Chapter 3

Are thy brothers all forgotten, Playmates 'neath New England's skies? When thy sisters' names are mentioned, Do no warm emotions rise?

Is that wasted form forgotten, Ling'ring 'round cold Jordan's shore, Praying death to stay his arrow Till she hears thy voice once more?

Can that sister be forgotten? Thou art twining 'round her heart: Come, and let her eyes behold thee, Let her soul in peace depart.

Is that river's shore forgotten, Where in childhood, oft we strayed; Where the grape in purple clusters, Ripen'd 'neath the elm tree's shade?

Tell, dear friend, hast thou forgotten, When beneath the apple tree, That fair group of young companions, Joined in merry sport with thee?

That old apple tree has withered, And has vanished from the plain; But that group are all still living,-- Come, and meet with us again.

LINES

TO THE WIFE OF THE ABOVE.

Fair daughter of a sunny clime,[4] And bride of him we love, The grief of those who mourn his loss, Hath power thy heart to move.

E'en now we love thee for his sake, But not for his alone, For in thy heart, a chord we find, That vibrates with our own.

We love thee, while thy feet still roam Far on a southern shore; But lead that wand'ring brother home, And we will love thee more.

Come, range New England's verdant hills, And breathe our healthful air, 'Twill tinge thy cheeks with brighter bloom, And make thee still more fair.

Come, while the vernal zephyrs blow, And wake to life the flowers; Come, while the feathered warblers sing Through all our woodland bowers.

What though our leaves will fade and fall. And chilling north winds blow, And all New England's hills and vales, Lie buried deep in snow!

Snug dwellings and warm clothing still Have power to keep us warm,-- We sit around the fireside then, And smile to hear the storm.

Come, with thy partner, to that home Which once he called his own, Which his long absence oft has made Most desolate and lone.

Welcome, twice welcome thou shalt be, Yes, welcome as his bride; Welcome, I trust, for virtues too, Which in thy heart abide.

Come, see the grateful tears of joy Stand trembling in the eye Of those, who never can forget The lost one, till they die.

Come, feel the deep impassioned grasp Of each extended hand, Which welcomes that lost wanderer back To his dear native land.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: The lady addressed is a native of the south.]

COME HOME TO NEW ENGLAND.

TO E.E.W. OF TEXAS.

Come home to New England, the land of thy birth, All nations still call her the queen of the earth. Oh! come with thy partner and sweet rosy child, Where friends in life's morning, around you have smiled.

Come, gather wild flowers, from the brookside and dell, And fruit from the orchard you once loved so well, And feast on the sugar, fresh made from the grove, Where you and your brothers delighted to rove.

Come, sit in the shade of the clustering vine, Whose tendrils around the old elm tree entwine. Come, range o'er the intervale, island and plain, And live o'er the days of thy boyhood again.

Thy Father in heaven seems acting his part, He keeps those alive, once so dear to thy heart. Thy brothers and sisters, and nieces a score, And nephews, are waiting to greet thee once more.

Our Susan, the baby that clung to thy knee, And prattled around thee in infantine glee, Has grown up, she's married and two blooming boys Have stirred in her bosom a fountain of joys.

You start and exclaim, can the story be true! I fear that you'll stay till she's _grandmother_, too. You've staid for our infants to grow up and wed, Our young men are old, our old ones are dead.

Yes, white hairs are clustering round many a crown, Which wore, when you left them, rich tresses of brown. One dear faithful sister has faded-and died, Don't stay till the others both lie by her side.

At night I behold thee, I laugh and I weep, Alas! I awake, 'tis the vision of sleep; Disheartened with pleading, and pleading in vain, Perhaps I may never entreat you again.

A SISTER'S DEPARTURE.

I saw the tear trembling in sister's blue eye, In bright smiles she vailed it, full well I knew why. That moment stern duty had called us to part, Emotion was struggling for vent in her heart.

She asked, "will some angel in mercy descend, And from all afflictions each loved one defend? Or must pain and sickness make sweet home forlorn? Will death send an arrow, ere I shall return?"

