Part 17

Yes, when ambitious--ardent--young-- I thought the world my own, My glowing portraits there were hung; How have their colors flown!-- Some are by Time, defaced so far I look on them with pain; But Time nor nothing else can mar The portrait of my JANE.

I placed her there who won my soul; No creature saw the maid; I gazed in bliss, without control, On every charm displayed: It was a sweet, impassion'd hour, When not an eye was near To steal into my lonely bower, And kiss her image there.

Earth held not on its globe the man Who breathed that holy air; No mortal eye but mine did scan My folly with my fair; Sole monarch of that silent spot, All things gave place to me; I did but wish--no matter what-- Each obstacle would flee.

And did she love? She loved me not, But gave her hand away; I hied me to my lonely spot-- In anguish passed the day; And such a desolation wide, Spread o'er that holy place, The stream of life itself seemed dried, Or ebbing out apace.

But what I did--what madly said-- I cannot tell to any-- Her portrait in its place hath staid, Though years have flown so many; Nor can each lovely lineament So deep impress'd, depart, Till Nature shall herself be spent, And thou shalt break, MY HEART.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MR. WHITE,--I send you a Parody upon Bryant's Autumn, apparently written by some disconsolate citizen of Richmond after the adjournment of the Legislature in time past. If the picture be faithfully drawn, it may perhaps amuse the members of the assembly who are now in your city.

NUGATOR.

PARODY ON BRYANT'S AUTUMN.

The very dullest days are come, the dullest of the year, When all our great Assembly men are gone away from here; Heaped up in yonder Capitol, how many bills lie dead, They just allowed to live awhile, to knock them on the head; Tom, Dick, and Harry all have gone and left the silent hall, And on the now deserted square we meet no one at all-- Where are the fellows? the fine young fellows that were so lately here And vexed the drowsy ear of night with frolic and good cheer. Alas! they all are at their homes--the glorious race of fellows, And some perhaps are gone to forge, and some are at the bellows. Old Time is passing where they are, but Time will pass in vain; All _never_ can, though _some_ may be, _transported_ here again: Old "_What d'ye call him_," he's been off a week, or maybe more, And took a little negro up, behind and one before; But _What's his name_ and _You know who_, they lingered to the last, And neither had a dollar left and seemed to be downcast; Bad luck had fallen on them as falls the plague on men, And their phizzes were as blank as if they'd never smile again; And then when comes December next, as surely it will come, To call the future delegate from out his distant home, When the sound of cracking nuts is heard in lobby and in hall, And glimmer in the smoky light old Shockoe Hill and all, An old friend searches for the fellows he knew the year before, And sighs to find them on the Hill Capitoline, no more; But then he thinks of one who her promise had belied, The beautiful Virginia, who had fallen in her pride. In that great house 'twas said she fell where stands her gallant chief, Who well might weep in marble, that her race had been so brief-- Yet not unmeet it was he thought--oh no, ye heavenly powers! Since she trusted those good fellows, who kept such shocking hours.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

Audire magnos jam videor duces Non indecoro pulvere sordidos.--_Hor. Car. L. ii. 1._

I stood upon the heights above Charlestown, and was silently contrasting the then peaceful aspect of the scene with that which it presented on the day of wrath and blood which had rendered the place so memorable in story, as my fancy filled with images of the past and once more crowded the hill--not indeed with knights and paladins of old,

Sed rusticorum mascula militum Proles, Sabellis docta ligonibus Versare glebas, et severae Matris ad arbitrium recisos Portare fustes.--_Hor. Lib. iii. Car. 6._

As the silent hosts arose in imagination before me, I thought of the complicated feelings which on that day must have stirred their hearts; I thought of the breasts which kindled under the insult of invasion and were nerved with the stern determination to play out the game upon which was staked their all of earthly hope or fear, and it struck me that the gallant Warren, whose voice had often made the patriot's heart to glow and nerved the warrior's arm, might perhaps have addressed them in sentiment something as follows:

THE BATTLE OF BREED'S HILL.

Look down upon the bay, my men, As proudly comes the foe; Ah! send them back their shout agen, That patriot hearts may glow.

They come to us in pomp of war-- The tyrant in his gold; Our arms are few--they're stronger far, But who will say as bold?

No Briton ever forged the chains Shall bind our hands at will; The Pilgrim spirit still remains, Out on the western hill.

Their power may awe the coward slave, But not the stalwart free; Their steel may drive us to the grave, But not from liberty.

