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TO FRANCIS
How many times the moon had
filled her horn,
How many times they plucked
the golden corn,
How many fruitless
centuries had fled
Unnoticed o'er the heedless
Red man's head,
How long the sullen,
crumbling, craggy, steep,
Had watched and nodded to
the flowing deep,
Ere western waters knew a
white man's prow,
Or dusky savage did to
white man bow:
No lore, or sage tradition,
did betray,
No record, date, or
chronicle had they.
While they could whoop, and
dance, and fight, and chase,
Time was no object to the
forest race:
From month to year, from
year to century,
No change was wrought, no
change they wished to see.
As Nature placed, so
Europeans found them,
With all they could
appreciate around them.
Above, around, for nature
far less rough,
Was beauty and sublimity
enough,
Without man's aid to
polish, and impart
Fresh beauties by the touch
of magic art.
The gorgeous sun burning in
heaven's blue arch,
The moon, and stars, upon
their
The flying cloud, the
rainbow's lovely hues,
And holy twilight, with its
pearly dews;
The painted wing of bird
and butterfly,
And flowers of every shade,
and every dye;
And woman's voice, and
woman's smile was there,
(With which no sound, or
object can compare;)
She fearless roamed, the
Empress of the woods!
Nymph of the ocean, rivers,
lakes, and floods!
The Indians' lands were
broad, their wants were few,
And straight from Nature's
bounteous stores they drew.
Disease was rare, and when
it did disturb,
'Twas soon removed by well
appointed herb:
They had no rum, or mineral
drug, or pill,
No liquor shops, or doctors
there to kill!
For silks, and
broad-cloths, they did never fret,
Or' sigh o'er
yellow-covered novelette;
No lawyers there, were
taking cash for lies,
And pulling wool all neatly
o'er their eyes;
They had no long black
catalogues of crimes
Peculiar to the whites of
other times.
By day they hunted, fished,
and lounged, and roamed,
Free as the streams that
down their mountains foamed;
At night, the husbands to
their wigwams came,
To cheer their squaws and
papoose with their game;
And youths strayed forth in
solitary shades,
To meet their favorite,
black-haired, dark-eyed, maids;
Or piled the wood for the
night council fires,
And listened to their
patriarchs and sires,
On peace, or war, or deeds
of glory dwell,
Till nerves grew strong,
and firy breasts did swell;
For well those Nature’s
statesmen, sage and hoary,
Knew how to move by floods
of oratory.
These were the Red man's
sunny, palmy days,
A volume might be written
in their praise;
How bold they fought, how
independent stood,
No rich, no poor, all
rovers of the wood:
Each arm was strong, every
heart was brave;
No Tyrant's foot to crush,
no suppliant slave:
And arbitrary fashion's
mighty sway
Into their woods had never
found its way.
But Progress had design'd
they should give place,
Unto a fairer and a nobler
race;
As wild fruits, and wild
flowers, all o'er creation,
Give place to those of
highest cultivation.
Thus fate denied their
golden hours should last,
A cloud was gathering
eastward thick and fast;
Their
Sublime as poets make an
ancient god!
Or King commanding with a
silent nod!
He, in the Majesty of
genius, stood,
Pointing toward th'
Telling astonished
Another continent beyond
the sea!
While millions laughed, Sages
and Monarchs smiled,
And thought his speculation
sounded wild.
The royal aid he asked was
long denied;
Meanwhile in dreams, he,
new-found lands espied,
Which their surpassing
riches did unfold,
Where crystal streamlets
ran o'er beds of gold;
Where precious stones, as
thick as pebbles lay,
And diamonds shot afar
their dazzling ray:
Whose natives gentle were,
whose women fair,
Whose skies were bright and
perfnmed was the air;
And smiling maids rich
fruits to him did bring,
And singing birds made
every valley ring.
Then in his dream returned
and told his story,
And covered was with honor
and with glory!
Thus was he urged to fresh
appeals, until
He did succeed, as genius
ever will.
Alas! that great man saw
not in his sleep,
(For if he had, he ne'er
had crossed the deep;)
The timid natives,
butchered for their gold;
And human beings, bought
like swine, and sold!
That good man never deemed
his virgin soil
Would need such blood, or
unrequited toil!
His ships have anchored on
the western sea,
And, unsuspecting Red man,
where is he?
He's on his way toward the
Pacific's wave:
His funeral march is toward
his nation's grave!
Is it not true that Nature
did deplore,
When the first bark drew
near
That she his future did
anticipate,
And sympathized with the
poor Indian's fate?
