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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2558.txt b/2558.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..185269c --- /dev/null +++ b/2558.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10552 @@ +***The Project Gutenberg Etext of Poems, by George P. Morris*** + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. 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Morris + + + + +Contents. + + + + +Memoir +The Deserted Bride +The Main-Truck; Or, A Leap For Life +Poetry +The Croton Ode +Fragment of an Indian Poem +Land-Ho! +Woodman, Spare that Tree +The Cottager's Welcome +Land of Washington +The Flag of Our Union +Lines After the Manner of Olden Time +The Dream of Love +I'm With You Once Again +Oh, Would That She Were Here +The Sword and the Staff +The Chieftain's Daughter +Thy Will Be Done +Life in the West +Song of Marion's Men +Janet Morea +Lisette +My Mother's Bible +The Dog-Star Rages +Legend of the Mohawk +The Ball-Room Belle +We Were Boys Together +Oh, Boatman, Haste +Funeral Hymn +O'er the Mountains +Woman +Rosabel +Thy Tyrant Sway +A Hero of the Revolution +Rhyme and Reason: An Apologue +Starlight Recollections +Wearies My Love of My Letters? +Fare Thee Well, Love +Thou Hast Woven the Spell +Bessie Bell +The Day is Now Dawning, Love +When Other Friends are Round Thee +Silent Grief +Love Thee, Dearest? +I Love the Night +The Miniature +The Retort +Lines on a Poet +The Bacchanal +Twenty Years Ago +National Anthem +I Love Thee Still +Look From Thy Lattice, Love +She Loved Him +The Suitors +St. Agnes' Shrine +Western Refrain +The Prairie on Fire +The Evergreen +The May-Queen +Venetian Serenade +The Whip-Poor-Will +The Exile to His Sister +Near the Lake Where Drooped the Willow +The Pastor's Daughter +Margaretta +The Colonel +The Sweep's Carol +The Seasons of Love +My Woodland Bride +Oh, Think of Me +My Bark is Out Upon the Sea +Will Nobody Marry Me? +The Star of Love +Well-A-Day +Not Married Yet +Lady of England +Oh, This Love +Mary +The Beam of Devotion +The Welcome and Farewell +'Tis Now the Promised Hour +The Songs of Home +Masonic Hymn +The Dismissed +Lord of the Castle +The Fallen Brave +Song of the Troubadour +Champions of Liberty +The Hunter's Carol +Washington's Monument +The Sister's Appeal +Song of the Reapers +Walter Gay +Grounds For Divorce +Temperance Song +Boat-Song +Willie +The Rock of the Pilgrims +Years Ago +The Soldier's Welcome Home +The Origin of Yankee Doodle +Lines on the Burial of Mrs. Mary L. Ward +New-York in 1826 +The Hero's Legacy +What Can It Mean +Where Hudson's Wave +Au Revoir +To My Absent Daughter +Song of the Sewing Machine +My Lady Waits For Me +Music +The Millionaire +In Memory of Charles H. Sandford +Seventy-Six +A Parody +The Stag-Hunt +Deliver Us From Evil +Union +We Part For Ever +Come to Me in Cherry Time +On the Death of Mrs. Jessie Willis +Thank God for Pleasant Weather +The Master's Song +The Missing Ship +Jeannie Marsh +Lucy +Epitaph +In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr +Nature's Noblemen +A Wall-Street Lyric +King Cotton +Words Adapted to a Spanish Melody +Love in Exile +To the Evening Star +Welcome Home +The Sycamore Shade +Up the Hudson +Only Thine +Epigram on Reading Grim's Attack upon Clinton + On Hearing that Morse Did Not Invent the Telegraph + +Address for the Benefit of William Dunlop +Address for the Benefit of J. Sheridan Knowles +Address for the Benefit of Henry Placide + +The Maid of Saxony: Or, Who's the Traitor? + Ho! Hans!--Why, Hans! + Rejoice! Rejoice! We're Safe and Sound + The Life For Me is a Soldier's Life + Confusion! Again Rejected! + When I behold that Lowering Brow + 'Tis a Soldier's Rigid Duty + The Spring-Time of Love is Both Happy and Gay + From My Fate There's No Retreating + Lads and Lasses Trip Away + All Hail the King! + Home + Sky, Stream, Moorland, and Mountain + Dared These Lips My Sad Story Impart + Fiery Mars, Thy Votary Hear + Ah! Love is not a Garden-Flower + The King, The Princes of the Court + Victoria! Victoria! + This Gloomy Cell is my Abode at Last + Hark! 'Tis the Deep-Toned Midnight Bell + Once, Mild and Gentle was my Heart + The Gentle Bird on Yonder Spray + That Law's the Perfection of Reason + With Mercy Let Justice + What Outrage More?--At Whose Command + The Javelin From an Unseen Hand + Rejoice! Our Loyal Hearts We Bring + Our Hearts are Bounding with Delight + +Notes + The Deserted Bride + The Croton Ode + Woodman, Spare That Tree + The Chieftain's Daughter + Song of Marion's Men + Janet McRea + The Dog-Star Rages + The Prairie on Fire + The Sweep's Carol + The Fallen Brave of Mexico + The Champions of Liberty + The Rock of the Pilgrims + The Soldier's Welcome Home + The Origin of Yankee Doodle + New-York in 1826 + The Maid of Saxony + + + + +Memoir of George P. Morris. + + +By Horace Binney Wallace. + + +Bless thou thy lot; thy simple strains have led + The high-born muse to be the poor man's guest, +And wafted on the wings of song, have sped + Their way to many a rude, unlettered breast. + +-- Beranger. + + +Morris has hung the most beautiful thoughts in the world upon hinges +of [illegible]; and his songs are destined to roll over bright lips +enough to form a [sonnet? illegible]. His sentiments are simple, +honest, truthful, and familiar; his language is pure and eminently +musical, and he is prodigally full of the poetry of every-day +living. + +-- Willis. + + + + +The distinction with which the name of General Morris is now +associated in a permanent connection with what is least factitious +or fugitive in American Art, is admitted and known; but the class +of young men of letters in this country, at present, can hardly +appreciate the extent to which they, and the profession to which +they belong, are indebted to his animated exertions, his varied +talents, his admirable resources of temper, during a period of twenty +years, and at a time when the character of American literature, both +at home and abroad was yet to be formed. The first great service +which the literary taste of this country received, was rendered by +Dennie; a remarkable man; qualified by nature and attainments to +be a leader in new circumstances; fit to take part in the formation +of a national literature; as a vindicator of independence in thought, +able to establish freedom without disturbing the obligations of +law; as a conservative in taste, skilful to keep the tone of the +great models with which his studies were familiar, without copying +their style; by both capacities successful in developing the one, +unchangeable spirit of Art, under a new form and with new effects. +In this office of field-marshal of our native forces, General +Morris succeeded him under increased advantages, in some respect +with higher powers, in a different, and certainly a vastly more +extended sphere of influence. The manifold and lasting benefits +which, as editor of "The Mirror," General Morris conferred on art and +artists of every kind, by his tact, his liberality, the superiority +of his judgement, and the vigor of his abilities; by the perseverance +and address with which he disciplined a corps of youthful writers, +in the presence of a constant and heavy fire from the batteries of +foreign criticism; by the rare combination, so valuable in dealing +with the numerous aspirants in authorship with whom his position +brought him in contact; of a quick, true eye to discern in the +modesty of some nameless manuscript the future promises of a power +hardly yet conscious of itself; a discretion to guide by sound +advice, and a generosity to aid with the most important kind of +assistance; the firm and open temper which his example tended to +inspire into the relations of literary men with one another throughout +the land; and more than all, perhaps, by the harmony and union, of +such inappreciable value, especially in the beginning of national +effort, between the several sister arts of writing, music, +painting, and dramatic exhibition, which the singular variety and +discursiveness of his intellectual sympathies led him constantly +to maintain and vindicate; these, in the multiplicity of their +operation, and the full power of their joint effect, can be perfectly +understood only by those who possessed a contemporaneous knowledge +of the circumstances, and who, remembering the state of things +at the commencement of the period alluded to, and observing what +existed at the end of it, are able to look back over the whole interval, and see to what influences +and what persons the +extraordinary change which has taken place, is to be referred. If, +at this moment, the literary genius of America, renewed in youth, +and quivering lie the eagle's wings with excess of vigor, seems +about to make a new flight, from a higher vantage-ground, into +loftier depths of airy distance, the capacity to take that flight +must, to a great degree, be ascribed to those two persons whom we +have named; without whose services the brighter era which appears +now to be dawning, might yet be distant and doubtful. + +Besides these particulars of past effort, which ought to make his +countrymen love the reputation of the subject of this notice, we +regret that our limits forbid us to speak at large of those more +intimate qualities of personal value, which, in our judgment, form +the genuine lustre of one who, admirable for other attainments, is +to be imitated in these. + +To us it is an instinctive feeling that a wrong is done to the +proper grandeur of our complex nature--that a violence is offered +to the higher consciousness of our immortal being--whenever an +intellectual quality is extolled tot he neglect of a moral one. +Moral excellence is the most real genius; and a temper to cope and +calmly baffle the multitudinous assaults of the spiritual enmity +of active life, is a talent which outshines all praise of mental +endowments. Unhappily, the biographer of literary creators affords +few occasions in which a feeling of this kind can be indulged and +gratified: that sensibility of mental apprehensions which is the +fame of the author, is usually attended by a susceptibility of +passionate impression which is the fate of the man; and earth and +sense delight to wreak their destructive vengences upon the spiritual +nature of him, of whose intellectual being they are the slaves and +the sport. In the present instance, we are concerned with the +character--'totus, teres, atque rotundus;' which may be looked upon, +from every side, with an equal satisfaction. Search the wide world +over, and you shall not find among the literary men of any nation, +one on whom the dignity of a free and manly spirit sits with a +grace more native and familiar--whose spontaneous sentiments have +a truer tone of nobleness--the course of whose usual feelings is +more expanded and honorable--whose acts, whether common and daily, +or deliberate and much-considered, are wont at all times to be more +beautifully impressed with those marks of sincerity, of modesty, and +of justice, which form the very seal of worth in conduct. Those +jealousies, and littlenesses, and envyings, which prey upon +the spirits of many men, as the vulture on the heart that chained +Prometheus--and whose fierce besetment they who WILL be magnanimous, +have to fight off, as one drives away the eagles from their prey, +with voice and gestures--seem never to assail him. It is the +happiness of his nature to have THAT only absolute deliverance from +evil which is implied in being rendered insensible to temptation. +While the duty which is laid upon us, in this paper, mainly is to +open and set forth his poetic praises and claim the laurel for his +literary merits; when the crown of song is to be conferred upon +him, we shall interpose to beg that the chaplet may be accompanied +by some mark, or some inscription which shall declare, + +"This is the reward of moral excellence." + +For the success of our special purpose, in this notice, which is +to consider and make apparent the specific character which belongs +to General Morris as a literary artist and a poetic creator, +to explain his claims to that title which the common voice of the +country has given to him--of The Song-Writer of America--it would +have probably been more judicious had we kept out of view the +matters of which we have just spoken. It is recorded of a Grecian +painter, that having completed the picture of a sleeping nymph, he +added on the foreground the figure of a satyr gazing in amazement +upon her beauty; but finding that the secondary form attracted +universal praise, he erased it as diverting applause from that +which he desired to have regarded as the principal monument of his +skill. There is in this anecdote a double wisdom; the world is as +little willing to yield to a twofold superiority as it is able to +appreciate two distinct objects at once. + +In a review of literary reputations, perhaps nothing is fitted to +raise more surprise than the obvious inequality in the extend and +greatness of the labors to which an equal reward of fame has been +allotted. The abounding energy and picturesque variety of Homer +are illustrated in eight-and-forty books: the remains of Sappho +might be written on the surface of a leaf of the laurus nobilis. +Yet if the one expands before us with the magnificent extent, the +diversified surface, the endless decorations of the earth itself, +the other hangs on high, like a lone, clear star--small but +intense--flashing upon us through the night of ages, invested with +circumstances of divinity not less unquestionable than those which +attend the venerable majesty of the Ancient of Song. The rich and +roseate light that shines around the name of Mimnermus, is shed +from some dozen or twenty lines: the immortality of Tyrtaeus rests +upon a stanza or two, which have floated to us with their precious +freight, over the sea of centuries, and will float on unsubmergible +by all the waves of Time. The soul of Simonides lives to us in +a single couplet; but that is the very stuff of Eternity, which +neither fire will assoil, nor tempest peril, nor the wrath of years +impair. The Infinite has no degrees; wherever the world sees in +any human being the fire of the Everlasting, it bows with equal +awe, whether that fire is displayed by only an occasional flash, +or by a prolonged and diffusive blaze. There is a certain tone +which, hear it when we may, and where we may, we know to be the +accents of the gods; and whether its quality be shown in a single +utterance, or its volume displayed in a thousand bursts of music, +we surround the band of spirits whom we there detect in their mortal +disguise, with equal ceremonies of respect and worship, hailing +them alike as seraphs of a brighter sphere--sons of the morning. +This is natural, and it is reasonable. Genius is not a degree of +other qualities, nor is it a particular way or extent of displaying +such qualities; it is a faculty by itself; it is a manner, of which +we may judge with the same certainty from one exhibition, as from +many. The praise of a poet, therefore, is to be determined not +by the nature of the work which he undertakes, but by the kind of +mastery which he shows; not by the breadth of surface over which +he toils, but by the perfectness of the result which he attains. +Mr. Wordsworth has vindicated the capacity of the sonnet to be +a casket of the richest gems of fame. We have no doubt that the +song may give evidence of a genius which shall deserve to be ranked +with the constructor of an epic. "Scorn not the SONG." We would +go so far, indeed, as to say that success in the song imports, +necessarily, a more inborn and genuine gift of poetic conception, +than the same proportion of success in other less simple modes of +art. There are some sorts of composition which may be wrought out +of eager feeling and the foam of excited passions; and which are +therefore to a large extent within the reach of earnest sensibilities +and an ambitious will; others are the spontaneous outflow of the +heart, to whose perfection, turbulence and effort are fatal. Of +the latter kind is the song. While the ode allows of exertion +and strain, what is done in it must be accomplished by native and +inherent strength. + +Speaking with that confidence which may not improperly be assumed +by one who, having looked with some care at the foundations of the +opinion which he expresses, supposes himself able, if called upon +by denial, to furnish such demonstration of its truth as the nature +of the matter allows of, we say that, in our judgment, there is +no professed writer of songs, in this day, who has conceived the +true character of this delicate and peculiar creation of art, with +greater precision and justness than Mr. Morris, or been more felicitous +than he in dealing with the subtle and multiform difficulties that +beset its execution. It is well understood by those whose thoughts +are used to be conversant with the suggestions of a deeper analysis +than belongs to popular criticism, that the forms of literary art +are not indefinite in number, variable in their characteristics, +or determined by the casual taste or arbitrary will of authors: +they exist in nature; they are dependent upon those fixed laws of +intellectual being, of spiritual affection, and moral choice, which +constitute the rationality of man. And the actual, positive merit +of a poetical production--that real merit, which consists in native +vitality, in inherent capacity to live--does not lie in the glitter +or costliness of the decorations with which it is invested--nor +in the force with which it is made to spring from the mind of its +creator into the minds of others--nor yet in the scale of magnitude +upon which the ideas belonging to the subject are illustrated in +the work; but rather, as we suppose, obviously, and in all cases, +upon the integrity and truth with which the particular form that has +been contemplated by the artist, is brought out, and the distinctness +with which that one specific impression which is appropriate to +it, is attained. This is the kind of excellence which we ascribe +to Mr. Morris; an excellence of a lofty order; genuine, sincere, and +incapable of question; more valuable in this class of composition +than in any other, because both more important and more difficult. +For the song appears to us to possess a definiteness peculiarly +jealous and exclusive; to be less flexible in character and to +permit less variety of tone than most other classes of composition. +If a man shall say, "I will put more force into my song than your +model allows, I will charge it with a greater variety of impressions," +it is well; if he is skilful, he may make something that is very +valuable. But in so far as his work is more than a song, it is not +a song. In all works of Art--wherever form is concerned--excess +is error. + +The just notion and office of the modern song, as we think of it, +is to be the embodiment and expression, in beauty, of some one +of those sentiments or thoughts, gay, moral, pensive, joyous, or +melancholy, which are as natural and appropriate, in particular +circumstances, or to certain occasions, as the odor to the flower; +rising at such seasons, into the minds of all classes of persons, +instinctive and unbidden, yet in obedience to some law of association +which it is the gift of the poet to apprehend. Its graceful +purpose is to exhibit an incident in the substance of an emotion, +to communicate wisdom in the form of sentiment; it is the refracted +gleam of some wandering ray from the fair orb of moral truth, which +glancing against some occurrence in common life, is surprised into +a smile of quick-darting, many colored beauty; it is the airy ripple +that is thrown up when the current of feeling in human hearts +accidentally encounters the current of thought and bubbles forth +with a gentle fret of sparkling foam. Self-evolved, almost, and +obedient in its development and shaping to some inward spark of +beauty which appears to possess and control its course, it might +almost seem that, in the out-going loveliness of such productions, +sentiment made substantial in language, floated abroad in natural +self-delivery; as that heat which is not yet flame, gives forth +in blue wreaths of vaporous grace, which unfold their delicateness +for a moment upon the tranquil air, and then vanish away. It is +not an artificial structure built up by intellect after a model +foreshaped by fancy, or foreshadowed by the instincts of the +passions; it is a simple emotion, crystalled into beauty by passing +for a moment through the cooler air of the mind; it is merely +an effluence of creative vigor; a graceful feeling thickened into +words. Its proper dwelling is in the atmosphere of the sentiments, +no the passions; it will not, indeed, repel the sympathy of deeper +feelings, but knows them rather under the form of the flower that +floats upon the surface of meditation, than of the deeper root that +lies beneath its stream. And this is the grievous fault of nearly +all Lord Byron's melodies; that he pierces them too profoundly, and +passes below the region of grace, charging his lyre with far more +vehemence of passion than its slight strings are meant to bear. The +beauty which belongs to this production, should be in the form of +the thought rather than the fashion of the setting: that genuineness +and simplicity of character which constitute almost its essence, are +destroyed by any appearance of the cold artifices of construction, +palpable springs set for our admiration, whereby the beginning +is obviously arranged in reference to a particular ending. This +is the short-reaching power of Moore--guilty, by design, of that +departure from simplicity, by which he fascinated one generation +at the expense of being forgotten by another. The song, while it +is general in its impression, should be particular in its occasion; +not an abstraction of the mind, but a definite feeling, special to +some certain set of circumstances. Rising from out the surface of +daily experience, like the watery issuings of a fountain, it throws +itself upward for a moment, then descends in a soft, glittering +shower to the level whence it rose. Herein resides the chief defect +of Bayly's songs; that they are too general and vague--a species +of pattern songs--being embodiments of some general feeling, or +reflection, but lacking that sufficient reference to some season +or occurrence which would justify their appearing, and take away +from them the aspect of pretension and display. + +The only satisfactory method of criticism is by means of clinical +lectures; and we feel regret that our limits do not suffer us--to +any great degree--to illustrate what we deem the vigorous simplicity, +and genuine grace of Mr. Morris, by that mode of exposition. We +must refer to a few cases, however, to show what we have been meaning +in the remarks which we made above, upon the proper character of +the song. The ballad of "Woodman, spare that tree"--one of those +accidents of genius which, however, never happen but to consummate +artists--is so familiar to every mind and heart, as to resent +citation. Take, then, "My Mother's Bible." We know of no similar +production in a truer taste, in a purer style, or more distinctly +marked with the character of a good school of composition. Or +take "We were boys together." In manly pathos, in tenderness and +truth, where shall it be excelled? "The Miniature" posses the +captivating elegance of Voiture. "Where Hudson's Wave" is a glorious +burst of poetry, modulated into refinement by the hand of a master. +Where will you find a nautical song, seemingly more spontaneous in +its genial outbreak, really more careful in its construction, than +"Land-ho!" How full of the joyous madness of absolute independence, +yet made harmonious by instinctive grace, is "Life in the West!" +That the same heart whose wild pulse is thrilled by the adventurous +interests of the huntsman and the wanderer, can beat in unison +with the gentlest truth of deep devotion, is shown in "When other +Friends are round Thee." "I love the Night" has the voluptuous +elegance of the Spanish models. Were we to meet the lines "Oh, think +of me!" in an anthology, we should suppose they were Suckling's--so +admirably is the tone of feeling kept down to the limit of +probable sincerity--which is a characteristic that the cavalier +style of courting never loses. "The Star of Love" might stand as +a selected specimen of all that is most exquisite in the songs of +the "Trouveurs." "The Seasons of Love" is a charming effusion of +gay, yet thoughtful sentiment. The song, "I never have been false +to thee," is, of itself, sufficient to establish General Morris's +fame as a great poet--as a "potens magister affectuum"--and as +a literary creator of a high order. It is a thoroughly fresh and +effective poem on a subject as hackneyed as the highway; it is as +deep as truth itself, yet light as the movement of a dance. We had +almost forgotten, what the world will never forget, the matchless +softness and transparent delicacy of "Near the Lake." Those lines, of +themselves, unconsciously, court "the soft promoter of the poet's +strain," and almost seem about to break into music. It is agreeable +to find that, instead of being seduced into a false style by the +excessive popularity which many of his songs have acquired, General +Morris's later efforts are in a vein even more truly classic than +his earlier ones, and show a decided advance, both in power and +ease. "The Rock of the Pilgrims," and the "Indian Songs," are +a very clear evidence of this. We would willingly go on with our +references, as there are several which have equal claims with these +upon our notice, but--"claudite jam rivos." + +Such are some of the compositions, original in style, natural in +spirit, beautiful with the charm of almost faultless execution, +which may challenge for their author the title of the lauraete of +America.... + +A writer in "Howitt's and the People's Journal" furnishes the +following sketch of General Morris and his Songs, which was copied +and endorsed by the late Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, in his International +Magazine:-- + +"Before us lies a heap of songs and ballads, the production of +the rich fancy and warm heart of George P. Morris. Not many weeks +since, at a public meeting in London, a gentleman claimed to be +heard speak on the ground of his connection with the public press +from the time when he was seven years of age. We will not undertake +to say that General Morris ran his juvenile fingers over the chords +of the lyre at so very early a period; but it is certain he tried +his hand at writing for the newspapers when he was yet but a mere +boy. While in his teens, he was a constant contributor to various +periodicals. Many of his articles attracted notice. He began to +acquire a literary reputation; and at length, in 1823, being then +in his twentieth year, he became editor of the 'New York Mirror.' +This responsible post he continued to hold until the termination +of the paper's existence in 1834. + +"Morris accomplished an infinity of good in the twenty years +during which he wielded the editorial pen. Perhaps no other man in +the United States was so well qualified for the noble task he set +himself at the outset of his career as editor. American literature +was in its infancy, and subject to all the weaknesses of that period. +Morris resolved to do his utmost toward forming a character for +it, and looked abroad anxiously for such as could aid him in his +endeavor. The 'Mirror" will ever be fondly remembered by the American +literary man, for it has been the cradle of American genius. + +"To him a writer in 'Graham's Magazine' attributes the present +flourishing condition and bright prospects of transatlantic literature. +He evidently possesses a personal knowledge of General Morris, and +discourses right eloquently in his praise. Nor do we think that +he overrates his merits in the least. From other sources we have +ourselves learned much of the genial nature of George P. Morris, +and his gigantic labors as a literary pioneer. Considering +its juvenility as a nation, republican America, indeed, has been +amazingly prolific of good writers. The large share Morris has had +in awakening the latent talent of his countrymen, must ever be to +him a high source of gratulation. And then, as an original writer, +he has won for himself a high place among literary Americans; he is, +in fact, known throughout the States as 'The Songwriter of America;' +and we have the authority of Willis for stating that 'ninety-nine +people out of a hundred--take them as they come in the census--would +find more to admire in Morris's Songs than in the writings of any +other American poet.' Willis also tells us, as proof of the General's +popularity with those shrewd dollar-loving men, the publishers, +that 'he can, at any time, obtain fifty dollars for a song unread, +when the whole remainder of the American Parnassus could not sell +one to the same buyer for a single shilling!' He is the best-known +poet of the country by acclamation--not by criticism. + +"Morris seems to have had juster notions of what was required in +a song than many who have achieved celebrity as song-writers in +England. 'The just office and notion of the modern song' has been +defined to be, the embodiment and expression in beauty of some +thought or sentiment--gay, pensive, moral, or sentimental--which +is as natural and appropriate in certain circumstances as the odor +to the flower. Its graceful purpose is to exhibit an incident in +the substance of an emotion, to communicate wisdom in the form of +sentiment. A song should be the embodiment of some general feeling, +and have reference to some season or occurrence. + +"It is not a difficult thing to make words rhyme; some of the most +unimaginative intellects we ever knew could do so with surprising +facility. It is rare to find a sentimental miss or a lackadaisical +master who cannot accomplish this INTELLECTUAL feat, with the help +of Walker's Rhyming Dictionary. As for love, why, every one writes +about it now-a-days. There is such an abhorrence of the simple +Saxon--such an outrageous running after outlandish phraseology--that +we wonder folks are satisfied with this plain term. + +"We wonder they do not seek for an equivalent in high Dutch or in +low Dutch, in Hungarian, or in Hindostanee. We wish they would, +with all our heart and soul. We have no objection, provided the +heart be touched, that a head should produce a little of the stuff +called 'nonsense verses'--that this article should be committed to +scented note-paper, and carefully sealed up with skewered hearts +of amazing corpulence. God forbid that we should be thought guilty +of a sneer at real affection!--far from it; such ever commands our +reverence. But we do not find it in the noisy tribe of goslings +green who would fain be thought of the nightingale species. Did +the reader ever contemplate a child engaged in the interesting +operation of sucking a lollipop?--we assure him that that act was +dictated by quite as much of true sentiment as puts in action the +fingers and wits of the generality of our young amatory poetasters. + +"We know of none who have written more charmingly of love than George +P. Morris. Would to Apollo that our rhymsters would condescend to +read carefully his poetical effusions! But they contain no straining +after effect--no extravagant metaphors--no driveling conceits; and +so there is little fear of their being taken as models by those +gentlemen. Let the reader mark the surprising excellence of the +love songs; their perfect naturalness; the quiet beauty of the +similes; the fine blending of graceful thought and tender feeling +which characterize them. Morris is, indeed, the poet of home joys. +None have described more eloquently the beauty and dignity of true +affection--of passion based upon esteem; and his fame is certain +to endure while the Anglo-Saxon woman has a hearthstone over which +to repeat her most cherished household words. + +"Seldom have the benign effects of the passion been more felicitously +painted than in the 'Seasons of Love'; and what simple tenderness +is contained in the ballad of 'We were boys together.' Every word +in that beautiful melody comes home to the heart of him whose early +days have been happy. God help those in whom this poem awakens no +fond remembrances!