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f ooT-f HITS Of mm 
 
 Mh 1- ^P; M MlM 
 
 'Iff* 
 
 JOHN GOLEHAGEN 
 
 !Bitli SllttstratinnH 
 
 F. A. CHAPMAN. J. CRANCH, AND WM. WALCUTT. 
 
 ENGRAVED ON STEEL, BY J. C, MCRAE. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 CORNISH, LAMPORT & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 No. 8 Park Place. 
 
 1853 
 
.H73 
 
 F.iiftMfd accoriiiiig to Act of Coriffiess in the year 18o-J, by 
 
 JOHN COLK HAUKN, 
 
 In tlie Clerk's Ottice of the District Court of the United States, for tlie 
 
 Soiitlierii District of New York. 
 
 Stereotyped Xy Vincent Dili.. Jr.. 
 No. '29 Beekman Street. N. T. 
 
 V. A. AI.VOKD. I-RINTIR. 
 29 Cold-st.. N. V. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Pack. 
 The Dkmon Picture Gallkry, ...... 5 
 
 The Beautiful, ....... 29 
 
 Soul, 32 
 
 Fanny's No More, ....... 36 
 
 Love and Truth, . . . . . . . .38 
 
 The Mountain Pine, ....... 41 
 
 Song of the Artist, ...... .44 
 
 Emmet's Last Night in Prison, ..... 46 
 
 The Sea of Life, ........ 49 
 
 The Culprit, ........ 51 
 
 The Mountain Rose, . . . . . . .55 
 
 The Spirit of the Age, ...... 57 
 
 Growing Old, ........ 60 
 
 Elegy on a Town Crier, ...... 61 
 
 The Graphic Muse, . . . . . . .64 
 
 All is Action, All is Motion, ..... 69 
 
 Fame, ......... 71 
 
 The Indian Maiden, ....... 72 
 
 The Voice of Nature, . . . . . . .75 
 
 Hidden Treasures, ....... 78 
 
 The Old Pine Tree with Bkanchks Bare, . . . .80 
 
 The Tower of Strength, ...... 82 
 
 To a Butterfly, ........ 84 
 
 Religion, ... ..... 86 
 
 Time, .......... 88 
 
 Nothing Good shall Ever Perish, .... 91 
 
 Prayer of the Lost One, . . . . . .93 
 
 My Newspaper, ........ 97 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Old Cronest, .... ^^^rj 
 
 Who is Humble ? Who is LowLr ? . . . jqo 
 
 The Fatal Prediction, .... ini 
 
 The Yankee Girls, • . . . . ino 
 
 The Genius of Liberty, .... iin 
 
 Twin Graves, .... ^ 
 
 The Point of Doctrine : or. Love and Logic, . .114 
 
 Helen : or, the Forest Queen, 
 
 To the American Muse, .... 
 
 To A Lady on presenting her a bunch of withered flowers. 
 
 Oh No ! They 'ke Not Sleeping, 
 
 Oh Come to My Home in the West, 
 
 Bravely Do and Boldly Dare, 
 
 Hans Van Ryn, 
 
 The Infant's Grave, 
 
 The Alchymist, 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 DEMON PICTURE GALLERY 
 Opening Scene, 
 Infidelity, 
 Fanaticism, 
 
 Closing Scene. 
 
 Graphic Muse. 
 
 Prayer op the Lost One. 
 
 Forest Queen. 
 
 Alchymist. 
 
 119 
 121 
 124 
 126 
 128 
 180 
 132 
 136 
 137 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLEHY. 
 
 HAD a dream, a fearful 
 dream ! 
 A fearful dream last ^ 
 niglit ! 
 A dream that I well may 
 fear to tell ; 
 Lest I should the timid affright. 
 I thought that I stood in a vaulted hall, 
 And saw what the stoutest heart would appall ; 
 But strength that I had not, was given to me, 
 To look on the things I was fated to see. 
 Deep in earth's bosom the cavern-hall lay, 
 Where sunbeam was never yet known to stray ; 
 The hall, though gloomy, was lofty and wide, 
 And the walls I noted on every side. 
 
 __J 
 
6 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 Were painted with many a strange device, 
 And pictures of misery, crime, and vice. 
 
 A group of demons there stood in the hall ! 
 I counted the demons, just seven in all ; 
 And nothing there liveth on earth or in sea. 
 Compared with the look of these demons may be. 
 Of lamp or fire, in the hall there was none ; 
 'Twas lit by the eyes of the demons alone. ! — 
 Which constantly burn'd with a phosphoric glow. 
 Serving dimly, the walls of their cavern to show ; 
 Whilst over their features, so ghastly, it threw 
 A light that forever was changing its hue. 
 And the demons danced, and the demons sam^ 
 And loudly the hall with their wild lauo-h ranir— 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
 Faithful and life-like the pictures were all. 
 
 Painted so strangely upon the dark wall. 
 
 Whenever to gaze on a picture I turn'd, 
 
 The eyes of the demons more brilliantly burn'd ; 
 
 And over it cast such a wonderful light, 
 
 The parts so like magic came foi-th to the sio-ht 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 7 
 
 That no longer a picture you 'd take it to be — 
 The whole was a fearful reality ! 
 
 The first was a scene where a gallows stood high ; 
 
 Tliousands on thousands were standing thereby ; 
 
 The wise and the simple, the young and the old, 
 
 The death of a brother had come to behold. 
 
 Coldly they look'd on the victim of crime, 
 
 Nurtured in sin from his earliest time — 
 
 By the world at his birth he was met with a frown; 
 
 The rich and the haughty had trampled him down ; 
 
 Snares and temptations were cast in his way, 
 
 To harden his heart, and to lead him astray : 
 
 For crimes of his youth he was stamp'd with a brand, 
 
 That to him forever society bann'd ; 
 
 Till path for his footsteps the world otter'd none, 
 
 Save the dark thorny path of transgression alone ! 
 
 No charity saught him, no sympathy came, 
 
 When kindness might save him from sorrow and shame. 
 
 And thus they had made him, the thing he appear'd, 
 
 A thing of their loathing, a thing to be fearVl ; 
 
 And now with his life, he was doom'd to atone. 
 
 For crimes that were scai'cely more his than their own ; 
 
8 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 And here tliey had come, his death-struggle to see, 
 
 As if it a thing for rejoicing could be ! 
 
 All this on the picture was faithfully shown, 
 
 By an art that to mortals, as yet is unknown. 
 
 The figures inspired with life seem'd to be. 
 
 For acting before me this tragedy. 
 
 As on this picture I tearfully gazed, 
 A fearful shout by the demons was raised — 
 " That picture is mine," by a demon was said ; 
 " Know I not well the limner's trade ?" 
 And again they danced, and again they sang, 
 And again the hall with their wild lauo-h rano-— 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
 I saw on the next, a wretch haggard and poor, 
 Tremblingly stand at a rich man's door. 
 He had ask'd for bread, and been driven away ; 
 The master was feasting his friends that day. 
 And he could not endure that one wretched as he. 
 Should intrude on that jovial company. 
 Why Avas that lone one so haggard and poor. 
 Who tremblingly stood at the rich man's door ? 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 Where are the fruits of that acre of soil, 
 On which the poor man was permitted to toil ? 
 In the rich man's barn, ye will find them there. 
 The husk, and the bran, were the poor man's share. 
 
 The scene was changed ; the poor man had come 
 Dejected and sad to his humble home — 
 His wife before him of famine lay dead ; 
 His famishino; children were crvins; for bread, 
 From his tatter'd garment a loaf he drew. 
 Dividing it all 'twixt his children two. 
 
 Again the scene changed, and the poor man I saw 
 
 In a dungeon, stretch'd on a l^ed of straw. 
 
 He had stolen the loaf from the rich man's board — 
 
 A dungeon and chains had been his reward ; 
 
 His children were taken, he knew not where. 
 
 Words may not picture his look of despair. 
 
 Agahi I wept, and again the cry 
 
 Of the demons rose exultingly. 
 *' That," shouted one, " is a picture of mine ! 
 Am I not skill'd in the art divine ?" 
 
10 THE DEMON PJCTUIIE GALLERY. 
 
 And again they danced, and again tliey sang, 
 And again the hall with their wild laugh rang — 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
 I next saw a misei', decrepit and old. 
 
 The heart's blood of widows converting to gold ! 
 
 From tears of the orphan was making it now. 
 
 And now from the sweat of the laborer's brow. 
 
 As thousands on thousands, he'd add to his store, 
 
 His cry was still ever, for more, for more. 
 
 His eye had no fire, his heart had no glow, 
 
 He felt naught of j)leasure, he felt not for woe : 
 
 The kindlier feelings within him were dead, 
 
 His bosom, hope, charity, sympathy, fled ; 
 
 He had for the voice of affliction no ear. 
 
 For the timid no smile, for misfortune no tear. 
 
 Of gold he had made him a god ! at whose shrine 
 He sacrificed all that of man is divine ! 
 He had sever'd the ties of attachment that bind 
 The man to his country, his God, and his kind. 
 His mind was a dungeon, cold, sileut, and dark, 
 Uncheer'd by one kindly illumining spark — 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 11 
 
 The doors of its cliambers were open to none, 
 He dwelt as a liermit within, it alone ! 
 
 As I turn'd from this picture with loathing and pain, 
 Loud rano' the shout of the demons ao^ain. 
 " That," shouted a demon, " was painted by me ! 
 May I not proud of ni}^ handiwork he V 
 And again they danced, and again they sang. 
 And again the hall with their wild laugh rang — 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
 The next was a country, fiir reacliing and wide, 
 Where death was at revel on every side ! 
 The ruins of cities were strewn on the ground. 
 The bones of whose people lay bleaching around ; 
 The harvest was scatter'd, the cotta^-e was burn VI, 
 The streams into rivers of blood had been turn'd ; 
 The daughter was ravish'd, the father was slain. 
 And innocence pleaded, but pleaded in vain. 
 On the hearth was the Ijlood of the mother and child. 
 With pollution the temples of God were defiled. 
 Crime boasted his doings, no longer restrained. 
 While passions the vilest and worst, were unchain'd. 
 
12 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 High in tlie midst was the worker of ill, 
 
 Attended by millions, the slaves of his will ; 
 
 His praises they sang, and they shouted his fame, 
 
 And call'd as if he were a God, on his name. 
 
 A fiery charger he proudly bestrode, 
 
 Whose hoofs seem'd to spurn the red earth that he 
 
 trod ; 
 Of glittering steel was the helmet he wore, 
 His hands were all di'ipping, and reeking with gore ; 
 With arrows of death went the flash of his eye- 
 Blood dropp'd from the sabre he brandish'd on high ; 
 Thousands before him in terror were flying : 
 His pathway lay over the dead and the dying : 
 Famine his footsteps came folio win o- on 
 Finishing what he had left undone. 
 
 When heart-sick I ceased on this picture to gaze, 
 Again did the demons their horrid shout raise. 
 And I heard a voice saying, " that picture is mine ! 
 What Artist on earth can produce one so fine ?" 
 And again they danced, and again they sang. 
 
 And again tlie hall with their wild lauo-h rano- 
 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 13 
 
 On the next was a man wlio seemVl master to be, 
 
 Of all the world's boasted philosophy ! 
 
 Beside him were diagram, telescope, chart, 
 
 And many a ponderous volume on art. 
 
 Yet knowledge had open'd her storehouses wide, 
 
 But to darken his soul, and to fill him with pride. 
 
 He could look into Nature, and fathom her laws ; 
 
 But felt not their wisdom, or saw not their cause. 
 
 For poison alone from the fountain he drew, 
 
 And chance, only chance, was the God that he knew ! 
 
 Life to him had been gloomy and dark, as a pall, 
 
 He was striving to make it as gloomy to all. 
 
 From the poor man his hope he had taken of Heaven, 
 And death and the grave in return he had given ! 
 From the cripple had stolen the crutch of his need. 
 And left him to lean on a mere broken reed. 
 'Gainst Nature's voice he had deafen'd his ear. 
 Lest the praises of Nature's God he should hear : 
 He was striving to silence the voice of the spheres, 
 That had sang of their Maker for thousands of years ; 
 Whatever he touch'd fell with mildew and blight. 
 And light-hearted Innocence shrank from his sight. 
 
14 THE DEMON PICTUUE GALLERY. 
 
 I turn'd away — for a coldness there came, 
 That went like an ague-chill through my frame. 
 And again the shout of the demons all, 
 Loudly rang through the vaulted hall. 
 " That picture was painted by me," said one ; 
 " Thinkest thou not it is cleverly done ?" 
 And again they danced, and again they sang, 
 And loudly again their wild laugh rang — 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
 I saw on the next, men with faces whose gloom, 
 Bespake them in dread of some horrible doom ; 
 And that volume so sacred, before them I saw. 
 Men hold as their counsel, their guide, and their law ; 
 But its precepts by them were so strangely construed, 
 They seem'd with the deadliest venom imbued ! 
 And its voice of good-will meant by Heaven to bless, 
 Was made to add only to human distress. 
 
 The world they were making all gloomy and dull, 
 That God had created of beauty so full ; 
 The roses of life of their bloom they had shorn, 
 And left of them only the stems, and the thorn, 
 
\^_^^^f 
 
 \.J^ 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 15 
 
 As if when delight from the earth they had driven, 
 They better could find their own pathway to Heaven. 
 Defacing His image, the work of His hand, 
 They thought would the love of their Maker command ! 
 For mercy to Heaven they ceaselessly cried, 
 But the mercy they sought for, to others denied. 
 They would force all to follow their own gloomy path. 
 And worship a God but of vengeance and wrath ; 
 And all whom they could not their proselytes make, 
 Were sent to the dungeon, the gibbet, or stake. 
 