That the veil'd sun went
mourning to his bed,
And pensive sky wept
tear-drops from o'er head;
Black clouds did hurry by
with winged speed,
Like warriors hastening to
some fearful deed:
The moon did hide her pale
and sorrowing face,
And not a star gleamed
through the vaulted space;
The mountains did more dark and solemn grow,
And seemed to frown on vale
and plain below!
No sound of mirth, no
evening note was heard,
From wigwam door, or
solitary bird:
The forest bent in awe
before the gale,
And Nature sent a
melancholy wail;
Rivers and streams, did on
in sadness glide,
O'erhanging cliffs
re-echo'd the hoarse tide;
And on the deep in anger
looked, and scowled,
(While ghost-like winds
throughout their caverns howled)!
And raised their hoary
heads to challenge and defy,
The thunderbolt that rent
the blackened sky!
BUSINESS AND RETIREMENT
Farewell thou dusty, busy,
crowded street,
With hateful, jarring,
sounds and sultry heat;
Where perfumed breeze, in
summer never plays,
And winter's sun scarce
sheds its slanting rays;
Where piles of granite,
bricks and mortar rise,
And block the view where'er
we turn our eyes;
Adieu, ye marts, ye
solitary places,
With rolling tide of dumb,
cold, human faces:
Relief comes only when fair
eyes impart,
In cheerful glances,
sunshine on the heart.
Farewell! a glad farewell
to business life!
To cankering cares,
anxieties and strife!
To dull, prosaic bargaining
and driving,
For ever sweating,
hurrying, or contriving:
The thousand little
irritable things,
The web that business round
its victims flings:
Its shade that hangs
eternally around,
Weight that oft draws the
noblest to the ground!
Who e'er may fettered be by
love of gain,
I'll not be bound, e'en by
a golden chain!
When gold is all the prize,
I scorn the race,
And proudly leave it for
the world to chase.
It ne 'er shall clog the
pinions of my soul;
E'en were I sure to win the
shining goal.
Hail! sheltering woods! to
your embrace I come,
Ye giant evergreens,
sublimely dumb!
Impenetrable bulwark
'gainst each blast,
That harmless o'er my
lovely cot hath past;
Extend your arms and nod me
we welcome home,
While through your shadowy
aisles again I roam.
Hail gushing spring, and
brook, fields, hill, and vale,
With songs of birds, and
gentle fragrant gale;
Ye silver lakes! gay
mirrors, mimic skies,
What magic beauty in your
booom lies!
The moon delighted o'er
your surface sweeps,
And timid star, upon your
water sleeps;
While wood-nymphs hover
round with many a prank,
And view their image from
each mossy bank.
Hail! generous friends and
neighbors! on whose face,
I see a smile, and token of
embrace;
I come again to roam among
your flowers,
I come again to share your
happy hours;
I come with hope, health,
gratitude, and pride,
Joyful to live, and labor
by your side:
With strength of arm, throw
obstacles aside,
Until my lands. and home
are beautified.
Hail! leisure hours! to
wander with the muse,
At eventide, and brush
distilling dews,
From tender blade, and see
the twilight star
Peep mildly out from the
blue arch afar:
To see the gorgeous gold
and orange dye,
That spread sublimely o'er
the western sky!
When blushing sun (not backs
of chimneys) hides,
But down beyond the purple
mountains glides.
To watch the rising moon,
over yon hill,
And listen to the
waterfall, or rill.
Gay, leisure hours! o'er
favorite books to pore,
Or welcome friends, and
neighbors to my door;
I love your careless ease,
bestowing time
To woo the muse, and dash a
hasty rhyme.
Float on gay world, on
life's tumultuous stream!
While I lay on its sunny
bank, and dream.
Roll on ye seasons! there
can never be
Season so cheerless, but
hath charms for me.
Remorseless Time! you, too,
may roll along,
Thou hast no sting, while
we do nothing wrong!
Death! if you come, (while
deeds of virtue shine,)
Ours is the glorious
victory! not thine!
TO
THE NORTHERN DESPOTS
Gloat, ye despots, o'er my
fall!
Shade our vales with
tyrant's pall!
Drench our Country with
your gall!
Gag fair
Banish me beyond the wave,
Make each countryman a
slave,
But beware! their hearts are
brave:
Tyrants you shall see!
By ten thousand brethren
slain!
By their ghosts on battle
plain!
Wishing they could die
again!
In their country's cause:
By each mother's solemn
moan!
Maiden's tear! and widow's
groan!
