Chapter II: Part 2

A tale of happy love! 'Tis like my fate. Two youthful beings, yearning each for love, Met by a haunted stream, with ivied banks, Beneath the evening star--the star of love. Their souls fled to each other suddenly: So that they felt they were ordained of old, To twain be one, one flesh, one bone, one soul. They loved, and dwelt among the grassy hills, By lakes that mirrored all their trees and flowers. A happy life, and curly-headed boys Were round their steps, their walks, their cottage door, Filling the air with laughter, silvery sweet. Gay spring, bright summer, autumn, winter passed, And found and left them happy, So time flew, Till both were old, their hearts yet light and gay. Then, they slept sweetly, side by side, near by A favorite stream they oft had gazed upon, Meek christians said they hoped that love so rare Had full fruition found, in brighter worlds. It is a happy story, and my eyes, Have poured their pearl upon these pages here, That tell so dear a tale. Oh! God be praised, If such a fate befall my love and me. I will go seek Odora, and return To talk with her amid this fragrant bower, Of what a book has charmed my sighing soul. I found it here. Perchance she read it first. How that one thought which doth fill up the mind, Will color outward objects, circumstance, And accident, with tincture of itself.

_He goes--then Odora and he re-enter the garden._

LOVER SPEAKS.--I here have found, Odora, love, this book, Which tells a strange, sweet tale of happy love, How two young beings found a heaven on earth, Cans't tell me, whence it came, if fact or dream?

ODORA SPEAKS.--It is a happy story. In my father's room Of precious volumes late I fell on this; And read it in this garden; sweet romance, It brought the love-beats to my heart, drops to mine eyes.

SCENE IV.--ODORA AND LOVER IN A FIELD UNDER A PERFECT RAINBOW. (LOVER SPEAKS.)

Above this field that shines an Eden, lo! That wondrous arch of many married hues: A gorgeous belt, round Nature's lovely waist! Sure, earth now seems no place of graves. A wide Gay, blooming Paradise! With moistened face, She smiles, like God, upon this joyous world. A new, wild burst of various harmony, Salutes that Bow of charm--that orb of Glory. Thou art the sun and rainbow to my heart, And, as they fade from sight--but do not die-- But come to-morrow with their wonted charms, Thou shalt not die--but gleam o'er me in heaven, With none of all thy beauty, lost or less. Can'st thou not sing a song, love, ere it fades?

SHE SINGS.

The Sun gave birth to yonder bow
That trembles in the sky
That life-bestowing sun art thou--
That trembling bow am I.
When he withdraws his beaming face,
The rainbow disappears;
And, if those frown on me but once,
I melt away in tears.

I thank thee for that song. Oh! thou art, sure, The wealthiest empire ruled by mortal man. Thy thoughts fall down on me, like drops of gold.

SCENE V. THE BANKS OF A ROMANTIC RIVER, FLOWING AMONG MOUNTAINS, AND VIEWED BY MOONLIGHT.

How wild this scene, among the mountains lit By moonbeams. Ivied bluff and cedared bank, And river rippling o'er its gravelly floor. The cool and silence, and the holy night, Remember me of fairies, those strange forms, That ever revelled underneath green trees, And danced upon the velvet, verdant sward. Here will I sit upon this grassy knoll, And hear the song of this sweet water's flow, And gaze upon yon moon, who nears her noon. How beautiful to me, are moonlight shores. Here will I sing of loved Odora's charms, What time she lies locked in sleep's rosy arm. No bird was ever fairer in its nest. No bud e'er sweeter in its unoped cup; No jewel brighter in the chrystal sea; No diamond richer in the caves of earth.

LOVER SINGS.

The God of love, made beauteous things,
To give His Man delight--
He made the sun--the bird's gay wings--
The constellated night.
He made the mountains of the earth,
The ocean, beautiful;
He gave all harmonies their birth,
Man's troubled soul to lull.
The charm of charms--the Joy of Joys,
That crowned the perfect whole;
Was, Woman's form, and Woman's voice,
And Woman's tender soul.

THE ANGELS OF EARTH.

Angels of Earth! they soothe and bless
The troubled soul of man,
Bestow the most of happiness,
They can.

Angels of Earth--they are but few,
Sustained by Heavenly grace,
To raise again, and to renew,
Our race.

Predestined thus they do retain
That image earliest given,
To Adam, yet unknowing pain,
From heaven.

They move before our wondering eyes,
A vision passing strange,
And sure we feel from yonder skies,
They range.

But oft, as brightest flowers and bows,
The earliest fade and die;
This glorious vision soonest goes
On high.

Our verdant vale once knew a maid,
Who dwelt in such a light,
Her presence made the spirit's shade,
Look bright.

Harmonia was her name. Her voice
Was tremulously low;
To hear it made the heart rejoice
And glow.

Could I compare that voice divine,
To bird's most joyous lay,
When hailing from his lofty pine,
Young day?

Or, to the thrush's full, rich song
That gushes from her breast,
And hushes all wild Passion's throng
To rest?

Could I compare the sight of her,
To glorious angel spring--
To whose sweet breath--all lands--seas--stir,
And sing.

Oh fair Harmonia! God is love,
Who gave thee to our earth,
To renovate and lift above
Our birth.

Harmonia dwelt within a vale
Of wildest loveliness,
Where sweetest odors fill'd the gale
To bless.

And so they called it "vale of Spring,"
This dear Harmonia's home;
Where Beauty shed, with spendthrift wing,
Her bloom.

The pine-crowned mountains stood around,
To screen the lovely dale,
From tempest's stroke, and lightning's wound,
Fierce gale.

Harmonia grew to woman's pride,
And blent her life with one;
Like rivers bright, now side by side,
They run.

The tale of grief, the sinner's tear,
Come not to them in vain;
The sad, remorseful wretch they cheer,
Again.

Oh ne'er thought we, a vale of earth,
With morn, and noon, and even,
Could seem to own the very worth
Of heaven.

Such is the valley of the spring,
Our sweet Harmonia's home,
Where beauty sheds, with liberal wing,
Her bloom.