Dear sister, my thoughts did in unison flow, My heart will be with you wherever you go; By day, in my fancy, thy image I see, And sleep brings refreshment when dreaming of thee.

A SISTER'S COUNSEL.

"Be cheerful," thou saidst; that sweet sentence I heard, Though filled with emotion, I spake not a word; 'Twas music, more soothing than steals through the trees With green tresses waving in twilight's cool breeze.

"Be cheerful," thou saidst, when about to depart. In tones that said plainly, we come from the heart. We think of thee sister, when absent or here, And wish not thine eye to be dimmed by a tear.

"Be cheerful," thou saidst, but, O how can I be, When thou, my dear sister, art absent from me? Sweet home looks so vacant, so lonely and drear, I cannot be cheerful as when thou art here.

"Be cheerful," thou saidst, when about to depart, And conscious that grief was oppressing my heart. I thank thee, my sister, thy counsel was good, I fain would obey thee, I wish that I could.

LINES

TO A FRIEND ON PARTING.

Julia, let fond remembrance cling Around the parting hour; Unfading let that garland be, Late plucked from friendship's bower.

Lurid and dark our path would be, Uncheered by friendship's rays; Incense divine, thy hallowed flame Lights up our darkest days.

Absence and time can ne'er destroy Pure friendship's chrystal streams; Near us the loved one lingers round, And greets us in our dreams.

No brighter chain this earth can boast, Than twines 'round kindred hearts; Brilliant and fair the links remain, Though fate rends them apart.

Alas! that we so soon must part. Ere budding friendship's bloom; Remain, sweet germ, within each heart, And thrive beyond the tomb.

Receive, dear friend, these parting lines, Though humble they appear; Earth, with its joys, are fading fast, With all that love us here.

Then may we be prepared to soar Where ransomed spirits blend; There may our souls in love unite, Where friendship fears no end.

FAREWELL TO A BROTHER.

Farewell, farewell, my dearest brother, Thou must be absent for awhile, May no dark clouds around thee gather, May health and fortune on thee smile.

In fancy's dreams, I'll oft be with thee, On thy fond heart my image bear, And while I hope again to meet thee, The pleasing thought my heart shall cheer.

TO W.H.D.

AN ADOPTED BROTHER.

The home of thy childhood thou didst not forget, The friends which dwelt with thee are dear to thee yet, Thy warm friendly greeting betokens it now, The smile of pure friendship still beams from thy brow.

I knew that thy heart was so faithful and true, Thou wouldst not forget, though thou bad'st us adieu; For thou didst rejoice with us when we were blest, And sympathize with us, however distressed.

Say, wilt thou remember us, while thou dost live, And cherish our virtues, our frailties forgive? O think of us always, where'er thou dost roam, For thy living image dwells ever at home.

But there is a home which is better than this, The inmates all drink at the fountain of bliss; A friend, than a father or mother more dear, More close than a brother, this friend will adhere.

Wouldst find that blest home? go, and follow the road, Which Christ and the prophets have marked out, to God; The Spirit will teach you, and guide, lest you stray, While legions of angels shall throng round your way.

LINES

TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION. AN ACROSTIC.

D ark frowning clouds obscure thy sky, E ach future prospect fades; B ut there's a kind protector nigh, O n him rely for aid. R ich treasures are locked up in store, A ffliction turns the key; H ow oft when dreadful thunders roar, M ay showers bid famine flee. O sister, never yield to fears W hen tempests roar aloud, E 'en then, the bow of hope appears, R ich hues bedeck yon cloud.

LINES TO A SISTER.

Susan, I long again to greet thee, Fain would I clasp thee in my arms, While that bland smile o'erspread thy features, Which to thy brow adds nameless charms.

Dear sister, I can still remember When first I clasped thee to my breast; I viewed thee as a priceless treasure, Bestowed to make life's pathway blest.

Although a little tiny creature, Devoid of friendship, love, or care, Yet, I highly prized the casket, I knew a sister's heart throbbed there.

And when I heard, in lisping accents, Affection flowing from thy tongue, With strange delight, I listened to it, As though some little cherub sung.

When in the garden thou wast straying, To play among thy fragrant flowers, I thought that Flora's fairest blossoms Would vainly strive to vie with ours.

