The other day I took a stroll,Just when the sun grew low,A down the Row of Quality,That gay and charming row.I had been dreaming all the dayOf bright, poetic formsMoving through silent fairyland,Bedecked with glorious charms.As down the row, I slowly walked,First came proud Majesty;Love shone in all her queenly looks,Command was in her eye.Then gentle Grace came smiling next,Without the aid of art,And, with a soft and pleasing bliss,She past into my heart.Then Beauty came supreme o'er all,A Heaven-anointed queen;But modest Goodness walked behind,With mild yet winning mien.Then I returned to dream and singThrough many a pleasant hour,Of all that evening's loveliness,And beauty's matchless power.
The other day I took a stroll,Just when the sun grew low,A down the Row of Quality,That gay and charming row.
The other day I took a stroll,
Just when the sun grew low,
A down the Row of Quality,
That gay and charming row.
I had been dreaming all the dayOf bright, poetic formsMoving through silent fairyland,Bedecked with glorious charms.
I had been dreaming all the day
Of bright, poetic forms
Moving through silent fairyland,
Bedecked with glorious charms.
As down the row, I slowly walked,First came proud Majesty;Love shone in all her queenly looks,Command was in her eye.
As down the row, I slowly walked,
First came proud Majesty;
Love shone in all her queenly looks,
Command was in her eye.
Then gentle Grace came smiling next,Without the aid of art,And, with a soft and pleasing bliss,She past into my heart.
Then gentle Grace came smiling next,
Without the aid of art,
And, with a soft and pleasing bliss,
She past into my heart.
Then Beauty came supreme o'er all,A Heaven-anointed queen;But modest Goodness walked behind,With mild yet winning mien.
Then Beauty came supreme o'er all,
A Heaven-anointed queen;
But modest Goodness walked behind,
With mild yet winning mien.
Then I returned to dream and singThrough many a pleasant hour,Of all that evening's loveliness,And beauty's matchless power.
Then I returned to dream and sing
Through many a pleasant hour,
Of all that evening's loveliness,
And beauty's matchless power.
The azure vault so far above,Arrayed in smiles of peace and love,Would sweetly seem the truth to prove—"There is a God."The blooming earth so glad below—The fragrant flowers—the streams that flow—The tuneful birds—would bid us know,"There is a God."Yon soaring sun on wings of fire,Proclaims his great, celestial Sire—'Tis chanted by the starry choir,"There is a God."We know it, too, at nights' fair noon,When lo! the pale and placid Moon,Illumes the balmy night of June,"There is a God."The smiling Spring, and Autumn brown,Hoarse-raging Winter's angry frown,And Summer fair, unceasing own,"There is a God."The mountains high, and dark, and vast—The thunder's roar—the howling blast—The lightnings springing thick and fast,Amid the gloom,That wraps the Earth, and Sea, and Sky—The Storm-fiend's wild, terrific cry—The Earth-quake's shock—proclaim on high,"An awful God!"But oh! that awful God above,Is yet a gracious God of love—A bleeding Lamb—a wounded Dove—The sinner's God.Poor sinner! love His holy name,And when this world shall pass in flameA heavenly mansion thou mayst claim,To dwell with God.
The azure vault so far above,Arrayed in smiles of peace and love,Would sweetly seem the truth to prove—"There is a God."
The azure vault so far above,
Arrayed in smiles of peace and love,
Would sweetly seem the truth to prove—
"There is a God."
The blooming earth so glad below—The fragrant flowers—the streams that flow—The tuneful birds—would bid us know,"There is a God."
The blooming earth so glad below—
The fragrant flowers—the streams that flow—
The tuneful birds—would bid us know,
"There is a God."
Yon soaring sun on wings of fire,Proclaims his great, celestial Sire—'Tis chanted by the starry choir,"There is a God."
Yon soaring sun on wings of fire,
Proclaims his great, celestial Sire—
'Tis chanted by the starry choir,
"There is a God."
We know it, too, at nights' fair noon,When lo! the pale and placid Moon,Illumes the balmy night of June,"There is a God."
We know it, too, at nights' fair noon,
When lo! the pale and placid Moon,
Illumes the balmy night of June,
"There is a God."
The smiling Spring, and Autumn brown,Hoarse-raging Winter's angry frown,And Summer fair, unceasing own,"There is a God."
The smiling Spring, and Autumn brown,
Hoarse-raging Winter's angry frown,
And Summer fair, unceasing own,
"There is a God."
The mountains high, and dark, and vast—The thunder's roar—the howling blast—The lightnings springing thick and fast,Amid the gloom,
The mountains high, and dark, and vast—
The thunder's roar—the howling blast—
The lightnings springing thick and fast,
Amid the gloom,
That wraps the Earth, and Sea, and Sky—The Storm-fiend's wild, terrific cry—The Earth-quake's shock—proclaim on high,"An awful God!"
That wraps the Earth, and Sea, and Sky—
The Storm-fiend's wild, terrific cry—
The Earth-quake's shock—proclaim on high,
"An awful God!"
But oh! that awful God above,Is yet a gracious God of love—A bleeding Lamb—a wounded Dove—The sinner's God.
But oh! that awful God above,
Is yet a gracious God of love—
A bleeding Lamb—a wounded Dove—
The sinner's God.
Poor sinner! love His holy name,And when this world shall pass in flameA heavenly mansion thou mayst claim,To dwell with God.
Poor sinner! love His holy name,
And when this world shall pass in flame
A heavenly mansion thou mayst claim,
To dwell with God.
I dream of thee, beloved one,When the moon comes o'er the sea,And hangs her horns of silver,In yonder forest tree!I wake from out my slumber,I think I hear thy voice,It thrills my list'ning spirit,It makes my soul rejoice.Oh love! thy fair, bright image,Is hov'ring near to mine,Oh love! I see thy passion,In those deep eyes of thine:Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming,Have bound my senses quite,Those eyes are o'er me beaming,The only stars of night.
I dream of thee, beloved one,When the moon comes o'er the sea,And hangs her horns of silver,In yonder forest tree!I wake from out my slumber,I think I hear thy voice,It thrills my list'ning spirit,It makes my soul rejoice.
I dream of thee, beloved one,
When the moon comes o'er the sea,
And hangs her horns of silver,
In yonder forest tree!
I wake from out my slumber,
I think I hear thy voice,
It thrills my list'ning spirit,
It makes my soul rejoice.
Oh love! thy fair, bright image,Is hov'ring near to mine,Oh love! I see thy passion,In those deep eyes of thine:Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming,Have bound my senses quite,Those eyes are o'er me beaming,The only stars of night.
Oh love! thy fair, bright image,
Is hov'ring near to mine,
Oh love! I see thy passion,
In those deep eyes of thine:
Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming,
Have bound my senses quite,
Those eyes are o'er me beaming,
The only stars of night.
Sweet maiden of the feeling soul,I saw thy little form,Arrayed in gay and glittering garb,And felt thy beauty's charm.And, Lora! when I saw thee showThe mighty poet's thought,The poet's truth, with vivid force,Before my mind was brought.And when I heard thee sweetly sing,The bold gay "Cavalier,"I thought that was the sweetest toneE'er fell on mortal ear."Sweet Maid!" 'twas love's most plaintive voice,That echoes from the soul,And makes the listening spirit pauseIn that divine control.And when thou sang'st the "Soldier Boy,"I heard the drum and fife,The bugle's blast, the cannon's boom,The keen, sharp shriek for life!And when thou sang'st with gentle voice,The "Bonnie Breast Knots" too;'Twas like the words of peace and love,That follow war's wild crew.And when I saw thee lightly whirlThrough that ecstatic dance,My happy spirit flew with thee,As in a joyous trance.Sweet maiden, when thou pass'd'st away,I felt a soft regret;And oh! thy genius and thy charms,I never shall forget.Sweet maiden, fare thee—fare thee well!Thou sing'st and flitt'st away—A thing that charmed us, and shall be,Remembered through life's day.
Sweet maiden of the feeling soul,I saw thy little form,Arrayed in gay and glittering garb,And felt thy beauty's charm.
Sweet maiden of the feeling soul,
I saw thy little form,
Arrayed in gay and glittering garb,
And felt thy beauty's charm.
And, Lora! when I saw thee showThe mighty poet's thought,The poet's truth, with vivid force,Before my mind was brought.
And, Lora! when I saw thee show
The mighty poet's thought,
The poet's truth, with vivid force,
Before my mind was brought.
