I.
Tuscara! thou art lovely now,Thy woods, that frown’d in sullen strengthLike plumage on a giant’s brow,Have bowed their massy pride at length.The rustling maize is green around,The sheep is in the Congar’s bed;And clear the ploughman’s whistlings soundWhere war-whoop’s pealed o’er mangled dead.Fair cots around thy breast are set,Like pearls upon a coronet;And in Aluga’s vale belowThe gilded grain is moving slowLike yellow moonlight on the sea,Where waves are swelling peacefully;As beauty’s breast, when quiet dreamsCome tranquilly and gently by;When all she loves and hopes for seemsTo float in smiles before her eye.
II.
And hast thou lost the grandeur rudeThat made me breathless, when at firstUpon my infant sight you burst,The monarch of the solitude?No; there is yet thy turret rock,The watch-tower of the skies, the lairOf Indian Gods, who, in the shockOf bursting thunders, slumbered there;And trim thy bosom is arrayedIn labour’s green and glittering vest,And yet thy forest locks of shadeShake stormy on that turret crest.Still hast thou left the rocks, the floods,And nature is the loveliest then,When first amid her caves and woodsShe feels the busy tread of men;When every tree, and bush, and flower,Springs wildly in its native grace;Ere art exerts her boasted power,That brightened only to deface.
III.
Yes! thou art lovelier now than ever;How sweet ’twould be, when all the airIn moonlight swims, along thy riverTo couch upon the grass, and hearNiagara’s everlasting voice,Far in the deep blue west away;That dreaming and poetic noiseWe mark not in the glare of day,Oh! how unlike its torrent-cry,When o’er the brink the tide is driven,As if the vast and sheeted skyIn thunder fell from heaven.
IV.
Were I but there, the daylight fled,With that smooth air, the stream, the sky,And lying on that minstrel bedOf nature’s own embroideryWith those long tearful willows o’er me,That weeping fount, that solemn light,With scenes of sighing tales before me,And one green, maiden grave in sight;How mournfully the strain would riseOf that true maid, whose fate can yetDraw rainy tears from stubborn eyes;From lids that ne’er before were wet.She lies not here, but that green graveIs sacred from the plough—and flowers,Snow-drops, and valley-lilies, waveAmid the grass; and other showersThan those of heaven have fallen there.
When that eye of light shall in darkness fall,And thy bosom be shrouded in death’s cold pall,When the bloom of that rich red lip shall fade,And thy head on its pillow of dust be laid;
Oh! then thy spirit shall see how trueAre the holy vows I have breathed to you;My form shall moulder thy grave beside,And in the blue heavens I’ll seek my bride.
Then we’ll tell, as we tread yon azure sphere,Of the woes we have known while lingering here;And our spirits shall joy that, their pilgrimage o’er,They have met in the heavens to sever no more.
Day gradual fades, in evening gray,Its last faint beam hath fled,And sinks the sun’s declining rayIn ocean’s wavy bed.So o’er the loves and joys of youthThy waves, Indifference, roll;So mantles round our days of truthThat death-pool of the soul.
Spreads o’er the heavens the shadowy nightHer dim and shapeless form,So human pleasures, frail and light,Are lost in passion’s storm.So fades the sunshine of the breast,So passion’s dreamings fall,So friendship’s fervours sink to rest,Oblivion shrouds them all.
A beam upon the myrtle fellFrom dewy evening’s purest sky,’Twas like the glance I love so well,Dear Eva, from thy moonlight eye.
I looked around the summer grove,On every tree its lustre shone;For all had felt that look of loveThe silly myrtle deemed its own.
Eva! behold thine image there,As fair, as false thy glances fall;But who the worthless smile would shareThat sheds its light alike on all.
Though fate upon this faded flowerHis withering hand has laid,Its odour’d breath defies his power,Its sweets are undecayed.
And thus, although thy warbled strainsNo longer wildly thrill,The memory of the song remains,Its soul is with me still.
I sat me down upon a green bank-side,Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river,Whose waters seemed unwillingly to glide,Like parting friends who linger while they sever;Enforced to go, yet seeming still unready,Backward they wind their way in many a wistful eddy.
Gray o’er my head the yellow-vested willowRuffled its hoary top in the fresh breezes,Glancing in light, like spray on a green billow,Or the fine frost-work which young winter freezes;When first his power in infant pastime trying,Congeals sad autumn’s tears on the dead branches lying.
From rocks around hung the loose ivy dangling,And in the clefts sumach of liveliest green,Bright ising-stars the little beach was spangling,The gold-cup sorrel from his gauzy screenShone like a fairy crown, enchased and beaded,Left on some morn, when light flashed in their eyes unheeded.
The hum-bird shook his sun-touched wings around,The bluefinch caroll’d in the still retreat;The antic squirrel capered on the groundWhere lichens made a carpet for his feet:Through the transparent waves, the ruddy minkleShot up in glimmering sparks his red fin’s tiny twinkle.