 I turned away, and again the cry 
 
 Of the demons rose exultingly ! 
 '' I painted that picture," one shouted aloud, 
 ''May I not well of my skill be proud?" 
 And again they danced, and again they sang, 
 And again the hall with their wild laugh rang— 
 
 Ha ha ha! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha! 
 
 I look'd on another— the seventh and last— 
 The picture presented a theatre vast ; 
 Where scenes were enacting of every crime 
 That had blasted the earth, from its earliest time ! 
 
16 THE DEiMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 Aud every sorrow, and every woe, 
 
 That suffering man is permitted to know. 
 
 Tlie libertine, suicide, murd'rer, were tliere, 
 
 Their deeds were enacted, their hearts were laid bare. 
 
 A mother had strangled her innocent child, 
 
 And sottishly over her victim she smiled ; 
 
 A husband the wife of his bosom had slain, 
 
 And now his own heai-t's blood was striving to drain. 
 
 Here a sou by a blow from his father lay dead, 
 
 By the hand of a son, there a father had bled ; 
 
 And crimes too revolting, too horrid to tell, 
 
 Were pictured too faithfully, pictured too well. 
 
 There Blasphemy sat in his hideousness ! 
 
 And Want with his piteous cry of distress ; 
 
 The Idiot was there with his soulless eye — ■ 
 
 And the Madman raving furiously ; 
 
 The ruin'd Eake with his look of despair, 
 
 Disease in its every form was there. 
 
 Infecting the air with its poisonous breath : 
 
 O'ershadowing all was the phantom of death ! 
 
 Nor fail'd the art of the demons to show 
 The cause of this misery, crime, and woe. 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 17 
 
 I saw in tlie midst of the scene was a Well, 
 
 Whose fountain was fed by the fountains of hell ! 
 
 Surrounding the fountain a temple was rearVl, 
 
 While numbers attending the fountain appearVl — 
 
 From its poisonous stream they were filling the bowl 
 
 That blasted the heart, and polluted the soul. 
 
 A tribute most strange by the victims was paid. 
 
 To those who engaged in this horrible trade — 
 
 Of dau2:hters the tears ! and of mothers the siirhs ! 
 
 The heart of the good ! and the brains of the wise ! 
 
 From under the dying was taken the bed, 
 
 From mouths of famishing children, the bread ; 
 
 Drop by drop the life-blood of some had been drain'd ! 
 
 Of others, the virtue and truth were obtain'd ! 
 
 Their earthly all had by many been given. 
 
 And thousands their hope liad e'en barter'd of Heaven ! 
 
 By many a wicked and cunning device, 
 Did those at the well the unwary entice ; 
 Its waters were loudly proclaimed as the cure 
 Of every evil that flesh may endure ; 
 While bards of its virtues bewitchingly sang, 
 Till earth with its glories incessantly rang ; 
 
18 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 With flowers tlien wreath'd of the goblet, the brim, 
 And drank till the light of their souls became dun. 
 And those I observed who attended the well, 
 In time to its poison a sacrifice fell ; 
 Yet otliers there lack'd not their places to fill, 
 The waters as lavishly dealing out still. 
 
 Long, long, did I gaze on this picture of dread ; 
 And when I had from it averted my head. 
 There came from the demons' voices a roar, 
 Such as my ear never greeted before. 
 " That is the work of my pencil," said one ! 
 " Thinkest thou not it is masterly done ?" 
 And again they danced, and again they sang. 
 And ao^ain the hail with their wild lauirh ransr — 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
 END OF PART FIRST. 
 
PAKT SECOND. 
 
 The cry was hiish'd, the pageant tliroiigli- 
 Diramer the eyes of the demons grew, 
 And from off the gloomy wall ; 
 Vauish'd had the pictures all; 
 When a demon silence broke — 
 And advancing thus he spoke — 
 
 ^^^^ MOllTAL, ponder well, 
 ^^^^p On the things which we 
 '-^" shall tell. 
 
 Mortal, turn attentive ear 
 
 To the things which thou shalt hear. 
 
 Listen, mortal, we are they 
 
 Who the affairs of mortals sway ; 
 
 O'er their councils I preside — 
 
 I upon their laws decide — 
 
 I to each his place assign ; 
 
 To divide their wealth is mine ; 
 
20 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 Thongli Injustice be my name, 
 Justice is the one I claim ! 
 And her robe of purity, 
 On the earth is worn by me. 
 Those thou seest in the hall, 
 Mortal, are my cJdldren all — 
 
 ~=^ ON me, another cried, 
 ' ]\Iorta], T am Worldhf Pride ! 
 J^ r '- I it is inflate the brain — 
 
 Fill the heart with ftmcies vain ; 
 Rend of brotherhood, the ties. 
 Raise the barriers that rise 
 'Twixt the rich man and the poor ; 
 Shut of charity the door. 
 Make man deem his highest aim, 
 Earthly honors, earthly fame ; 
 Honest worth in rags despise, 
 And with friendship look on vice. 
 If within his grasp he hold. 
 Though the fruit of rapine, gold P'' 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY 
 
 21 
 
 ANOTHEK demon said, 
 " On my slaves a spell liave 
 laid, 
 '^^ Sucli as never liatli been bro- 
 _^ _, ^^ , . ken 
 
 By the word of magic spoken ! 
 On the heart of man it lies. 
 Drying up its sympathies, 
 Till as well a heart of steel, 
 Might the woes of others feel ; 
 And the world to him's a glass 
 That but one reflection has — 
 That, the image of himself, 
 Worshiping his idol— pelf 1" 
 
22 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY 
 
 ;^|. EOSE the demon of war 
 
 " Mortal, thou knowest my bloody trade ; 
 
 Yet not on battle-fields alone, 
 
 Believe that all my deeds are done. 
 
 Scarce leaves his mother's breast the boy. 
 
 Ere I my fiendish arts employ, 
 
 A tiny sword I put in his hand. 
 
 And teach him to lisp the word of command; 
 
 His youth I charm with song and story, 
 
 Of martial pomp, and martial glory, 
 
 Till war inspire his every dream. 
 
 And blood, and pillage, pastime seem ! 
 
 Thus man is taught from infancy, 
 
 My willing worshiper to be ; 
 
 And earth is made in every clime. 
 
 The scene of violence and crime !" 
 
THE D E :\I N P I C T U R ]■] GALLERY. 
 
 ANOTHER (Irawetli near! 
 And another voice I hear — 
 Saying — " Mortal, look on me ! 
 
 I am In fidelity ! 
 
 Man I make his God deny — 
 
 JNIake him think the truth a lie — 
 
 I with knowledge store his mind, 
 
 Only to deceive and blind : 
 
 Make his life a journey drear, 
 
 Having naught his path to cheer. 
 
 Or a hope to pierce the gloom ; 
 
 Of the night beyond the tomb. 
 
 To him on the bed of death, 
 
 No kind ancrel minist'reth ! 
 
 Yet I leave him not alone — 
 
 O'er his couch there leaneth one, 
 
 One, the demon of despair ! 
 
 Ever with him, sitteth there." 
 
24 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY 
 
 TURN," another said, 
 " Look on me ! the demon 
 dread, 
 
 Who for ages held the soul, 
 Subject to his fierce control ; 
 And in superstition's night, 
 Shrouded its celestial light. 
 War was but my instrument. 
 O'er the world in vengeance sent — 
 On my reeking altars then, 
 Slaughter'd by their brethren, 
 Myriads were doom'd to bleed. 
 For their conscience, for their creed ; 
 While the sacred law of God, 
 'Neath man's impious foot was trod, 
 And the law he held divine. 
 Only was a law of mine ! 
 Though my power hath felt decay, 
 Yet do millions own my sway." 
 
THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 25 
 
 SPAKE Intemperance — " Mortal, 
 know 
 
 I am thy worst, tliy deadliest foe — 
 For I alone liave given birth. 
 To half the miseries of earth ! 
 I put the knife in the murd'rer's hand, 
 And of the incendiary light the brand, 
 I fill the prisons, the gallows I feed, 
 I fit the wretch for each damnino: deed : 
 But more than this 'twere needless to tell. 
 What my picture already has shown so well. 
 Thou hast heard us one by one ; 
 Mortal, now our task is done !" 
 
 He ceased — and the demons all once more. 
 Made the hall rins: with their fearful roar. 
 And again they danced, and again they sang. 
 And again their strange laugli wildly rang — 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
26 THE DEMON PlCTUllE GALLERY 
 
 But liark ! wliat music do I lieur ? 
 Wliy do tlie demons quake witli fear ? 
 Lo ! the cavern walls divide ! 
 Tlirongli the parted ceiling, glide 
 In a blaze of heavenly light, 
 Two celestial spirits bright ! 
 Blooming with immortal youth — 
 One is Love ! and one is Truth J 
 From the first there comes the glow. 
 That Love only can bestow ; 
 Radiant is the next with light, 
 Than the noonday sun, more bright ! 
 Yet not like the noonday sun. 
 Dazzling those it shines upon. 
 But each thing it Ijrings to view, 
 In its proper shape and hue ; 
 And in strains divinely sweet, 
 Now my ears their voices greet — 
 
THE DEMON P 1 T U 11 E C! A L L E II Y . 27 
 
 CEASE, your reign 
 JiUft is o'er ! 
 
 Ye on eartli sliall 
 dwell no more — 
 God liath sent his Son asfain, 
 O'er the bleedinor world to reio^n — 
 We the servants of his will, 
 Shall henceforth your places fill ! 
 Earth with war no more shall groan — 
 Violence shall be unknown — 
 Banish'd shall Intemperance be, 
 From the earth eternall}^ ; 
 Infidelity shall perish 
 With the falsehoods he would cherish ; 
 And Fanaticism die. 
 His own fires devour'd by ; 
 Pride and Avarice shall go 
 To the realms of endless woe; 
 But Injustice may not dwell 
 Even in the depths of hell ! 
 
28 THE DEMON PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 Demons, peace — your spell is broken ! 
 Demons, peace — your doom is spoken !" 
 
 The liglit of the sun in my chamber broke, 
 And I from my fearful slumber awoke. 
 But still the demons appear to be near, 
 And their fearful laugh still rings in my ear- 
 Ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! ha ha ha ! 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 The beautiful, the beautiful, 
 
 It dvvelletli everywhere ! 
 There's none of all life's varying scenes 
 
 Where beauty hath no share. 
 
 The beautiful, the beautiful, 
 All Nature's works pervades, 
 
 Not more amid her smiling bowers, 
 Than in her solemn shades. 
 
 Nor in the outward world of sense, 
 Doth it most love to dwell ; 
 
 But in the breathing world of thought. 
 It flourisheth as well. 
 
 The beautiful, the beautiful. 
 
 It is of God alone ! 
 And where his love extendeth not. 
 
 There, only, is there none ! 
 
30 T H E B E A U T IF U L . 
 
 The ills of life may gather round, 
 And wear their direst form, 
 
 But when the tempest loudest howls, 
 There 's beauty in the storm ! 
 
 O ! it is Ijeautiful to mark 
 
 The soul of darins: hii2:h, 
 With trust in God, and love for man, 
 
 The ills of life defy. 
 
 And in affliction's darkest hour, 
 
 'Tis beautiful to see. 
 How closely heart to heart is bound 
 
 By love and sympathy. 
 
 When fiends in human form, inspired 
 
 By rancor and liy hate, 
 Go prowling tlirough this lovely world 
 
 To make it desolate — 
 
 'Tis beautiful, 'tis beautiful! 
 
 How from the deei:)est woe, 
 God in his providence doth make 
 
 The rarest blessings flow ! 
 
THEBEAUTIFUL. 31 
 
 The beautiful, the beautiful ! 
 
 It dwelleth everywhere ! 
 There 's none of all life's varying scenes, 
 
 Where beauty hath no share. 
 
 Yet life, alas ! containeth much 
 
 The beautiful to mar : 
 If mau were only true to man, 
 
 Earth would be lovelier far. 
 
 And thou who mayest chance to read 
 
 This artless lay of mine, 
 Let not to add unto the weight 
 
 Of human ills be thine. 
 
 Attempt not wdth thy puny arm 
 
 God's harmony to break. 
 But labor in thy sphere, the world 
 
 More beautiful to make. 
 
 For O ! there's naught more beautiful, 
 
 The creature may possess, 
 Thau that which urges him to add 
 
 To human happiness. 
 
SOUL. 
 
 Trembling on ocean's verge I stood, 
 
 And liearcl liis awful voice of power, 
 While foam'd and raved the mighty flood, 
 
 As if impatient to devour ; 
 And I beheld a form of life, 
 
 Unmoved beside the billows stand. 
 Which calmly gazing on the strife. 
 
 Thus s]3ake in accents of command — 
 " Think not I fear thy boisterous wave, 
 Proud Ocean ! — thou shalt be my slave !" 
 
 And much I marvel'd when I saw, 
 
 That one so impotent and frail, 
 Could by some strange, mysterious law, 
 
 O'er such a mighty strength prevail ! 
 The feats by fabled giants done. 
 
 Were but the acts of childhood's play, 
 Compared with his, this daring one. 
 
 Who taught tlie ocean to obey ! 
 
SOUL. 33 
 
 And make him as his master know, 
 To bear his burdens to and fro. 
 
 Loud roar'd the wind, and in its wrath 
 
 Spread desolation far and near, 
 And all the beings in its path, 
 
 Fell prostrate to the earth with fear ! 
 Save this strange one ! who, smiling said — 
 
 " Vainly, dread Tempest, dost thou rave ; 
 Thee will I summon to my aid — 
 
 The wind shall also be my slave !" 
 When lo ! he did the wind subdue. 
 And make of him a servant too ! 
 
 I saw the all-consuming Fire 
 
 Yield in obedience to his will ! 
 Back from its dreaded path retire, 
 
 A menial post for him to fill ; 
 To aid him in his searchings deep, 
 
 Into creation's secret things. 
 And give to him the power to sweep 
 
 O'er eai-th and ocean, as on wings ! 
 