Meek Eva is another soul,
Ordained to soothe and bless,
And charm to joy, with soft control,
Distress.

Meek Eva hath great, gleaming eyes,
Full-orbed with radiant light,
Which bring the beauty of the skies,
To sight.

No word of anger ever falls,
From her sweet mouth of grace;
No sinful passion ever palls
Her face.

Sweet Eva lives to do but good,
In all her gentle life:
With her good fame, the neighborhood,
Is rife.

Angels of good, they shed abroad
The spirit of the dove;
For He who gave them, is a God
Of love.

Angels of light--they make a heaven
Of such a world as this--
They make the rugged pathway even,
To Bliss.

Angels of Earth--but we shall see
These angels yet again;
Where angels, robed in purity,
E'er reign.

AUSTRALIA; OR, THE NEW GOLDEN AGE.

In ancient days, in old, immortal Rome, Where virtues, surnamed Roman, had their home; When Virtue triumphed over Vice, and threw Across their annals, a more lovely hue; When every citizen was proud to be The state's fast friend, and venal bribes would flee; When manhood wrote upon each lofty brow That glorious seal which makes the meaner bow; When Industry, Art, Science, Learning cast That light o'er Rome which gilds her to the last; The Roman minstrel caught the sacred flame, And made that age the chosen child of fame: The Golden Age recalled the happy hour, When man walked sinless in the first, sweet bower. Such was the glorious golden Age of yore,-- That golden Age of virtue is no more. The modern, brighter, happier Age of Gold;-- Oh! dost thou mean that Vice lies dead and cold In her detested grave, where none will shed, Not even her slaves, a tear above her, dead-- That Virtue lives--the rainbow child of heaven, And holds the balance in these centuries even?

The Golden Age! the words are still the same,-- The meaning once man's glory--now his shame. Hail thou new Golden Age! O heavenly Age! Mankind sustains thee with a noble rage: All, all unite to gild thee with some rays Of gathered light--themselves with shining praise. See! how they rush, and leave sweet childhood's home, The serf his hut, the lordly man his dome, Forsakes, with callous heart, each hallow'd scene, The oft frequented tree, the shady green; Swift, swift they fly to see the realms of gold, And think to reap the joy their raving fancies told. Ye, isles of Britain! see them quickly leave Your rocky coasts, and never deign to grieve. Ye, sunny shores of France! behold them start Nor shed one teardrop, as your ships depart. Ye love-charmed bowers of Spain! your Houris' eyes Are rayless now--for brighter lustre vies! Ye, boundless plains, and giant hills, that rise In craggy pride, and prop Columbia's skies, Ye view your maddened sons, with guilty haste, Roll from your shores and tempt the watery waste-- Forgotten every claim that Virtue knows, Despised the scenes, where early childhood rose, Swift to the land of gold, they, joyful, flee, Nor care the sacred joys of home again to see. Lo! where they rush, and leave the drooping land-- Unseen the parting tear, the loved one's waving hand. Thus they depart--if those who walk the main, But few shall view their native scenes again.

Oh God! how vile thy creatures there become! Thy pleadings powerless--all thy threatenings dumb: On far Australia's plains, by California's streams, Life's crimson flowing current often gleams: For Cain has found in gold another power To make him slay, as Envy at the hour, When Thou dost set the ever-during mark On him a Wanderer, where all earth was dark. And how uncertain is the hold on life, In those sad lands of gold and constant strife. Fiends strike by day; by night they ever lurk, By wood or cottage, swift to do Death's work; Till even when none are near to deal the blow, Imagination sees a hidden foe, Behind each tree, and by the little cot, Till gloomy Apprehension shades each spot.

Lo! in yon bower of honeysuckle where A thousand bees intone the summer air; And humming birds, a fairy birth of springs, Hover to suck the sweet on quivering wings; There, at the morning's sweet and balmy prime, A clasping couple blame the swift-wing'd Time. Each morn, each eve, they seek this lonely bower, And deeply bless its fair and fragrant flower, Which shadows o'er so much of wildest bliss-- The burning glance--the long and honied kiss-- The broken sigh--the murmured, tender word, Whose thrilling tone the inmost heart hath stirred-- The matchless joy which makes us hold as nought, All pangs that Fate may bring, or ever brought. The lover hears that far amid the West, Gold gleams within each river's crystal breast-- That, wide and far, the gorgeous vision smiles, And laps the spirit in delicious wiles. He quits--he flies--he will behold the strand, Where Wealth lies gasping for his tardy hand. He will return--an edifice shall rise In stately grandeur to the curving skies; In their own land, his lovely bride and he, Will move a lord and lady of degree. She springs--she flings her fair, etherial form Upon his breast, which once, with love, was warm-- But now curst love of gold has surely chilled, The heart that once her love so wildly thrilled. Her long, fair locks, distracted, stream below, Her gushing tears like wintry torrents, flow: Her Herbert steels his heart against their power,-- The ship that wafts him sails, ere morning's hour.

At length he hails the longed for, distant shore; The perils of the deep, at least, are o'er, No fell disease has struck, with vengeful power, His form to earth, to this protracted hour. He sees the land--before his gaze unfold The mighty, gorgeous realms of guilt and gold. How swells his bursting heart with evil pride! Cursed pride, for which so many souls have died. Accursed pride of Lucre--loathsome Dame Of every sin on earth that hath a name. In fancy now he sees his palace soar A fairy work! upon his childhood's shore; In fancy sees his smiling, loving bride, A queen amid her menial train preside; And quite forgets that she his wiser wife, Would love some cot, wherein to pass their life:-- Till Fate, vindictive, lays her lover low Far from the hand which might relieve his woe. At last, he dies--his spirit's latest groan By her unheard--his latest wish unknown. Thus Heaven hath punished him whose love of gold Hath made him slight what he should dearest hold.

