Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

The father came on deck--He gasped, "O, God, Thy will be done!" Then suddenly a rifle grasped, And aimed it at his son! "Jump far out, boy! into the wave! Jump, or I fire!" he said: "That only chance your life can save! Jump--jump, boy!"--He obeyed.

He sank--he rose--he lived--he moved-- He for the ship struck out! On board we hailed the lad beloved With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, Then folded to his heart the boy And fainted on the deck!

Poetry.

To me the world's an open book Of sweet and pleasant poetry; I read it in the running brook That sings its way toward the sea. It whispers in the leaves of trees, The swelling grain, the waving grass, And in the cool, fresh evening breeze That crisps the wavelets as they pass.

The flowers below, the stars above, In all their bloom and brightness given, Are, like the attributes of love, The poetry of earth and heaven. Thus Nature's volume, read aright, Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, Tinging life's clouds with rosy light, And all the world with poetry.

The Croton Ode. [See Notes]

Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York.

Gushing from this living fountain, Music pours a falling strain, As the goddess of the mountain Comes with all her sparkling train. From her grotto-springs advancing, Glittering in her feathery spray, Woodland fays beside her dancing, She pursues her winding way.

Gently o'er the rippling water, In her coral-shallop bright, Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter, Decked in robes of virgin white. Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling, Urge her bark with pearly hand, Merrily the sylph beguiling From the nooks of fairy-land.

Swimming on the snow-curled billow, See the river-spirits fair Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow, With the foam-beads in their hair. Thus attended, hither wending, Floats the lovely oread now, Eden's arch of promise bending Over her translucent brow.

Hail the wanderer from a far land! Bind her flowing tresses up! Crown her with a fadeless garland, And with crystal brim the cup. From her haunts of deep seclusion, Let intemperance greet her too, And the heat of his delusion Sprinkle with this mountain-dew.

Water leaps as if delighted, While her conquered foes retire! Pale Contagion flies affrighted With the baffled demon Fire! Safety dwells in her dominions, Health and Beauty with her move, And entwine their circling pinions In a sisterhood of love.

Water shouts a glad hosanna! Bubbles up the earth to bless! Cheers it like the precious manna In the barren wilderness. Here we wondering gaze, assembled Like the grateful Hebrew band, When the hidden fountain trembled, And obeyed the prophet's wand.

Round the aqueducts of story, As the mists of Lethe throng, Croton's waves in all their glory Troop in melody along. Ever sparkling, bright, and single, Will this rock-ribbed stream appear, When posterity shall mingle Like the gathered waters here.

Fragment of an Indian Poem.

* * * * * *

They come!--Be firm--in silence rally! The long-knives our retreat have found! Hark!--their tramp is in the valley, And they hem the forest round! The burdened boughs with pale scouts quiver, The echoing hills tumultuous ring, While across the eddying river Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring! The blood-hounds darken land and water; They come--like buffaloes for slaughter!

See their glittering ranks advancing, See upon the free winds dancing Pennon proud and gaudy plume. The strangers come in evil hour, In pomp, and panoply, and power! But, while upon our tribes they lower, Think they our manly hearts will cower To meet a warrior's doom?

Right they forget while strength they feel; Our veins they drain, our land they steal; And should the vanquished Indian kneel, They spurn him from their sight! Be set for ever in disgrace The glory of the red-man's race, If from the foe we turn our face, Or safety seek in flight!

They come--Up, and upon them braves! Fight for your alters and your graves! Drive back the stern, invading slaves, In fight till now victorious! Like lightning from storm-clouds on high, The hurtling, death-winged arrows fly, And wind-rows of pale warriors die!-- Oh! never was the sun's bright eye Looked from his hill-tops in the sky Upon a field so glorious!

* * * * * *

They're gone--again the red-men rally; With dance and song the woods resound: The hatchet's buried in the valley; No foe profanes our hunting-ground! The green leaves on the blithe boughs quiver, The verdant hills with song-birds ring, While our bark-canoes the river Skim like swallows on the wing. Mirth pervades the land and water, Free from famine, sword, and slaughter.

* * * * * *

Let us, by this gentle river, Blunt the axe and break the quiver, While, as leaves upon the spray, Peaceful flow our cares away.

* * * * * *

Yet, alas! the hour is brief Left for either joy or grief! All on earth that we inherit From the hands of the Great Spirit-- Wigwam, hill, plain, lake, and field-- To the white-man must we yield; For, like sun-down on the waves, We are sinking to our graves!

From this wilderness of wo Like the caravan we go, Leaving all our groves and streams For the far-off land of dreams. There are prairies waving high, Boundless as the sheeted sky, Where our fathers' spirits roam, And the red-man has a home.

Let tradition tell our story. As we fade in cloudless glory, As we seek the land of rest Beyond the borders of the west, No eye but ours may look upon-- WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN.

* * * * * *

Land-Ho!

UP, UP WITH THE SIGNAL!--The land is in sight! We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night! The cold cheerless ocean in safety we've passed, And the warm genial earth glads our vision at last. In the land of the stranger true hearts we shall find, To soothe us in absence of those left behind. Land!--land-ho!--All hearts glow with joy at the sight! We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night!

THE SIGNAL IS WAVING!--Till morn we'll remain, Then part in the hope to meet one day again! Round the hearth-stone of home in the land of our birth, The holiest spot on the face of the earth! Dear country! our thoughts are as constant to thee As the steel to the star, or the stream to the sea. Ho!--land-ho!--We near it!--We bound at the sight! Then be happy, if never again, boys, to-night!