34 SOUL. 
 
 Then like an liumble friend become, 
 
 To warm bis hearth, and light his home ! 
 
 The lightning flash'd athwart the sky ! 
 
 The adamantine rocks were riven — 
 Its voice of thunder loud and high, 
 
 Echoed till trembled earth and heaven ; 
 Yet I beheld this being frail, 
 
 The lightning grasp without a fear ! 
 And o'er its fearful strength prevail. 
 
 To bear his mandates far and near : 
 Like post-boy traveling day and night, 
 Yet swift as on the wings of light. 
 
 As round us in the vast expanse, 
 
 Creation's glories were unfurl'd, 
 I saw this being at a glance. 
 
 Measure and weigh, each sun and world ! 
 I could no longer hold, but cried. 
 
 Who may this wondrous creature be ? 
 Unlike all earth-born things beside. 
 
 He grasps, almost, infinity. 
 
SOUL. 35 
 
 And doth the elements control ! 
 A voice replied, " The human soul." 
 
 Yet I beheld that very soul, 
 
 Become of meanest things the slave ! 
 Subject to Passion's fierce control, 
 
 Its powers laid prostrate in the grave ; 
 Or living but itself to curse. 
 
 With ghastly fears, and tortures fell ; 
 And more than even this, and worse — 
 
 A weight to drag it down to hell. 
 Thus did it sink, despised by all, 
 Spurn'd by the very things that crawl ! 
 
 And is it always thus to be ? 
 
 Shall man still play the suicide ? 
 He who when in his purity, 
 
 Walk'd with his Maker side by side ? 
 No ! thanks to the redeeming power 
 
 Of the Creator's boundless grace, 
 Not long shall be delay'd the hour. 
 
 Which erring man again shall place. 
 Once more upon the smiling earth, 
 As pure as at creation's birth. 
 
FANNY'S NO MORE. 
 
 Suggested by the Death of Mk. Osgood. 
 
 As lately I stray'd through the evergreen bowers, 
 Whose music so often had cheer'd me before, 
 
 A voice from the trees, and the birds, and the flowers, 
 In accents of wailins;, sang — " Fanny's no more !" 
 
 A sweet child of Nature, so gentle, so tender. 
 Our hearts in her numbers it cheer'd us to pour. 
 
 And all that was pure in our music to lend her, 
 
 But hush'd is her voice, for — " Our Fanny's no more !" 
 
 In the quiet of evening, the breezes soft sighing. 
 
 The voice of the stream, and the groves on the shore, 
 
 And Echo's sweet notes to their music replying. 
 
 All bore the sad burden — " Our Fanny's no more !" 
 
 The dear ones whose loved home to cheer she delighted 
 While life's pulses beat shall her memory adore ; 
 
 Their bosoms are rent, and their fondest hopes blighted. 
 Ah ! well may they weep, for-" their Fanny's no more !" 
 
F A N N Y ' S N M R E . 37 
 
 All crush'd is her lute, and no aid can restore it, 
 For cold are the fingers that swept it of yore ; 
 
 Yet still when the wings of the zephyr pass o'er it, 
 It sighingly whispers — " Our Fanny's no more !" 
 
 The angels have added a harp to their numbers, 
 
 Or regain'd one but lent, they had sought to restore ; 
 
 Though mortals still fancy its voice ever slumbers. 
 And sigh at the thought, that — "their Fanny's no 
 more !" 
 
LOVE AND TRUTH. 
 
 There is a fountain deep of love, 
 
 In every human heart ! 
 A fount that never drieth up, 
 
 However choak'd by art. 
 
 In childhood's days of innocence 
 It knows no resting place, 
 
 Encircling all our little world, 
 Within its fond embrace. 
 
 But after years come freighted with 
 Earth's selfishness and pride, 
 
 Which choak the sacred fountain up, 
 Until it seemeth dried. 
 
 Yet he who deeply probes the heart, 
 Who searcheth it with care. 
 
 Will find e'en in the stoniest. 
 That fountain still is there. 
 
LOVEAND TRUTH, 39 
 
 For thougli it seem beyond thy power 
 
 The worldling's heart to move, 
 That heart, couldst thou but reach the fount, 
 
 "Would overflow with love. 
 
 And often when we deem it lost 
 
 It gusheth forth again ; 
 The worldliness that buries it 
 
 Its sources cannot drain. 
 
 There is in every breast, a lamp 
 
 That never goeth out, 
 Though sadly is its blaze obscured 
 
 By falsehood, fear, and doubt. 
 
 The Lamp of Truth ! by Heaven bestow'd 
 
 To light man's devious way ; 
 Whoever duly heedeth it 
 
 May never go astray. 
 
 Believe not of the veriest wretch 
 
 That all is dark within ; 
 The heavenly lamp may be obscured, 
 
 But never quench'd, by sin. 
 
40 LOVEAND TRUTH. 
 
 And often when we think there doth 
 A midnight darkness reign ; 
 
 That lamp the darkness shall dispel, 
 And all be bright again. 
 
 If one there be, to Love and Truth 
 
 Seems dead forevermore, 
 Believe it not, but humbly strive 
 
 Their influence to restore. 
 
 Assured that though they may at times 
 
 In vain exert their force, 
 All Heaven-born things must ever be 
 
 Undying as their source. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN PINE. 
 
 A MONARCH is the mountaiii pine ! 
 
 It towers to the sky ! 
 And wears in sunshine and in storm, 
 
 Its robe of changeless dye. 
 
 While e'en the sturdy oak must how 
 
 To winter's ruthless sway, 
 And aU the noble forest trees, 
 
 Their glories cast away ; 
 
 The stately mountain pine unchanged, 
 
 Amid the dreary scene, 
 Still rears its proud majestic form. 
 
 Forever fresh and green ! 
 
 When in those hallow'd days gone by. 
 The glorious woods I roved, 
 
 Above all other forest trees, 
 That stately tree I loved. 
 
42 THEMOUNTAINPINE. 
 
 I loved it for its tow'ring form — 
 Its green of changeless dye — 
 
 And for tlie power it seem'd to liave, 
 The winter to defy. 
 
 Like journeying through the forest still, 
 
 This life appears of mine, 
 And every generous spirit seems, 
 
 A stately mountain pine ! 
 
 As o'er the forest trees the pine 
 
 Lifts up its lofty crest, 
 So 'mong the countless mass of men 
 
 They tower above the rest. 
 
 Within each bosom burns the fire 
 Of love, which never dies : 
 
 While trust in God a strength imparts 
 Which every storm defies. 
 
 Time hath for them no withering blight. 
 
 The seasons as they roll, 
 Brine: with them onlv more of health, 
 
 And vigor, to the soul. 
 
T H E M U N T A I N P I N E . 43 
 
 And when at length life's winter comes, 
 
 No change in them is seen, 
 They flourish like the mountain pine, 
 
 Forever fresh and green ! 
 
SONG OF THE ARTIST. 
 
 The artist holds tlie noblest boon 
 
 By God to mortals given — 
 To catch while here upon the earth, 
 
 Some glimpses bright of Heaven ! 
 Then bless the art, that can impart 
 
 A joy beyond all others, 
 While heart and hand, we firmly stand 
 
 A faithful band of brothers. 
 
 He holds communion with his God, 
 With Nature for his teacher ; 
 
 He listens to her whisperings, 
 And notes her every feature : 
 
 Then bless the art, &c. 
 
 The bosom of the artist true, 
 Admits no selfish feelino^ ; 
 
SONG OF THE ARTIST. 
 
 His lieart is ever at the shrine 
 
 Of Truth and Beauty kneeling : 
 Then bless the art, &c. 
 
 The artist dwells, but not alone 
 
 Dwells in the world ideal ; 
 He draws from thence a halo bright. 
 
 To cast around the real : 
 Then bless the art, &c. 
 
 He drives the gloom that else would hang 
 
 Upon our lonely hours, 
 And strews the rugged paths of life, 
 
 With never-fading flowers : 
 Then bless the art, &c. 
 
 'Tis ours the task, the glorious task, 
 
 Man's weary load to lighten. 
 And with a torch of heavenly flame 
 
 His path-way dark, to brighten : 
 Then bless the art, that can impart 
 
 A joy beyond all others, 
 And heart and hand resolve to stand, 
 
 A faithful band of brothers. 
 
 45 
 
EMMET'S LAST NIGHT IN PRISON. 
 
 Another night has come ! another morning 
 
 These eyes shall greet — that morn shall be my last ; 
 
 E'er the toil-worn shall o-reet the nio^ht's returninof, 
 This weary soul shall to its home have pass'd ! 
 
 Well, be it so ; for me, for all, 'twere better 
 E'en thus to fall, than wear the tyrant's chain ; 
 
 They've done their worst ; could they the spirit fetter. 
 Gladly they'd free these shackled limbs again. 
 
 And all their vaunted power could only sever 
 The slender tie that binds me to the clay ; 
 
 While I henceforth, am free to roam forever 
 
 Through boundless realms beyond their hated sway ! 
 
 But O, my country ! 'tis for thee the anguish, 
 That at life's parting rends my bleeding breast ; 
 
 How long, O God ! must hapless Erin languish, 
 Eeviled, degraded, slander'd and oppress'd ? 
 
EMMET'S LAST N I Cx H T IN PRISON. 47 
 
 Yes, my loved country, I had lioped to see thee 
 Among the nations j)roudly take thy stand ; 
 
 With Heaven's blessing, I had sworn to free thee 
 From the foul wrong of slavery's withering brand. 
 
 To lofty hopes what a disastrous ending ! 
 
 Has Heaven no poAver a people crush'd to save ? 
 Lo, the reward of one for truth contending — 
 
 These chains, a gibbet, an untimely grave. 
 
 But why, with impious tongue, complain of Heaven ? 
 
 Never in vain the murder'd patriot dies. 
 His blood, like seed to fruitful soil is given, 
 
 Whence for each drop a thousand champions rise ! 
 
 This gibbet is to me a crown of glory ! 
 
 This yawning grave shall but my faults entomb ! 
 While millions yet unborn, who hear my story. 
 Shall, fired by it, my glorious work resume. 
 
 This heartless deed a spirit shall awaken. 
 
 That from their slumber Erin's sons shall call. 
 
 Until the oppressor's strong hold shall be shaken. 
 And his proud throne shall totter to its fixll. 
 
48 E M .M E T ' S LAST NIGHT IN PRISON. 
 
 Yes, I could now endure my fate with gladness, 
 Save that it grieves me thus from her to part. 
 
 Who by my doom is overwhelm'd with sadness. 
 Sadness that well might break the stoutest heart. 
 
 But no, her generous nature I am wronging, 
 A noble pride shall hallow every sigh ; 
 
 Her's is a soul to purer worlds belonging, 
 To her at least, her Emmet ne'er shall die ! 
 
 Then speed ye on, ye hours, swiftly fleeing, 
 No wish have I to curb your rapid flight ; 
 
 To-morrow, mine shall be a nobler being. 
 To her I love, to all, a last good night. 
 
THE SEA OF LIFE. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a glorious sight to mark, 
 
 Yon sHp so gallantly, 
 With swelling sails and streamers gay. 
 
 Glide o'er the tranquil sea. 
 
 But 'tis a nobler sight I ween. 
 
 To see her stately form. 
 When stoutly rigg'd, and strongly mann'd. 
 
 And battling with the storm ! 
 
 The pleasure-barge all fearlessly, 
 Th' unruffled sea may breast ; 
 
 The virtues of the gallant ship, 
 The storms alone can test. 
 
 And thus upon the tide of life, 
 
 Give me the vessel trim ; 
 The bark can weather every gale— 
 
 On every sea can swim ! 
 
50 THESEAOFLIFE. 
 
 Give me tlie man who falters not, 
 When threat'niug tempests rise ; 
 
 But who upon his own good heart 
 And Heaven's strong arm relies ; 
 
 Who in his noble bosom holds 
 A staunch and sturdy crew, 
 
 Of stern resolve, and purpose right, 
 And trust, to bear him through. 
 
 Such soul as his, though long it be, 
 Of wind and wave the sport. 
 
 Shall l)ravely ride the tempest out. 
 And win its destined port. 
 
 The stream of my recorded life 
 
 Has been no sunnner sea ; 
 And if the struggles yet to come 
 
 Are sterner ones to be, — 
 
 My prayer, O God ! is not that thou 
 Shouldst shield me from the blast. 
 
 But give me strength, and hope, and will, 
 To battle to the last. 
 
THE CULPRIT. 
 
 Deep sunken was tlie culprit's eye, 
 And haggard was his look ; 
 
 And sadly with disease and fear, 
 His wretched body shook. 
 
 For his transgressions he had paid, 
 
 The law's hard penalty ; 
 And now a shatter'd human wreck, 
 
 He was once more set free. 
 
 His wasted limbs still bore the marks 
 
 By galling fetters made ; 
 And all might see the hand of death, 
 
 Was now upon him laid. 
 
 And ever and anon he raised 
 
 His eyes imploringly. 
 As if he sought from those around. 
 
 Some signs of sympathy. 
 
52 THECULPRIT. 
 
 " All ! let them not," at length, he cried, 
 
 " Imprison me again — 
 Save me from those with whom to plead 
 
 I know would be in vain ! 
 
 " Crimes which they deem unpunish'd yet, 
 
 They do against me charge, 
 And they will seize me when they learn 
 
 I am again at large. 
 
 " O ! let them not to wretchedness 
 The few brief moments doom. 
 
 Which Heaven in kindness yet may grant 
 Between me and the tomb ! 
 
 "Though stain'd with many a fearful crime, 
 
 'Tis true my life hath been, 
 Yet oh ! how bitterly I Ve paid 
 
 The penalty of sin ! 
 