Beside yon haw-crowned hill, a widowed dame, Dwelt with her son, by whom her living came. Enticed by gorgeous dreams that haunt his sleep, Her age's pillar wanders o'er the deep-- Deserts his aged, widowed, trembling dame-- Ah thus will gain destroy the sense of shame! There on those barren hills and burning plains, His insane fancy gloats on glittering gains. Until, at last, avenging fever lays, His form on earth, through dark, delirious days, Without a mother's soothing care to ease His dying throes, beyond those distant seas. Yet, when, in that brief space which comes before, The spirit flies, to visit earth no more, A transient light breads on his wildest brain, His bosom speaks in this lamenting strain! "Ah! damning love of gold, which sees me here, And made me leave an aged mother dear. Now Heaven, how just! repays my guilty deed! No mother soothes me in my sorest need. Yet if kind Heaven will prize that mother's prayer, Which, incense-like, now rises through the air; I build my faith--that my last breath will ope The gate of bliss to my believing hope."

Far mid yon vastest woods, behold a swain. If small his joy, small is his spirit's pain. He tills the soil, for him the wild flowers bloom, And lovely daisies shed their meek perfume. His happy wife, relieves his every care, And bliss is double when enjoyed with her. His flocks supply his little household dear, With decent garments, and salubrious fare. Glad he beholds the smiling god of day, Walk from the East upon his radiant way, Gild all the fields--the lengthy plains--the peaks Of giant mountains, with vermillion streaks-- While all his farm spreads out beneath his eyes, His heart's sweet home--his little paradise. How better far this humble, noiseless life-- Afar from guilty gold and bloody strife. How glad he views his prosperous projects smile, What guiltless joys his long, long life beguile. With joy he sees his offspring rise around, His body's scions, with sweet virtue crowned. And, when, at last, his form succumbs to time, He sees that offspring strangers yet to crime; And, inly joys to think his drooping age They will sustain, and all his pains assuage, Till, like an apple mellowed, ripe, and sound, He falls, and slumbers in his own good ground.

THE PROPHECY OF COLUMBIA.

The sun descends along the glowing west, His bright rays quivering o'er Potomac's breast-- And still he flashes, with his parting smile, And gilds the top of yonder mighty pile[C]-- Which Heroes children bade arise to heaven-- In this new paradise (though later given.) He sets! that glorious orb! and now is gone-- And night's dark wings are slowly moving on;-- But see! the moon, full-orbed, ascends the sky, And walks that dark-blue path so calm on high-- Pours her soft light--a sea of silvery beams, On that proud pile--as on the sleeping streams; As if indignant that the Night would hide, With her black wing, a nation's central pride-- That towering dome, beheld from o'er the sea, To crown the clime of all who now are free. As there I wandered, when the day was o'er-- Near that proud pile--along the silent shore-- And, fondly lingering o'er the magic scene, Marked each blest spot, where Freedom's feet had been,-- The Present fled--the Future rose to light-- Columbia's Genius stood revealed to sight. Her Phantom form uprose and touched the sky-- Her mighty realm lay stretched beneath her eye. An awful light--yet gentle--yet serene-- Shone from those eyes, and from her god-like mien; At first, cold fear ran through my shivering frame, And dread forebodings o'er my spirit came. But soon she spoke--though not in warlike tone, But mild as zephyr when his breath hath blown. A smile of kind, parental love confest Her glowing son whom now she thus addrest.

"O son! well-pleased, I mark thy patriot fire, Nor wholly scorn thy yet unpracticed lyre. Behold yon structure whose lone, silent height Meek Luna gilds with her celestial light. See how it soars! and leaves the darker plain-- So high--that none will soar, as that again-- Until the Monument that God will rear On sin's dark grave--as Tyranny's is here. Yes! view that Capitol;--its lofty dome O'erlooks the clime thou lovest to call thy home. Just, just the joy thou feelest--it o'er views, The happiest land that quaffs the sun's bright hues. But think thou not that, this, my chosen land Has reached its borders--they shall yet expand-- Until yon heap, on which the moonbeams play, O'erlooks a hemisphere that owns my sway. There boundless tracts of evershining snow, There--flowery isles that in the tropics glow-- There sea-like pampas, waving to the main, There--thousand cities dotting o'er the plain-- There--noble James--there Hudson's fairy tide-- There--Susquehanna--e'er with Song allied-- Here--broad Potomac, too,--shall here arise The hum of wide industry to the skies. There--mighty Oregon--amid the West-- Rolls wealth uncounted o'er his watery breast. There--mightier Amazon--the King of Floods, Sweeps grandly down from nevertraversed woods, There--Lakes--supplied by endless hills of snow-- There--Mexico--the gulf of placid flow-- There--wide Atlantic--blue as Beauty's eyes-- There--far Pacific--vast as are the skies-- Each whitened by quick-passing, shifting sails, Conspire to make me rich--till Carthage fails To show a record of more wealth and power, Even where the farthest isles became her dower. And yon dusk hill[D], amid the moon's pale light, In nation's eyes, shall soar a prouder height-- Till from each shore where man has learned to dwell-- The eyes shall strain, and feel the mighty spell-- For there repose the bones of Washington-- Upon that hill--earth's noblest, earthly one.

But this Columbia's fairest praise shall be, Her Sons shall kneel beneath their chosen tree-- At prayer--as fades the daylight into even-- And, lift--unblamed--their hearts to smiling Heaven.

Here Learning, too, shall rear unnumbered domes, Here Shakspeares--Tassos--find more happy homes, Here Homer's fire, and Virgil's polished grace, A sacred charm shall give to many a place. Each shady hill shall be a Muse's haunt-- By each pure spring aerial nymphs shall chant-- Chant the sweet song to heavenly Liberty-- While thundering cataracts peal it to the sea!" She spake no more;--or I too much opprest By wondrous visions, needed welcome rest. And when I waked, the day had now unfurled His rosy banners o'er the laughing world, And while the glorious prospect charmed my view, I felt Columbia's prophecy was true.

[Footnote C: The National Capital at Washington.]

[Footnote D: The Tomb of Washington, at Mount Vernon.]

LOVE.