THE SIGNAL IS ANSWERED!--The foam-sparkles rise Like tears from the fountain of joy to the eyes! May rain-drops that fall from the storm-clouds of care, Melt away in the sun-beaming smiles of the fair! One health, as chime gaily the nautical bells: To woman--God bless her!--wherever she dwells! THE PILOT'S ON BOARD!--thank heaven, all's right! So be happy, if never again, boys, to-night!

Woodman, Spare that Tree! [See Notes]

Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not.

That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea-- And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forebear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh, spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here; My father pressed my hand-- Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand.

My heart-strings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend! Here shall the wild-bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storm still brave! And, woodman, leave the spot; While I've a hand to save, thy axe shall harm it not.

The Cottager's Welcome.

Hard by I've a cottage that stands near the wood-- A stream glides in peace at the door-- Where all who will tarry, 'tis well understood, Receive hospitality's store. To cheer that the brook and the thicket afford, The stranger we ever invite: You're welcome to freely partake at the board, And afterwards rest for the night.

The birds in the morning will sing from the trees, And herald the young god of day; Then, with him uprising, depart if you please-- We'll set you refreshed on the way: You're coin for our service we sternly reject; No traffic for gain we pursue, And all the reward that we wish or expect We take in the good that we do.

Mankind are all pilgrims on life's weary road, And many would wander astray In seeking Eternity's silent abode, Did Mercy not point out the way! If all would their duty discharge as they should To those who are friendless and poor, The world would resemble my cot near the wood, And life the sweet stream at my door.

The Land of Washington.

I glory in the sages Who, in the days of yore, In combat met the foemen, And drove them from our shore. Who flung our banner's starry field In triumph to the breeze, And spread broad maps of cities where Once waved the forest-trees. --Hurrah!--

I glory in the spirit Which goaded them to rise And found a might nation Beneath the western skies. No clime so bright and beautiful As that where sets the sun; No land so fertile, fair, and free, As that of Washington --Hurrah!--

The Flag of our Union.

"A song for our banner?"--The watchword recall Which gave the Republic her station: "United we stand--divided we fall!"-- It made and preserves us a nation! The union of lakes--the union of lands-- The union of States none can sever-- The union of hearts--the union of hands-- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever!

What God in his mercy and wisdom designed, And armed with his weapons of thunder, Not all the earth's despots and factions combined Have the power to conquer or sunder! The union of lakes--the union of lands-- The union of states none can sever-- The union of hearts--the union of hands-- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever!

Oh, keep that flag flying!--The pride of the van! To all other nations display it! The ladies for union are all to a--MAN! But not to the man who'd betray it. Then the union of lakes--the union of lands-- The union of states none can sever-- The union of hearts--the union of hands-- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever!

Lines

After the Manner of the Olden Time.

O Love! the mischief thou hast done! Thou god of pleasure and of pain!-- None can escape thee--yes there's one-- All others find the effort vain: Thou cause of all my smiles and tears! Thou blight and bloom of all my years!

Love bathes him in the morning dews, Reclines him in the lily bells, Reposes in the rainbow hues, And sparkles in the crystal wells, Or hies him to the coral-caves, Where sea-nymphs sport beneath the waves.

Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune-- With fays and oreads lingers he-- Gleams in th' ring of the watery moon, Or treads the pebbles of the sea. Love rules "the court, the camp, the grove"-- Oh, everywhere we meet thee, Love!

And everywhere he welcome finds, From cottage-door to palace-porch-- Love enters free as spicy winds, With purple wings and lighted torch, With tripping feet and silvery tongue, And bow and darts behind him slung.

He tinkles in the shepherd's bell The village maiden leans to hear-- By lattice high he weaves his spell, For lady fair and cavalier: Like sun-bursts on the mountain snow, Love's genial warmth melts high and low.

Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why-- Since Love is general as the air-- Why does he not to Lelia fly, And soften the obdurate fair? Scorn nerves her proud, disdainful heart! She scoffs at Love and all his art!

Oh, boy-god, Love!--An archer thou!-- Thy utmost skill I fain would test; One arrow aim at Lelia now, And let thy target be her breast! Her heart bind in thy captive train, Or give me back my own again!

The Dream of Love.

I've had the heart-ache many times, At the mere mention of a name I've never woven in my rhymes, Though from it inspiration came. It is in truth a holy thing, Life-cherished from the world apart-- A dove that never tries its wing, But broods and nestles in the heart.

That name of melody recalls Her gentle look and winning ways Whose portrait hangs on memory's walls, In the fond light of other days. In the dream-land of Poetry, Reclining in its leafy bowers, Her bright eyes in the stars I see, And her sweet semblance in the flowers.

Her artless dalliance and grace-- The joy that lighted up her brow-- The sweet expression of her face-- Her form--it stands before me now! And I can fancy that I hear The woodland songs she used to sing, Which stole to my attending ear, Like the first harbingers of spring.

The beauty of the earth was hers, And hers the purity of heaven; Alone, of all her worshippers, To me her maiden vows were given. They little know the human heart, Who think such love with time expires; Once kindled, it will ne'er depart, But burn through life with all its fires.

We parted--doomed no more to meet-- The blow fell with a stunning power-- And yet my pulse will strangely beat At the remembrance of that hour! But time and change their healing brought, And years have passed in seeming glee, But still alone of her I've thought Who's now a memory to me.

There may be many who will deem This strain a wayward, youthful folly, To be derided as a dream Born of the poet's melancholy. The wealth of worlds, if it were mine, With all that follows in its train, I would with gratitude resign, To dream that dream of love again.

I'm With You Once Again.