 " In yonder City where we go 
 
 I have a mother old ; 
 Let me once more before I die 
 
 Her angel face behold ! 
 
THECULPRIT. 53 
 
 " Basely liave I her love repaid — 
 
 Deeply her heart I Ve wrung — 
 And death were doubly death 
 
 " Without forgiveness from her tongue. 
 
 " I would not to the other world 
 
 Without her smile be sent ; 
 And it would soothe her bleeding heart, 
 
 To know that I repent. 
 
 " O ! for my mother's blessing ! 
 
 And in her arms to die ! 
 Forgiveness from her lips would be 
 
 A passport to the sky !" 
 
 Kind were the hearts of those who stood 
 
 That wretched man beside ; 
 They bore him to his mother's arms, 
 
 And in those arms he died. 
 
 Thus did he sink in prime of life 
 
 'Mid misery and shame, 
 And who shall say how much the world 
 
 Was for his crimes to blame ? 
 
54 T H E C U L P R I T 
 
 We raise the gallows, forge tlie chain 
 
 For those who go astray, 
 But think not to remove the snares. 
 
 Cast in the victim's way. 
 
 Ah ! when shall man his brother teach 
 To shun the paths of shame, 
 
 And learn that 'tis not his to crush 
 The fallen — hut reclaim ? 
 
THE MOUNTAIN ROSE. 
 
 I LOVE eacli tender plant wliose bloom 
 
 Enriches beauty's bower, 
 And 'mong the garden's rival queens, 
 
 Have many a fav'rite flower : 
 But ftir more dear to me than all 
 
 That in the garden grows. 
 Is one that decks the rugged clilF, 
 
 The simple mountain rose. 
 
 It makes its home upon the rock. 
 
 That else would seem so bare. 
 Adorns it with its cheerful bloom, 
 
 And sheds its perfume there : 
 No gentle hand its beauty rears, 
 
 No fostering care it knows, 
 It loveliest blooms when left alone, 
 
 The simple mountain rose. 
 
 Thus clinging to the rugged soil, 
 Like Love it seems to juide, 
 
56 THEiMOUNTAINROSE. 
 
 In cherisliing its fav'rite still, 
 Though spurn'd by all beside ; 
 
 And like the charm, that woman round 
 Man's harsher nature throws. 
 
 Thus beautifies the rugged cliff, 
 The simple mountain rose. 
 
 I always loved that little flower ; 
 
 It ever seem'd to be 
 So partial to the mountain air, 
 
 So fond of liberty ! 
 A stranger to the garden where 
 
 Its statelier sister grows, 
 It shuns the busy haunts of men. 
 
 The simple mountain rose. 
 
 And when this aching heart of mine. 
 
 Its throbbing pulse shall cease, 
 And far from earthly ills removed. 
 
 This spirit be at peace, 
 I ask but this — that wheresoe'er 
 
 My ashes may repose. 
 Some friendly hand shall o'er them plant, 
 
 The simple mountain rose. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 Feom the trance once endless seeming, 
 Nations liave awoke at last, 
 
 Man his spirit is redeeming 
 
 From the thraldom of the past. 
 
 Mind hath burst the bonds abhorrent, 
 Ignorance had forged for her, 
 
 Leaping like a mountain torrent 
 O'er its rocky barrier ! 
 
 Fast the clouds of doubt and error 
 Vanish under Reason's ray ! 
 
 Superstition's reign of terror. 
 Hath forever pass'd away ! 
 
 Vainly rulers now dissemble ; 
 
 Well their every act is scann'd, 
 Thrones are tott'ring, tyrants tremble, 
 
 Their destruction is at hand. 
 
58 THESPIRITOFTHEAGE. 
 
 Nor can all the aid restore them, 
 Which embattled hosts afford, 
 
 For the power that triumphs o'er them, 
 Is a mightier than the sword ! 
 
 In his right, his worth, believing, 
 Man with regal pomp hath done, 
 
 Mind a victory is achieving. 
 Such as war hath never won. 
 
 Only to the Omnipresent, 
 Willingly we bend the knee ; 
 
 And alike in king or peasant. 
 See but mortals frail as we. 
 
 Fearlessly the truth is probing 
 Systems time hath render'd gray, 
 
 Bland hypocrisy disrobing. 
 
 Tearing falsehood's mask away. 
 
 Science of her toil unsparing, 
 Nature's mysteries to explore, 
 
 Enters with a fearless daring. 
 Paths she never trod before. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 69 
 
 From corruption's mists wliicli slirouded, 
 
 Pm-e Keligioii's form in night, 
 She is coming forth unclouded, 
 
 In a blaze of heavenly light. 
 
 Scorning creeds however hoary, 
 
 Which man's intellect disgrace. 
 Pointing out the path of glory. 
 
 Destined for the human race ; 
 
 Testing by investigation 
 
 Everything however sage, 
 Building on a sure foundation 
 
 Is the Spii-it of the age ! 
 
 Speed, then, speed it on its mission, 
 
 Speed it in its work of good. 
 Teaching man his true position. 
 
 Universal brotherhood ! 
 
GROWING OLD. 
 
 Geowing old ! growing old ! 
 
 Vanisli all such thoughts of gloom ; 
 Hearts like ours that wax not cold, 
 
 Ever wear a youthful bloom. 
 
 Growing old ! growing old ! 
 
 Age is not for such as we ; 
 Years with us, shall but unfold 
 
 Deeper love and sympathy ! 
 
 Growing old ! growing old ! 
 
 Let the selfish worldling sigh, 
 Over heart and feelings sold 
 
 For the thinsrs which fude and die. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Growing old ! growing old ! 
 
 When life's pilgrimage is o'er. 
 We shall rise an hundred fold 
 
 Fresher than we were before ! 
 
ELEGY ON A TOWN CRIER. 
 
 WiTHm tliis solitary grave 
 
 Lies honest Peter Brown ; 
 Who was, for many a long long year, 
 
 The crier of this town. 
 
 In early life a soldier brave, 
 
 He served his country well ; 
 In after years he cried for pay, 
 
 And rang his noisy bell. 
 
 He was a man of ready laugh, 
 
 Of wit and humor dry ; 
 But though full well he loved a joke. 
 
 He better loved to cry. 
 
 Was some poor widow's goods for rent 
 
 To be at auction sold, 
 From street to street, from door to door, 
 
 The piteous tale he told. 
 
62 E L E G Y N A T W N C R I E R . 
 
 If cattle stray'd, if pocket-book, 
 
 Or urchin lost skould be, 
 Howe'er the sufferers might lament, 
 
 None cried so loud as he. 
 
 This is a motley world of ours. 
 
 Where all things huddle in ; 
 Some dance, some sing, to earn their bread. 
 
 Some pipe, and others grin. 
 
 No wonder then, 'bout others' griefs 
 
 He such a rumpus made ; 
 He lived to cry, and cried to live, 
 
 For crying was his trade. 
 
 But still'd forever is his tongue. 
 
 And silenced is his bell — 
 We trust, poor man, where'er he is. 
 
 That he is doing- well. 
 
 o 
 
 When from the earth he pass'd away, 
 Not many eyes were dim ; 
 
 For he was old, and had, we fear, 
 But few to cry for him. 
 
ELEGYONATOWNCRIER. 63 
 
 And when we buried him, we placed 
 
 No marble at his head ; 
 For sure 'tis wTong to give a stone 
 
 To one who cries for bread. 
 
THE GRAPHIC MUSE. 
 
 Sweet Music from creation's birth, 
 
 Had hymn'd the anthem of the spheres ; 
 
 And Poesy upon the earth, 
 
 Had sung to man a thousand years. 
 
 And unto each created thing, 
 
 They gave a soul, and gave a voice ; 
 
 Till all their Maker's praise could sing 
 And in their being could rejoice. 
 
 While yet in sylvan bowers they dwelt. 
 Nor pride had tempted them from thence, 
 
 While all earth's tribes before them knelt. 
 And own'd their Heavenly influence ; 
 
 They saw descending from the skies. 
 
 Their holy sisterhood to bless. 
 With glowing cheeks and radiant eyes, 
 
 Another form of loveliness ! 
 

 ''VVr,-,'*^ 
 
THE GRAPHIC MUSE. 
 
 With joy they hail'd the sister new, 
 And rent the air with song and hite ; 
 
 But lo ! what horror seized the two, 
 To find the lovely maid was mute ! 
 
 No voice responsive answer'd theirs, 
 Though ravished by their minstrelsy ; 
 
 By her unheeded were their prayers. 
 To join their strains of melody. 
 
 But all serene the heavenly maid, 
 
 Attentive listening the while, 
 As conscious power her look display'd, 
 
 Turn'd to her sisters with a smile. 
 
 Then to their view, a faultless hand. 
 On high with peerless grace she raised, 
 
 And in it waved a magic wand, 
 
 Bound which the rainbow's glories blazed 
 
 From Music's ever-varying strain, 
 She caught a harmony divine— 
 
 And mutely gave it forth again 
 In blended tint and waving line. 
 
 65 
 
 i 
 
 L. 
 
66 THEGRAPHICMUSE. 
 
 While Poesy astonisli'd, sees 
 Her own creations taking form ! 
 
 Nor airy, shadowy phantoms these, 
 
 But breathing shapes, with life-blood warm ! 
 
 Old History's heroes, sages all, 
 Who in oblivion's night had lain. 
 
 Rose at her spell's all-powerful call, 
 To live, and breathe, and act again. 
 
 Beneath her t<^uch, the marble cold 
 Sprang into forms divinely fair ! 
 
 Till Gods, and Angels, might behold 
 Their own perfections imaged there. 
 
 Proud Ocean, when he quiet lies, 
 As tranquil as an infant's sleep — 
 
 Or when his waves in fury rise. 
 
 And storm-fiends howl across the deep, 
 
 Beheld himself by her portray'd 
 
 In all his majesty and power — 
 While now she playfully essay'd 
 
 To decorate some fairy bower. 
 
THEGRAPHICMU8E. 67 
 
 The fleetina: o-lories of the skies. 
 
 The flow'rets garlanding the spring, 
 Each beauty earth or air supj^lies, 
 
 E'en to the insect's painted wing ; 
 
 The lofty, the sublime, she sought. 
 And bade them on the canvas be — 
 
 The very lightning's flame she caught, 
 And stamp'd it there indelibly ! 
 
 The warring passions of the soul, 
 
 Its mirthful moods, its moods of thought, 
 
 Were subjected to lier control, 
 
 And in her living pictures wrought. 
 
 When Friendship saw Death's ruthless hand. 
 Laid on the forms that she would save. 
 
 This fair one touch'd them with her wand. 
 And they were rescued from the grave ! 
 
 Man from her silent teachings learn'd, 
 
 The good, the lovely to adore — 
 And from the senseless idols turn'd, 
 
 To which he 'd blindly knelt before. 
 
68 T H E « R A P H I C M U S E . 
 
 She and her sisters, over life 
 
 A halo, and a charm have thrown, 
 
 Cheering its scenes with, sorrow rife, 
 We else had sought in Heaven alone. 
 
 Well may a grateful world caress 
 This fairest offspring of the skies ; 
 
 And well the enraptured poet bless 
 " The art that can immortalize." 
 
ALL IS ACTION, ALL IS MOTION 
 
 All is action, all is motiou, 
 In this mighty world of ours ; 
 
 Like the currents of the ocean, 
 Man is urged by unseen powers. 
 
 Steadily, but strongly moving, 
 
 Life is onward evermore ; 
 Still the present age improving, 
 
 On the age that went before. 
 
 Duty points with outstretch'd fingers. 
 
 Every soul to actions high ; 
 Woe betide the soul that lingers ; — 
 
 Onward ! onward ! is the cry. 
 
 Though man's foes may seem victorious. 
 War may waste, and famine blight, 
 
 Still from out the conflict glorious. 
 Mind comes forth with added light! 
 
70 ALL IS ACTION, ALL IS MOTION. 
 
 O'er the darkest night of sorroAv, 
 From the deadliest field of strife, 
 
 Dawns a clearer, brighter moi'row — 
 Springs a truer, nobler life. 
 
 Onward, onward, onward ever ! 
 
 Human progress none may stay ; 
 All who make the vain endeavor, 
 
 Shall like chaff" be swept away. 
 
FAME. 
 
 Give me honor, give me fame, 
 
 Let me have a deathless name, 
 
 Not the conqueror's fiime, blood-bought. 
 
 Not for deeds of evil wrought, 
 
 Countless wealth, or boundless sway. 
 
 Save ray memory from decay. 
 
 Not for skill to touch the lyre, 
 Kindling with poetic fire. 
 Power to bid, with magic art. 
 Into life the marble start. 
 Or the glowing canvas breathe. 
 Twine for me the unfading wreath. 
 
 When this troubled life is o'er, 
 
 When this pulse shall beat no more. 
 
 And this spirit pass away. 
 
 To worlds that know not of decay, 
 
 If the bays I shall have won, 
 
 Be it for the good I 've done. 
 
THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 
 
 The warm autumn sun in the west was declining, 
 And deep in tlie sliade lay the valleys below, 
 
 But the tops of the mountains, the river's broad bosom, 
 The clouds overhanging, were all in a glow ; 
 
 When I saw a dark maid of the forest before me, 
 On a moss-cover'd mound kneeling sad and forlorn. 
 
 And her wail, as I sat 'neath the oak's spreading branches, 
 To me on the wings of the zephyr was borne. 
 
 " I have come," she exclaim'd, " from the wide spreading 
 prairie. 
 
 Where linger our people, a heart-broken band ; 
 I have sever'd each tie, on thy green grave to lay me. 
 
 And join thee, my love, in the l)right spirit-land. 
 
 " They tell me the earth is as lovely as ever — 
 The streams are as sparkling, the sky is as clear. 
 