--those whose memories it does not get wandering +up the stream of life, toward its source; beholding at every step +the sun smiling more brightly, the heavens assuming a deeper hue, +the grass a fresher green, and the flowers a sweeter perfume. How +wondrous are not its effects upon ourselves! The wrinkles have +disappeared from our brow, and the years from our shoulder, and +the marks of the branding-iron of experience from our heart; and +again we are a careless child, gathering primroses, and chasing +butterflies, and drinking spring-water from out the hollow +of our hands. Around us are the hedges 'with golden gorse bright +blossoming, as none blossom now-a-day.' We have heard of death, +but we know not what it is; and the word CHANGE has no meaning for +us; and summer and winter, and seed-time and harvest, has each its +unutterable joys. Alas! we can never remain long in this happy +dream-land. Nevertheless, we have profited greatly by the journey. +The cowslips and violets gathered by us in childhood, shall be +potent in the hour of temptation; and the cap of rushes woven for +us by kind hands in days gone by, shall be a surer defence than +a helmet of steel in the hour of battle. No, no; we will never +disgrace our antecedents. + +"There is one quality in his songs to which we can not but direct +attention--and this is their almost feminine purity. The propensities +have had their laureates; and genius, alas! has often defiled its +angel wings by contact with the sensual and the impure; but Morris +has never attempted to robe vice in beauty; and as has been well +remarked, his lays can bring to the cheek of purity no blush save +that of pleasure." + +The following letter, from the pen of Grace Greenwood, is a lady's +tribute to the genius of the poet:-- + +"I have read of late, with renewed pleasure and higher appreciation, +the songs and ballads of our genial-hearted countryman, Morris. I +had previously worried myself by a course of rather dry reading, +and his poetry, tender, musical, fresh, and natural, came to me like +spring's first sunshine, the song of her first birds, the breath +of her first violets. + +"What a contrast is this pleasant volume to the soul-racking "Festus," +which has been one of my recent passions. That remarkable work +has passages of great beauty and power, linked in unnatural marriage +with much that is poor and weak. It is like a stately ruined +palace, + + +'Mingling its marble with the dust of Rome;' + + +or it is like its own fabled first temple built to God, in the +new earth--a multitude of gems, swallowed by an earthquake, and +scattered through a world of baser matter. The soul of the reader +now faints with excess of beauty, now shudders at the terrible and +the revolting. the young poet's muse at times goes like Proserpine +to gather flowers, but straightway is seized by the lord of the +infernal regions, and disappears in flame and darkness. The entire +volume is a poetical Archipelago--isles of loveliness sprinkling +a dead sea of unprofitable matter. + +"It were absurd to compare the light and graceful poems of Morris +with the work "Festus"--a simple Grecian arch with a stupendous +Turkish mosque--an Etruscan vase with a Gothic tower. Yet there are +doubtless many who will prefer the perfect realization of modest +aspirations, to grand, but ineffectual graspings after glory's highest +and most divine guerdons--a quiet walk with truth and nature, to +an Icarus flight of magnificent absurdities. + +"It has been said that the author of 'Long time ago' has rung +too many changes on the sentiment and passion of LOVE. Love, the +inspiration of the glorious bards of old, + + +'Who play upon the heart as on a harp, + And make our eyes bright as we speak of them;' + + +'love ever-new, everlasting, fresh, and beautiful, now as when +the silence of young Eden was thrilled, but scarce broken, by the +voice of the first lover--a joy and a source of joy for ever.' + +"I know it is much the fashion now-a-days, to hold in lordly contempt +many of those sweet and holy influences which are-- + +'As angel hands, enclosing ours, + Leading us back to Paradisean bowers.' + + +"Love and liberty are fast becoming mere abstractions to the +enlightened apprehension of some modern wise men. It is sad to see +how soon those white-winged visitors soil their plumage and change +their very nature by a mere descent into the philosophic atmosphere +of such mind. One is reminded of the words of Swedenborg--'I saw +a great truth let down from heaven into hell, and it THERE BECAME +A LIE.' + +"This cynical objection to the lays of our minstrel, surely never +could have emanated from the heart of WOMAN. SHE is ever loyal +to love--that tender and yearning principle in the bosom of the +Father, from which and by which the feminine nature was created. + +"The poems of Morris are indeed like those flowers of old, born of +the blood-drops which oozed from the wounded foot of the queen of +love--blushing crimson to the very heart; yet there is not, to my +knowledge, in the whole range of English literature, so large a +collection of amatory songs in which sensualism and voluptuousness +find no voice. These lays can bring to the cheek of purity no blush, +save that of pleasure--the mother may sing them to her child, the +bride to her young husband. + +"'Festus' has an eloquent reply to such as hold love a theme unworthy +the true bard:-- + + +'Poets are all who love--who feel great truths, + And tell them; and the truth of truths is LOVE.' + + +"The muse of Morris was Poesy's own 'summer child.' Hope, love, +and happiness, sunny-winged fancies and golden-hued imaginings, +have nested in his heart like birds. + +"His verse does not cause one to tremble and turn pale--it charms +and refreshes. It does not 'posses us like a passion'--it steals +upon us like a spell. It does not storm the heart like an armed +host--it is like the visitation of gentle spirits, + + +'Coming and going with a musical lightness.' + + +It is not a turbulent mountain-torrent, hurling itself down rocky +places--it is a silver stream, gliding through quiet valleys, +in whose waves the sweet stars are mirrored, on whose bosom the +water-lilies sleep. + +"Now and then there steals in a strain of sadness, like the plaint +of a bereaved bird in a garden of roses; but it is a tender, not +an OPPRESIVE sadness, and we know that the rainbow beauty of the +verse could only be born in the wedlock of smiles and tears. In +a word, his lays are not 'night and storm and darkness'--they are +morning and music and sunshine. + +"It were idle at this time to quote or comment upon all those songs +of Morris best known and oftenest sung. It would be introducing to +my readers old friends who took lodgings in their memories 'long +time ago.' In reference to them, I would only remark their peculiar +adaptedness to popular taste, the keen discrimination, the nice +tact, or, to use one of Sir James Mackintosh's happy expressions, +the 'FEELosophy' with which the poet has interlaced them with the +heart-strings of a nation. + +"'A Rock in the Wilderness' is an ode that any poet might be proud +to own. It is much in the style of Campbell--chaste, devotional, +'beautiful exceedingly.' I know nothing of the kind more musically +sweet than the serenade ''Tis now the promised hour'--the first +line in especial-- + + +'The fountains serenade the flowers, + Upon their silver lute-- + And nestled in their leafy bowers, + The forest birds are mute.' + + +"Many an absent lover must have blessed our lyrist for giving voice +to his own yearning affection, half sad with that delicate jealousy +which is no wrong to the loved one, in the song 'When other friends +are round thee.' + +"'The Bacchanal'--if our language boasts a lovelier ballad than this, +it has never met my eye. The story of the winning, the betraying +and the breaking of a woman's heart, was never told more touchingly. +'The Dismissed' is in a peculiar vein of rich and quiet humor. I +would commend it to the entire class of rejected lovers as +containing the truest philosophy. 'Lines after the manner of the +olden time' remind one of Sir John Suckling. They are 'sunned o'er +with love'--their subject, by the way. 'I never have been false +to thee' was an emanation from the FEMININE nature of the minstrel +alone. Who does not believe the poet gifted with duality of soul? +'Think of me, my own beloved,' and 'Rosabel,' are the throbbings +of a lover's breast, set to music; and 'One balmy summer night, +Mary,' 'The heart that owns thy tyrant sway,' and 'When I was in +my teens,' the distillation of the subtlest sweets lodged in the +innermost cells of all flowers dedicated to love. + +"I come now to my favorite, 'Where Hudson's wave;' a poem which +I never read but that it glows upon my lip and heart, and leaves +the air of my thoughts tremulous with musical vibrations. What a +delicious gush of parental feeling! How daintily and delicately +move the 'fitly chose words,' tripping along like silver sandaled +fairies. + +"'Land-Ho!' and the 'Western Refrain' thrill one gloriously. 'The +Cottager's Welcome' would of itself carry the poet's name to the +next age, and the 'Croton Ode' keep his bays green with a perpetual +baptism. The last-mentioned is fresh and sparkling as its subject, +and displays much of the imaginative faculty. + +"'Oh, a merry life does the hunter lead,' rolled up the tenth wave +of Morris-ian popularity at the West. It stirs the hunter's heart +like a bugle blast--it rings out clear as a rifle-crack on a hunting +morning. + +"General Morris has recently published some songs, which have all +the grace, melody, and touching sweetness of his earlier lays. But +as these have been artistically set to music, and are yet in the +first season of popularity--are lying on the pianos and 'rolling +over the bright lip' of all song-dom, they call for no further +mention here. + +"I think I cannot better close this somewhat broken and imperfect +notice, than by referring to one of the earlier songs of Morris, +which, more than all others, perhaps, has endeared him to his native +land. 'Home from travel' is a simple, hearty, manly embodiment +of the true spirit of patriotism, a sentiment which throbs like a +strong pulse beneath our poet's light and graceful verse, and needs +but the inspiration of 'stirring times' to prompt to deeds of heroic +valor, like the lays of the ancient bards, or the 'Chansons' of +Beranger." + +The biography of Morris would not be complete without a word from +Willis. We have a dash of his pencil in the following letter to +the editor of "Graham's Magazine":-- + +"My Dear Sir: To ask me for my idea of General Morris, is like +asking the left hand's opinion of the dexterity of the right. I have +lived so long with the 'Brigadier'--know him so intimately--worked +so constantly at the same rope, and thought so little of ever +separating from him (except by precedence of ferriage over the +Styx), that it is hard to shove him from me to the perspective +distance--hard to shut my own partial eyes, and look at him through +other people's. I will try, however; and, as it is done with but +one foot off from the treadmill of my ceaseless vocation, you will +excuse both abruptness and brevity. + +"Morris is the best-known poet of the country, by acclamation, not +by criticism. He is just what poets would be if they sang, like +birds, without criticism; and it is a peculiarity of his fame, that +it seems as regardless of criticism, as a bird in the air. Nothing +can stop a song of his. It is very easy to say that they are +easy to do. They have a momentum, somehow, that it is difficult +for others to give, and that speeds them to the far goal of +popularity--the best proof consisting in the fact that he can, at +any moment, get fifty dollars for a song unread, when the whole +remainder of the American Parnassus could not sell one to the same +buyer for a shilling. + +"It may, or may not, be one secret of his popularity, but it is the +truth--that Morris's heart is at the level of most other people's, +and his poetry flows out by that door. He stands breast-high in the +common stream of sympathy, and the fine oil of his poetic feeling +goes from him upon an element it is its nature to float upon, and +which carries it safe to other bosoms, with little need of deep +diving or high flying. His sentiments are simple, honest, truthful, +and familiar; his language is pure and eminently musical, and he +is prodigally full of the poetry of every-day feeling. These are +days when poets try experiments; and while others succeed by taking +the world's breath away with flights and plunges, Morris uses his +feet to walk quietly with nature. Ninety-nine people in a hundred, +taken as they come in the census, would find more to admire in +Morris's songs, than in the writings of any other American poet; +and that is a parish in the poetical episcopate, well worthy a wise +man's nurture and prizing. + +"As for the man--Morris, my friend--I can hardly venture to 'burn +incense on his moustache,' as the French say--write his praises +under his very nose--but as far off as Philadelphia, you may pay +the proper tribute to his loyal nature and manly excellencies. +His personal qualities have made him universally popular; but this +overflow upon the world does not impoverish him for his friends. I +have outlined a true poet, and a fine fellow--fill up the picture +to your liking. Yours, very truly, + + "N. P. Willis." + +In 1825, General Morris wrote the drama of "Briercliff," a play, +in five acts, founded upon events of the American Revolution. It +was performed forty nights in succession; and the manager paid him +for it $3,500--a solid proof of its attractive popularity. It has +never been published. Prior, and subsequent to this period, his +pen was actively engaged upon various literary and dramatic works. + +He wrote a number of the "Welcomes to Lafayette," and songs and +ballads, which were universally popular, besides many prologues +and addresses. + +In 1842, he wrote an opera for Mr. C. E. Horn, called the "Maid of +Saxony," which was performed fourteen nights, with great success, +at the Park Theatre. The press of the city, generally, awarded to +this opera the highest commendation. + +From the period when General Morris commenced his career as +a writer, his pen has been constantly employed in writing poems, +songs, ballads, and prose sketches. + +In 1840, the Appletons published an edition of his poems, beautifully +illustrated by Weir & Chapman; in 1842, Paine & Burgess published +his songs and ballads; and in 1853, Scribner's edition, illustrated +by Weir and Darley, appeared. This last beautiful work has had an +immense sale. + +They were highly commended by the press throughout the country, +and these and other editions have had large sales. A portion of +his prose writings, under the title of "The Little Frenchman and +his Water-Lots," were published by Lea & Blanchard, which edition +has been followed by others, enlarged by the author. + +General Morris has edited a number of works; among them are the +"Atlantic Club Book," published by the Harpers; "The Song-Writers of +America," by Linen & Ferin; "National Melodies," by Horn & Davis; +and, in connection with Mr. Willis, "The Prose and Poetry of Europe +and America," a standard work of great value. + +In 1844, in connection with Mr. Willis, he established a beautiful +weekly paper, called the "New Mirror," which, in consequence of +the cover and engravings, was taxed by the post-office department +a postage equal to the subscription price; and not being able to +obtain a just reduction from Mr. Wickliffe, then post-master-general, +the proprietors discontinued its publication, after a year and a +half, notwithstanding it had attained a circulation of ten thousand +copies. + +The daily "Evening Mirror" was next commenced, and continued for +one year by Morris & Willis. + +A few months after withdrawing from the "Evening Mirror," General +Morris began the publication of the "National Press and Home +Journal;" but as many mistook its object from its name, the first +part of its title was discontinued; and in November, 1846 (Mr. +Willis having again joined his old friend and associate), appeared +the first number of the "Home Journal," a weekly paper, published +in New York every Saturday, which is edited with taste, spirit, +and ability, and which has a circulation of many thousand copies. + +General Morris is still in the prime and vigor of life, and it +is not unlikely that the public will yet have much to admire from +his pen, and which will, without doubt, place him still higher in +the niche of fame. His residence is chiefly at Undercliff, his +country seat, on the banks of the Hudson, near Cold Spring, surrounded +by the most lovely and beautiful scenery in nature, which can not +fail to keep the muse alive within him, and tune the minstrel to +further and still higher efforts. + +Although he possesses abilities which eminently qualify him for +public station, his literary taste and habits have, in spite of +the strenuous solicitations of his friends, led him to prefer the +retirement of private life. This, however, does not prevent his +taking an active interest in all questions of public good; and the +city of New York is greatly indebted to his vigorous aid for many +of her most beautiful and permanent improvements. + +We can not close this sketch without adverting to the following +incident, which occurred in the British House of Commons:-- + +"Mr. Cagley, a member from Yorkshire," says the "London Times," +"Concluded a long speech in favor of protection, by quoting +the ballad of 'Woodman, spare that tree' (which was received with +applause of the whole house), the 'tree' according to Mr. Cagley, +being the 'Constitution,' and Sir Robert Peel the 'woodman,' about +to cut it down." + +What poet could desire a more gratifying compliment to his genius? + + + + + +Poems and Ballads. + + + + +Poems. + + + + +The Deserted Bride. [See Notes] + + +Suggested by a scene in the play of the hunchback. + + +Inscribed to James Sheridan Knowles. + + + + +"Love me!--No.--He never loved me!" + Else he'd sooner die than stain +One so fond as he has proved me + With the hollow world's disdain. +False one, go--my doom is spoken, +And the spell that bound me broken. + +Wed him!--Never.--He has lost me!-- + Tears!--Well, let them flow!--His bride? +No.--The struggle life may cost me! + But he'll find that I have pride! +Love is not an idle flower, +Blooms and dies the self-same hour. + +Title, land, and broad dominion, + With himself to me he gave; +Stooped to earth his spirit's pinion, + And became my willing slave! +Knelt and prayed until he won me-- +Looks he coldly upon me? + +Ingrate!--Never sure was maiden + Deeply wronged as I. With grief +My true breast is overladen-- + Tears afford me no relief-- +Every nerve is strained and aching, +And my very heart is breaking! + +Love I him?--Thus scorned and slighted-- + Thrown, like worthless weed, apart-- +Hopes and feelings seared and blighted-- + Love him?--Yes, with all my heart! +With a passion superhuman-- +Constancy, "thy name is woman." + +Love, nor time, nor mood, can fashion-- + Love?--Idolatry's the word +To speak the broadest, deepest passion, + Ever woman's heart hath stirred! +Vain to still the mind's desires, +Which consume like hidden fires! + +Wrecked and wretched, lost and lonely, + Crushed by grief's oppressive weight +With a prayer for Clifford only, + I resign me to my fate. +Chains that bind the soul I've proven +Strong as they were iron woven. + +Deep the wo that fast is sending + From my cheek its healthful bloom; +Sad my thoughts as willows bending + O'er the borders of the tomb! +Without Clifford, not a blessing +In the world is worth possessing. + +Wealth!--a straw within the balance + Opposed to love, 'twill strike the beam: +Kindred, friendship, beauty, talents?-- + All to love as nothing seem; +Weigh love against all else together, +And solid gold against a feather. + +Hope is flown--away disguises + Naught but death relief can give-- +For the love he little prizes + Can not cease, and Julia live! +Soon my thread of life will sever-- +Clifford, fare thee well--for ever! + + + + + +The Main-Truck; Or, A Leap for Life + + +A Nautical Ballad. + + +[Founded upon a well-known tale from the pen of the late William +Leggett, Esq.] + + + + +Old Ironsides at anchor lay, + In the harbor of Mahon; +A dead calm rested on the bay-- + The waves to sleep had gone; +When little Jack, the captain's son, + With gallant hardihood, +Climbed shroud and spar--and then upon + The main-truck rose and stood! + +A shudder ran through every vein-- + All eyes were turned on high! +There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, + Between the sea and sky! +No hold had he above--below, + Alone he stood in air! +At that far height none dared to go-- + No aid could reach him there. + +We gazed--but not a man could speak!-- + With horror all aghast +In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, + We watched the quivering mast. +The atmosphere grew thick and hot, + And of a lurid hue, +As, riveted unto the spot, + Stood officers and crew. + +The father came on deck--He gasped, + "O, God, Thy will be done!" +Then suddenly a rifle grasped, + And aimed it at his son! +"Jump far out, boy! into the wave! + Jump, or I fire!" he said: +"That only chance your life can save! + Jump--jump, boy!"--He obeyed. + +He sank--he rose--he lived--he moved-- + He for the ship struck out! +On board we hailed the lad beloved + With many a manly shout. +His father drew, in silent joy, + Those wet arms round his neck, +Then folded to his heart the boy + And fainted on the deck! + + + + + +Poetry. + + + + +To me the world's an open book + Of sweet and pleasant poetry; +I read it in the running brook + That sings its way toward the sea. +It whispers in the leaves of trees, + The swelling grain, the waving grass, +And in the cool, fresh evening breeze + That crisps the wavelets as they pass. + +The flowers below, the stars above, + In all their bloom and brightness given, +Are, like the attributes of love, + The poetry of earth and heaven. +Thus Nature's volume, read aright, + Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, +Tinging life's clouds with rosy light, + And all the world with poetry. + + + + + +The Croton Ode. [See Notes] + + +Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York. + + + + +Gushing from this living fountain, + Music pours a falling strain, +As the goddess of the mountain + Comes with all her sparkling train. +From her grotto-springs advancing, + Glittering in her feathery spray, +Woodland fays beside her dancing, + She pursues her winding way. + +Gently o'er the rippling water, + In her coral-shallop bright, +Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter, + Decked in robes of virgin white. +Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling, + Urge her bark with pearly hand, +Merrily the sylph beguiling + From the nooks of fairy-land. + +Swimming on the snow-curled billow, + See the river-spirits fair +Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow, + With the foam-beads in their hair. +Thus attended, hither wending, + Floats the lovely oread now, +Eden's arch of promise bending + Over her translucent brow. + +Hail the wanderer from a far land! + Bind her flowing tresses up! +Crown her with a fadeless garland, + And with crystal brim the cup. +From her haunts of deep seclusion, + Let intemperance greet her too, +And the heat of his delusion + Sprinkle with this mountain-dew. + +Water leaps as if delighted, + While her conquered foes retire! +Pale Contagion flies affrighted + With the baffled demon Fire! +Safety dwells in her dominions, + Health and Beauty with her move, +And entwine their circling pinions + In a sisterhood of love. + +Water shouts a glad hosanna! + Bubbles up the earth to bless! +Cheers it like the precious manna + In the barren wilderness. +Here we wondering gaze, assembled + Like the grateful Hebrew band, +When the hidden fountain trembled, + And obeyed the prophet's wand. + +Round the aqueducts of story, + As the mists of Lethe throng, +Croton's waves in all their glory + Troop in melody along. +Ever sparkling, bright, and single, + Will this rock-ribbed stream appear, +When posterity shall mingle + Like the gathered waters here. + + + + + +Fragment of an Indian Poem. + + + + + * * * * * * + +They come!--Be firm--in silence rally! + The long-knives our retreat have found! +Hark!--their tramp is in the valley, + And they hem the forest round! +The burdened boughs with pale scouts quiver, + The echoing hills tumultuous ring, +While across the eddying river + Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring! +The blood-hounds darken land and water; +They come--like buffaloes for slaughter! + +See their glittering ranks advancing, +See upon the free winds dancing + Pennon proud and gaudy plume. +The strangers come in evil hour, +In pomp, and panoply, and power! +But, while upon our tribes they lower, +Think they our manly hearts will cower + To meet a warrior's doom? + +Right they forget while strength they feel; +Our veins they drain, our land they steal; +And should the vanquished Indian kneel, + They spurn him from their sight! +Be set for ever in disgrace +The glory of the red-man's race, +If from the foe we turn our face, + Or safety seek in flight! + +They come--Up, and upon them braves! +Fight for your alters and your graves! +Drive back the stern, invading slaves, + In fight till now victorious! +Like lightning from storm-clouds on high, +The hurtling, death-winged arrows fly, +And wind-rows of pale warriors die!-- +Oh! never was the sun's bright eye +Looked from his hill-tops in the sky + Upon a field so glorious! + + * * * * * * + +They're gone--again the red-men rally; + With dance and song the woods resound: +The hatchet's buried in the valley; + No foe profanes our hunting-ground! +The green leaves on the blithe boughs quiver, + The verdant hills with song-birds ring, +While our bark-canoes the river + Skim like swallows on the wing. +Mirth pervades the land and water, +Free from famine, sword, and slaughter. + + * * * * * * + +Let us, by this gentle river, +Blunt the axe and break the quiver, +While, as leaves upon the spray, +Peaceful flow our cares away. + + * * * * * * + +Yet, alas! the hour is brief +Left for either joy or grief! +All on earth that we inherit +From the hands of the Great Spirit-- +Wigwam, hill, plain, lake, and field-- +To the white-man must we yield; +For, like sun-down on the waves, +We are sinking to our graves! + +From this wilderness of wo +Like the caravan we go, +Leaving all our groves and streams +For the far-off land of dreams. +There are prairies waving high, +Boundless as the sheeted sky, +Where our fathers' spirits roam, +And the red-man has a home. + +Let tradition tell our story. +As we fade in cloudless glory, +As we seek the land of rest +Beyond the borders of the west, +No eye but ours may look upon-- +WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN. + + * * * * * * + + + + + +Land-Ho! + + + + +UP, UP WITH THE SIGNAL!--The land is in sight! +We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night! +The cold cheerless ocean in safety we've passed, +And the warm genial earth glads our vision at last. +In the land of the stranger true hearts we shall find, +To soothe us in absence of those left behind. +Land!--land-ho!--All hearts glow with joy at the sight! +We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night! + +THE SIGNAL IS WAVING!--Till morn we'll remain, +Then part in the hope to meet one day again! +Round the hearth-stone of home in the land of our birth, +The holiest spot on the face of the earth! +Dear country! our thoughts are as constant to thee +As the steel to the star, or the stream to the sea. +Ho!--land-ho!--We near it!--We bound at the sight! +Then be happy, if never again, boys, to-night! + +THE SIGNAL IS ANSWERED!--The foam-sparkles rise +Like tears from the fountain of joy to the eyes! +May rain-drops that fall from the storm-clouds of care, +Melt away in the sun-beaming smiles of the fair! +One health, as chime gaily the nautical bells: +To woman--God bless her!--wherever she dwells! +THE PILOT'S ON BOARD!--thank heaven, all's right! +So be happy, if never again, boys, to-night! + + + + + +Woodman, Spare that Tree! [See Notes] + + + + +Woodman, spare that tree! + Touch not a single bough! +In youth it sheltered me, + And I'll protect it now. +'Twas my forefather's hand + That placed it near his cot; +There, woodman, let it stand, + Thy axe shall harm it not. + +That old familiar tree, + Whose glory and renown +Are spread o'er land and sea-- + And wouldst thou hew it down? +Woodman, forebear thy stroke! + Cut not its earth-bound ties; +Oh, spare that aged oak, + Now towering to the skies! + +When but an idle boy, + I sought its grateful shade; +In all their gushing joy + Here, too, my sisters played. +My mother kissed me here; + My father pressed my hand-- +Forgive this foolish tear, + But let that old oak stand. + +My heart-strings round thee cling, + Close as thy bark, old friend! +Here shall the wild-bird sing, + And still thy branches bend. +Old tree! the storm still brave! + And, woodman, leave the spot; +While I've a hand to save, + thy axe shall harm it not. + + + + + +The Cottager's Welcome. + + + + +Hard by I've a cottage that stands near the wood-- + A stream glides in peace at the door-- +Where all who will tarry, 'tis well understood, + Receive hospitality's store. +To cheer that the brook and the thicket afford, + The stranger we ever invite: +You're welcome to freely partake at the board, + And afterwards rest for the night. + +The birds in the morning will sing from the trees, + And herald the young god of day; +Then, with him uprising, depart if you please-- + We'll set you refreshed on the way: +You're coin for our service we sternly reject; + No traffic for gain we pursue, +And all the reward that we wish or expect + We take in the good that we do. + +Mankind are all pilgrims on life's weary road, + And many would wander astray +In seeking Eternity's silent abode, + Did Mercy not point out the way! +If all would their duty discharge as they should + To those who are friendless and poor, +The world would resemble my cot near the wood, + And life the sweet stream at my door. + + + + + +The Land of Washington. + + + + +I glory in the sages + Who, in the days of yore, +In combat met the foemen, + And drove them from our shore. +Who flung our banner's starry field + In triumph to the breeze, +And spread broad maps of cities where + Once waved the forest-trees. + --Hurrah!-- + +I glory in the spirit + Which goaded them to rise +And found a might nation + Beneath the western skies. +No clime so bright and beautiful + As that where sets the sun; +No land so fertile, fair, and free, + As that of Washington + --Hurrah!-- + + + + + +The Flag of our Union. + + + + +"A song for our banner?"--The watchword recall + Which gave the Republic her station: +"United we stand--divided we fall!"-- + It made and preserves us a nation! +The union of lakes--the union of lands-- + The union of States none can sever-- +The union of hearts--the union of hands-- + And the Flag of the Union for ever + And ever! + The Flag of our Union for ever! + +What God in his mercy and wisdom designed, + And armed with his weapons of thunder, +Not all the earth's despots and factions combined + Have the power to conquer or sunder! +The union of lakes--the union of lands-- + The union of states none can sever-- +The union of hearts--the union of hands-- + And the Flag of the Union for ever + And ever! + The Flag of our Union for ever! + +Oh, keep that flag flying!--The pride of the van! + To all other nations display it! +The ladies for union are all to a--MAN! + But not to the man who'd betray it. +Then the union of lakes--the union of lands-- + The union of states none can sever-- +The union of hearts--the union of hands-- + And the Flag of the Union for ever + And ever! + The Flag of our Union for ever! + + + + + +Lines + + +After the Manner of the Olden Time. + + + + +O Love! the mischief thou hast done! + Thou god of pleasure and of pain!-- +None can escape thee--yes there's one-- + All others find the effort vain: +Thou cause of all my smiles and tears! +Thou blight and bloom of all my years! + +Love bathes him in the morning dews, + Reclines him in the lily bells, +Reposes in the rainbow hues, + And sparkles in the crystal wells, +Or hies him to the coral-caves, +Where sea-nymphs sport beneath the waves. + +Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune-- + With fays and oreads lingers he-- +Gleams in th' ring of the watery moon, + Or treads the pebbles of the sea. +Love rules "the court, the camp, the grove"-- +Oh, everywhere we meet thee, Love! + +And everywhere he welcome finds, + From cottage-door to palace-porch-- +Love enters free as spicy winds, + With purple wings and lighted torch, +With tripping feet and silvery tongue, +And bow and darts behind him slung. + +He tinkles in the shepherd's bell + The village maiden leans to hear-- +By lattice high he weaves his spell, + For lady fair and cavalier: +Like sun-bursts on the mountain snow, +Love's genial warmth melts high and low. + +Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why-- + Since Love is general as the air-- +Why does he not to Lelia fly, + And soften the obdurate fair? +Scorn nerves her proud, disdainful heart! +She scoffs at Love and all his art! + +Oh, boy-god, Love!--An archer thou!-- + Thy utmost skill I fain would test; +One arrow aim at Lelia now, + And let thy target be her breast! +Her heart bind in thy captive train, +Or give me back my own again! + + + + + +The Dream of Love. + + + + +I've had the heart-ache many times, + At the mere mention of a name +I've never woven in my rhymes, + Though from it inspiration came. +It is in truth a holy thing, + Life-cherished from the world apart-- +A dove that never tries its wing, + But broods and nestles in the heart. + +That name of melody recalls + Her gentle look and winning ways +Whose portrait hangs on memory's walls, + In the fond light of other days. +In the dream-land of Poetry, + Reclining in its leafy bowers, +Her bright eyes in the stars I see, + And her sweet semblance in the flowers. + +Her artless dalliance and grace-- + The joy that lighted up her brow-- +The sweet expression of her face-- + Her form--it stands before me now! +And I can fancy that I hear + The woodland songs she used to sing, +Which stole to my attending ear, + Like the first harbingers of spring. + +The beauty of the earth was hers, + And hers the purity of heaven; +Alone, of all her worshippers, + To me her maiden vows were given. +They little know the human heart, + Who think such love with time expires; +Once kindled, it will ne'er depart, + But burn through life with all its fires. + +We parted--doomed no more to meet-- + The blow fell with a stunning power-- +And yet my pulse will strangely beat + At the remembrance of that hour! +But time and change their healing brought, + And years have passed in seeming glee, +But still alone of her I've thought + Who's now a memory to me. + +There may be many who will deem + This strain a wayward, youthful folly, +To be derided as a dream + Born of the poet's melancholy. +The wealth of worlds, if it were mine, + With all that follows in its train, +I would with gratitude resign, + To dream that dream of love again. + + + + + +I'm With You Once Again. + + + + +I'm with you once again, my friends, + No more my footsteps roam; +Where it began my journey ends, + Amid the scenes of home. +No other clime has skies so blue, + Or streams so broad and clear, +And where are hearts so warm and true + As those that meet me here? + +Since last with spirits, wild and free, + I pressed my native strand, +I've wandered many miles at sea, + And many miles on land. +I've seen fair realms of the earth + By rude commotion torn, +Which taught me how to prize the worth + Of that where I was born. + +In other countries, when I heard + The language of my own, +How fondly each familiar word + Awoke an answering tone! +But when our woodland songs were sung + Upon a foreign mart, +The vows that faltered on the tongue + With rapture thrilled the heart! + +My native land, I turn to you, + With blessing and with prayer, +Where man is brave and woman true, + And free as mountain air. +Long may our flag in triumph wave + Against the world combined, +And friends a welcome--foes a grave, + Within our borders find. + + + + + +Oh, Would that She were Here! + + + + +Oh, would that she were here, + These hills and dales among, +Where vocal groves are gayly mocked + By Echo's airy tongue: +Where jocund nature smiles + In all her boon attire, +And roams the deeply-tangled wilds + Of hawthorn and sweet-brier. +Oh, would that she were here-- + The gentle maid I sing, +Whose voice is cheerful as the songs + Of forest-birds in spring! + +Oh, would that she were here, + Where the free waters leap, +Shouting in sportive joyousness + Adown the rocky steep: +Where zephyrs crisp and cool + The fountains as they play, +With health upon their wings of light, + And gladness on their way. +Oh, would that she were here, + With these balm-breathing trees, +The sylvan daughters of the sun, + The rain-cloud, and the breeze! + +Oh, would that she were here, + Where glide the rosy hours, +Murm'ring the drowsy hum of bees, + And fragrant with the flowers: +Where Heaven's redeeming love + Spans earth in Mercy's bow-- +The promise of the world above + Unto the world below. +Oh, would that she were here, + Amid these shades serene-- +Oh, for the spell of woman's love, + To consecrate the scene! + + + + + +The Sword and the Staff + + + + +The sword of the hero! + The staff of the sage! +Whose valor and wisdom + Are stamped on the age! +Time-hallowed mementos + Of those who have riven +The sceptre from tyrants, + "The lightning from heaven!" + +This weapon, O Freedom! + Was drawn by the son, +And it never was sheathed + Till the battle was won! +No stain of dishonor + Upon it we see! +'Twas never surrendered-- + Except to the free! + +While Fame claims the hero + And patriot sage, +Their names to emblazon + On History's page, +No holier relics + Will liberty hoard +Than FRANKLIN's staff, guarded + By WASHINGTON's sword. + + + + + +The Chieftain's Daughter [See Notes] + + + + +Upon the barren sand + A single captive stood; +Around him came, with bow and brand, + The red-men of the wood. +Like him of old, his doom he hears, + Rock-bound on ocean's rim: +The chieftain's daughter knelt in tears, + And breathed a prayer for him. + +Above his head in air + The savage war-club swung: +The frantic girl, in wild despair, + Her arms about him flung. +Then shook the warriors of the shade, + Like leaves on aspen limb-- +Subdued by that heroic maid + Who breathed a prayer for him. + +"Unbind him!" gasped the chief-- + "Obey your king's decree!" +He kissed away her tears of grief, + And set the captive free. +'Tis ever thus, when, in life's storm, + Hope's star to man grows dim, +An angel kneels in woman's form, + And breathes a prayer for him. + + + + + +Thy Will Be Done. + + + + +Searcher of Hearts!