I'm with you once again, my friends, No more my footsteps roam; Where it began my journey ends, Amid the scenes of home. No other clime has skies so blue, Or streams so broad and clear, And where are hearts so warm and true As those that meet me here?

Since last with spirits, wild and free, I pressed my native strand, I've wandered many miles at sea, And many miles on land. I've seen fair realms of the earth By rude commotion torn, Which taught me how to prize the worth Of that where I was born.

In other countries, when I heard The language of my own, How fondly each familiar word Awoke an answering tone! But when our woodland songs were sung Upon a foreign mart, The vows that faltered on the tongue With rapture thrilled the heart!

My native land, I turn to you, With blessing and with prayer, Where man is brave and woman true, And free as mountain air. Long may our flag in triumph wave Against the world combined, And friends a welcome--foes a grave, Within our borders find.

Oh, Would that She were Here!

Oh, would that she were here, These hills and dales among, Where vocal groves are gayly mocked By Echo's airy tongue: Where jocund nature smiles In all her boon attire, And roams the deeply-tangled wilds Of hawthorn and sweet-brier. Oh, would that she were here-- The gentle maid I sing, Whose voice is cheerful as the songs Of forest-birds in spring!

Oh, would that she were here, Where the free waters leap, Shouting in sportive joyousness Adown the rocky steep: Where zephyrs crisp and cool The fountains as they play, With health upon their wings of light, And gladness on their way. Oh, would that she were here, With these balm-breathing trees, The sylvan daughters of the sun, The rain-cloud, and the breeze!

Oh, would that she were here, Where glide the rosy hours, Murm'ring the drowsy hum of bees, And fragrant with the flowers: Where Heaven's redeeming love Spans earth in Mercy's bow-- The promise of the world above Unto the world below. Oh, would that she were here, Amid these shades serene-- Oh, for the spell of woman's love, To consecrate the scene!

The Sword and the Staff

The sword of the hero!
The staff of the sage!
Whose valor and wisdom
Are stamped on the age!
Time-hallowed mementos
Of those who have riven
The sceptre from tyrants,
"The lightning from heaven!"

This weapon, O Freedom!
Was drawn by the son,
And it never was sheathed
Till the battle was won!
No stain of dishonor
Upon it we see!
'Twas never surrendered--
Except to the free!

While Fame claims the hero
And patriot sage,
Their names to emblazon
On History's page,
No holier relics
Will liberty hoard
Than FRANKLIN's staff, guarded
By WASHINGTON's sword.

The Chieftain's Daughter [See Notes]

Upon the barren sand A single captive stood; Around him came, with bow and brand, The red-men of the wood. Like him of old, his doom he hears, Rock-bound on ocean's rim: The chieftain's daughter knelt in tears, And breathed a prayer for him.

Above his head in air The savage war-club swung: The frantic girl, in wild despair, Her arms about him flung. Then shook the warriors of the shade, Like leaves on aspen limb-- Subdued by that heroic maid Who breathed a prayer for him.

"Unbind him!" gasped the chief-- "Obey your king's decree!" He kissed away her tears of grief, And set the captive free. 'Tis ever thus, when, in life's storm, Hope's star to man grows dim, An angel kneels in woman's form, And breathes a prayer for him.

Thy Will Be Done.

Searcher of Hearts!--from mine erase
All thoughts that should not be,
And in its deep recesses trace
My gratitude to Thee!

Hearer of Prayer!--oh, guide aright
Each word and deed of mine;
Life's battle teach me how to fight,
And be the victory Thine.

Giver of All!--for every good--
In the Redeemer came--
For raiment, shelter, and for food,
I thank Thee in His name.

Father and Son and Holy Ghost!
Thou glorious Three in One!
Thou knowest best what I need most,
And let Thy will be done.

Life in the West.

Ho! brothers--come hither and list to my story-- Merry and brief will the narrative be. Here, like a monarch, I reign in my glory-- Master am I, boys, of all that I see! Where once frowned a forest, a garden is smiling-- The meadow and moorland are marshes no more; And there curls the smoke of my cottage, beguiling The children who cluster like grapes round my door. Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest; The land of the heart is the land of the West! Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho!

Talk not of the town, boys--give me the broad prairie, Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free: Behold how its beautiful colors all vary, Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea! A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing; With proud independence we season our cheer, And those who the world are for happiness ranging, Won't find it at all if they don't find it here. Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest! I'll show you the life, boys, we live in the West! Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho!

Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own; We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, And care not a jot for the king on his throne. We never know want, for we live by our labor, And in it contentment and happiness find; We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor, And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind. Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest; You know how we live, boys, and die in the West! Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho!

Song of Marion's Men. [See Notes]

In the ranks of Marion's band, Through morass and wooded land, Over beach of yellow sand, Mountain, plain, and valley, A southern maid, in all her pride, Marched gayly at her lover's side, In such disguise That e'en his eyes Did not discover Sallie!

When returned from midnight tramp, Through the forest dark and damp, Oh his straw-couch in the camp, In his dreams he'd dally With that devoted, gentle fair, Whose large black eyes and flowing hair So near him seem, That in his dream, He breathes his love for Sallie!

Oh, what joy, that maiden knew, When she found her lover true!-- Suddenly the trumpet blew, Marion's men to rally! To ward the death-spear from his side!-- In battle by Santee she died!-- Where sings the surge A ceaseless dirge Near the lone grave of Sallie.

Janet McRea. [See Notes]

She heard the fight was over, And won the wrath of fame! When tidings from her lover, With his good war-steed came: To guard her safely to his tent, The red-men of the woods were sent. They led her where sweet waters gush! Under the pine-tree bough! The tomahawk is raised to crush-- 'Tis buried in her brow!-- She sleeps beneath that pine-tree now!