And when I heard thee sweetly sing,The bold gay "Cavalier,"I thought that was the sweetest toneE'er fell on mortal ear.
And when I heard thee sweetly sing,
The bold gay "Cavalier,"
I thought that was the sweetest tone
E'er fell on mortal ear.
"Sweet Maid!" 'twas love's most plaintive voice,That echoes from the soul,And makes the listening spirit pauseIn that divine control.
"Sweet Maid!" 'twas love's most plaintive voice,
That echoes from the soul,
And makes the listening spirit pause
In that divine control.
And when thou sang'st the "Soldier Boy,"I heard the drum and fife,The bugle's blast, the cannon's boom,The keen, sharp shriek for life!
And when thou sang'st the "Soldier Boy,"
I heard the drum and fife,
The bugle's blast, the cannon's boom,
The keen, sharp shriek for life!
And when thou sang'st with gentle voice,The "Bonnie Breast Knots" too;'Twas like the words of peace and love,That follow war's wild crew.
And when thou sang'st with gentle voice,
The "Bonnie Breast Knots" too;
'Twas like the words of peace and love,
That follow war's wild crew.
And when I saw thee lightly whirlThrough that ecstatic dance,My happy spirit flew with thee,As in a joyous trance.
And when I saw thee lightly whirl
Through that ecstatic dance,
My happy spirit flew with thee,
As in a joyous trance.
Sweet maiden, when thou pass'd'st away,I felt a soft regret;And oh! thy genius and thy charms,I never shall forget.
Sweet maiden, when thou pass'd'st away,
I felt a soft regret;
And oh! thy genius and thy charms,
I never shall forget.
Sweet maiden, fare thee—fare thee well!Thou sing'st and flitt'st away—A thing that charmed us, and shall be,Remembered through life's day.
Sweet maiden, fare thee—fare thee well!
Thou sing'st and flitt'st away—
A thing that charmed us, and shall be,
Remembered through life's day.
On Monticello's classic brow,I stood and gazed around on earth;And feelings of no common glow,Within my bosom had their birth.The glorious memory of the past,When valor, single-handed, won,The brightest boon for man at last,Freedom for every sire and son.I thought how strangely, wildly rungThat dictum in the world's dull ear,Breathed with a firm, unfaltering tongue,"No tyrant's pride shall flourish here."But, look upon yon humble tomb,Oh! does it hide some humble one?Now, part the mountain's leafy bloom,—Is this the grave ofJefferson?Huge shame confound this long neglect,That thus o'ershades his resting place,Who, living, sought to raise, protect,And fit, this home of Adam's race.Who guards that most illustrious tomb,And welcomes there the pilgrim's love?A stranger to his native soil,Stands sentinel his grave above.Virginia! oh! retrieve thy name,No longer scorn thy source of pride;Pay double tribute to their fame,Whose shades so long in vain have sighed.Rear monuments to tell the world,The virtues of departed worth,Till yonder sun in night be hurled,The glorious heritage of earth.Then through the ages that succeed,The hearts shall come from every shore,To worship where their relics lie,Whose glorious fame can die no more.
On Monticello's classic brow,I stood and gazed around on earth;And feelings of no common glow,Within my bosom had their birth.
On Monticello's classic brow,
I stood and gazed around on earth;
And feelings of no common glow,
Within my bosom had their birth.
The glorious memory of the past,When valor, single-handed, won,The brightest boon for man at last,Freedom for every sire and son.
The glorious memory of the past,
When valor, single-handed, won,
The brightest boon for man at last,
Freedom for every sire and son.
I thought how strangely, wildly rungThat dictum in the world's dull ear,Breathed with a firm, unfaltering tongue,"No tyrant's pride shall flourish here."
I thought how strangely, wildly rung
That dictum in the world's dull ear,
Breathed with a firm, unfaltering tongue,
"No tyrant's pride shall flourish here."
But, look upon yon humble tomb,Oh! does it hide some humble one?Now, part the mountain's leafy bloom,—Is this the grave ofJefferson?
But, look upon yon humble tomb,
Oh! does it hide some humble one?
Now, part the mountain's leafy bloom,—
Is this the grave ofJefferson?
Huge shame confound this long neglect,That thus o'ershades his resting place,Who, living, sought to raise, protect,And fit, this home of Adam's race.
Huge shame confound this long neglect,
That thus o'ershades his resting place,
Who, living, sought to raise, protect,
And fit, this home of Adam's race.
Who guards that most illustrious tomb,And welcomes there the pilgrim's love?A stranger to his native soil,Stands sentinel his grave above.
Who guards that most illustrious tomb,
And welcomes there the pilgrim's love?
A stranger to his native soil,
Stands sentinel his grave above.
Virginia! oh! retrieve thy name,No longer scorn thy source of pride;Pay double tribute to their fame,Whose shades so long in vain have sighed.
Virginia! oh! retrieve thy name,
No longer scorn thy source of pride;
Pay double tribute to their fame,
Whose shades so long in vain have sighed.
Rear monuments to tell the world,The virtues of departed worth,Till yonder sun in night be hurled,The glorious heritage of earth.
Rear monuments to tell the world,
The virtues of departed worth,
Till yonder sun in night be hurled,
The glorious heritage of earth.
Then through the ages that succeed,The hearts shall come from every shore,To worship where their relics lie,Whose glorious fame can die no more.
Then through the ages that succeed,
The hearts shall come from every shore,
To worship where their relics lie,
Whose glorious fame can die no more.
Dear Marian, thou art far away,And I'm disconsolate to-day,In sorrow sighing;My pleasant thoughts lie like the leaves,O'er whose cold heads Æolus grieves,Complaining, dying.'Tis weary, dreary, dreary here,The yellow leaves are falling sere,With mournful rustling,The little bird has hush'd his song,And close the greener boughs amongHe's coldly nestling.How sad the high wind's sounding dirge,As 'twere old ocean's moaning surge,Around our dwelling;I well may tell the reason why,But oh! the teardrops in mine eyeAre swiftly swelling.The world is sad, and I am so;Does Marian hear my plaint? Oh, no;She's far away.Ye envious streams—ye hateful hills!Ah me! what cruel anguish thrillsMy heart to-day!But soon may Fortune learn to smileUpon her sad and helpless child,And let us meet,No more to part, no more to sigh,But happy live, and happy die,In union sweet!
Dear Marian, thou art far away,And I'm disconsolate to-day,In sorrow sighing;My pleasant thoughts lie like the leaves,O'er whose cold heads Æolus grieves,Complaining, dying.'Tis weary, dreary, dreary here,The yellow leaves are falling sere,With mournful rustling,The little bird has hush'd his song,And close the greener boughs amongHe's coldly nestling.How sad the high wind's sounding dirge,As 'twere old ocean's moaning surge,Around our dwelling;I well may tell the reason why,But oh! the teardrops in mine eyeAre swiftly swelling.The world is sad, and I am so;Does Marian hear my plaint? Oh, no;She's far away.Ye envious streams—ye hateful hills!Ah me! what cruel anguish thrillsMy heart to-day!But soon may Fortune learn to smileUpon her sad and helpless child,And let us meet,No more to part, no more to sigh,But happy live, and happy die,In union sweet!
Dear Marian, thou art far away,
And I'm disconsolate to-day,
In sorrow sighing;
My pleasant thoughts lie like the leaves,
O'er whose cold heads Æolus grieves,
Complaining, dying.
'Tis weary, dreary, dreary here,
The yellow leaves are falling sere,
With mournful rustling,
The little bird has hush'd his song,
And close the greener boughs among
He's coldly nestling.
How sad the high wind's sounding dirge,
As 'twere old ocean's moaning surge,
Around our dwelling;
I well may tell the reason why,
But oh! the teardrops in mine eye
Are swiftly swelling.
The world is sad, and I am so;
Does Marian hear my plaint? Oh, no;
She's far away.
Ye envious streams—ye hateful hills!
Ah me! what cruel anguish thrills
My heart to-day!
But soon may Fortune learn to smile
Upon her sad and helpless child,
And let us meet,
No more to part, no more to sigh,
But happy live, and happy die,
In union sweet!