--from mine erase + All thoughts that should not be, +And in its deep recesses trace + My gratitude to Thee! + +Hearer of Prayer!--oh, guide aright + Each word and deed of mine; +Life's battle teach me how to fight, + And be the victory Thine. + +Giver of All!--for every good-- + In the Redeemer came-- +For raiment, shelter, and for food, + I thank Thee in His name. + +Father and Son and Holy Ghost! + Thou glorious Three in One! +Thou knowest best what I need most, + And let Thy will be done. + + + + + +Life in the West. + + + + +Ho! brothers--come hither and list to my story-- + Merry and brief will the narrative be. +Here, like a monarch, I reign in my glory-- + Master am I, boys, of all that I see! +Where once frowned a forest, a garden is smiling-- + The meadow and moorland are marshes no more; +And there curls the smoke of my cottage, beguiling + The children who cluster like grapes round my door. +Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest; +The land of the heart is the land of the West! + Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho! + +Talk not of the town, boys--give me the broad prairie, + Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free: +Behold how its beautiful colors all vary, + Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea! +A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing; + With proud independence we season our cheer, +And those who the world are for happiness ranging, + Won't find it at all if they don't find it here. +Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest! +I'll show you the life, boys, we live in the West! + Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho! + + +Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, + We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own; +We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, + And care not a jot for the king on his throne. +We never know want, for we live by our labor, + And in it contentment and happiness find; +We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor, + And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind. +Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest; +You know how we live, boys, and die in the West! + Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho! + + + + + + +Song of Marion's Men. [See Notes] + + + + +In the ranks of Marion's band, +Through morass and wooded land, +Over beach of yellow sand, + Mountain, plain, and valley, +A southern maid, in all her pride, +Marched gayly at her lover's side, + In such disguise + That e'en his eyes + Did not discover Sallie! + +When returned from midnight tramp, +Through the forest dark and damp, +Oh his straw-couch in the camp, + In his dreams he'd dally +With that devoted, gentle fair, +Whose large black eyes and flowing hair + So near him seem, + That in his dream, + He breathes his love for Sallie! + +Oh, what joy, that maiden knew, +When she found her lover true!-- +Suddenly the trumpet blew, + Marion's men to rally! +To ward the death-spear from his side!-- +In battle by Santee she died!-- + Where sings the surge + A ceaseless dirge + Near the lone grave of Sallie. + + + + + +Janet McRea. [See Notes] + + + + +She heard the fight was over, + And won the wrath of fame! +When tidings from her lover, + With his good war-steed came: +To guard her safely to his tent, +The red-men of the woods were sent. + They led her where sweet waters gush! +Under the pine-tree bough! + The tomahawk is raised to crush-- +'Tis buried in her brow!-- +She sleeps beneath that pine-tree now! + +Her broken-hearted lover + In hopeless conflict died! +The forest-leaves now cover + That soldier and his bride! +The frown of the Great Spirit fell +Upon the red-men like a spell! + No more those waters slake their thirst, +Shadeless to them that tree! + O'er land and lake they roam accurst, +And in the clouds they see +Thy spirit, unavenged, McRea! + + + + + +Lisette. + + + + +When Love in myrtle shades reposed, + His bow and darts behind him slung; +As dewey twilight round him closed, + Lisette these numbers sung: +"O Love! thy sylvan bower +I'll fly while I've the power; +Thy primrose way leads maids where they +Love, honor, and obey!" + +"Escape," the boy-god said, "is vain," + And shook the diamonds from his wings: +"I'll bind thee captive to my train, + Fairest of earthy things!" +"Go, saucy archer, go! +I freedom's value know: +Begon, I pray--to none I'll say +Love, honor, and obey!" + +"Speed, arrow, to thy mark!" he cried-- + Swift as a ray of light it flew! +Love spread his purple pinions wide, + And faded from her view! +Joy filled that maiden's eyes-- +Twin load-stars from the skies!-- +And one bright day her lips DID say, +"Love, honor, and obey!" + + + + + +My Mother's Bible. + + + + +This book is all that's left me now!-- + Tears will unbidden start-- +With faltering lip and throbbing brow + I press it to my heart. +For many generations past, + Here is our family tree; +My mother's hands this Bible clasped, + She, dying, gave it me. + +Ah! well do I remember those + Whose names these records bear; +Who round the hearth-stone used to close + After the evening prayer, +And speak of what these pages said, + In tones my heart would thrill! +Though they are with the silent dead, + Here are they living still! + +My father read this holy book + To brothers, sisters dear; +How calm was my poor mother's look + Who leaned God's word to hear! +Her angel face--I see it yet! + What vivid memories come!-- +Again that little group is met + Within the halls of home! + +Thou truest friend man ever knew, + Thy constancy I've tried: +Where all were false I found thee true, + My counselor and guide. +The mines of earth no treasures give + That could this volume buy: +In teaching me the way to live, + It taught me how to die. + + + + + +"The Dog-Star Rages." + + + + +Unseal the city fountains, + And let the waters flow +In coolness from the mountains + Unto the plains below. +My brain is parched and erring, + The pavement hot and dry, +And not a breath is stirring + Beneath the burning sky. + +The belles have all departed-- + There does not linger one! +Of course the mart's deserted + By every mother's son, +Except the street musician + And men of lesser note, +Whose only earthly mission + Seems but to toil and vote! + +A woman--blessings on her!-- + Beneath my window see; +She's singing--what an honor!-- + Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!" +Her "man" the air is killing-- + His organ's out of tune-- +They're gone, with my last shilling, [See Notes (1)] + To Florence's saloon. [See Notes (2)] + +New York is most compactly + Of brick and mortar made-- +Thermometer exactly + One hundred in the shade! +A furnace would be safer + Than this my letter-room, +Where gleams the sun, a wafer, + About to seal my doom. + +The town looks like an ogre, + The country like a bride; +Wealth hies to Saratoga, + And Worth to Sunny-side. [See Notes (3)] +While fashion seeks the islands + Encircled by the sea, +Taste find the Hudson Highlands + More beautiful and free. + +The omnibuses rumble + Along their cobbled way-- +The "twelve inside" more humble + Than he who takes the pay: +From morn till midnight stealing, + His horses come and go-- +The only creatures feeling + The "luxury of wo!" [See Notes (4)] + +We editors of papers, + Who coin our brains for bread +By solitary tapers + While others doze in bed, +Have tasks as sad and lonely, + However wrong or right, +But with this difference only, + The horses rest at night. + +From twelve till nearly fifty + I've toiled and idled not, +And, though accounted thrifty, + I'm scarcely worth a groat; +However, I inherit + What few have ever gained-- +A bright and cheerful spirit + That never has complained. + +A stillness and a sadness + Pervade the City Hall, +And speculating madness + Has left the street of Wall. +The Union Square looks really + Both desolate and dark, +And that's the case, or nearly, + From Battery to Park. + +Had I a yacht, like Miller, + That skimmer of the seas-- +A wheel rigged on a tiller, [See Notes (5)] + And a fresh gunwale breeze, +A crew of friends well chosen, + And all a-taunto, I +Would sail for regions frozen-- + I'd rather freeze than fry. + +Oh, this confounded weather! + (As some one sang or said,) +My pen, thought but a feather, + Is heavier than lead; +At every pore I'm oosing-- + (I'm "caving in" to-day)-- +My plumptitude I'm losing, + And dripping fast away. + +I'm weeping like the willow + That droops in leaf and bough-- +Let Croton's sparkling billow + Flow through the city now; +And, as becomes her station, + The muse will close her prayer: +God save the Corporation! + Long live the valiant Mayor! [See Notes (6)] + + + + + +A Legend of the Mohawk. + + + + +In the days that are gone, by this sweet-flowing water, + Two lovers reclined in the shade of a tree; +She was the mountain-king's rosy-lipped daughter, + The brave warrior-chief of the valley was he. +Then all things around them, below and above, +Were basking as now in the sunshine of love-- + In the days that are gone, by this sweet-flowing stream. + +In the days that are gone, they were laid 'neath the willow, + The maid in her beauty, the youth in his pride; +Both slain by the foeman who crossed the dark billow, + And stole the broad lands where their children reside; +Whose fathers, when dying, in fear looked above, +And trembled to think of that chief and his love, + In the days that are gone, by this sweet flowing stream. + + + + + +The Ball-Room Belle. + + +(Music by horn.) + + + + +The moon and all her starry train + Were fading from the morning sky, +When home the ball-room belle again +Returned, with throbbing pulse and brain, + Flushed cheek and tearful eye. + +The plume that danced above her brow, + The gem that sparkled in her zone, +The scarf of spangled leaf and bough, +Were laid aside--they mocked her now, + When desolate and lone. + +That night how many hearts she won! + The reigning belle, she could not stir, +But, like the planets round the sun, +Her suitors followed--all but one-- + One all the world to her! + +And she had lost him!--Marvel not + That lady's eyes with tears were wet! +Though love by man is soon forgot, +It never yet was woman's lot + To love and to forget. + + + + + +We Were Boys Together. + + +(Music by Russell.) + + + + +We were boys together, + And never can forget +The school-house near the heather, + In childhood where we met; +The humble home to memory dear, + Its sorrows and its joys; +Where woke the transient smile or tear, + When you and I were boys. + +We were youths together, + And castles built in air, +Your heart was like a feather, + And mine weighed down with care; +To you came wealth with manhood's prime, + To me it brought alloys-- +Foreshadowed in the primrose time. + When you and I were boys. + +We're old men together-- + The friends we loved of yore, +With leaves of autumn weather, + Are gone for evermore. +How blest to age the impulse given, + The hope time ne'er destroys-- +Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven, + When you and I were boys! + + + + + +Oh, Boatman, Haste! + + +(Music by Balfe.) + + + + +Twilight. + + +Oh, boatman, haste!--The twilight hour + Is closing gently o'er the lea! +The sun, whose setting shuts the flower. + Has looked his last upon the sea! + Row, then, boatman, row! + Row, then, boatman, row! +Row!--aha!--we've moon and star! +And our skiff with the stream is flowing. + Heigh-ho!--ah!--heigh-ho!-- + Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho! + + +Midnight. + + +Oh, boatman, haste!--The sentry calls + The midnight hour on yonder shore, +And silvery sweet the echo falls + As music dripping from the oar! + Row, then, boatman, row! + Row, then, boatman, row! +Row!--afar fade moon and star! +While our skiff with the stream is flowing! + Heigh-ho!--ah!--heigh-ho!-- + Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho. + + +Dawn. + + +Oh, boatman haste!--The morning beam + Glides through the fleecy clouds above: +So breaks on life's dark, murm'ring stream, + The rosy dawn of woman's love! + Row, then, boatman, row! + Row, then, boatman, row! +Row!--'Tis day!--away--away! +To land with the stream we are flowing! + Heigh-ho!--dear one--ho! + Beauty responds to my glad heigh-ho! + + + + + +Funeral Hymn. + + + + +"Man dieth and wasteth away, + And where is he?"--Hark! from the skies +I hear a voice answer and say, + "The spirit of man never dies: +His body, which came from the earth, + Must mingle again with the sod; +But his soul, which in heaven had birth, + Returns to the bosom of God." + +No terror has death, or the grave, + To those who believe in the Lord-- +We know the Redeemer can save, + And lean on the faith of his word; +While ashes to ashes, and dust + We give unto dust, in our gloom, +The light of salvation, we trust, + Is hung like a lamp in the tomb. + +The sky will be burnt as a scroll-- + The earth, wrapped in flames, will expire; +But, freed from all shackles, the soul + Will rise in the midst of the fire. +Then, brothers, mourn not for the dead, + Who rest from their labors, forgiven; +Learn this from your Bible instead, + The grave is the gateway to heaven. + +O Lord God Almighty! to Thee + We turn as our solace above; +The waters may fail from the sea, + But not from thy fountains of love: +Oh, teach us Thy will to obey, + And sing with one heart and accord, +"He gave and he taketh away, + And praised be the name of the Lord!" + + + + + +O'er the Mountains. + + + + +Some spirit wafts our mountain lay-- + Hili ho! boys, hili ho! +To distant groves and glens away! + Hili ho! boys, hili ho! +E'en so the tide of empire flows-- + Ho! boys, hili ho! +Rejoicing as it westward goes! + Ho! boys, hili ho! + To refresh our weary way + Gush the crystal fountains, + As a pilgrim band we stray + Cheerly o'er the mountains. + +The woodland rings with song and shout! + Hili ho! boys, hili ho! +As though a fairy hunt were out! + Hili ho! boys, hili ho! +E'en so the voice of woman cheers-- + Ho! boys, hili ho! +The hearts of hardy mountaineers! + Ho! boys, hili ho! + Like the glow of northern skies + Mirrored in the fountains, + Beams the love-light of fond eyes, + As we cross the mountains. + + + + + +Woman. + + + + +Ah, woman!--in this world of ours, + What boon can be compared to thee?-- +How slow would drag life's weary hours, +Though man's proud brow were bound with flowers, + And his the wealth of land and sea, +If destined to exist alone, +And ne'er call woman's heart his own! + +My mother!--At that holy name, + Within my bosom there's a gush +Of feeling, which no time can tame-- +A feeling, which, for years of fame, + I would not, could not, crush! +And sisters!--ye are dear as life; +But when I look upon my wife, + My heart-blood gives a sudden rush, +And all my fond affections blend +In mother--sisters--wife and friend! + +Yes, woman's love is free from guile, + And pure as bright Aurora's ray; +The heart will melt before her smile, + And base-born passions fade away! +Were I the monarch of the earth, + Or master of the swelling sea, +I would not estimate their worth, + Dear woman, half the price of thee. + + + + + +Rosabel. + + + + +I miss thee from my side, beloved, + I miss thee from my side; +And wearily and drearily + Flows Time's resistless tide. +The world, and all its fleeting joys, + To me are worse than vain, +Until I clasp thee to my heart, + Beloved one, again. + +The wildwood and the forest-path, + We used to thread of yore, +With bird and bee have flown with thee, + And gone for ever more! +There is no music in the grove, + No echo on the hill; +But melancholy boughs are there-- + And hushed the whip-poor-will. + +I miss thee in the town, beloved, + I miss thee in the town; +From morn I grieve till dewy eve + Spreads wide its mantle brown. +My spirit's wings, that once could soar + In Fancy's world of air, +Are crushed and beaten to the ground + By life-corroding care. + +No more I hear thy thrilling voice, + Nor see thy winning face; +That once would gleam like morning's beam, + In mental pride and grace: +Thy form of matchless symmetry, + In sweet perfection cast-- +Is now the star of memory + That fades not with the past. + +I miss thee everywhere, beloved, + I miss thee everywhere; +Both night and day wear dull away, + And leave me in despair. +The banquet-hall, the play, the ball, + And childhood's sportive glee, +Have lost their spell for me, beloved, + My souls is full of thee! + +Has Rosabel forgotten me, + And love I now in vain? +If that be so, my heart can know + No rest on earth again. +A sad and weary lot is mine, + To love and be forgot; +A sad and weary lot beloved-- + A sad and weary lot! + + + + + +The Tyrant Sway. + + + + +The heart that owns thy tyrant sway, + Whate'er its hopes may be, +Is like a bark that drifts away + Upon a shoreless sea! +No compass left to guide her on, +Upon the surge she's tempest-torn-- + And such is life to me! + +And what is life when love is fled? + The world, unshared by thee? +I'd rather slumber with the dead, + Than such a waif to be! +The bark that by no compass steers +Is lost, which way soe'er she veers-- + And such is life to me! + + + + + +A Hero of the Revolution. + + + + +Let not a tear be shed! + Of grief give not a token, +Although the silver thread + And golden bowl be broken! +A warrior lived--a Christian died! +Sorrow's forgotten in our pride! + +Go, bring his battle-blade, + His helmet and his plume! +And be his trophies laid + Beside him in the tomb, +Where files of time-marked veterans come +With martial tramp and muffled drum! + +Give to the earth his frame, + To moulder and decay; +But not his deathless name-- + That can not pass away! +In youth, in manhood, and in age, +He dignified his country's page! + +Green be the willow-bough + Above the swelling mound, +Where sleeps the hero now + In consecrated ground: +Thy epitaph, O Delavan! +God's noblest work--an honest man! + + + + + +Rhyme and Reason. + + +An Apologue. + + + + +Two children of the olden time + In Flora's primrose season, +Were born. The name of one was Rhyme + That of the other Reason. +And both were beautiful and fair, +And pure as mountain stream and air. + +As the boys together grew, + Happy fled their hours-- +Grief or care they never knew + In the Paphian bowers. +See them roaming, hand in hand, +The pride of all the choral band! + +Music with harp of golden strings, + Love with bow and quiver, +Airy sprites on radiant wings, + Nymphs of wood and river, +Joined the Muses' constant song, +As Rhyme and Reason passed along. + +But the scene was changed--the boys + Left their native soil-- +Rhyme's pursuit was idle joys, + Reason's manly toil: +Soon Rhyme was starving in a ditch, +While Reason grew exceeding rich. + +Since the dark and fatal hour, + When the brothers parted, +Reason has had wealth and power-- + Rhyme's poor and broken-hearted! +And now, or bright, or stormy weather, +They twain are seldom seen together. + + + + + +Starlight Recollections. + + + + +'Twas night. Near the murmuring Saone, + We met with no witnesses by, +But such as resplendently shone + In the blue-tinted vault of the sky: +Your head on my bosom was laid, + As you said you would ever be mine; +And I promised to love, dearest maid, + And worship alone at your shrine. + +Your love on my heart gently fell + As the dew on the flowers at eve, +Whose blossoms with gratitude swell, + A blessing to give and receive: +And I knew by the glow on your cheek, + And the rapture you could not control, +No power had language to speak + The faith or content of your soul. + +I love you as none ever loved-- + As the steel to the star I am true; +And I, dearest maiden, have proved + That none ever loved me but you. +Till memory loses her power, + Or the sands of existence have run, +I'll remember the star-lighted hour + That mingled two hearts into one. + + + + + +Wearies my Love? + + + + +Wearies my love of my letters? + Does she my silence command? +Sunders she Love's rosy fetters + As though they were woven of sand? +Tires she too of each token + Indited with many a sigh? +Are all her promises broken? + And must I love on till I die? + +Thinks my dear love that I blame her + With what was a burden to part? +Ah, no!--with affection I'll name her + While lingers a pulse in my heart. +Although she has clouded with sadness, + And blighted the bloom of my years, +I lover still, even to madness, + And bless her through showers of tears. + +My pen I have laid down in sorrow, + The songs of my lute I forego: +From neither assistance I'll borrow + To utter my heart-seated wo! +But peace to her bosom, wherever + Her thoughts or her footsteps may stray: +Memento of mine again never + Will shadow the light of her way! + + + + + +Fare The Well, Love. + + + + +Fare thee well, love!--We must sever! +Nor for years, love; but for ever! +We must meet no more--or only +Meet as strangers--sad and lonely. + Fare thee well! + +Fare thee well, love!--How I languish +For the cause of all my anguish! +None have ever met and parted +So forlorn and broken-hearted. + Fare thee well! + +Fare thee well, love--Till I perish +All my truth for thee I'll cherish; +And, when thou my requiem hearest, +Know till death I loved thee, dearest. + Fare thee well! + + + + + +Thou Hast Woven the Spell. + + + + +Thou hast woven the spell that hath bound me, + Through all the sad changes of years; +And the smiles that I wore when I found thee, + Have faded and melted in tears! +Like the poor, wounded fawn from the mountain, + That seeks out the clear silver tide, +I have lingered in vain at the fountain + Of hope--with a shaft in my side! + +Thou hast taught me that Love's rosy fetters + A pang from the thorns may impart; +That the coinage of vows and of letters + Comes not from the mint of the heart. +Like the lone bird that flutters her pinion, + And warbles in bondage her strain, +I have struggled to fly thy domain, + But find that the struggle is vain! + + + + + +Bessy Bell. + + + + +When life looks drear and lonely, love, + And pleasant fancies flee, +Then will the Muses only, love, + Bestow a thought on me! +Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love, + To waken strives in vain; +To Joy's entrancing measure, love, + It ne'er can thrill again!-- + Why mock me, Bessy Bell? + +Oh, do not ask me ever, love, + For rapture-woven rhymes; +For vain is each endeavor, love, + To sound Mirth's play-bell chimes! +Yet still believe me, dearest love, + Though sad my song may be, +This heart still dotes sincerest, love, + And grateful turns to thee-- + My once fond Bessy Bell! + +Those eyes still rest upon me, love! + I feel their magic spell! +With that same look you won me, love, + Fair, gentle Bessy Bell! +My doom you've idly spoken, love, + You never can be mine! +But though my heart is broken, love, + Still, Bessy, it is thine! + Adieu, false Bessy Bell! + + + + + +The Day is Now Dawning. + + + + +William. + + +The day is now dawning, love, + Fled is the night-- +I go like the morning, love, + Cheerful and bright. +Then adieu, dearest Ellen: + When evening is near, +I'll visit thy dwelling, + For true love is here. + + +Ellen. + + +Oh, come where the fountain, love, + Tranquilly flows; +Beneath the green mountain, love, + Seek for repose; +There the days of our childhood, + In love's golden beam, +'Mong the blue-bells and wildwood, + Passed on like a dream. + + +William. + + +Oh, linger awhile, love! + + +Ellen. + + + I must away. + + +William. + + +Oh, grant me thy smile, love, + 'Tis Hope's cheering ray-- +With evening expect me. + + +Ellen. + + +To the moment be true, + And may angels protect thee-- + + +Both. + + +Sweet Ellen, adieu! +Dear William, adieu! + + + + + +When Other Friends. + + + + +When other friends are round thee, + And other hearts are thine-- +When other bays have crowned thee, + More fresh and green than mine-- +Then think how sad and lonely + This doating heart will be, +Which, while it beats, beats only, + Beloved one, for thee! + +Yet do not think I doubt thee, + I know thy truth remains; +I would not live without thee, + For all the world contains. +Thou art the start that guides me + Along life's troubled sea; +And whatever fate betides me, + This heart still turns to thee. + + + + + +Silent Grief. + + + + +Where is now my peace of mind? + Gone, alas! for evermore: +Turn where'er I may, I find + Thorns where roses bloomed before! +O'er the green-fields of my soul, + Where the springs of joy were found, +Now the clouds of sorrow roll, + Shading all the prospect round! + +Do I merit pangs like these, + That have cleft my heart in twain? +Must I, to the very lees, + Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain? +Silent grief all grief excels; + Life and it together part-- +Like a restless worm it dwells + Deep within the human heart! + + + + + +Love Thee, Dearest! + + + + +Love thee, dearest?--Hear me.--Never + Will my fond vows be forgot! +May I perish, and for ever, + When, dear maid, I love thee not! +Turn not from me, dearest!--Listen! + Banish all thy doubts and fears! +Let thine eyes with transport glisten! + What hast thou to do with tears? + +Dry them, dearest!--Ah, believe me, + Love's bright flame is burning still! +Though the hollow world deceive thee, + Here's a heart that never will! +Dost thou smile?--A cloud of sorrow + Breaks before Joy's rising sun! +Wilt thou give thy hand?--To-morrow, + Hymen's bond will make us one! + + + + + +I Love the Night. + + + + +I love the night when the moon streams bright + On flowers that drink the dew-- +When cascades shout as the stars peep out, + From boundless fields of blue; +But dearer far than moon or star, + Or flowers of gaudy hue, +Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills, + I love, I love, love--you! + +I love to stray at the close of the day, + Through groves of forest-trees, +When gushing notes from song-birds' throats + Are vocal in the breeze. +I love the night--the glorious night-- + When hearts beat warm and true; +But far above the night, I love, + I love, I love, love--you! + + + + + +The Miniature. + + + + +William was holding in his hand + The likeness of his wife! +Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand, + With beauty, grace, and life. +He almost thought it spoke:--he gazed + Upon the bauble still, +Absorbed, delighted, and amazed, + To view the artist's skill. + +"This picture is yourself, dear Jane-- + 'Tis drawn to nature true: +I've kissed it o'er and o'er again, + It is much like you." +"And has it kissed you back, my dear?" + "Why--no--my love," said he. +"Then, William, it is very clear + 'Tis not at all LIKE ME!" + + + + + +The Retort. + + + + +Old Nick, who taught the village-school, + Wedded a maid of homespun habit; +He was as stubborn as a mule, + She was as playful as a rabbit. + +Poor Jane had scarce become a wife, + Before her husband sought to make her +The pink of country-polished life, + And prim and formal as a Quaker. + +One day the tutor went abroad, + And simple Jenny sadly missed him; +When he returned, behind her lord + She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him! + +The husband's anger rose!--and red + And white his face alternate grew! +"Less freedom, ma'am!"--Jane sighed and said, + "OH, DEAR! I DIDN'T KNOW 'TWAS YOU!" + + + + + +Lines On A Poet. + + + + +How sweet the cadence of his lyre! + What melody of words! +They strike a pulse within the heart + Like songs of forest-birds, +Or tinkling of the shepherd's bell + Among the mountain-herds. + +His mind's a cultured garden, + Where Nature's hand has sown +The flower-seeds of poesy-- + And they have freshly grown, +Imbued with beauty and perfume + To other plants unknown. + +A bright career's before him-- + All tongues pronounce his praise; +All hearts his inspiration feel, + And will in after-days; +For genius breathes in every line + Of his soul-thrilling lays. + +A nameless grace is round him-- + A something, too refined +To be described, yet must be felt + By all of human kind-- +An emanation of the soul, + That can not be defined. + +Then blessings on the minstrel-- + His faults let others scan: +There may be spots upon the sun, + Which those may view who can; +I see them not--yet know him well + A POET AND A MAN. + + + + + +The Bacchanal + + + + +Beside a cottage-door, + Sang Ella at her wheel; +Ruthven rode o'er the moor, + Down at her feet to kneel: +A spotted palfrey gay + Came ambling at his side, +To bear the maid away + As his affianced bride. + +A high-born noble he, + Of stately halls secure; +A low-born peasant she, + Of parentage obscure. +How soft the honeyed words + He breathes into her ears!-- +The melody of birds! + The music of the spheres! + +With love her bosom swells, + Which she would fain conceal-- +Her eyes, like crystal wells, + Its hidden depths reveal. +While liquid diamonds drip + From feeling's fountain warm, +Flutters her scarlet lip-- + A rose-leaf in a storm! + +As from an April sky + The rain-clouds flit away, +So from the maiden's eye + Vanished the falling spray, +Which lingered but awhile + Her dimpled cheek upon-- +Then melted in her smile, + Like vapor in the sun. + +The maid is all his own! + She trusts his plighted word, +And, lightly on the roan, + She springs beside her lord: +She leaves her father's cot, + She turns her from the door-- +That green and holy spot + Which she will see no more! + +They hied to distant lands, + That lord and peasant-maid: +The church ne'er joined their hands, + For Ella was betrayed! +Torn from her native bower, + That modest rose of May, +Drooped, in his stately tower, + And passed from earth away. + +They laid her in the ground, + And Ella was forgot-- +Dead was her father found + In his deserted cot. +But Ruthven--what of him? + He ran the story o'er, +And, filling to the brim, + He thought of it no more! + + + + + +Twenty Years Ago + + + + +'Twas in the flush of summer-time, + Some twenty years or more, +When Ernest lost his way, and crossed + The threshold of our door. +I'll ne'er forget his locks of jet, + His brow of Alpine snow, +His manly grace of form and face, + Some twenty years ago. + +The hand he asked I freely gave-- + Mine was a happy lot, +In all my pride to be his bride + Within my father's cot. +The faith he spoke he never broke: + His faithful heart I know; +And well I vow I love him now + As twenty years ago. + + + + + +National Anthem. + + + + +Freedom spreads her downy wings +Over all created things; +Glory to the King of kings, + Bend low to Him the knee! +Bring the heart before His throne-- +Worship Him and Him alone!-- +He's the only King we own-- + And He has made us free! + +The holiest spot a smiling sun +E'er shed his genial rays upon, +Is that which gave a Washington + The drooping world to cheer! +Sound the clarion-peals of fame! +Ye who bear Columbia's name!-- +With existence freedom came-- + It is man's birthright here! + +Heirs of an immortal sire, +Let his deeds your hearts inspire; +Weave the strain and wake the lyre + Where your proud altars stand! +Hail with pride and loud harrahs, +Streaming from a thousand spars, +Freedom's rainbow-flag of stars-- + The symbol of our land! + + + + + +I Love Thee Still. + + + + +I never have been false to thee!-- + The heart I gave thee still is thine; +Though thou hast been untrue to me, + And I no more may call thee mine! +I've loved, as woman ever loves, + With constant soul in good or ill: +Thou'st proved as man too often proves, + A rover--but I love thee still! + +Yet think not that my spirit stoops + To bind thee captive in my train!