Dear sister, canst not thou remember, When I'd been absent for awhile, With what a boyant step thou'dst meet me, And greet me with thy sunny smile?

And, when fatigued, I sought retirement, Or left thee for a few short hours, Oft them wouldst steal into my chamber And strew my couch with fragrant flowers.

I trust that flame is not extinguished, Although our duty bade us part; I trust it still is burning brightly Upon the altar of thy heart.

O come, and join the fireside circle Around the old paternal hearth; Come, let thy smiles and songs delight us, They are like sunlight to the earth.

The little birds are singing sweetly; The verdant fields perfume the air; Our garden walks would be most pleasant, If Susan's voice was ringing there.

Adieu, dear sister, for the present, But tell me, wilt thou not be here Ere the wintry winds are sighing Requiems o'er a dying year?

TO MY BROTHER.

THE SCENES OF OUR CHILDHOOD.

Far back, through the vista of long buried years, I look through this valley of sorrow and tears; Like pictures, in bright glowing colors displayed, The scenes of my life's rosy morn are portrayed.

An image, the foreground presents to my sight, Which shed o'er my pathway its radiant light; An image of him who first held my soft hand, And shouted with joy when his sister could stand;

From him, I first caught the sweet magical art Of turning to language, the thoughts of my heart; When first to the school-house he went as my guide. His heart swelled with pleasure, affection and pride.

Delighted, we ranged o'er the hillside, in spring, And listened with rapture to hear the birds sing; Then stopped in the pasture to see the lambs play, As frolicsome, cheerful, and happy as they.

We ranged o'er the meadow, the forest, and bowers, Picked berries for mother, and gathered wild flowers, Dear brother, how oft by the rosebush we sat, While you caught the butterflies under your hat.

With gay happy hearts to the woodland we strayed, When autumn its rich pensive beauty displayed; The robin was chanting her sweet farewell song, While blithe little squirrels went skipping along.

Those bright little rogues which the husbandmen scorn, Sly'd into their holes with their cheeks full of corn; The clear mellow sunlight, in quivering streams, Sent through the tall tree tops its roseate beams.

Jack Frost and October, when evenings grew cold, Had drest up the forest in crimson and gold; The bright leaves were borne on the wings of the breeze, While we picked up beach-nuts from under the trees.

When trees were all leafless, and snow-clad the ground, Sweet pleasures at home in our cottage we found; 'Round our bright blazing fire, we'd work, read, or play, And find sweet employment to fill up each day.

And when evening came, the old hearth we'd surround, While you cracked the nuts, which in autumn we found, I tended my kittens, and made up their bed, You made them a yoke and a nice little sled.

We heard the hens cackle, and thought we were blest, You flew to the hayloft, and found a full nest, Then caught up the treasure, and smiled as you run, With a hat full of eggs, and a head full of fun.

We ran on the snow-crust like fleet nimble deer, Until our fair cheeks would like rosebuds appear. I never was lonesome, and never afraid, If Hiram, my brother, for company stayed.

O, then we were happy in winter or spring, Yes, happier far than the happiest king. You grew up to manhood, and left your old home, But may you he happy wherever you roam.

I ne'er can forget how it made my heart grieve, When you of the precious old homestead took leave; I feared that with business and cares overrun, You'd soon cease to love me as once you had done;

And earth would be shrouded in sadness and gloom, If I, in your heart, could not always find room. Though care leaves a shadow on thy manly brow, Thy heart's warm affections are mirrored there now.

But when you are with me a brief space to stay, I'm all the while thinking you'll soon go away; Yet we shall soon meet in a far distant land, God grant it may be at the Savior's right hand.

MY BROTHER IN THE TEMPEST.

'Twas summer, and a sultry day Was drawing to a close, One cloud, along the northwest lay, Which tardily arose.

Along a winding path we strayed, Which through the forest led, While not one gentle zephyr swayed The branches overhead.

Deep mutt'ring thunders soon were heard, Dark shadows gathered round; The trees, at intervals, were stirred By gusts of threat'ning sound.