Her broken-hearted lover In hopeless conflict died! The forest-leaves now cover That soldier and his bride! The frown of the Great Spirit fell Upon the red-men like a spell! No more those waters slake their thirst, Shadeless to them that tree! O'er land and lake they roam accurst, And in the clouds they see Thy spirit, unavenged, McRea!

Lisette.

When Love in myrtle shades reposed, His bow and darts behind him slung; As dewey twilight round him closed, Lisette these numbers sung: "O Love! thy sylvan bower I'll fly while I've the power; Thy primrose way leads maids where they Love, honor, and obey!"

"Escape," the boy-god said, "is vain," And shook the diamonds from his wings: "I'll bind thee captive to my train, Fairest of earthy things!" "Go, saucy archer, go! I freedom's value know: Begon, I pray--to none I'll say Love, honor, and obey!"

"Speed, arrow, to thy mark!" he cried-- Swift as a ray of light it flew! Love spread his purple pinions wide, And faded from her view! Joy filled that maiden's eyes-- Twin load-stars from the skies!-- And one bright day her lips DID say, "Love, honor, and obey!"

My Mother's Bible.

This book is all that's left me now!--
Tears will unbidden start--
With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past,
Here is our family tree;
My mother's hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
Who round the hearth-stone used to close
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said,
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still!

My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters dear;
How calm was my poor mother's look
Who leaned God's word to hear!
Her angel face--I see it yet!
What vivid memories come!--
Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried:
Where all were false I found thee true,
My counselor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy:
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.

"The Dog-Star Rages."

Unseal the city fountains,
And let the waters flow
In coolness from the mountains
Unto the plains below.
My brain is parched and erring,
The pavement hot and dry,
And not a breath is stirring
Beneath the burning sky.

The belles have all departed--
There does not linger one!
Of course the mart's deserted
By every mother's son,
Except the street musician
And men of lesser note,
Whose only earthly mission
Seems but to toil and vote!

A woman--blessings on her!--
Beneath my window see;
She's singing--what an honor!--
Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!"
Her "man" the air is killing--
His organ's out of tune--
They're gone, with my last shilling, [See Notes (1)]
To Florence's saloon. [See Notes (2)]

New York is most compactly
Of brick and mortar made--
Thermometer exactly
One hundred in the shade!
A furnace would be safer
Than this my letter-room,
Where gleams the sun, a wafer,
About to seal my doom.

The town looks like an ogre,
The country like a bride;
Wealth hies to Saratoga,
And Worth to Sunny-side. [See Notes (3)]
While fashion seeks the islands
Encircled by the sea,
Taste find the Hudson Highlands
More beautiful and free.

The omnibuses rumble
Along their cobbled way--
The "twelve inside" more humble
Than he who takes the pay:
From morn till midnight stealing,
His horses come and go--
The only creatures feeling
The "luxury of wo!" [See Notes (4)]

We editors of papers,
Who coin our brains for bread
By solitary tapers
While others doze in bed,
Have tasks as sad and lonely,
However wrong or right,
But with this difference only,
The horses rest at night.

From twelve till nearly fifty
I've toiled and idled not,
And, though accounted thrifty,
I'm scarcely worth a groat;
However, I inherit
What few have ever gained--
A bright and cheerful spirit
That never has complained.

A stillness and a sadness
Pervade the City Hall,
And speculating madness
Has left the street of Wall.
The Union Square looks really
Both desolate and dark,
And that's the case, or nearly,
From Battery to Park.

Had I a yacht, like Miller,
That skimmer of the seas--
A wheel rigged on a tiller, [See Notes (5)]
And a fresh gunwale breeze,
A crew of friends well chosen,
And all a-taunto, I
Would sail for regions frozen--
I'd rather freeze than fry.

Oh, this confounded weather!
(As some one sang or said,)
My pen, thought but a feather,
Is heavier than lead;
At every pore I'm oosing--
(I'm "caving in" to-day)--
My plumptitude I'm losing,
And dripping fast away.

I'm weeping like the willow
That droops in leaf and bough--
Let Croton's sparkling billow
Flow through the city now;
And, as becomes her station,
The muse will close her prayer:
God save the Corporation!
Long live the valiant Mayor! [See Notes (6)]

A Legend of the Mohawk.

In the days that are gone, by this sweet-flowing water, Two lovers reclined in the shade of a tree; She was the mountain-king's rosy-lipped daughter, The brave warrior-chief of the valley was he. Then all things around them, below and above, Were basking as now in the sunshine of love-- In the days that are gone, by this sweet-flowing stream.

In the days that are gone, they were laid 'neath the willow, The maid in her beauty, the youth in his pride; Both slain by the foeman who crossed the dark billow, And stole the broad lands where their children reside; Whose fathers, when dying, in fear looked above, And trembled to think of that chief and his love, In the days that are gone, by this sweet flowing stream.

The Ball-Room Belle.

(Music by horn.)

The moon and all her starry train Were fading from the morning sky, When home the ball-room belle again Returned, with throbbing pulse and brain, Flushed cheek and tearful eye.

The plume that danced above her brow, The gem that sparkled in her zone, The scarf of spangled leaf and bough, Were laid aside--they mocked her now, When desolate and lone.

That night how many hearts she won! The reigning belle, she could not stir, But, like the planets round the sun, Her suitors followed--all but one-- One all the world to her!

And she had lost him!--Marvel not That lady's eyes with tears were wet! Though love by man is soon forgot, It never yet was woman's lot To love and to forget.