Of woman was I born, and man I am. I come to teach the greatest, yet the most meek Of all true lessons which man e'er can learn-- _God's man was made to love, and nought to hate, Except the Ill which God and angels hate._ Oh! this grand lore hath fallen on my heart Like smiling sunlight on a gloomy ocean. Oft have I heard and felt great throbs of love Vibrating through the universe of worlds, Through every grain of matter, through the hearts That live and swarm beneath the eye of God. Oft standing mid the holy calm of night, The surf of love came rolling on my soul From off the farthest verge of God's great realms, As rolls the surf of ocean on a beach, For ever and for ever, and for ever. Love was the Cause of all things, and the End; For God is Love and ever will be Love: And those who feel most love are most like God-- As seraphs, cherubs, saints and righteous men; And those who feel least love, are least like God, As Satan, Moloch, Belial, and bad men.

Once man, and all that live and move on earth, In sea, and sky, were bound by links of love To God and angels, in one perfect chain-- And God and angels came and talked with man Full often, in the shade of Eden's trees, While lions and all lambs lay down together, All in the happy shade of Eden's trees. Oft have I watched the myriad lovely flowers, In spring and summer, in the woods and meads, And thought they clasped their tiny hands in love, Then all bowed low their painted heads in love, To the great lord of light who smiled on them. Oft have I watched the myriad forest leaves, Trembling as if with some sweet thought of love, Till love's sweet incense went up from all these, To the bright orb who smiled bright love on them: And then a thousand birds began to sing One song of love to that bright God above. Oft I have heard that larks, in England's realm, Fly from the earth, at morning's golden blush, And fill the whole bright arch with golden songs? And I have reasoned they sung only love, Which teaches them that strangest melody, Which they soar nearest heaven to warble out. Oft have I seen the beams that leave the sun, Embrace within the clouds, with shining arms-- And form a splendid arch in earth and heaven, Which shines eternal covenant of Love-- Toward which our hearts forever mount and sing, As skylarks mount and sing to morning's flash. Oft have I seen the sparkling water-drops, Cohere in love, and make a crystal lake-- A gulf--a sea--an ocean's mighty mirror. Oft have I thought that all the system worlds, A few of which we watch, at holy night, Far up amid those deep, blue fields of night-- Are hung by Love, and wheel forever round The Central Point, in circles swift but true; And in their orbits flying thus for ever, Sing forth a choral song of burning love, To that Creator who loves them again. Oft have I thought, the law which Newton named The Law of Gravitation, is the Law Of Love, which God had called the Law of Love. And if a world could ever hate the rest, 'Twould rush forever to the abysm of gloom, And dreariest part of chaos. I infer _God's man was made to love and nought to hate Only the Ill which God and Angels hate._

Ah! happy spirits were they all in heaven, And all loved God, and one another loved-- And all moved round the Triune God enthroned-- In blissful circles--nearing him for aye, Yet not approaching ever--till that Foul And Hateful One fell off from love and then Fell down into his dark, eternal den, Where love's sweet beam can never, never reach.

THE LOVERS.

Two lovers in the strength of life,
Had built a beauteous home,
Where tall, ancestral oaks uprose,
O'ershadowing their high dome.

He was a tall and manly form,
With ringlets dark like night;
But she was like the lily's stem,
With eyes of moon-like light.

Six happy years they chronicled
Within their nest of bliss;
To taste each day some sweetest joy,
They could not go amiss.

Three little images of them,
Two boys and one a maid,
Beneath those high, ancestral oaks,
With silver laughter, played.

The thunder-blast of war came o'er
The lover's startled soul;
The wife bowed low her head and heart,
To sorrow's strong control.

The lady drooped--as droops a flower
Without the sun or rain;
And now at twilight's hectic flush,
She sang a wild, low strain:

"He's gone, I cannot smile as when
I saw him at my side!
Ah me! the memory of that hour
When I was his new bride.

"Our two young hearts were joined in love,
As two bright lamps of flame,
Cut off from him, life is to me
A mockery and a name.

"God help my helpless little ones,
And keep them for his own.
My heart is breaking--husband! long
Thou shalt not be alone."

When faded all the autumn flowers
The lady surely died--
Broken the bands that bound her life
To him--his wife and bride.

Love was the Cause of all things, and the End, For God is Love, and ever will be Love. God's grey-beard prophets sang a future time, When all would be restored in love to God, And the first Eden be rebuilt on earth; That lions and all lambs should play together, On the long grass of Eden's greenest lawns. That man should yet behold that happy scene, When one loud jubilate of worship--love-- Should climb the heavens from each lone shore of earth.

SONG.

Oh! Love's the sweetest joy of earth,
Love's keenest pang is bliss,
And, like a wild, delirious bee,
We hang upon a kiss:

With lip to lip and heart and heart,
We live in that sweet death,
And feel the breeze of paradise,
Upon a loved one's breath.

We lean upon a beating breast,
As on a throne of gold;
And, like a monarch, thence, look out,
On love-hued sea and wold.

We dwell upon a loved one's song,
As on a strain of heaven,
And think it charms the throbbing stars
That throng the halls of Even.

Oh! Love is like a river-flood,
That rolls and pauses never--
An ocean-tide that bears us on
Forever and forever.

This is the lore I come to teach the world-- That Love formed all of matter, all of spirit; That Love keeps all things, lest they fall to chaos; That Love's pulse vibrates throughout all God's works, Whose beat is harmony like angels' songs-- And man is most like God and least like Devil, When he most loves all things which God hath made.

HOURS WITH NATURE.