O! radiant spirit, bright Poesy, whereIs thy dwelling, thou seraph of beauty, so fairIn the rainbow thou laughest at sweet summer's even,And thou ridest the tempest that rends earth and heaven;On the lawn gemm'd with dew, 'mid the forest in green,On the mountains' huge brows, in the valleys between,In the blue rolling ocean, in sky, earth and air—Thy spiritual loveliness broods every where,Thou quaffest morn's tears in a chalice of light,And thy form in the splendor of Phoebus flames bright;Thou kissest the rose-bud so fay-like and fair,And the lightnings thou wreathest in thy dark-streaming hair!Thy melody trills in the silver rill's flow,And it roars in the earthquake that thunders below;All heaven is fill'd with thy presence divine,All earth in the smile of thy beauty doth shine:From heaven to earth, and from earth swift to heaven,Thy golden-wheel'd chariot is viewlessly driven:And thou robest all things in the raiment of love,By fingers of seraphim woven above—And the song which thou sing'st is the melody flowing,Like droppings of nectar, from angel lips glowing—And God is the Fountain, O, Poesy bright,Whose waters now flood me with mystic delight!
O! radiant spirit, bright Poesy, whereIs thy dwelling, thou seraph of beauty, so fairIn the rainbow thou laughest at sweet summer's even,And thou ridest the tempest that rends earth and heaven;On the lawn gemm'd with dew, 'mid the forest in green,On the mountains' huge brows, in the valleys between,In the blue rolling ocean, in sky, earth and air—Thy spiritual loveliness broods every where,Thou quaffest morn's tears in a chalice of light,And thy form in the splendor of Phoebus flames bright;Thou kissest the rose-bud so fay-like and fair,And the lightnings thou wreathest in thy dark-streaming hair!Thy melody trills in the silver rill's flow,And it roars in the earthquake that thunders below;All heaven is fill'd with thy presence divine,All earth in the smile of thy beauty doth shine:From heaven to earth, and from earth swift to heaven,Thy golden-wheel'd chariot is viewlessly driven:And thou robest all things in the raiment of love,By fingers of seraphim woven above—And the song which thou sing'st is the melody flowing,Like droppings of nectar, from angel lips glowing—And God is the Fountain, O, Poesy bright,Whose waters now flood me with mystic delight!
O! radiant spirit, bright Poesy, where
Is thy dwelling, thou seraph of beauty, so fair
In the rainbow thou laughest at sweet summer's even,
And thou ridest the tempest that rends earth and heaven;
On the lawn gemm'd with dew, 'mid the forest in green,
On the mountains' huge brows, in the valleys between,
In the blue rolling ocean, in sky, earth and air—
Thy spiritual loveliness broods every where,
Thou quaffest morn's tears in a chalice of light,
And thy form in the splendor of Phoebus flames bright;
Thou kissest the rose-bud so fay-like and fair,
And the lightnings thou wreathest in thy dark-streaming hair!
Thy melody trills in the silver rill's flow,
And it roars in the earthquake that thunders below;
All heaven is fill'd with thy presence divine,
All earth in the smile of thy beauty doth shine:
From heaven to earth, and from earth swift to heaven,
Thy golden-wheel'd chariot is viewlessly driven:
And thou robest all things in the raiment of love,
By fingers of seraphim woven above—
And the song which thou sing'st is the melody flowing,
Like droppings of nectar, from angel lips glowing—
And God is the Fountain, O, Poesy bright,
Whose waters now flood me with mystic delight!
The water, see it, leaps from the mountain's high brow,Like a roll of smooth silver, and laughingly nowSee, it skips, like a child, through the valley so green,Throwing beauty and blithesomeness over the scene.See the dew-drops of morning that glitter so bright,Drunk up by the leaves and the flowers with delight;See the fair delicate fays, for their heavenly feast,In colors more lovely their light limbs have drest.See the dark-rushing showers exultingly comeDown, down to the earth from their high, cloudy home!How the countless drops twinkle, and dance, and rejoice,Then creep to the ground with a tremulous voice!Oh the water, the water, it shineth so bright!It falls like a beautiful raining of light,And it gladdeneth the earth, and the sky, and the sea,'Till the world laugheth out in her fullness of glee!See it all smileth fairest—'tis beauty above,In Heaven and Earth 'tis but beauty and love;With harmony dancing—a scene like a dream,When Heaven comes down on the spirit to beam!Oh the water! the water! man, quaff its bright flow;It will gladden thy spirit, but give thee no woe:As it fresh'neth the world, so its rills will impartHealth, gladness, and sweetness and joy to thy heart.But oh, the foul demons (horrific to tell)Have mixed a fierce poison, the wild flame of hell;And it killeth each fairest and loveliest thingThat the earth ever knew in her bridal of Spring.'Tis the wild stream of hell! oh it burneth the soul,It scatheth, and blighteth, and killeth the whole;Yet, a Vulture, it gnaweth the quivering liver,Forever consuming, but satiate never.Ay, it fills the wide world with the wailing and woe,That liken the shrieking of Devils below:And the words of the eloquent never can tell,The abyss of this anguish, this foretaste of Hell.Oh God of the curst! turn this fierce stream away,In trembling, and misery, and anguish we pray;Make the waters ofTemperanceflow wide o'er the Earth,Till she shine as of yore in the smile of her birth!
The water, see it, leaps from the mountain's high brow,Like a roll of smooth silver, and laughingly nowSee, it skips, like a child, through the valley so green,Throwing beauty and blithesomeness over the scene.
The water, see it, leaps from the mountain's high brow,
Like a roll of smooth silver, and laughingly now
See, it skips, like a child, through the valley so green,
Throwing beauty and blithesomeness over the scene.
See the dew-drops of morning that glitter so bright,Drunk up by the leaves and the flowers with delight;See the fair delicate fays, for their heavenly feast,In colors more lovely their light limbs have drest.
See the dew-drops of morning that glitter so bright,
Drunk up by the leaves and the flowers with delight;
See the fair delicate fays, for their heavenly feast,
In colors more lovely their light limbs have drest.
See the dark-rushing showers exultingly comeDown, down to the earth from their high, cloudy home!How the countless drops twinkle, and dance, and rejoice,Then creep to the ground with a tremulous voice!
See the dark-rushing showers exultingly come
Down, down to the earth from their high, cloudy home!
How the countless drops twinkle, and dance, and rejoice,
Then creep to the ground with a tremulous voice!
Oh the water, the water, it shineth so bright!It falls like a beautiful raining of light,And it gladdeneth the earth, and the sky, and the sea,'Till the world laugheth out in her fullness of glee!
Oh the water, the water, it shineth so bright!
It falls like a beautiful raining of light,
And it gladdeneth the earth, and the sky, and the sea,
'Till the world laugheth out in her fullness of glee!
See it all smileth fairest—'tis beauty above,In Heaven and Earth 'tis but beauty and love;With harmony dancing—a scene like a dream,When Heaven comes down on the spirit to beam!
See it all smileth fairest—'tis beauty above,
In Heaven and Earth 'tis but beauty and love;
With harmony dancing—a scene like a dream,
When Heaven comes down on the spirit to beam!
Oh the water! the water! man, quaff its bright flow;It will gladden thy spirit, but give thee no woe:As it fresh'neth the world, so its rills will impartHealth, gladness, and sweetness and joy to thy heart.
Oh the water! the water! man, quaff its bright flow;
It will gladden thy spirit, but give thee no woe:
As it fresh'neth the world, so its rills will impart
Health, gladness, and sweetness and joy to thy heart.
But oh, the foul demons (horrific to tell)Have mixed a fierce poison, the wild flame of hell;And it killeth each fairest and loveliest thingThat the earth ever knew in her bridal of Spring.
But oh, the foul demons (horrific to tell)
Have mixed a fierce poison, the wild flame of hell;
And it killeth each fairest and loveliest thing
That the earth ever knew in her bridal of Spring.
'Tis the wild stream of hell! oh it burneth the soul,It scatheth, and blighteth, and killeth the whole;Yet, a Vulture, it gnaweth the quivering liver,Forever consuming, but satiate never.
'Tis the wild stream of hell! oh it burneth the soul,
It scatheth, and blighteth, and killeth the whole;
Yet, a Vulture, it gnaweth the quivering liver,
Forever consuming, but satiate never.
Ay, it fills the wide world with the wailing and woe,That liken the shrieking of Devils below:And the words of the eloquent never can tell,The abyss of this anguish, this foretaste of Hell.
Ay, it fills the wide world with the wailing and woe,
That liken the shrieking of Devils below:
And the words of the eloquent never can tell,
The abyss of this anguish, this foretaste of Hell.
Oh God of the curst! turn this fierce stream away,In trembling, and misery, and anguish we pray;Make the waters ofTemperanceflow wide o'er the Earth,Till she shine as of yore in the smile of her birth!