 That the flowers are as fragrant, the birds sing as sweetly; 
 To me all is gloomy, for thou art not here ! 
 
T H E I N D I A N M A I D E N . 73 
 
 " O ! valiant wert thou, vvlieu our home was Invaded, 
 And swift as the eagle to pounce on the foe. 
 
 But the light of that home when the danger was over, 
 The maiden's kind heart could less gentleness show. 
 
 " To thee look'd our people to lead them to triumph, 
 To thee, in affliction, for counsel they came ; 
 
 By the good thou wert loved, but the wicked reviled thee, 
 And trembled with fear at the sound of thy name. 
 
 "For our homes, and our hunting-grounds, long didst 
 thou battle. 
 
 But wisdom avail'd not, and valor was vain, 
 For the white men like leaves of the forest in number, 
 
 Swept over the land, and my hero was slain. 
 
 "Then longer to live, though 'moug fond ones, without 
 thee, 
 
 Is more than my grief-stricken spirit can bear ; 
 And I know that the land thou art in must be dreary. 
 
 And cheerless to thee, when thy love is not there. 
 
 " Methinks thou art chiding me now that I tarry — ■ 
 I 'm coming, I 'm coming, my loved one, to thee !" 
 
74 THEINDIAN MAIDEN. 
 
 Then seizing a knife, in her bosom she plunged it — 
 The life-blood gush'd forth, and her spirit was free. 
 
 We buried the maid by the side of her lover ; 
 
 The last lingering sunbeam illumines their graves ; 
 And the wild mountain-ash with its bright scarlet 
 berries. 
 Like tear-drops of blood, o'er their resting-place 
 waves. 
 
THE VOICE OF NATURE. 
 
 Keclinittg in the cooling shade, 
 By spreading elms and lindens made, 
 A pleasing rapture o'er me stole, 
 That freed awhile my shacklVl soul. 
 Until I could communion hold. 
 With Nature, as man held of old. 
 E'er he the things of heavenly birth. 
 Exchanged for grosser things of earth. 
 Which made his senses dull and dim. 
 Till Nature was shut out from him. 
 
 The birds whose warbling fiU'd the grove. 
 The flowers beneath, the clouds above, 
 The stream that rippled at my feet. 
 The browzing herd, the wild deer fleet. 
 The insect tribe on glittering wing. 
 Each plant, each tree, each breathing thing, 
 A music made so soft, so clear. 
 As seldom falls on mortal's ear. 
 
76 T 11 EVOTCEOF NATURE. 
 
 I felt the voice was Nature's own ; 
 Such music Nature breathes alone ; 
 And this its burthen seem'd to be — 
 " Return, return, return to me. 
 
 " Oh, man ! my last, my fav'rite child, 
 Thou on whose birth creation smiled ! 
 And I of mine own offspring proud, 
 Thee with my richest gifts endow'd, 
 While Heaven immortal life bestow'd. 
 And powers well worthy of a God. 
 Ah ! woe is me that thou shouldst fall, 
 Thou only of my children all, 
 Thou only, couldst ungrateful be — 
 Return, my erring child, to me. 
 
 " Bright was the path for thee I spread, 
 To endless happiness it led ; 
 A path-way strewn with every good, 
 Nor sin, nor sorrow, might intrude. 
 But thou hast left my simple way, 
 Through error's devious paths to stray, 
 The paths of darkness, doul)t, and fear ; 
 Ah ! hear me while thou still may'st hear. 
 
THEVOICEOF NATURE. 77 
 
 Still would I tliy protector be— 
 Return, my erring child, to me." 
 
 The sun, tlie salt-wave sank below, 
 
 The sky with stars began to glow, 
 
 The risino" moon had silver'd o'er 
 
 The scene the sun had lit before ; 
 
 And all the voices of the night. 
 
 From shadowy dell and moon-lit height, 
 
 Took up the chorus I had heard. 
 
 From stream, and flower, and tree, and bird, 
 
 And borne upon the zephyr free — 
 
 " Return," it said, " return to me." 
 
HIDDEN TREASURES. 
 
 PiLGEiM on life's toilsome journey, 
 Searching for the good and true, 
 
 Be thou not in haste to turn thee 
 From what first ofifends thy view. 
 
 In the most unheard of places. 
 
 Richest treasures thou may'st find ; 
 
 Forms that never knew the graces, 
 Have the loftiest souls enshrined. 
 
 Gems of price are deeply hidden, 
 'Neath the rugged rocks conceal'd ; 
 
 What would ne'er come forth unbidden, 
 To thy search may be reveai'd. 
 
 While the fading flowers of pleasure. 
 Spring spontaneous from the soil. 
 
 Thou wilt find the harvest's treasure, 
 Yields alone to patient toil ! 
 
HIDDENTREASURES. 79 
 
 Of thy trials ne'er grow weary, 
 
 Child-like seek from all to learn ; 
 And in after-years to clieer thee, 
 
 Thou shalt reap a rich return. 
 
 All the good that we acquire — 
 
 Labor rightly, we bestow, 
 Fit us for a station higher. 
 
 In the world to which we go ; 
 
 And it is a thought most cheering, 
 
 That our labors, day by day, 
 Are the rugged path-way clearing, 
 
 For those following on the way. 
 
 Pilgrim on life's toilsome journey. 
 
 Searching for the good and true, 
 Be then not in haste to turn thee. 
 
 From what first offends thy view. 
 
THE OLD PINE TREE WITH BRANCHES BARE. 
 
 On yonder height, on yonder height, 
 
 That overlooks the valley fair, 
 One only object greets the sight — 
 
 An old pine tree with branches bare ! 
 
 Long, long the sport of every storm. 
 Though sadly rent, as yet it rears 
 
 On high its tall and tap'ring form — 
 A relic sad of by-gone years. 
 
 Far in the distance winds the dell ; 
 
 And many a stately tree is there ; 
 But oh ! there 's none I love so well. 
 
 As that old tree with branches bare ! 
 
 That old pine tree ! that old pine tree ! 
 
 While on its wither'd form I gaze, 
 Care flies the while, and memory 
 
 Restores again my early (hi}'^s ; 
 
THE OLD PINE TREE, ETC. 81 
 
 Those days when 'mong the birds and flowers, 
 I roam'd the fields, a thoughtless boy. 
 
 Nor dream'd this lovely world of ours. 
 Could ever furnish aught but joy. 
 
 How off-;en round that old pine tree, 
 
 I 've sported with companions gay, 
 Wlio lono; since have for<2:otten me ! 
 
 Or who are dead, or far away. 
 
 And ever as I chanced afar, 
 
 Through unfrequented paths to roam, 
 
 Tliat old tree was my polar star, 
 
 To guide my wand'ring footsteps home. 
 
 From travel when returning still, 
 The first that seems to welcome me. 
 
 High tow'ring over wood and hill. 
 Is that old withered, leafless tree. 
 
 Its mould'ring trunk soon prostrate laid, 
 Tlie fate of all things else must share, 
 
 But from my memory ne'er shall fade. 
 That old pine tree with branches bare ! 
 
THE TOWER OF STRENGTH. 
 
 Cunningly the worldly-minded 
 
 Fortifies his selfish soul, 
 Thinking (by his vain heart blinded) 
 
 Destiny he may control. 
 
 Every out-work strong he maketh, 
 Which a crafty foe might win ; 
 
 But precaution never taketh 
 
 'Gainst the foes that lurk within. 
 
 Yet alliance prosper'd never, 
 
 That by man with sin was made ; 
 
 Fraud, deceit, and falsehood, ever 
 Blast the soul that seek their aid. 
 
 Though the meek and trusting spirit, 
 May all unprotected seem. 
 
 Power from Heaven he doth inherit. 
 Of which worldlings never dream ; 
 
T H E T W E R F S T R E N G T H . 83 
 
 And if steadfast, failetli never, 
 
 In tlie strife to win at length. 
 For the Almighty's arm is ever 
 
 Unto him a tower of strength. 
 
 While the wall the sinful throweth 
 
 Round him, mouldereth away. 
 The defence that God bestoweth, 
 
 Waxeth stronger every day. 
 
 Pure in heart, then fear no longer 
 
 The assailants from without ; 
 Conscious innocence is stronger 
 
 Than the mightiest redoubt ! 
 
TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 O BUTTERFLY, butterfly, sailing along. 
 
 So lightly, so smoothly in air, 
 Pray rest thy light pinion, and list to my song, 
 
 Thou creature surpassingly fair ! 
 
 Of the ne'er ceasins^ toil of the ant and the bee, 
 
 Though others the praises may sing, 
 O rather, much rather would I sail like thee, 
 
 Through the world upon light painted wing. 
 
 Though short be thy life, 'tis as brilliant as brief, 
 
 All summer, and sunshine, and glee. 
 As the days of our childhood, unclouded with grief. 
 
 When we danced through the meadows like thee. 
 
 Though no store-house with treasure, thy industry fills. 
 To provide 'gainst the season of snow ; 
 
 "What is winter to thee, with its numberless ills, 
 When thou livest not their terrors to know ? 
 
T A B U T T E R F L Y . 85 
 
 Life at best is but short, and will quickly clej^art, 
 
 While its hours are gliding away ; 
 Let us Ijurtheu them not, with a sadness of heart, 
 
 But partake of their joys while we may. 
 
 Then loud in the praise of the ant and the bee, 
 
 Let cold plodding moralists sing — 
 O rather, much rather, would I be like thee, 
 
 Fail' insect with light painted wing. 
 
RELIGION. 
 
 How doth the weary spirit droop with sadness, 
 
 As one by one long cherish'd hopes decay, 
 While those whose love once fill'd our hearts with glad- 
 ness. 
 
 Each in his turn, drops silently away — 
 Till death has sever'd all the ties that bind us 
 
 To the few charms that might the world endear ; 
 And age and feebleness advancing, find us 
 
 Without one friend life's closing scene to cheer ! 
 
 Thus have I seen the sky at summer even, 
 
 The moon and stars rejoicing in their light. 
 The playful meteors flashing through the heaven. 
 
 The milky-way enrapturing the sight ; 
 Yet while I gazed, thick mists the heavens o'erclouded. 
 
 Star after star in their dark bosom sank. 
 In their thick folds the moon became enshrouded, 
 
 Till the whole sky was one unmeaning blank ! 
 
RELIGION. 87 
 
 But no ! life's sky hath still one star remaining ! 
 
 One brilliant star that lingers to the last ; 
 Religion ! man's best friend, the soul sustaining, 
 
 Until death's fearful barrier is past — 
 Cheering the drooping spirit at its going — 
 
 Piercing with heavenly light the awful gloom ; 
 Delightful glimpses to the soul bestowing. 
 
 Of that bright land that lies beyond the tomb ; 
 
 Nor points it only to the soul's last dwelling ; 
 
 Each deep recess it pierces with its light ; 
 From many a gloomy heart the clouds dispelling, 
 
 Had else been shrouded iu eternal nio-ht : 
 While to the true the power it gives of seeing 
 
 Good, where he only look'd for ill before, 
 And from unhallow'd doubts the spirit freeing, 
 
 He learns at length to trust, and doubt no more. 
 
TIME. 
 
 I HONOR tliee, Time ! for thy deeds of might — 
 I honor thee, Time, for thy honest dealing ! 
 
 Thou' I't ever bringing the truth to light, 
 And the secret arts of the false revealing. 
 
 I honor thee. Time ! for thy fearlessness ; 
 
 Thou art ever the wrongs of the weak redressing, 
 Confounding the schemes of those who oppress, 
 
 Humbling the proud, and the faithful blessing. 
 
 I honor thee, Time ! o'er the wounded heart 
 Thy healing balm thou art ever pouring ; 
 
 To vigorous life, by thy matchless art. 
 The broken spirit thou art restoring. 
 
 I honor thee. Time ! for thou art alone 
 The terror and dread of the e\dl-doer ; 
 
 While the fallen and injured a friend have none, 
 With steadier aim, or purpose truer. 
 
TIME. 89 
 
 That tliou art a fell destroyer, we say ; 
 
 But 'tis falseliood only tlioii art destroying ; 
 And didst thou not sweep the corrupt away, 
 
 Little would life have worth the enjoying. 
 
 The tyrant l)uildetli his castle strong, 
 
 And toileth to render his sway enduring. 
 
 And vainly fancies the reign of wrong. 
 He is forever and aye, securing. 
 
 How little he thinks that e'er well begun. 
 His walls of strength thou art undermining, 
 
 And silently dragging forth to the sun, 
 All the deeds of his dark designing ? 
 
 I honor thee, Time ! for no wrong can withstand 
 Thy assaults, determined and persevering ; 
 
 To succor the right thou art ever at hand. 
 And the way for its final triumph clearing. 
 
 We murmur, Time, that of ages past. 
 
 The things are so few that thou art preserving ; 
 
 Yet nothing dost thou in oblivion cast, 
 A place in thy treasure-house deserving. 
 
90 TIME. 
 
 I honor tliee, Time ! for a flood of light 
 Upon the darken'd soul thou art pouring ; 
 
 The slave thou art teaching to know his right, 
 And love for his brother, to man restoring. 
 
 I honor thee, Time ! thou art clearing away 
 
 The mists which so long have our path-way 
 shrouded ; 
 
 And bringing the dawn of a brighter day, 
 Whose sky shall forever remain unclouded. 
 
"NOTHING GOOD SHALL EVER PERISH." 
 
 Nothing good shall ever perisli ; 
 
 Only tLe corrupt shall die : 
 Truth which men and angels cherish, 
 
 Flourishes eternally. 
 
 None are wholly God-forsaken — 
 All his sacred image wear ; 
 
 None so lost but should awaken 
 In our hearts, a brother's care. 
 
 Not a mind but has its mission — 
 Power of working woe or weal ; 
 
 So degraded none's condition, 
 
 But the world his weight may feel. 
 