-- +Love's not a flower at sunset droops, + But smiles when comes her god again! +Thy words, which fall unheeded now, + Could once my heart-strings madly thrill! +Love a golden chain and burning vow + Are broken--but I love thee still! + +Once what a heaven of bliss was ours, + When love dispelled the clouds of care, +And time went by with birds and flowers, + While song and incense filled the air! +The past is mine--the present thine-- + Should thoughts of me thy future fill, +Think what a destiny is mine, + To lose--but love thee, false one, still! + + + + + +Look From Thy Lattice, Love. + + + + + +Look from thy lattice, love-- + Listen to me! +The cool, balmy breeze + Is abroad on the sea! +The moon, like a queen, + Roams her realms above, +And naught is awake + But the spirit of love. +Ere morn's golden light + Tips the hills with its ray, +Away o'er the waters-- + Away and away! +Then look from thy lattice, love-- + Listen to me. +While the moon lights the sky, + And the breeze curls the sea! +Look from thy lattice, love-- + Listen to me! +In the voyage of life, + Love our pilot will be! +He'll sit at the helm + Wherever we rove, +And steer by the load-star + He kindled above! +His gem-girdled shallop + Will cut the bright spray, +Or skim, like a bird, + O'er the waters away! +Then look from thy lattice, love-- + Listen to me, +While the moon lights the sky, + And the breeze curls the sea! + + + + + +She Loved Him. + + + + +She loved him--but she heeded not-- + Her heart had only room for pride: +All other feelings were forgot, + When she became another's bride. +As from a dream she then awoke, + To realize her lonely state, +And own it was the vow she broke + That made her drear and desolate! + +She loved him--but the sland'rer came, + With words of hate that all believed; +A stain thus rested on his name-- + But he was wronged and she deceived; +Ah! rash the act that gave her hand, + That drove her lover from her side-- +Who hied him to a distant land, + Where, battling for a name, he died! + +She loved him--and his memory now + Was treasured from the world apart: +The calm of thought was on her brow, + The seeds of death were in her heart. +For all the world that thing forlorn + I would not, could not be, and live-- +That casket with its jewel gone, + A bride who has no heart to give! + + + + + +The Suitors. + + + + +Wealth sought the bower of Beauty, + Dressed like a modern beau: +Just then Love, Health, and Duty + Took up their hats to go. +Wealth such a cordial welcome met, + As made the others grieve; +So Duty shunned the gay coquette, + Love, pouting, took French leave-- + He did! + Love, pouting, took French leave! + +Old Time, the friend of Duty, + Next called to see the fair; +He laid his hand on Beauty, + And left her in despair +Wealth vanished!--Last went rosy Health-- + And she was doomed to prove +That those who Duty slight for Wealth, + Can never hope for Love! + Ah, no! + Can never hope for Love! + + + + + +St. Agnes' Shrine. + + + + +While before St. Agnes' shrine + Knelt a true knight's lady-love, +From the wars of Palestine + Came a gentle carrier-dove. +Round his neck a Silken string + Fastened words the warrior writ: +At her call he stooped his wing, + And upon her finger lit. + +She, like one enchanted, pored + O'er the contents of the scroll-- +For that lady loved her lord + With a pure, devoted soul. +To her heart her dove she drew, + While she traced the burning line; +Then away his minion flew + Back to sainted Palestine. + +To and fro, from hand to hand + Came and went a carrier-dove, +Till throughout the Holy Land + War resigned his sword to Love. +Swift her dove, on wings of light, + Brought the news from Palestine, +And the lady her true knight + Wedded at St. Agnes' shrine. + + + + + +Western Refrain + + + + + Droop not, brothers! + As we go, + O'er the mountains, +Under the boughs of mistletoe, + Log huts we'll rear, +While herds of deer and buffalo + Furnish the cheer. +File o'er the mountains--steady, boys + For game afar +We have our rifles ready, boys!-- + Aha! +Throw care to the winds, + Like chaff, boys!--ha! +And join in the laugh, boys!-- + Hah--hah--hah! + + Cheer up, brothers! + As we go, + O'er the mountains, +When we've wood and prairie-land, + Won by our toil, +We'll reign like kings in fairy-land, + Lords of the soil! +Then westward ho! in legions, boys-- + Fair Freedom's star +Points to her sunset regions, boys-- + Aha! +Throw care to the winds, + Like chaff, boys!--ha! +And join in the laugh, boys!-- + Hah--hah--hah! + + + + + +The Prairie on Fire [See Notes] + + + + +The shades of evening closed around + The boundless prairies of the west, +As, grouped in sadness on the ground, + A band of pilgrims leaned to rest: +Upon the tangled weeds were laid + The mother and her youngest born, +Who slept, while others watched and prayed, + And thus the weary night went on. + +Thick darkness shrouded earth and sky-- + When on the whispering winds there came +The Teton's shrill and thrilling cry, + And heaven was pierced with shafts of flame! +The sun seemed rising through the haze, + But with an aspect dread and dire: +The very air appeared to blaze!-- + O God! the Prairie was on fire! + +Around the centre of the plain + A belt of flame retreated denied-- +And, like a furnace, glowed the train + That walled them in on every side: +And onward rolled the torrent wild-- + Wreathes of dense smoke obscured the sky! +The mother knelt beside her child, + And all--save one--shrieked out, "We die." + +"Not so!" he cried.--"Help!--Clear the sedge! + Strip bare a circle to the land!" +That done, he hastened to its edge, + And grasped a rifle in his hand: +Dried weeds he held beside the pan, + Which kindled at a flash the mass! +"Now fire fight fire!" he said, as ran + The forked flames among the grass. + +On three sides then the torrent flew, + But on the fourth no more it raved! +Then large and broad the circle grew, + And thus the pilgrim band was saved! +The flames receded far and wide-- + The mother had not prayed in vain: +God had the Teton's arts defied! + His scythe of fire had swept the plain! + + + + + +The Evergreen. + + + + +Love can not be the aloe-tree, + Whose bloom but once is seen; +Go search the grove--the tree of love + Is sure the evergreen: +For that's the same, in leaf or frame, + 'Neath cold or sunny skies; +You take the ground its roots have bound, + Or it, transplanted, dies! + +That love thus shoots, and firmly roots + In woman's heart, we see; +Through smiles and tears in after-years + It grows a fadeless tree. +The tree of love, all trees above, + For ever may be seen, +In summer's bloom or winter's gloom, + A hardy evergreen. + + + + + +The May-Queen. + + + + + Like flights of singing-birds went by + The cheerful hours of girlhood's day, + When, in my native bowers, + Of simple buds and flowers +They wove a crown, and hailed me Queen of May! + + Like airy sprites the lasses came, + Spring's offerings at my feet to lay; + The crystal from the fountain, + The green bough from the mountain, +They brought to cheer and shade the Queen of May. + + Around the May-pole on the green, + A fairy ring they tripped away; + All merriment and pleasure, + To chords of tuneful measure +They bounded by the happy Queen of May. + + Though years have passed, and Time has strown + My raven locks with flakes of gray, + Fond Memory brings the hours + Of buds and blossom-showers +When in girlhood I was crowned the Queen of May. + + + + + +Venetian Serenade. + + + + +Come, come to me, love! + Come, love!--Arise +And shame the bright stars + With the light of thine eyes; +Look out from thy lattice-- + Oh, lady-bird, hear! +A swan on the water-- + My gondola's near! + +Come, come to me, love! + Come, love!--My bride! +O'er crystal in moonbeams + We'll tranquilly glide: +In the dip of the oar + A melody flows +Sweet as the nightingale + Sings to the rose. + +Come, come to me, love! + Come, love!--The day +Brings warder and cloister! + Away, then--away! +Oh, haste to thy lover! + Not yon star above +Is more true to heaven + Then he to his love! + + + + + +The Whip-Poor-Will. + + + + +"The plaint of the wailing Whip-poor-will, + Who mourns unseen and ceaseless sings + Ever a note of wail and wo, + Till Morning spreads her rosy wings, + And earth and sky in her glances glow." + + J. R. Drake. + + +Why dost thou come at set of sun, + Those pensive words to say? +Why whip poor Will?--What has he done? + And who is Will, I pray? + +Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill, + A suppliant at my door?-- +Why ask of me to whip poor Will? + And is Will really poor? + +If poverty's his crime, let mirth + From his heart be driven: +That is the deadliest sin on earth, + And never is forgiven! + +Art Will himself?--It must be so-- + I learn it from thy moan, +For none can feel another's wo + As deeply as his own. + +Yet wherefore strain thy tiny throat, + While other birds repose? +What means thy melancholy note?-- + The mystery disclose! + +Still "Whip poor Will!"--Art thou a sprite, + From unknown regions sent +To wander in the gloom of night, + And ask for punishment? + +Is thine a conscience sore beset + With guilt?--or, what is worse, +Hast thou to meet writs, duns, and debt-- + No money in thy purse! + +If this be thy hard fate indeed, + Ah! well may'st thou repine: +The sympathy I give I need-- + The poet's doom is thine! + +Art thou a lover, Will?--Has proved + The fairest can deceive? +This is the lot of all who've loved + Since Adam wedded Eve! + +Hast trusted in a friend, and seen + No friend was he in need? +A common error--men still lean + Upon as frail a reed. + +Hast thou, in seeking wealth or fame, + A crown of brambles won? +O'er all the earth 'tis just the same + With every mother's son! + +Hast found the world a Babel wide, + Where man to Mammon stoops? +Where flourish Arrogance and Pride, + While modest Merit droops? + +What, none of these?--Then, whence thy pain? + To guess it who's the skill? +Pray have the kindness to explain + Why should I whip poor Will? + +Dost merely ask thy just desert? + What, not another word?-- +Back to the woods again, unhurt-- + I will not harm thee, bird! + +But use thee kindly--for my nerves, + Like thine, have penance done: +"Use every man as he deserves, + Who shall 'scape whipping?"--None! + +Farewell, poor Will!--Not valueless + This lesson by thee given: +"Keep thine own counsel, and confess + Thyself alone to Heaven!" + + + + + +The Exile to his Sister. + + + + +As streams at morn, from seas that glide, + Rejoicing on their sparkling way, +Will turn again at eventide, + To mingle with their kindred spray-- +Even so the currents of the soul, + Dear sister, wheresoe'er we rove, +Will backward to our country roll, + The boundless ocean of our love. + +You northern star, now burning bright, + The guide by which the wave-tossed steer, +Beams not with a more constant light + Than does thy love, my sister dear. +From stars above the streams below + Receive the glory they impart; +So, sister, do thy virtues glow + Within the mirror of my heart. + + + + + +Near the Lake. + + + + +Near the lake where drooped the willow, + Long time ago!-- +Where the rock threw back the billow + Brighter than snow-- +Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished + By high and low; +But with autumn's leaf she perished, + Long time ago! + +Rock and tree and flowing water, + Long time ago!-- +Bee and bird and blossom taught her + Love's spell to know! +While to my fond words she listened, + Murmuring low, +Tenderly her dove-eyes glistened, + Long time ago! + +Mingled were our hearts for ever, + Long time ago! +Can I now forget her?--Never! + No--lost one--no! +To her grave these tears are given, + Ever to flow: +She's the star I missed from heaven, + Long time ago! + + + + + +The Pastor's Daughter. + + + + +An ivy-mantled cottage smiled, + Deep-wooded near a streamlet's side, +Where dwelt the village-pastor's child, + In all her maiden bloom and pride. +Proud suitors paid their court and duty +To this romantic sylvan beauty: +Yet none of all the swains who sought her, +Was worthy of the pastor's daughter. + +The town-gallants crossed hill and plain, + To seek the groves of her retreat; +And many followed in her train, + To lay their riches at her feet. +But still, for all their arts so wary, +From home they could not lure the fairy. +A maid without a heart they thought her, +And so they left the pastor's daughter. + +One balmy eve in dewy spring + A bard became her father's guest: +He struck his harp, and every string + To love vibrated in her breast. +With that true faith which can not falter, +Her hand was given at the alter, +And faithful was the heart he brought her +To wedlock and the pastor's daughter. + +How seldom learn the worldly gay + With all their sophistry and art, +The sweet and gentle primrose-way + To woman's fond, devoted heart! +They seek, but never find, the treasure +Revealed in eyes of jet and azure. +To them, like truth in wells of water, +A fable is the pastor's daughter. + + + + + +Margaretta. + + + + +When I was in my teens, + I loved dear Margaretta: +I know not what it means, + I can not now forget her! +That vision of the past + My head is ever crazing; +Yet, when I saw her last, + I could not speak for gazing! +Oh, lingering bud of May! + Dear as when first I met her; +Worn in my heart always, + Life-cherished Margaretta! + +We parted near the stile, + As morn was faintly breaking: +For many a weary mile + Oh how my heart was aching! +But distance, time, and change, + Have lost me Margaretta; +And yet 'tis sadly strange + That I can not forget her! +O queen of rural maids-- + My dark-eyed Magaretta-- +The heart the mind upbraids + That struggles to forget her! + +My love, I know, will seem + A wayward, boyish folly; +But, ah! it was a dream + Most sweet--most melancholy. +Were mine the world's domain, + To me 'twere fortune better +To be a boy again, + And dream of Margaretta. +Oh! memory of the past, + Why linger to regret her? +My first love was my last! + And that is Margaretta! + + + + + +The Colonel. + + + + +The Colonel!--Such a creature! + I met him at the ball!-- +So fair in form and feature, + And so divinely tall! +He praised my dimpled cheeks and curls, + While whirling through the dance, +And matched me with the dark-eyed girls + Of Italy and France! + +He said, in accents thrilling-- + "Love's boundless as the sea; +And I, dear maid, am willing + To give up all for thee!" +I heard him--blushed--"Would ask mamma"-- + And then my eyes grew dim! +He looked--I said, "Mamma--papa-- + I'd give up all for him!" + +My governor is rich and old; + This well the Colonel knew. +"Love's wings," he said, "when fringed with gold, + Are beautiful to view!" +I thought his 'havior quite the ton, + Until I saw him stare +When merely told that--brother--John-- + Papa--would--make--his--heir! + +Next day and the day after + I dressed for him in vain; +Was moved to tears and laughter-- + He never came again! +But I have heard, for Widow Dash + He bought the bridal ring; +And he will we her for her cash-- + The ugly, hateful thing! + + + + + +The Sweep's Carol. [See Notes] + + + + +Through the streets of New York City, + Blithely every morn, +I carolled o'er my artless ditty, + Cheerly though forlorn! +Before the rosy light, my lay + Was to the maids begun, +Ere winters snows had passed away, + Or smiled the summer sun. + CAROL--O--a--y--e--o! + +In summer months I'd fondly woo + Those merry, dark-eyed girls, +With faces of ebon hue, + And teeth like eastern pearls! +One vowed my love she would repay-- + Her heart my song had won-- +When winter snows had passed away, + And smiled the summer sun. + CAROL--O--a--y--e--o! + +A year, alas! had scarcely flown-- + Hope beamed but to deceive-- +Ere I was left to weep alone, + From morn till dewy eve! +She died one dreary break of day!-- + Grief weighs my heart upon!-- +In vain the snows may pass away, + Or smile the summer sun. + CAROL--O--a--y--e--o! + + + + + +The Seasons of Love. + + + + + +The spring-time of love + Is both happy and gay, +For joy sprinkles blossoms + And balm in our way; +The sky, earth, and ocean, + In beauty repose, +And all the bright future + Is COLEUR DE ROSE. + +The summer of love + Is the bloom of the heart, +When hill, grove, and valley, + Their music impart; +And the pure glow of heaven + Is seen in fond eyes, +As lakes show the rainbow + That's hung in the skies. + +The autumn of love + Is the season of cheer-- +Life's mild Indian summer, + The smile of the year! +Which comes when the golden + Ripe harvest is stored, +And yields its own blessings-- + Repose and reward. + +The winter of love + Is the beam that we win +While the storm scowls without, + From the sunshine within. +Love's reign is eternal-- + The heart is his throne, +And he has all seasons + Of life for his own. + + + + + +My Woodland Bride. + + + + +Here upon the mountain-side + Till now we met together; +Here I won my woodland bride, + In flush of summer weather. +Green was then the linden-bough, + This dear retreat that shaded; +Autumn winds are round me now, + And the leaves have faded. + +She whose heart was all my own, + In this summer-bower, +With all pleasant things has flown, + Sunbeam, bird, and flower! +But her memory will stay + With me, though we're parted-- +From the scene I turn away, + Lone and broken-hearted! + + + + + +Oh, Think of Me! + + + + +Oh, think of me, my own beloved, + Whatever cares beset thee! +And when thou hast the falsehood proved, + Of those with smiles who met thee-- +While o'er the sea, think, love, of me, + Who never can forget thee; +Let memory trace the trysting-place, + Where I with tears regret thee. + +Bright as you star, within my mind, + A hand unseen hath set thee; +There hath thine image been enshrined, + Since first, dear love, I met thee; +So in thy breast I fain would rest, + If, haply, fate would let me-- +And live or die, so thou wert nigh, + To love or to regret me! + + + + + +My Bark is Out Upon the Sea. + + + + +My bark is out upon the sea-- + The moon's above; +Her light a presence seems to me + Like woman's love. +My native land I've left behind-- + Afar I roam; +In other climes no hearts I'll find + Like those at home. + +Of all yon sisterhood of stars, + But one is true: +She paves my path with silver bars, + And beams like you, +Whose purity the waves recall + In music's flow, +As round my bark they rise and fall + In liquid snow. + +The fresh'ning breeze now swells our sails! + A storm is on! +The weary moon's dim lustre fails-- + The stars are gone! +Not so fades Love's eternal light + When storm-clouds weep; +I know one heart's with me to-night + Upon the deep! + + + + + +Will Nobody Marry Me? + + + + +Heigh-ho! for a husband!--Heigh-ho! + There's danger in longer delay! +Shall I never again have a beau? + Will nobody marry me, pray! +I begin to feel strange, I declare! + With beauty my prospects will fade-- +I'd give myself up to despair + If I thought I should die an old maid! + +I once cut the beaux in a huff-- + I thought it a sin and a shame +That no one had spirit enough + To ask me to alter my name. +So I turned up my nose at the short, + And cast down my eyes at the tall; +But then I just did it in sport-- + And now I've no lover at all! + +These men are the plague of my life: + 'Tis hard from so many to choose! +Should any one wish for a wife, + Could I have the heart to refuse? +I don't know--for none have proposed-- + Oh, dear me!--I'm frightened, I vow! +Good gracious! who ever supposed + That I should be single till now? + + + + + +The Star of Love. + + + + +The star of love now shines above, + Cool zephyrs crisp the sea; +Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves + Its serenade for thee. +The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees, + Their minstrelsy unite, +But all are drear till thou appear + To decorate the night. + +The light of noon streams from the moon, + Though with a milder ray +O'er hill and grove, like woman's love, + It cheers us on our way. +Thus all that's bright--the moon, the night, + The heavens, the earth, the sea, +Exert their powers to bless the hours + We dedicate to thee. + + + + + +Well-A-Day! + + + + +Love comes and goes like a spell! +How, no one knows, nor can tell! +Now here--now there--then away! +None dreameth where!--Well-a-day! + +Love should be true as the star +Seen in the blue sky afar!-- +Not here--now there--like the lay +Of lutes in th' air!--Well-a-day! + +Should love depart, not a tie +Binds up the heart till we die!-- +Now here--now there--sad we stray +Life is all care!--Well-a-day! + + + + + +Not Married Yet! + + + + +I'm single yet--I'm single yet! + And years have flown since I came out! +In vain I sigh--in vain I fret-- + Ye gods! what are the men about? +I vow I'm twenty!--O ye powers! + A spinster's lot is hard to bear-- +On earth alone to pass her hours, + And afterward lead apes--DOWN THERE! + +No offer yet--no offer yet! + I'm puzzled quite to make it out: +For every beau my cap I set-- + What, what, what ARE the men about? +They don't propose--they WON'T propose, + For fear, perhaps, I'd not say, "Yes!" +Just let them try--for Heaven knows + I'm tired of single-blessedness. + +Not married yet--not married yet-- + The deuce is in the men, I fear! +I'm like a--something to be let, + And to be LET ALONE--that's clear. +They say, "She's pretty--but no chink-- + And love without it runs in debt!" +It agitates my nerves to think + That I have had no offer yet. + + + + + +Lady of England. + + + + +Lady of England--o'er the seas +Thy name was borne on every breeze, +Till all this sunset clime became +Familiar with Victoria's name. + +Though seas divide us many miles, +Yet, for the Queen of those fair isles, +Which gave our fathers birth, there roves +A blessing from this Land of Groves. + +Our Fatherland!--Fit theme for song! +When thou art named, what memories throng! +Shall England cease our love to claim? +Not while our language is the same. + +Scion of kings! so live and reign, +That, when thy nation's swelling strain +Is breathed amid our forests green, +We too may sing, "God save the Queen!" + + + + + +Oh, This Love! + + +Music--"Jess Macfarlane." + + + + +Oh, this love--this love! + I ainse the passion slighted; +But hearts that truly love, + Must break or be united. + Oh, this love! + +When first he cam' to woo, + I little cared aboot him; +But seene I felt as though + I could na' live without him. + Oh, this love! + +He brought to me the ring, + My hand asked o' my mither-- +I could na' bear the thought + That he should we anither. + Oh, this love! + +And now I'm a' his ain-- + In a' his joys I mingle; +Nae for the wealth of warlds + Wad I again be single! + Oh, this love! + + + + + +Mary. + + + + +One balmy summer night, Mary, + Just as the risen moon +Had thrown aside her fleecy veil, + We left the gay saloon; +And in a green, sequestered spot, + Beneath a drooping tree, +Fond words were breathed, by you forgot, + That still are dear to me, Mary, + That still are dear to me. + +Oh, we were happy, then, Mary-- + Time lingered on his way, +To crowd a lifetime in a night, + Whole ages in a day! +If star and sun would set and rise + Thus in our after years, +The world would be a paradise, + And not a vale of tears, Mary, + And not a vale of tears. + +I live but in the past, Mary-- + The glorious day of old! +When love was hoarded in the heart, + As misers hoard their gold: +And often like a bridal train, + To music soft and low, +The by-gone moments cross my brain, + In all their summer glow, Mary, + In all their summer glow. + +These visions form and fade, Mary, + As age comes stealing on, +To bring the light and leave the shade + Of days for ever gone! +The poet's brow may wear at last + The bays that round it fall; +But love has rose-buds of the past + Far dearer than them all, Mary, + Far dearer than them all! + + + + + +The Beam of Devotion. + + + + +I never could find a good reason + Why sorrow unbidden should stay, +And all the bright joys of life's season + Be driven unheeded away. +Our cares would wake no more emotion, + Were we to our lot but resigned, +Than pebbles flung into the ocean, + That leave scarce a ripple behind. + +The world has a spirit of beauty, + Which looks upon all for the best, +And while it discharges its duty, + To Providence leaves all the rest: +That spirit's the beam of devotion, + Which lights us through life to its close, +And sets, like the sun in the ocean, + More beautiful far than it rose. + + + + + +The Welcome and Farewell. + + + + +To meet, and part, as we have met and parted, + One moment cherished and the next forgot, +To wear a smile when almost broken-hearted, + I know full well is hapless woman's lot; +Yet let me, to thy tenderness appealing, + Avert this brief but melancholy doom-- +Content that close beside the thorn of feeling, + Grows memory, like a rose, in guarded bloom. + +Love's history, dearest, is a sad one ever, + Yet often with a smile I've heard it told! +Oh, there are records of the heart which never + Are to the scrutinizing gaze unrolled! +My eyes to thine may scarce again aspire-- + Still in thy memory, dearest let me dwell, +And hush, with this hope, the magnetic wire, + Wild with our mingled welcome and farewell! + + + + + +'Tis Now the Promised Hour. + + +A Serenade. + + + + +The fountains serenade the flowers, + Upon their silver lute-- +And, nestled in their leafy bowers, + The forest-birds are mute: +The bright and glittering hosts above + Unbar their golden gates, +While Nature holds her court of love, + And for her client waits. +Then, lady, wake--in beauty rise! + 'Tis now the promised hour, +When torches kindle in the skies + To light thee to thy bower. +The day we dedicate to care-- + To love the witching night; +For all that's beautiful and fair + In hours like these unite. +E'en thus the sweets to flowerets given-- + The moonlight on the tree-- +And all the bliss of earth and heaven-- + Are mingled, love, in thee. +Then, lady, wake--in beauty rise! + 'Tis now the promised hour, +When torches kindle in the skies + To light thee to thy bower! + + + + + +The Songs of Home. + + + + +Oh, sing once more those dear, familiar lays, + Whose gliding measure every bosom thrills, +And takes my heart back to the happy days + When first I sang them on my native hills! +With the fresh feelings of the olden times, + I hear them now upon a foreign shore-- +The simple music and the artless rhymes! + Oh, sing those dear, familiar lays once more, + Those cheerful lays of other days-- + Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more! + +Oh, sing once more those joy-provoking strains, + Which, half forgotten, in my memory dwell; +They send the life-blood bounding thro' my veins, + And linger round me like a fairy spell. +The songs of home are to the human heart + Far dearer than the notes that song-birds pour, +And of our very nature form a part: + Then sing those dear, familiar lays once more! +Those cheerful lays of other days-- + Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more! + + + + + +Masonic Hymn. + + + + +Our Order, like the ark of yore, + Upon the raging sea was tossed; +Secure amid the billow's roar, + It moved, and nothing has been lost. + +When elements discordant seek + To wreck what God in mercy saves, +The struggle is as vain and weak + As that of the retiring waves. + +The Power who bade the waters cease, + The Pilot of the Pilgrim Band, +He gave the gentle dove of peace + The branch she bore them from the land. + +In him alone we put our trust, + With heart and hand and one accord, +Ascribing, with the true and just, + All "holiness unto the Lord." + + + + + +The Dismissed. + + +"I suppose she was right in rejecting my suit, + But why did she kick me down stairs?" + Halleck's "Discarded." + + + + +The wing of my spirit is broken, + My day-star of hope has declined; +For a month not a word have I spoken + That's either polite or refined. +My mind's like the sky in bad weather, + When mist-clouds around us are curled: +And, viewing myself altogether, + I'm the veriest wretch in the world! + +I wander about like a vagrant-- + I spend half my time in the street; +My conduct's improper and flagrant, + For I quarrel with all that I meet. +My dress, too, is wholly neglected, + My hat I pull over my brow, +And I look like a fellow suspected + Of wishing to kick up a row. + +In vain I've endeavored to borrow + From friends "some material aid"-- +For my landlady views me with sorrow, + When she thinks of the bill that's unpaid. +Abroad my acquaintances flout me, + The ladies cry, "Bless us, look there!" +And the little boys cluster about me, + And sensible citizens stare. + +One says, "He's a victim to cupid;" + Another, "His conduct's too bad;" +A third, "He is awfully stupid;" + A fourth, "He is perfectly mad!"-- +And then I am watched like a bandit, + Mankind with me all are at strife: +By heaven no longer I'll stand it, + But quick put an end to my life! + +I've thought of the means--yet I shudder + At dagger or ratsbane or rope; +At drawing with lancet my blood, or + At razor without any soap! +Suppose I should fall in a duel, + And thus leave the stage with ECLAT? +But to die with a bullet is cruel-- + Besides 'twould be breaking the law! + +Yet one way remains: to the river + I'll fly from the goadings of care!-- +But drown?--oh, the thought makes me shiver-- + A terrible death, I declare! +Ah, no!--I'll once more see my Kitty, + And parry her cruel disdain-- +Beseech her to take me in pity, + And never dismiss me again. + + + + + +Lord of the Castle. + + + + +"Lord of the castle! oh, where goest thou? +Why is the triumph of pride on thy brow?" +"Pilgrim, my bridal awaits me to-day, +Over the mountains away and away." + +"Flora in beauty and solitude roves, +List'ning for thee in the shade of the groves." +"Pilgrim, I hasten her truth to repay, +Over the mountains away and away." + +"Guided by honor, how brilliant the road +Leading from cottage to castle abode!" +"Pilgrim, its dictates I learned to obey, +Over the mountains away and away." + + + + + +The Fallen Brave. [See Notes] + + + + +From Cypress and from laurel boughs + Are twined, in sorrow and in pride, +The leaves that deck the mouldering brows + Of those who for their country died: +In sorrow, that the sable pall + Enfolds the valiant and the brave; +In pride that those who nobly fall + Win garlands that adorn the grave. + +The onset--the pursuit--the roar + Of victory o'er the routed foe-- +Will startle from their rest no more + The fallen brave of Mexico. +To God alone such spirits yield! + He took them in their strength and bloom, +When gathering, on the tented field, + The garlands woven for the tomb. + +The shrouded flag--the drooping spear-- + The muffled drum--the solemn bell-- +The funeral train--the dirge--the bier-- + The mourners' sad and last farewell-- +Are fading tributes to the worth + Of those whose deeds this homage claim; +But Time, who mingles them with earth + Keeps green the garlands of their fame. + + + + + +Song of the Troubadour. + + +In Imitation of the Lays of the Olden Time. + + + + +"Come, list to the lay of the olden time," + A troubadour sang on a moonlit stream: +"The scene is laid in a foreign clime, + "A century back--and love is the theme." +Love was the theme of the troubadour's rhyme, +Of lady and lord of the olden time + +"At an iron-barred turret, a lady fair + "Knelt at the close of the vesper-chime: +"Her beads she numbered in silent prayer + "For one far away, whom to love was her crime. +"Love," sang the troubadour, "love was a crime, +"When fathers were stern, in the olden time. + +"The warder had spurned from the castle gate + "The minstrel who wooed her in flowing rhyme-- +"He came back from battle in regal estate-- + "The bard was a prince of the olden time. +"Love," sand the troubadour, "listened to rhyme, +"And welcomed the bard of the olden time. + +"The prince in disguise had the lady sought; + "To chapel they hied in their rosy prime: +"Thus worth won a jewel that wealth never bought, + "A fair lady's heart of the olden time. +"The moral," the troubadour sang, "of my rhyme, +"Was well understood in the olden time." + + + + + +Champions of Liberty. [See Notes] + + + + +The pride of all our chivalry, + The name of Worth will stand, +While throbs the pulse of liberty + Within his native land: +The wreath his brow was formed to wear, +A nation's tears will freshen there. + +The young companion of his fame, + In war and peace allied, +With garlands woven round his name, + Reposes at his side: +Duncan, whose deeds for evermore +Will live amid his cannon's roar. + +Gates, in his country's quarrel bold, + When she to arms appealed, +Sought like the Christian knights of old, + His laurels on the field: +Where victory rent the welkin-dome, +He earned--a sepulchre at home. + +The drum-beat of the bannered brave, + The requiem and the knell, +The volley o'er the soldier's grave, + His comrades' last farewell, +Are tributes rendered to the dead, +And sermons to the living read. + +But there's a glory brighter far + Than all that earth has given; +A beacon, like the index-star, + That points the way to heaven: +It is a life well spent--its close +The cloudless sundown of repose. + +That such was theirs for whom we mourn, + These obsequies attest; +And though in sorrow they are borne + Unto their final rest, +A guide will their example be +To future champions of the free. + + + + + +The Hunter's Carol. + + + + +A merry life does the hunter lead! + He wakes with the dawn of day; +He whistles his dog--he mounts his steed, + And scuds to he woods away! +The lightsome tramp of the deer he'll mark, + As they troop in herds along; +And his rifle startles the cheerful lark + As he carols his morning song! + +The hunter's life is the life for me!-- + That is the life for a man! +Let others sing of a home on the sea, + But match me the woods if you can! +Then give me a gun--I've an eye to mark + The deer as they bound along!-- +My steed, dog, and gun, and the cheerful lark + To carol my morning song! + + + + + +Washington's Monument. + + + + +A monument to Washington? + A tablet graven with his name?