We Were Boys Together.

(Music by Russell.)

We were boys together, And never can forget The school-house near the heather, In childhood where we met; The humble home to memory dear, Its sorrows and its joys; Where woke the transient smile or tear, When you and I were boys.

We were youths together, And castles built in air, Your heart was like a feather, And mine weighed down with care; To you came wealth with manhood's prime, To me it brought alloys-- Foreshadowed in the primrose time. When you and I were boys.

We're old men together-- The friends we loved of yore, With leaves of autumn weather, Are gone for evermore. How blest to age the impulse given, The hope time ne'er destroys-- Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven, When you and I were boys!

Oh, Boatman, Haste!

(Music by Balfe.)

Twilight.

Oh, boatman, haste!--The twilight hour
Is closing gently o'er the lea!
The sun, whose setting shuts the flower.
Has looked his last upon the sea!
Row, then, boatman, row!
Row, then, boatman, row!
Row!--aha!--we've moon and star!
And our skiff with the stream is flowing.
Heigh-ho!--ah!--heigh-ho!--
Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho!

Midnight.

Oh, boatman, haste!--The sentry calls
The midnight hour on yonder shore,
And silvery sweet the echo falls
As music dripping from the oar!
Row, then, boatman, row!
Row, then, boatman, row!
Row!--afar fade moon and star!
While our skiff with the stream is flowing!
Heigh-ho!--ah!--heigh-ho!--
Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho.

Dawn.

Oh, boatman haste!--The morning beam
Glides through the fleecy clouds above:
So breaks on life's dark, murm'ring stream,
The rosy dawn of woman's love!
Row, then, boatman, row!
Row, then, boatman, row!
Row!--'Tis day!--away--away!
To land with the stream we are flowing!
Heigh-ho!--dear one--ho!
Beauty responds to my glad heigh-ho!

Funeral Hymn.

"Man dieth and wasteth away,
And where is he?"--Hark! from the skies
I hear a voice answer and say,
"The spirit of man never dies:
His body, which came from the earth,
Must mingle again with the sod;
But his soul, which in heaven had birth,
Returns to the bosom of God."

No terror has death, or the grave,
To those who believe in the Lord--
We know the Redeemer can save,
And lean on the faith of his word;
While ashes to ashes, and dust
We give unto dust, in our gloom,
The light of salvation, we trust,
Is hung like a lamp in the tomb.

The sky will be burnt as a scroll--
The earth, wrapped in flames, will expire;
But, freed from all shackles, the soul
Will rise in the midst of the fire.
Then, brothers, mourn not for the dead,
Who rest from their labors, forgiven;
Learn this from your Bible instead,
The grave is the gateway to heaven.

O Lord God Almighty! to Thee
We turn as our solace above;
The waters may fail from the sea,
But not from thy fountains of love:
Oh, teach us Thy will to obey,
And sing with one heart and accord,
"He gave and he taketh away,
And praised be the name of the Lord!"

O'er the Mountains.

Some spirit wafts our mountain lay--
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
To distant groves and glens away!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the tide of empire flows--
Ho! boys, hili ho!
Rejoicing as it westward goes!
Ho! boys, hili ho!
To refresh our weary way
Gush the crystal fountains,
As a pilgrim band we stray
Cheerly o'er the mountains.

The woodland rings with song and shout!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
As though a fairy hunt were out!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the voice of woman cheers--
Ho! boys, hili ho!
The hearts of hardy mountaineers!
Ho! boys, hili ho!
Like the glow of northern skies
Mirrored in the fountains,
Beams the love-light of fond eyes,
As we cross the mountains.

Woman.

Ah, woman!--in this world of ours, What boon can be compared to thee?-- How slow would drag life's weary hours, Though man's proud brow were bound with flowers, And his the wealth of land and sea, If destined to exist alone, And ne'er call woman's heart his own!

My mother!--At that holy name, Within my bosom there's a gush Of feeling, which no time can tame-- A feeling, which, for years of fame, I would not, could not, crush! And sisters!--ye are dear as life; But when I look upon my wife, My heart-blood gives a sudden rush, And all my fond affections blend In mother--sisters--wife and friend!

Yes, woman's love is free from guile,
And pure as bright Aurora's ray;
The heart will melt before her smile,
And base-born passions fade away!
Were I the monarch of the earth,
Or master of the swelling sea,
I would not estimate their worth,
Dear woman, half the price of thee.

Rosabel.

I miss thee from my side, beloved,
I miss thee from my side;
And wearily and drearily
Flows Time's resistless tide.
The world, and all its fleeting joys,
To me are worse than vain,
Until I clasp thee to my heart,
Beloved one, again.

The wildwood and the forest-path,
We used to thread of yore,
With bird and bee have flown with thee,
And gone for ever more!
There is no music in the grove,
No echo on the hill;
But melancholy boughs are there--
And hushed the whip-poor-will.

I miss thee in the town, beloved,
I miss thee in the town;
From morn I grieve till dewy eve
Spreads wide its mantle brown.
My spirit's wings, that once could soar
In Fancy's world of air,
Are crushed and beaten to the ground
By life-corroding care.

No more I hear thy thrilling voice,
Nor see thy winning face;
That once would gleam like morning's beam,
In mental pride and grace:
Thy form of matchless symmetry,
In sweet perfection cast--
Is now the star of memory
That fades not with the past.

I miss thee everywhere, beloved,
I miss thee everywhere;
Both night and day wear dull away,
And leave me in despair.
The banquet-hall, the play, the ball,
And childhood's sportive glee,
Have lost their spell for me, beloved,
My souls is full of thee!