When smiling spring, an angel fair!
Walks o'er the verdant plain,
And breathes a soft and balmy air,
From isles beyond the main:
When robins sing, and waters play,
And lambs skip o'er the mead,
And forest birds, with music gay,
Their callow offspring feed:
When May-flowers shine by every stream,
And fragrants showers come down,
While sun-rays o'er the mountains gleam,
And form a dazzling crown:--
Oh! then 'tis sweet to be with thee,
Dear Nature ever fair,
To roam thy walks of song and glee,
Thy realms, sky, earth and air.
Bright angel spring, thou seem'st divine,
With ever smiling brow:
No sin-created gloom is thine,
Nought dims thy beauty now.
Wide earth, stream, river, lake and sea,
Shine forth an angel land,
Where spirits, robed in purity,
Roam, love-linked, hand in hand.
Now June, like full-blown womanhood,
Succeeds the maiden spring,
And broods upon the solitude,
With broad and bird-like wing.
The air re-echoes forth a song
Of full and perfect bliss,
Where happy lovers roam along,
And melt into a kiss.
But Summer bursts upon the world,
With views of waving grain,
Beneath the sweating sickle hurled,
Upon the fragrant plain.
The warm, long day calls forth at length,
The storm's electric fire,
That shatters the oak's imperial strength,
And bids the shrubs expire.
The cloud rolls off--and see! what pride!
A many colored bow,
Hangs on the cloud's retreating side,
And o'er the fields below.
Then, glorious summer flies away,
From upland, slope and plain;
And Autumn, crowned with shocks of hay,
Appears in joy again.
Old, jolly Autumn! happy man!
Wild tumbling on the meads;
We'll love thee, Autumn, as we can,
Thy glory is our needs.
Thou heapest our barns with plenty--thou
Art, sure our faithful friend;
And, in the aspect of thy brow,
Lovely and useful blend.
Thy golden hues recede at length,
And seem to sigh decay,
Till, thou, despoiled of life and strength,
Art borne, a corpse, away.
Wild, bleak, and blustering Winter wild,
Assumes the icy throne;
Deep snows upon the earth are piled,
And hushed is every tone.
The trees stand bare, bleak skeletons,
Of bodies once so fair,
And dirges, dirges, woeful ones,
Resound amid the air.
Bleak, winter wild! thy dreary scenes,
Have yet one modest flower;
The daisy finds some little greens,
Whereby she builds her bower.
The daisy is a preacher wise,
Whom heavenly robes array;
Each winter lives, and sweetly tries,
A loving word to say.
"Oh! man, amid thy darkest woe,
Some humble bliss remains;--
Then, let thy murmurings cease to flow,
And hush thy doleful strains."
It is the dawn. Faint crimson streaks
The dewy, orient sky,
Like virtue's blush, on maiden cheeks,
Ah! sweet and peerless dye.
At last--the sun, an Eastern king,
Comes forth in rested pride;
And soars, with bright and burning wing,
Above the hill and tide.
Above yon Blue Ridge, towering piles,
Uptorn by Nature's throe--
He speeds, he speeds, through myriad miles,
To his meridian glow.
The birds sink down, amid the copse,
And sing a feeble song;
At last, each sound, on sudden, stops,
And Silence holds the throng.
But Evening, comes, a sober maid,
With one bright, starry eye;
And throws her mantle--star-inlaid--
Upon the silent sky.
It is night's noon. How dark, how vast,
Yon boundless vault appears;
A shadow o'er the earth is cast,
That wakes the spirit's fears
How death-like hushed! all life seems dead,
Does Nature live at all?
Ah, truest symbol! it has said,
"The hush--the gloom--the Pall!"
Day is the varying life of Man,--
Some sunshine--clouds again--
Night is his death--which erst began
When Sin began to reign.
Dark, spectral Night! I sing of thee;
For, thou art lovely, too--
And Death will wake the melody
Of him whose life was true.
To walk upon the azure sea,
It is a thing of bliss;
When skies are bright, and sails are free
And smiling wavelets kiss.
How grandly leans the ship, a queen,
Above the sparkling tide--
With joy she walks the watery scene,
A thing of fear and pride.
To scale the crown of vast Blue Ridge,
And eye the world below--
Farm--river--ravine--wiry bridge--
And soaring crane and crow--
And misty woods--and fields afar--
Neat villages and towns--
Blest herds and flocks no beast can mar,
That nibble sunny downs.
Oh! that is, sure, a pleasant thing,
And bathes the soul in joy;
And many a grief-worn man 'twould bring,
To be once more a boy.
'Tis sweet to rove, at twilight dim,
Beside an aldered stream,
To list thy lady's evening hymn,
'Neath starlight's trembling gleam.
'Tis sweet to sit within a bower,
Inwrought with flower and vine,
What time along yon mountain tower,
The shades of eve decline.
'Tis sweet to hear the nightingale,
O'erflow the forest shade,
With harmony which might avail,
To win a Dis-stole maid.
'Twere sweet to cleave the snowy foam,
With ship and spirit free,
Where tropic spices ever roam,
The Caribbean sea.
'Twere sweet to sail by Yemen's shore,
And touch that golden strand,
Where Indus' river wanders o'er,
Its glittering, golden sand.
Oh! Nature! thou art far above,
The painter's, Poet's pride--
Thou art the glorious Child of Love--
Adorned a heavenly bride.

YORKTOWN.

Here met three nations, panoplied for fight,
Moving before the vision gorgeously;
Then shamed with Battle's gloom the paling Night,
Upon the land and sea.

Earth quailed beneath the cannon's burrowing roar,
Beneath three Armies' slow and ominous tread;
And Ocean who the portioned conflict bore,
Shuddered with pain and dread.

But when the morning rolled the double shroud
Of Night and Battle from the land and sea,
The Sun looked forth through no obstructing cloud,
And saw a Nation FREE.

POET'S ENCHANTED LIFE.

THE ANGEL-CHILD.

