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diff --git a/11439-0.txt b/11439-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9c6bfd --- /dev/null +++ b/11439-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3589 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11439 *** + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through the project + for Preservation and Access for American and British Children's + Literature, 1850-1869, from an original source held at the + University of Florida. See + http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/tc/juv/UF00001888.jpg + or + http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/tc/juv/UF00001888.pdf + + + + +THE SNOW-DROP + +A Holiday Gift + +BY MISS SARAH S. MOWER. + +1851 + + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The Authoress of "THE SNOW-DROP" has been misfortune's child. Disease +laid its relentless hand upon her in early childhood. It deprived her of +a common school education and the world's sweet intercourse. Such has +been its nature, that, except on one occasion, she has not been able to +leave home for more than six years. + +"THE SNOW-DROP" would never have appeared had not life's wintry hour +given it birth! It was written to beguile tedious time. Winds, as they +played through groves that surround her aged father's retired and humble +dwelling, sweet songsters, as they caroled from spray to spray, and the +ripple of the Androscoggin, as it glided past, to her ear, were nature's +sweet minstrels, that cheered her heart in solitude and inspired _her, +too,_ to attempt the artless strains of nature. + +This little work, at the suggestion of her friends, is presented and +dedicated to the benevolent public, humbly hoping and trusting that it +may give pastime to the leisure hour, impress more fully moral and +religious sentiment, and afford some little return for the thought she +has bestowed upon it. + + + + +THE SNOW-DROP[1] + + + Sweet little unassuming flower, + It stays not for an April shower, + But dares to rear its tiny head, + While threat'ning clouds the skies o'erspread. + + It ne'er displays the vain desire + To dress in flaunting gay attire; + No purple, scarlet, blue, or gold, + Deck its fair leaves when they unfold. + + Born on a cold and wintry night, + Its flowing robes were snowy white; + No vernal zephyrs fan its form-- + It often battles with the storm. + + It never drank mild summer's dew, + But chilling winds around it blew; + And hoary frost his mantle spread + Upon the little snow-drop's bed. + + I love this modest little flower;-- + It comes in desolation's hour + The barren landscape's face to cheer, + When none beside it dares appear. + + Just like the friend, whose brightest smile + Is spared, our sorrows to beguile; + Who like some angel from the sky, + When needed most, is ever nigh-- + + To pluck vile slander's envious dart + From out the wounded, bleeding heart, + And raise from earth the drooping head + When all our summer friends are fled. + + And shall these humble pages dare + Presume to ask, if they compare + With that fair, fragrant, precious gem, + Plucked from cold winter's diadem? + + 'Tis true both struggled into life, + Through scenes of sorrow, care and strife; + This poor, frail, intellectual flower + Was reared in no elysian bower. + + No ray of fortune on it shone,-- + It forced its weary way alone; + Up-springing from the barren sod, + Untilled, save by affliction's rod. + + FOOTNOTES: + + [Footnote 1: A white, fragrant flower, the earliest + that appears.--_Language_.--"I am not a summer friend."] + + + + +MY BIRTH PLACE + + Where "old Blue" mountain's healthful breeze + Swept o'er the green hill-side, + My little fragile bark was launched + On life's uncertain tide. + + There verdant fields and murm'ring brooks + Invited me to roam; + Old towering trees their heads upreared + Around my quiet home. + + When morn unveiled her blushing face, + The sun came peeping in; + His quiv'ring beams upon the wall, + Checked by the leafy screen. + + Oft in some sweet sequestered dell, + The blushing flow'ret smiled; + And threw around a pleasing spell, + For me, an artless child. + + The fragrant blossom peeping up, + From out the mossy sod, + Caused my young thoughts from earth to rise + And soar to nature's God. + + In summer, when I wandered forth, + Beneath the deep green shade, + Or when mild autumn walked the rounds, + In gorgeous robes arrayed-- + + Music, in nature's softest strains, + Stole through my little breast;-- + 'Twas something I could not define, + Nor could it be expressed. + + While some admire the pompous pile, + Or glitt'ring, costly dome, + I'd gaze upon those ancient trees, + Round that sweet rural home. + + + + + +THE OAK AND THE RILL: + +OR, INDOLENT WEALTH AND HONEST LABOR. + +COMPOSED FOR THE FRANKLIN AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY. + + + To find employment for my pen, + I wandered from the haunts of men, + And sought a little rising ground, + With lofty oaks and elm trees crowned, + Where I might court the friendly muse, + Who ever thinks herself abused + When woo'd 'midst tumult, noise and strife, + And all the busy cares of life. + With senses quite absorbed in thought, + While all beside seemed half forgot, + I wandered on till I had strayed + Beneath an oak tree's ample shade, + Whose lofty top towered up so high, + It seemed aspiring for the sky. + Just at the basement of the hill, + A modest little purling rill + Shone like a mirror in the sun,-- + Flashing and sparkling as it run. + The lofty oak scarce deigned to look + Upon the little murm'ring brook, + But tossed his head in proud disdain, + And thus began his boasting strain:-- + "I've lived almost since time began, + The friend and favorite of man; + Since I became a stately tree, + Cradled within my branches, lay + The young pappoose, who gayly smiled, + And listened to the music wild + That floated round his tiny head, + While through my top the breezes played. + In after years to me he came, + When wearied in pursuit of game; + He from my branches plucked his bow, + To slay the deer and buffalo; + Here, with his friends, he'd often meet + To sing the war-song, dance, and eat. + 'Twas here he woo'd the dark-eyed maid, + And built his wigwam in my shade; + To me he brought his youthful bride, + And dwelt here till with age he died. + His children thought no place more meet + To make his grave than at my feet; + They said 'twould greatly soothe their woes + If I would let him here repose; + Then begged that I would deign to wave + My verdant branches o'er his grave. + And since the polished white man came, + He's loved and honored me the same; + Though all the neighboring trees around + Were slain, as cumberers of the ground, + Yet here I tower in grandeur still,-- + The pride and glory of the hill. + My dauntless spirits never quail + At earthquakes, hurricanes, or hail; + The rolling thunder's fiery car + Has never dared my form to mar; + I've heard its rumbling undismayed, + While forked lightnings round me played; + But O, thou little murm'ring brook, + How mean and meager is thy look;-- + Babbling, babbling, all day long,-- + How I detest thy simple song. + I would not have thee in my sight, + Did not all nobles claim a right + To keep some menial servant near, + And therefore 'tis that thou art here. + As I am always very neat. + I'll deign to let thee wash my feet;-- + Such work becomes one in thy place,-- + To drudge for me is no disgrace." + The spirit of the brook was stirred, + But still her voice had not been heard, + Had not a zephyr, ling'ring round, + In friendly mood, caught up the sound, + And flying round the monarch's head, + Breathed in his ear the words she said. + The streamlet, with a deep drawn sigh, + In silv'ry tones, made this reply: + "Illustrious oak, pray deign to hear, + 'Twill not disgrace thee--none are near, + And I this once a word would say, + As I am wending on my way;-- + Behold that path wind through the grass, + Where many by thee daily pass; + See, where it ends, just on my brink, + Then frankly tell what thou dost think. + Both man and beast, when they are dry, + Come here and find a rich supply; + And many come for pleasure too, + When they have nothing else to do. + Bright pebbles in my waters lie, + Which have a charm in childhood's eye; + And little children stray from home, + Upon my sunny shores to roam;-- + With me they play their artless pranks, + And gather flowers along my banks;-- + Sweet flowers that shun thy gloomy shade, + And hither come to ask my aid. + The poet loves my 'simple song'-- + With me he often tarries long; + He tells me that he wanders here, + To catch some new and bright idea, + Which makes his tuneful numbers roll, + In music that enchants the soul. + And people too of every class, + Come here their leisure hours to pass; + I often feel the warm embrace + Of ruby lips upon my face, + For those who never bend the knee + To haughty monarchs, just like thee, + Will fall down prostrate at my side. + And kiss the face thou dost deride. + Thou sayest, thou art very neat, + And I, the slave to wash thy feet! + Should all the streamlets cease to flow, + Not one on earth could e'er be so. + Our strength propels the busy mills, + And all the land with plenty fills,-- + They bring, some silver--others gold-- + And shield the poor from winter's cold. + The vapors, which from us ascend, + To vegetation are a friend;-- + In dew they soon descend again, + Or fall in fruitful showers of rain. + Were there no brooks, there'd be no bread-- + Then tell me, how could man be fed? + No man, nor beast, or plant, or flower, + Without us could survive an hour;-- + The feathered songsters of the grove. + Would cease to chant their notes of love. + Earth would become a scene of gloom-- + One vast extended direful tomb.-- + And I must tell thee, ere I go, + That thy proud head would soon lie low,-- + Thou 'dst fade and wither, droop and die, + And in the dust neglected lie. + Yet still no praise belongs to me-- + I do not sympathize with thee; + I never can be proud and vain, + And imitate thy boasting strain; + But humbly on my way I'll plod, + For I receive my strength from God." + + + + MORAL. + + These farmers and mechanics, here, + Much like the little brook appear; + Reared 'midst fair Franklin's hills and dells, + Where proud ambition seldom dwells; + They view their hands for labor made, + And think that God should be obeyed; + Then grasp the plough and till the soil-- + It yields rich fruit, and corn, and oil, + By which the multitude are fed. + And blessings o'er the land are spread. + Mechanics next should take a stand + Beside the yeoman of our land; + Where'er enlightened men are found, + They're showering blessings all around. + Yet time would fail should I rehearse + Their brave exploits, in simple verse; + But there's a class, (I hope not here,) + Who, like the boasting oak, appear; + They think their hands were never made + To wield the distaff, plough, or spade;-- + Their taper fingers, soft and fair, + Are made to twine their silken hair, + Or place upon a brow of snow, + Their gold and diamond rings, to show. + Their dainty lips can sip ice-cream, + Or open with convulsive scream, + Whene'er they meet the farmer's cow, + The ox, or steer, which draws the plough. + Should the mechanic's labor cease, + 'Twould wound their pride--destroy their peace; + Their flaunting garments, light and frail, + Would quickly fade, wear out and fail. + Soon, soon, they'd come with humbled pride, + To him whom they could once deride, + To ask a shelter from the storm, + And clothes to keep their bodies warm. + Should farmers their rich stores withhold, + Their lily hands would soon grow cold;-- + No more their lips would curl with scorn, + At him who grows and brings them corn;--- + You'd see them kneeling at his feet, + To beg for something more to eat; + And plead with him their lives to save, + And snatch them from an opening grave. + + Now let us, like the little brook + We've heard of in the fable, + Employ our hearts, our heads and hands, + In doing what we're able; + Till all Columbia praise our deeds, + And nations, o'er the waters, + Will tune their harps and chant their song, + For Franklin's sons and daughters. + + + + +A HYMN. + +COMPOSED FOR A DONATION GATHERING. + + The armies of Isr'el round Mount Sinai stood, + And heard, 'midst its thunders, the voice of their God; + All silent and awe-struck they heard the command-- + "Bring unto the Lord the first fruits of your land." + + These words are as sacred, their import the same-- + As when they came pealing through Sinai's dread flame,-- + The banner of Jesus should soon be unfurled, + And waving in triumph all over the world. + + Salvation's glad tidings! Oh send them abroad! + And tell the poor pagan that there is a God! + Let those who are toiling in dark heathen lands, + Find Christians all ready to strengthen their hands. + + Yet let not your gifts and your offerings all roam;-- + Remember the servant of Jesus at home; + He's spending his strength and his life in the cause,-- + From wells of salvation pure water he draws. + + The wells are our Father's, but still they're so deep, + That shepherds are needed to water the sheep; + And shall they thus labor and toil for our good, + And we not supply them with clothing and food? + + How can we still hope that our souls are new born, + And muzzle the oxen which tread out the corn!