Oh God of the curst! turn this fierce stream away,
In trembling, and misery, and anguish we pray;
Make the waters ofTemperanceflow wide o'er the Earth,
Till she shine as of yore in the smile of her birth!
On beautiful Ohio when you sail,And view its banks, forever green and fair,And feel the falling sunlight, and the galeThat freshly stirs that wild and western air;You may observe a lovely island there,A greenery spot, enclosed by waters bright,A spot of beauty, and a spot most rare;There the fair summer moon sheds softest light,And summer stars look down from heaven's cerulean height.Around that isle, a mournful story clings,That ever wakes a soft and sad regret,In those who feel the sorrow which it brings,All swift and fresh upon the memory yet,Of those who sail beyond it, brightly set,An emerald within that crystal flood;Its sad, strange name a feeling doth begetThat wakes a sigh in bosoms meek and good,And leaves the thoughtful sprite in no ungrateful mood.Here Blannerhasset[E]dwelt; a blest recluse,In this green Eden of the leafy West;And felt sweet Peace her softest balm infuse,Into his once too world-disturbed breast:There did he find a deep and quiet rest:The mockbird sang his vespers, while the starShone sweetly o'er the rippling river's crest;There no rude sound the halcyon calm did mar,And Grief was absent still, and Hate was banished far.So Blannerhasset with his partner, dwelt,In kind connubial tenderness, in thisMost gay and blooming scene; here, here they feltThat feeling which if earth hath aught like bliss,Is bliss! the tender look! the touch! the kiss!And, often mid this sylvan scene was heard,(Where no vile Envy gave its serpent hiss,)The voice of love, the only, joyous, wordWhich blended with the notes of wind, and rill, and bird.Sweet pair! with all that's best of life, possest,Wealth, love, refinement, learning, genius, birth;Bright, blooming offspring, virtuous, good and blestCharming their hearts, with that young, pangless mirth;And, when at evening mild, they saunter'd forth,Beneath the rosy sky, they looked toward heaven,And wondered why this was so bright an earth,And why that God whose gifts to man are even,This wondrous happiness to them alone had given.Then came a dark-soul'd man, with magic eye,And glozing tongue, and Blannerhasset's mind,Became his slave, he could not now denyHis devilish spell, a villian, smooth refin'd,Whose mighty arts his thoughtless victim bind,In fearful chains: Burr was this Satan's name,Who crept into this Eden unconfin'd,And drove this erring pair of later fame,Like that of old, to roam and sigh o'er earth the same."Come, go with me," said Burr, "and you shall find,Strange honors, riches, and a deathless name,"And Blannerhasset thought the villian kind,Who fed his soul, on novel dreams of fame,While Burr aspir'd to breathe a sinful flame,Through Blannerhasset's sweet and guiltless wife,But she his artful cozening overcame,And brav'd the demon with victorious strife,And sacredly maintained the whiteness of her life.But they were ruin'd, this sequester'd pair,Who shunn'd the world's alluring charms to crime,Soon they were driven forth in dark despair,Like the sadconsortsof that earlier time.A grief fell on that island's blooming prime.They pass'd away, and never saw again,Their island home amid that pleasant clime.Awhile they roamed o'er earth's most desolate plain,But soon securely slept from life's wild woe and pain.This is real history of that isle,That ever draws the weary traveller's eye,He sees its fairy greenness brightly smile,Amid that river; as he passeth by,Perchance his human eye's no longer dry,While he recalls that mournful history;And he may ask, with sudden sorrow, why,The dream of rapture doth so early fleeAnd souls so meek and good, the prey of fiends should be.That isle is now as lovely as of yore,Gay Nature smiles as sweetly, the wild airIs resonant with music; the green shoreExhales a constant fragrance, sweet and rare,But those who made its borders still more fair,Have slept the sleep of death, long years ago,Yet is their memory fresh, and ever thereThe pilgrim's heart will feel the thought of woe,His eye will blend a tear with yon fair river's flow.
On beautiful Ohio when you sail,And view its banks, forever green and fair,And feel the falling sunlight, and the galeThat freshly stirs that wild and western air;You may observe a lovely island there,A greenery spot, enclosed by waters bright,A spot of beauty, and a spot most rare;There the fair summer moon sheds softest light,And summer stars look down from heaven's cerulean height.
On beautiful Ohio when you sail,
And view its banks, forever green and fair,
And feel the falling sunlight, and the gale
That freshly stirs that wild and western air;
You may observe a lovely island there,
A greenery spot, enclosed by waters bright,
A spot of beauty, and a spot most rare;
There the fair summer moon sheds softest light,
And summer stars look down from heaven's cerulean height.
Around that isle, a mournful story clings,That ever wakes a soft and sad regret,In those who feel the sorrow which it brings,All swift and fresh upon the memory yet,Of those who sail beyond it, brightly set,An emerald within that crystal flood;Its sad, strange name a feeling doth begetThat wakes a sigh in bosoms meek and good,And leaves the thoughtful sprite in no ungrateful mood.
Around that isle, a mournful story clings,
That ever wakes a soft and sad regret,
In those who feel the sorrow which it brings,
All swift and fresh upon the memory yet,
Of those who sail beyond it, brightly set,
An emerald within that crystal flood;
Its sad, strange name a feeling doth beget
That wakes a sigh in bosoms meek and good,
And leaves the thoughtful sprite in no ungrateful mood.
Here Blannerhasset[E]dwelt; a blest recluse,In this green Eden of the leafy West;And felt sweet Peace her softest balm infuse,Into his once too world-disturbed breast:There did he find a deep and quiet rest:The mockbird sang his vespers, while the starShone sweetly o'er the rippling river's crest;There no rude sound the halcyon calm did mar,And Grief was absent still, and Hate was banished far.
Here Blannerhasset[E]dwelt; a blest recluse,
In this green Eden of the leafy West;
And felt sweet Peace her softest balm infuse,
Into his once too world-disturbed breast:
There did he find a deep and quiet rest:
The mockbird sang his vespers, while the star
Shone sweetly o'er the rippling river's crest;
There no rude sound the halcyon calm did mar,
And Grief was absent still, and Hate was banished far.
So Blannerhasset with his partner, dwelt,In kind connubial tenderness, in thisMost gay and blooming scene; here, here they feltThat feeling which if earth hath aught like bliss,Is bliss! the tender look! the touch! the kiss!And, often mid this sylvan scene was heard,(Where no vile Envy gave its serpent hiss,)The voice of love, the only, joyous, wordWhich blended with the notes of wind, and rill, and bird.
So Blannerhasset with his partner, dwelt,
In kind connubial tenderness, in this
Most gay and blooming scene; here, here they felt
That feeling which if earth hath aught like bliss,
Is bliss! the tender look! the touch! the kiss!
And, often mid this sylvan scene was heard,
(Where no vile Envy gave its serpent hiss,)
The voice of love, the only, joyous, word
Which blended with the notes of wind, and rill, and bird.
Sweet pair! with all that's best of life, possest,Wealth, love, refinement, learning, genius, birth;Bright, blooming offspring, virtuous, good and blestCharming their hearts, with that young, pangless mirth;And, when at evening mild, they saunter'd forth,Beneath the rosy sky, they looked toward heaven,And wondered why this was so bright an earth,And why that God whose gifts to man are even,This wondrous happiness to them alone had given.
Sweet pair! with all that's best of life, possest,
Wealth, love, refinement, learning, genius, birth;
Bright, blooming offspring, virtuous, good and blest
Charming their hearts, with that young, pangless mirth;
And, when at evening mild, they saunter'd forth,
Beneath the rosy sky, they looked toward heaven,
And wondered why this was so bright an earth,
And why that God whose gifts to man are even,
This wondrous happiness to them alone had given.
Then came a dark-soul'd man, with magic eye,And glozing tongue, and Blannerhasset's mind,Became his slave, he could not now denyHis devilish spell, a villian, smooth refin'd,Whose mighty arts his thoughtless victim bind,In fearful chains: Burr was this Satan's name,Who crept into this Eden unconfin'd,And drove this erring pair of later fame,Like that of old, to roam and sigh o'er earth the same.
Then came a dark-soul'd man, with magic eye,
And glozing tongue, and Blannerhasset's mind,
Became his slave, he could not now deny
His devilish spell, a villian, smooth refin'd,
Whose mighty arts his thoughtless victim bind,
In fearful chains: Burr was this Satan's name,
Who crept into this Eden unconfin'd,
And drove this erring pair of later fame,
Like that of old, to roam and sigh o'er earth the same.