A fairy land of grass and flowers,
And of the greenest trees
A land of singing brooks and springs,
A land of singing breeze.
A land of bright but mellowed hues,
Beneath the western skies,
The lady bore a beauteous child,
In this sweet paradise.
An auburn head--an olive face--
An eye of azure light--
A perfect beauty seemed the child,
To my enchanted sight.
I loved him for his loveliness,
This budding, beauteous child,
The mother's heart within would leap
When e'er the infant smiled,
And when upon her warming breast,
She watched his closing eyes,
His lips would smile, as if he saw
The angels in the skies.
And truth to say, she ofttimes thought,
The angels were near by,
So strange a gleam was on his hair,
So bright his cherub eye.
He was so meek and gentle-souled,
So free from evil stain,
Ah! well I knew, 'twere toil to find
So lovely child again.
It was a antique, white-walled cot,
Beneath the western skies,
This lady dwelt with this sweet child,
In this sweet paradise.
The mother loved her beauteous child;
Oft gazing on his sleep,
The joy that smoothed her matron brow,
Was beautiful and deep.
The summer flower hath hasty growth--
The sweet child grew apace,
And lo! a brighter loveliness,
Was born upon his face.
So fair--so fair--and oh! so dear!
Alas! a mother's love
May be too strong to please her God--
The child went up above.
And now alone the mother was
In all this world so wide,
For ere the child had lisped his name
Her stricken husband died.
Alone in all this world so wide,
Alone the mother was;
If this were true--God wot 'twas false,
Our hearts should sigh alas.
The child--the child--transformed! come down,
On rainbow-colored wings,
Whose flashing, o'er the mother's path,
A mystic glory flings.
He set gay flowers of heavenly pride
Amid this cursed clime--
Ah! brilliant flowers--ah! brighter flowers,
Than bloomed in Eden's prime.
He softly led her on the way,
And sang to her charm'd soul,
A sweet, low strain that men heard not,
And fiends could not control.
At last the mother went with him
To dwell on Heaven's wide plain,
Where father, mother, cherub now,
Sing forth a glorious strain.

SUNSET.

The Summer's sunset throws a tender spell, Along the hills, o'er ocean's softened swell; The God of day goes flaming down the sky, And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by. Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight, Nor feel his bosom chain'd by deep delight, This hour when beauty wears her richest dye, And love o'erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky; Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower, Hears far off strains of deep, o'erwhelming power, And, lifting up her pensive orbs above, Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love, And says that "they are wafting souls forgiven On their bright pinions, to yon nameless Heaven." On such an eve, so peaceful and so bright, Two loved ones flee beyond yon failing light, No more to droop within this gloomy world, Their angel pinions next God's throne were furled; There now--for aye forgot this earthly night-- They lave those bright wings in eternal light.

IMAGINATION.

Now fir'd imagination soars on high, and shows Magnific scenes. The first--a summer's dawn-- A sky of purest blue--a golden sea Beneath--earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven. Yon orb of fire suspended o'er that sea Of molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven. His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth--sky-- And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory, Which seems the break of a celestial morn. That scene has passed. Another charms The gaze. The mighty orb of blazing flame, Has run a curve of brightness o'er the sky, And presently will cut the Western main, With its bright rim. We stand upon an isle, One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas, Toward the setting sun. The waves which gush, And softly splash against the rocky shores, Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints, Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows, Around the throne of God, and, in whose billows, The seraphs, as wing'd birds, embathe their breasts-- Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that-- And all is bright waves dashing o'er our hearts, And making music sweeter than the songs Of those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew. That scene has pass'd. Imagination sleeps To husband strength for more ambitious flight. But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might, She soars beyond the sun high thron'd at noon-- And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems, Flings wide Heaven's gates that flame with living beams. And lo! the scene of Heaven! Oh! brighter far, Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair, Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams. Yet even imagination's piercing eye Receives into its scope but humble part Of all the glory that o'erflows that heaven. A boundless sea of love--all hued like love, Gleams round the throne of Triune God, which seems To rise from out that placid depth, built of Its water, crystallized to gold and pearl, Wherein joy's beauteous light forever plays. Over that sea rings set beyond vast rings Of burning seraph, saint, and cherub, stand With starry crowns; and, with unceasing songs, Struck from their lyres that burn as morning suns, And born in hearts that burn in joys of heaven-- Louder than twelvefold thunder, yet more sweet Than all the sweetest strains e'er heard on earth, Fill Heaven with light and song ineffable, Along the bright flow of eternity. Then swift in flight as saint and seraph there, She passes back through those vast gates of fire, And slowly drops upon some flowery peak, Or ocean isle, upon this mundane sphere; Then sleeps soft in the folds of some fair flower, Or, in the crystal bosom of a dewdrop.

MILLY.

A fairy thing was Milly when
She blest my wondering sight;
I ne'er shall meet her match again--
A maid so gaily bright.

Her ringlets flowed about her neck--
A neck that mocked the snow!
A sunny robe her bosom decked,
That proudly heaved below.

Sometimes she roamed the leas at morn,
And sang like a sweet bird--
Until a melody was born
On each outgushing word.

Sometimes amid her cottage home,
She touched the breathing lyre,
And then her quivering lips were dumb,
Her soaring soul on fire.

She was a very fairy maid;
And then we sinned to crave
That she with us might be delayed,
And never reach the grave.

One twilight when a star came forth,
She clapped her hands and smil'd,
And said that star within the North
Would take an earthly child.

Did some near, viewless angel speak
That word unto the maid,
That thus with sweet, unblanched cheek,
That awful word she said?

But thus it was; when autumn told
The yellow leaves to fall,
The maid no more could we behold,
No more she knew our call.

And now I watch that cold, high star,
Amid the leaden North,
And think she looks on me afar,
Forlorn upon this earth.

THE WINTRY DAYS.

The wintry days have come once more,
The birds are still, the sweet flowers dead,
And faint winds sigh a wailing song
O'er leaves heaped high within their bed.

The neighboring stream that lately leapt,
And laughed, and played adown the glen,
Is now as hushed and mute as though
It ne'er would leap and smile again.

A mournful silence fills the sky,
And falls upon the gazer's soul,
And down the sympathizing cheek,
The watery teardrops silent roll.

The beauty of the peaks and plains,
The loveliness of earth and sky,
Have passed away, and, passing, said,
"Ye mortals frail! ye too must die."

So has the beauty of my hopes
Withered beneath woe's wintry touch,--
My heart has yielded to despair,
Though lingering long and weeping much.

But oh! bright Hope, mid bleak Despair,
Sprang, cheerly speaking to my heart,
Sweet, smiling spring shall yet return,
And joyless winter must depart.

And Mercy throned beyond the sun,
Whose breath thy living soul hath given,
Will lead thee to a deathless spring
Within the glorious gates of heaven.

Ah! deeply do I bless that word!
It drives my gloomy fears away;--
I kneel upon the dreary snow,
And bid my God be praised for aye.

SPRING.