Our fathers spirit boils along Impetuous through our veins; We ask to know, where are the strong, To bind us in their chains?

Then let the foe look to his steel, And count his numbers strong; We bide him here for wo or weal, As he shall know ere long.

We'll dare him to the last of death-- We've sworn it in our hearts; We stand upon our native heath-- We'll hold till life departs.

Oh! what is death to slavery! The dead at least are free: And what is life for victory! We strike for _liberty!_

This sod shall warm beneath our feet, All reeking in our gore, And hearts that gladly cease to beat, The foe must trample o'er.

Our boys are bold--their mothers stern, Will rear them true and brave, And many noble hearts shall burn To free a father's grave.

Let every tongue be hushed and still, Each soldier hold his breath-- They're marching up the sloping hill,-- And now prepare for death.

ALPHA.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO A LADY.

Oh! do not sing--my soul is wrung When those sweet tones salute mine ear; Thou canst not sing as _thou hast_ sung-- As _I have heard_, I cannot hear. Then do not breathe to me one strain Of those I loved in years gone by; Their melody can only throw A darker cloud upon my sky.

Speak not to me!--thine accents fall By far too sadly on my ear; They _told_ of love, and hope, and joy-- They _tell_ of life made lone and drear. No word speak thou! The tones are changed That breathed to me thy young heart's vow Of all-enduring fondness; aye! Thou canst but speak in _kindness_ now.

And worse than all would be the smile Which once was mine, and only mine; Thou wert my hope--thy love my pride-- Thy heart my spirit's chosen shrine. But _now_--oh! smile not on me _now_; 'Tis insult--worse, 'tis mockery! Estranged, and cold, and false, thou art; Smile if thou wilt--but not on me.

M. S. L.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO IANTHE.

Think of me when the morning wakes, With a smile that's bright and a blush that's new; And the wave-rocked goddess gently shakes From her rosy wings, the gems of dew.

Think of me, when the day-god burns In his noon-tide blaze and his purest light; And think of me when his chariot turns To the sombre shades of silent night.

Think of me, when the evening's store Of brilliance, fades on the wondering eye; And think of me, when the flowers pour Their incense to the star-lit sky.

Think of me when the evening star, Through the deep blue sky shall dart his beams; And think of me when the mind, afar, Shall chase the forms of its joyous dreams.

Think of me in the hour of mirth-- Think of me in the hour of prayer-- Aye! think amidst each scene of earth, You feel my spirit is mingling there.

For morning's beam--nor evening's light-- Nor days of woe--nor hours of glee-- Nor e'en religion's holiest rite, Can steal or force my thoughts from thee.

FERGUS.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SONNET.

FROM THE PORTUGUES OF CAMOENS.

BY R. H. WILDE, _Of Georgia_.

Sonnet xliii. of the edition of 1779-1780.

"O cysne quando sente ser chegada," &c.

They say the Swan, though mute his whole life long, Pours forth sweet melody when life is flying, Making the desert plaintive with his song, Wondrous and sad, and sweetest still while dying; Is it for life and pleasure past he's sighing, Grieving to lose what none can e'er prolong? Oh, no! he hails its close, on death relying As an escape from violence and wrong: And thus, dear lady! I at length perceiving, The fatal end of my unhappy madness, In thy oft broken faith no more believing, Welcome despair's sole comforter with gladness, And mourning one so fair is so deceiving, Breathe out my soul in notes of love and sadness.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EPIGRAMME FRANCAISE.

Lit de mes plaisirs; lit de mes pleurs; Lit on je nais; lit on je mours; Tu nous fais voir combien procheins Sort nos plaisirs de nos chagrins.

TRANSLATION.

Couch of Sorrow; Couch of Joy; Of Life's first breath, and Death's last sigh; Thou makest us see what neighbors near Our pleasures and our sorrows are.

The above was the execution of a task proposed by a French gentleman, who, boasting the piquant terseness of his language, said that the original could not be rendered into English.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TRUE CONSOLATION.

He had wept o'er the honored, in age who die; O'er the loved,--in beauty's bloom; O'er the blighted buds of infancy: Till all earth was to him a Tomb.

And sorrow had drunk his youthful blood, And hastened the work of Time; And the cankering tooth of ingratitude Had withered his manhood's prime.

But he turned from earth, and he looked to the sky, His sorrow by faith beguiling; Where Mercy sits enthroned on high, With his loved ones round her smiling.

