plan,
He breathed his own pure spirit into man,
And man became a living soul;
Lord of the fair elysian fields he trod,
An image and a likeness of his God;
Designed, by wisdom infinite, to be
A living temple of the Deity;
An earthly palace, where would deign to dwell
A guest divine, of name ineffable!
Spoke this magnific system into birth,
And bade its numerous orbs in order roll,
To perfect wide creation's wondrous plan,
He breathed his own pure spirit into man,
And man became a living soul;
Lord of the fair elysian fields he trod,
An image and a likeness of his God;
Designed, by wisdom infinite, to be
A living temple of the Deity;
An earthly palace, where would deign to dwell
A guest divine, of name ineffable!
But, love of self, a wily serpent, stole
Into the sacred precincts of the soul,
And tempted man to taste and eat
The specious, fair, forbidden fruit of pride,
Which heavenly love in mercy had denied;
By which offence,
He lost the Eden of his innocence,
And fled, an exile, from the blissful seat.
The hallowed mental temple thus became
A mass of shapeless ruins, where
Eternal Truth no more inscribed His name,
A den of thieves, and not a house of prayer.
Into the sacred precincts of the soul,
And tempted man to taste and eat
The specious, fair, forbidden fruit of pride,
Which heavenly love in mercy had denied;
By which offence,
He lost the Eden of his innocence,
And fled, an exile, from the blissful seat.
The hallowed mental temple thus became
A mass of shapeless ruins, where
Eternal Truth no more inscribed His name,
A den of thieves, and not a house of prayer.
'Twas to rebuild this miniature of heaven,
This temple of Jehovah in the mind,
That the eternal three-fold Word was given,
And our symbolic mystic ART design'd.
For this, confiding Faith, and smiling Hope,
With sweet celestial Charity, appear'd;
Wisdom, and Strength, and Beauty, join'd the group,
And each a column of the fabric rear'd;
Surmounted by the royal-arch above,
Join'd by the key-stone of celestial love.
The work completed, on this heavenly plan,
His tabernacle is again with man.
This temple of Jehovah in the mind,
That the eternal three-fold Word was given,
And our symbolic mystic ART design'd.
268
With sweet celestial Charity, appear'd;
Wisdom, and Strength, and Beauty, join'd the group,
And each a column of the fabric rear'd;
Surmounted by the royal-arch above,
Join'd by the key-stone of celestial love.
The work completed, on this heavenly plan,
His tabernacle is again with man.
As an auxiliar in this glorious cause,
Our fellow-craft have reared this gothc pile,
Sacred to pure Benevolence, whose laws
Of mutual kindness light a blissful smile
In sorrow's dewy eye.
This splendid dome
Shall never echo an unheeded sigh,
For Charity, descending from the sky,
Claims the proud fabric as her future home,
Her earthly temple, where her blazing shrine
Glows with a light that never shall decline,
Till thousands yet unborn, admiring see
And own the peerless worth of Masonry.
Our fellow-craft have reared this gothc pile,
Sacred to pure Benevolence, whose laws
Of mutual kindness light a blissful smile
In sorrow's dewy eye.
This splendid dome
Shall never echo an unheeded sigh,
For Charity, descending from the sky,
Claims the proud fabric as her future home,
Her earthly temple, where her blazing shrine
Glows with a light that never shall decline,
Till thousands yet unborn, admiring see
And own the peerless worth of Masonry.
EPITAPH.
He is not here, but risen—wherefore shedAffliction's tear, or seek among the dead
For one that lives, and claims immortal youth,
With all the bliss that flows from love and truth?
Grieve not for dust—nor let one sigh alloy
A new-made angel's ecstasy of joy.
| Melodies, duets, trios, songs, and ballads, pastoral, amatory, sentimental, patriotic, religious, and miscellaneous | |