Now, Mary fair, the Spring has come,
Back to our fairyland,
And buds begin to breathe perfume,
The breeze blows sweet and bland;
The gay, green groves are ringing clear,
The crystal waters shine;
Now, Mary sweet, the scene is dear,
The moments are divine.

And, Mary, hearken how the birds
Are courting in the grove,
Oh! listen how their music words
Speak tender things of love.
Let us be happy, Mary fair,
We waste these heavenly hours,
Let's rove where fragrance fills the air,
Among the opening flowers.

Yes, Mary dear, let's quit the throng,
And from the tumult flee,
The birds these living bowers among,
Shall sweetly sing for thee;
And happy zephyr wave his wing,
And streams make melody,
And loveliest flowers gaily spring
Thy matchless face to see.

Dear Mary, why, why should we stay,
While Nature calls us forth?
See! love and pleasure, smiling, stray,
O'er all the gladsome earth!
While all around is mirth and song,
Let us be joyful, too,
And, listening to the feathered throng,
Our vows of love renew.

AN INCIDENT.

The sighs of summer night, were sweet without, As the breath of spirits, on the folded roses, The sweet moon, like a young and timid bride, Came softly trembling through the eastward oaks-- Where I espied a Glorious Beauty standing, Glowing and bright, in a portico vine-wreathed. Shaken by wrestling Hope and Doubt within, I quickly slid unto her side; and she Wore no dark frown--but smiled--she smiled on me! Her white brows shone amid her darkest hair, Like that moon's beams amid the opening gloom: And her slight, delicate shape would shame the limbs Of fairies tripping on the moonlit green. And she did smile on me--that Glorious Beauty! And I stood there, and clasped her lily hands! And I did peer into her lustrous eyes! And they gave back my ardent gaze of love! She spake--the tremulous accents of her voice Was like a sweet stream breaking upon rocks; And when the music of those thrilling words, Rushed on my soul--I sank upon her bosom, And felt that we could part no more on earth.

THE LETTER.

Amid a flower-strown cottage room,
The Lady sat at even,
Beneath the peerless evening star,
Just peeping out in heaven;
And, in her hands, as lilies, white,
She held a billet-doux,
Which, round upon the tranquil air,
A grateful fragrance threw.

And now she bends her beauteous head,
To read the written lines--
Her white hand starts--a crystal tear
Upon the paper shines;
Her startled bosom gently heaves,
Like billows capped with snow,
And quickly o'er her lovely face,
Her blushes come and go.

Those glowing words have waked within
Her soul, the flame of love,
Which blends her woman nature with
The natures of above:--
A fire whose rays will change to light
Her lover's darkest gloom,
Till he beholds it beam again,
On Heaven's undying bloom.

THE LOST PLEIAD.

No more with thy bright sisters of the sky,
Who warble ever,
Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody,
Sad maid! for ever.

No more the bright, innumerable train,
Who move in Heaven,
Will know thy face upon the etherial plain,
At rosy even.

The night will mourn thine absence ever more,
With dewy tears,
And, the bright day, will, dimmer now, deplore,
The darkened years.

Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain,
And we shall sigh
That thy high beauty could not conquer pain,
The doom to die.

Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty--thou,
Celestial maid!
Mid all didst wear a so unearthly brow,
And thou--decayed!

The beauteous thought of thee which, ray-like, slept,
In our pure love,
Became a memory which we have kept
To grieve above.

Gone, like the withered pride of early Spring--
Like sweet songs, o'er--
Ah! thou hast turned from us thine angel wing,
To come no more.

Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne,
In upper light,
Say, did thy loveliness go, hopeless, down,
To nether night?

Or, throned beyond the gloomy fate to fall,
Bright maid divine!
Sublime amid the Eternal's flaming Hall,
Dost thou e'er shine?

THE SLEEPER.

The sleeper lies, with closed eyes,
And softly moving breath,
So soft, so still, her life's sweet thrill,
'Tis only more than death.

Her dark, dark hair, reposing there,
Upon her pillow's snow,
And sweeping down her cheek's faint brown,
And bosom's spotless glow.

She wakes at last, her sleep has past,
Her eyes on me are thrown;
My sleeping love--my heavenly dove--
Has been in realms unknown.

DWELLING IN HEAVEN.

They do not--nay, they cannot die;
They go to dwell in Heaven;
Where God a free and full supply
Of purest joys hath given.

They do not--nay, they cannot die:
Because we see them not
Do objects cease--oh! brothers! why
This lesson now forgot?

They die not--nay, they cannot die:
In joy's serene, calm air,
Their cheek yet wears its roseate dye
Their smiles are yet as fair.

Their tones yet breathe as sweet a strain,
Their hearts are still as true,
And still their wonted love retain,
My friend, for me and you.

Oh no! they do not, cannot die,
They live far up in Heaven,
Beyond where flame yon portals high,
At still and silent even.

They dwell--they dwell eternally,
Where roll no winds--no storm,
And, if we seek them, we shall see,
Each bright and happy form.

THE FACE I SEE IN DREAMS.

Strangely sweet, and softly clear,
With pure and starry beams,
Reposing there, and moving here;
The face I see in dreams.

Oh! lovely is that wild, sweet face,
Which thus and ever gleams,
And smiles, with a seraphic grace,
Upon my heart's deep streams.

Oft at pale midnight's holy calm,
Beside imagined streams,
I recognize the soothing balm,
The face I see in dreams.

And, even at noon's wideseeing glare,
When earth, with clamor teems,
That face appears, as strangely fair,
That face I see in dreams.

The sum of universal charms,
The sun of beauty-beams,
Appear to deck that form of forms,
And face I see in dreams.

TO ELOQUENCE.

Ah Eloquence! thou God-like power; That swayest the human heart, We still must call thee, rarest dower, In the high gift of Art; And still thou shalt be styled a queen, To brighten earth's grief-shaded green.

When thou dost falter sorrow's tale, With trembling accents low, The plaintive breezes of the vale, With mingled pathos, flow; The melting eye is bathed in tears, And grief, in every face, appears.

