Chapter 3

And when within, with poetry and song, Music and books led the glad hours along; Worlds of the visioned minstrel, fancy-wove, Tales of old time, of chivalry and love; Or converse calm, or wit-shafts sprinkled round, Like beams from gems, too light and fine to wound; With spirits sparkling as the morning's sun, Light as the dancing wave he smiles upon, Like his own course--alas! too soon to know Bright suns may set in storms, and gay hearts sink in wo.

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NIAGARA.

I.

Roar, raging torrent! and thou, mighty river, Pour thy white foam on the valley below; Frown, ye dark mountains! and shadow for ever The deep rocky bed where the wild rapids flow. The green sunny glade, and the smooth flowing fountain, Brighten the home of the coward and slave; The flood and the forest, the rock and the mountain, Rear on their bosoms the free and the brave.

II.

Nurslings of nature, I mark your bold bearing, Pride in each aspect and strength in each form, Hearts of warm impulse, and souls of high daring, Born in the battle and rear'd in the storm. The red levin flash and the thunder's dread rattle, The rock-riven wave and the war trumpet's breath, The din of the tempest, the yell of the battle, Nerve your steeled bosoms to danger and death.

III.

High on the brow of the Alps' snowy towers The mountain Swiss measures his rock-breasted moors, O'er his lone cottage the avalanche lowers, Round its rude portal the spring-torrent pours. Sweet is his sleep amid peril and danger, Warm is his greeting to kindred and friends, Open his hand to the poor and the stranger, Stern on his foeman his sabre descends.

IV.

Lo! where the tempest the dark waters sunder Slumbers the sailor boy, reckless and brave, Warm'd by the lighting and lulled by the thunder, Fann'd by the whirlwind and rock'd on the wave; Wildly the winter wind howls round his pillow, Cold on his bosom the spray showers fall; Creaks the strained mast at the rush of the billow, Peaceful he slumbers, regardless of all.

V.

Mark how the cheek of the warrior flushes, As the battle drum beats and the war torches glare; Like a blast of the north to the onset he rushes, And his wide-waving falchion gleams brightly in air. Around him the death-shot of foemen are flying, At his feet friends and comrades are yielding their breath; He strikes to the groans of the wounded and dying, But the war cry he strikes with is, 'conquest or death!'

VI.

Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens, Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock, When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given, Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock. Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow, Let him stride the rough mountain, or toss on the foam, He will strike fast and well on the field or the billow, In triumph and glory, for God and his home!

SONG.

Oh! go to sleep, my baby dear, And I will hold thee on my knee; Thy mother's in her winding sheet, And thou art all that's left to me. My hairs are white with grief and age, I've borne the weight of every ill, And I would lay me with my child, But thou art left to love me still.

Should thy false father see thy face, The tears would fill his cruel e'e, But he has scorned thy mother's wo, And he shall never look on thee: But I will rear thee up alone, And with me thou shalt aye remain; For thou wilt have thy mother's smile, And I shall see my child again.

SONG.

Oh the tear is in my eye, and my heart it is breaking, Thou hast fled from me, Connor, and left me forsaken; Bright and warm was our morning, but soon has it faded, For I gave thee a true heart, and thou hast betrayed it.

Thy footsteps I followed in darkness and danger, From the home of my love to the land of the stranger; Thou wert mine through the tempest, the blight, and the burning; Could I think thou wouldst change when the morn was returning.

Yet peace to thy heart, though from mine it must sever, May she love thee as I loved, alone and for ever; I may weep for thy loss, but my faith is unshaken, And the heart thou hast widowed will bless thee in breaking.

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.

Grant me, I cried, some spell of art, To turn with all a lover's care, That spotless page, my Eva's heart, And write my burning wishes there.

But Love, by faithless Laia taught How frail is woman's holiest vow, Look'd down, while grace attempered thought Sate serious on his baby brow.

"Go! blot her album," cried the sage, "There none but bards a place may claim; But woman's heart's a worthless page, Where every fool may write his name."

Until by time or fate decayed, That line and leaf shall never part; Ah! who can tell how soon shall fade The lines of love from woman's heart.

LINES TO A LADY, ON HEARING HER SING "CUSHLAMACHREE."

Yes! heaven protect thee, thou gem of the ocean; Dear land of my sires, though distant thy shores; Ere my heart cease to love thee, its latest emotion, The last dying throbs of its pulse must be o'er.

And dark were the bosom, and cold and unfeeling, That tamely could listen unmoved at the call, When woman, the warm soul of melody stealing, Laments for her country and sighs o'er its fall.