He looked to Eternity's bright shore, From the wreck of perished years; And Mercy's voice, through the storm's wild roar, Came down to sooth his fears.

That gentle voice has charmed away The frenzy from his brain; And his withered heart, in her eye's mild ray, May bud and bloom again;

And her smile has chased the gloom from his brow, So late by clouds o'ercast; And his cheek is bright with the sun-set glow, That tells that the Storm is past.

And his heart returns to the world again, But forgets not the world above; For Heaven sends love to sooth earthly pain, But Heaven's whole bliss is Love.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SONNET.

BY R. H. WILDE, _Of Georgia_.

Thou hast thy faults VIRGINIA!--yet I own I love thee still, although no son of thine; For I have climb'd thy mountains, not alone-- And made the wonders of thy vallies mine, Finding from morning's dawn 'till day's decline Some marvel yet unmarked--some peak whose throne Was loftier; girt with mist, and crown'd with pine, Some deep and rugged glen with copse o'ergrown, The birth of some sweet valley, or the line Traced by some silver stream that murmured lone; Or the dark cave where hidden crystals shine, Or the wild arch across the blue sky thrown;[1] Or else those traits of nature, more divine That in some favored child of thine had shone.

[Footnote 1: The Natural Bridge.]

[The following letter, written by a distinguished President of the oldest College in Virginia, has been already or rather formerly before the public;--but no apology is necessary for transferring it to the columns of the "Messenger." Its elegant style and still more excellent sentiments, will always command admiration,--and we doubt whether we could render a more essential service to society than to republish it annually, in order that every young married lady (at least within the range of our subscription) should receive the benefit of its precepts. Certain we are, that more wholesome advice conveyed in more agreeable language, we have seldom seen contained in the same space. It is of itself a volume of instruction, and we do most cheerfully recommend it to the softer sex, whether married or single; for the married may profit by it even after years of conjugal tranquillity--and the single may at least _expect_ to profit. It is more especially applicable, however, to her who has just sworn her vows on the altar of hymen--whose life of bliss and peace, or misery and discord, may depend upon the first six or twelve months of "prudent, amiable, uniform conduct."

Let it not be understood, however, that we are believers in the doctrine, that the pleasures of the matrimonial voyage are wholly dependant upon the conduct of the lady. She is but the second in command, and still greater responsibilities rest upon him who stands at the helm and guides the frail bark of human happiness. We should indeed be thankful if some of our highly gifted and experienced friends would prepare a _counterpart_ to this valuable letter of advice, designed more particularly for the edification of such of us lords of creation as have either contracted or are likely to contract the nuptial bond. As to the old bachelors they are an incorrigible race, upon whom such advice would be wasted, and therefore they need not trouble themselves to read it.]

ADVICE FROM A FATHER TO HIS ONLY DAUGHTER.

WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER HER MARRIAGE.

_My dear Daughter_,--You have just entered into that state which is replete with happiness or misery. The issue depends upon that prudent, amiable, uniform conduct, which wisdom and virtue so strongly recommend, on the one hand, or on that imprudence which a want of reflection or passion may prompt, on the other.

You are allied to a man of honor, of talents, and of an open, generous disposition. You have, therefore, in your power, all the essential ingredients of domestic happiness; it cannot be marred, if you now reflect upon that system of conduct which you ought invariably to pursue--if you now see clearly, the path from which you will resolve never to deviate. Our conduct is often the result of whim or caprice, often such as will give us many a pang, unless we see beforehand, what is always the most praiseworthy, and the most essential to happiness.

The first maxim which you should impress deeply upon your mind, is, never to attempt to control your husband by opposition, by displeasure, or any other mark of anger. A man of sense, of prudence, of warm feelings, cannot, and will not, bear an opposition of any kind, which is attended with an angry look or expression. The current of his affections is suddenly stopped; his attachment is weakened; he begins to feel a mortification the most pungent; he is belittled even in his own eyes; and be assured, the wife who once excites those sentiments in the breast of a husband, will never regain the high ground which she might and ought to have retained. When he marries her, if he be a good man, he expects from her smiles, not frowns; he expects to find in her one who is not to control him--not to take from him the freedom of acting as his own judgment shall direct, but one who will place such confidence in him, as to believe that his prudence is his best guide. Little things, what in reality are mere trifles in themselves, often produce bickerings, and even quarrels. Never permit them to be a subject of dispute; yield them with pleasure, with a smile of affection. Be assured that one difference outweighs them all a thousand, or ten thousand times. A difference with your husband ought to be considered as the greatest calamity--as one that is to be most studiously guarded against; it is a demon which must never be permitted to enter a habitation where all should be peace, unimpaired confidence, and heartfelt affection. Besides, what can a woman gain by her opposition or her differences? Nothing. But she loses every thing; she loses her husband's respect for her virtues, she loses his love, and with that, all prospect of future happiness. She creates her own misery, and then utters idle and silly complaints, but utters them in vain. The love of a husband can be retained only by the high opinion which he entertains of his wife's goodness of heart, of her amiable disposition, of the sweetness of her temper, of her prudence, and of her devotion to him. Let nothing upon any occasion, ever lessen that opinion. On the contrary, it should augment every day: he should have much more reason to admire her for those excellent qualities, which will cast a lustre over a virtuous woman, when her personal attractions are no more.