The hurricane arose in wrath, The rain in torrents poured; Huge trees were flung across our path, Loud crashing thunders roared.

When vivid lightnings round us blazed, He told me not to fear; My little trembling hand he seized, And checked the rising tear.

Loud thunders through the forest pealed; He smiled, and cheered me on, Exclaiming, "we'll soon reach the field, Then all the danger's gone."

But soon, in hurried tones he said, "Run, sister, run with me, Look! look! directly o'er your head, Behold that falling tree!"

But, while I heard the warning sound Rise o'er the raging storm, Its double trunk had clasped around My little trembling form.

Why did my brother linger there, Nor strive to gain the field? Torn branches filled the darkened air, Huge trees above us reeled.

Like some stern warrior on the field, 'Midst danger, death, and strife, He stood, determined not to yield, Until he saved my life.

That awful tempest, and thy care, My mem'ry still retains, Engraved upon those tablets fair, 'Twill live while life remains.

LINES

ADDRESSED TO AN ABSENT SISTER.

Dear sister, though absent, your image is bright, It dwells in my heart and prompts me to write; Your health, is it blooming, your spirits in cheer? You know 'twould rejoice me, such tidings to hear.

The din of the village, and hum of the mill, Can they charm my sister like our quiet vale? Does our little cottage seem humble and mean, Embosomed with trees, and surrounded with green?

Like father and mother, are those where you dwell? Like brothers and sisters who love you so well? Or do you look forward and sigh for that hour, When we shall all meet in your jessamine bower?

Where vines that you planted, will wave o'er your head, And nature's green carpet sweet odors will shed; Each cool breeze is playing with flowers growing near, Which sister has planted, our spirits to cheer.

Your roses and lilacs, among the pine trees, Are swarming with butterflies, humbirds, and bees; I view them each morning, all spark'ling with dew, And fancy they're emblems of sisters like you.

Come home and do housework, tend poultry and flowers, At noontide recline in our cool shady bowers; Could not such employment still yield you delight, Where birds are all singing from morning till night?

Soon summer is coming, your flow'rets will bloom, And spread new enchantments around your old home; Our grove by the river in beauty is drest, The Whippowil's notes sweetly soothe us to rest.

The sun, in mild splendor, sinks down in the west, Encircling with glory the old mountain's crest; The clouds o'er his head glow with purple and gold, The river is catching the tinge of each fold.

The scene would be lovely, if sister was here, But now I'm so lonely, it looks sad and drear; The beauties of nature are losing their charms, No more to divert me, till clasped in your arms.

But I'm growing weary, I'll draw to a close, And seek for refreshment in needful repose; If this, from a sister can give you delight, Retire to your chamber, this evening, and write.

Adieu, my dear sister, until your return Sweet home will be dreary, and almost forlorn; May God be your guide, your supporter and stay, Directing your footsteps, wherever you stray.

A MORNING SCENE

ON A SISTER'S WEDDING DAY.

Dear sister, when they called thee bride, That sound, my spirits deeply tried; My heart, at that one little word, Through every trembling fibre stirred.

I'd still a place within thy heart, But oh, I felt it hard to part; And that long dreaded hour had come, When thou must leave thy childhood's home.

But that sad morn; a pleasant sight Cast o'er the future gleams of light; I listened, and the voice of prayer Ascended on the morning air.

'Twas then, I thought the heavenly dove Gave us a token of his love, For, in the western heavens, now Appeared a bright resplendent bow.

'Twas lovely as that arch displayed When Noah by the altar prayed; That sacred scene could but impart A gleam of sunshine to my heart.

O, 'twas a consecrated hour, When, through that sweet refreshing shower The morning sunbeams brightly smiled, And whispered, trust thy Father, child.

TO THE WHIPPOWIL.