 Words of kindness, words of warning, 
 Deem not ever spoke in vain ; 
 
 Even to those thy counsel scorning, 
 Oft shall they return again. 
 
92 NOTHING GOOD SHALL EVER PERISH. 
 
 Thoiigli tlie mind absorb'd in pleasure, 
 Holds tlie voice of counsel liglit, 
 
 Yet dotli faithful memory treasure, 
 What at first it seem'd to slight. 
 
 Words of kindness we have spoken, 
 May, when we have pass'd away, 
 
 Heal, perhaps, some spirit broken. 
 Guide a brother led astray. 
 
 Thus, our very thoughts are living. 
 Even when we are not here ; 
 
 Joy and consolation giving. 
 
 To the friends who hold us dear. 
 
 IN^ot an act but is recorded — 
 
 Not a word but has its weight — 
 
 Every virtue is rewarded. 
 
 Outrage punish'd, soon or late. 
 
 Let no being then, be rated 
 
 As a thing of little worth ; 
 Every soul that is created. 
 
 Has its part to play on earth. 
 
PRAYER OF THE LOST ONE. 
 
 On a couch of rags iinsiglitly, 
 
 There was lying, 
 One whose heart once bounded lightly- 
 
 She was dying! 
 
 She had friends and parents tender, 
 
 Long ago ; 
 Why she did these joys surrender, 
 
 None may know. 
 
 Her's, perhaps, a story any 
 
 One might tell ; 
 She had charms, temptations many. 
 
 And she fell ! 
 
 Not a kindred heart was near her — 
 
 All alone ; 
 Friend to comfort or to cheer her, 
 
 There was none ! 
 
94 P R A Y E R F T n E L S T N E . 
 
 Yet before the soul was taken 
 
 Fi'om the clay, 
 Fervently this one forsaken, 
 
 Thus did pray — 
 
 " God of mercy ! God of justice, 
 
 Undefiled ! 
 Thou in whom the sinner's trust is — 
 
 Hear thy child. 
 
 " By the world though unforgiven, 
 
 Lone and poor, 
 'Gainst me thou wilt not of Heaven 
 
 Shut the door ? 
 
 " For his sake, whose love unsparing, 
 
 Could of yore, 
 Mildly bid a sister erring, 
 
 Sin no more ; 
 
 " God of mercy ! do not spurn me ; 
 
 Full of grief 
 As of sin, has been life's journey, 
 
 Dark and brief. 
 
PRAYER OF THE LOST ONE. 95 
 
 " None to counsel, none to cliide me, 
 
 There hath been ; 
 All companionship denied me, 
 
 Save of sin — 
 
 " Looks where'er I turn'd discerning, 
 
 Cold and hard. 
 Every av'nue of returning, 
 
 'Gainst me barr'd — 
 
 " All who could my love awaken. 
 
 Spurning me ; 
 Is it strange my faith was shaken 
 
 E'en in thee ? 
 
 " Often have I wept, how sadly, 
 
 O'er my doom ! 
 Often would have sank, how gladly. 
 
 To the tomb ! 
 
 " Then a terror would come o'er me, 
 
 Thus to die ! 
 Dare a sinner stand before thee. 
 
 Such as I ! 
 
96 PRAYER OF THE LOST ONE. 
 
 " But I feel deatli creeping over 
 
 My wreck'd frame ; 
 Soon my spirit's earthy cover, 
 
 Earth must claim. 
 
 "Unto thee, thou God all-seeing, 
 
 Let me fly ; 
 Thou canst yet my wretched being 
 
 Purify." 
 
 Thus she sank, the broken-hearted, 
 
 Trusting Heaven: 
 Who shall say that she departed 
 
 Unforgiven ? 
 
MY NEWSPAPER. 
 
 Hail, book of books — friend constant and untiring, 
 Permit an liumble bard thy praise to sing — 
 
 To express his gratitude alone desiring, 
 For all the blessings thou dost daily bring. 
 
 The scholar in his wisdom may despise thee, 
 
 And thumb his worm-gnaw'd volumes o'er and o'er, 
 
 But more my constant visitor, I prize thee, 
 Than all the treasures of his boasted lore. 
 
 Thou dost not, like old musty tomes, astound us 
 With the deep learning of the mighty dead : 
 
 But all the living mass of mind around us. 
 Is to our gaze upon thy surface spread. 
 
 Anxious the thousand various tastes of pleasing, 
 All that the world presents, thou dost explore ; 
 
 With skill unrival'd, industry unceasing. 
 To form thy ever-varying, motley store. 
 
 iL, 
 
9S M Y N E W S P A P E R . 
 
 The grave debates in halls of legislation — 
 
 Schemes which the minds of men in power engage ; 
 
 And all the affairs of every tribe and nation, 
 Are fonnd recorded on thy ample page. 
 
 Naught is too high, too low, for thy inspection — 
 Thou probest all things, sacred and profane ! 
 
 Gathering thy stores from every direction, 
 
 That none who search thy page, may search in vain. 
 
 While to the wisest heads thy aid thou lendest, 
 Maids, matrons, eagerly thy page peruse ; 
 
 And like a parent kind thou condescendest, 
 The very children even, to amuse. 
 
 The stateman's guide, his path of duty teaching — 
 The merchant's constant counselor and friend ; 
 
 And even the laborer's humble dwellino- reachino;', 
 To cheer him when his day's hard labors end. 
 
 Ever our laws and liberties protecting, 
 
 When trait'rous men their country would betray, 
 
 Their deep-laid schemes of treachery detecting, 
 Thou draggest forward to the light of day. 
 
MYNEWSPAPER. 99 
 
 Hail, potent guardian of tlie nation's honor ! 
 
 Long, long, as now, nntrammel'd mayest thou be ; 
 Distress and misery will fall upon her. 
 
 Soon as her sons forget to cherisli thee ! 
 
 God speed thee on ! the world's illuminator, 
 The clouds of error from each land dispel — 
 
 Where Freedom's throne has fallen, reinstate her, 
 Till tyrants find no place on earth to dwell. 
 
OLD CKONEST. 
 
 O ! IF there be a spot on earth, 
 By Heaven supremely blest — 
 
 'Tis where a little cottage stands, 
 Beside the Old Cronest. 
 
 Old Cronest with his rugged front 
 Towers like some giant dread ; 
 
 And where the storm-king lights his torch, 
 He lifts his lofty head. 
 
 In all his majesty below, 
 
 The mighty Hudson lies ; 
 In his broad mirror giving back 
 
 The mountains and the skies. 
 
 O, well I love that noble stream — 
 
 That rugged mountain high ; 
 But dearer far to me than these, 
 
 Yon little cot hard by. 
 
J 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 1 
 j 
 
 I 
 
 OLD C 11 N E S T . 
 
 At morn while standing on my deck, 
 
 I note tliat cottage white, 
 And by the cheerful light within, 
 
 I know it in the night. 
 
 While near to me that cottage seems 
 Where'er I chance to roam, 
 
 And well may Fancy picture it, 
 For 'tis my Leila's home ! 
 
 Of Leila's worth, of Leila's charms, 
 
 why to others tell ? 
 Enough that they ai'e all to me, 
 
 And that she knows it well. 
 
 Within that mountain's ample shade, 
 Our earliest breath we drew. 
 
 And there were form'd the sacred ties, 
 Which bind our hearts so true. 
 
 0, there our treasured life shall close, 
 
 And there our ashes rest, 
 And when we sleep, our monument 
 
 Shall be the Old Cronest ! 
 
 j 
 
 101 
 
 I- 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 
 
WHO IS HUMBLE? WHO IS LOWLY? 
 
 Who is humble ? who is lowly ? 
 
 He who cringeth unto power, 
 Living in the shadow solely, 
 
 Of the lordlings of the hour ? 
 
 No, the slavish spirit never 
 
 Knoweth of humility, 
 And when fortune favors, ever 
 
 Will the veriest tyrant he. 
 
 Is it he who ever preacheth 
 
 Of humility to thee ? 
 Mark, if his example teacheth 
 
 Not of craft, and vanity ! 
 
 Is it he whose dormant powers 
 Barely raise him from the clay — 
 
 And whose unrecorded hours 
 Serve but to divide the day ? 
 
WHO IS HUMBLE? WHO IS LOWLY? 103 
 
 Not witli ignorance and weakness 
 
 Doth humility abide, 
 Oft'ner harbor there, than meekness, 
 
 Cunning, selfishness, and pride. 
 
 True humility abideth 
 
 Only in the trusting soul, 
 Where unwavering faith resideth, 
 
 And where love and truth control ; 
 
 One whose vision clear, far-seeing, 
 
 Hath to him his frailty shown ; 
 For the truly humble being, 
 
 Is the truly great alone ! 
 
THE FATAL PREDICTION. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 The lovely Isabel had charms 
 
 The loftiest queen might prize ; 
 And her father was famed through many lands, 
 
 As a Seer, old and wise. 
 
 Young Garbaldi was a prince of power — 
 
 His lands were rich and wide ; 
 And he had sworn to fair Isabel, 
 
 That she should be his bride. 
 
 But years roll'd by, and his pride grew strong. 
 
 And his youthful love grew cold. 
 And he left the maid of his early choice, 
 
 For one who had lands and gold. 
 
 Fair Isabel, so gay before. 
 
 Ne'er smiled again from that day ; 
 
 And thouorh the bli2;ht did not kill her outriii^ht, 
 It stole her reason away. 
 
THE FATAL PREDICTION. 105 
 
 " Woe, woe, proud prince," said tlie Seer old, 
 
 " On tliy bridal morn to thee. 
 For torn from thy side, thy queenly bride, 
 
 By a stouter than thou shalt be." 
 
 And the proud prince laugh' d a laugh of scorn, 
 
 At the threat of the Seer old, 
 For strong were his towers, and many his slaves, 
 
 And his own heart stout and bold. 
 
 And, " Welcome, welcome, the warrior bold," 
 
 Said he, " to my queenly bride ; 
 Whoever he be, on my bridal morn, 
 
 Shall bear her away from my side." 
 
 O brightly, brightly, is shining the sun, 
 
 On turret, and dome, and tower ; 
 Away to the chapel, ye glittVing throng, 
 
 For this is the bridal hour. 
 
 Prince Garbaldi has marshal'd his bands, 
 
 And his banners are streaming gay ; 
 And never before had the oldest eyes 
 
 Beheld such a goodly array. 
 
106 THE FATAL PREDICTION. 
 
 And he cast a sneer on the Seer old, 
 As he pass'd him by in his pride ; 
 
 " Where now," he said, " is the warrior bold, 
 Who shall carry away my bride ?" 
 
 The queenly bride and her glitt'ring train. 
 The prince with his haughty brow, 
 
 And the shaven priest in his solemn garb. 
 Are at the altar now. 
 
 But, hark to that crash ! and lo, the flash 
 From the burning mountain nigh ! 
 
 Pillar and wall are rock'd to their fall ! 
 O fly, while ye yet may fly ! 
 
 Full many a tall and goodly knight, 
 
 And many a lady fair. 
 Who vainly essay'd to escape in flight, 
 
 In death lay buried there. 
 
 But the prince has seized his lady fair, 
 
 And has pass'd the outer gate ; 
 And boastingly says, " I will save her yet. 
 
 Though it be from the jaws of fate !" 
 
THE FATAL PREDICTION 107 
 
 Away, away from tlie falling towers, 
 
 And opening earth, lie fled ; 
 But when he look'd on the tace of his bride, 
 
 He look'd on the face of the dead ! 
 
 Yet not from the earthquake's shock she sank. 
 
 Or fire, or falling stone ; 
 But mid the terror of that dread hour 
 
 Her fragile life had flown. 
 
 Then the proud prince thought of the Seer old, 
 
 He had vainly spurn'd in his pride — 
 For Death ! grim Death ! was the warrior bold. 
 
 Who had stolen away his bride. 
 
THE YANKEE GIRLS. 
 
 Not England's daughters, rosy cheek'd, 
 
 Nor Scotia's lasses fair, 
 Nor Erin's blooming maidens can, 
 
 With Yankee girls compare : 
 Though of their bards enraptured strains, 
 
 Full worthy they may be. 
 They '11 not compare with Yankee girls — 
 
 The Yankee girls for me ! 
 
 Let Byron of Italian maids. 
 
 In glowing numbers sing. 
 And let the Turk his Georgean bride 
 
 And black eyed houries bring ; 
 Though what they tell us of their charms. 
 
 All very true may be. 
 They '11 not compare with Yankee girls — 
 
 The Yankee girls for me ! 
 
 Their faultless forms ! their peerless eyes ! 
 As bright as morning dew ; 
 
T II E Y A N K E E G I R L S . 109 
 
 Their cheeks so fair ! their spirits light ! 
 
 Their hearts so warm aud true ! 
 They 're chaste as fair ; their minds unchain'd, 
 
 In thought and action free, 
 There's nothing like the Yankee girls — 
 
 The Yankee girls for me ! 
 
 Unto Columbia's daughters then 
 
 We '11 drain the goblet dry ! 
 Naught can the universe produce, 
 
 With Yankee girls to vie ! 
 O ! they are fairest of the fair — 
 
 And ever may they be ; 
 There 's nothing like the Yankee girls — 
 
 The Yankee girls for me ! 
 
THE GENIUS OF LIBERTY. 
 
 The vail that shrouds man's feeble sight, 
 
 My guardian spirit drew, 
 And brought in rays of heavenly light, 
 
 The future to my view. 
 
 Ages of doubt, and wrong, and fear, 
 
 Sank in the gloom afar. 
 Till things to come, became as clear 
 
 To me, as things that are. 
 
 O ! 'twas a glorious scene, of sea, 
 Of mountain, vale, and wood, 
 
 Where, the presiding deity. 
 My country's genius stood. 
 
 Upon her lofty brow serene. 
 