-- +Green be the mound it stands upon, + And everlasting as his fame! + +His glory fills the land--the plain, + The moor, the mountain, and the mart! +More firm than column, urn, or fane, + His monument--the human heart. + +The Christian--patriot--hero--sage! + The chief from heaven in mercy sent; +His deeds are written on the age-- + His country is his monument. + +"The sword of Gideon and the Lord" + Was mighty in his mighty hand-- +The God who guided he adored, + And with His blessing freed the land. + +The first in war--the first in peace-- + The first in hearts that freeman own; +Unparalleled till time shall cease-- + He lives immortal and alone. + +Yet let the rock-hewn tower arise, + High to the pathway of the sun, +And speak to the approving skies + Our gratitude to Washington. + + + + + +The Sister's Appeal. + + +A Fragment. + + + + + * * * * * * * * + +You remember--don't you, brother-- + In our early years, +The counsels of our poor, dear mother, + And her hopes and fears? +She told us to love one another-- + Brother, dry your tears! + +We are only two, dear brother, + In his babel wide! +In the churchyard sleeps poor mother, + By our father's side!-- +Then let us cherish one another + Till in death we bide. + + * * * * * * * * + + + + + +Song of the Reapers. + + + + +Joyous the carol that rings in the mountains, +While the cleared vales are refreshed by the fountains-- +After the harvest the cheerful notes fall, +And all the glad reapers re-echo the call! + La ra la la, &c. + +Oh, how the heart bounds at that simple refrain! +Dear haunts of my childhood, I'm with you again! +Green be your valleys, enriched by the rills, +And long may that carol be sung on your hills! + La ra la la, &c. + + + + + +Walter Gay. + + + + +To know a man well, it is said, Walter Gay, + On shipboard with him you should be: +If this maxim's true, then well I know you, + For we sailed together the sea, Walter Gay, + For we sailed together the sea. + +I now watch the star from the strand, Walter Gay, + As oft from the surge I did then: +Like that all alone you sparkled and shone, + The clear northern star among men, Walter Gay, + The clear northern star among men! + +May your future course, like the past, Walter Gay, + From wreck and misfortune be free: +your sorrows and care fade into the air, + Or vanish like foam on the sea, Walter Gay, + Or vanish like foam on the sea! + +The friendship that's formed on the wave, Walter Gay, + Is deeper than plummet may sound: +That can not decay till we lose our way, + Or death runs the vessel aground, Walter Gay, + Or death runs the vessel aground! + +When life's voyage ends, may your bark, Walter Gay + Spread sail like the wings of a dove-- +And, when lulls the wind, safe anchorage find + Within the good harbor above, Walter Gay, + Within the good harbor above! + + + + + +Grounds for Divorce. + + + + + He. + +What can a man do when a woman's perverse, + And determined to have her own way? + + She. + +At the altar you took me for better or worse: + Am I worse than you took me for--say, + Silly elf?-- + Am I worse than you took me for, say? + + He. + +For an angel I took you in beauty and worth-- + The PRIEST a mere woman has given! + + She. + +A MAN would prefer a true woman on earth, + To all the bright angels in heaven-- + Silly elf!-- + To all the bright angels in heaven! + + He. + +You are ever ready my feelings to hurt + At the veriest trifle, of course. + + She. + +Forgetting a button to sew on your shirt + You deem a good ground for divorce-- + Silly elf!-- + You deem a good ground for divorce! + + He. + +Well, marriage a lottery is, and a blank + Some men surely draw all their lives. + + She. + +Such fellows as you, sir, themselves have to thank; + Good husbands make always good wives-- + Silly elf!-- + GOOD HUSBANDS MAKE ALWAYS GOOD WIVES! + + + + + +Temperance Song. + + +(Written for the lady by whom it was sung.) + + +Air--"Some love to roam." + + + + +Some love to stroll where the wassail-bowl + And the wine-cups circle free; +None of that band shall win my hand: + No! a sober spouse for me. +Like cheerful streams when morning beams, + With him my life would flow; +Not down the crags, the drunkard drags + His wife to want and wo! + Oh! no, no, no!--oh! no, no, no! + +At midnight dark, the drunkard mark-- + Oh, what a sight, good lack! +As home draws near, to him appear + Grim fiends who cross his track! +His children's name he dooms to shame-- + His wife to want and wo; +She is betrayed, for wine is made + Her rival and her foe. + Oh! no, no, no!--oh! no, no, no! + + + + + +Boat-Song. + + + + +Pull away merrily--over the waters! + Bend to your oars for the wood-tangled shore; +We're off and afloat with earth's loveliest daughters, + Worth all the argosies wave ever bore. +Pull away gallantly--pull away valiantly-- + Pull with a swoop, boys; and pull for the shore: + Merrily, merrily, bend to the oar! + +Pull away cheerily!--land is before us-- + Green groves are flinging their balm to the spray; +The sky, like the spirit of love, bending o'er us, + Lights her bright torches to show us the way. +Pull away charily--pull away warily-- + Pull with a nerve, boys; together give way: + Merrily, merrily, pull to the lay! + +Pull away heartily--light winds are blowing, + Crisping the ripples that dance at our side; +The moon bathes in silver the path we are going, + And night is arrayed in her robes like a bride. +Pull away readily--pull away steadily-- + Pull with a will, boys, and sing as we glide + Merrily, merrily, over the tide! + + + + + +Willie. + + + + +I clasp your hand in mine, Willie, + And fancy I've the art +To see, while gazing in your face, + What's passing in your heart: +'Tis joy an honest man to hold, + That gem of modest worth, +More prized than all the sordid gold + Of all the mines of earth, Willie, + Of all the mines of earth. + +I've marked your love or right, Willie, + Your proud disdain of wrong; +I know you'd rather aid the weak + Than battle for the strong. +The golden rule--religion's stay-- + With constancy pursue, +Which renders others all that they + On earth can render you, Willie, + On earth can render you. + +A conscience void of guile, Willie, + A disposition kind, +A nature, gentle and sincere, + Accomplished and refined: +A mind that was not formed to bow, + An aspiration high, +Are written on your manly brow, + And in your cheerful eye, Willie, + And in your cheerful eye. + +I never look at you, Willie, + But with an anxious prayer +That you will ever be to me + What now I know you are. +I do not find a fault to chide, + A foible to annoy, +For you are all your father's pride, + And all your mother's joy, Willie, + And all your mother's joy. + +You're all that I could hope, Willie, + And more than I deserve; +Your pressure of affection now + I feel in every nerve. +I love you--not for station--land-- + But for yourself alone: +And this is why I clasp your hand, + So fondly in my own, Willie, + So fondly in my own. + + + + + +The Rock of the Pilgrims. [See Note] + + + + +A rock in the wilderness welcomed our sires, + From bondage far over the dark-rolling sea; +On that holy altar they kindled the fires, + Jehovah, which glow in our bosoms for Thee. +Thy blessings descended in sunshine and shower, + Or rose from the soil that was sown by Thy hand; +The mountain and valley rejoiced in Thy power, + And heaven encircled and smiled on the land. + +The Pilgrims of old an example have given + Of mild resignation, devotion, and love, +Which beams like the star in the blue vault of heaven, + A beacon-light swung in their mansion above. +In church and cathedral we kneel in OUR prayer-- + Their temple and chapel were valley and hill-- +But God is the same in the isle or the air, + And He is the Rock that we lean upon still. + + + + + +Years Ago. + + + + +Near the banks of that lone river, + Where the water-lilies grow, +Breathed the fairest flower that ever + Bloomed and faded years ago. + +Now we met and loved and parted, + None on earth can ever know-- +Nor how pure and gentle-hearted + Beamed the mourned one years ago! + +Like the stream with lilies laden, + Will life's future current flow, +Till in heaven I meet the maiden + Fondly cherished years ago. + +Hearts that love like mine forget not; + They're the same in weal or wo; +And that star of memory set not + In the grave of years ago. + + + + + +The Soldier's Welcome Home. [See Notes] + + +(Written upon the return of General Scott from his brilliant Mexican campaign.) + +Victorious the hero returns from the wars, + His brow bound with laurels that never will fade, +While streams the free standard of stripes and of stars, + Whose field in the battle the foeman dismayed. +When the Mexican hosts in their fury came on, + Like a tower of strength in his might he arose, +Where danger most threatened his banner was borne, + Waving hope to his friends and despair to his foes! + +The soldier of honor and liberty hail! + His deeds in the temple of Fame are enrolled; +His precepts, like flower-seeds sown by the gale, + Take root in the hearts of the valiant and bold. +The warrior's escutcheon his foes seek to blot, + But vain is the effort of partisan bands-- +For freemen will render full justice to SCOTT, + And welcome him home with their hearts in their hands. + + + + + +The Origin of Yankee Doodle. [See Note] + + + + +Once in a time old Johnny Bull + Flew in a raging fury, +And swore that Jonathan should have + No trials, sir, by jury; +That no elections should be held + Across the briny waters: +"And now," said he, "I'll tax the tea + Of all his sons and daughters." +Then down he sate in burly state, + And blustered like a grandee, +And in derision made a tune + Called "Yankee doodle dandy." +"Yankee doodle"--these are the facts-- + "Yankee doodle dandy; +My son of wax, your tea I'll tax-- + You--Yankee doodle dandy!" + +John sent the tea from o'er the sea + With heavy duties rated; +But whether hyson or bohea, + I never heard it stated. +Then Jonathan to pout began-- + He laid a strong embargo-- +"I'll drink no tea, by Jove!"--so he + Threw overboard the cargo. +Next Johnny sent an armament, + Big looks and words to bandy, +Whose martial band, when near the land, + Played--"Yankee doodle dandy." +"Yankee doodle--keep it up! + Yankee doodle dandy! +I'll poison with a tax your cup-- + You--Yankee doodle dandy!" + +A long war then they had, in which + John was at last defeated; +And "Yankee doodle" was the march + To which his troops retreated. +Young Jonathan, to see them fly, + Could not restrain his laughter: +"That tune," said he, "suits to a T, + I'll sing it ever after!" +Old Johnny's face, to his disgrace, + Was flushed with beer and brandy, +E'en while he swore to sing no more + This--"Yankee doodle dandy." +Yankee doodle--ho! ha! he! + Yankee doodle dandy-- +We kept the tune, but not the tea, + Yankee doodle dandy! + +I've told you now the origin + Of this most lively ditty, +Which Johnny Bull pronounces "dull + And silly!"--what a pity! +With "Hail Columbia!" it is sung, + In chorus full and hearty-- +On land and main we breathe the strain, + John made for his tea-party. +No matter how we rhyme the words, + The music speaks them handy, +And where's the fair can't sing the air + Of "Yankee doodle dandy!" +"Yankee doodle--firm and true-- + Yankee doodle dandy, +Yankee doodle, doodle doo! + Yankee doodle dandy!" + + + + + +Lines + + +On the Burial of Mrs. Mary L. Ward, at Dale Cemetery, Sing-Sing, May 3, 1853. + + + + +The knell was tolled--the requiem sung, + The solemn burial-service read; +And tributes from the heart and tongue + Were rendered to the dead. + +The dead?--Religion answers, "No! + She is not dead--She can not die! +A mortal left this vale of wo!-- + An angel lives on high!" + +The earth upon her coffin-lid + Sounded a hollow, harsh adieu! +The mound arose, and she was hid + For ever from the view! + +For ever?--Drearily the thought + Passed, like an ice-bolt, through the brain; +When Faith the recollection brought + That we shall meet again. + +The mourners wound their silent way + Adown the mountain's gentle slope, +Which, basking in the smile of May, + Looked cheerfully as hope. + +As hope?--What hope?--That boundless One + God in His love and mercy gave; +Which brightens, with salvation's sun, + The darkness of the grave. + + + + + +New-York in 1826. [See Notes] + + +(Address of the carrier of the New-York Mirror, on the first day of the year.) + + +Air--"Songs of Shepherds and Rustical Roundelays." + + + + +Two years have elapsed since the verse of S. W. [See Notes] + Met your bright eyes like a fanciful gem; +With that kind of stanza the muse will now trouble you, + She often frolicks with one G. P. M. +As New Year approaches, she whispers of coaches, + And lockets and broaches [See Notes], without any end, +Of sweet rosy pleasure, of joy without measure, + And plenty of leisure to share with a friend. + +'Tis useless to speak of the griefs of society-- + They overtake us in passing along; +And public misfortunes, in all their variety, + Need not be told in a holyday song. +The troubles of Wall-street, I'm sure that you all meet, + And they're not at all sweet--but look at their pranks: +Usurious cravings, and discounts and shavings, + With maniac ravings and Lombardy banks. [See Notes] + +'Tis useless to speak of our dealers in cotton too, + Profits and losses but burden the lay; +The failure of merchants should now be forgotten too, + Nor sadden the prospects of this festive day. +Though Fortune has cheated the hope near completed, + And cruelly treated the world mercantile, +The poet's distresses, when Fortune oppresses, + Are greater, he guesses--but still he can smile. + +'Tis useless to speak of the gas-lights [See Notes] so beautiful, + Shedding its beams through "the mist of the night;" +Eagles and tigers and elephants, dutiful, + Dazzle the vision with columns of light. +The lamb and the lion--ask editor Tryon, + His word you'll rely on--are seen near the Park, +From which such lights flow out, as wind can not blow out, + Yet often they go out, and all's in the dark. + +'Tis useless to speak of the seats on the Battery [See Notes], + They're too expensive to give to the town; +Then our aldermen think it such flattery, + If the public have leave to sit down! +Our fortune to harden, they show Castle Garden-- + Kind muses, your pardon, but rhyme it I must-- +Where soldiers were drilling, you now must be willing + To pay them a shilling--so down with the dust. + +'Tis useless to speak of our writers poetical [See Notes], + Of Halleck and Bryant and Woodworth, to write; +There are others, whose trades are political-- + Snowden and Townsend and Walker and Dwight. +There's Lang the detector, and Coleman the hector, + And Noah the protector and judge of the Jews, +And King the accuser, and Stone the abuser, + And Grim the confuser of morals and news. + +'Tis useless to speak of the many civilities + Shown to Fayette [See Notes] in this country of late, +Or even to mention the splendid abilities + Clinton possesses for ruling the state. +The union of water and Erie's bright daughter + Since Neptune has caught her they'll sever no more; +And Greece and her troubles (the rhyme always doubles) + Have vanished like bubbles that burst on the shore. + +'Tis useless to speak of Broadway and the Bowery, + Both are improving and growing so fast! +Who would have thought that old Stuyvesant's dowery + Would hold in its precincts a play-house [See Notes] at last? +Well, wonder ne'er ceases, but daily increases, + And pulling to pieces, the town to renew, +So often engages the thoughts of our sages, + That when the fit rages, what will they not do? + +'Tis useless to speak of the want of propriety + In forming our city so crooked and long; +Our ancestors, bless them, were fond of variety-- + 'Tis naughty to say that they ever were wrong! +Tho' strangers may grumble, and thro' the streets and stumble, + Take care they don't tumble through crevices small, +For trap-doors we've plenty, on sidewalk and entry, + And no one stands sentry to see they don't fall. + +'Tis useless to speak of amusements so various, + Of opera-singers [See Notes] that few understand; +Of Kean's [See Notes] reputation, so sadly precarious + When he arrived in this prosperous land. +The public will hear him--and hark! how they cheer him! + Though editors jeer him--we all must believe +He pockets the dollars of sages and scholars: + Of course then it follows--he laughs in his sleeve. + +'Tis useless to speak--but just put on your spectacles, + Read about Chatham, and Peale's [See Notes] splendid show: +There's Scudder and Dunlap--they both have receptacles + Which, I assure you, are now all the go. +'Tis here thought polite too, should giants delight you, + And they should invite you, to look at their shapes; +To visit their dwelling, where Indians are yelling, + And handbills are telling of wonderful apes! + +'Tis useless to speak of the din that so heavily + Fell on our senses as midnight drew near; +Trumpets and bugles and conch-shells, so cleverly + Sounded the welkin with happy New Year! +With jewsharps and timbrels, and musical thimbles, + Tin-platters for cymbals, and frying-pans too; +Dutch-ovens and brasses, and jingles and glasses, + With reeds of all classes, together they blew! [See Notes] + +Then since it is useless to speak about anything + All have examined and laid on the shelf, +Perhaps it is proper to say now and then a thing + Touching the "Mirror"[See Notes]--the day--and myself. +Our work's not devoted, as you may have noted, + To articles quoted from books out of print; +Instead of the latter, profusely we scatter + Original matter that's fresh from the mint. + +Patrons, I greet you with feelings of gratitude; + Ladies, to please you is ever my care-- +Nor wish I, on earth, for a sweeter beatitude, + If I but bask in the smiles of the fair. +Such bliss to a poet is precious--you know it-- + And while you bestow it, the heart feels content: +Your bounty has made us, and still you will aid us, + But some have not paid us--we hope they'll repent! + +For holyday pleasure, why these are the times for it; + Pardon me, then, for so trifling a lay; +This stanza shall end it, if I can find rhymes for it-- + May you, dear patrons, be happy to-day! +Tho' life is so fleeting, and pleasure so cheating, + That we are oft meeting with accidents here, +Should Fate seek to dish you, oh then may the issue + Be what I now wish you--A HAPPY NEW YEAR! + + + + + +The Hero's Legacy. + + + + +Upon the couch of death, + The champion of the free, +Gave, with his parting breath, + This solemn legacy:-- +"Sheathed be the battle-blade, + "And hushed the cannons' thunder: +"The glorious UNION GOD hath made, + "Let no man put asunder! +"War banish from the land, + "Peace cultivate with all! +"United you must stand, + "Divided you will fall! +"Cemented with our blood, + "The UNION keep unriven!" +While freemen heard this counsel good, + His spirit soared to heaven. + + + + + +What Can It Mean? + + +(Written for Miss Poole, and sung by her in the character of cowslip.) + + + + +I'm much too young to marry, + For I am only seventeen; +Why think I, then, of Harry? + What can it mean--what can it mean? + +Wherever Harry meets me, + Beside the brook or on the green, +How tenderly he greets me! + What can it mean--what can it mean? + +Whene'er my name he utters, + A blush upon my cheek is seen!-- +His voice my bosom flutters!-- + What can it mean--what can it mean? + +If he but mentions Cupid, + Or, smiling, calls me "fairy queen," +I sigh, and looks so stupid!-- + What can it mean--what can it mean? + +Oh, mercy! what can ail me? + I'm growing wan and very lean; +My spirits often fail me! + What can it mean--what can it mean? + +I'm not in love!--No!--Smother + Such a thought at seventeen! +I'll go and ask my mother-- + "What can it mean--what can it mean?" + + + + + +Where Hudson's Wave. + + + + +Where Hudson's wave o'er silvery sands + Winds through the hills afar, +Old Cronest like a monarch stands, + Crowned with a single star! +And there, amid the billowy swells + Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capped earth, +My fair and gentle Ida dwells, + A nymph of mountain-birth. + +The snow-flake that the cliff receives, + The diamonds of the showers, +Spring's tender blossoms, buds, and leaves, + The sisterhood of flowers, +Morn's early beam, eve's balmy breeze, + Her purity define; +Yet Ida's dearer far than these + To this fond breast of mine. + +My heart is on the hills. The shades + Of night are on my brow; +Ye pleasant haunts and quiet glades, + My soul is with you now! +I bless the star-crowned highlands where + My Ida's footsteps roam: +O for a falcon's wing to bear + Me onward to my home! + + + + + +Au Revoir. + + + + +Love left one day his leafy bower, + And roamed in sportive vein, +Where Vanity had built a tower, + For Fashion's sparkling train. +The mistress to see he requested, + Of one who attended the door: +"Not home," said the page, who suggested + That he'd leave his card.--"Au Revoir." + +Love next came to a lowly bower: + A maid who knew no guile, +Unlike the lady of the tower, + Received him with a smile. +Since then the cot beams with his brightness + Though often at Vanity's door +Love calls, merely out of politeness, + And just leaves his card.--"Au Revoir." + + + + + +To My Absent Daughter. + + + + +Georgie, come home!--Life's tendrils cling about thee, + Where'er thou art, by wayward fancy led. +We miss thee, love!--Home is not home without thee-- + The light and glory of the house have fled: +The autumn shiver of the linden-tree +Is like the pang that thrills my frame for thee! + +Georgie, come home!--To parents, brother, sister + Thy place is vacant in this lonely hall, +Where shines the river through the "Jeannie Vista," + While twilight shadows lengthen on the wall: +Our spirits falter at the close of day, +And weary night moves tardily away. + +Georgie, come home!--The winds and waves are singing + The mournful music of their parting song, +To soul and sense the sad forboding bringing, + Some ill detains thee in the town so long: +Oh, that the morn may dissipate the fear, +And bring good tidings of my daughter dear! + +Georgie, come home!--The forest leaves are falling, + And dreary visions in thy absence come; +The fountain on the hill in vain is calling + Thee, my beloved one, to thy woodland home. +And I imagine every passing breeze +Whispers thy name among the moaning trees! + +Georgie, come home!--Thy gentle look can banish + The gathering gloom round this once cheerful hearth; +In thy sweet presence all our care will vanish, + And sorrow soften into mellow mirth. +Return, my darling, never more to roam: +Heart of the Highlands!--Georgie, dear, come home! + + + + + +Song of the Sewing-Machine + + + + +I'm the Iron Needle-Woman! + Wrought of sterner stuff than clay; +And, unlike the drudges human, + Never weary night or day; +Never shedding tears of sorrow, + Never mourning friends untrue, +Never caring for the morrow, + Never begging work to do. + +Poverty brings no disaster! + Merrily I glide along, +For no thankless, sordid master, + Ever seeks to do me wrong: +No extortioners oppress me, + No insulting words I dread-- +I've no children to distress me + With unceasing cries for bread. + +I'm of hardy form and feature, + For endurance framed aright; +I'm not pale misfortune's creature, + Doomed life's battle here to fight: +Mine's a song of cheerful measure, + And no under-currents flow +To destroy the throb of pleasure + Which the poor so seldom know. + +In the hall I hold my station, + With the wealthy ones of earth, +Who commend me to the nation + For economy and worth, +While unpaid the female labor, + In the attic-chamber lone, +Where the smile of friend or neighbor + Never for a moment shone. + +My creation is a blessing + To the indigent secured, +Banishing the cares distressing + Which so many have endured: +Mine are sinews superhuman, + Ribs of oak and nerves of steel-- +I'm the Iron Needle-Woman + Born to toil and not to feel. + + + + + +My Lady Waits for Me. + + +Suggested by a popular German melody. + + + + +My lady waits!--'Tis now the hour + When morn unbars her gates!-- +My vessel glides beneath the tower + Where now my lady waits. +Her signal flutters from the wall, + Above the friendly sea! +I life but to obey her call! + My lady waits for me. +My lady waits--for me she waits, +While morning opes her golden gates. + +My lady waits!--No fairer flower + E'er deck'd the floral grove, +Than she, the pride of hall and bower, + The lady of my love! +The eastern hills are flecked with light, + The land-breeze curls the sea! +By love and truth sustained, for flight, + My lady waits for me. +My lady waits--for me she waits, +While morning opes her golden gates. + + + + + +Music. + + + + +The wind-harp has music it moans to the tree, +And so has the shell that complains to the sea, +The lark that sings merrily over the lea, + The reed of the rude shepherd boy! +We revel in music when day has begun, +When rock-fountains gush into glee as they run, +And stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun, + Who brightens the hill-tops with joy! + +The spirit of melody floats in the air, +Her instruments tuning to harmony there, +Our senses beguiling from sorrow and care, + In blessings sent down from above! +But Nature has music far more to my choice-- +And all in her exquisite changes rejoice! +No tones thrill my heart like the dear human voice + When breathed by the being I love! + + + + + +The Millionaire. + + + + +In the upper circles + Moves a famous man +Who has had no equal + Since the world began. +He was once a broker + Down by the exchange; +He is now a nabob-- + Don't you think it strange? + +In his low back office, + Near the Bowling Green, +With his brother brokers + He was often seen;-- +Shaving and discounting, + Dabbling in the stocks, +He achieved a fortune + Of a million ROCKS!' + +Next he formed a marriage + With a lady fair, +And his splendid carriage + Bowled about THE square, +Where his spacious mansion + Like a palace stood, +Envied and admired + By the multitude. + +Then he took the tour + Of the continent, +Bearer of dispatches + From the President: +A legation button + By permission wore, +And became that worthy, + An official bore. + +Charmed with foreign countries, + Lots of coin to spend, +He a house in London + Took a the West End, +Where he dwelt a season, + And in grandeur shone, +But to all the beau monde + Utterly unknown. + +England then was "foggy, + And society +Too aristocratic" + For his--pedigree: +So he crossed the channel + To escape the BLUES, +And became the idol + Of the parvenues. + +"Dear, delightful Paris!" + He would often say: +"Every earthly pleasure + One can have for--pay. +Wealth gives high position; + But when money's tight, +Man is at a discount, + And it serves him right." + +After years of study + How to cut a dash, +He came home embellished + With a huge--moustache! +Now he is a lion, + All the rage up town, +And gives gorgeous parties + Supervised by--Brown! + +The almighty dollar + Is, no doubt, divine, +And he worships daily + At that noble shrine; +Fashion is his idol, + Money is his god, +And they both together + Rule him like a rod. + +Books, and busts, and pictures, + Are with him a card-- +While abroad he bought them + Cheaply--by the yard! +But his sumptuous dinners, + To a turn quite right, +With his boon companions, + Are his chief delight. + +Thee his wit and wassail, + Like twin-currents flow +In his newest stories, + Published--long ago. +His enchanted hearers + Giggle till they weep, +As it is their duty + Till they--fall asleep. + + * * * * + +On his carriage panel + Is a blazoned crest, +With a Latin motto + Given him--in jest. +His black coach and footman, + Dressed in livery, +Every day at Stewart's + Many crowd to see. + + * * * * + +Well--in upper-ten-dom + Let him rest in peace, +And may his investments + Cent, per cent, increase: +Though on earth for no one + Cares the millionaire, +So does NOT exactly + His devoted--heir! + + * * * * + +There's a useful moral + Woven with my rhyme, +Which may be considered + At--some other time: +Crockery is not porcelain-- + It is merely delf-- +And the kind most common + Is the man himself. + + + + + +In Memory of Charles H. Sandford. + + + + +He died, as he had lived, beloved, + Without an enemy on earth; +In word and deed he breathed and moved + The soul of honor and of worth: +His hand was open as the day, + His bearing high, his nature brave; +And, when from life he passed away, + Our hearts went with him to the grave. + +What desolation filled our home + When death from us our treasure bore!-- +Oh! for the better world to come + Where we shall meet to part no more! +The hope of THAT sustains us now, + In THAT we trust on bended knee, +While thus around his faded brow + We twine the wreath of memory. + + + + + +Seventy-Six. + + + + +Before the Battle. + + +The clarion call of liberty + Rings on the startled gales! +The rising hills reverberate + The rising of the vales! +Through all the land the thrilling shout + Swift as an arrow goes! +Columbia's champions arm and out + To battle with her foes! + + +After the Battle + + +The bugle-song of victory + Is vocal in the air! +The strains, by warrior-voices breathed, + Are echoed by the fair! +The eagle, with the wreath, blood-bought, + Soars proudly to the sun, +Proclaiming the "good fight is fought, + And the great victory won!" + + + + + +A Parody. + + + + +On old Long Island's sea-girt shore + We caught a cod the other day; +He never had been there before, + And wished that he had stayed away. +We laid him on the beach to dry, + Then served him frizzled on a dish, +A warning to the smaller fry, + As well as all the larger fish. + O--o--o--o--o! +On old Long Island's sea-girt shore + We caught a cod the other day; +He never had been there before, + And wished that he had stayed away. + +Oh, 'twas a scaly thing to haul + This tom-cod from his native spray, +And thus to frighten, one and all, + The finny tribe from Rockaway! +They shun the fisher's hook and line, + And never venture near his net, +So, when at Rockaway you dine, + Now not a thing but clams you get! + O--o--o--o--o! +On old Long Island's sea-girt shore + We caught a cod the other day; +He never had been there before, + And wished that he had stayed away! + +Should critics at my ballad carp, + To them this simple truth I'll say, +The grammar's quite as good as Sharp + Wrote on the beach of Rockaway: +The tune's the same that Russell cribbed + With the addition of his O, +Which makes it, or the singer fibbed, + Original and all the go-- + O--o--o--o--o! +On old Long Island's sea-girt shore + We caught a cod the other day; +He never had been there before, + And wished that he had stayed away! + + + + + +The Stag-Hunt. + + + + +The morning is breaking-- + The stag is away! +The hounds and the hunters + The signal obey! +The horn bids the echoes + Awake as we go, +And nature is jocund + With hark!--tally-ho! + Hark away! + Tally-ho! + +Hark forward!--Tantivy!-- + The woodland resounds +With shouts of the sportsmen + To cheer on the hounds! +The horse and his rider, + The deer and his foe, +Dash by to the music + Of hark!--tally-ho! + (He's at bay!) + Tally-ho! + + + + + +Deliver Us From Evil. + + + + +Deliver us from evil, Heavenly Father! + It still besets us wheresoe'er we go! +Bid the bright rays of revelation gather + To light the darkness in our way of wo! +Remove the sin that stains our souls--for ever! + Out doubts dispel--our confidence restore! +Write thy forgiveness on our hearts, and never + Let us in vain petition for it more. + +Release us from the sorrows that attend us! + Our nerves are torn--at every vein we bleed! +Almighty Parent! with thy strength befriend us! + Else we are helpless in our time of need! +Sustain us, Lord, with thy pure Holy Spirit-- + New vigor give to Nature's faltering frame; +And, at life's close, permit us to inherit + The hope that's promised in the Saviour's name. + + + + + +Union. + + + + +This word beyond all others, + Makes us love our country most, +Makes us feel that we are brothers, + And a heart-united host!-- +With hosanna let our banner + From the house-tops be unfurled, +While the nation holds her station + With the mightiest of the world! +Take your harps from silent willows, + Shout the chorus of the free; +"States are all distinct as billows, + Union one--as is the sea!" + +From the land of groves that bore us + He's a traitor who would swerve! +By the flag now waving o'er us + We the compact will preserve! +Those who gained it and sustained it, + Were unto each other true, +And the fable well is able + To instruct us what to do! +Take your harps from silent willows, + Shout the chorus of the free; +"States are all distinct as billows, + Union one--as is the sea!" + + + + + +We Part For Ever + + + + +Fare thee well--we part for ever! + All regrets are now in vain! +Fate decrees that we must sever, + Ne'er to meet on earth again. +Other skies may bend above thee, + Other hearts may seek thy shrine, +But no other e'er will love thee + With the constancy of mine. +Yet farewell--we part for ever! + All regrets are now in vain! +Fate decrees that we must sever, + Ne'er to meet on earth again. + Fare thee well! + +Like the shadow on the dial + Lingers still our parting kiss! +Life has no severer trial, + Death no pang to equal this. +All the world is now before thee, + Every clime to roam at will, +But within the land that bore thee, + One fond heart will love thee still. +Yet farewell--we part for ever! + All regrets are now in vain! +Fate decrees that we must sever, + Ne'er to meet on earth again. + Fare thee well! + + + + + +Come to Me in Cherry-time. + + + + +Come to me in cherry-time, + And, as twilight closes, +We will have a merry time, + Here among the roses! +When the breezes crisp the tide, + And the lindens quiver, +In our bark we'll safely glide + Down the rocky river! + +When the stars, with quiet ray, + All the hill-tops brighten, +Cherry-ripe we'll sing and play + Where the cherries ripen! +Then come to me in cherry-time, + And, as twilight closes, +We will have a merry time + Here among the roses. + + + + + +On the Death of Mrs. Jessie Willis. + + + + +After life's eventful mission, + In her truthfulness and worth, +Like a calm and gentle vision + She has passed away from earth. + +Lovely she in frame and feature! + Blended purity and grace!-- +The Creator in the creature + Glowed in her expressive face! + +Angel of a nature human! + Essence of a celestial love! +Heart and soul of trusting woman, + Gone to her reward above! + +Mourners, dry your tears of sorrow-- + Read the golden promise o'er; +There will dawn a cheerful morrow + When we meet to part no more. + + + + + +Thank God for Pleasant Weather. + + + + +Thank God for pleasant weather! + Chant it, merry rills! +And clap your hands together, + Ye exulting hills! +Thank Him, teeming valley! + Thank Him, fruitful plain! +For the golden sunshine, + And the silver rain. + +Thank God, of good the giver! + Shout it, sportive breeze! +Respond, oh, tuneful river! + To the nodding tees. +Thank Him, bud and birdling! + As ye grow and sing! +Mingle in thanksgiving + Every living thing! + +Thank God, with cheerful spirit, + In a glow of love, +For what we here inherit, + And our hopes above!