And our trampled laws.
By our spade and
plowshare's rust!
Wasted fields! and orphan's
crust!
Pride awhile laid in the
dust,
Deadly hates that burn!
Traitors! by your
treachery!
Tyrants! by your tyranny!
Butchers! by your butchery!
You shall lesson learn.
By my head above the sod!
By my country! and my God!
Long in dust by ye!
Victors may awhile be
flushed;
Her proud spirit is not
crushed,
And can never be.
Keep awhile your northern
bounds,
While my country heals her
wounds,
Then pour in your Cossack
hounds!
Slow or unawares:
In impregnable array,
We'll be ready for the day,
And your wicked progress
stay,
By our sword and spears.
Come and bring a
"Persian" host,
We shall have more cause to
boast,
While our joyful song and
toast,
Shall be
Like the rolling billow's
lash!
Or an avalanchine crash!
Through the enemy.
Then ye'lI see your
hirelings flying,
Hear their groans and see
them dying!
Sons of Freedom at them
flying!
Bold and manfully!
Then you will your lesson
find,
Northern bear! and Despot
blind!
Tyrants gold can never
bind,
Those who will be free!
TO
THE AMERICAN SOLDIERS WHO FELL IN THE
MEXICAN
WAR
Far away from their homes
in the land of the free,
Where mothers and maidens
at eventide weep;
'Neath the broad passing
shade of the tropical tree,
Ah! Many a hero in calmness
doth sleep.
Where
And Scott added more to the
bays on his brow;
No foe did they fear, no
odds did they shun,
Whose stout arms by death
are laid motionless now.
In many a vale where their
cannon have thunder'd
And their eagles have
soared upon hill, plain and shore;
Where the enemies' ranks
they scattered and sundered,
They are resting, to muster
to battle no more!
Sigh over them zephyrs!
dews, weep on the grass,
That's waving where brave
hearts are mouldering beneath:
Ye peasants tread light on the
sod as ye pass:
It hides those who bow to
no conqueror but death!
Columbians, your deeds with
delight will be told,
Your bright page of hist'ry
glad eyes oft will greet;
Where Mexicans found
Anglo-Saxons were bold
For your stroke it was
strong as your slumbers are sweet.
SHINE ON MY PATH AGAIN,
STAR
OF MY SOUL
Shine on my path again,
star of my soul!
Bright as the silver rays
from the north pole,
Lovely as moonlight on
night's sleeping waters;
Brightest and dearest of
earth's fairest daughters!
Come with thy harp again!
sweet was its note,
Still round my heart its
soft echoes do float;
Waking me still to love,
rapture and song!
Strike thy gay harp, and
its soft notes prolong.
Come again vision of beauty
to me!
Angel, or fairy, or nymph
of the sea!
Mortal or spirit sent down
from the skies,
Bring again heaven in the
light of thine eyes!
Sweet was our pleasure as
young poet's dream,
Swiftly it passed as the
bark on the stream;
Mem'ry be true, hold this
dear treasure fast,
Bliss then denied me, I'll
dwell on the past!
Shine on my path again,
star of my soul!
Strike thy gay harp, let
its soft echoes roll!
Vision of beauty! oh, come,
I implore!
Come again to me, and leave
me no more.
KATlE FARRE
At
Of thee, my Katie Farre;
Thine eyes were on me
beaming,
Like pensive evening star.
Thy raven hair was flowing,
In ringlets glossy bright;
O'er cheeks with crimson
glowing,
And bosom snowy white.
As thou wert o'er me
bending,
To shelter me from harm;
All loveliness was
blending,
In one united charm.
The miser o'er his
treasure,
His glittering, golden
heap;
An angel for his pleasure,
Watching an infant's sleep;
Is less intent and tender,
Than thou in fancy seemed;
Whils't with thy form so
slender,
Wert watching while I
dreamed!
I strove to get a kiss
love,
But as I raised my head;
1 was denied the bliss
love,
I woke and thou had'st
fled!
O! come again, I pray,
love,
In dreams like beaming
star!
O! come! and longer stay
love!
Angelic Katie Farre!
I found a fair maiden from
As pure as a gem from old
Ocean's rich store:
That maiden was fair as a
fair one could be,
I loved that fair maiden
from over the sea.
Her hair was jet black, her
dark eye flashed fire,
Whenever excited by rapture
or ire;
'Twas an eye that could
scorn, 'twas an eye that could dare;
But languishing love was
seldom seen there.