Sing on, gentle warbler, the tear-drop appearing Shall fall for the woes of the queen of the sea; And the spirit that breathes in the harp of green Erin, Descending, shall hail thee her "Cushlamachree."

LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING NEW ROCHELLE.

Whene'er thy wandering footstep bends Its pathway to the Hermit tree, Among its cordial band of friends, Sweet Mary! wilt thou number me?

Though all too few the hours have roll'd That saw the stranger linger here, In memory's volume let them hold One little spot to friendship dear.

I oft have thought how sweet 'twould be To steal the bird of Eden's art; And leave behind a trace of me On every kind and friendly heart,

And like the breeze in fragrance rolled, To gather as I wander by, From every soul of kindred mould, Some touch of cordial sympathy.

'Tis the best charm in life's dull dream, To feel that yet there linger here Bright eyes that look with fond esteem, And feeling hearts that hold me dear.

HOPE.

See through yon cloud that rolls in wrath, One little star benignant peep, To light along their trackless path The wanderers of the stormy deep.

And thus, oh Hope! thy lovely form In sorrow's gloomy night shall be The sun that looks through cloud and storm Upon a dark and moonless sea.

When heaven is all serene and fair, Full many a brighter gem we meet; 'Tis when the tempest hovers there, Thy beam is most divinely sweet.

The rainbow, when the sun declines, Like faithless friend will disappear; Thy light, dear star! more brightly shines When all is wail and weeping here.

And though Aurora's stealing beam May wake a morning of delight, 'Tis only thy consoling beam Will smile amid affliction's night.

FRAGMENT.

I.

Tuscara! thou art lovely now, Thy woods, that frown'd in sullen strength Like 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 sound Where 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 below The gilded grain is moving slow Like yellow moonlight on the sea, Where waves are swelling peacefully; As beauty's breast, when quiet dreams Come tranquilly and gently by; When all she loves and hopes for seems To float in smiles before her eye.

II.

And hast thou lost the grandeur rude That made me breathless, when at first Upon my infant sight you burst, The monarch of the solitude? No; there is yet thy turret rock, The watch-tower of the skies, the lair Of Indian Gods, who, in the shock Of bursting thunders, slumbered there; And trim thy bosom is arrayed In labour's green and glittering vest, And yet thy forest locks of shade Shake 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 woods She 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 air In moonlight swims, along thy river To couch upon the grass, and hear Niagara's everlasting voice, Far in the deep blue west away; That dreaming and poetic noise We 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 sky In 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 bed Of nature's own embroidery With 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 rise Of that true maid, whose fate can yet Draw rainy tears from stubborn eyes; From lids that ne'er before were wet. She lies not here, but that green grave Is sacred from the plough--and flowers, Snow-drops, and valley-lilies, wave Amid the grass; and other showers Than those of heaven have fallen there.

TO ---

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 true Are 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.

LINES.

Day gradual fades, in evening gray, Its last faint beam hath fled, And sinks the sun's declining ray In ocean's wavy bed. So o'er the loves and joys of youth Thy waves, Indifference, roll; So mantles round our days of truth That death-pool of the soul.

Spreads o'er the heavens the shadowy night Her 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.

TO EVA.

A beam upon the myrtle fell From 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 love The silly myrtle deemed its own.

Eva! behold thine image there, As fair, as false thy glances fall; But who the worthless smile would share That sheds its light alike on all.

TO A LADY WITH A WITHERED VIOLET.

Though fate upon this faded flower His withering hand has laid, Its odour'd breath defies his power, Its sweets are undecayed.

And thus, although thy warbled strains No longer wildly thrill, The memory of the song remains, Its soul is with me still.

BRONX.

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 willow Ruffled 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 screen Shone 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 ground Where lichens made a carpet for his feet: Through the transparent waves, the ruddy minkle Shot 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 flaunting Gaudy as rustics in their May-day dresses, Blue pelloret from purple leaves upslanting A modest gaze, like eyes of a young maiden Shining 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 stand Again 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 be A face more pleasant than the face of men. Thy waves are old companions, I shall see A well-remembered form in each old tree, And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.

SONG.

'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 stay From 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 soul Nor time can darken nor sorrow dim; Though wo may weep in life's mingled bowl, Love still shall hover around its brim.

TO SARAH.

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 hearts To chase their gloom away.

III.

In sickness and in sorrow Thine eyes were on me still, And there was comfort in each glance To 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 back Those 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 step That 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.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

I.

When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white, With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She 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 loud And 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 given To 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 turn To where thy sky-born glories burn; And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall; Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall shrink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.

IV.

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendours fly In 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?