Has your husband staid out longer than you expected? When he returns, receive him as the partner of your heart. Has he disappointed you in something you expected, whether of ornament, or furniture, or of any conveniency? Never evince discontent; receive his apology with cheerfulness. Does he, when you are housekeeper, invite company without informing you of it, or bring home with him a friend? Whatever may be your repast, however scanty it may be, however impossible it may be to add to it, receive them with a pleasing countenance, adorn your table with cheerfulness, give to your husband and to your company a hearty welcome; it will more than compensate for every other deficiency; it will evince love for your husband, good sense in yourself, and that politeness of manners, which acts as the most powerful charm! It will give to the plainest fare a zest superior to all that luxury can boast. Never be discontented on any occasion of this nature.

In the next place, as your husband's success in his profession will depend upon his popularity, and as the manners of a wife have no little influence in extending or lessening the respect and esteem of others for her husband, you should take care to be affable and polite to the poorest as well as to the richest. A reserved haughtiness is a sure indication of a weak mind and an unfeeling heart.

With respect to your servants, teach them to respect and love you, while you expect from them a reasonable discharge of their respective duties. Never tease yourself, or them, by scolding; it has no other effect than to render them discontented and impertinent. Admonish them with a calm firmness.

Cultivate your mind by the perusal of those books which instruct while they amuse. Do not devote much of your time to novels; there are a few which may be useful in improving and in giving a higher tone to our moral sensibility; but they tend to vitiate the taste, and to produce a disrelish for substantial intellectual food. Most plays are of the same cast; they are not friendly to the delicacy which is one of the ornaments of the female character. HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY, POETRY, MORAL ESSAYS, BIOGRAPHY, TRAVELS, SERMONS, and other well written religious productions, will not fail to enlarge your understanding, to render you a more agreeable companion, and to exalt your virtue. A woman devoid of rational ideas of religion, has no security for her virtue; it is sacrificed to her passions, whose voice, not that of GOD, is her only governing principle. Besides, in those hours of calamity to which families must be exposed, where will she find support, if it be not in her just reflections upon that all ruling Providence which governs the Universe, whether animate or inanimate.

Mutual politeness between the most intimate friends, is essential to that harmony, which should never be once broken or interrupted. How important then is it between man and wife!--The more warm the attachment, the less will either party bear to be slighted, or treated with the smallest degree of rudeness or inattention. This politeness, then, if it be not in itself a virtue, is at least the means of giving to real goodness a new lustre; it is the means of preventing discontent, and even quarrels; it is the oil of intercourse, it removes asperities, and gives to every thing a smooth, an even, and a pleasing movement.

I will only add, that matrimonial happiness does not depend upon wealth; no, it is not to be found in wealth; but in minds properly tempered and united to our respective situations. Competency is necessary; all beyond that point, is ideal. Do not suppose, however, that I would not advise your husband to augment his property by all honest and commendable means. I would wish to see him actively engaged in such a pursuit, because engagement, a sedulous employment, in obtaining some laudable end, is essential to happiness. In the attainment of a fortune, by honorable means, and particularly by professional exertion, a man derives particular satisfaction, in self applause, as well as from the increasing estimation in which he is held by those around him.

In the management of your domestic concerns, let prudence and wise economy prevail. Let neatness, order and judgment be seen in all your different departments. Unite liberality with a just frugality; always reserve something for the hand of charity; and never let your door be closed to the voice of suffering humanity. Your servants, in particular, will have the strongest claim upon your charity;--let them be well fed, well clothed, nursed in sickness, and never let them be unjustly treated.

ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.

VATHEK--An Oriental Tale, by Mr. Beckford, author of Italy, &c. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard. 1834.