-- +Universal Nature + Revels in her birth, +When God, in pleasant weather, + Smiles upon the earth! + + + + + +The Master's Song. + + +Written for the freemasons of St. John's Lodge No. 1, New York. + + + + +Members of an order + Ancient as the earth; +All within our border + Realize its worth. +Genial is the greeting + That awaits us there, +On the level meeting, + Parting on the square. +Like the workmen olden, + Who our craft designed, +We the precept golden + Ever bear in mind. + +Masons never falter, + We each other know, +As around the altar + Hand in hand we go; +Loud hosannas singing + To our Source above, +And heart-offerings bringing + To the God of Love. +Like the workmen olden, + Who our craft designed, +We the precept golden + Ever bear in mind. + +There's a mystic beauty + In our working plan, +Teaching man his duty + To his fellow man: +As a band of brothers, + Ever just and true, +Do we unto others + As we'd have them do. +Like the workmen olden, + Who our craft designed, +We the precept golden + Ever bear in mind. + + + + + +The Missing Ship. + + + + +She left the port in gallant style, + With sails and streamers full and free! +I watched her course for many a mile + Far out upon the distant sea! +At dusk she lessened to a speck, + And then I could not trace her more! +Sad hearts were beating on her deck, + Sad hearts were beating on the shore. + +Two of the outward bound I knew, + One beautiful, the other brave-- +The master worthy, and the crew + Born to contend with wind and wave: +For travel some, and some for gain, + And some for health had gone abroad; +Our prayers were with them on the main, + God-speed the ship and all on board! + +That vessel never reached the land! + No tidings of her ever came! +Those who beheld her leave the strand, + For years in anguish heard her name! +And even now in vain they try + To breathe it with a tranquil lip, +Or hide the moisture of the eye + While speaking of that missing ship. + + + + + +Jeannie Marsh. + + + + +Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley, +At whose call the muses rally; + Of all the nine none so divine +As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley. +She minds me of her native scenes, + Where she was born among the cherries; +Of peaches, plums, and nectarines, + Pears, apricots, and ripe strawberries. + +Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley, +In whose name the muses rally; + Of all the nine none so divine +As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley. +A sylvan nymph of queenly grace, + A goddess she in form and feature; +The sweet expression of the place, + A dimple in the smile of nature. + + + + + +Lucy. + + + + +Thanks for your stanzas, Lucy, + My sister dear in song! +How many pleasant fancies + With these sweet numbers throng, +Which, like spring's tuneful brooklets, + Trip merrily along. + +Sometimes, my sportive Lucy, + Your words will whirl around, +Like foam-beads on the water, + Or rose-leaves on the ground, +Or waltzers in the ball-room, + To music's airy sound. + +There is, my gentle Lucy, + In all you say or do, +A bright poetic impulse, + Original and true, +Which Art can not acquire, + And Nature gave to you. + +The olden fable, Lucy, + My muse to you would bring: +The bird that can but will not, + Should be compelled to sing! +The story and its moral + To modern memories cling. + +Awake the harp, dear Lucy! + Like the electric wire +It will convey to millions + The heart-absorbing fire! +And those who lean to listen + Will linger to admire. + + + + + +Epitaph. + + + + +All that's beautiful in woman, + All we in her nature love, +All that's good in all that's human, + Passed this gate to courts above. + + + + + +In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr. + + + + +He was the pulse-beat of true hearts, + The love-light of fond eyes: +When such a man from earth departs, + 'Tis the survivor dies. + + + + + +Nature's Nobleman + + +A Fragment. + + + + +When winter's cold and summer's heat + Shall come and go again, +A hundred years will be complete + Since Marion crossed the main, +And brought unto this wild retreat + His dark-eyed wife of Spain. + +He was the founder of a free + And independent band, +Who lit the fires of liberty + The revolution fanned:-- +His patent of nobility + Read in the ransomed land! + +Around his deeds a lustre throngs, + A heritage designed +To teach the world to spurn the wrongs + Once threatened all mankind:-- +To his posterity belongs + The peerage of the mind. + + + + + +A Wall-Street Lyric. + + + + +John was thought both rich and great-- + Dick so-so, but comfortable: +John lived at a splendid rate-- + Coach and horses in his stable. +John could ride when Dick should walk-- +(This excited people's talk!)-- +For John's wealth, Dick's rugged health + Few would exchange if they were able! + +Dick was friendly years ago-- + With ingratitude John paid him: +Dick found this was always so + When John had a chance to aid him. +John still cut a brilliant dash, +While he could command the cash, +But for Dick, whom John would kick, + At last a change of luck has made him! + +John, 'tis said, is "bound" to lose + Lots by rail, and 'bus, and cable! +And the banks his notes refuse, + Now they think his state unstable. +This may be a story strange +Of the bulls and bears on 'change, +Where the truth, in age and youth, + Is often a poetic fable! + + + + + +King Cotton. + + + + +Old Cotton is king, boys--aha! + With his locks so fleecy and white! +He shines among kings like a star! + And his is the sceptre of right, + Boys, of right, + And his is the sceptre of right! + +Old Cotton, the king, has no care, + No queen, and no heir to his throne, +No courtiers, his triumphs to share, + He rules his dominions alone, + Boys, alone! + He rules his dominions alone! + +Old Cotton, the merry old boy!-- + Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth +His years glide away in their joy, + At home, in the warm sunny south, + Boys, the south, + At home, in the warm sunny south! + +Old Cotton will pleasantly reign + When other kings painfully fall, +And ever and ever remain + The mightiest monarch of all, + Boys, of all, + The mightiest monarch of all! + +Then here's to old Cotton, the king! + His true loyal subjects are we: +We'll laugh and we'll quaff and we'll sing, + A jolly old fellow is he, + Boys, is he, + A jolly old fellow is he! + + + + + +Words + + +Adapted to a Spanish Melody. + + + + +My lady hath as soft a hand +As any queen in fairy-land; +And, hidden in her tiny boot, +As dainty and as light a foot. + Her foot! + Her little hand and foot! + +No star that kindles in the sky +Burns brighter than my lady's eye; +And ne'er before did beauty grace +So fair a form, so sweet a face! + Her face! + Her gentle form and face! + +My lady hath a golden heart, +Free from the dross of worldly art; +Which, in the sight of heaven above, +Is mine with all its hoarded love! + Her love! + Her boundless wealth of love! + + + + + +Love in Exile. + + +Adapted to a Hungarian melody. + + + + +My heart I gave you with my hand, + In brighter days than these, +In that down-trodden father-land + Beyond the distant seas, +Where you were all the world to me, + Devoted, fond, and true, +And I, in our prosperity, + Was all the world to you! +Robbed by a tyrant's iron sway, +We're banished from that land away! + +Sad wanderers from our native home! + A ruler in a foe! +An exiled caravan we roam; + But hand in hand WE go! +And thus whatever fate betide + We bless our lot in life, +Since no misfortunes may divide + The husband and the wife! +Here we defy the tyrant's will, +We're happy in each other still! + + + + + +To The Evening Star. + + + + +The woods waved welcome in the breeze, + When, many years ago, +Lured by the songs of birds and bees, + I sought the dell below; +And there, in that secluded spot, + Where silver streamlets roved, +Twined the green ivy round the cot + Of her I fondly loved. + +In dreams still near that porch I stand + To listen to her vow! +Still feel the pressure of her hand + Upon my burning brow! +And here, as in the days gone by, + With joy I meet her yet, +And mark the love-light of her eyes, + Fringed with its lash of jet. + +O fleeting vision of the past! + From memory glide away! +Ye were too beautiful to last, + Too good to longer stay! +But why, attesting evening star, + This sermon sad recall: +"THAN LOVE AND LOSE 'TIS BETTER FAR + TO NEVER LOVE AT ALL!" + + + + + +Welcome Home. + + + + +My Mary's voice!--It is the hour + She promised to be here: +Taught by love's mysterious power, + I know that she is near. +I hear the melody she sings + Beneath our happy dome, +And now the woodland cheerly rings + With Mary's welcome home. + +My Mary's voice!--I hear it thrill + In rapture on the gale, +As she comes gliding down the hill + To meet me in the vale. +In all the world, on land or sea, + Where'er I chance to roam, +No music is so sweet to me + As Mary's welcome home. + + + + + +The Sycamore Shade. + + + + +I knew a sweet girl, with a bonny blue eye, + Who was born in the shade + The wild sycamore made, + Where the brook sang its song + All the summer-day long, +And the moments went merrily by, +Like the birdlings the moments flew by. + +I knew a fair maid, soul-enchanting in grace, + Who replied to my vow, + 'Neath the sycamore bough, + "Like the brook to the sea, + Oh, I yearn, love, for thee!" +And she hid in my bosom her face-- +In my bosom, her beautiful face. + +I have a dear wife, who is ever my guide! + Wooed and won in the shade + The wild sycamore made, + Where the brook sings it song + All the summer-day long, +And the moments in harmony glide, +Like our lives they in harmony glide. + + + + + +Up the Hudson. + + +Song and Chorus. + + + + +Up the Hudson!--Fleetly gliding + To our haunts among the trees! +Joy the gallant vessel guiding + With a fresh and cheerful breeze! +Wives and dear ones yearn to meet us-- + (Hearts that love us to the core!) +And with fond expressions greet us + As we near the welcome shore! + + +Chorus. + + +Ho! ye inland seas and islands!-- + (Echo follows where we go!) +Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands! + Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho! + + +Up the Hudson!--Rock and river, + Grove and glen pronounce His praise, +Who, of every "Good the Giver," + Leads us through these pleasant ways!-- +Care recedes like water-traces + Of our bark, as on we glide, +Where the hand of nature graces + Homesteads on the Hudson side! + + +Chorus. + + +Ho! ye inland seas and islands!-- + (Echo follows where we go!) +Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands! + Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho! + + + + + +Only Thine. + + + + +I know that thou art mine, my love, + I know that thou art fair; +And lovelier than the orange-flowers + That bind thy glossy hair: +That thou hast every gentle grace + Which nature can design-- +I know that thou art mine, my love, + I know that I am thine: + Yes, thine, my love, + I'm thine, my love, + Thine, thine, and only thine. + +I know that thou art true, my love, + And welcome as the breeze +Which comes, with healing on its wings, + Across the summer seas: +That thou hast every winning charm + Which culture may refine-- +I know that thou art mine, my love, + I know that I am thine. + Yes, thine, my love, + I'm thine, my love, + Thine, thine, and only thine. + + + + + +Epigrams. + + + + + +On Reading Grim's Attack Upon Clinton. + + + + +'Tis the opinion of the town + That Grim's a silly elf: +In trying to write Clinton down, + He went RIGHT DOWN HIMSELF. + + + + +On Hearing that Morse Did Not "Invent" the Telegraph + + + + +First they said it would not do; + But, when he got through it, +Then they vowed they always knew + That he didn't do it! +Lies are rolling stones, of course, +But they can't adhere to MORSE. + + + + + +Address + + +For the benefit of William Dunlap. + + +(Spoken by Mrs. Sharpe) + + + + +What gay assemblage greets my wondering sight! +What scene of splendor--conjured here to-night! +What voices murmur, and what glances gleam! +Sure 'tis some flattering unsubstantial dream. +The house is crowded--everybody's here +For beauty famous, or to science dear; +Doctors and lawyers, judges, belles, and beaux, +Poets and painters--and Heaven only knows +Whom else beside!--And see, gay ladies sit +Lighting with smiles that fearful place, the pit-- +(A fairy change--ah, pray continue it.) +Gray heads are here too, listening to my rhymes, +Full of the spirit of departed times; +Grave men and studious, strangers to my sight, +All gather round me on this brilliant night. +And welcome are ye all. Not now ye come +To speak some trembling poet's awful doom; +With frowning eyes a "want of mind" to trace +In some new actor's inexperienced face, +Or e'en us old ones (oh, for shame!) to rate +"With study good--in time--but--never great:" +Not like you travelled native, just to say +"Folks in this country can act a play-- +The can't 'pon honor!" How the creature starts! +His wit and whiskers came from foreign parts! +Nay, madam, spare your blushes--you I mean-- +There--close beside him--oh, you're full nineteen-- +You need not shake your flowing locks at me-- +The man, your sweetheart--then I'm dumb you see; +I'll let him off--you'll punish him in time, +Or I've no skill in prophecy or rhyme! +A nobler motive fills your bosoms now, +To wreathe the laurel round the silvered brow +Of one who merits it--if any can-- +The artist, author, and the honest man. +With equal charms his pen and pencil drew +Bright scenes, to nature and to virtue true. +Full oft upon these boards hath youth appeared, +And oft your smiles his faltering footsteps cheered; +But not alone on budding genius smile, +Leaving the ripened sheaf unowned the while; +To boyish hope not every bounty give +And only youth and beauty bid to live. +Will you forget the services long past-- +Turn the old war-horse out to die at last?-- +When, his proud strength and noble fleetness o'er, +His faithful bosom dares the charge no more! +Ah, no!--The sun that loves his beams to shed +Round every opening floweret's tender head, +With smiles as kind his genial radiance throws +To cheer the sadness of the fading rose: +Thus he, whose merit claims this dazzling crowd, +Points to the past, and has his claims allowed; +Looks brightly forth, his faithful journey done, +And rests in triumph--like the setting sun. + + + + + +Address. + + +For the benefit of James Sheridan Knowles. + + +(Spoken by Mrs. Chapman.) + + + + + Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite-- +To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!-- +I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie! +To say I must!--but if I must--I'll try! + + From him I turn to these more generous souls +The drama's patrons and the friends of KNOWLES. +Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here! +What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere! +Names that shine brightest on our country's page! +The props of science--literature--the stage! +Above--below--around me--woman smiles, +The fairest floweret of these western wilds-- +All come to pay the tribute of their praise +To the first dramatist of modern days: +And welcome, to the green home of the free, +With heart and hand, the bard of liberty! + + His is a wizard-wand. Its potent spell +Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell, +And placed him on his native hills again, +The pride and glory of his fellow-men! +The poet speaks--for Rome Virginia bleeds! +Bold Caius Gracclius in the forum pleads! +Alfred--the Great, because the good and wise, +Bids prostrate England burst her bonds and rise! +Sweet Bess, the Beggar's Daughter, beauty's queen, +Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene! +The Hunchback enters--kindly--fond--severe-- +And last, behold the glorious Wife appear! + + These are the bright creations of a mind +Glowing with genius, chastened and refined. +In all he's written, be this praise his lot: +"Not one word, dying, would he wish to blot!" + + Upon my life 'tis no such easy thing +To land the bard, unless an eagle's wing +My muse would take; and, fixing on the sun +Her burning eye, soar as his own has done! + + Did you speak, sir?--What, madam, did he say? +Wrangling!--for shame!--before your wedding-day! +Nay, gentle lady, by thine eyes of blue, +And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you! +Bless me, what friends at every glance I see! +Artists and authors--men of high degree; +Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance, +The next election, and the war with France; +Doctors, just come from curing half a score-- +And belles, from killing twice as many more; +Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors, +Seated, like true republicans, down stairs! +All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces +Might well become Apollo and the graces, +Except one yonder, with a look infernal, +Like a blurred page from Fanny Kemble's Journal! + + But to my task. The muse, when I began, +Spoke of the writer--welcome ye the man. +Genius, at best, acts but an humble part, +Unless obedient to an honest heart. +And such a one is his, for whom, to-night, +These walls are crowded with this cheering sight +Ye love the poet--oft have conned him o'er, +Knew ye the man, ye'd love him ten times more. +Ye critics, spare him from your tongue and quill, +Ye gods, applaud him; and ye fops--be still! + + + + + +Address + + +For the Benefit of Henry Placide. + + +(Spoken by Mrs. Hilson.) + + + + + The music's done. Be quiet, Mr. Durie! +Your bell and whistle put me in a fury! +Don't ring up yet, sir--I've a word to say +Before the curtain rises for the play! + + Your pardon, gentlefolks, nor think me bold, +Because I thus our worthy promoter scold: +'Twas all feigned anger. This enlightened age +Requires a RUSE to bring one on the stage! + + Well, here I am, quite dazzled with the sight +Presented on this brilliant festal night! +Where'er I turn, whole rows of patrons sit-- +The house is full--box, gallery, and pit! +Who says the New-York public are unkind? +I know them well, and plainly speak my mind-- +"It is our right," the ancient poet sung-- +He knew the value of a woman's tongue! +With this I will defend ye--and rehearse +FIVE glorious ACTS of yours--in modern verse; +Each one concluding with a generous deed +For Dunlap, Cooper, Woodworth, Knowles, Placide! +'Twas nobly done, ye patriots and scholars! +Besides--they netted twenty thousand dollars! +"A good round sum," in these degenerate times-- +"This bank-note world," so called in Halleck's rhymes; +And proof conclusive, you will frankly own, +In liberal actions New-York stands alone. + + Though roams he oft 'mong green poetic bowers, +The actor's path is seldom strewn with flowers. +His is a silent, secret, patient toil-- +While others sleep, he burns the midnight oil-- +Pores o'er his books--thence inspiration draws, +And waste's his life to merit your applause! +O ye, who come the laggard hours to while, +And with the laugh-provoking muse to smile, +Remember this: the mirth that cheers you so, +Shows but the surface--not the depths below! +Then judge not lightly of the actor's art, +Who smiles to please you, with a breaking heart! +Neglect him not in his hill-climbing course, +Nor treat him with less kindness than your horse: +Up hill, indulge him--down the steep descent, +Spare--and don't urge him when his strength is spent; +Impel him briskly o'er the level earth, +But in the stable don't forget his worth! +So with the actor--while you work him hard, +Be mindful of his claims to your regard. + + But hold!--methinks some carping cynic here +Will greet my homely image with a sneer. +Well--let us see--I would the monster view: +Man with umbrageous whiskers, is it you? +Ah, no--I was mistaken: every brow +Beams with benevolence and kindness now; +Beauty and fashion all the circles grace-- +And scowling Envy here were out of place! +On every side the wise and good appear-- +The very pillars of the State are here! +There sit the doctors of the legal clan; +There all the city's rulers, to a man; +Critics and editors, and learned M.D.'s, +Buzzing and busy, like a hive of bees; +And there, as if to keep us all in order, +Our worthy friends the Mayor and the Recorder! + + Well, peace be with you! Friends of native worth, +Yours is the power to call it into birth; +Yours is the genial influence that smiles upon +The budding flowerets opening to the sun. +they all around us court your fostering hand-- +Rear them with care, in beauty they'll expand-- +With grateful odors well repay your toil, +Equal to those sprung from a foreign soil; +and more Placides bask in your sunshine then, +The first of actors and the best of men. + + + + + +The Maid of Saxony; or, Who's the Traitor? +An Opera in Three Acts. + + +Founded upon historical events in the life of Frederick the Second of Prussia, +related by Miss Edgeworth, Zimmermann, Latrobe, and other writers. + + +The Music +With the exception of three German Melodies, and the characteristic Introduction +Composed by +Charles E. Horn. + +The Libretto by George P. Morris. + + + + + +The Scenery by..........Messrs. Hillyard, Wheatley, and Assistants. +The Costumes by...........................................M. Louis. +The Properties and Decorations by.......................M. Dejonge. +The Machinery by........................................M. Speyers. +The Orchestra increased, and the Choruses full and effective. +Leader of the Orchestra and Chorus-Master.................M. Chubb. +The Music produced under the direction of...........Mr. C. E. Horn. +Stage Manager............................................Mr. Barry. + + + + + +Dramatis Personae. + + + + +Frederick II. (King of Prussia)....................Mr. Chippendale. +Count Laniska (his Aid-de-Camp, a Pole)................Mr. Manvers. +Albert ( a young Saxon student-at-law)..............Mr. Fredericks. +Karl (a Hungarian, Packer to the Royal Factory).....Mr. C. E. Horn. +Wedgewood (an English Merchant)........................Mr. Placide. +Baron Altenburg (Attorney-General).......................Mr. Barry. +Judge of the Court.......................................Mr. Clark. +Hans (an Innkeeper)....................................Mr. Andrews. +Harold (an old Sergeant of Grenadiers)..................Mr. Seguin. +Corporal of Grenadiers (old man)........................Mr. Fisher. +Burgomaster..............................................Mr. Povey. +Jailor of the Castle Spandau...........................Mr. Bellamy. +Herald..................................................Mr. Nelson. +First General.............................................Mr. King. +Second General..........................................Mr. Gallot. + +Staff-Officers, Officers of State, Workmen of the Factory, Citizens, + Advocates, Jurymen, Grenadiers, Peasants, Travellers, Servants, + etc. + +Countess Laniska.......................................Mrs. Barry. +Frederica (her daughter)..............................Mrs. Knight. +Sophia Mansfield (the Saxon Maid).................Mrs. C. E. Horn. +Gertrude.........................................Miss Mary Taylor. + +Ladies of the Court, Factory Gils, Peasants, etc. + + +Scene -- Berlin and Potsdam. +Time -- Latter part of the reign of Frederick the Great. + + + + + +The Maid of Saxony. [See Notes] + + +Act I. + + +Scene I. + + + + +Inside of a German Inn, on the road to Berlin. Fire and candles nearly extinguished. + Clock in the corner, marking the hour of ten. HANS seated in an arm-chair, asleep. + Music. The curtain rises to the opening symphony. HANS yawns in his sleep. + +(Enter GERTRUDE.) + +GERTRUDE. +Ho! Hans!--Why, Hans!--You Hans, I say! +Awake!--here'll be the deuce to pay! +For coming guests get fire and lights, +And help me put the room to rights! + +(HANS stretches and yawns) + +Hans!--I've no patience with the lout! +What, Hans, on earth are you about? + +(Shakes HANS, who yawns again) + +Did ever room look so forlorn? +Hans!--Hark! I hear the postman's horn! + +(Sounds of a horn in the distance. HANS stretches, yawns, and rises.) + +HANS. +What der tuyvel is der matter, +Dus you chitter-chatter-clatter? + +GERTRUDE (aside). +His impudence can not be borne! + +HANS. +What's dat I hear? + +GERTRUDE. + The postman's horn! + +(Sounds of horn again.) + +Whose notes o'er moor and mountain flung-- + +HANS. +Are not so noisy as your tongue! + +(Horn sounds as though approaching; whips are heard, and the post-coach is supposed +to arrive outside with PASSENGERS. Enter the ATTENDANTS, with portmanteaus, +carpet-bags, etc., and PASSENGERS.) + +CHORUS. +Rejoice! rejoice! we're safe and sound, +And shelter for the night have found, + Within this snug abode! +The dust may rise, the rain may fall-- +Beneath this roof we'll smile at all + The dangers of the road! + +SOLO. +Then let the cheerful board be spread; +To supper first, and then to bed, + Till birds their songs begin: +Thus, whether sleeping or awake, +The weary traveller will take + His comfort at his inn. + +CHORUS. +Rejoice! rejoice! we're safe, etc. + +[Exit PASSENGERS and ATTENDANTS + +GERTRUDE. +Where in the world are all these people going to, Hans? + +HANS. +To Berlin, to shee der troops. Frederick musters dem to-morrow at der capital. But +why don't you attend to der guest? + +GERTRUDE. +Why don't YOU? You are not fit to keep an inn, Hans. + +HANS. +I was not prought up to it; mine pishiness was to keep a paint-shop, and shell der +colors to der artists. + +GERTRUDE. +Don't stand here chatting about your fine colors--but look to the guests-- + +HANS. +Yaw, yaw, mein fraulein. + +ALBERT (without) +Ho! landlord!--Waiters, look to our luggage! + +WEDGEWOOD (speaking as he enters.) +If it is convenient. + +(Enter ALB'T and WEDGEWOOD in cloaks, briskly.) + +GERTRUDE. +This way, gentlemen, this way. + +ALBERT. +Two bed-chambers, landlord, as soon as possible. + +HANS. +Yaw, mynheer. + +(Gives directions to ATTENDANT, who exits) + +WEDGEWOOD. +Landlady, take care of my coat and stick, and here's something for your pains. + +GERTRUDE. +Yes, sir. + +WEDGEWOOD (looking at her.) +What a pretty girl. + +GERTRUDE. +Is that ALL, sir? + +WEDGEWOOD (aside to GERTRUDE.) +No, that's not all. (Kisses her.) Take this into the bargain, you jade! + +GERTRUDE (courtesies.) +Thank you, sir. (Aside.) What a nice, queer old gentleman! + +HANS (taking her away passionately.) +What's dat to you? Give me der tings (takes them.) You do noding but ogle mit der +young folks, and flirt mit der old ones! + +GERTRUDE. +Oh, you jealous brute! [Exit in a huff. + +WEDGEWOOD (noticing her.) +Nice girl that--ODD, too, that she should have married a man old enough to be her +grandfather! + +HANS (aside.) +Dat queer chap in der brown vig I'm sure is a gay deceiver, or he would not admire +mine vife so much. I must have mine eyes about me. [Exit. + +WEDGEWOOD (noticing HANS and GERTRUDE.) +Odd, very odd, VERY ODD indeed! But, now that we are alone, pray continue the narrative +you commenced in the coach--if it is convenient. + +ALBERT. +Right willingly. Frederick, after his conquest of Saxony, transported by force +several manufacturers from Dresden to Berlin, where he established a Porcelain Factory-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +Separated from their friends, home, and country, these unfortunate people are compelled +to continue their labors for the profit and glory of their conqueror--I know it--go on-- + +ALBERT. +Among those in bondage is Sophia Mansfield-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +I have heard of her:--a young, beautiful, and singularly-gifted girl-- + +ALBERT. +Several pieces of her design and modelling were shown to the king, when he was at +Meissen, in Saxony; and he was so struck with their beauty, that he determined to +convey the artist with other prisoners, to his capital-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +Where he issued his royal edict, compelling the girls of the factory to marry Prussian +soldiers. Unfeelingly odd! + +ALBERT. +Sophia has yet escaped this tyranny. The OVERSEER, however, has demanded her hand; +but I shall be in time to thwart his purposes. + +WEDGEWOOD. +But, to effect that, you must also thwart the purposes of Frederick himself, who, I +understand, is as stubborn as he is bold. + +ALBERT. +Count Laniska has won Sophia's affections, and love is a power that can not be +controlled. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Veritably odd! + +ALBERT. +You are on your way to the factory--have you free admission for yourself and friends? + +WEDGEWOOD. +Indubitably. + +ALBERT. +Then we will, with your permission, visit it together. (Aside.) In this disguise, +and under the name of Worrendorf, I may pass unnoticed. + +(Re-enter HANS, with trunks, etc, and GERTRUDE.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +It is growing late. After the fatigues of the journey, I need repose. + +ALBERT. +And so do I. Good-night! + +WEDGEWOOD. +Good-night! [Exit ALBERT; GERTRUDE takes a lighted candle from the table and shows +the way; WEDGEWOOD takes a light.] Do you rise early, friend? + +HANS. +No, mynheer; but mine vife does-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +Then tell your wife to knock at my door early in the morning. + +HANS (eyeing him and looking suspiciously.) +So ho! I SMOKE you! + +WEDGEWOOD. +Then keep farther off with your confounded pipe, you Dutch abomination. + +HANS (lays his finger on his nose.) +And I schmells a rat! + +WEDGEWOOD (looking around.) +The devil you do! Where?-- + +HANS. +Se I vill knock at yourn door myself-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +If it is convenient. (Exit Hans.) A pretty house I have got into!--Smokes me!--smells +a rat!--The FILTHY Dutchman! [Exit. + + + + + +Scene II. + + + + +An open cut wood near Berlin. Tents in the distance. A military outpost. Enter + HAROLD, CORPORAL, and a party of SOLDIERS, in military undress. + +SONG. +The life for me is a soldier's life! + With that what glories come! +The notes of the spirit-stirring fife, + The roll of the battle-drum; +The brilliant array, the bearing high, + The plumed warriors' tramp; +The streaming banners that flout the sky, + The gleaming pomp of the camp. + +CHORUS. +A soldier's life is the life for me! + With that what glories come! +The notes of the spirit-stirring fife, + The roll of the battle-drum! + +HAROLD. +So, corporal, at last we are to have a muster of the combined forces of the kingdom. + +CORPORAL. +Yes, the king is never so happy as when he has all his children, as he calls US, about +him. + +HAROLD. +And plaguy good he takes of his CHILDREN! He looks after our domestic as well as our +public interests! It was a strange whim in old Fritz to offer each of his soldiers +one of the factory girls for a wife! + +CORPORAL. +I wonder the old hero does not marry some of them himself. + +HAROLD. +He would rather look after his soldiers than meddle with the fancies of the women--and +at his age too! + +CORPORAL. +Nonsense! The king is a boy--a mere boy--of seventy! But he does meddle with the +women sometimes. + +HAROLD. +Say you so? + +CORPORAL. +Ay, and old ones too. It was but the other day that he pensioned a poor widow, whose +only son fell in a skirmish at his side. Heaven bless his old cocked hat! + +HAROLD. +Yes is it not singular that one so mindful of the rights of old women should compel +the young ones to toil as they do in the factory? + +CORPORAL. +Tush, tush, man!--that's none of your concern, nor mine. What have we to do with state +affairs? + +HAROLD. +Right, corporal; and it's not worth while for us to trouble our heads about other +people's business. + +CORPORAL. +You're a sensible fellow-- + +HAROLD. +Right again; and I would return the compliment if you did not wear such a flashy +watch-riband (looks at it.) + +CORPORAL. +That's personal! + +HAROLD. +I mean it to be so. What the devil do you wear it for? + +CORPORAL. +To gratify a whim. I like this riband. It was a present from an old sweetheart +of mine. Look what a jaunty air it gives one!--and where's the harm of keeping up +appearances?-- + +HAROLD. +What silly vanity! But let me give you a piece of advice: beware of the scrutiny +of the king--he has an eye like a hawk, old as he is; and if he should happen to spy +your watch-riband-- + +CORPORAL. +Pooh, pooh!--he would not notice such a trifle.--But who comes yonder? That Hungarian +Karl. Let's make way for him.--He's a fellow I don't fancy. What a man to woo and +win Sophia Mansfield! + +HAROLD. +He'll never win her, woo her as he may. Count Laniska will look to that. + +[HAROLD, CORPORAL and party retire into tents. + +(Enter KARL, in great agitation.) + +SONG--KARL. +Confusion!--Again rejected + By the maid I fondly love! +Illusion!--In soul dejected! + Jealous fears my bosom move. +Dear Sophia!--Hope's deceiver! + Whom I love; but love in vain! +Can I to my rival leave her? + No--the thought distracts my brain! + +Love--revenge!--Oh, how I falter! + Passion's throes unman me quite: +Now he leads her to he alter-- + How I tremble at the sight! +Hold, tormentors! cease to tear me! + All in vain I gasp for breath! +Hated rival--scorn I bear thee + Which can only end in death! + +(HAROLD advances.) + +HAROLD. +Karl, what ails you? + +KARL (aside.) +Observed! (To HAROLD.) An infirmity I've had from my youth upward. I shall be better +presently. + +HAROLD. +You tremble like one with the ague. + +KARL. +We Hungarians have not your tough constitution, comrade: besides, the weather is +chilly--it freezes me to the bone. + +HAROLD. +It's the weather within, Karl. Repair to the factory, and sun yourself in the bright +eyes of Sophia Mansfield! That will warm you, especially if Count Laniska happens to +be by to stir up the fire of your jealousy--eh? + +KARL. +You have a sharp wit, which I lack, comrade. + +HAROLD (sarcastically.) +And I've another thing which you lack--COMRADE. + +KARL. +What may that be? + +HAROLD. +A clear conscience, my old boy! + +[Exit HAROLD into tent + +KARL. +Does he suspect? No--sleeping and waking I have concealed this (his arm) damning +evidence of my guilt. The mark of Cain I bear about me is known to none, and the +secret dies with me.