-- + Did God care for oxen, or did he say thus, + Designing to give some instruction to us? + + St. Paul has explained it and told what to do-- + "Who preaches the gospel must live of it too;" + Some say, were we able we'd give with delight; + But think of the widow who cast in her mite! + + What though we've no money to pamper our pride, + She kept not a penny for wants unsupplied; + Yet Jesus beheld her and sanction'd the deed, + And promis'd in future to shield her from need. + + Cast your bread on the waters; obey the command,-- + The Lord will restore it; His promise will stand; + Who give unto these, in the name of the Lord, + A cup of cold water, shall have their reward. + + + + +THE MARRIAGE VOWS. + + +COMPOSED TO BE SUNG ON A WEDDING OCCASION, AUGUST 1ST, 1847 + + O 'tis an interesting sight, + When youthful hands and hearts unite! + The Lord himself was pleas'd to own + That man should never dwell alone. + + A rib he took from Adam's side, + And from it made a blooming bride; + In Eden's bowers he placed the pair,-- + Then joined their hands in wedlock there. + + The nuptial ties by God were bound, + While angels chanted anthems 'round; + Then mounting on swift pinions sang, + Till heaven's high arch with music rang. + + The Lord is present still to hear,-- + The words you breathed have reached his ear; + And his recording angel, now, + Is writing down the marriage vow. + + Wilt thou, the bridegroom, till the end, + Still prove the fair one's faithful friend, + Who leaves her childhood's happy home, + With thee through future life to roam? + + She trusts her fragile bark with thee,-- + O steer it well o'er life's rough sea. + And with an undivided heart, + Wilt thou, fair maiden, act thy part? + + As pure let thine affections be, + As those white robes now worn by thee; + O keep the sacred holy trust, + Till these fair forms turn back to dust. + + On seraph wings then may you soar, + Where friends are never parted more; + There with the Lord may each reside, + And Jesus own you as his bride. + + + + +LINES + + +WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF MISS ELLEN N ... OF JAY. + +ADDRESSED TO HER RELATIVES. + + Ye gaze upon that fair young brow, + Where death's pale shade is resting now;-- + Well, well may grief suffuse your eyes,-- + Yet let no murm'ring thought arise, + To stain with guilt affection's tear, + Which falls upon the loved one's bier. + Tears are the antidote of grief,-- + Kind nature sends them for relief. + While death a prisoner Lazarus kept, + The Son of God stood by and wept;-- + And, father, here are tears for thee, + The babe that prattled on thy knee, + And grew in beauty by thy side, + Till warm affection's glowing tide + Gushed from the fountain in thy breast, + To cherish her who made thee blest. + But now, to thee no more appears + This light of thy declining years; + No more her smile brings joy to thee, + When tempest toss'd on life's rough sea. + Fond mother, where's the rosy child + Which once upon thy bosom smiled?-- + In her thou daily didst rejoice,-- + She caught her language from thy voice; + When she had learned to lisp thy name, + New love with those sweet accents came. + Soon did this bud of promise bloom, + But oh, it blossomed for the tomb!-- + Each art, which thy fond care has tried, + The fell destroyer's power defied. + And brothers, ye, too, weeping stand-- + Pale death has robbed your household band + Well may stern manhood melt in tears, + The playmate of your early years + Before you lies in death's cold sleep-- + 'Tis manly, then, for you to weep. + No more will little Walter share + Her love, her counsel, and her care; + And thou, lone sister, now must feel + What simple words can ne'er reveal;-- + Thou callest many sister yet, + In tones which they will ne'er forget; + Yet no such love their bosoms fill, + As throbbed in that which now lies still. + You oft, in love, each other greet, + But no such melting glances meet, + As ever have been wont to shine, + When Ellen's speaking eyes met thine. + Those eyes, which such pure love revealed, + In death's deep slumbers now are sealed; + But I have watched the cloud that fades, + While earth was wrapped in twilight shades, + And quickly found the loss repaid + By beauties which the heavens displayed; + Anon, a sweet and pensive light + Came stealing o'er the brow of night,-- + The stars shone out from depths profound, + Like bands of angels hov'ring round, + Who look from off each lofty seat, + To watch lest snares beguile our feet. + Though this was airy fancy's dream, + Yet still it doth an emblem seem, + Of her who lies before us now + With such calm beauty on her brow. + Death's icy fingers plucked the rose, + But could not steal the grand repose + Which adds such pure, celestial charms + To this pale form, clasped in his arras. + Though fancy far from reason strayed, + When stars were guardian angels made, + Yet she, perchance, is one indeed: + The spirit, from its bondage freed, + May still be hov'ring, while they sleep, + Around those friends who o'er her weep. + + + + +AN EPITAPH + + +Composed For Mrs. M.G.M. of Jay. + + "We lay her in the earth, and from her fair + And unpolluted flesh may violets spring." + _Shakspeare_. + + With flowing tears, dear cherished one, + We lay thee with the dead; + And flowers, which thou didst love so well, + Shall wave above thy head. + + Sweet emblems of thy dearer self, + They find a wintry tomb; + And at the south wind's gentle touch, + Spring forth to life and bloom. + + Thus, when the sun of righteousness + Shall gild thy dark abode, + Thy slumb'ring dust shall bloom afresh, + And soar to meet thy God. + + + + +LINES + + +UPON THE DEATH OF REUBEN, PELEG B. CHARLES, SUSAN +AND MARY A. WING, + + (Children of Mr. Reuben and Mrs. Lucy Wing of Livermore,) + who died within the space of 2 years and 8 + mouths, between the ages of 15 and 21 years. + + Just like the rainbow in a shower,-- + Like clouds that vanish in an hour. + Or some fair fragile vernal flower. + They passed away. + +I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because thou didst it.--_Scripture_. + + A peaceful dwelling, once we found, + Where dwelt the bright eyed laughing boy; + Fair blooming sisters clustered round, + Fond parents eyed the group with joy. + + But death, who feeds on tears and woe, + Beheld this happy youthful hand; + Then bade his pale companion go + And smite them with his with'ring hand. + + The son, just launched on manhood's tide, + The doating father's prop and stay,-- + The tender mother's joy and pride,-- + Became the fell destroyer's prey; + + While tasting bliss without alloy, + Thrice happy with his youthful bride. + Alas! how frail all mortal joy, + When cast on life's tempestuous tide. + + Hygenia lends her aid in vain,-- + No balm can heal his aching breast,-- + Nor anxious friends relieve one pain, + Or give the sinking suff'rer rest. + + Patient and uncomplaining still, + He smiles and cheers each weeping friend; + Faith, love and grief, their bosoms fill, + While he draws near his peaceful end. + + He calmly bids his friends adieu; + My lovely bride, he cries, farewell! + By faith fair Canaan's land I view, + Oh may we there together dwell. + + Do'nt weep for me, dear mourning friends, + I'm not afraid to meet my God; + The chief of sinners pardon finds, + Washed in the Savior's precious blood. + + He sleeps in Jesus and is blest; + I hear the sacred word proclaim, + That all shall find eternal rest, + Who trusted in their Savior's name. + + Nor has the pale destroyer done, + Although one victim is at rest;-- + He plucks his dagger from the son, + And plants it in a daughter's breast. + + The blooming Susan feels the blow,-- + Her ruby lips turn deathly pale,-- + She cries, Oh! mother, I must go,-- + This fatal weapon cannot fail. + + The blushing rose forsakes her cheek,-- + The lily now usurps its place;-- + But still she's patient, mild and meek, + She daily grows in ev'ry grace. + + Though fading, yet more lovely still. + She twines around each kindred heart, + While this dread truth their bosoms fill, + That they with her must shortly part. + + The long feared fatal hour draws near,-- + Deep silence hushed the mourning throng, + Yet still her feeble voice they hear,-- + Dear mother, falters on her tongue. + + That name her infant tongue first learned, + It trembled on her latest breath;-- + Yet a deaf ear the monster turned, + And hushed the tender sound in death. + + A placid smile is on her brow;-- + Does filial love still linger there? + Or does her convoy angel now + Breathe heavenly music in her ear? + + Long ere a springing blade appeared + Upon that daughter's new made grave,-- + Consumption cries, Oh! be prepared, + Another blooming form I crave. + + A youthful son was now his prey,-- + Whose rising merits win each heart,-- + A noble mind beams from his eye,-- + Fair virtue dwells in his young heart. + + Yet pale disease now lurks around, + His active limbs their vigor lose; + But lo! he hears the joyful sound;-- + The gospel brings him glorious news. + + What though his earthly house decays, + And swiftly sink life's ebbing sands; + He's one eternal in the skies, + Not made by dying, mortal hands. + + While friends ask, must you go so soon, + Oh must we part with you to-day? + He, smiling, says, I crave the boon; + Joyful I go without delay. + + My Savior cheers the lonely vale, + His smiles of love dispel the gloom; + Oh then how can my courage fail-- + Why should I dread the peaceful tomb? + + The Savior blest this lowly bed, + And robbed the monster of his sting; + My Lord will raise me from the dead,-- + Give me a harp and bid me sing. + + Behold this lovely, youthful saint, + In raptures close his dying eyes; + He yields to death without complaint, + And soars triumphant to the skies. + + Voracious grave! thou ne'er wast cloy'd! + Thy constant cry has been for more, + Since Abel, thy first victim, died; + Yet thou art eager as before. + + Once more death bends the fatal bow,-- + Again he seeks a shining mark; + Another blooming son lies low,-- + Death steals away the vital spark. + + Though far from home and those dear friends + Which