"Come, go with me," said Burr, "and you shall find,Strange honors, riches, and a deathless name,"And Blannerhasset thought the villian kind,Who fed his soul, on novel dreams of fame,While Burr aspir'd to breathe a sinful flame,Through Blannerhasset's sweet and guiltless wife,But she his artful cozening overcame,And brav'd the demon with victorious strife,And sacredly maintained the whiteness of her life.
"Come, go with me," said Burr, "and you shall find,
Strange honors, riches, and a deathless name,"
And Blannerhasset thought the villian kind,
Who fed his soul, on novel dreams of fame,
While Burr aspir'd to breathe a sinful flame,
Through Blannerhasset's sweet and guiltless wife,
But she his artful cozening overcame,
And brav'd the demon with victorious strife,
And sacredly maintained the whiteness of her life.
But they were ruin'd, this sequester'd pair,Who shunn'd the world's alluring charms to crime,Soon they were driven forth in dark despair,Like the sadconsortsof that earlier time.A grief fell on that island's blooming prime.They pass'd away, and never saw again,Their island home amid that pleasant clime.Awhile they roamed o'er earth's most desolate plain,But soon securely slept from life's wild woe and pain.
But they were ruin'd, this sequester'd pair,
Who shunn'd the world's alluring charms to crime,
Soon they were driven forth in dark despair,
Like the sadconsortsof that earlier time.
A grief fell on that island's blooming prime.
They pass'd away, and never saw again,
Their island home amid that pleasant clime.
Awhile they roamed o'er earth's most desolate plain,
But soon securely slept from life's wild woe and pain.
This is real history of that isle,That ever draws the weary traveller's eye,He sees its fairy greenness brightly smile,Amid that river; as he passeth by,Perchance his human eye's no longer dry,While he recalls that mournful history;And he may ask, with sudden sorrow, why,The dream of rapture doth so early fleeAnd souls so meek and good, the prey of fiends should be.
This is real history of that isle,
That ever draws the weary traveller's eye,
He sees its fairy greenness brightly smile,
Amid that river; as he passeth by,
Perchance his human eye's no longer dry,
While he recalls that mournful history;
And he may ask, with sudden sorrow, why,
The dream of rapture doth so early flee
And souls so meek and good, the prey of fiends should be.
That isle is now as lovely as of yore,Gay Nature smiles as sweetly, the wild airIs resonant with music; the green shoreExhales a constant fragrance, sweet and rare,But those who made its borders still more fair,Have slept the sleep of death, long years ago,Yet is their memory fresh, and ever thereThe pilgrim's heart will feel the thought of woe,His eye will blend a tear with yon fair river's flow.
That isle is now as lovely as of yore,
Gay Nature smiles as sweetly, the wild air
Is resonant with music; the green shore
Exhales a constant fragrance, sweet and rare,
But those who made its borders still more fair,
Have slept the sleep of death, long years ago,
Yet is their memory fresh, and ever there
The pilgrim's heart will feel the thought of woe,
His eye will blend a tear with yon fair river's flow.
[E]Transcriber's note: Spelling is different in the title of the poem; both have been kept as in the original.
[E]Transcriber's note: Spelling is different in the title of the poem; both have been kept as in the original.
Give me thy heart, give me thy hand,Thy love, thy dower, thy goods, thy land;Give me o'er thee a free command,Then shall I be a monarch grand.This brave great world is little worth,Its largest wealth is but a dearth;But fond and mutual love can make,Another richer for its sake.Give me thy love, thy heart, thy soul,O'er thee a sovereign control,Then though huge seas of sorrow roll,I will defy their wish'd control.Give me thy destiny, thy allWhich thou dost best and dearest call;Then let the darts of envy fall,Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.I will contemn their power; I willStill strain with joy's ecstatic thrill,Thee to this bosom, dearest! tillI rest in heaven from earthly ill.Give me thy heart, thy unstained hand,And though I scorn it, give thy land,Then, by a rainbow sweet and bland,Shall life's cerulean arch be spann'd.Beneath that arch of beauty, flowersBrilliant as bloom in heaven's own bowers,And bathed in joy's ambrosial showers,Shall strew the earth through charmed hours.Beneath that bow, rich melodies,Like odors that in heaven arise,Sweet as an angel's breathing sighs,Shall rise and kiss the smiling skies.Give me thy heart, hand, bosom, allWhich thou dost nearest, dearest call,Than let the darts of envy fall,Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.Till life's long summer shall depart,The tender thrill of joy shall start,We'll laugh at Boreas' icy dart,Beside the fire which warms the heart.
Give me thy heart, give me thy hand,Thy love, thy dower, thy goods, thy land;Give me o'er thee a free command,Then shall I be a monarch grand.
Give me thy heart, give me thy hand,
Thy love, thy dower, thy goods, thy land;
Give me o'er thee a free command,
Then shall I be a monarch grand.
This brave great world is little worth,Its largest wealth is but a dearth;But fond and mutual love can make,Another richer for its sake.
This brave great world is little worth,
Its largest wealth is but a dearth;
But fond and mutual love can make,
Another richer for its sake.
Give me thy love, thy heart, thy soul,O'er thee a sovereign control,Then though huge seas of sorrow roll,I will defy their wish'd control.
Give me thy love, thy heart, thy soul,
O'er thee a sovereign control,
Then though huge seas of sorrow roll,
I will defy their wish'd control.
Give me thy destiny, thy allWhich thou dost best and dearest call;Then let the darts of envy fall,Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.
Give me thy destiny, thy all
Which thou dost best and dearest call;
Then let the darts of envy fall,
Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.
I will contemn their power; I willStill strain with joy's ecstatic thrill,Thee to this bosom, dearest! tillI rest in heaven from earthly ill.
I will contemn their power; I will
Still strain with joy's ecstatic thrill,
Thee to this bosom, dearest! till
I rest in heaven from earthly ill.
Give me thy heart, thy unstained hand,And though I scorn it, give thy land,Then, by a rainbow sweet and bland,Shall life's cerulean arch be spann'd.
Give me thy heart, thy unstained hand,
And though I scorn it, give thy land,
Then, by a rainbow sweet and bland,
Shall life's cerulean arch be spann'd.
Beneath that arch of beauty, flowersBrilliant as bloom in heaven's own bowers,And bathed in joy's ambrosial showers,Shall strew the earth through charmed hours.
Beneath that arch of beauty, flowers
Brilliant as bloom in heaven's own bowers,
And bathed in joy's ambrosial showers,
Shall strew the earth through charmed hours.
Beneath that bow, rich melodies,Like odors that in heaven arise,Sweet as an angel's breathing sighs,Shall rise and kiss the smiling skies.
Beneath that bow, rich melodies,
Like odors that in heaven arise,
Sweet as an angel's breathing sighs,
Shall rise and kiss the smiling skies.
Give me thy heart, hand, bosom, allWhich thou dost nearest, dearest call,Than let the darts of envy fall,Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.
Give me thy heart, hand, bosom, all
Which thou dost nearest, dearest call,
Than let the darts of envy fall,
Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.
Till life's long summer shall depart,The tender thrill of joy shall start,We'll laugh at Boreas' icy dart,Beside the fire which warms the heart.
Till life's long summer shall depart,
The tender thrill of joy shall start,
We'll laugh at Boreas' icy dart,
Beside the fire which warms the heart.
Sweet bud of life, God knew this earth,Was not a home for thee;He took thee, even from thy birth,To bless Eternity.
Sweet bud of life, God knew this earth,Was not a home for thee;He took thee, even from thy birth,To bless Eternity.
Sweet bud of life, God knew this earth,
Was not a home for thee;
He took thee, even from thy birth,
To bless Eternity.
The promis'd years, the better times,By God himself foretold,Have dawn'd, and banish'd hateful crimes,The latest age of gold.Not now a brother fears to treadThe way a brother goes,Not now the wife's sad heart is fed,On brutal cuffs and blows.Not now the human eye is fierceWith cruel thirst of gore;Not now the angry spear doth pierceThe bosom. Such are o'er.This scene become a Paradise,A scene of peace and love,Wherein each living being triesTo work for God above.The Bible fills the mighty world,The end is drawing nigh,When, earth in burning fragments hurl'd,The soul shall rise on high.The promis'd years, the better times,By God himself foretold,Have dawned with their triumphal chimes,On the sweet air unroll'd.
The promis'd years, the better times,By God himself foretold,Have dawn'd, and banish'd hateful crimes,The latest age of gold.