Has Rosabel forgotten me,
And love I now in vain?
If that be so, my heart can know
No rest on earth again.
A sad and weary lot is mine,
To love and be forgot;
A sad and weary lot beloved--
A sad and weary lot!

The Tyrant Sway.

The heart that owns thy tyrant sway, Whate'er its hopes may be, Is like a bark that drifts away Upon a shoreless sea! No compass left to guide her on, Upon the surge she's tempest-torn-- And such is life to me!

And what is life when love is fled? The world, unshared by thee? I'd rather slumber with the dead, Than such a waif to be! The bark that by no compass steers Is lost, which way soe'er she veers-- And such is life to me!

A Hero of the Revolution.

Let not a tear be shed! Of grief give not a token, Although the silver thread And golden bowl be broken! A warrior lived--a Christian died! Sorrow's forgotten in our pride!

Go, bring his battle-blade, His helmet and his plume! And be his trophies laid Beside him in the tomb, Where files of time-marked veterans come With martial tramp and muffled drum!

Give to the earth his frame, To moulder and decay; But not his deathless name-- That can not pass away! In youth, in manhood, and in age, He dignified his country's page!

Green be the willow-bough Above the swelling mound, Where sleeps the hero now In consecrated ground: Thy epitaph, O Delavan! God's noblest work--an honest man!

Rhyme and Reason.

An Apologue.

Two children of the olden time In Flora's primrose season, Were born. The name of one was Rhyme That of the other Reason. And both were beautiful and fair, And pure as mountain stream and air.

As the boys together grew, Happy fled their hours-- Grief or care they never knew In the Paphian bowers. See them roaming, hand in hand, The pride of all the choral band!

Music with harp of golden strings, Love with bow and quiver, Airy sprites on radiant wings, Nymphs of wood and river, Joined the Muses' constant song, As Rhyme and Reason passed along.

But the scene was changed--the boys Left their native soil-- Rhyme's pursuit was idle joys, Reason's manly toil: Soon Rhyme was starving in a ditch, While Reason grew exceeding rich.

Since the dark and fatal hour, When the brothers parted, Reason has had wealth and power-- Rhyme's poor and broken-hearted! And now, or bright, or stormy weather, They twain are seldom seen together.

Starlight Recollections.

'Twas night. Near the murmuring Saone,
We met with no witnesses by,
But such as resplendently shone
In the blue-tinted vault of the sky:
Your head on my bosom was laid,
As you said you would ever be mine;
And I promised to love, dearest maid,
And worship alone at your shrine.

Your love on my heart gently fell
As the dew on the flowers at eve,
Whose blossoms with gratitude swell,
A blessing to give and receive:
And I knew by the glow on your cheek,
And the rapture you could not control,
No power had language to speak
The faith or content of your soul.

I love you as none ever loved--
As the steel to the star I am true;
And I, dearest maiden, have proved
That none ever loved me but you.
Till memory loses her power,
Or the sands of existence have run,
I'll remember the star-lighted hour
That mingled two hearts into one.

Wearies my Love?

Wearies my love of my letters? Does she my silence command? Sunders she Love's rosy fetters As though they were woven of sand? Tires she too of each token Indited with many a sigh? Are all her promises broken? And must I love on till I die?

Thinks my dear love that I blame her With what was a burden to part? Ah, no!--with affection I'll name her While lingers a pulse in my heart. Although she has clouded with sadness, And blighted the bloom of my years, I lover still, even to madness, And bless her through showers of tears.

My pen I have laid down in sorrow, The songs of my lute I forego: From neither assistance I'll borrow To utter my heart-seated wo! But peace to her bosom, wherever Her thoughts or her footsteps may stray: Memento of mine again never Will shadow the light of her way!

Fare The Well, Love.

Fare thee well, love!--We must sever! Nor for years, love; but for ever! We must meet no more--or only Meet as strangers--sad and lonely. Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love!--How I languish For the cause of all my anguish! None have ever met and parted So forlorn and broken-hearted. Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love--Till I perish All my truth for thee I'll cherish; And, when thou my requiem hearest, Know till death I loved thee, dearest. Fare thee well!

Thou Hast Woven the Spell.

Thou hast woven the spell that hath bound me,
Through all the sad changes of years;
And the smiles that I wore when I found thee,
Have faded and melted in tears!
Like the poor, wounded fawn from the mountain,
That seeks out the clear silver tide,
I have lingered in vain at the fountain
Of hope--with a shaft in my side!

Thou hast taught me that Love's rosy fetters
A pang from the thorns may impart;
That the coinage of vows and of letters
Comes not from the mint of the heart.
Like the lone bird that flutters her pinion,
And warbles in bondage her strain,
I have struggled to fly thy domain,
But find that the struggle is vain!

Bessy Bell.

When life looks drear and lonely, love,
And pleasant fancies flee,
Then will the Muses only, love,
Bestow a thought on me!
Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love,
To waken strives in vain;
To Joy's entrancing measure, love,
It ne'er can thrill again!--
Why mock me, Bessy Bell?

Oh, do not ask me ever, love,
For rapture-woven rhymes;
For vain is each endeavor, love,
To sound Mirth's play-bell chimes!
Yet still believe me, dearest love,
Though sad my song may be,
This heart still dotes sincerest, love,
And grateful turns to thee--
My once fond Bessy Bell!

Those eyes still rest upon me, love!
I feel their magic spell!
With that same look you won me, love,
Fair, gentle Bessy Bell!
My doom you've idly spoken, love,
You never can be mine!
But though my heart is broken, love,
Still, Bessy, it is thine!
Adieu, false Bessy Bell!