soothe his grief and crown his bliss, + His heavenly Father comfort sends,-- + The Holy Spirit whispers peace. + + He seeks the dear paternal hearth, + To die by his fond parent's side; + To him the dearest friends on earth, + Who with a smile each tear would hide. + + A few short weeks he lingered there, + While heav'nly peace reigned in his breast; + He cries, my friends, oh now prepare + To meet where sorrows ne'er molest. + + Though earthly friends are dear to me, + I feel them twining round my heart, + A friend in heaven, by faith, I see, + Who bids my joyful soul depart. + + Dear mourning friends, now dry your tears; + Bid ev'ry murm'ring thought be still; + My mind is free from doubts and fears,-- + I sink into my Savior's will. + + With smiles of vict'ry on his brow, + And heav'nly transport in his breast, + Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe, + And like an infant sinks to rest. + + Down through the portals of the sky + Descend a glorious shining band. + Who waft his soul to joys on high, + And blissful scenes at God's right hand. + + Nor does the monster yet relent,-- + Four blooming victims he has slain, + Yet on another now intent, + He bends his fatal bow again. + + And must this only daughter go, + Ere half her budding graces bloom? + Yes, cruel death will take her too, + To swell his numbers in the tomb. + + See on her cheek the death rose bloom, + And smile with a deceitful glow; + 'Tis the red banner of the tomb, + To warn her friends that she must go. + + With bleeding hearts they feel the rod, + And weeping, lay her in the grave, + Yet with submission yield to God, + The precious jewel which he gave. + + But when the trump of God shall sound, + To call each sainted sleeper home, + Should they, with ev'ry child, surround + The mighty conq'ror of the tomb-- + + They'll cry, oh Lord, thou ever just, + Behold is and our children here! + Thou didst in love give them to us, + And we resigned them to thy care. + + Now we will chant Redemption's sung, + Which Gabriel never learned to sing, + Nor one of all th' angelic throng,-- + To Jesus, prophet, priest and king. + + + + +THE ROSE AND LILAC TREE.[2] + + No garland, fresh from Eden's bowers, + Could be more sweet than these dear flowers + To each surviving friend; + They'll water them with falling tears, + And nurse them through succeeding years, + And from each ill defend. + + Bloom on, each weeping parent cried,-- + My daughters planted you and died,-- + You are most dear to me; + Each now in smiling beauty stands, + Where placed by these fair youthful hands,-- + Sweet rose and lilac tree. + + Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air,-- + I love to see you flourish there, + And in bright beauty bloom; + Each tiny leaf I hold most dear, + Although you oft call forth a tear + For loved ones in the tomb. + + Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may; + Your fading leaves will soon portray + The lovely, fragile form, + Which passed from earth while skies seemed fair, + Like vapors quiv'ring in the air, + Before a coming storm. + + I gaze upon these opening flowers-- + They bring a dream of blissful hours, + When brighter germs were mine; + Once on my throbbing bosom lay + Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they, + Fraught with immortal minds. + + 'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade-- + Fair emblems of the youthful dead, + But spring restores their bloom. + Just so the saints that droop and die, + When Gabriel's trump shall rend the sky, + Will leave the mould'ring tomb. + + They'll leave this dull, this earthly sod, + And, in the garden of our God, + Bloom with celestial grace, + Where frost and mildew ne'er can blight; + There, all enraptured with delight, + God's wondrous works they'll trace. + + FOOTNOTES: + + [Footnote 2: The Rose and Lilac trees, referred to above, were + planted by two youthful sisters a short time before their + death.] + + + + +LINES + + +Composed on the death of Mrs. Mary M. West, of Jay. + + Dear Mary, while thou art in heaven, at rest, + We're mourning thy absence, bereft and depressed; + For thou wert so faithful, so winning and kind, + That our hearts' ev'ry fibre around thee entwined. + + How oft have we listened, unwilling to part, + While sweet heavenly music gushed forth from thy heart, + Till angels in glory, well pleased with the strain, + Re-echoed it over the heavenly plain. + + The sound of thy voice we can never forget, + Thy last parting smile sweetly lingers here yet; + And since thy freed spirit to heaven was borne, + Our hearts crave the boon o'er thy mem'ry to mourn. + + Adieu, dearest Mary, thy spirit has flown + To those blissful regions where tears are unknown; + No trials assail thee, no troubles or fears,-- + The smile of thy Savior has dried up thy tears. + + No more shalt thou weep o'er thy dear Henry,[3] dead-- + For now by his side thou art resting thy head; + Thou now dost behold him in glory above. + But Jesus, thy Savior, outvies him in love. + + Transported with joy, with thy Savior at rest, + Though angels are singing, you'll praise him the best. + Bright glories, unfolding, still burst on thy view-- + The song thou art chanting will ever be new. + + Thy sun at its zenith on earth ceased to shine, + But beams with new lustre in regions divine; + For ages eternal 't will ever shine on-- + Still gath'ring new splendor from God's dazzling throne. + + FOOTNOTES: + + [Footnote 3: Husband of Mrs. W.] + + + + +THOUGHTS + +Occasioned by the sudden death of J.W.N. + + The short lived, fragrant, vernal flower, + Which blooms and withers in an hour, + With him may well compare; + His life was like the meteor's light, + Which shone and vanished from the sight-- + Dissolving in the air. + + Not so the thrilling ties that bind + The loved one's image to the mind-- + It lives and brightens there; + Engraved upon each bleeding heart, + Which cannot, will not, deign to part + With such a jewel rare. + + + + +REFLECTIONS + +OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF S. WHITE, OF LIVERMORE, +WHO DIED DEC. 25TH, 1842, AGED 26. + + Why do these tears bedew our eyes? + Why heaves the breast with bursting sighs? + We've seen a friend depart; + In vain we tune our harp and sing, + We cannot touch that thrilling string, + Which vibrates in the heart. + + Engaging, graceful and refined, + Frank, open, generous and kind, + Was our departed friend; + His mental powers were deep and clear,-- + His ardent friendship, most sincere, + With life alone could end. + + His heart could feel for others' woe-- + How oft his footsteps, soft and low, + Fell on the suff'rer's ear! + Each word he spake, their grief to quell, + Seemed waters gushing from a well, + Whose fount was deep and clear. + + In early years he mourned for sin, + And prayed for garments white and clean, + Washed in the Savior's blood. + He journeyed on for many years, + Amidst temptations, doubts, and fears, + But found a pard'ning God. + + His lustrous eyes are dim in death, + His voice passed like the zephyr's breath, + That heart has lost its lone; + But while we weep around his dust, + That soul its prison doors hath burst, + And worships 'round the throne. + + But shall we murmur and complain? + Shall our warm tears descend like rain + Around his early grave? + While kindred dear must weep and mourn, + More sacred tears bedew his urn + Than ever friendship gave. + + That brother, who with him has played + Beside the brook, or in the shade + Where feathered warblers sang, + And sported by the river side, + Or o'er the ice taught him to glide, + While merry laughter rang-- + + His love increased with growing years, + One were their hopes, their joys, their fears, + Their Savior, too, was one. + That brother's grief must be severe, + Yet from his lips we hope to hear, + "My Father's will be done." + + Like ivy, round some youthful pine, + Did Julia's warm affections twine + Round his fraternal heart; + Through adverse scenes they struggled long, + Which rendered nature's ties more strong, + But they, alas! must part. + + Should fell disease assail her now, + Place his pale signet on her brow, + And chill her heart with fear; + No more he'd stand beside her bed,-- + Bathe her parched lips, and aching head, + And strive her mind to cheer. + + She'll range the paths where they have strayed, + And wander through the silent shade, + And ask, "is brother here?" + She'll view the grave, and that will say + There's naught within but mould'ring clay, + No more will he appear. + + That sister, who hath sought a friend + To share her grief till time shall end, + Must still in tears be drowned; + Although a partner soothes her grief, + And kindly strives to give relief, + And children cluster round;-- + + She sees their glossy ringlets flow, + In clusters o'er each little brow; + They speak of days gone by, + When she with brother often strayed, + O'er hill and dale and flow'ry glade, + Where golden sunbeams lie. + + A fair young friend, whose aching heart + Now feels affliction's keenest dart, + Must long in sadness weep; + Her brightest hopes are fled away, + Alas! her sweetest joys decay, + They in the grave must sleep. + + Her heart still bleeds at every pore, + That much loved form she'll see no more, + Till Gabriel's trump shall sound; + We trust they'll then in raptures rise, + To that blight world above the skies, + Where tears no more are found. + + His aged parents feel the blow; + Long since they gazed upon his brow, + And blessed their infant boy; + Trembling with age, we hear them say, + "This dear support is torn away, + What now can yield us joy? + + "Long years we watched our lovely plant, + With care supplied its every want, + And hoped it long might bloom; + But fierce disease has laid it low, + Reckless of tears that 'round it flow. + And laid it in the tomb. + + "Long, long we nursed his fading form, + And strove to shun the gath'ring storm, + Which threaten'd in the sky; + Yet from our bleeding bosoms torn, + Our darling son leaves us to mourn; + Who can his place supply?" + + But could their vision now extend + To those bright realms where dwells their friend, + Their tears would cease to flow; + They'd long to leave this dusky sphere, + And from their lips we soon should hear, + "Dear Savior, let me go." + + No more they'd wish the seraph here, + To wander in this vale so drear, + And lay his glory by; + To suffer years of grief and pain, + And cross cold Jordan's stream again, + To reach the joys on high. + + + + +THE SISTER'S LAMENT + +LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF E. TORRY, OF PORTLAND + + Oh, Edward, dear Edward! how precious that sound, + I seek for an equal--it cannot be found; + In tones soft and pensive it visits my ear,-- + I fain would believe thou art hovering near. + + Since thy happy spirit to heaven has fled, + Art thou with me by day, by night round my bed? + I visit thy grave and bedew it with tears, + To share in my sorrow, no Edward appears. + + On earth 't was thy pleasure to soothe all my grief, + To wipe off my tears and to bring me relief; + Thy heart's warm affections were lavished on me, + I've spent happy moments conversing with thee. + + My counselor, playmate, my guide, and my friend, + On whom I might always in safety depend, + In paths of fair virtue my feet thou hast led, + Where vice, that foul monster, dares not show his head. + + Nor was all thy kindness bestowed upon one; + Thou wast an affectionate, dutiful son; + Thy dear honored parents drank deep of thy love, + None ever shared more but thy Father above. + + Thy father now sinks 'neath a burden of woe, + His once brilliant eyes now with tears overflow; + Thy mother sits weeping, thy fond brothers sigh, + The dear little children cease playing and cry. + + Fair nature is wearing a