 No diadem she bore ; 
 The majesty of air and mein. 
 
 Was all the crown she wore ! 
 
THE GENIUS OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Beside lier were the powers, whicli give 
 
 To man liis empire wide, 
 And all the arts in wMch shall live 
 
 His glory, and his pride. 
 
 Dim in the distance, as the things 
 Whose worth had pass'd away, 
 
 The towers and palaces of kings, 
 In hopeless ruin lay. 
 
 The tyrant's doom by her was seaPd — 
 Slavery no more might be — 
 
 Man's worth to man she had reveal'd, 
 And set the nations free ! 
 
 Nor those stern arts alone, she drew 
 
 Unto her, which control 
 The elements, and which subdue 
 
 The earth, from pole to pole ; 
 
 Hov'ring around her were those forms. 
 Whose charms life's paths can fill 
 
 With loveliness, and bid the storms. 
 That mar its peace, be still. 
 
 Ill 
 
112 THE GENIUS OF LIBERTY. 
 
 The muse would ne'er exalt again, 
 
 The warrior to the sky, 
 Nor Music lend her heavenly strain, 
 
 To swell the battle cry. 
 
 A newer, stronger, tide of life. 
 Earth's pulses seem'd to fill, 
 
 And all created things seem'd rife. 
 With energy and will. 
 
 Our own bless'd flag, where many a blot. 
 We once might weep to see, 
 
 Now waved aloft, without a spot 
 To mar its purity. 
 
 The pride that makes man disavow 
 His brother, had no place ; 
 
 Of all the races, there was now 
 But one — the human race ! 
 
 The cross which saw its light divine. 
 Obscured mid party strife, 
 
 Resumed once more its place, the sign 
 Of union, and of life ! 
 
TWIN GRAVES. 113 
 
 Such, was the state through liberty, 
 Which God to earth had given, 
 
 Until man's birth-place seem'd to be 
 Almost, another Heaven. 
 
 TWIN GRAVES. 
 
 Twin graves are these ! an aged pair 
 
 In quiet here repose, 
 Who trod in love and hopefulness, 
 
 Life's journey to its close. 
 
 They did not deem their life too short, 
 
 Nor ask a longer stay ; 
 We feel that they are happy now, 
 
 And are not far away. 
 
 No power could part them while they lived, 
 Nor would we, when they died ; 
 
 They 're sleeping as they always slept — 
 We laid them side by side ! 
 
THE POINT OF DOCTMNE: OK, LOVE AND LOGIC. 
 
 Who is there did not know Ralph Rattle ? 
 
 Renown'd for many a famous battle — 
 
 Not in that field where foemen fell, 
 
 Cut throats, for what they cannot tell — 
 
 But in that intellectual strife, 
 
 Where tongue suj)plies the place of knife. 
 
 And strength of lungs astound us more. 
 
 Than clash of swords, or cannon's roar. 
 
 Ralph was a mighty politician, 
 
 And always in the right position. 
 
 For though it may not be denied. 
 
 He changed about from side to side. 
 
 Yet he could change about at will. 
 
 And prove that he was standing still. 
 
 But not in subtilty alone 
 
 Did Ralph confide ; to him was known 
 
 That loftier kind of eloquence. 
 
 Where substituting sound for sense, 
 
THE POINT OF DOCTRINE, ETC. lib 
 
 And calling up a fearful fj'own, 
 
 We roar our adversary down. 
 
 In politics we styled Ralph great — 
 
 But dare we venture to relate 
 
 What in theology his skill, 
 
 These verses would whole volumes fill. 
 
 Therefore we simply say, in short, 
 
 Here was his hobby, here his forte. 
 
 He could divide the nicest point. 
 
 As skillful carver would a joint; 
 
 And every mystery make as clear 
 
 As the unclouded atmosphere. 
 
 One so invincible as he. 
 
 In politics, theology. 
 
 And eloquence, 'twas thought would prove 
 
 No less so in aifairs of love. 
 The trial came, for, strange to tell, 
 Ralph, who had fortified so well 
 His wondrous head, with all his art 
 Had never thought to shield his heart ! 
 The lady, who of course was fair. 
 As all unmarried ladies are, 
 
116 THE POINT OF DOCTRINE, ETC. 
 
 Togetlier with an only brother, 
 Lived snugly with a widow'd mother. 
 
 How Ralph commenced his first advances, 
 What luck attended, what mischances, 
 His progress thwarted as a lover. 
 We vainly labor'd to discover. 
 But the result we know full well. 
 And briefly now proceed to tell : — 
 
 'Twas on a clear December night ; 
 Ralph and the moon were both so bright, 
 You scarce could tell which gave the light 
 That made night's passing loveliness — 
 Such brilliancy did both possess — • 
 When Ralph his passion to declare. 
 Had early sought his lady fair. 
 To walk beneath the glittering sky, 
 Where no intruders might be nigh, 
 To pour in her delighted ear. 
 What most he deem'd she long'd to hear, 
 Was his intent ; but while he sat 
 Tn social and promiscucms chat. 
 
THE POINT OF DOCTRINE, ETC. 117 
 
 The brother a remark let fall — 
 Some luckless words, which marr'd it all- 
 Some question in theology, 
 With which Ralph never could agree. 
 
 This glaring error to confute 
 
 Ralph enters now in hot dispute, 
 
 Forgets the lady and her mother. 
 
 In wordy warfare with the brother. 
 
 How skillfully he play'd his part. 
 
 With how much cunning, how much art, 
 
 'Twere all uncall'd for here to tell, 
 
 To those who knew our hero well. 
 
 But would you ask—" What progress made he ?" 
 
 He gain'd his point, but lost the lady ! 
 
 As we remark'd, what he designed 
 
 His visit for, escaped his mind. 
 
 And when he rose to say good night, 
 
 (Though by-the-by 'twas morning quite). 
 
 To his astonishment, he found 
 
 The ladies both, in sleep profound ! 
 
 'Tis true he strove amends to make. 
 
 For this unlover-like mistake, 
 
118 THE POINT OF DOCTRINE, ETC. 
 
 And often to the house would come ; 
 But Clara never was at home ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Let those who would with Love succeed 
 How they forget themselves take heed : 
 No ftivor by that God is shown, 
 Save when we bow to him alone. 
 
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HELEN: OR, THE FOREST QUEEN, 
 
 In the shadow of yon mountain, 
 Stands a log-built cottage low, 
 
 Close beside a sparkling fountain, 
 "Where the water-cresses grow. 
 
 Eound the door and window twining, 
 Blooms the morning-glory fair, 
 
 Choicest flowers the pathway lining, 
 Speak a gentle maiden's care. 
 
 And a fairer, lovelier flower, 
 Never deck'd the prairie wild, 
 
 Never bloom'd in fairy bower. 
 Than this artless forest child. 
 
 When I journey'd o'er the mountain, 
 As I sought that cottage low ; 
 
 There I met her at the fountain. 
 Where the water-cresses grow. 
 
120 HELEN: OR, THE FOREST QUEEN. 
 
 To that spot by her enchanted, 
 
 Oft did I return, I ween, 
 For my brain was ever haunted, 
 
 By that lovely forest queen. 
 
 There her faith to me was plighted, 
 Seated by the sparkling stream ; 
 
 While the forest round was lighted. 
 By the moon's unclouded beam. 
 
 Though with Helen I may wander. 
 And a prouder home may find, 
 
 Still will memory fondly ponder 
 On the scenes we leave behind. 
 
 Ne'er shall we forget the mountain. 
 Or that log-built cottage low. 
 
 Ne'er, O ne'er the sparkling fountain, 
 Where the water-cresses grow. 
 
TO THE AMERICAN MUSE. 
 
 Columbia's muse ! awake, awake, 
 Arouse thee, spirit of the free ! 
 
 A height none else may dare to take, 
 On glory's moimt, awaiteth thee. 
 
 Hope of the nations ! round thy brow 
 No wreath of fading laurels twine ; 
 
 To meaner gods let others bow, 
 Be the Eternal, only, thine. 
 
 Free as becomes thy heavenly birth, 
 Let thy broad pinions be unfurl'd. 
 
 Spurning the chains which bind to earth 
 Thy sisters of the older world. 
 
 Drawn from the dead and mouldering past. 
 
 Let not thy inspiration be ; 
 A field more fruitful, and more vast. 
 
 The breathing world presents to thee. 
 
122 TO THE AMERICAN MUSE. 
 
 Traditions false, and fables old, 
 Cast in oblivion's endless niglit ; 
 
 And let the astonish'd world, behold 
 Herself in truth's unchanging light. 
 
 Let not the warrior's reeking blade 
 Be consecrated in thy song ; 
 
 But to the arts of peace be paid, 
 The honors that to them belong. 
 
 Inspire the hardy sons of toil. 
 
 With love of justice, love of worth, 
 
 Until the craven men of spoil, 
 No more shall brutalize the earth. 
 
 Desert not that devoted band. 
 
 Who, foremost in the glorious fight. 
 
 Are bravely battling, heart and hand. 
 For human freedom, human rio-lit. 
 
 "&' 
 
 Strengthen the bonds of brotherhood 
 Which man for man begins to feel : 
 
 Tell each, he seeks his greatest good, 
 Who labors for the public weal. 
 
fr" 
 
 TO THE AMERICAN MUSE. 123 
 
 Probe to its inmost core, the heart, 
 
 And lay its sacred fountains bare. 
 Until the streams of love shall start, 
 
 Whicli lie 'neath. falsehood buried there. 
 
 Nations for ages wrapt in night, 
 
 Where freedom's day begins to dawn, 
 
 Are list'ning for thy voice of might, 
 Thy voice of truth, to cheer them on. 
 
 Let not corruption make of thee, 
 
 A pension'd, and a pamper'd slave ; 
 Thou, who God's messenger shouldst be. 
 
 To raise the fallen, lost to save ! 
 
 Thine is a mission, holy, high. 
 
 The shiackled soul to disinth.rall ! 
 Mar not thy lofty destiny, 
 
 O, be not recreant to the call ! 
 
 Spurn, spurn tbe meed by tyrants craved ; 
 
 And ever let thy glory be — 
 Not that thou hast a world enslaved. 
 
 But tliat thou hast a world made free. 
 
TO A LADY, ON PRESENTING HER A BUNCH OF 
 WITHERED FLOWERS. 
 
 Take, lady, take this off 'ring small. 
 
 Of autumn's faded flowers. 
 That to my wither'd heart recall, 
 
 Life's happier, earlier hours. 
 
 I found them in this hapless state, 
 Their bloom and freshness flown, 
 
 Their lot seem'd lone and desolate. 
 And friendless as my own. 
 
 Late on yon heath they flourish'd fair. 
 
 Their fragrance wafted far, 
 Till autumn's early frost came there, 
 
 And left them as they are. 
 
 Thus, late a fickle world to me, 
 
 A smiling aspect wore, 
 I never dream'd that there could be, 
 
 Such misery in store. 
 
TO A LADY ON PRESENTING, ETC. 125 
 
 But blighted hopes, and liarrowiug care, 
 
 Have o'er my spirit pass'd, 
 Till disappointment and despair, 
 
 Make it their home at last. 
 
 They Ve set their seal upon my brow, 
 
 Benumb'd life's wonted powers, 
 Until my heart is cheerless now, 
 
 As autumn's faded flowers. 
 
 These autumn flowers then, lady, take, 
 
 All wither'd though they be, 
 Preserve them for the giver's sake. 
 
 And sometimes think on me. 
 
OH NO! THEY'RE NOT SLEEPING. 
 
 A DIRQE. 
 
 Away with the sorrow, 
 
 Away with the gloom, 
 That fear falsely throws 
 
 Kound the death-bed and tomb. 
 
 Death comes not with dread 
 
 To the pure and the true, 
 Not a life to destroy. 
 
 But a life to renew ! 
 
 Bend not o'er the tomb 
 
 With a cry of despair. 
 For the loved and the lovely 
 
 Are not sleeping there. 
 
 Bring flowers, choice flowers, 
 
 To strew o'er the grave. 
 Where in freshness and beauty, 
 
 The evergreens wave. 
 
OH! NO THEY'RE NOT SLEEPING. 127 
 
 Believe tliem not perish'd, 
 
 Wlio seem to liave fled ; 
 Oh no ! they 're not sleeping, 
 
 Oh no ! they 're not dead. 
 
 Oh no ! they 're not sleeping, 
 
 They watch o'er us yet ; 
 The love they once bore us, 
 
 They ne'er can forget. 
 
 And we '11 greet them again 
 
 When life's journey has sped ; 
 Oh no ! they 're not sleeping. 
 
 Oh no ! they 're not dead ! 
 
COME TO MY HOME IN THE WEST. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 My log-cabin is of tlie best — love, 
 My lands are as broad as the sea ! 
 
 Then come to my home in the west — love, 
 O haste to the prairies with me. 
 
 My hand and my rifle are true — ^love, 
 The wild herd there 's no one to claim, 
 
 My mustang no toil can subdue — ^love, 
 His fleetness the ostrich would shame. 
 
 Our cottage is close by the lake — ^love. 
 Where stateliest forest-trees grow, 
 
 Its bosom a mirror will make — love, 
 More ample than king can bestow. 
 
 The hum of the City we '11 change — ^love. 
 With joy, for the hum of the bees, 
 
 While over the prairies we '11 range — love, 
 As free as the glad summer breeze — 
 
COME TO MY HOME IN THE WEST. 129 
 
 The deer o'er our pathway shall bound — ^love, 
 Their young ones around us shall play, 
 
 The shout of the huntsman resound — love, 
 And wake us at dawn of the day. 
 
 The birds thy companions shall be — ^love, 
 And welcome thy feet to their bowers, 
 
 And earth send up incense to thee — love. 
 For there 't is a garden of flowers. 
 
 O Nature in beauty most rare — love. 
 