The promis'd years, the better times,
By God himself foretold,
Have dawn'd, and banish'd hateful crimes,
The latest age of gold.
Not now a brother fears to treadThe way a brother goes,Not now the wife's sad heart is fed,On brutal cuffs and blows.
Not now a brother fears to tread
The way a brother goes,
Not now the wife's sad heart is fed,
On brutal cuffs and blows.
Not now the human eye is fierceWith cruel thirst of gore;Not now the angry spear doth pierceThe bosom. Such are o'er.
Not now the human eye is fierce
With cruel thirst of gore;
Not now the angry spear doth pierce
The bosom. Such are o'er.
This scene become a Paradise,A scene of peace and love,Wherein each living being triesTo work for God above.
This scene become a Paradise,
A scene of peace and love,
Wherein each living being tries
To work for God above.
The Bible fills the mighty world,The end is drawing nigh,When, earth in burning fragments hurl'd,The soul shall rise on high.
The Bible fills the mighty world,
The end is drawing nigh,
When, earth in burning fragments hurl'd,
The soul shall rise on high.
The promis'd years, the better times,By God himself foretold,Have dawned with their triumphal chimes,On the sweet air unroll'd.
The promis'd years, the better times,
By God himself foretold,
Have dawned with their triumphal chimes,
On the sweet air unroll'd.
Thou art indeed a happy one,And hast a charmed life,A noble triumph thou hast won,A bright-eyed Poet's wife.His fancy plucks all glittering gemsFrom mountain caves and sea,To form that best of diadems,He proudly gives to thee.That realm that doth thy power obey,Is richer far than these,More sweet its nights, more bright its day,More bland its wandering breeze.And gentle creatures move and kissThe sceptre in thy hand,And gather garlands, wreaths of bliss,Amid thy fairy land.The Angels' song comes down at times,And flows into his song,Like the triumphal, silver chimes,That steal the heavens along.
Thou art indeed a happy one,And hast a charmed life,A noble triumph thou hast won,A bright-eyed Poet's wife.
Thou art indeed a happy one,
And hast a charmed life,
A noble triumph thou hast won,
A bright-eyed Poet's wife.
His fancy plucks all glittering gemsFrom mountain caves and sea,To form that best of diadems,He proudly gives to thee.
His fancy plucks all glittering gems
From mountain caves and sea,
To form that best of diadems,
He proudly gives to thee.
That realm that doth thy power obey,Is richer far than these,More sweet its nights, more bright its day,More bland its wandering breeze.
That realm that doth thy power obey,
Is richer far than these,
More sweet its nights, more bright its day,
More bland its wandering breeze.
And gentle creatures move and kissThe sceptre in thy hand,And gather garlands, wreaths of bliss,Amid thy fairy land.
And gentle creatures move and kiss
The sceptre in thy hand,
And gather garlands, wreaths of bliss,
Amid thy fairy land.
The Angels' song comes down at times,And flows into his song,Like the triumphal, silver chimes,That steal the heavens along.
The Angels' song comes down at times,
And flows into his song,
Like the triumphal, silver chimes,
That steal the heavens along.
Come to my calling,Lilly Lane,Like music falling,Come again.The earth is dreary,Sorrow's reign,My thoughts are weary,Come again.The flowers upspringing,Bring me pain,My thoughts are wingingTo thee again.Come to my sorrow,Come again,Give night a morrow,Yet again.Oh! birds are singingMany a strain,The woodlands ringing,Come again.Yet I am weeping,E'er with pain,Grief's vigil keeping,Come again.The dawn gleams brightlyO'er the plain,The airs come lightlyO'er the main.They ne'er shall wake thee,Lilly Lane,All things forsake thee,Lilly Lane.I'll not bereave theeLilly Lane!I'll never leave thee,Lilly Lane.On thy grave I'll mutter"Lilly Lane!"With a frantic, dove-like flutter,"Lilly Lane!"Around thy tomb I'll hover,Near the main,Like a bleeding dying plover,"Lilly Lane!"
Come to my calling,Lilly Lane,Like music falling,Come again.
Come to my calling,
Lilly Lane,
Like music falling,
Come again.
The earth is dreary,Sorrow's reign,My thoughts are weary,Come again.
The earth is dreary,
Sorrow's reign,
My thoughts are weary,
Come again.
The flowers upspringing,Bring me pain,My thoughts are wingingTo thee again.
The flowers upspringing,
Bring me pain,
My thoughts are winging
To thee again.
Come to my sorrow,Come again,Give night a morrow,Yet again.
Come to my sorrow,
Come again,
Give night a morrow,
Yet again.
Oh! birds are singingMany a strain,The woodlands ringing,Come again.
Oh! birds are singing
Many a strain,
The woodlands ringing,
Come again.
Yet I am weeping,E'er with pain,Grief's vigil keeping,Come again.
Yet I am weeping,
E'er with pain,
Grief's vigil keeping,
Come again.
The dawn gleams brightlyO'er the plain,The airs come lightlyO'er the main.
The dawn gleams brightly
O'er the plain,
The airs come lightly
O'er the main.
They ne'er shall wake thee,Lilly Lane,All things forsake thee,Lilly Lane.
They ne'er shall wake thee,
Lilly Lane,
All things forsake thee,
Lilly Lane.
I'll not bereave theeLilly Lane!I'll never leave thee,Lilly Lane.
I'll not bereave thee
Lilly Lane!
I'll never leave thee,
Lilly Lane.
On thy grave I'll mutter"Lilly Lane!"With a frantic, dove-like flutter,"Lilly Lane!"
On thy grave I'll mutter
"Lilly Lane!"
With a frantic, dove-like flutter,
"Lilly Lane!"
Around thy tomb I'll hover,Near the main,Like a bleeding dying plover,"Lilly Lane!"
Around thy tomb I'll hover,
Near the main,
Like a bleeding dying plover,
"Lilly Lane!"
To-day my gay and happy heart,Was lost in pleasant dreaming;And I had won a loving partIn all the by-gone's seeming.I saw that most renowned maid,Before her father falling,Those savage hearts, within the shadeOf antique trees, appalling.I saw the deep and gushing love,That fearful moment started,That murmur'd like a turtle dove,To cheating hope departed.I saw the kind and gentle deeds,That gemm'd her after beingThat little camp, from sorest needs,And frequent slaughter, freeing.I thought that she was kindly sent,In gracious God's foreknowing,To save from fatal detriment,This infant nation growing.I saw the savage maiden's formWith Culture's graces, glowing;In virgin beauty, bright and warm,Like vernal roses blowing.I saw her sweetly, deeply smileOn Rolfe beside her sitting,As o'er the neighboring stream the whileThe shades of eve were flitting.I saw her wed in love beneathThe forest's lofty awning;While white and dusk maids bring a wreath,Like night commixt with morning.I saw the strange and novel fame,She left to song and story,Which down the future's track of flame,Beams forth with deathless glory.
To-day my gay and happy heart,Was lost in pleasant dreaming;And I had won a loving partIn all the by-gone's seeming.
To-day my gay and happy heart,
Was lost in pleasant dreaming;
And I had won a loving part
In all the by-gone's seeming.
I saw that most renowned maid,Before her father falling,Those savage hearts, within the shadeOf antique trees, appalling.
I saw that most renowned maid,
Before her father falling,
Those savage hearts, within the shade
Of antique trees, appalling.
I saw the deep and gushing love,That fearful moment started,That murmur'd like a turtle dove,To cheating hope departed.
I saw the deep and gushing love,
That fearful moment started,
That murmur'd like a turtle dove,
To cheating hope departed.
I saw the kind and gentle deeds,That gemm'd her after beingThat little camp, from sorest needs,And frequent slaughter, freeing.
I saw the kind and gentle deeds,
That gemm'd her after being
That little camp, from sorest needs,
And frequent slaughter, freeing.
I thought that she was kindly sent,In gracious God's foreknowing,To save from fatal detriment,This infant nation growing.
I thought that she was kindly sent,
In gracious God's foreknowing,
To save from fatal detriment,
This infant nation growing.
I saw the savage maiden's formWith Culture's graces, glowing;In virgin beauty, bright and warm,Like vernal roses blowing.
I saw the savage maiden's form
With Culture's graces, glowing;
In virgin beauty, bright and warm,
Like vernal roses blowing.
I saw her sweetly, deeply smileOn Rolfe beside her sitting,As o'er the neighboring stream the whileThe shades of eve were flitting.