mantle of gloom, + Deep sorrow sits brooding all round our sweet home; + The soft venial zephyrs come sighing along, + The streamlets are murm'ring a sad, mournful song. + + The gray twilight shades come attended with gloom, + While like a dark pall they encircle thy tomb; + When soft showers descend, something whispers to me, + That tears from the clouds are descending for thee. + + No star spangled heavens nor cool shady bowers, + No deep ancient forest or fair fragrant flowers + Can fill up the void that I feel in my breast, + Although thou art tuning thy harp with the blest. + + In dreams I behold thee when I am asleep, + It cheers up my spirits and I cease to weep; + Enshrined in my heart thy fair image shall dwell, + I'll keep it there always, I love it so well. + + + + +LINES UPON A LOCK OF HAIR. + + I'll weave a bracelet of this hair,-- + Although these locks so hallowed are, + It seems like sacrilege to wear + Such relics of the dead. + + I've seen them clust'ring 'round a brow + Which drooped beneath affliction's blow, + And slumbers in the church-yard now, + With all its beauty flown. + + The hand that dressed these locks with care, + And 'ranged them 'round that brow so fair, + And oft clasped mine with friendly air, + Is turning back to dust. + + And closed those eyes, whose radiant beams + Surpass'd imagination's dreams, + Yet whisp'ring still, were but faint gleams + Emerging from the soul. + + Farewell, dear friend, these locks I'll keep, + Till in the grave with thee I sleep; + There, like thee, may I cease to weep, + And, with thee, wake to sing. + + + + +LINES + +SUGGESTED BY READING AN ACCOUNT OF THE LAST HOURS OF MRS. +SARAH JUDSON, SECOND WIFE OF THE LATE LAMENTED DR. JUDSON, +OF BURMAN. + +"I am in a strait betwixt two, let the will of the Lord be +done."--_Judson's Offering_, 231_st page_. These were the words of Mrs. +Judson a few days previous to her death, when questioned as to her +desires respecting the issue of the affliction under which she was +suffering. + + Life's trials and dangers will all soon be o'er, + I feel myself nearing the heavenly shore, + I'm weary of wand'ring, oh! fain would I rest + With Jesus, my Savior, and sleep on his breast. + + I'm weary and thirsty, my spirit has flown + Almost to that river which bursts from the throne;-- + I'd range its fair borders, and plunge in its flood, + And join with the angels in praising my God. + + I'd rest in the shade of that tree, growing near, + Which yields its rich fruit every month in the year; + Its leaves are so healing, no sickness comes there, + To mar the new song as it floats through the air. + + I think of the rest in those regions above,-- + My soul spreads her pinions and soars like a dove,-- + Yet I'm drawn back to earth by one tender tie, + Which oft clogs my wings;--then, oh! how can I fly! + + I think of New England, my fair native land, + The friends of my childhood, that dear faithful band, + Who're waiting to greet me with hearts full of love, + Not knowing my bark will cast anchor above. + + To see me, my kindred impatiently wait,-- + I think of those dear ones,--my soul's in a strait,-- + My father, my mother, my dear orphan son,-- + Oh Lord, decide for me, let thy will be done' + + + + + +JUDSON'S GRAVE. + + Dear shepherd of the Burman sheep, + Where have they laid thee down to sleep? + Beside thy long lamented Ann, + Or 'midst thy charge at Aracan? + Or does that palm tree o'er thee wave, + Which shadows thy dear Sarah's grave? + I pause, and drop the silent tear,-- + In mournful tones, a voice I hear, + Exclaiming, "Earth affords no space + For Judson's last calm resting place." + Ye spicy groves, perfume each breeze + That steals along the Indian seas,-- + For we have felt a pang of woe, + Since, plunged in awful depths below, + Our much lamented Judson's clay, + Must 'neath its rolling billows lay, + Where monsters of the ocean creep, + 'Round him o'er whom the nations weep. + No stone directs the stranger's eye + To where his sacred relics lie, + Nor can the weeping Burmans come + To shed their tears around his tomb. + And when their work on earth is done, + No mourning daughter, wife, or son + Can rest from toil the weary head, + Beside him in his ocean bed. + But while we shrink from such a grave, + He rests as sweetly 'neath the wave + As though in Auburn's bowers he lay, + Where sunbeams through green branches play, + And roses, wet with tear drops, bloom + Around th' unconscious sleeper's tomb. + Let no rude wind, no angry storm, + The ocean's heaving breast deform,-- + 'Tis hallowed as dear Judson's bed, + Until the sea gives up its dead. + Though mortals weep with fond regret, + The Lord that spot will ne'er forget; + He will a faithful record keep,-- + He knows where all his children sleep. + Though monsters should that form devour, + 'Twill rise in beauty, strength and power; + That voice, which rends the tombs and graves, + Will sound through all the ocean caves; + Then 'roused by heaven's eternal King, + He'll tune his golden harp and sing; + While, quick as thought, to join the song, + Will Burman converts round him throng, + And on that bright auspicious morn, + Like jewels his rich crown adorn. + + + + +LINES + + +SUGGESTED BY A REMARK MADE BY THE REV. WINTHROP +MORSE, WHILE ADDRESSING A CONGREGATION ASSEMBLED +ON THE BANKS OF THE SANDY RIVER, UPON A BAPTISMAL OCCASION. + +The writer of the following, though but a child, was present, and, for +the first time, witnessed the administration of that solemn ordinance. + + "We're trav'ling to eternity," + God's faithful servant cried, + As he addressed the multitude + That thronged the water's side. + + "We're trav'ling to eternity," + He said with tearful eye,-- + Then come, dear friends, and choose the path + That leads to joys on high. + + "We're trav'ling to eternity," + The convert seemed to say,-- + I'll trace the path my Savior marked, + Though through these waves it lay. + + "We're trav'ling to eternity," + Was echoed from the stream, + Like me your days will swiftly glide, + Or like a fleeting dream. + + "We're trav'ling to eternity," + The Holy Spirit said,-- + And sweetly whispered to the soul, + "I'll be thy heavenly guide." + + "We're trav'ling to eternity," + That sentence reached my heart, + I trembled lest I there should hear + That awful word, "depart." + + Yes, trav'ling to eternity, + While overwhelmed with guilt,-- + Afraid that Jesus' pard'ning love, + By me would ne'er be felt. + + "We're trav'ling to eternity,"-- + It rings upon my ear; + The hills which echoed back that sound, + Still to my heart are dear. + + "We're traveling to eternity," + Said that dear faithful friend, + Whose image in my mem'ry lives, + And will, till life shall end. + + "We're traveling to eternity," + Soon, soon we there shall meet, + And is my deathless soul prepared, + That friend in heaven to greet? + + + + + +THE INQUIRY. + + Am I a Christian far astray, + And slumb'ring on enchanted ground; + Or did my feet ne'er find the way, + Which Bunyan's humble pilgrim found? + + Whence was that strange delight I felt? + Why did the gospel charm my ear? + What caused this stubborn heart to melt? + Why was the Savior's name so dear? + + Why was the fountain of his blood, + So precious in my mental eye? + Why did such deep sensations crowd + Around the scene on Calvary? + + Why did the Godhead shine so bright? + Why did I love the garb he wore, + Alike, when justice claimed his right, + And when sweet mercy's name he bore? + + Did airy phantoms fill my brain?-- + Did vain delusions cheat my soul?-- + Must those bright hopes prove false and vain? + And must I miss the heavenly goal? + + * * * * * + +"There is joy in Heaven, in the presence of the angels, over one sinner +that repenteth."--_Scripture_. + + What's this that breaks upon my ear? + Music sweet; + From golden harps, methinks I hear + Glorious strains! + "There's joy in Heaven," the angels sing, + "A soul repents and owns our King;" + From Heaven to earth the echoes ring, + Pard'ning love! + + + + +JEPHTHAH'S VOW. + + The warrior left the battle field,-- + Jehovah there had been his shield,-- + He heard his solemn vow. + The foe had in confusion fled, + While thousands on the field lay dead, + All, all were vanquish'd now. + + Though that brave heart was cased in steel. + Which flashed forth wrath that all might feel, + Who Israel's right oppressed; + Yet, in its sacred chambers rose + As pure a flame as ever glows + Within a parent's breast. + + He turned him to that sacred spot, + Where one loved being shared his lot,-- + (It was an only child;) + Though long she'd wept and quaked with fear, + When "victory," fell upon her ear, + She wiped her eyes and smiled. + + Like as the lark outspreads her wings, + And, while she's soaring, sweetly sings + To charm the listener's ears, + The maiden, springing from her seat, + Flew forth, her coming friend to greet. + Her father now appears. + + As her light footsteps pressed the ground, + Melodious music floated round, + Forth gushing from her heart. + "Alas! my child," the father sighed, + "What sent thee here, my love?" he cried, + "To tell that we must part?" + + "Thy father made a solemn vow,-- + He sees, he feels his error now, + Yes, made a vow to God; + And he will claim my darling now, + He bids me pay that awful vow, + And pay it with thy blood." + + "But how can I thy life destroy? + Thou art my solace, hope, and joy, + My cherished only child." + The lustre beaming from her eye, + Seemed caught from radiant orbs on high, + So brilliant, yet so mild. + + "Pay to the Lord thy vow," she said, + "God's altar is a pleasant bed, + From thence to heaven I'll rise. + The Lord has answered thy request, + Israel is free, our land at rest, + I'll be thy sacrifice." + + * * * * * + +"Like a lost sheep I have gone astray."--_Psalms_. + + Like sheep that wander far astray, + Nor ask the shepherd's care, + Did I forsake the narrow way, + Nor seek my God in prayer. + + I wandered in a desert wild. + Where snares beset me 'round; + Trifles and toys my feet beguiled, + And all my senses drowned. + + Though clouds encompassed me around, + In darkness on I sped, + Still wand'ring on enchanted ground, + Till hope seemed almost fled. + + I murmured, at the righteous hand + That held the chast'ning rod, + Like one that could not understand + The precepts of his God. + + Well might the Father's smile depart, + The Savior hide his face, + And God, the spirit, shun my heart, + That foul polluted place. + + We never find the heavenly dove + Perched on an idol throne; + Those, who would share Jehovah's love, + Must worship him alone. + + * * * * * + +"And the vail of the temple was rent in twain."--_Scripture_. + + Come, with your guilt and sin oppressed, + In Christ there's pardon, peace and rest; + Come, humbly bow before his feet, + No vail conceals the mercy seat. + + Come, boldly to a throne of grace, + The vilest here may find a place,-- + For that dark vail was rent in twain, + When Christ, the heavenly lamb, was slain. + + Come, rear no altar, slay no beast, + Our Savior now is great high priest, + He rent the vail, to make it plain, + That free access should hence remain. + + + + + +LINES + +TO A LONG ABSENT RELATIVE. + + Is Thy native land forgotten? + Wilt thou still a wand'rer be? + Have New England's hills and valleys + Lost their every charm for thee? + + Is thy native land forgotten? + Tell me, dost thou feel content, + Far from that loved rural dwelling + Where thine infant days were spent? + + Is thy native land forgotten, + Where glad parents, filled with joy, + Prayed for heaven's richest blessings + To attend their infant boy? + + Is thy native land forgotten, + Laud where thou first drew thy breath, + Where those sainted parents watched thee, + Where they closed their eyes in death? + + Is thy native land forgotten? + Or dost thou revere the sod + Where thy heart for sin was broken, + Where thy soul found peace with God? + + Is that sacred stream forgotten, + Where, immersed beneath the flood, + Saying, "I with Christ am buried, + And henceforth will live to God?" + + Is that hallowed spot forgotten? + Or does fancy paint it now, + With bright angels hov'ring o'er it + Waiting to record that vow? + + 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? + + Or, wouldst thou our hearts be cheering, + Through this pensive lonely eve, + While the chilly winds are bearing + On their wings the faded leaf? + + Would thou wast the Father's token, + That the sweet celestial dove, + When the golden bowl is broken, + Will support us by his love,-- + + Will, in that dread painful conflict, + Flit around our dying bed, + And, to fill the soul with comfort, + Whisper, "blessed are the dead." + + + + +TO THE "WILD FLOWER."