When thou dost stand in mortal's view, And breathe thy thoughts of flame, The conscious soul, conceives them, too, And breathes and burns the same;-- And when, in fancy, thou dost soar, 'Tis like Niag'ra's thundering roar.

When thou dost tell of living joys Far up in heaven above, The rapturous music of thy voice, Is like the Voice of Love-- The entranced spirit flits away To bathe in seas of whitest day.

NEAR YONDER BANKS AT EVEN.

Near yonder banks at even,
We whispered words most dear,
Till love's sweet star in Heaven,
Was shining, bright and clear.

We saw the river glancing
Beneath the planet's light,
Its ripples seemed, while dancing,
To mock the gloom of night.

But soon the star in Heaven,
By rising mists was hid,
And, by us, dark and even,
The river's current slid.

So shone our love's sweet river
Beneath Hope's radiant star;
But soon, in darkness, ever,
It swept, in silence, far.

AN HYMN.

To him whose soul is locked and bolted fast,
By lust and guilt against the entrance there,
Of heavenly light; whose soul is over-cast
By mists of sin and fogs of black despair;

The meaning of these worlds, not understood,
Becomes a dark and cabalistic book;
He not perceives that He who made, is good,
And that, His love was writ in every nook.

Dark, dark his every view of actual things,
The diamond shines with faint, unmeaning ray;
What use or beauty hath the bird's gay wings?
What glory, worlds that sweep through space away?

His ear is barred against the glorious song,
Which Nature chants, ne'er wearying, to her God;
The planetary paeans, borne along
Through God's high vault, descend upon a clod.

Oh fool of fools, and wretched man is he,
Who breathes his life in this untutored state;
And, in that world to come, how dread will be
His startled soul's at last awakened fate.

But, unto him, whose scales have fallen away,
Whose deafness has been healed by Love Divine;
A flood of music gushes in foraye,
And all God's works, with deathless lustre, shine.

The diamond hath a beam that, conquering, vies;
The bird's gay wings assume yet gayer hues;
Brighter become the rainbow's gorgeous dyes,
Purer the evening and the morning dews.

Sweeter the choral song of groves and founts,
Grander the anthem of the starry spheres;
From God's vast universe, forever, mounts
A strain that charms his own and seraphs' ears.

Undaunted, he surveys the ocean rage,
With placid face, he feels the earthquake's shock,
He knows his Lord the fury will assuage,
His soul is safe, though earth's foundations rock.

The Omnipotent yet liveth! He will bear
The humble soul, on His parental breast;
And, when the last great throe the sky shall tear,
This soul upon His arm shall surely rest.

TO P.S. WHITE.

What is the gilded chaplet worth, That decks a conqueror's brow? There is no conqueror on earth Of nobler kind, than thou, For bloodless victories are thine, Whose splendor never shall decline.

The thanks of men redeemed from shame, The smiles of womanhood, The praise of great ones wed to fame, And of the humble good, A victor's monument, shall be, Through coming ages, unto thee.

MONTPELIER, ORANGE COUNTY, VA.

Where'er the great have lived or died,
A charm pervades the very air;
And generous spirits, pausing, oft
Will pour the heart's deep homage there.

Thus, thou, sequestered, simple spot!
Where dwelt a mighty one of yore,
Becomest a shrine, where pilgrims kneel,
From earth's remotest, every shore.

Whose fame, where'er a patriot breathes
A thought of freedom, has been heard;
And fallen on tyrant's startled souls,
Like coming fate's prophetic word.

Yet, shame upon this senseless age,
Which blindly worships guilty gold,
No votive marble shows the tomb,
Whose vault received his ashes cold.

Alas! that this should be our shame!
For which even yet our eyes shall weep;
_Nought points the world's admiring eye,
To where its friend's sad relics sleep._

THE HEAVENLY FLOWER.

Now the final stroke is over!
And the heart hath ceased its beat;
And that form so palely beauteous,
In a ghastly winding sheet.
She has pass'd the gloomy portal,
She has reached the realm of light;--
And there is a heavy silence,
While we sit and muse to-night.

She was a flower, fading quickly,
From before our wistful eyes,
Giving back her spirit fragrance,
Early to the eager skies.
But she parted all so lovely,
Growing brighter day by day,
That our souls could scarce regret her,
Passing, like a dream, away.

Now that frail and beauteous flower,
Which scarce opened here below,
Scattering round a heavenly sweetness,
On the hearts which bled with woe;
By a death which maketh living,
Changed into a lovelier flower,
Gives a fragrance far more lovely,
Round about a deathless bower.

Oh! weep not for this, fond parents!
Though your earthly eyes be dim--
Yet--she blooms in fadeless beauty,
Where the Seraphs chant their hymn;
Where a heaven, serenely glorious,
Bends above a paradise,
Clad in tints of gayer splendor,
Than our dream-land's gorgeous dyes.

Yes! she blooms in deathless beauty,
In that brighter world than ours;
Where the happy saints and angels,
Gleam her glorious sister flowers;
Where no frost, no killing tempest,
E'er shall fall, or fiercely blow,
But mild zephyrs, waked on roses,
Round her softly come and go.

There she yet is pure and lovely
As she was with us below--
And our hearts should cease to mourn her,
When her God hath bade us know--
That, within that peaceful heaven,
She is happier than before,
And that we should strive to meet her,
When, like hers, our toil is o'er.

LILLY MAY.

The fairest of our village maids,
Was blue-eyed Lilly May;
Her brow was decked with golden curls,
Her laugh was wild and gay:
And spotless as a ray of heaven,
Young love within her lay.

The rose which decked the fairy vale,
Near by our rural town,
Showed not a deeper tint of blood,
Than dyed her cheeks of down,
And innocence like that of heaven,
Her fair, young head did crown.

Oh Lilly May! Oh! Lilly May!
My heart was all thine own,
Earth ne'er gave me a sweeter sound,
Than thy low, loving tone;
For we each other's first loves were,
And each heard each alone!

Oh Lilly May! I curse the day
That tempted me to part!
And ever haunting, strange regret
To my sad soul thou art;
I fear that I have deeply sinned,
And broken thy true heart.

TO ELEANOR.