--For that young Pole, Sophia scorns me; but let him beware!--My +revenge, though slow, is sure! + +(KARL turns to go; but perceiving Count Laniska advancing, he retires to a tent. +Enter LANISKA, who notices KARL in the distance.) + +SONG--LANISKA. +When I behold that lowering brow, + Which indicates the mind within, +I marvel much that woman's vow + A man like that could ever win! +Yet it is said, in rustic bower, + (The fable I have often heard) +A serpent has mysterious power + To captivate a timid bird. + +This precept then I sadly trace-- + That love's a fluttering thing of air; +And yonder lurks the viper base, + Who would my gentle bird ensnare! +'Twas in the shades of Eden's bower + This fascination had its birth, +And even there possessed the power + To lure the paragon of earth! + +(At the conclusion of the song, KARL, is about to retire. LANISKA addresses him.) + +COUNT. +Come hither, Karl. + +KARL. +I await upon your leisure, count. + +COUNT. +I would have some words with you. + +KARL. +You may not relish the frankness of my manner. + +COUNT. +Indeed! + +KARL. +Look you, Count Laniska; I am a plain, blunt, straight-forward, rough-spoken fellow, +and a soldier like yourself. I know my rights; and, knowing, will maintain them. It +was by the king's permission and authority that I chose Sophia Mansfield for my bride-- + +COUNT. +She has rejected you. + +KARL. +What has that to do with the matter? Women are often perverse, and not always the +best judges of their own welfare; and you know she MUST be mine-- + +COUNT. +Must?-- + +KARL. +Yes, MUST. I have the king's promise, and Frederick was never known to break his word. + +COUNT. +You surely will not marry her against her will? + +KARL. +Why not? Sophia is the only woman I ever loved: and now that I have her sure, think +you I will resign her? + +COUNT. +And think you the king will force an angel into the arms of a monster? He can not be +so great a tyrant-- + +KARL. +Tyrant! + +COUNT. +Yes. Man was created to cherish woman, not to oppress her; and he is the worst of +tyrants who would injure that sex whom heave ordains it his duty to protect. + +KARL. +Apply you this to the king? + +COUNT. +To the king, or to any HE in Christendom, who would use his power to oppress the +unfortunate! But come, sir, we will not dispute about a hasty word--we have higher +duties to perform. + +KARL. +True, count; we oppose our weapons to the enemies of our country, not the bosoms of +our friends. I say OUR country; for, although you were born in Poland, and I in +Hungary, Frederick has made Prussia almost as dear to us as our native land, TYRANT +though he may be.--But we will not quarrel about a single captive, when the king has +placed so many at the disposal of those who fight his battles. [Trumpet sounds without. + +(Enter HAROLD with dispatches.) + +HAROLD (to COUNT.) +Dispatches from the king. (Aside.) And a letter from Sophia Mansfield. [Exit. + +(The COUNT receives and examines the dispatches; kisses SOPHIA's letter, and puts it +into his bosom. KARL does not notice it.) + +DUET--COUNT AND KARL. +'Tis a soldier's rigid duty + Orders strictly to obey; +Let not, then the smile of beauty + Lure us from the camp away. +In our country's cause united, + Gallantly we'll take the field; +But, the victory won, delighted + Singly to the fair we yield! + +Soldiers who have ne'er retreated, + Beauty's tear will sure beguile; +Hearts that armies ne'er defeated, + Love can conquer with a smile. +Who would strive to live in story, + Did not woman's hand prepare +Amaranthine wreaths of glory + Which the valiant proudly wear? + +[Exit the COUNT. KARL follows, menacing him. + + + + + +Scene III. + + +An apartment in the Chateau of the COUNTESS. Enter the COUNTESS and FREDERICA. + + + + +COUNTESS. +Your morning ride, Frederica, was full of romance--the hose of your groom, you say, +took fright-- + +FREDERICA. +Yes, dear mother, and darted off at a racing pace; my own also became unmanageable, +and I lost my presence of mind. I should have been thrown, if not killed, had not +a gentleman rushed to my assistance. + +COUNTESS. +Who was he? + +FREDERICA. +I do not know. + +COUNTESS. +Was he alone? + +FREDERICA. +There was an elderly person with him, who seemed to be a foreigner. + +COUNTESS. +But HE was young, of course? + +FREDERICA. +Yes, mother, and handsome as an Adonis. + +COUNTESS. +You have not fallen in love with this stranger, surely? You are not old enough, and +this is only your first season, Frederica. + +FREDERICA. +Love has all seasons for his own, dear mother. Listen! + +SONG--FREDERICA. [This song was not written for the opera; but was introduced by the + composer] +The spring-time of love is both happy and gay, +For Joy sprinkles blossoms and balm in our way; +the sky, earth, and ocean, in beauty repose, +And all the bright future is couleur de rose! + +The summer of love is the bloom of the heart, +When hill, grove, and valley their music impart; +And the pure glow of heaven is seen in fond eyes, +As lakes show the rainbow that's hung in the skies! + +The autumn of love is the season of cheer-- +Life's mild Indian summer, the smile of the year-- +Which comes when the golden-ripe harvest is stored, +And yields its own blessing, repose, and reward. + +The winter of love is the beam that we win, +While the storm howls without, from the sunshine within. +Love's reign is eternal--the heart is his throne, +And he has all season of life for his own. + +COUNTESS. +Silly, thoughtless girl!--What strangers are these coming up the avenue? + +FREDERICA (looking out.) +As I live, the elderly person I told you of, and the young gentleman who risked his +life to save mine! + +(Enter WEDGEWOOD and ALBERT.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +Have I the honor of addressing the Countess Laniska? (Aside.) Flounces, frills, +filagrees, and furbelows, but she's superlatively odd! + +COUNTESS. +I am the countess, sir. + +WEDGEWOOD (presenting letters.) +Will your ladyship be pleased to receive these letters of introduction--if quite +convenient? + +COUNTESS (receiving letters and looking at them.) +Mr. Wedgewood, from Esturia and London; and-- + +WEDGEWOOD (introducing ALBERT.) +Mr. Albert Worrendorf. + +COUNTESS (introducing FREDERICA.) +My daughter Frederica. + +ALBERT (aside.) +The angel we met by accident this morning! + +WEDGEWOOD (aside.) +Seraphically odd! + +FREDERICA (to ALBERT.) +We have seen each other before, Mr. Worrendorf. + +ALBERT. +To my great happiness, madam. + +(ALBERT and FREDERICA converse apart.) + +COUNTESS (to WEDGEWOOD.) +It was very kind in my correspondent, Mr. Wedgewood, to introduce a gentleman of your +celebrity to my chateau. + +WEDGEWOOD. +You do me honor, madam. We Englishmen are plain-spoken people. We are not unlike +our earthenware--delf and common clay mixed together. If our outsides are sometimes +rough, all within is smooth and polished as the best of work. It is the purest +spirit, which, like the finest china, lets the light shine through it. (Aside.) +Not a bad compliment to myself, and metaphorically odd! + +COUNTESS. +Your reply reminds me of the object of your visit. The Prussians are very proud of +the manufactory which has claimed the attention of the king. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Oh, how I long to see the great Frederick! + +COUNTESS. +You will like him, I am confident. + +WEDGEWOOD. +I don't know that. I don't at all fancy his edict.--What! marry a parcel of handsome, +innocent, industrious girls to his great whiskered horse-guards, whether they will +or no? It's a piece of moral turpitude--an insult to common sense--and infamously +odd-- + +FREDERICA (advancing.) +Have a care, Mr. Wedgewood--have a care how you talk about the king. He possesses +a sort of magical ubiquity--and is here, there, and every where at the same moment. + +WEDGEWOOD. +How does he manage that? + +FREDERICA. +He wanders about in secrecy and disguise--enters all kinds of mansions--and often +over-hears conversations that were never intended for the court. By this means, it +is said, he gathers information from every nook and corner of his kingdom. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Strange kind of hocus-pocus work for a monarch!--Peripatetically odd! + +ALBERT. +I have been told that he knows more of the character and condition of his subjects +and soldiers than they do themselves. + +COUNTESS. +And he never knows of a wrong done among his people that he does not instantly +redress--though it often puzzles them to learn how he arrives at his knowledge of +the facts. Many think him a wizard. + +WEDGEWOOD. +And not without reason, madam. Never before have I heard of such a compound of +sagacity, courage, and eccentricity. Oh, I am all in a glow to see and converse +with the jolly old boy! + +(Enter Count LANISKA.) + +COUNTESS (introducing him.) +My son, the Count Laniska, will present you to his majesty. + +WEDGEWOOD (bowing to COUNT.) +If it is convenient. (Aside.) Most martially and uniformly odd! (To LANISKA.) +But, first, I should like to have a glimpse at the factory. + +COUNT. +I shall be happy to show it to you. There is one extraordinary subject connected +with it, that will surprise you both--a young girl of singular talent and beauty-- + +FREDERICA. +Ah, brother! upon your favorite theme again. That young girl occupies more of your +thoughts than all he porcelain in these dominions. + +ALBERT (aside.) +Poor Sophia! + +FREDERICA (observing the COUNT looks thoughtful.) +Why, what's the matter with you, brother? + +WEDGEWOOD. +He is no doubt studying the mixture of different kinds of clay, and contriving a +furnace that will not destroy it by too much heat. Ingeniously odd! + +COUNT. +You are mistaken, sir. I was thinking at what time I should have the pleasure of +waiting upon you. + +WEDGEWOOD. +I will be at your service as soon as I have had time to adjust my outward and refresh +my inward man.--Necessarily odd! (Seeing the COUNTESS about to retire.) Madam, +allow me (takes her hand)--If it is convenient. + +[Exit WEDGEWOOD and COUNTESS. + +FREDERICA (to COUNT.) +Now, brother, that the countess has retired, pray favor us with your confidence. You +need not mind Mr. Worrendorf--I have told him all about Sophia Mansfield--I love +that poor girl myself, not less for her misfortunes than her genius. + +ALBERT. +I love her too-- + +FREDERICA (aside.) +Oh, dear! what's the matter with me? My head turns round--I am ready to drop! + +COUNT (with emotion.) +You love her! Wherefore? + +ALBERT. +She is my countrywoman, and for that I love her. + +FREDERICA (recovering.) +Well, gentlemen, I must say this is very gallant of you both, to be praising one +lady so highly when there is another in the room. (Aside.) Oh, dear me, how near +I came to betraying myself! + +ALBERT. +Your pardon, my dear madam. When I look at you, I almost forget there is another +woman in the world. (Kisses FREDERICA's hand, who turns away with evident +confusion.)--But for the present I must leave you, to join Mr. Wedgewood. [Exit. + +COUNT (noticing them.) +(Aside.) So, so, Frederica--fairly caught, I perceive! (To Frederica.) Ah, sister, +sister! as in all things else, there is a destiny in love. + +DUET--LANSIKA and FREDERICA. +From my fate there's no retreating-- + Love commands, and I obey; +How with joy my heart is beating + At the fortunes of to-day! +Life is filled with strange romances-- + Love is blind, the poets say; +When he comes unsought, the chance is + Of his own accord he'll stay. + +Love can ne'er be forced to tarry; + Chain him--he'll the bonds remove: +Paired, not matched, too many marry-- + All should wed alone for love. +Let him on the bridal-even + Trim his lamp with constant ray; +And the flame will light to heaven, + When the world shall fade away! + +[Exeunt + + + + + +Scene IV. + + +The whole depth of the stage is made use of in this scene, which represents an open + country. A Camp and Soldiers at a distance. Music. Enter HANS, GERTRUDE, and + Peasantry: Lads and Lasses dancing. + + + + +CHORUS of PEASANTS. +Lads and lasses, trip away +to the cheerful roundelay! +At the sound of tambourine, +Care is banished from the scene, +And a happy train we bound, +To the pipe and tabour's sound. + Merrily, merrily trip away, + 'Tis a nation's holiday! + Merrily, merrily, merrilie, + Bound with sprits light and free! + Let's be jocund while we may; + And dance--dance--dance-- + And dance the happy hours away! + +When the gleaming line shall come, +To the sound of trump and drum; +Headed by advancing steeds, +Whom the king in person leads-- +Let us hail him in his state, +For the king's both good and great! + Merrily, merrily trip away, + 'Tis a nation's holiday! + Merrily, merrily, merrilie, + Bound with sprits light and free! + Let's be jocund while we may; + And dance--dance--dance-- + And dance the happy hours away! + +(Immediately after chorus, a grand march is commenced in he distance, which becomes +more and more distinct as the troops advance. The PEASANTS form in groups. HANS +speaks during the first part of the march.) + +HANS. +Here we are, Gertrude, many miles from our own village--and all for vat? To please +you--(aside) and to shell a few color to der artishes, vich I pring along mit me for +der purpose; but I need not tell her dat.--Here, stand aside, and don't be looking +after de sholders! + +(GERTRUDE and HANS stand aside. Grand march. Enter a corps of Grenadiers and other +troops, who form on the right of the stage. Roll of drums. The troops present arms. +Enter FREDERICK, in a furious passion, followed by general and staff Officers, and +Count LANISKA. The KING acknowledges the salute, lifts his hat, and puts it on again +furiously. HAROLD and Corporal are in the ranks of the Grenadiers. Throughout the +scene the KING speaks hurriedly.) + +KING. +General! + +FIRST GENERAL. +Your Majesty. + +KING. +How comes it there is such a lack of discipline in your division? Disband THAT +regiment at once, and draft a few of the men from the right wing into other regiments +ordered for immediate service! The sooner THEY are shot the better! + +FIRST GENERAL. +Yes, sire. [Exit. + +KING. +Generals--most of you have served the greater part of your lives with me. We have +grown gray-headed in the service of our country, and we therefore know best ourselves +the dangers, difficulties, and glory in which we have shared. While we maintain the +discipline of the army, we may defy any power that Europe can march against us--relax +that, and we become an easy prey to the spoiler. + +SECOND GENERAL. +Your majesty shall have no cause of complain in the future. + +KING. +Make sure of that!--Soldiers, I rely in my operations entirely upon your well-known +zeal in my service, and I shall acknowledge it with gratitude as long as I live; +but at the same time I require of you that you look upon it as your most sacred +duty to show kindness and mercy to all prisoners that the fortunes of war may throw +in your power. + +SECOND GENERAL. +That duty, sire, you have taught us all our lives. + +KING (taking snuff.) +Good!--Have any of my grenadiers anything to say to me before the parade is dismissed? + +HAROLD (recovering arms.) +Your Majesty! + +KING. +Speak out, Harold! + +HAROLD. +The grenadiers have noticed with deep regret that you fatigue yourself of late too +much with the cares of the army. We protest against it-- + +KING. +Zounds and fury!--Here's rebellion! YOU protest against it? + +HAROLD (bluntly.) +We do. You are getting to be an old man--a very old man--and are too much afoot. + +KING. +I can do as I like about it, I suppose? + +HAROLD. +Certainly not; and you will, therefore, in future, be good enough to use your carriage +more and your legs less. + +KING. +What do the grenadiers FEAR? + +HAROLD. +We fear nothing but the loss of your health, the loss of your life, or the loss of +your favor, sire. + +KING. +Don't you fear the loss of my temper at your bluntness--eh, old comrade? + +HAROLD. +No, sire; we know you like it. + +KING. +I do indeed. You are in the right, my brave compatriots--for my advanced age and +increasing infirmities admonish me that I shall be under the necessity of following +your advice. But on the day of battle, you shall see me on horseback--ON HORSEBACK--and +in the thickest of the fight! (Crosses the stage, as a BURGOMASTER enters, kneels, +and presents a petition.) What have we here? + +BURGOMASTER. +Sire--the common council has imprisoned a citizen, upon an accusation that he has +sinned against heaven, the king, and the right worshipful the common council. We +humbly beg to know what Your Majesty's pleasure is with regard to the punishment +of so unparalleled and atrocious an offender? + +KING. +If the prisoner has sinned against heaven, and is not a fool or a madman, he will +make his peace with it without delay. This is a Power (taking off his hat--all the +characters make their obeisance) that kings themselves must bow to in reverential +awe. (Resumes his hat.) + +BURGOMASTER. +But he has also sinned against your high and mighty majesty-- + +KING. +Tush, tush, man! + +BURGOMASTER (profoundly.) +On my official veracity, sire. + +KING. +Well, well, for that I pardon him-- + +BURGOMASTER. +And he has likewise sinned against the right worshipful the common council. + +KING. +The reprobate!-- + +BURGOMASTER. +It is most veritable, Your Majesty! + +KING. +Well, for that terrible and enormous offence, it becomes my solemn duty to make an +example of so abominable a culprit and to punish him in a must exemplary manner. +Therefore-- + +BURGOMASTER. +Yes, Your Majesty-- + +KING. +Send him to the Castle of Spandau, to be imprisoned-- + +BURGOMASTER. +Your Majesty-- + +KING. +For at least-- + +BURGOMASTER. +Sire-- + +KING. +Half an hour (PEASANTRY laugh;)--and afterward he is at liberty to go to the devil +his own way; and the right worshipful the common council may go with him, if they +like! + +(Exit BURGOMASTER. As he goes out, shrugging his shoulders, all the PEASANTRY laugh, +until checked by a look from the KING, who crosses the stage to the Grenadiers, and +addresses the CORPORAL, who has his watch-riband suspended.) + +KING. +Corporal! (He advances and recovers arms.) + +CORPORAL. +Your Majesty! + +KING. +I have often noticed you in the field. You are a brave soldier--and a prudent one, +too, to have saved enough from your pay to buy yourself a watch. + +HAROLD (aside to CORPORAL.) +You remember what I told you about a hawk's eye. + +CORPORAL. +Brave I flatter myself I am; but as to my watch, it is of little signification. + +KING (Seizing and pulling out a bullet fastened to the CORPORAL's watch-riband.) +Why, this is not a watch!--It's a bullet! + +CORPORAL. +It's the only watch I have, Your Majesty; but I have not worn it entirely out of +vanity-- + +KING. +What have you worn it for, then? It does not show you the time of day! + +CORPORAL. +No; bit it clearly shows me the death I am to die in your Majesty's service. + +KING. +Well said, my brave fellow! And, that you may likewise see the hour among the twelve +in which you ARE to die, I will give you my watch. Take it, and wear it for my sake +corporal. (The KING gives the CORPORAL his watch.) + +CORPORAL (with emotion.) +It will also teach me that at any moment Your Majesty may command my life. + +HAROLD (enthusiastically.) +And the lives of us all. Long live the King! + +(Flourish of drums. The KING acknowledges the salute.) + +KING (to Grenadiers.) +You, my brave fellows, are my own guards. I can rely upon YOU. There is no want of +discipline here--eh, General? Notwithstanding all my annoyances, I am the happiest +king in Christendom! + +CHORUS +(Grenadiers and all the characters) +All hail the king!--Long live the king! + Our hope in peace and war! +With his renown let Prussia ring-- + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! +He is the pillar of the state! + Our sword and buckler he! +Heaven give to Frederick the Great + Eternal victory! + +(The GRENADIERS cheer. The OFFICERS close about the KING. Flourish and tableau. +The act-drop descends on the picture.) + +End of the First Act. + + + + + +Act II. + + +Scene I. + + + + +Discovered. The stage represents a large apartment without the usual side-entrances. + On the left hand is a row of long, old-fashioned windows, with painting-screens + so arranged as to let the light fall obliquely on the tables beneath; at which + the FACTORY GIRLS are seated, employed in painting various articles of porcelain. + SOPHIA MANSFIELD is seated at the table nearest the audience. On the right are + separate tables, at which GIRLS are employed mixing and grinding colors. In the + center of the stage is a small platform, on which a number of painted vases, ready + for the oven, are placed. KARL is engaged in examining them. At the rear of the + stage is the entrance to the room--a large open door--on each side of which are + rows of shelves, filled with vases, bowls, plates, jars, mantel ornaments, and + the like, put there to dry. The whole representing the painting-room of the Royal + Porcelain Factory. Through the doors the furnaces are seen, on which the porcelain + is placed to set the colors, and which several WORKMEN are attending. The curtain + rises slowly to the music. + +CHORUS. +(German air.) + Home, home, home-- + Dear, lost home! +Though here we pine in slavery, +Our hearts are all in Saxony, + Our girlhood's happy home! + +Land of the free and bold, +To hopeless bondage sold! +While abject toil and fear +Enchain thy daughters here, + We yearn for thee, + O Saxony!-- +For freedom, love, and home! + +(The GIRLS attempt to waltz to the music; but, overcome by their feelings, they resume +their tasks.) + +SOLO--SOPHIA. + Home, home, home-- + Dear, lost home! +Though cares oppress us fearfully, +We exiles carol cheerfully + Of girlhood's happy home! + +Beneath our native sky, +The hours went swiftly by; +While on a foreign soil, +Our youth consumes in toil! + We yearn for thee, + O Saxony!-- +For freedom, love, and home! + +(The GIRLS attempt to waltz, as before, etc.) + +CHORUS. + Home, home, home, etc. + +(The WORKMEN and the GIRLS resume their tasks.) + +(Enter Count LANISKA, ALBERT, and WEDGEWOOD.) + +WEDGEWOOD (looking around, and speaking enthusiastically as he enters.) +Admirable, upon my word! Every department better than the last, and this the best +of all! Never saw anything like it. The colors brilliant--the designs exquisitely +classical--"a place for everything, and everything in its place!" + +COUNT. +Whatever His Majesty constructs, whether a fortress or a factory, is perfect in all +its details. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Yet look around, and read your monarch's history in the eyes of these prisoners of +war. Observe that picture of melancholy (pointing to SOPHIA, who, during the scene, +has been leaning dejectedly on her hand.--KARL standing by her side.) How reluctantly +she pursues her task! Our English manufacturers work in quite another manner, for +they are free! + +KARL. +And are free men or free women never indisposed?--or do you Englishmen blame your +king whenever any of his subjects turn pale? The woman at whom you are looking is +evidently ill. + +WEDGEWODD. +The fie upon your inhumanity for making a poor, sick girl work when she seems scarcely +able to hold up her head! (Aside.) I don't half like that fellow. Villainously odd. + +ALBERT (to SOPHIA.) +My poor girl, what is the matter with you. The overseer says that, since you came +here, you have done nothing worthy of your pencil. Yet this charming piece (pointing +to an ornament on her painting)--which was brought from Saxony is of your design--is +it not? + +SOPHIA. +Yes, sir, it was my misfortune to paint it. If the king had never seen or liked it, +I should now be-- + +ALBERT. +In Saxony; but forget that country, and you may be happy in this. + +SOPHIA. +I can not forget it!--I can not forget everybody that I ever loved. Ask not a Saxon +woman to forget her country! + +ALBERT. +Whom do you love in Saxony now? + +SOPHIA. +Whom do I NOT love in Saxony? I have a brother there, whom I have not seen since +childhood. He was at college when I was carried off from the cottage in which we +both were born. He is ignorant of my fate. (She regards ALBERT with great attention, +and examines his features minutely.) + +ALBERT. +Why do you gaze upon me so intently? + +SOPHIA. +I know not why, sir; but you seemed even now a dear heart-cherished one, whom I have +wished for long and anxiously. + +ALBERT. +Think me that one, and trust me. + +SOPHIA. +I will--for there's a cherub nestling in my heart which whispers, "You are here to +save me!" (ALBERT leads her to her task, which she resumes in great dejection of +spirits.) + +WEDGEWOOD (to KARL.) +Is that poor girl often thus? + +KARL. +She sits as you see her, like one stupefied, half the day. + +WEDGEWOOD. +The cause of this--if it is convenient? + +KARL. +She has fallen to the lot of a soldier (glancing at SOPHIA)--who swears, if she delays +another day to MARRY HIM, that he will complain to the king. + +COUNT (turning furiously upon KARL.) +Wretch! (seizes him.) + +KARL (throwing him off.) +This insult will cost you dear! Your scorn for the king's commands-- + +COUNT (scornfully.) +I had forgotten. (Releases him.) You are a mere instrument in the hands of a tyrant! + +KARL (aside.) +That word again!-- + +SOPHIA (running between them, and throwing herself at the feet of LANISKA.) +Save me! save me! You CAN save me! You are a powerful lord, and can speak to the +king! Save me from this detested marriage. + +KARL (aside to SOPHIA.) +Are you mad? + +COUNT (raising SOPHIA, who clings to him, and shrinks from KARL.) +I will do so, or perish in the attempt! + +KARL (aside.) +Ah! say you so? Then the king shall know HIS enemy and MINE! [Exit. + +WEDGEWOOD (noticing KARL go off.) +Whew! There's mischief brewing! If that black-muzzled rascal is not hatching trouble +for us all, I'll never trust my seven senses again! I wonder they permit such a +bear to go at large in a garden like this--he'll root up the flowers as well as +weeds.--Dangerously odd! + +(Trumpet sounds without, and a buzz and hum as if of a distant crowd; the noise comes +near the Factory.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +What's afoot now, I wonder? + +ALBERT. +Some new freak, no doubt, of this eccentric monarch. (Noises.) + +WEDGEWOOD (looking out.) +The town is all astir (noise louder)--humming and buzzing like a hive of bees! (Noise, +and distant shouts.) And yonder comes a fussy little burgomaster with a proclamation, +and a crowd of noisy citizens at his heels--odd! [Noise and shouts increase. + +(Sophia and the other GIRLS and the WORKMEN leave their occupations, as if anxious +to learn the cause of the uproar. When the buzzing, huzzaing, and noise reach the +Factory, loud sound of the trumpet.) + +BURGOMASTER (without.) +Make way there, good people--make way there for the royal herald! (The BURGOMASTER +bustles in with the HERALD--the crowd following and surrounding him--noises.) Stand +back (using his wand)--stand back, you idle, ragged tatterdemalions, and pay all +due reverence to the constituted authorities! (laughter)--for know all men by +these presents (very pompously,) that I represent the king! (laughter.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +What a figure for the part! (laughter.) + +BURGOMASTER (smartly striking with his wand one who laughs louder than the rest.) +Take that, and let it teach you better manners in future, you scarecrow!--Now draw +near, good people, and be dumb! Lend me all your ears!-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +You have ears enough already for any two-legged animal-- + +BURGOMASTER. +While I, by virtue of my office as a magistrate, publish this important document! +(SOPHIA comes forward.) + +CITIZEN (eagerly.) +Now for it! + +BURGOMASTER (hitting him smartly over the head.) +You will, will you?--Hish! This paper is big with information to the whole realm; +but more especially to the daughters of Saxony. (SOPHIA and the GIRLS of the Factory, +by looks and actions, evince great interest in the reading of the paper.) + +BURGOMASTER. +Hish! (To HERALD.) Now proceed in regular order, and according to ancient form and +usage, to read the royal proclamation!--Hish! (Hands paper to HERALD.) + +HERALD (reads.) +"By the grace of God, we, Frederick the Second, King of Prussia, hereby make known +that he will give freedom--" + +SOPHIA (eagerly aside.) +Freedom? (Listens with anxiety.) + +HERALD. +"And a reward of five hundred crowns to the ARTIST who shall produce the most +beautifully designed and highly-finished enameled porcelain vase of Berlin china; +and permit her to marry whomsoever she shall think proper." + +SOPHIA (aside and joyfully.) +Her I aright? (The GIRLS of the Factory show great joy at this.) + +HERALD. +"The ARTIST's name shall be inscribed upon the vase, which shall be called 'The Prussian +Vase.'" + +SOPHIA (aside.) +Oh, happy, happy news! + +HERALD. +"Signed at the Sans Souci-- + "By the King." + +OMNES. +HA-z-z-a-a-h-a-a-a-a! (Amid the shouts and general joy of the GIRLS, the BURGOMASTER +bustles out, using his wand frequently, and speaking all the while; the HERALD +following, and the CITIZENS buzzing and huzzaing as before.) Silence you nondescript +villains!--Silence, I say! You stun me with your uproar! (Loud shout.--Passionately.) +Oh, shut your ugly mugs! (Strikes them.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +Mugs! I like that. He's in the crockery-trade, like myself. + +SOPHIA (with joy.) +This proclamation has animated me with new life and energy. I feel like one inspired! + +COUNT. +What mean you? + +SOPHIA. +To become a competitor for the prize. + +ALBERT. +You will have many opponents. + +SOPHIA. +I heed them not. + +WEDGEWOOD. +All will be zeal throughout the manufactory. + +SOPHIA. +So much the greater need for my perseverance. + +ALBERT. +Some will be excited with the hope of gaining their liberty. + +SOPHIA. +Oh, blessed hope! + +WEDGEWOOD. +Some stimulated by the crowns.--Not at all odd.--It would be odd if they were not! + +SOPHIA. +But none have so strong a motive for exertion as I have. + +COUNT (with enthusiasm.) +Nobly resolved! I will assist you with every faculty I possess. + +ALBERT (with the same feeling.) +And I! + +WEDGEWOOD (with the same.) +And all!--If it is convenient. + +SOPHIA (joyfully.) +Then doubt not my success. (Exit LANISKA, ALBERT, and, WEDGEWOOD.) Oh, how my +heart bounds with the thoughts of once more seeing Saxony! Its mountains, torrents, +vineyards, are all before me now! And then our native songs!--They steal into my +heart and melt it. + +SONG AND CHORUS. +(German air.) +SOPHIA and FACTORY GIRLS. +Sky, stream, moorland, and mountain, + Tree, cot, spire, and dome, +Breeze, bird, vineyard, and fountain, + Kindred, friends, country, and home!-- + Home, home, home, home!-- + These are the blessings of home! + +(The FACTORY-GIRLS now waltz cheerfully to the music.) + +Hope how fondly I cherish, + Dear land, to see thee once more! +O Fate! let me not perish + Far from my own native shore! + Home, home, home, home!-- + Saxony, Liberty's home! + +(The GIRLS waltz as before, etc.) + +Those who freedom inherit, + Bow not to Tyranny's throne; +Then, friends, in a kind spirit, + Judge of my love by your own. + Home, home, home, home!-- + The land of the heart is our home! + +(They all waltz with great spirit until the scene closes.) + + + + + +Scene II. + + +A Street in Berlin. Enter FREDERICK in a cloak--KARL following. + + + + +KING. +Those who have the command of motives, and know their power, have also the command +of all that the arts, or what is called a genius for the arts, can produce. The +human mind and human ingenuity are much the same in Italy, England, and Prussia. +Then why should not we have a Prussian as well as a Wedgewood or a Barbarini vase? +We shall see. I do not understand mon metier de roi, if I can not call forth talents +where I know them to exist. (To KARL.) And so the count denounced me for a tyrant, +did he, Karl? + +KARL. +He did, Your Majesty. + +KING. +He's a mere stripling; and I permit boys and fools to speak of me as they list. But +I am no tyrant, Karl! He might have spared me that. (Musingly.) Tyrant!-- + +KARL (aside.) +It rankles deeply. + +KING (recovering from his meditation.) +Youth and inexperience--to say nothing of love--pshaw!--which is the root of all +folly--shall be his apology this time: but let him beware how he offends again-- + +KARL (aside.) +It moves him as I intended. + +KING. +No, I am no tyrant. I should not be branded with such a title! + +KARL (startled.) +Branded, Your Majesty? + +KING. +What has happened, Karl? You are as pale as ashes! What mystery is here? I am to +be trusted. + +KARL. +Your Majesty was ever kind; and if I might-- + +KING. +Might! You may. Speak freely to your sovereign--your friend--and tell me what it +is that weighs upon your mind. + +SONG--KARL +Dared these lips my sad story impart, +What relief it would give to my heart! +Though the scenes of past years as they rise, +Bring the dews of remorse to my eyes, +Yet, oh hear me, and ever conceal +What in agony now I reveal!-- + +KING. +Speak freely, Karl-- + +KARL. +And behold, while I throw off the mask! + Ah, no, no, no, no, no-- +I shrink in despair from the task! + +In the page of my life there appears +A sad passage that's written in tears! +Could but that be erased, I would give +All the remnant of days I may live: +yet the cause of the cloud on my brow +I have never disclosed until now-- + +KING. +Say on, Karl-- + +KARL. +Here behold!--It is branded in flame! + Ah, no, no, no, no, no-- +I shrink in despair from my shame! [KARL rushes out. + +KING. +There's a mystery about that fellow that I can not understand.--Whom have we here? +Oh, the English traveller who is in such a good humor with my manufactory, and who +has such strange notions respecting me. Good--good! + +[Draws his cloak about him and retires. + +(Enter WEDGEWOOD.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +I begin to perceive that I shall get into some confounded scrape if I stay here much +longer, and so will my young friend Mr. Worrendorf, who has made me his confidant: +but mum's the word! (Seeing the KING, who is in the act of taking snuff.) Ah, use +snuff, my old boy?--Odd!