[5] + + I've ranged the bright streamlet in childhood's blest hour, + And culled from its borders spring's loveliest flowers, + Then bound up my bouquet, all glitt'ring with dew, + And smiled on my treasure as homeward I flew. + + I've seen the sweet violet deck the green sod, + All fresh from the hand of a bountiful God, + While soft whisp'ring zephyrs breathed this in my ear, + "The wisdom of God in these blossoms appear." + + I've looked on the mayflower, spring's earliest child,-- + It peeped from the snowdrift and modestly smiled; + I've plucked the fair lily, arrayed in fair white, + And drank in its fragrance with heartfelt delight. + + Yet blossoms that smile in the green woodland bower, + Ne'er rival this sweet intellectual flower; + This blossom sprang up from the depths of the mind,-- + The heart's thrilling fibres its tendrils entwine, + + Affection's pure fountain has watered the germ, + The bright sun of intellect cherished its form, + It's petals were colored in fancy's rich dye, + Till they, with the hues of the rainbow may vie; + I'll pluck thee, sweet blossom, pure fragrance I find, + When the rich perfumes are inhaled by the mind. + + FOOTNOTES: + + [Footnote 5: A volume of poems.] + + + + +THE MINISTER + +AT THE FAMILY ALTAR. COMPOSED FOR THE REV. W. FOSS, +OF LEEDS. + + The father, still in manhood's prime, + Was bowed in humble prayer; + His partner, fair as when a bride, + Was kneeling by him there. + + Reclining on a sister's arm, + The babe found sweet repose; + While from the heart, in accents warm, + The father's prayer arose. + + And, fair as rosebuds bathed in dew; + By morning zephyrs fanned, + A blooming group of loved ones, too, + Was ranged on either hand. + + As many children God had given, + As good old Jacob had; + That he might meet them all in heaven, + How fervently he prayed. + + What deep emotions filled my breast, + That scene my spirit stirred; + Will not that family be blessed, + That prayer in heaven be heard? + + Though oft his duty calls abroad, + Salvation's news to bear, + The father leaves his charge with God, + Confiding in his care. + + + + +AN APPEAL FOR IRELAND. + +"Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shall find it after many +days."--_Ecel_. xi; 1. + + Hark! hear the cry of Erin's sons, + By plague and famine frantic; + The wail of wives and little ones + Comes o'er the broad Atlantic. + + O, heed the bitter piercing cry, + That's pealing o'er the ocean; + To us, to us, for aid they fly, + As Israel fled to Goshen. + + List! hear that sad and mournful sound, + It is the parent sighing; + Beside him, on the damp cold ground. + His darling ones are lying. + + A nation sinking to the grave; + How thick death's shafts are flying! + The loved, the lovely, and the brave, + From want are daily dying. + + They're calling to Columbia's sons, + And to her happy daughters; + Take of your bread, ye favor'd ones, + And cast it on the waters. + + + + THE LITTLE CLOUD. + + All day the rain has patter'd down, + In dense dark folds, clouds hang around, + The humid air is dead and still, + Thick vapors veil the distant hill. + + But now, a little crimson cloud + Beams from an opening in the shroud, + Which, like a dusky pall, o'erspreads + The azure vault above our heads. + + Our fancy, while we gaze, takes wings + And flits around earth's brighter things, + Then whispers in our list'ning ears, + "This earth is not all sighs and tears." + + This cloud is like the robin's song, + Whose notes were hushed all winter long, + But comes to usher in the hours, + Whose genial warmth revives the flowers. + + Or like the south wind's gentle voice, + Bidding all nature's works rejoice, + Teaching the little birds, to sing + A serenade to blooming spring. + + Like budding flowers where thorns once grew, + And beauty bursting into view + Where all was dark, and drear, and wild, + Nor pleasures in prospective smiled. + + 'Tis like the smile that beams through tears, + When hope usurps the place of fears; + Like health, new sparkling in the eye + Of him, whom friends gave up to die. + + Faint emblem of the glory shed + Around the dying christian's bed, + That prelude to the dazzling light + Which bursts on his enraptured sight, + When the freed spirit soars above, + And faith is swallowed up in love. + + + + +LEWISTON, + +AS IT WAS, AND AS IT IS. + + It was a wild, sequestered spot, + With here and there a humble cot; + Yet, nature's richest robes were thrown + Around those hills and valleys lone. + 'Twas quiet, fair, and lovely, then, + Though beasts of prey and savage men + Roamed o'er those hills of graceful form, + Whose trees for ages braved the storm, + Yet, humbly stooping to behold + The broad majestic stream, that rolled + Through smiling mead and woody plain, + Fast speeding onward to the main, + Or, dashing from its rocky height, + Proclaims the great Creator's might, + Its deep toned music, strangely meet + To mingle with the anthem sweet, + That floated on each whisp'ring breeze, + Which came, soft stealing through the trees + That grew upon the winding shore, + In giant ranks, in days of yore. + When genial spring her magic spell, + Cast 'round each lovely woodland dell, + And woke to life the warbling throng, + While streamlets gaily danced along; + If such a spot on earth be found, + Those hills and vallies all around + Smiled, like the paradise of God, + When first by sinless beings trod. + Thus, rude, romantic, grand, sublime, + Was Lewiston, in olden time. + But Art and Genius, passing by, + Saw this fair spot neglected lie, + Then said, in deep emotion's tone, + "Shall these bright waves go dancing on, + Just like a thoughtless child at play, + Who throws his strength and skill away?" + Anon, they raised the useful mills, + The sparkling waters moved the wheels, + And industry, with cheerful air, + Was pleased to take her station there. + The proud old forest bowed, his head, + With sullen frowns the savage fled, + The timid beaver left the shore, + The deer and moose were seen no more. + Rich cultivated fields appeared. + Neat tasteful dwellings soon were reared, + In graceful ranks we see them stand, + With spacious streets on either hand. + Where once the Indian's wigwam stood, + The factory, with its busy crowd, + Dispenses blessings far and near, + While rich and poor its products share. + Here merchandise, with eagle eyes, + His own and others' wants supplies; + And science, like a swelling tide, + Diffuses knowledge far and wide. + The sweetly pealing sabbath bells, + Now echo round those hills and dells, + And call the villagers to meet + Where they enjoy communion sweet, + With Him who answers ev'ry prayer + That humble faith can utter there. + There's music in those sabbath bells, + This pleasing truth methinks they tell, + That God is held in rev'rence there, + And worshiped in His house of prayer. + In the fair background now are seen + Sweet hills and dales, all robed in green, + With here and there a pleasant grove + Where every class delights to rove; + There, age sits down beneath the shade, + Where he has oft in childhood strayed; + There, youths and maidens often walk, + To spend an hour in friendly talk; + There, little children, too, are seen, + Like lambs they gambol o'er the green; + They wander there in summer hours + In quest of birds' nests, fruit, and flowers. + The scholar loves this solitude, + Where tumult never dares intrude; + And here the stranger likes to roam, + And think of loved ones left at home. + The saint, at twilight's pensive hour, + Here seeks the sweet secluded bower; + While whisp'ring zephyrs linger near, + And waft to heaven the humble prayer. + And all who study nature's book, + On this fair page delight to look; + They'll range those hills and vallies o'er, + And trace the river's winding shore. + Nor can they e'er forget to look + Upon the little murm'ring brook, + Which, like a silver belt, winds round + The hill, with oak and elm trees crowned. + But that majestic waterfall, + In grandeur still surpasses all. + + Should Art and Genius there assemble, + With solemn awe they'd stand and tremble; + Than all their works, they'd own this greater, + And bow before the great Creator. + + + + +TWILIGHT MUSINGS. + +BY AMELIA. + + I wandered out one summer night, + 'Twas when my years were few, + The wind was singing in the light, + And I was singing too. + + One fleecy cloud upon the air, + Was all that met my eyes, + It floated like an angel there, + Between me and the skies. + + I clapped my hands and warbled wild, + As here and there I flew, + For I was but a careless child, + And did as children do. + + I heard the laughing wind behind, + 'Twas playing with my hair; + The breezy fingers of the wind, + How cool and moist they were. + + The twilight hours came stealing by, + And still I wandered free; + Ten thousand stars were in the sky, + Ten thousand on the sea. + + For ev'ry wave with dimpled face, + That leaped upon the air, + Had caught a star in its embrace, + And held it trembling there. + + But wherefore weave such strains as these, + And sing them day by day, + When every bird upon the breeze + Can sing a sweeter lay. + + I'd give the world for their sweet art. + The simple, the divine; + I'd give the world to melt one heart, + As they have melted mine. + + + + + +TO AMELIA. + + And wouldst thou, sweet minstrel, if earth should unfold + To thee all her treasures of silver and gold, + Resign all thy riches, thy wealth, fame and power, + To sing like the birds in the green woodland bower? + + Like thee, dear Amelia, I love the wild bird, + Their soft melting strains, at grey twilight, I've heard; + The whippowils, then, on the cool zephyr's wing, + Their clear pensive notes in rich harmony fling. + + I listen each morning with heartfelt delight, + While birds bid adieu to the shadows of night. + And greet in sweet anthems the bright king of day, + As they through the forest are soaring away. + + Yet thy flowing numbers, when breathing around, + Awaken such echoes as these never found; + A chord in my bosom, thy sonnet has stirred, + Which never was touched by the notes of a bird. + + But meekness in woman to me is so dear, + I love thee the more when such language I hear; + True greatness and modesty, when they combine, + Like stars of the firmament sparkle and shine. + + The birds of the forest thy spirits can cheer, + Their songs fill with music thy sensitive ear, + But has that fair dove in thy heart found a nest, + Whose singing can make thee eternally blest? + + + + +MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. + +THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY VIEWING A ROW OF FINE TREES NEAR +MY DWELLING. + + These youthful pines, a verdant row, + Cast their dark shadows on the snow; + Just like a picture, or a dream, + Or tale of fairy lands, they seem. + I hear a soft melodious lay, + The winds are with