I saw her sweetly, deeply smile
On Rolfe beside her sitting,
As o'er the neighboring stream the while
The shades of eve were flitting.
I saw her wed in love beneathThe forest's lofty awning;While white and dusk maids bring a wreath,Like night commixt with morning.
I saw her wed in love beneath
The forest's lofty awning;
While white and dusk maids bring a wreath,
Like night commixt with morning.
I saw the strange and novel fame,She left to song and story,Which down the future's track of flame,Beams forth with deathless glory.
I saw the strange and novel fame,
She left to song and story,
Which down the future's track of flame,
Beams forth with deathless glory.
Farewell, ye verdant hills and vales,Farewell thou rolling river,Whose waves flow onward to the sea,Returning, never, never.From all thy scenes, I might have gone,I might in joy have parted,But since my love remaineth here,I wander broken-hearted.I go from one with whom to part,Is grief that can't be spoken,From whom to rend my faithful heart,That heart, even now, is broken.
Farewell, ye verdant hills and vales,Farewell thou rolling river,Whose waves flow onward to the sea,Returning, never, never.
Farewell, ye verdant hills and vales,
Farewell thou rolling river,
Whose waves flow onward to the sea,
Returning, never, never.
From all thy scenes, I might have gone,I might in joy have parted,But since my love remaineth here,I wander broken-hearted.
From all thy scenes, I might have gone,
I might in joy have parted,
But since my love remaineth here,
I wander broken-hearted.
I go from one with whom to part,Is grief that can't be spoken,From whom to rend my faithful heart,That heart, even now, is broken.
I go from one with whom to part,
Is grief that can't be spoken,
From whom to rend my faithful heart,
That heart, even now, is broken.
I loved her; and beneath the moon,We met among the flowers of June;I gave her my all, my love's rich boon,I loved her, but we parted soon,She would have it so.I loved her; through my span of life,She might have been my cherished wife;And I had striven, with ceaseless strife,To make her days with pleasures rife;She would not have it so.I loved her; for she bent on meA smile and look of sorcery;Until my heart could not be free;Alas! that such deceit should be;—But she would have it so.I loved her; and my heart was broke,Beneath the heavy, crushing stroke;As 'neath the lightning dies the oakWhen she in scorn and anger spoke;She would have it so!
I loved her; and beneath the moon,We met among the flowers of June;I gave her my all, my love's rich boon,I loved her, but we parted soon,She would have it so.
I loved her; and beneath the moon,
We met among the flowers of June;
I gave her my all, my love's rich boon,
I loved her, but we parted soon,
She would have it so.
I loved her; through my span of life,She might have been my cherished wife;And I had striven, with ceaseless strife,To make her days with pleasures rife;She would not have it so.
I loved her; through my span of life,
She might have been my cherished wife;
And I had striven, with ceaseless strife,
To make her days with pleasures rife;
She would not have it so.
I loved her; for she bent on meA smile and look of sorcery;Until my heart could not be free;Alas! that such deceit should be;—But she would have it so.
I loved her; for she bent on me
A smile and look of sorcery;
Until my heart could not be free;
Alas! that such deceit should be;—
But she would have it so.
I loved her; and my heart was broke,Beneath the heavy, crushing stroke;As 'neath the lightning dies the oakWhen she in scorn and anger spoke;She would have it so!
I loved her; and my heart was broke,
Beneath the heavy, crushing stroke;
As 'neath the lightning dies the oak
When she in scorn and anger spoke;
She would have it so!
Fair maid, in those beloved eyes,The dream of pensive beauty lies,The radiance when the day grows less,The charm of twilight loveliness.Those eyes are mirror of thy soul;As in the waves that deeply roll,The sun and moon and stars are seen,Reflected with undimmed sheen.Thus in the depths of those fair eyes,I see the brightness of the skies,I would my image there might shineIn orbs so blessed and divine.
Fair maid, in those beloved eyes,The dream of pensive beauty lies,The radiance when the day grows less,The charm of twilight loveliness.
Fair maid, in those beloved eyes,
The dream of pensive beauty lies,
The radiance when the day grows less,
The charm of twilight loveliness.
Those eyes are mirror of thy soul;As in the waves that deeply roll,The sun and moon and stars are seen,Reflected with undimmed sheen.
Those eyes are mirror of thy soul;
As in the waves that deeply roll,
The sun and moon and stars are seen,
Reflected with undimmed sheen.
Thus in the depths of those fair eyes,I see the brightness of the skies,I would my image there might shineIn orbs so blessed and divine.
Thus in the depths of those fair eyes,
I see the brightness of the skies,
I would my image there might shine
In orbs so blessed and divine.
Sweet love! and wast thou angry then,And did a lovely frown,O'ershade that brow of whitest pearl,That cheek of softest down?Nay, be not so; thou can'st not be,Less lovely to my sight;Though darkness shade the cliff and vale,Yet starry is the night!
Sweet love! and wast thou angry then,And did a lovely frown,O'ershade that brow of whitest pearl,That cheek of softest down?
Sweet love! and wast thou angry then,
And did a lovely frown,
O'ershade that brow of whitest pearl,
That cheek of softest down?
Nay, be not so; thou can'st not be,Less lovely to my sight;Though darkness shade the cliff and vale,Yet starry is the night!
Nay, be not so; thou can'st not be,
Less lovely to my sight;
Though darkness shade the cliff and vale,
Yet starry is the night!
O poet, would'st thou make a nameThat ne'er will die,But be coeval with the lightsIn yonder sky?Strike not a single, trembling chord,In the heart-lyre;But wake the full and sweet accordOf every wire.Of joy, of grief, of hopeless loveAnd pining care,Of terror,pain, and deep remorse,And wild despair.Of Hope, of Faith, of Piety:Each fibre move;But yet the sweetest note shall beThe note of Love.Strike! poet! strike each quiv'ring chord,In that strange lyre,Then, men thy golden songs will hoard,Till time expire.
O poet, would'st thou make a nameThat ne'er will die,But be coeval with the lightsIn yonder sky?
O poet, would'st thou make a name
That ne'er will die,
But be coeval with the lights
In yonder sky?
Strike not a single, trembling chord,In the heart-lyre;But wake the full and sweet accordOf every wire.
Strike not a single, trembling chord,
In the heart-lyre;
But wake the full and sweet accord
Of every wire.
Of joy, of grief, of hopeless loveAnd pining care,Of terror,pain, and deep remorse,And wild despair.
Of joy, of grief, of hopeless love
And pining care,
Of terror,pain, and deep remorse,
And wild despair.
Of Hope, of Faith, of Piety:Each fibre move;But yet the sweetest note shall beThe note of Love.
Of Hope, of Faith, of Piety:
Each fibre move;
But yet the sweetest note shall be
The note of Love.
Strike! poet! strike each quiv'ring chord,In that strange lyre,Then, men thy golden songs will hoard,Till time expire.
Strike! poet! strike each quiv'ring chord,
In that strange lyre,
Then, men thy golden songs will hoard,
Till time expire.
O Lord, I kneel at mother's knee,And lift my trembling heart to thee.Send down thy grace, I meekly pray,To drive my evil thoughts away:Alas! even now I feel my heart,From God is learning to depart.But Thou, even now, canst change my heart,For very good, O God, thou art;And thou can'st give me ample grace,To run aright my earthly race;Nor wander whither I must die,Far from the comfort of Thine eye.Yes Lord! I beg thy Heavenly love,To fit me for a home above;That I may sing the anthems sweetWhere pardon'd children all shall meet;And that on earth my walk may be,O God, forever nigh to Thee.
O Lord, I kneel at mother's knee,And lift my trembling heart to thee.Send down thy grace, I meekly pray,To drive my evil thoughts away:Alas! even now I feel my heart,From God is learning to depart.
O Lord, I kneel at mother's knee,
And lift my trembling heart to thee.
Send down thy grace, I meekly pray,
To drive my evil thoughts away:
Alas! even now I feel my heart,
From God is learning to depart.
But Thou, even now, canst change my heart,For very good, O God, thou art;And thou can'st give me ample grace,To run aright my earthly race;Nor wander whither I must die,Far from the comfort of Thine eye.
But Thou, even now, canst change my heart,
For very good, O God, thou art;
And thou can'st give me ample grace,
To run aright my earthly race;
Nor wander whither I must die,
Far from the comfort of Thine eye.
Yes Lord! I beg thy Heavenly love,To fit me for a home above;That I may sing the anthems sweetWhere pardon'd children all shall meet;And that on earth my walk may be,O God, forever nigh to Thee.