The Day is Now Dawning.

William.

The day is now dawning, love, Fled is the night-- I go like the morning, love, Cheerful and bright. Then adieu, dearest Ellen: When evening is near, I'll visit thy dwelling, For true love is here.

Ellen.

Oh, come where the fountain, love, Tranquilly flows; Beneath the green mountain, love, Seek for repose; There the days of our childhood, In love's golden beam, 'Mong the blue-bells and wildwood, Passed on like a dream.

William.

Oh, linger awhile, love!

Ellen.

I must away.

William.

Oh, grant me thy smile, love, 'Tis Hope's cheering ray-- With evening expect me.

Ellen.

To the moment be true, And may angels protect thee--

Both.

Sweet Ellen, adieu! Dear William, adieu!

When Other Friends.

When other friends are round thee, And other hearts are thine-- When other bays have crowned thee, More fresh and green than mine-- Then think how sad and lonely This doating heart will be, Which, while it beats, beats only, Beloved one, for thee!

Yet do not think I doubt thee, I know thy truth remains; I would not live without thee, For all the world contains. Thou art the start that guides me Along life's troubled sea; And whatever fate betides me, This heart still turns to thee.

Silent Grief.

Where is now my peace of mind?
Gone, alas! for evermore:
Turn where'er I may, I find
Thorns where roses bloomed before!
O'er the green-fields of my soul,
Where the springs of joy were found,
Now the clouds of sorrow roll,
Shading all the prospect round!

Do I merit pangs like these,
That have cleft my heart in twain?
Must I, to the very lees,
Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain?
Silent grief all grief excels;
Life and it together part--
Like a restless worm it dwells
Deep within the human heart!

Love Thee, Dearest!

Love thee, dearest?--Hear me.--Never Will my fond vows be forgot! May I perish, and for ever, When, dear maid, I love thee not! Turn not from me, dearest!--Listen! Banish all thy doubts and fears! Let thine eyes with transport glisten! What hast thou to do with tears?

Dry them, dearest!--Ah, believe me, Love's bright flame is burning still! Though the hollow world deceive thee, Here's a heart that never will! Dost thou smile?--A cloud of sorrow Breaks before Joy's rising sun! Wilt thou give thy hand?--To-morrow, Hymen's bond will make us one!

I Love the Night.

I love the night when the moon streams bright
On flowers that drink the dew--
When cascades shout as the stars peep out,
From boundless fields of blue;
But dearer far than moon or star,
Or flowers of gaudy hue,
Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills,
I love, I love, love--you!

I love to stray at the close of the day,
Through groves of forest-trees,
When gushing notes from song-birds' throats
Are vocal in the breeze.
I love the night--the glorious night--
When hearts beat warm and true;
But far above the night, I love,
I love, I love, love--you!

The Miniature.

William was holding in his hand The likeness of his wife! Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand, With beauty, grace, and life. He almost thought it spoke:--he gazed Upon the bauble still, Absorbed, delighted, and amazed, To view the artist's skill.

"This picture is yourself, dear Jane-- 'Tis drawn to nature true: I've kissed it o'er and o'er again, It is much like you." "And has it kissed you back, my dear?" "Why--no--my love," said he. "Then, William, it is very clear 'Tis not at all LIKE ME!"

The Retort.

Old Nick, who taught the village-school,
Wedded a maid of homespun habit;
He was as stubborn as a mule,
She was as playful as a rabbit.

Poor Jane had scarce become a wife,
Before her husband sought to make her
The pink of country-polished life,
And prim and formal as a Quaker.

One day the tutor went abroad,
And simple Jenny sadly missed him;
When he returned, behind her lord
She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him!

The husband's anger rose!--and red
And white his face alternate grew!
"Less freedom, ma'am!"--Jane sighed and said,
"OH, DEAR! I DIDN'T KNOW 'TWAS YOU!"

Lines On A Poet.

How sweet the cadence of his lyre!
What melody of words!
They strike a pulse within the heart
Like songs of forest-birds,
Or tinkling of the shepherd's bell
Among the mountain-herds.

His mind's a cultured garden,
Where Nature's hand has sown
The flower-seeds of poesy--
And they have freshly grown,
Imbued with beauty and perfume
To other plants unknown.

A bright career's before him--
All tongues pronounce his praise;
All hearts his inspiration feel,
And will in after-days;
For genius breathes in every line
Of his soul-thrilling lays.

A nameless grace is round him--
A something, too refined
To be described, yet must be felt
By all of human kind--
An emanation of the soul,
That can not be defined.

Then blessings on the minstrel--
His faults let others scan:
There may be spots upon the sun,
Which those may view who can;
I see them not--yet know him well
A POET AND A MAN.

The Bacchanal

Beside a cottage-door,
Sang Ella at her wheel;
Ruthven rode o'er the moor,
Down at her feet to kneel:
A spotted palfrey gay
Came ambling at his side,
To bear the maid away
As his affianced bride.

A high-born noble he,
Of stately halls secure;
A low-born peasant she,
Of parentage obscure.
How soft the honeyed words
He breathes into her ears!--
The melody of birds!
The music of the spheres!

With love her bosom swells,
Which she would fain conceal--
Her eyes, like crystal wells,
Its hidden depths reveal.
While liquid diamonds drip
From feeling's fountain warm,
Flutters her scarlet lip--
A rose-leaf in a storm!

As from an April sky
The rain-clouds flit away,
So from the maiden's eye
Vanished the falling spray,
Which lingered but awhile
Her dimpled cheek upon--
Then melted in her smile,
Like vapor in the sun.