their tops at play; + While moonbeams through their branches stealing, + Wake up a wild romantic feeling. + + The forest birds in spring will come, + 'Neath these green boughs to make their home, + To cheer us with their sweet wild song, + To build their nests and rear their young. + Child of the wood, in infancy, + I learned to love the forest tree; + I'm still the same romantic creature, + Admiring all the works of nature. + + The rocks, the fields, the groves and flowers, + Are fraught with some mysterious powers, + That bind me with a pleasing spell, + Which naught can break while here I dwell. + The wild bird's note, the woodland dell, + Have charms beyond my power to tell; + While winds are through the forest roaring, + My spirit with the sound seems soaring. + + The rosy morn, the sunset sky, + The glitt'ring retinue on high, + The sun's broad blaze, the moon's mild beams, + Reflected from the lakes and streams, + The lightning's flash, the thunder's roar, + The ocean dashing on the shore, + And meteors streaming through the air, + Proclaim that God is everywhere. + + + + +THOUGHTS + +SUGGESTED BY VIEWING A PETUNIA. + + Fair plant, well pleased on thee I look, + Thou art a page in nature's book, + Which I delight to read; + Though stoics set thee quite at naught, + And say that none but children ought + On such vain trifles spend a thought, + Their words I little heed. + + A child I'd ever wish to be, + With an instructer just like thee, + And listen to her voice; + Fain wouldst thou our best passions move, + And lead our wandering thoughts above, + Where, at the fount of boundless love, + We ever might rejoice. + + Our tender care thou dost repay, + Though watched and guarded night and day, + Thus teaching thoughtless man; + When thou art nursed and watered well, + Thy bursting buds with fragrance swell, + And thus the grateful story tell, + That we do all we can. + + Thy blooming petals love the light. + The sun smiles on them, they grow bright, + Withdraws his beams, they faint; + Yet, when beneath his radiant gaze, + The modest blush that o'er them plays, + To every thinking mind, portrays + The contrite, humble saint. + + Sweet plant, I love thee, yes, I do, + And all thy blooming kindred too, + (More than the works of art,) + For in them, I can ever find + Such beauty, skill and power combined, + As captivate and soothe the mind, + And cheer the drooping heart. + + Fair gift, by royal donor given, + dipped in the radiant dyes of heaven, + And strown o'er every land, + Ye shed your fragrance o'er the tomb, + Steal from deep solitude its gloom, + And when the gardener gives you room, + You bless his fostering hand. + + Not Newton, though he soared so high, + And traced the planets through the sky, + With such amazing power, + Nor Franklin, whom we praise so loud, + Though lightnings in their misty shroud, + Obeyed his voice and left the cloud, + Could make the simplest flower. + + Nor could the chemist's skill suffice + To mingle such exquisite dyes, + As in the flowers appear; + And were all human powers combined, + And centred in one single mind, + Its best productions, we should find, + Stand halting in the rear. + + When, veiled in flesh, God dwelt below, + He deigned his watchful care to show, + For man's ungrateful race; + When sin their drowsy eyes had sealed, + He took the lily of the field, + And bade them think what that revealed, + And learn to trust his grace. + + The garden which Jehovah planned, + And planted with his own right hand, + Was decked with fragrant flowers; + And shall we boast that we now slight + What God designed to give delight, + Ere sin had cast its with'ring blight + O'er all our mental powers? + + + + + TO A WHITE HOLLYHOCK. + + Sweet plant, so fair, so pure thy blossoms look, + I almost fancy that some angel, from + His wing the feathers plucked, and of them, at + The twilight hour, thy snowy petals made. + But fancy leads astray. Not one of all + That shining throng, which worship 'round the throne, + Could e'er such work perform. None but the hand + Divine, these curious fabrics wrought. + + + + +LINES + +SUGGESTED BY VIEWING THE MINIATURE OF A PAIR OF LOVELY +TWIN BOYS, WHO WERE DEPRIVED OF THEIR MOTHER AT THE +AGE OF TWO MONTHS, AND WERE THE ONLY REMAINING CHILDREN +OF THEIR FATHER. + + I gaze upon this picture fair, + And find strange beauty mirrored there; + Its magic spell with power is fraught, + To ope the fount of hidden thought. + Sweet childhood's opening blossoms here, + In all their loveliness appear; + Pure innocence, with touching grace, + Smiles in each feature of the face, + Like rosy morning's cheerful rays, + O'er childhood's artless brow, it plays. + The lips, half open, almost speak, + While on the fresh, young, dimpled cheek, + The bloom is like those vernal flowers, + Whose fragrance fills our woodland bowers. + Those speaking eyes the power have caught, + To mirror forth the germs of thought; + Their silent language, deep and strong, + Can touch the hidden springs of song; + Their melting beams can reach the mind, + Where they our best affections find. + Why did these twin-born, smiling boys, + Come here to wake maternal joys, + In that fond, faithful mother's breast, + Where they could but a moment rest? + With love too deep for words to speak, + She pressed each tender infant cheek, + With quivering lips and falt'ring breath, + Before the opening gates of death, + While faintly burned the vital spark, + Within life's frail and shattered bark, + Just mooring in the port of bliss, + She paused to steal one last, fond kiss. + In death's embrace those lips were cold, + Ere half their thrilling tale was told; + The mother and her babes must part, + Before the tender infant heart, + By her soft winning tones, had learned + What love within her bosom burned + Before her counsels, blessed and wise, + Could train her offspring to the skies. + Sweet babes! so helpless, frail and fair, + Why here, without her watchful care? + Your sainted brother never wept + Beside the grave, where loved ones slept, + While clouds were gathering round his head, + He to the Savior's bosom fled. + Then why not plume your tiny wings, + And soar to where your mother sings? + Why tarry on this barren shore; + Till waves of trouble round you roar? + + Ah! now I know; you linger here, + Your father's lonely hours to cheer. + Death would not pluck the last fair flower, + That bloomed in his connubial bower; + He fondly loves his orphan boys, + They half restore his withered joys. + Sweet rosebuds, springing from the tomb, + Long round his hearthstone may you bloom, + With smiles of love your father greet, + And fill your mother's vacant seat. + + + + +THE CULTIVATION OF FLOWERS. + + +Where can we find a more healthy and delightful employment, than the +cultivation of flowers? Though of less importance than those plants +which are necessary for the support of animal life, yet, rightly +considered, they yield a pleasant and instructive entertainment for the +intellectual powers, and may justly be termed food for the mind. + +"Nonsense" some of our readers exclaim, "Nonsense, to talk of feeding +the immortal mind, with flowers! For one, I think people may find some +more useful employment than that of persuading their fellow beings to +spend the precious hours of this _short_ life upon these useless +playthings." + +But pause, my readers, and consider who gave this finishing touch to the +face of nature. Who strewed the fields with flowers? Were they not +brought into existence by the same All-wise Being who created the earth +upon which we dwell, with its millions of intelligent beings, its vast +oceans, its towering mountains, its flaming volcanoes and its majestic +rivers with their awe inspiring cataracts; who created the sun, that +great fountain of light and heat, and the centre of attraction for those +vast globes which revolve around it, and then counterpoised with such +precision the different forces which produce and continue their motion, +that they continue to perform their appointed revolutions, without the +least deviation from that orbit, in which they were placed at creation's +dawn; who "made the stars also," that innumerable multitude of fixed +stars, or suns with their attending planets which inhabit the boundless +regions of space; whose wonderful works are so numerous as to overwhelm +the feeble mind of man, and to compel him to conclude at the +commencement, by saying that they are infinite? And shall we be so +impious as to hush the voice of reason, and disregard the words of holy +writ enough to say, that even the little violet was made in vain? I +should sooner believe that Washington, the father of our country, while +the destiny of our nation was placed, as it were, in his hands, was in +the habit of deserting his army while on the battle field, engaged in +the most bloody conflict with a mortal foe, for the sole purpose of +amusing himself with soap bubbles and firebrand ribbons. + +"But," says one, "they were created for a scourge and a snare to fallen +man; for while we are compelled to spend much of our time in destroying +thorns and thistles from our premises, they are continually tempting the +weaker part of our race to spend their strength and time upon that, +which at best, can yield no profit." But against this assertion, the +scriptures afford us ample proof, for we are there informed, that they +were created before the fall, and pronounced very good, while thorns and +thistles were brought forth afterwards; for the Lord said, when +pronouncing the curse upon Adam, "Cursed be the ground for thy sake, +thorns and thistles shall it bring forth unto thee," thus implying that +they were not already in existence. And again, flowers are universally +spoken of in scripture as blessings, or used as emblems of things +valuable or pleasing, while thorns and thistles are always used to +represent things hurtful, or afflictive. And if any part of nature's +works retain their native purity and remain unchanged, save by the hand +of death, is it not flowers? It is true, they neither supply us with +food or clothing, and if they possess medical qualities, they might as +well be contained in the plant without the appendage of a flower. Nor +were they made for the fowls of the air, or the beasts of the field, for +they totally disregard them; we never see the ox, the horse, or the +sheep, stop to smell their fragrance or gaze upon their beauty. And many +of those who are termed the lords of creation, consider them beneath the +notice of intellectual beings, and yet they were made for some wise +purpose. We will therefore admit the truth of an assertion made by a +friend, who remarked that flowers were doubtless created for the sole +purpose of gratifying the weak and childish minds of the female sex. Be +it so, let us thankfully receive the gift, and think ourselves honored +by being thought worthy of the fairest and sweetest part of nature's +productions; for which she has reserved her most grateful perfumes, her +richest dyes, and the finest strokes of her pencil. Yes, we _will_ +cultivate flowers, for we do not profess to be more scrupulous about the +manner in which we spend our time than the Lord of the universe was, +for he planted flowers in _his_ garden. The scriptures inform us that he +planted every tree that was pleasant to the sight. And flowers certainly +were pleasant, even to the pure eyes of our Savior; for while speaking +of the lilies of the field, he says, "Even Solomon, in all his glory, +was not arrayed like one of these." And the wisest of men, when +searching the world over for comparisons worthy of his beloved, exclaims +in the fullness of a heart overflowing with love and gratitude, "He is +the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley." + +Sweet flowers, there