 There sits on her emerald throne. 
 And gladly she '11 welcome thee there — love, 
 
 For thou art a child of her own ! 
 
 The city 's a prison to me — love. 
 Where death it were longer to stay. 
 
 Then let us be happy and free — love. 
 And haste to the prairies away. 
 
BRAVELY DO, AND BOLDLY DARE. 
 
 Champioi!^ of truth ! unwaveringly, 
 Press onward in tliy calling high ; 
 True to thyself, thy purpose true, 
 The one grand object still in view ; 
 Heed not the coward's voice, nor fear 
 The fool's derision, skeptic's sneer ; 
 But bravely do, and boldly dare, 
 And never let thy heart despair ; 
 
 Nor falter when thy efforts fail, 
 To persevere is to prevail ; 
 Often as thou art driven back, 
 Unflinchingly resume the track : 
 Let every wound that thou mayest feel, 
 Inspire thee with redoubled zeal ; 
 And bravely do, and boldly dare. 
 And never let thy heart despair. 
 
 Hath falsehood power to do thee ill ? 
 Remember truth is mio-htier still ! 
 
 O 
 
 Shall when perfidious tongues assail. 
 The Heaven-born spirit in thee quail ? 
 
BRAVELY DO, AND NOBLY DARE. ICl 
 
 Resolve to triumpli in the fight ; 
 Trust in thy God, and in thy right ; 
 And bravely do, and boldly dare, 
 And never let thy heart des23air. 
 
 Though fortune meet thee with a frown, 
 And all the world looks coldly down, 
 If conscience Avith approving smile. 
 Thy humble task regards the while ; 
 Let not what all beside may say. 
 Deter thee from thy onward way. 
 But bravely do, and boldly dare, 
 And never let thy heart despair. 
 
 Though even death thy meed should be. 
 The martyr's death is victory ! 
 'Twill cheer thy spirit in its flight. 
 To know thou'st battled for the rio-ht : 
 Whilst thou wilt leave behind a name, 
 Shall turn thy bitterest foes to shame ; 
 And be a beacon light, whose ray 
 Shall cheer the pilgrim on his way : 
 Then bravely do, and boldly dare. 
 And never let thy heart despair. 
 
HANS VAN RYN. 
 
 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 Theee is an old house, an old Dutcli lionse, 
 
 With gable pointed and high, 
 It stands a little piece off the road, 
 
 No other house stands nisrh. 
 
 o 
 
 The name of its owner was Hans Van Ryn, 
 
 Our grandsires knew him well ; 
 And a strange old man he must have been. 
 
 If the stories be true they tell. 
 
 The father of Hans had followVl the sea. 
 
 And little of him was told. 
 Save that he was ever sullen and proud, 
 
 And that he had heaps of gold. 
 
 But where he had hidden his countless hoard, 
 
 Xot even his son could tell, 
 Though Hans was ever a prudent youth, 
 
 And loved by his father well. 
 
HANS VAN RYN. 133 
 
 Hans fancied his father when dying, from liim, 
 
 The secret no longer would keep ; 
 But he only said, as he gave up the ghost, 
 
 " Dig deep ! dig deep ! dig deep !" 
 
 Some thought Old Van Ryn the treasure had found 
 
 Of the famous Captain Kidd, 
 And others, the countless pots of gold, 
 
 By the old Dutch matrons hid. 
 
 And doubted not for his treasure that he 
 
 Himself to the devil had sold, 
 That when the old boy came to carry him oft^ 
 
 He 'd carried away the gold. 
 
 But to digging Hans went with pickaxe and spade, 
 
 Morning, and noon, and night, 
 And every old corner, dusty and dark, 
 
 Was quickly exposed to the light. 
 
 He searchVl the cellar, he search'd the well. 
 
 He dug up the garden ground ; 
 But all in vain were his ceaseless toils, 
 
 For never a stiver he found. 
 
134 H A N S V A N R Y N . 
 
 Yet still lie would dig, and dig, and dig. 
 And scarcely a moment could sleep. 
 
 While e'en in his dreams he would mutter aloud — 
 " Dig deep, dig deep, dig deep !" 
 
 Till his brain at length was turn'd, poor man. 
 With the thought of his treasure lost ; 
 
 And when with the burden of years he was bent, 
 And his head was white as the frost ; 
 
 You might see him under the old oak tree, 
 
 Resting upon his spade ; 
 And never a word would he say to }^ou 
 
 If nothing to him you said. 
 
 Yet if but a single word you spoke, 
 
 Like one awaken'd from sleep. 
 He gazed around with a vacant stare. 
 
 And mutter'd — " Dig deep ! dig deep !" 
 
 Old Hans Van Ryn has now been dead 
 
 For many a long, long year. 
 Yet still to the nightly passer-l)y. 
 
 His troubled ghost doth appear. 
 
H A N S V A N R Y N . 135 
 
 With spade in hand, by the rifted oak, 
 
 His midnight watch he doth keep, 
 AVhile in voice as gruff as the raven of Poe, 
 
 He mutters — " Dig deep ! dig deep !" 
 
 And now in these simple woi-ds of Hans, 
 
 There 's a moral, it seems to me. 
 Which if rightly treasured and pondered well, 
 
 Of service to many might be — 
 
 Whoe'er in the wide-spreading field of thought, 
 
 A bounteous harvest would reap. 
 Must, searching beneath the surface of things. 
 
 Dig deep ! dig deep ! dig deep ! 
 
THE INFANT'S GRAVE. 
 
 Iisr tlie depth of affliction, 
 
 A mother was sighing, 
 Beside a lone grave 
 
 Where her baby was lying : 
 
 She saw not bright spirits 
 
 Were hovering near, 
 But their voices in soothing, 
 
 Thus fell on her ear — 
 
 " O think not, fond mother. 
 Thy Clarence is sleeping 
 
 Within the cold grave, 
 
 Over which thou art weeping. 
 
 " To our home we have borne him. 
 
 An angel to be ; 
 And there a bright cherub. 
 
 He waiteth for thee." 
 
CJuipTneov- 
 
 zy^C^ 
 
THE ALCHYMIST. 
 
 The clock the midniglit hour had told — 
 The night was dark, the air was cold ; 
 Every sound from the street had fled, 
 Save of the watchman's leisurely tread ; 
 And never a light in a casement shone, 
 But that from the Alchymist's lamp alone. 
 
 Feeble, and friendless, and old was he, 
 As Alchymists ever are said to be ; 
 His locks were thin, his forehead was high. 
 And deeply sunken his keen black eye ; 
 And there was a shade of suffering now, 
 Cloudino^ his ha2:2rard and care-worn brow. 
 
 Broken and scatter'd in disarray. 
 Retort and crucible round him lay ; 
 Over an antique table he bent, 
 His head on his shrivel'd hand he lent ; 
 
138 THE ALC H YM 1ST. 
 
 With ague Lis figure appear'd to sliake, 
 As tlms in a tremulous voice lie spake — 
 " O God ! tliou knowest I sought not gold, 
 That I might gloat over hoards untold ; 
 I sought it not for its power of ill, 
 My fellow-man to enslave to my will. 
 Nor wish'd I ever the homage to gain, 
 Of those who are led by its glitt'ring chain. 
 
 " With me, I had deeply vow'd that it should 
 
 Be ever the minisf ring angel of good : 
 
 With its magic key I 'd unlock tlie door 
 
 Of the store-house wide, to the suff'ring poor. 
 
 The desert wild with its power I 'd bless. 
 
 Till it teem'd with a garden's fruitfulness ; 
 
 The tremb'ling slave from his bonds I would free, 
 
 And teach him the blessings of liberty ; 
 
 And the light of knowledge as freel}' should fall, 
 
 As falls the light of the sun, upon all. 
 
 " O, wise was my father ! the master w^as he 
 Of many a fearful mystery ! 
 And his was the knowledge, which I to obtain, 
 Have studied and toil'd for, and watched in vain. 
 
T H E ALT H YMIST. 139 
 
 Full well I remember the morniiio: lie died — 
 He summoned my brother and self to liis side — 
 ' Listen, my children,' he said, ' and I'll tell, 
 The secret I 've treasured so long and so well. 
 But ere he could utter the words of power 
 Which he had reserved for his dying hour, 
 His lips were seal'd by the fingers of Death : 
 He mutter'd but this with his parting breath — 
 ' Gold hath within it the seed of gold, 
 And it easily yield eth an hundred fold.' " 
 
 But, hark ! to the clatter of horses' heels — 
 And the whirring sound of chariot wheels ! 
 Why seek they this dark and deserted way. 
 Where they never come in the blaze of day ? 
 But stranger still — Avhy stop at the door. 
 Of the friendless Alchymist, old and poor ? 
 
 Bat tat tat, rat tat tat — the whole house shakes, 
 With that ra]3 which the old door almost breaks ; 
 The Alchymist sprang to his feet with afright — 
 Who for him could be seeking at dead of the night ? 
 But his terror soon fled, and a ghastly smile 
 Came over his haggard features the while, 
 
140 T H E A L C H Y M I S T . 
 
 When he thou^'ht how little of reason had he. 
 In dread of the burglar's designs to be ; 
 And when did a burglar come to the door 
 Of a house he would rob, in a coach and four ? 
 So he lifted the latch, and a stranger appeard. 
 Little like such as the old man had fear'd. 
 Bland was his visage — and stately his tread — 
 His bearing bespake one in affluence bred ; 
 And strangely his figure contrasted I ween. 
 With that of the Alchymist, haggard and lean. 
 
 " Hah ! thou hast come," the Alchymist said — 
 
 " Me in the hour of my need to aid ? 
 
 One trial moi-e and the secret divine, 
 
 I 've vainly toil'd for so long, shall be mine. 
 
 Aid me but now and I '11 share with thee, 
 
 The fruits of my grand discovery. 
 
 Life is fast ebbing, and time rolls on — 
 
 Let me not die ere my work be doue !" 
 
 " Aye," said the stranger ; " with aid for thee — • 
 I 've sought for thee long and anxiously. 
 But are there no kindred unto thee dear ? 
 Hast not a brother of whom thou wouldst hear ?" 
 
T H E A L C H Y M I S T . 141 
 
 " A brotter I had, and I loved liim well — 
 
 A strange wild youth ! — but what hast thou to tell 
 
 Of one who while yet in his manhood's pride, 
 
 I fear me a graceless profligate died. 
 
 Time stays not to dwell on the things that have fled — 
 
 I live for the living, and not for the dead." 
 
 " Not dead," said the other, " for in me behold 
 
 The brother so tenderly cherish VI of old !" 
 
 " My brother — O Heaven !" the Alchymist cried ; 
 
 " The boon thou hast granted, so often denied. 
 
 The stars which deceive not, had promised to night, 
 
 To put in my keeping the secret of might ; 
 
 But poverty seem'd to have power to be 
 
 A bar to what even the Heavens decree. 
 
 When lo, thou art sent to me in my despair, 
 
 To aid in my triumph — my triumph to share. 
 
 But O ! how I tremble to think of the power. 
 
 That God is about to confer at this hour ! 
 
 And O ! may I never that power possess, 
 
 If with me it be other than power to bless." 
 
 " Nay," said the brother, " I come to impart 
 A secret beyond the power of thy art. 
 
142 THE ALCIIYMIST. 
 
 The elixir is mine ! and the po\yer I hold, 
 
 Of converting whatever I touch into gold !" 
 
 " Thou, brother ! thou who didst scorn of yore — 
 
 The priceless treasures of ancient lore ! 
 
 Pray, by what mighty spell didst thou gain. 
 
 What I by my learning have sought for in vain ?" 
 
 " Of my youtliful errors, 'twere needless to tell/' 
 
 The other leplied, " for thou knowest them well : 
 
 And how from my kindred and home I fled, 
 
 Till you thought me lost forever, or dead. 
 
 But Grod look'd in mercy, and penitence came. 
 
 My spirit was steep'd in remorse and shame ! 
 
 I vow'd I'efoi'm, and I kej^t my vow — 
 
 How much I struggled it matters not now. 
 
 The city I sought and its crowded mart ; 
 
 I noted the workings of commerce and art; 
 
 I carefully studied the laws of trade. 
 
 Which taught me how gold might by gold 1)e made ; 
 
 This, I exclaim'd, is the secret of might ! 
 
 This reads our fatlier's riddle ario:ht — 
 
 ' Gold hath within it the seed of gold, 
 
 And it easily yieldeth an hundred fold.' 
 
T H E A L C K Y M I S T . 143 
 
 " Year after year, with unwavering pains, 
 I toird till I scarcely could count my gains. 
 But soon I disco verVl that hoarded gold 
 Clung round the heart like a serpent cold ; 
 That it bless'd but him who with it would bless, 
 By adding to human happiness. 
 Yet I learn'd not this till that treasure divine. 
 The mighty elixir of life, was mine ! 
 
 Thou wilt find it not in thy treasured lore — 
 Thou canst not extract it from herb, or from ore ; 
 
 'Tis a gift that God himself doth impart ! 
 
 Addino- new freshness and life to the heart. 
 
 It makes it expand as no power else can. 
 
 With love for its Maker, and love for man ; 
 
 O'er the body's decay though it hath no control, 
 
 It giveth immortal life to the soul. 
 
 " This treasure divine is already thine own ! 
 
 And needeth but room for expansion alone. 
 
 Then haste with me, brother, and thou shalt possess 
 
 All that wealth can bestow of the power to bless." 
 
 A tear trickled down from the Alchymist's eye, 
 And his bosom heaved with a deep drawn sigh, 
 
144 THE ALCHY MIST. 
 
 As he left his mansion shatter'd and old, 
 With his dreams of power and dreams of gold ; 
 And rode as he never had ridden before, 
 With a friend sincere, in a coach and four. 
 
 91 
 
 END. 
 
 716 
 

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