There were dark cedars with loose mossy tresses,White powdered dog-trees, and stiff hollies flauntingGaudy as rustics in their May-day dresses,Blue pelloret from purple leaves upslantingA modest gaze, like eyes of a young maidenShining beneath dropt lids the evening of her wedding.
The breeze fresh springing from the lips of morn,Kissing the leaves, and sighing so to lose ’em,The winding of the merry locust’s horn,The glad spring gushing from the rock’s bare bosom:Sweet sights, sweet sounds, all sights, all sounds excelling,Oh! ’twas a ravishing spot formed for a poet’s dwelling.
And did I leave thy loveliness, to standAgain in the dull world of earthly blindness?Pained with the pressure of unfriendly hands,Sick of smooth looks, agued with icy kindness?Left I for this thy shades, were none intrude,To prison wandering thought and mar sweet solitude?
Yet I will look upon thy face again,My own romantic Bronx, and it will beA face more pleasant than the face of men.Thy waves are old companions, I shall seeA well-remembered form in each old tree,And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.
’Tis not the beam of her bright blue eye,Nor the smile of her lip of rosy dye,Nor the dark brown wreaths of her glossy hair,Nor her changing cheek, so rich and rare.Oh! these are the sweets of a fairy dream,The changing hues of an April sky.They fade like dew in the morning beam,Or the passing zephyr’s odour’d sigh.
’Tis a dearer spell that bids me kneel,’Tis the heart to love, and the soul to feel:’Tis the mind of light, and the spirit free,And the bosom that heaves alone for me.Oh! these are the sweets that kindly stayFrom youth’s gay morning to age’s night;When beauty’s rainbow tints decay,Love’s torch still burns with a holy light.
Soon will the bloom of the fairest fade,And love will droop in the cheerless shade,Or if tears should fall on his wing of joy,It will hasten the flight of the laughing boy.But oh! the light of the constant soulNor time can darken nor sorrow dim;Though wo may weep in life’s mingled bowl,Love still shall hover around its brim.
I.
One happy year has fled, Sall,Since you were all my own,The leaves have felt the autumn blight,The wintry storm has blown.We heeded not the cold blast,Nor the winter’s icy air;For we found our climate in the heart,And it was summer there.
II.
The summer’s sun is bright, Sall,The skies are pure in hue;But clouds will sometimes sadden them,And dim their lovely blue;And clouds may come to us, Sall,But sure they will not stay;For there’s a spell in fond heartsTo chase their gloom away.
III.
In sickness and in sorrowThine eyes were on me still,And there was comfort in each glanceTo charm the sense of ill.And were they absent now, Sall,I’d seek my bed of pain,And bless each pang that gave me backThose looks of love again.
IV.
Oh, pleasant is the welcome kiss,When day’s dull round is o’er,And sweet the music of the stepThat meets me at the door.Though worldly cares may visit us,I reck not when they fall,While I have thy kind lips, my Sall,To smile away them all.
I.
When Freedom from her mountain heightUnfurled her standard to the air,She tore the azure robe of night,And set the stars of glory there.She mingled with its gorgeous dyesThe milky baldric of the skies,And striped its pure celestial white,With streakings of the morning light;Then from his mansion in the sunShe called her eagle bearer down,And gave into his mighty hand,The symbol of her chosen land.
II.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,Who rear’st aloft thy regal form,To hear the tempest trumpings loudAnd see the lightning lances driven,When strive the warriors of the storm,And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,Child of the sun! to thee ’tis givenTo guard the banner of the free,To hover in the sulphur smoke,To ward away the battle stroke,And bid its blendings shine afar,Like rainbows on the cloud of war,The harbingers of victory!
III.
Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,The sign of hope and triumph high,When speaks the signal trumpet tone,And the long line comes gleaming on.Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,Has dimm’d the glistening bayonet,Each soldier eye shall brightly turnTo where thy sky-born glories burn;And as his springing steps advance,Catch war and vengeance from the glance.And when the cannon-mouthings loudHeave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,And gory sabres rise and fallLike shoots of flame on midnight’s pall;Then shall thy meteor glances glow,And cowering foes shall shrink beneathEach gallant arm that strikes belowThat lovely messenger of death.
IV.
Flag of the seas! on ocean waveThy stars shall glitter o’er the brave;When death, careering on the gale,Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,And frighted waves rush wildly backBefore the broadside’s reeling rack,Each dying wanderer of the seaShall look at once to heaven and thee,And smile to see thy splendours flyIn triumph o’er his closing eye.
V.
Flag of the free heart’s hope and home!By angel hands to valour given;The stars have lit the welkin dome,And all thy hues were born in heaven.For ever float that standard sheet!Where breathes the foe but falls before us,With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet,And Freedom’s banner streaming o’er us?