is room enough for you in the female mind. We will +take you to our bosoms and cherish you with that affectionate regard, +which your lovely qualities deserve. We will admire your spotless purity +and innocence. You were thought worthy of a place in the blissful bowers +of Eden. And for aught we know, ye were the only part of nature's works +which were created solely for the purpose of charming the mind and +gratifying the senses of sinless beings. And may we make a profitable +use of these lovely relics of paradise! May they continually remind us +of the skill, wisdom and goodness of the great Architect of the +universe! + +Where can we find a more transparent medium through which we may "look +through nature up to nature's God," than a veil interwoven with flowers? +When fatigued in body, where can we find a more pleasant resting place +than beneath the cool shade of an arbor, in the flower garden? When our +spirits are depressed or our minds perplexed with distracting care, +thither let us repair: it will prove a more effectual remedy than on +hour spent in gossipping, or an evening in the ball room. It can but +exert a healthful influence over the mind, to inhale such exquisite +odors, and gaze upon such beautiful colors and delicate tints, combined +with gracefulness and elegance of form. The art of man has long been +striving to imitate them, but the simplest flower that blooms still +eclipses their best performances. And yet the gorgeous canopy that decks +the monarch's throne owes half its splendor to the imperfect miniature +of the inhabitants of the flower garden. + +And strange as it appears, how often do we see persons, who would blush +were they seen contemplating the simple beauties of a delicate flower, +pride themselves in embellishing their dwellings and equipage with its +coarsely wrought picture. But while they are pleasing themselves with +the shadow, we will feast ourselves on the substance. + +"I am weary of this lecture upon flowers," the stoical reader exclaims: +If so, my friend, you are at liberty to retire to any place of +entertainment which your better judgment may suggest; but I will lay +aside my pen to walk among the flowers; and see if some of those silent, +though eloquent preachers, will not furnish the mind with some new idea, +which may serve as a foundation for another discourse. + + + + + +MUSIC OF THE MIND. + +What is music of the mind? Is it the soft harmonious strains of the +little minstrel which often steals into some secret nook within the +heart, and there tunes her silent harp to notes of sweetest melody? +Though we never hear her melting lays, yet persons in every station, +from the king upon his throne to the beggar by the wayside, and the rude +untutored savage roaming through his native forest, often experience +that exquisite pleasure produced by her magic spell. + +We are continually surrounded by scenes calculated to produce this +music. The variegated scenery of different landscapes; the changing +seasons of the year; Spring with her balmy air, soft refreshing showers, +green fields, fragrant flowers, and merry cheerful birds; Summer, with +her sultry days, her cool inviting shades, her waving fields, and +delicious fruits; and Autumn, with his rich golden harvest, bright +pensive dreamy days, and clear moonlight evenings, have power to rouse +the minstrel from her slumbers; and even rude old Winter, clothed in +clouds and storms and drifting snows, can with his icy fingers sweep her +silent harp strings and wake their wildest melody. + +We retire beneath the sacred shade of some ancient forest, and look upon +nature as she stands forth arrayed in all the charms of her primeval +beauty; where art has never plucked her native bloom, and tinged her +cheek with carmine. We there gaze upon the tall old trees, which have +for centuries been towering higher and higher, till they seem ambitious +to wave their lofty tops among the very clouds of heaven. We quench our +thirst with the sparkling waters of the pure spring, which bubbles up +cool and clear from its crystal fountain, washing the roots of the +trees, and trickling over the ground in bright streams, like threads of +molten silver, till they unite in one of those beautiful streamlets +which lend such enchantment to the woodland bowers; here, murmuring +melodiously among smooth rocks and bright pebbles, while the dimpling +eddies upon its surface reflect the rays of laughing sunshine which +quiver through the leafy canopy above; there, dashing over a projecting +rock forming a little cascade, and then flowing smoothly along, bearing +upon its tranquil bosom the fair images of the flowers which spring up +along its banks, upon the sloping hill-side and in every shady nook and +dell, smiling in strange beauty among the stern features of the woodland +scene. Sweet flowers, so fair and fragile, that they flourish only when +sheltered from the rude blast and pelting storm by some friendly shade, +and so modest and retiring in their habits, that they shun the open +field, where they must encounter the scrutinizing gaze of the noonday +sun, and choose this sweet seclusion for their home. + +We stand upon the shores of the ocean, while the sun emerges from its +bed, lifting his broad shining disk above the blue waters, and tinging +the sparkling waves with every hue that decks the rainbow's form. We +gaze with rapture upon the scene, till, dazzled by its brilliancy, we +turn our eyes upon the white sails, gliding over the bosom of the deep, +like some noble bird winging its way through the air, or watch the +swelling waves, as they roll in grand procession towards us, and break +in thunder on the shore. We sit in a calm summer evening and watch the +shadows as they lengthen o'er the ground, till they lose themselves in +the deep rich green of the vales from winch the sun has disappeared, to +gild the tops of the forest trees and far off hills with more than +noonday splendor. The balmy zephyrs hold their breath, nor dare to +whisper in the softest tone, while the little forest birds, in sweetly +pensive strains, are chanting forth their evening hymn of praise and +homage to the sun, who, now all bright with parting smiles, sinks down +behind the western hills, tinging the clouds at first with light faint +orange streaks, which soon turn to crimson, and touched again by +sunset's magic wand, they glow in purple of the richest dyes, then +slowly fade to grey, while twilight draws around us her dewy curtains +and shuts the scene from our admiring gaze. + +We walk abroad in the calm stillness of a moonlight evening, when night, +cheered by the presence of her fair queen, withholds her dusky pall and +contents herself by drawing a thin silvery veil over the fair-face of +nature, which only serves to cast a shade of pensive beauty upon her +lovely features. The rocks, the fields, the lakes and streams, the +distant hills and mountains, whose lofty peaks are crowned with the +white fleecy clouds which skirt the horizon, appear far more lovely when +viewed by the pure dreamy light now stealing around us, than when +displayed to our sight by the clear light of day. The trees and shrubs +lie pictured on the dewy earth, their fair images reposing in motionless +beauty, save when the cool breath of evening plays among the verdant +branches, disturbing their shadowy outlines. No sound breaks upon the +stillness of the scene, except the gentle murmur of the winding stream +or the roar of some far off waterfall, softened and subdued by distance, +till it mingles in harmony with the clear shrill notes of the +whippowils, who never close their waking eyes, but serenade the moon +till morning light, while every object upon which we turn our eyes +reminds us of the fancy sketch of some fairy land. + +We gaze upon the grand array, when Aurora Borealis plays her antic +freaks, fights her mimic battles, waves her flaming banner along the +northern skies. We look out upon the blue expanse above, when the bright +and beautiful stars, with their sparkling eyes, are looking from their +distant homes upon our little earth like angels commissioned to watch +over its slumbering inhabitants, till the clear light of day arouses +them to life and consciousness. In view of objects and scenes like +these, a pleasing sensation steals over the mind, till no language can +express the emotions which struggle for vent within our bosoms and the +full heart flutters like an imprisoned bird against the walls of its +cage. + +This is what we call music of the mind. Yet when no love to the Creator +mingles with our contemplations, it is music of an inferior order. But +when an individual is brought to realize and "believe with all his +heart" that the author of all the scenes of beauty, grandeur and +sublimity, which nature presents to the eye, has condescended to drop +the sceptre from his hand, lay by his dazzling crown and leave his +throne of glory, while he descended to our earth, and gave his life to +ransom guilty rebels against his righteous government, pouring out his +blood on Calvary till the fountain is sufficient to cleanse the foulest +stains of sin, even from the most polluted soul; then it is that his +mind is filled with music, and that too, which is as much superior to +any ever experienced by an unregenerate soul, as the full blaze of the +noonday sun is to the faint light which glimmers from the burning taper. +For every fibre of the heart, now touched by the finger of God, wakes in +harmony, and vibrates with the richest music of which earth or heaven +can boast. It is the very same which animates the spirits of just men +made perfect, and none but blood washed sinners can ever learn the song. + + No music, borne from Eden's bowers, + On heaven's own balmy wings, + No song, that angels ever sang. + Could roach these lofty strings; + + For Gabriel with his golden harp, + Tuned by the heavenly dove, + Could never touch the thrilling notes + Of God's redeeming love. + + + + +APPENDIX. + + * * * * * + +The Pastoral was published in one of the papers of the day. As it gave +rise to a little mirth, we insert it with the poems annexed. + + * * * * * + + + + +PRAISES OF RURAL LIFE. + + Though city ladies treat with scorn + The humble farmer's wife, + And call his daughters rude and coarse, + I'll live a country life. + + I'd rather spin, and weave, and knit, + And wholesome meals prepare, + Than, dressed in silk, with servants throng'd, + Lounge in my cushioned chair. + + I love to see my chickens grow, + My turkies, ducks, and geese; + I love to tend my flowering plants, + And make the new milk cheese. + + I love to wash, I love to sew, + All needful work I like to do; + I like to keep my kitchen neat, + And humble parlor, too. + + And when the grateful task is done, + And pleasure claims a share, + With some dear friend I'll walk abroad + And take the balmy air. + + Not through the dusty, crowded streets, + Amid the bustling throng, + But in some pleasant cool retreat, + We'll hear the woodland song. + + Or trace the winding silver stream, + And linger on its banks, + While all the birds in concert sweet, + Present their evening thanks. + + We'll seek the ancient forest shade, + And see its branches wave, + Which have, perchance, a requiem sang + Above the red man's grave. + + We'll breathe the pure untainted air, + Fresh from the verdant hills; + And pluck wild blossoms from their beds + Beside the laughing rills. + + I love the country in the spring, + With all its waving trees; + When songs of joy from every grove + Are wafted on the breeze. + + The smiling pastures robed in green, + How beautiful, and gay; + With bleating flocks, and lowing herds, + And little lambs at play. + + I love midst rural scenes to dwell, + In summer's pleasant hours; + And pluck her sweet delicious fruits, + And smell her fragrant flowers. + + I love to see the growing corn, + And fields of waving grain; + I love the sunshine, and the shade. + And gentle showers of rain. + + I love to see the glitt'ring dew, + Like pendant diamonds, hung + On ev'ry plant, and flower, and tree, + Their glossy leaves among. + + I love the joyful harvest months; + When smiling on the plain, + We see rich golden ears of corn, + And bending sheaves of grain. + + I love to see the cellar filled + With sauce of various kinds, + Potatoes, beets and onions too, + And squashes from the vines. + + I love to see the well filled barn, + And smell the fragrant hay; + I'll milk while brother feeds the lambs, + And see them skip and play. + + I love to rise before the sun, + And see his rosy beams + Shine glim'ring through the waving trees, + In quiv'ring fitful gleams. + + I love, when nothing intervenes. + The setting sun to spy, + Tinging the clouds with every hue, + Which charms the gazing eye. + + I love the country every where, + Here let me spend my life; + No higher shall my thoughts aspire-- + I'd be a farmer's wife.