Vernal songster, thou art here, With the flowers thou dost appear; Yes, sweet little Whippowil, Thou art singing by the rill; Where the silver moonbeam plays Thou dost chant thy hymn of praise; Thy shrill voice I love to hear, And I'd have thee warble near. Come, sweet bird, the moonlight shines Through the verdant row of pines, Standing by our cottage door, Come, where thou hast sang before, When I heard thy thrilling note On the twilight breezes float, Ming'ling with the cheerful song Of our happy fireside throng. Loved ones, that to me are dear, No more tune their voices here; Some have sought a distant home, Gone, 'midst other scenes to roam; One is racked with wasting pain, And may never sing again; While I hear thy feeble moan, I can never sing alone; Still, we welcome blooming spring, But there's no one here to sing. Come then, little singing bird, Let thy cheerful voice be heard; Come, and pour thy melting lays Where thou didst in better days; Strive each drooping heart to cheer, Strive to dry the falling tear, Strive to soothe each throbbing breast, Hushing troubled minds to rest.

"My harp is on the willows hung. And the strings all out of tune,"

And dost thou listen for a song, From this frail harp, neglected long? My harp, alas! is drenched in tears, Rent by contending hopes and fears. Pale trembling fingers sweep the strings Whene'er my muse, in sadness, sings; For, prostrate now, before me lays The playmate of bright joyous days; She was my early childhood's pet, Nor can my bleeding heart forget That love, which has, in later years Shared all my pastimes, hopes, and fears. Long has pale death beside her stood, And poured his arrows like a flood, Whilst I have tried, with beating heart, To steal the poison from each dart; But oft I fear, lest these dread showers Will baffle all our feeble powers, And death's cold hand, will rend apart The tie that binds her to my heart. Long I've refused to leave her side, Lest there should aught remain untried, Which might her wasting form restore, And tinge her cheek with bloom once more. Oft by her couch, the livelong night, I've watched, till morn's unwelcome light, Like some vain babbler, must reveal The tears, which I would fain conceal; Then softly stole, in silence, where No sigh could reach the sufferer's ear. But, shall I thus forever weep, And let my harp forgotten sleep, When there's one sweet melodious strain, Whose power can wake its string again? Come, let us chant one grateful song To Him, whose patience waited long,-- "_God ruleth, let the earth rejoice!_" Yes, let us make a joyful noise. We're chastened by a hand divine, Let us be dumb, nor dare repine; Thou didst it. O, our Father, God, Then let us humbly kiss the rod. Though from our eyes the tear-drop starts, When those who twine around our hearts Are suffering with exquisite pain, Yet, we may weep, and not complain. Lord, thou didst weep, and so may we, And bow submissive still to Thee; Grant us thy grace in sorrow's hour, To flee for refuge to thy power.

TO A SISTER WHILE DANGEROUSLY ILL.

O Sister! Sister! can it be That thou must droop, and die? Still blending on thy fair young cheek, The rose and lily vie.

But burning fever is the root From whence those roses spring; While pain and suffering, on thy brow, Those snowy lilies fling.

THE INVALID'S DREAM

The sick girl sat with downcast eye, Her bosom heaved the deep drawn sigh, She felt that all complaint was vain, For health would ne'er return again.

With pain and weariness oppressed, She sought her pillow, there to rest, While sleep a welcome visit paid, Bright scenes were to her view displayed.

In fancy's magic glass, she sees Her cheek, long faded by disease, The rose of health blooms there again, 'Tis no deceitful hectic stain.

Lightly and firm her footsteps fell; In rapture, she exclaimed, "I'm well! I bear no suff'ring, feel no pain, My long lost treasure I regain."

Her blooming form now stands erect, In fair and comely robes bedecked; Her limbs, so long with pain oppressed. Can nimbly move or sweetly rest.

Rejoicing friends their praises sing, To Hezekiah's bounteous king; Well pleased, she hears their grateful songs, And her glad voice the strain prolongs.

But sleep his downy pinions spread, Her slumbers broke, the vision fled; Her burning temples throbbed with pain,-- She was an invalid again.

TO A BUTTERFLY IN MY CHAMBER.

Whence art thou, frail, wand'ring stranger, Softly flitting round my bed? Is thy life exposed to danger? Are thy friends and kindred dead?

Does the cold rude breath of autumn, Chill thy little fragile form? Hast thou come to seek a shelter From the dreaded gath'ring storm?

Art thou now our friendship trying? Wouldst thou test the vows we made, When thou was so gaily flying 'Round us, 'neath the fragrant shade?