Yes Lord! I beg thy Heavenly love,
To fit me for a home above;
That I may sing the anthems sweet
Where pardon'd children all shall meet;
And that on earth my walk may be,
O God, forever nigh to Thee.
The Southern Muse—so long with drooping wing,—The Southern Muse, alas! too sad to sing—Her fair head drooped and dim her mournful eye,While pitying breezes sighed in sorrow by,—At last—at last—a wondrous friend has found,Whose power shall make her through all time renowned:Oh! now to her what magic shall belong,To charm the nations with a peerless song!Hail Criticus! thou marvel of the age!Oh! thou wilt fire her with a noble rage!Oh! thou her song wilt kindly patronize,And make her honored in the nation's eyes.Oh! glorious vision which transports my soul,While thoughts of triumph through my bosom roll;The Goddess comes, she brightly smiles once more,Nor sadly sighs, as long she sighed of yore;Her breath the fragrance of the Southern grove,Her voice the voice of victory and of love;—Approaching proudly now, with sweetest strain,Greets Criticus, her godsire—but in vain.How modest! Criticus! thou wilt not wearA single honor—nobler is thy care—Thou wilt not, merely, reign the Muse's sire;But thou wilt sometimes woo her willing lyre!Earth! hear that song! The strains that softly sweepFrom mermaid's shell, across the moonlit deep—The tones of visions which have only dweltIn that deep bosom which has wildly felt—Those notes like far off music from the plain,Where grief nor hate can e'er be known again—That haunt the spirit 'midst this lower sphere,And wake the dreamer's ever faithful tear—How die away in saddest silence allThose strains, O Criticus! when thou dost—"squall!"Sagacious Criticus! no witling's wit,Compares with thine, or durst compare with it.How could Parnassus rise in days of yore,Ere thou had'st taught the clumsy rocks to soar?How could the muses in their ambient bower,In loftiest lays, anticipate thy power!How could the sparkling Helicon flow free,How durst it ripple, and not wait for thee?No business had the Stagyrite to nameThe rules of verse; old Homer was to blame,For laying out too soon the Iliad's plan;Homer was nothing but a "blind, old man!"Light, light that Ajax prayed for, now has come,And poetasters hence may read their doom!O Grant us, sweetly, Grant, thy gentle roar,And pigs shall squeal, and asses bray no more![F]Great Criticus! illustrious lord of song!To thee a double wreath shall e'er belong:The Critics' cypress and the Poet's bayShall twine in love to deck thy brow for aye;For far o'er Dunciad's heroes shall thou reign,And ne'er shalt lose that honored seat again.And still, while future ages roll along,Our Southern minstrels to thy court shall throng;There lowly fall, and humbly beg thee grantThe sweet reward of their melodious chant;A verdant laurel for each beaming brow,To bloom through ages, as it bloometh now—Or, if thou frown, receive thy chastening rod,Thou, Bard's Mæcenas, and thou Poet's god!
The Southern Muse—so long with drooping wing,—The Southern Muse, alas! too sad to sing—Her fair head drooped and dim her mournful eye,While pitying breezes sighed in sorrow by,—At last—at last—a wondrous friend has found,Whose power shall make her through all time renowned:Oh! now to her what magic shall belong,To charm the nations with a peerless song!
The Southern Muse—so long with drooping wing,—
The Southern Muse, alas! too sad to sing—
Her fair head drooped and dim her mournful eye,
While pitying breezes sighed in sorrow by,—
At last—at last—a wondrous friend has found,
Whose power shall make her through all time renowned:
Oh! now to her what magic shall belong,
To charm the nations with a peerless song!
Hail Criticus! thou marvel of the age!Oh! thou wilt fire her with a noble rage!Oh! thou her song wilt kindly patronize,And make her honored in the nation's eyes.
Hail Criticus! thou marvel of the age!
Oh! thou wilt fire her with a noble rage!
Oh! thou her song wilt kindly patronize,
And make her honored in the nation's eyes.
Oh! glorious vision which transports my soul,While thoughts of triumph through my bosom roll;The Goddess comes, she brightly smiles once more,Nor sadly sighs, as long she sighed of yore;Her breath the fragrance of the Southern grove,Her voice the voice of victory and of love;—Approaching proudly now, with sweetest strain,Greets Criticus, her godsire—but in vain.
Oh! glorious vision which transports my soul,
While thoughts of triumph through my bosom roll;
The Goddess comes, she brightly smiles once more,
Nor sadly sighs, as long she sighed of yore;
Her breath the fragrance of the Southern grove,
Her voice the voice of victory and of love;—
Approaching proudly now, with sweetest strain,
Greets Criticus, her godsire—but in vain.
How modest! Criticus! thou wilt not wearA single honor—nobler is thy care—Thou wilt not, merely, reign the Muse's sire;But thou wilt sometimes woo her willing lyre!
How modest! Criticus! thou wilt not wear
A single honor—nobler is thy care—
Thou wilt not, merely, reign the Muse's sire;
But thou wilt sometimes woo her willing lyre!
Earth! hear that song! The strains that softly sweepFrom mermaid's shell, across the moonlit deep—The tones of visions which have only dweltIn that deep bosom which has wildly felt—Those notes like far off music from the plain,Where grief nor hate can e'er be known again—That haunt the spirit 'midst this lower sphere,And wake the dreamer's ever faithful tear—How die away in saddest silence allThose strains, O Criticus! when thou dost—"squall!"
Earth! hear that song! The strains that softly sweep
From mermaid's shell, across the moonlit deep—
The tones of visions which have only dwelt
In that deep bosom which has wildly felt—
Those notes like far off music from the plain,
Where grief nor hate can e'er be known again—
That haunt the spirit 'midst this lower sphere,
And wake the dreamer's ever faithful tear—
How die away in saddest silence all
Those strains, O Criticus! when thou dost—"squall!"
Sagacious Criticus! no witling's wit,Compares with thine, or durst compare with it.
Sagacious Criticus! no witling's wit,
Compares with thine, or durst compare with it.
How could Parnassus rise in days of yore,Ere thou had'st taught the clumsy rocks to soar?How could the muses in their ambient bower,In loftiest lays, anticipate thy power!How could the sparkling Helicon flow free,How durst it ripple, and not wait for thee?No business had the Stagyrite to nameThe rules of verse; old Homer was to blame,For laying out too soon the Iliad's plan;Homer was nothing but a "blind, old man!"Light, light that Ajax prayed for, now has come,And poetasters hence may read their doom!
How could Parnassus rise in days of yore,
Ere thou had'st taught the clumsy rocks to soar?
How could the muses in their ambient bower,
In loftiest lays, anticipate thy power!
How could the sparkling Helicon flow free,
How durst it ripple, and not wait for thee?
No business had the Stagyrite to name
The rules of verse; old Homer was to blame,
For laying out too soon the Iliad's plan;
Homer was nothing but a "blind, old man!"
Light, light that Ajax prayed for, now has come,
And poetasters hence may read their doom!
O Grant us, sweetly, Grant, thy gentle roar,And pigs shall squeal, and asses bray no more![F]
O Grant us, sweetly, Grant, thy gentle roar,
And pigs shall squeal, and asses bray no more![F]
Great Criticus! illustrious lord of song!To thee a double wreath shall e'er belong:The Critics' cypress and the Poet's bayShall twine in love to deck thy brow for aye;For far o'er Dunciad's heroes shall thou reign,And ne'er shalt lose that honored seat again.
Great Criticus! illustrious lord of song!
To thee a double wreath shall e'er belong:
The Critics' cypress and the Poet's bay
Shall twine in love to deck thy brow for aye;
For far o'er Dunciad's heroes shall thou reign,
And ne'er shalt lose that honored seat again.
And still, while future ages roll along,Our Southern minstrels to thy court shall throng;There lowly fall, and humbly beg thee grantThe sweet reward of their melodious chant;A verdant laurel for each beaming brow,To bloom through ages, as it bloometh now—Or, if thou frown, receive thy chastening rod,Thou, Bard's Mæcenas, and thou Poet's god!
And still, while future ages roll along,
Our Southern minstrels to thy court shall throng;
There lowly fall, and humbly beg thee grant
The sweet reward of their melodious chant;
A verdant laurel for each beaming brow,
To bloom through ages, as it bloometh now—
Or, if thou frown, receive thy chastening rod,
Thou, Bard's Mæcenas, and thou Poet's god!