The maid is all his own!
She trusts his plighted word,
And, lightly on the roan,
She springs beside her lord:
She leaves her father's cot,
She turns her from the door--
That green and holy spot
Which she will see no more!

They hied to distant lands,
That lord and peasant-maid:
The church ne'er joined their hands,
For Ella was betrayed!
Torn from her native bower,
That modest rose of May,
Drooped, in his stately tower,
And passed from earth away.

They laid her in the ground,
And Ella was forgot--
Dead was her father found
In his deserted cot.
But Ruthven--what of him?
He ran the story o'er,
And, filling to the brim,
He thought of it no more!

Twenty Years Ago

'Twas in the flush of summer-time,
Some twenty years or more,
When Ernest lost his way, and crossed
The threshold of our door.
I'll ne'er forget his locks of jet,
His brow of Alpine snow,
His manly grace of form and face,
Some twenty years ago.

The hand he asked I freely gave--
Mine was a happy lot,
In all my pride to be his bride
Within my father's cot.
The faith he spoke he never broke:
His faithful heart I know;
And well I vow I love him now
As twenty years ago.

National Anthem.

Freedom spreads her downy wings Over all created things; Glory to the King of kings, Bend low to Him the knee! Bring the heart before His throne-- Worship Him and Him alone!-- He's the only King we own-- And He has made us free!

The holiest spot a smiling sun E'er shed his genial rays upon, Is that which gave a Washington The drooping world to cheer! Sound the clarion-peals of fame! Ye who bear Columbia's name!-- With existence freedom came-- It is man's birthright here!

Heirs of an immortal sire, Let his deeds your hearts inspire; Weave the strain and wake the lyre Where your proud altars stand! Hail with pride and loud harrahs, Streaming from a thousand spars, Freedom's rainbow-flag of stars-- The symbol of our land!

I Love Thee Still.

I never have been false to thee!--
The heart I gave thee still is thine;
Though thou hast been untrue to me,
And I no more may call thee mine!
I've loved, as woman ever loves,
With constant soul in good or ill:
Thou'st proved as man too often proves,
A rover--but I love thee still!

Yet think not that my spirit stoops
To bind thee captive in my train!--
Love's not a flower at sunset droops,
But smiles when comes her god again!
Thy words, which fall unheeded now,
Could once my heart-strings madly thrill!
Love a golden chain and burning vow
Are broken--but I love thee still!

Once what a heaven of bliss was ours,
When love dispelled the clouds of care,
And time went by with birds and flowers,
While song and incense filled the air!
The past is mine--the present thine--
Should thoughts of me thy future fill,
Think what a destiny is mine,
To lose--but love thee, false one, still!

Look From Thy Lattice, Love.

Look from thy lattice, love--
Listen to me!
The cool, balmy breeze
Is abroad on the sea!
The moon, like a queen,
Roams her realms above,
And naught is awake
But the spirit of love.
Ere morn's golden light
Tips the hills with its ray,
Away o'er the waters--
Away and away!
Then look from thy lattice, love--
Listen to me.
While the moon lights the sky,
And the breeze curls the sea!
Look from thy lattice, love--
Listen to me!
In the voyage of life,
Love our pilot will be!
He'll sit at the helm
Wherever we rove,
And steer by the load-star
He kindled above!
His gem-girdled shallop
Will cut the bright spray,
Or skim, like a bird,
O'er the waters away!
Then look from thy lattice, love--
Listen to me,
While the moon lights the sky,
And the breeze curls the sea!

She Loved Him.

She loved him--but she heeded not--
Her heart had only room for pride:
All other feelings were forgot,
When she became another's bride.
As from a dream she then awoke,
To realize her lonely state,
And own it was the vow she broke
That made her drear and desolate!

She loved him--but the sland'rer came,
With words of hate that all believed;
A stain thus rested on his name--
But he was wronged and she deceived;
Ah! rash the act that gave her hand,
That drove her lover from her side--
Who hied him to a distant land,
Where, battling for a name, he died!

She loved him--and his memory now
Was treasured from the world apart:
The calm of thought was on her brow,
The seeds of death were in her heart.
For all the world that thing forlorn
I would not, could not be, and live--
That casket with its jewel gone,
A bride who has no heart to give!

The Suitors.

Wealth sought the bower of Beauty, Dressed like a modern beau: Just then Love, Health, and Duty Took up their hats to go. Wealth such a cordial welcome met, As made the others grieve; So Duty shunned the gay coquette, Love, pouting, took French leave-- He did! Love, pouting, took French leave!

Old Time, the friend of Duty, Next called to see the fair; He laid his hand on Beauty, And left her in despair Wealth vanished!--Last went rosy Health-- And she was doomed to prove That those who Duty slight for Wealth, Can never hope for Love! Ah, no! Can never hope for Love!

St. Agnes' Shrine.

While before St. Agnes' shrine Knelt a true knight's lady-love, From the wars of Palestine Came a gentle carrier-dove. Round his neck a Silken string Fastened words the warrior writ: At her call he stooped his wing, And upon her finger lit.

She, like one enchanted, pored O'er the contents of the scroll-- For that lady loved her lord With a pure, devoted soul. To her heart her dove she drew, While she traced the burning line; Then away his minion flew Back to sainted Palestine.

To and fro, from hand to hand Came and went a carrier-dove, Till throughout the Holy Land War resigned his sword to Love. Swift her dove, on wings of light, Brought the news from Palestine, And the lady her true knight Wedded at St. Agnes' shrine.

Western Refrain