[6] + + FOOTNOTES: + + [Footnote 6: "Good, Sarah, that's right! If we can find one that + worthy of you, we will send him along."--_Editor_.] + + + + +ODE TO SARAH.[7] + + Rural maid, who, o'er glade, + Forest, plain, and mountain, roam + In joy and peace, and made + Happy by the brook's gay foam; + Who art content to live + In the farmer's domicil; + A listening ear give + To a stranger, who, with quill + In hand, sits down to write + An epistle, or letter, + To one, of whom it might + Be said, she's far his better. + + Fair maiden, thou hast said, + And I doubt not truly too, + A farmer thou would wed, + If he would sincerely woo + Thy heart's best affection, + And at the holy altar + Vow, that kind protection + He'd give thee, and never falter, + But sacred keep the vow + Thus solemn made, and never, + So long as life lasts, bow + Down, and let this bond sever. + + Lady fair, wouldst thou dare + A mechanic's wife to be, + And with him toil, and share + All the ills of life's rough sea? + Wouldst thou trust thy frail bark + In his hands, and if perchance + Ills should come, thick and dark, + Stand firmly, and thus enhance + His happiness, and not, + At disappointment's first dart, + Complain of thy sad lot, + And sink under a faint heart? + + What sayest thou, fair one? + Dost thou view the mechanic, + As some _fair_ ones have done, + With disgust, who grow frantic + At the sight of his dress, + Just because it does not fit + So smooth as they confess + That they should like to see it? + Dost thou, in honesty + Of heart, think him good and wise. + And in sincerity + Believe him not otherwise? + + Dear lady, wouldst not thou, + To flee "single blessedness," + Accept an offer now + From a mechanic, and bless + Him, throughout a long life, + With thy good fairy presence, + And ne'er the cry of strife + Raise, but yield obedience? + If _him_ thou wilt many, + Give him soon thy residence, + That he may not tarry, + But, with lightning speed, fly hence. + + FOOTNOTES: + + [Footnote 7: Authoress of "Praises of Rural Life."] + +JERE. + + + + +AN EPISTLE TO JERE, IN ANSWER TO HIS ODE. + + Worthy and much respected friend, + Accept the thanks I freely send; + Your generous offer, all will say, + Mere grateful thanks but ill repay. + An answer you request of me, + But prudence calls for some delay; + This weighty subject claims my care, + To answer now I must forbear. + Could you admire a homely face, + Devoid of beauty, charms, or grace? + Would you not blush, should friends deride + The rustic manners of your bride? + Say, would you build a cottage near + Some pleasant grove, where we might hear + The blithesome wild birds' pleasing song, + From morn till eve, all summer long? + And would you plant some tall elm trees, + Around your house, your bride to please; + And have a little garden, too, + Where fruit, and herbs, and flowers might grow? + And would you rear a mulberry grove, + That I might thus a helpmeet prove? + Although I suffer no distress + From fears of "single blessedness," + I'd not disdain your rustic dress, + If generous feelings fill your breast; + That would not bar you from my door, + For costly clothing makes us poor. + Although you do not till the soil, + You say you're not afraid to toil: + By prudence, industry, and care, + A man may prosper any where. + You ask, if I would you obey, + Nor have contentious words to say? + I should not scold without a cause, + Nor would I reverence rigorous laws. + But let our correspondence end, + 'Twill much oblige your humble friend; + As I've no gift for writing letters, + A friendly call would suit much better. + Appoint a day, and I'll prepare, + I'll sweep my hearth, and comb my hair; + I'll make the best of humble means, + Bake pies and puddings, pork and beans; + I'll dress in neat, but coarse attire, + And in my parlor build a fire. + Sir, I reside in Ruralville, + Southeast of Bluff, a craggy hill; + A broad majestic stream rolls by, + Whose crystal surface charms the eye. + If you still wish to win a bride, + Come where the farmers' girls reside; + Henceforth I write no more to you, + My much respected friend, adieu! + + * * * * * + +NOTE. If Jere isn't "done brown" now, we are no judge of _human nater_. +Cheer up, Jere, "a faint heart never won a fair lady." "Pull up your +dicky up," and try again; and if you get "sacked," remember and +practice the advice of the old Poet:-- + + "Chase your shadow, it will fly you; + Fly yourself, it will pursue; + Court a girl, if she deny you, + Drop your suit, and she'll court you."--_Editor_. + + + + +NEIGHBORS' ADVICE TO INVALIDS. + + Why sit you here, pining in languor and gloom? + Except you do something, you'll sink to the tomb; + Ah, where's the red roses that bloomed on your brow, + Where nothing but white ones are languishing now? + + Go, learn of the red men, they certainly know, + They find healing plants, and will tell where they grow; + God gave them this knowledge; their skill is the best; + Make use of such means, they will surely be blest. + + No poisonous minerals fill up his chest, + But herbs that will heal you when sick and distressed, + Designed by our Maker all pain to subdue, + Which tortures the frame where these antidotes grew. + + O, shun the rude savage who roams through the wood, + With knowledge too scanty to choose wholesome food; + Thomsonians will help you, they'll heal your disease; + Emetics and numbers will soon give you ease. + + The brave number one all disease can expel, + And make you exclaim, I am perfectly well; + All poisonous drugs in your system will die, + Each pain will take wings, and the calomel fly. + + These hot-crops will kill you with pepper and steam, + Pork, mince pies and pancakes, hot puddings and cream; + They'll double your fever, dyspepsia and pain; + I beg you take warning; by thousands they've slain. + + On boasting pretenders I'd now turn my back, + No longer I'd deal with that ignorant quack; + He cannot distinguish the heart from the brain, + King's evil or dropsy from pleurisy pain. + + Apply to the man who is bred in our schools, + His drugs are examined by chemical rules; + Whatever he uses is put to the test; + I like to take analyzed medicine best. + + His science trained eye your whole system will scan, + From him naught is hidden which preys upon man; + He'll find ev'ry pain, with its cause and effect, + Plain reason might teach you that he's most correct. + + Oh, shun this deceiver, his motives are gain, + He oftener augments, than alleviates, pain; + His boasted attainments are nothing but show, + Put him with the rest, they'll just make a row. + + He'll steal the warm crimson, that flows through your heart, + He'll haunt you with blisters and plasters that smart, + Torment you with setons, with leaches and cups, + His calomel poisons, the blood it corrupts. + + Emetics reduce you, and tonics distress, + While morphine distracts you and seldom gives rest. + Now leave him, Oh, leave him! your life he'll not save; + Except you obey me, you'll sink to the grave. + + Come, leave all the doctors; resort to the shops + Which peddle pills, balsams, elixirs and drops; + Each cures ev'ry malady whenever used, + Altho' by base slander they're greatly abus'd. + + I hate these vile patents; they often make worse; + Hear my good advice, let your mother be nurse; + Ten thousand rare medical plants grow around. + Their ne'er failing virtues old women have found. + + There's catfoot and mugwort, archangel and balm, + Possessing great virtues, and never do harm; + While spleenwort, and whiteweed, and hyssop, and sage, + Have cured the consumption in every stage. + + Take saffron and goldthread, white poplar and rue, + They've cured the dyspepsia wherever they grew; + Use clover and nightshade, and drink wintergreen, + They'll cure the worst cancer that ever was seen. + + But I have no faith in these simple herb teas + They never can lessen or cure a disease; + And do not take pills, nasty powders and drops, + Till you are filled up like the medical shops. + + Still, something is needful, of that I am sure, + But I've the most faith in the cold water cure; + 'Twill strengthen, invigorate, open the pores, + 'Tis curing sick people by dozens and scores. + + Don't wrap yourself up in that cold dripping sheet, + I always take cold, only wetting my feet; + Yet there is an agent which I would apply, + The red forked lightning which darts through the sky. + + Old Franklin has tamed it and brought it to earth, + And men are now learning how much it is worth; + 'Twill dart through the stomach, the heart, and the brain, + Each pore it will open and drive out the pain. + + Come, quit all this fussing, take rich hearty food, + And soon, I assure you, your health will be good; + Leave your warm stifling beds, your soft cushioned chair, + Run ten miles a day in the cool healthful air. + + If I went thus, moping and lounging about, + 'Twould bring on dyspepsia, consumption, or gout; + Now here is good counsel, why will you be shy, + You'd much better take it than lie down and die. + + + + CONTENTS. + + The Snow-drop + My Birth-place + The Oak and the Rill + Hymn for a Donation Gathering + The Marriage Vows + Lines on the death of Ellen N---- + An Epitaph + Lines on the death of R., P.B., C., S., and M.A. Wing + The Rose and Lilac Tree + Lines on the death of Mrs. West + Thoughts on the sudden death of J.W.N. + Reflections on the death of Mr. White + The Sister's Lament + Lines on a Lock of Hair + Lines on the last hours of Mrs. Judson + Judson's Grave + Lines on a Baptismal Occasion + The Inquiry + There is joy in heaven, &c. + Jephthah's Vow + Like a lost sheep, &c. + And the vail of the temple was rent in twain + Lines to an absent relative + Lines to the wife of the above + Come home to New England + A Sister's Departure + A Sister's Counsel + Lines to a Friend on parting + Farewell to a Brother + To W.H.D, an adopted Brother + Lines to a Friend in affliction + Lines to a Sister + To my Brother + My Brother in the Tempest + Lines to an absent Sister + A Scene on a Sister's Wedding day + To the Whippowil + My harp is on the willows hung, &c. + To a Sister, while dangerously ill + The Invalid's Dream + To a Butterfly in my Chamber + To the "Wild Flower" + The Minister at the Family Altar + An Appeal for Ireland + The Little Cloud + Lewiston, as it was, and as it is + Twilight Musings. By Amelia + To Amelia + Moonlight Musings + Thoughts on a Petunia + To a White Hollyhock + Lines on the Miniature of a pair of twin boys + The Cultivation of Flowers + Music of the Mind + + APPENDIX. + + Praises of Rural Life + Ode to Sarah + An Epistle to Jere + Neighbors' Advice to Invalids + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11439 *** |