On her face, smiles and
roses together were blending,
Her song was like music
from seraph descending;
Intelligence on that fair
brow took its seat;
Her motions were graceful,
her form was complete.
Her home and her friends on
her heart were engraven:
They were to her loadstone,
chart, north star and haven:
Like the dove from the
But finding no Olive
branch, sighed to come home.
I woed that fair maiden, but
ah! long in vain,
She longed to recross the
For Love in that heart like
a seraph lay sleeping,
While she for her home and
her kindred was weeping!
At last Love awoke in that
bosom so dear;
And she smiled a consent
through many a tear;
She wept! for the vow that
did bind us may sever,
Her home and her friends
from that fond heart forever.
ON
VISITING A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL NIECE ON
HER
DEATH BED
With soft step, I advanced
to the bedside of one
Who erewhile was all
beauty, and spirit and glee,
And whose laughter rang
out; for all sadness to her,
Was as strange as 'twas to
the blithe bird on the tree.
I gazed upon her, but ah!
she who had hail'd,
With smiles of affection my
approach in time past;
Was now speechless,
insensible, wasted and pale,
And each hour portending
her next would be last!
Stern Death's pioneer, pale
Disease, had made way;
And the monster himself was
approaching with speed:
The esteemed and the fair,
he designed for his prey,
Human aid could not rescue,
Death would not recede!
Lovely flower! too tender
to thrive here below,
At the breath of Disease
thou art falling decayed:
He who planted thee here,
will transplant thee to grow,
Where storms never gather,
and flowers ne'er fade!
Fair maid! when thy last
hour shall come, may death steal
O'er thy senses like
slumber! all thy sorrows be o'er:
Thy spirit will rise, and
earth ope' to conceal
A form sweet and lovely, as
ever she bore!
THE BEREAVED AND FRENZIED MOTHER
I see thee not, my lovely
child,
In field or meadow now;
Where oft thou hast the
time beguil'd,
And happy with thy
playmates smil'd:
Louisa, where art thou?
Nor art thou in the garden
straying,
Where th' rose and lilly
grow;
Nor with thy little sister
playing;
Or in thy secret bower
praying:
Louisa, where art thou?
Hast thou thy home and
mirth forsook,
To sit and watch the flow
Of some deep valley's
crystal brook,
With downcast, melancholy
look?
Louisa, where art thou?
Or art thou on the broad
sea shore,
Watching in sullen woe.
The tumbling, waves? to
leave no more,
(To thee) its welcome,
solemn, roar!
Louisa, where art thou?
Or hast thou climbed some
mountain height,
And, seated on its brow?
Dost view beneath, the
raven's flight,
Or sea, or streamlet's
silvery white?
Louisa, where art thou?
Alas! my thoughts have
sadly strayed,
But I remember now:
Death! death has seized thee,
lovely maid;
In yonder grave-yard thou
art laid!
Louisa, there art thou?
Yes! yonder new-made grave
contains
That once fair form-Her
clay.
For ever free from earthly
stains,
With God and Angels, now
she reigns!
Above in endless day.
AN
ALLEGORY
Lovliest rose that ever
grew!
Of finest odor, brightest
hue;
Until a sweeping blast did
pour,
In an untimely, evil hour,
Such a sweeping, deadly
gust,
As to lay it in the dust.
Yet still a sweet perfume
doth rise,
E'en though my rose in ruin
lies;
Looking through futurity,
Lost! enraptured! lo I see!
Again, by power Divine, my
rose,
New hues, transcendant
fair, disclosed,
Dazzling in light, in
WHEREVER
THOU ART
In cottage, at home, or
afar,
In field, or in deep shady
grove;
By stream, or wherever you
are,
On mount, or wherever you
rove;
The light of thine eyes can
impart
Sweet sunshine, wherever
thou art.
Tho' fogs may obscure the
sun,
Or thunder clouds darken
the sky,
All gloom thy fair presence
doth shun;
There is light in the
glance of thine eye;
Of daylight itself, thou
art part;
For there's sunshine
wherever thou art.
The sun, should it fail to
arise,
Or ever from earth fade
away,
I'd see by the light of
thine eyes,
As plainly as now at
mid-day:
Thou, daylight itself
can'st impart,
For there's sunshine
wherever thou art.
Even winter's bereft of its
chills,
And languor and weariness
flies;
One's life is all shorn of
its ills,
'Neath the light of thy
lustrous eyes:
For bliss thou cans't
always impart,
While 'tis sunshine
wherever thou art.
Thine eyes! may they close
not on me ;
Thou sun! O continue to
shine;