--Thank you for a pinch. (Takes a pinch sans ceremonie, and +without the King's consent. FREDERICK shuts the box angrily. WEDGEWOOD starts back +in astonishment.--Aside.) Wonder who the old-fashioned brown jug can be! I'll take +him by the handle and pour him out, and see what's in him. + +KING. +Like the snuff? + +WEDGEWOOD. +Yes (snuffs)--it's decent blackguard (snuffs)--quite decent. + +KING. +Taste it again. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Don't care if I do. (Helps himself.) + +KING. +Perhaps you will also do me the favor to accept the box? + +WEDGEWOOD (taking the box.) +If it is convenient. What am I to infer from this? + +KING. +That you and I cannot take snuff out of the same box. MY box is not large enough +for two. + +WEDGEWOOD (astonished.) +You don't say so! "Not large enough for two?" (Looks at the box.) Damn me if +I don't think it large enough for a dozen, unless they took snuff with a shovel! +(Aside.) Who in the name of all that's magnanimous can this old three-cornered +cocked-hatted cockolorum be? + +KING. +You were overheard to say but now that you would like to see the king? + +WEDGEWOOD. +Overheard? (Aside.) Ah, that's the way they do everything here. A man can't sneeze +without some one of the four winds of heaven reporting it to His Majesty! There is +no such thing as a secret in the whole kingdom! How do the women get along, I wonder? +(To FREDERICK.) "Like to see the king?" Certainly I should. + +KING. +That box will procure you an audience. Present it at the palace. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Look you here, my jolly old cock, none of your jokes--none of your tricks upon +travellers, if you please. What do you mean? + +KING. +That I am appreciated at court. + +WEDGEWOOD (aside.) +Oh, there's no standing on this! (To FREDERICK.) Do you intend to say that you +are personally acquainted with Frederick the Great? + +KING. +I know him, I believe, better than any subject in his realm. He is my most intimate +friend. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Well, then, if that be the case, all that I have to say is, that he is not over and +above nice in his choice of companions.--What an odd old file! + +KING (angrily.) +Look you here, Mr. Wedgewood-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +W-e-d-g-e-w-o-o-d!-- + +KING. +Yes--I know you well enough. You are an Englishman by birth--a crockery-merchant +by trade--a gentleman from inclination--and an odd sort of character from habit. +Without knowing anything more about it than the man in the moon, you have condemned +the policy of the king, who is aware of all you have said and done since your arrival +in Prussia. + +WEDGEWOOD (alarmed.) +Oh, I'll get out of this infernal country as fast as my legs can carry me! The king +is all ears, like a field of corn; and all eyes, like a potato-patch! + +KING. +What alarms you? + +WEDGEWOOD. +Everything. It's all over with me! I'm an earthen teapot with the spout knocked +off!--Suspiciously odd! + +KING. +You, sir, like too many others, are entirely mistaken in the character of Frederick. +You will understand him better when we meet again (going.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +But, before you go, pray receive your box again!--(the KING looks at him sternly-- +WEDGEWOOD is greatly alarmed)--if--it--is--convenient! + +KING. +Not now. When next we confer, remember me.--Farewell! [Exit. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Remember you? I think I shall. Once seen, never forgotten. What a deep old screw! + +(Enter HAROLD.) + +HAROLD. +The king commands your presence at the chateau of the countess. + +WEDGEWOOD. +The devil he does! (Looks at the box.) What's here? As I live, the royal arms! +(Conceals the box from HAROLD.) Oh, the thing's plain enough. That fellow has +stolen this box; and for fear of being found out, he has put it off on me! It's +all up!--I've been bamboozled by the nefarious old monster of iniquity! But I'll +after him straight, and have him JUGGED. If I don't, they'll make not bones of +JUGGING me!--If it is convenient. [Exit in a flurry. + +HAROLD. +How he trembles! He's frightened out of his senses--Fear? What is it? A word not +to be found in the articles of war--a soldier's only vocabulary! + +SONG--HAROLD. +Fiery Mars, thy votary hear! + Weave for me a wreath of glory! +When I rest upon my bier, + Let my memory live in story! +Aid my sword in time of war! + In my country's cause I wield it-- +Only with the breath I draw, + Will I to the foeman yield it! + +[Exit. + + + + + +Scene III. + + +SOPHIA MANSFIELD's apartments in the Porcelain Factory. Enter SOPHIA. + + + + +SOPHIA. +'Tis done. My vase is finished, and in the possession of the overseer. How is it +with me? Although my fortunes are suspended by a single thread, an unaccustomed +buoyancy pervades my bosom. Are these emotions precursors of victory, or has the +love of Laniska given me a new existence, and tinged the world once more with hues +of paradise? How new and fresh and strange are all he things here about my heart! +This is his gift--a simple flower! He said it is an emblem of love. It is not so. +Love does not perish thus!--Love can not be a flower. + +SONG-SOPHIA. +Ah! Love is not a garden-flower, + That shoots from out the cultured earth; +That needs the sunbeam and the shower, + Before it wakens into birth: +It owns a richer soil and seed, + And woman's heart supplies them both, +Where it will spring, without a weed, + Consummate in its growth. + +These leaves will perish when away + From either genial sun or shower; +Not so will wither and decay + Celestial Love's perennial flower. +'Tis our companion countless miles, + Through weal or woe in after years; +And though it flourishes in smiles, + It blooms as fresh in tears! + +(Enter FREDERICA.) + +FREDERICA. +My dear Sophia, I am overjoyed to learn that you have completed your vase. + +SOPHIA. +Thanks, dear madam. Is it true that the works of the different competitors are to +be exhibited at the fete of the countess, and that the decision is to be there made? + +FREDERICA. +It is--and the countess insists upon your being present. + +SOPHIA. +I am an unknown girl, madam; and if I decline the invitation, I beseech you take it +not amiss. + +FREDERICA. +--But I will take it amiss, and so will the count and countess, whose messenger I +am, and who insisted upon my bringing you to the chateau at once. + +SOPHIA. +Well, madam, since you will have it so-- + +FREDERICA. +Oh, you'll be delighted. Only think of the concentrated attractions of "the court, +the camp, the grove!" Oh, they're too much for any mortal woman to withstand! + +DUET--SOPHIA and FREDERICA +The king, the princes of the court, + With lords and ladies bright, +Will in their dazzling state resort + To this grand fete to-night: +The merry-hearted and the proud +Will mingle in the glittering crowd, +Who glide with Fashion's sparkling stream +Where one I love will shine supreme!-- + La ra la, la ra la, la la la, etc. + +The cavaliers of Italy, + The gay gallants of France, +With Spain and England's chivalry, + Will join the merry dance. +The court of Love--the camp of Mars, +Fair Prussian dames, "earth-treading stars," +To music's strain will float in light, +Where one I love will beam to-night!-- + La ra la, la ra la, la la la, etc. + +[Exit cheerfully. + + + + + +Scene IV. + + +Discovered. Grand Saloon in the Chateau of the COUNTESS LANISKA, arranged for a + Fete. The scene opens with dancing and waltzing by the CHARACTERS, and discovers + the KING and retinue, LORDS and LADIES of the Court, foreign AMBASSADORS and ATTACHES, + the COUNTESS LANISKA, ALBERT, WEDGEWOOD, KARL, GIRLS of the Factory, etc., etc. + The CHARACTERS are variously grouped during the dance; and while all are observing + the KING, who, with KARL at his side, is attentively examining the Vases, which + are placed on stands on one side of the stage, the COUNT LANISKA enters, conducting, + in SOPHIA and FREDERICA. After the dance, the KING speaks. + + + + +KING. +The hour has arrived which is to decide the fate of the competitors. (All the +CHARACTERS express by their looks and actions the utmost anxiety as to the result, +and draw near to the KING.) + +KARL (to KING.) +The inscription upon this vase is in the handwriting of the Count Laniska. + +KING. +'Tis well. + +KARL (aside.) +And it is a death-warrant! + +KING. +Subjects and children: we have reason to be proud of an art that redounds to the +honor and glory of Prussia. Where all have deserved well, all shall be well remembered. +(The GIRLS of the Factory manifest great joy at these words, and turn to congratulate +each other. SOPHIA and LANISKA stand apart, and watch every action of the KING, +while the other CHARACTERS appear greatly interested in SOPHIA.) This vase, however, +I select from the rest, as the most beautiful of them all. (SOPHIA clasps her hands +in great agitation.) Let this be known to after ages as "THE PRUSSIAN VASE;" and +let the name here inscribed (looks at and points to the name on the vase) be chronicled +throughout these realms. (Takes SOPHIA by the hand.) Sophia Mansfield is the artist +and she is free! (SOPHIA, overcome by her feelings, falls on the bosom of FREDERICA.) + +CHORUS. +Victoria! victoria! + The Saxon maid is free-- +Victoria! victoria! etc. + +SOPHIA. +My heart will break with gratitude! + +COUNT. +And mine with joy! + +KARL (aside.) +It will be of brief duration. + +KING (who has regarded SOPHIA with great interest.) +Let the dance proceed. + +(A merry dance and waltz by the CHARACTERS, at the termination of which a tableau +is formed. The utmost merriment and hilarity mark the action of the scene. At the +conclusion of the dance, the KING, who has been occupied in carefully examining the +Vase, wipes it with his handkerchief, which becomes stained with the paint. KARL +draws his attention to the inscription.) + +KARL. +Behold, my liege!-- + +KING. +Ha! What words are these? (Reads.) "To Frederick the Great Tyrant"--Treachery!-- +(KARL immediately seizes the Vase, and carries it off, without the inscription being +seen by any but the KING.) Break off the sports! + +COUNTESS (greatly astonished.) +What means Your Gracious Majesty? + +KING. +(Who has taken out his tablets, and written on them in great haste--does not regard +her, and speaks furiously.)--Let all the doors be closed! Such base ingratitude +shall not go unpunished!--Give over your mirth! Ho! My guards! (Drums immediately +sound.) My guards! + +(Presto! Enter HAROLD, CORPORAL, and GRENADIERS, in great haste. The KING hands +HAROLD his orders, and rushes out in a towering passion. Enter WEDGEWOOD. All the +guests are thrown into great confusion. Re-enter KARL.) + +HAROLD (promptly.) +Count Laniska, stand forth! + +COUNT. +What is your business with me, Harold? + +HAROLD. +You are our prisoner. + +OMNES. +Prisoner? + +KARL (aside.) +Now I triumph! + +COUNT. +Under whose orders do you act? + +HAROLD. +Those of the king. + +OMNES. +The king! + +HAROLD. +Sophia Mansfield! + +ALBERT. +What of her? + +HAROLD. +She must away with us to the castle of Spandau. + +SOPHIA. +O Heaven, support me! + +COUNT (drawing his sword.) +Touch her at your peril, Harold! + +ALBERT. +This is madness! Give me your sword! (Wrests it from him, and give it to HAROLD.) +Of what are they accused? + +HAROLD. +Of ingratitude and treason! + +OMNES. +Treason! + +FINALE. + +COUNT. + Treason! + +OMNES. + Treason! + +COUNT. + It can not be! +Of treason who accuses me? + +HAROLD. +The king himself!--These orders read! (Hands paper to COUNT.) + +OMNES. +The king himself! + +COUNT (looking at the papers.) + 'Tis true indeed! + +SOPHIA. +Oh, what a fearful change is here! + +KARL (aside.) +I triumph now!--my vengeance fear! + +(SOPHIA and LANISKA are made prisoners.) + +OMNES. +The king's commands let all obey! + +COUNT and SOPHIA. + We must obey! + +SOPHIA. +Oh, how my trusting heart is grieved!-- + +COUNT. +Our royal master is deceived! +No traitor I!--My loyal heart +Spurns with disdain so base a part! + +SOPHIA. +How vainly Fortune smiled on me! + +SOPHIA and COUNT. +Oh, give me death or liberty! + +KARL. +Tear them apart! + +HAROLD and GRENADIERS. + No more delay! + +KARL. +To prison, hence!-- + +OMNES. + To prison? + +HAROLD and GRENADIERS. + Hence! + +OMNES. + Away! away! + +(As the GUARDS attempt to separate COUNT LANISKA and SOPHIA, great confusion ensues, +and the act-drop descends.) + +End of the second act. + + + + + +Act III. + + +Scene I. + + +The stage represents part of the Castle of Spandau, and is arranged as follows: On + the left, is a large rock; above which, in the distance, is the Tower. A large + grated door opens upon a platform, surrounded by iron railing.--COUNT LANISKA is + discovered leaning upon them. On the right, is an arched cell, with part of the + wall jutting from the side, behind which is a secret door. Above this is a fine + view of an open country, and a clear, blue, starlight sky. SOPHIA is seated in + the cell, at a table.--The whole scene is so managed that, while the AUDIENCE + have a full view of everything, the PRISONERS, although they hear, can not see + each other.--Time, near midnight.--The curtain rises slowly to music. + + + + +DUET--SOPHIA and COUNT. + +SOPHIA. +This gloomy cell is my abode at last; +The sole reward for all my perils past. +'Tis strange that love within the breast should dwell, +When hope, dejected, bids the heart farewell! + +COUNT. +What sounds are these? No human form is near, +And yet that well-known voice I faintly hear, +'Twas sure the fancied music of the mind, +Whose breathings mingled with the midnight wind. + +BOTH. +Yes!--'Tis lost!--'Tis gone!--Hark! it comes again, +Like distant echoes of a melting strain: +In melody {her/his} spirit floats around!-- +That voice!--These walls are vocal with the sound. +I hear its music near me still!--'Tis there! +Sure 'tis some gentle spirit of the air! + +(During the duet, the moon has been gradually rising, and the light falls through +the grated windows of the Prison.) + +(enter JAILOR, from the Tower, to COUNT LANISKA.) + +JAILOR. +Count Laniska--a friend, with an order form the king. + +COUNT. +I attend him. [Exit Count LANISKA. + +(Jailor closes the iron door over the grated window, locks it, and retires.) + +SOPHIA. +'Twas but a dream!--'Tis past, and all is still again! + +[The bell in the tower strikes twelve + +BRAVURA--SOPHIA +Hark! 'tis the deep-toned midnight bell, +That bids a sad and long farewell + To the departed hour; +How like a dirge its music falls +Within these cold and dreary walls, + Where stern misfortunes lower! + +Ah! vainly through these prison-bars +Glide the pale beams of moon and stars, + To cheer this lonely tower; +From evening's close to dawn of day, +Hope's star sheds not a single ray + To light the solemn hour! + +Alas! what pangs must guilt conceal, +When innocence like mine can feel + So crushed in such an hour! +I know not whether love be crime-- +But if it is, in every clime + 'Tis woman's fatal dower! +I can find no clew to this most cruel treachery. + +What fiend in human shape has plotted my destruction? (Sound of chains--prison-door +is unlocked.) Ah! Karl here! + +(Enter KARL, who secures the door through which he came in. He takes a position on +the opposite side of the stage, and regards SOPHIA attentively.) + +KARL. +Well, Sophia, we meet at last where we can confer without the possibility of +interruption. I came to save you. + +SOPHIA. +My life would not be worth preserving, owing anything to you. + +KARL. +Subdue this unavailing anger, and listen to your friend. + +SOPHIA. +Not to you. The enmity of such a man is a tribute paid to honesty. Friend! +(scornfully.) + +KARL. +I came to give you liberty. + +SOPHIA. +How? + +KARL. +By flight. + +SOPHIA. +Where? + +KARL. +To Saxony. + +SOPHIA. +With whom! + +KARL. +The only one who loves you. + +SOPHIA. +Name him. + +KARL. +Behold him at your feet! + +SOPHIA. +What mockery is this? Mark me, Karl: I am a weak, friendless, unprotected girl. +If your sex is strong, mine is resolute. Abandon your present designs--give up this +useless suit, and cease to persecute the innocent. + +KARL. +I have heard you! Now listen to me. You are my destiny. + +SOPHIA. +Wretch! + +KARL. +I can not and I will not live without you. To secure, if not your love, at least +the possession of your person, I have periled everything. You are mine by right, +and I will have my own. + +SOPHIA. +Yours by right!-- + +KARL. +Yes. + +SOPHIA. +What right? + +KARL. +The king gave you to me. + +SOPHIA. +I was not his to give. + +KARL. +You were his bondwoman. + +SOPHIA. +And his bondwoman spurned you, as she ought! + +KARL. +With scorn you did!--I have not forgotten it. + +SOPHIA. +And does so now again. + +KARL. +You love another! + +SOPHIA. +I'll not deny it. + +KARL. +Torture! (Draws his dagger.) + +SOPHIA (greatly terrified.) +Karl, you would not stain this prison-floor with blood! + +KARL. +I would, to strike my rival's heart through yours!--But words make the blow unnecessary. +(Puts up his dagger.) Hear me, Sophia. Till I saw you, I never felt the pangs of +love!--I never shed a tear! From manhood's early dawn, my savage nature could not +brook reproof; nor friend nor foe had power over me. Your smile alone subdued this +callous heart. Sophia, save me!--Save a repentant, wretched man! + +SONG--KARL. +(German air.) +Once, mild and gentle was my heart! + My youth from guile was free! +But when love's bonds were torn apart, + What joy had life for me? +No words, no threats could daunt my soul, +My reckless spirit spurned control + Till swayed by smiles from thee! + +A wanderer o'er the desert sand, + And outcast on the sea, +An exile from my native land-- + What's all the world to me? +Each friend misfortune proved a foe: +I scorned the high--despised the low-- + Till swayed by smiles from thee! + +(At he conclusion of the song, enter, by the secret door, HAROLD, with a carbine, +conducting in ALBERT and WEDGEWOOD stealthily.) + +HAROLD (aside.) +I knew that I was right. + +ALBERT (aside.) +Silence--on your lives! + +WEDGEWOOD (aside.) +If it is convenient! [They conceal themselves. + +SOPHIA. +It is in vain! + +KARL. +Then you must away with me this very night, this very hour, or perish here! (KARL +advances and takes her by the wrist. ALBERT keeps WEDGEWOOD and HAROLD off.) + +SOPHIA. +Villain, forbear! Oh, help me, Heaven! + +KARL (drawing his dagger.) +You call in vain! Your doom is sealed!--Die! (As he is about to stab SOPHIA, WEDGEWOOD +seizes his arm.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +You lie, you infernal scoundrel! + +KARL. +Ha! betrayed!--Have at you, then! (A struggle ensues between KARL and WEDGEWOOD, in +which the former is overcome, and thrown upon the ground. SOPHIA rushes into ALBERT's +arms in great agitation. HAROLD advances to the center of the stage, and aims his +carbine at KARL. At the same moment, WEDGEWOOD, who has had a desperate struggle +with KARL, exclaims--) + +WEDGEWOOD +Your dagger! your dagger! (Wrests it from him.) Now yield, or die!--(Rises, places +his foot upon KARL, and holds the dagger up)--If it is convenient! + +(Tableau.--Scene closes.) + +[Exit. + + + + + +Scene II. + + +Another cell in the Castle of Spandau.--Enter COUNT LANISKA and JAILOR. + + + + +JAILOR. +Count Laniska, you bear the king's commission, although a prisoner; therefore, while +I leave you to examine these papers (hands papers,) received from Mr. Worrendorf, +I rely upon your honor not to attempt to escape. + +COUNT. +Your confidence is not misplaced, believe me. [Exit JAILOR.]--(Looks at papers.) +My friend is unwearied in my cause. But I am a soldier, and have ever held my life +at the disposal of the king. If Sophia were free and happy, I could look upon death +with an undaunted spirit. (Puts up papers.) How like an angel she appeared when +last I gazed upon her heavenly face--now glistening with the tear, now radiant with +the smile of beauty! + +SONG--LANISKA. +The gentle bird on yonder spray, +That sings its little life away; +The rose-bud bursting into flower, +And glittering in the sun and shower; +The cherry-blossom on the tree-- +Are emblematic all of thee. + +Yon moon that sways the vassal streams, +Like thee in modest beauty beams; +So shines the diamond of the mine, +And the rock-crystal of the brine; +The gems of heaven, the earth and sea, +Are blended, all, dear maid, in thee! + +[Exit + + + + + +Scene III. + + +An Apartment in the Gallery of Paintings at Sans Souci. Enter ALBERT and WEDGEWOOD + in haste, meeting the COUNTESS LANISKA. + + + + +ALBERT. +Have you seen the king? + +COUNTESS. +His Majesty has not yet appeared. + +WEDGEWOOD. +A crate of mouldy straw for your warlike government! (Snaps his fingers.) That +for your soldier-like system of doing business! I wouldn't give a broken basin +for it! Why, the commanding officer has only to say, "Hang me up that tall fellow +like a scarecrow," and up he goes--tzck!--or, "Give me that short chap the +cat-o'-nine-tails," and, whack, he has it--or, "Shoot me yonder half-dozen specimens +of humanity," and bang, 'tis done! + +(Enter FREDERICK, followed by HAROLD, unperceived, at the back of the stage.) + +ALBERT. +If the king would but listen to reason-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +Ay, but he won't! I never saw such a resolute old curmudgeon; and then he's so proud, +too! He's like a hard-baked stone jar--he won't bend anyhow. I know why he gave +me his snuff-box: it was because I happened to help myself to a pinch out of the +dirty old trumpery! If he, or you, or all of you, by any chance happened to live +in England, or any other civilized country, this poor count, and the girl too, would +have an impartial hearing before they were condemned. + +COUNTESS. +But under this government we have blessings unknown to yours-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +But me no buts, madam! Give me the blessings of living under a government where no +man can be condemned without a fair trail by jury, madam. To you Prussians, this +is a matter of favor; but to us Englishmen, it is a matter of right! + +COUNTESS. +Would to Heaven that my son and this poor girl could have such a trial!-- + +ALBERT. +And would to Heaven I might plead their cause! + +(The KING, who has paid great attention to their conversation, walks down the stage, +and suddenly stands in the midst of them. They all start, and fall back.) + +KING. +On one condition you shall-- + +OMNES. +The king! + +KING. +On one condition, young man, your prayer shall be granted. + +ALBERT. +Name it, sire-- + +KING. +If you fail to convince the judges of their innocence, that you shall share their +punishment. Do you agree? + +ALBERT. +I do, and set my life upon the issue. + +KING. +Your life shall answer for it if you fail. (To HAROLD.) Give orders that the hall +of the castle be immediately prepared for the trial. Use dispatch, Harold! [Exit +HAROLD.] (To the COUNTESS.) You, madam, I believe to be wholly ignorant of your +son's treachery. + +COUNTESS. +If he be guilty-- + +KING (sarcastically.) +IF he be guilty, madam? + +COUNTESS. +Yes, sire; if he has forgotten what Your Majesty has done for Poland, he is no son +of mine! + +KING. +I shall spare you all the reflections I have made on the subject, madam. Tyrant as +I am, I shall not punish the innocent mother for the guilty son. But perhaps this +gentleman [ALBERT] and you [WEDGEWOOD] recommended trial-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +Trial by jury! Your Majesty has said it! There's freedom in the very words! + +KING. +How is it to be managed? + +WEDGEWOOD. +Managed, Your Majesty? Why, according to law and justice. + +KING. +Good! + +WEDGEWOOD. +Twelve honest, upright, free, and independent men are empanelled to hear the case-- + +KING. +Good again! + +WEDGEWOOD. +All the witnesses are examined, and all the testimony fairly summed up by learned +counsel! + +KING. +Excellent! + +WEDGEWOOD. +Then the grave expounders of the law--the judges--charge the jury, who, upon their +oaths, return a verdict-- + +KING. +A glorious institution! + +WEDGEWOOD. +The shield and protection of the rights of man--the bulwark of civil and religious +liberty--and the admiration of the whole civilized world! Democratically odd! + +KING. +Well--well--well--so justice be done, I care not for the means. + +WEDGEWOOD. +By jingo, he genuine porcelain! It's all right--fair, square, and above board--a +clear field and no favor! + +(Enter HAROLD.) + +HAROLD. +Everything is in preparation. The judges are proceeding to their seats; the jury +will soon be sworn, and the prisoners arraigned at the bar-- + +WEDGEWOOD (to HAROLD.) +Who's the crier of the court? + +HAROLD. +That office is not yet filled. [Exit. + +WEDGEWOOD. +That won't do--Illegally odd! + +KING. +Perhaps, Mr. Wedgewood, you would like the appointment yourself? + +WEDGEWOOD. +If it is convenient. + +KING. +I confer it upon you. + +WEDGEWOOD. +Thank Your Majesty. By Jove, we're sailing with wind and tide--a smooth sea below +and a clear sky above us! + +KING. +Well, gentlemen, I wish you a prosperous voyage; but take care that you do not run +your vessel upon the rocks of litigation, and founder among the quicksands of the +law. + +WEDGEWOOD. +No danger, Your Majesty, with such a pilot! [ALBERT.]--(Sudden and loud shouts and +confused noise without. Drums beat to arms.) What is the meaning of all this +commotion? + +(Enter HAROLD, in haste.) + +KING. +Out with it, Harold! + +HAROLD. +The rumor of the treachery and ingratitude of the prisoners has spread like wildfire +throughout the city-- + +KING. +Well!-- + +HAROLD. +The populace are in a ferment at the indignity offered to our beloved monarch, and +demand the instant execution of the prisoners. + +KING. +Well, well; say on. + +HAROLD. +The multitude crowd every avenue to the palace, and the chateau of the countess; and +the royal guards are under arms to preserve the public peace. + +KING. +So, so, so, so-- + +COUNTESS. +O Heaven! what will become of us? + +KING (proudly.) +Have you not the king's protection? I will appear among my children, who are so +apprehensive about my safety, that they sometimes forget themselves, and become a +little unruly. They will be satisfied when they hear and see their father. (Seeing +the COUNTESS look dejected.) Do not droop madam; your GUILTY SON shall have a fair +and impartial trial. (Taking her hand--To ALBERT sternly.) Look to it, sir; for +if you fail, you know what follows! (Exit FREDERICK and COUNTESS--Immense cheering +and beating of drums without.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +Bravo! He's a trump.--Bless me! a popular commotion!--No matter--I am crier of the +court! Let me catch any of the little boys making a noise in the halls of +justice--that's all! I'll make the king himself mind his P's and Q's, if he dares +to interfere with OUR grave deliberations! I will act as becomes my station. His +Majesty has a jewel in me, and I'll convince him that authority in my hands is a +knock-down argument--so-fist-ically odd! + +SONG--WEDGEWOOD. +That law's the perfection of reason, + No one in his senses denies; +Yet here is a trial for treason + Will puzzle the wigs of the wise. +The lawyers who bring on the action +On one single point will agree, +Though proved to their own satisfaction + That tweedle-dum's NOT tweedle-dee! + +To settle disputes, in a fury + The sword from the scabbard we draw; +But reason appeals to a jury, + And settles--according to law. +Then hey for the woolsack!--for never + Without it can nations be free; +But trial by jury for ever! + And for tyranny--fiddle-de-dee! + +[Exit. + + + + + +Scene the last. + + +Discovered. The whole stage is thrown open, and represents the Hall of the Palace + at Potsdam, arranged as a court-room. On a carpeted platform is the royal seat + of state, occupied by three JUDGES. On the right and left of them are cushioned + seats for the KING and his retinue, and OFFICERS of state. In front of the + judgement-seat is a large center-table, on which are various law-books and the + Prussian Vase. Around the table are suitable places for the ADVOCATES in the + cause. On each side are elevated benches, occupied by the GIRLS of the Factory, + behind whom are stationed platoons of the ROYAL GUARDS. At the end of the benches + on the right is the jury-box, with twelve JURORS, and the desk of the CRIER, on + which is a small mallet. Around the whole stage is a large gallery, crowded + with the CITIZENS of Potsdam.--The entire scene is intended to represent an English + Criminal Court of Law of the olden time, in full costume, with scarlet robes, + ermine gowns, etc.--The following CHARACTERS are discovered in their respective + places: BARON ALTENBERG, the ATTORNEY-GENERAL and ADVOCATE for the crown; the + WORKMEN of the Factory, as WITNESSES; the JAILOR, HANS, GERTRUDE, HAROLD, and + CORPORAL; COUNT LANISKA, guarded, attended by the COUNTESS and FREDERICA; SOPHIA + MANSFIELD, guarded, and attended by Factory-GIRLS; ALBERT, as ADVOCATE for the + PRISONERS, and WEDGEWOOD, as CRIER of the Court; OFFICERS of state, LADIES of + the Court, PORTERS of the Hall, and the KING.--This scene is accompanied by the + ORCHESTRA.--Music as the scene opens-- + + + + +CHORUS. +With mercy let justice + To mortals be given, +For Justice and Mercy + Are twin-born in heaven! + +(As BARON ALTENBERG rises, WEDGEWOOD says, in a subdued tone of voice, and very +respectfully.) + +WEDGEWOOD. +Silence in the court! + +ALTENBERG. +May it please your lordships, these facts are not denied: the inscription in the +handwriting of the count; his free access to the factory; his frequent use of the +word TYRANT when speaking of the king; his earnest interest in the Saxon maid; +her love for the count, and her opposition to the will of our most gracious sovereign +for allotting her to the overseer as his bride: and they all unite in establishing +their crime, the punishment of which is DEATH. Had not His Majesty chanced to wipe +off, with his own handkerchief, the blue paint which concealed the word TYRANT, the +vase would have been sent to Paris, the king and people disgraced, and the criminals +safe in Saxony. Yes, gentlemen (to the JURY,) this splendid ornament, which is to +be known to all future ages as "The Prussian Vase," is defaced with the treasonable +inscription--"To Frederick the Great Tyrant." + +KING (rising in excitement, and forgetting himself.) +Yes, soldiers and subjects, friends and children, this word is applied to ME--to +your FATHER--by these base ingrates here!-- + +CHORUS +Shame, shame, shame! + Long live the king! etc. + +WEDGEWOOD (in a commanding tone, and striking the desk with his mallet.) +Silence in the court, or I'll put you in the stocks, juvenile delinquents and all! +What an odd people! + +KING. +I beg the indulgence of your lordships for my infirmities of temper. Let the cause +proceed. (Takes his seat.) + +JUDGE. +The case for the crown, gentlemen, is fully before you, and is submitted in the +confidence that you will discharge your duty faithfully. + +KING (again forgetting himself.) +Ay, discharge your duty faithfully! + +WEDGEWOOD (with great authority rapping on the desk.) +Silence in the court, Your Majesty! + +JUDGE. +Let the counsel for the prisoners now proceed. + +ALBERT. +Place Karl in the witness-box. + +(Enter KARL and HAROLD.) + +SOLO and CHORUS. + +KARL. +What outrage more, at whose command + Am I thus shackled and restrained?-- +What mockery's this? In this free land + The subject's rights should be maintained. + +CHORUS. +The traitor braves the king's command! + +KARL. +Those whom the lion would ensnare, +Should of his reckless fangs beware! +The forest-monarch, held at bay, +Will turn and spring upon his prey! + +CHORUS. +Thus bold will guilt full oft appear!-- +The sword of Justice let HIM fear! + +WEDGEWOOD (as KARL is placed in the witness-box.) +Silence in the court! + +CHORUS. +With mercy let justice + To mortals be given; +For Mercy and Justice + Are twin-borne of heaven. + +KARL. +Why am I summoned here against my will? + +ALBERT. +You are here to answer, not to question, sirrah! + +KARL. +By what authority do YOU command my answers? In these realms the king alone commands. + +KING (again forgetting himself.) +That's true--that's very true--the king alone commands-- + +WEDGEWOOD (shaking his mallet at the KING.) +What, Your Majesty--you will--will you? + +KING. +Oh, I have forgotten myself again! (Takes his seat.) Confound the fellow! + +KARL (aside.) +The king here? Then I have one friend at least on whom I may rely. (To KING.) +Shall I--may I speak freely? + +KING. +The king has no authority now. (Pointing to the jury-box.) There are the sovereigns +of the people, and to them you must appeal. (Aside.) What a situation for a monarch! + +ALBERT (to KARL.) +You know yon Saxon maid and the Count Laniska? + +KARL. +I do, and HATE the count! + +ALBERT. +Wherefore? + +KARL. +He has thwarted my designs!--No, no, I mean not THAT! I mean that I hate him because +he plotted treason against the king, and wrote "Tyrant" upon the vase. + +ALBERT. +Did he write it? + +KARL. +He did--these eyes beheld him. + +COUNT (aside.) +The perjured caitiff! + +SOPHIA. +O Heaven, have mercy upon us! + +COUNTESS. +They are lost! + +(COUNTESS leans on FREDERICA. The KING beckons to HAROLD, who goes to him. They +engage in earnest conversation, occasionally pointing to KARL. HAROLD is supposed +to be informing him of the arrest of KARL in SOPHIA's cell. KARL leaves the +witness-box, and is about to retire, but is stopped by HAROLD.) + +ALBERT. +Call the German inn-keeper to the stand. [HANS is placed in the box. + +KARL (aside.) +I tremble with apprehension! + +ALBERT (to HANS.) +You deal in colors--do you not? + +HANS. +Yaw, mynherr. + +ALBERT. +Have you sold any in Berlin lately? + +HANS. +Yaw, mynheer; I sold some of der Prussian blue to der Hungarian overseer of der factory, +who gave me monish to say notting about it. He tried der quality upon dis little +scrap of baper, vich he forgot, and vich I kept, mit der intention of giving him +back ven I saw him again. It is scrawled all over mit der word "Tyrant." + +KARL (forgetting himself.) +That paper's mine--give it me! + +WEDGEWOOD (instantly snatching the paper and holding it up, exclaims in a loud tone) +It's not convenient! (Hands the paper to ALBERT, who reads it to the JUDGES.) + +ALBERT. +An attempt to imitate the handwriting of the count. Compare it with the word upon +the vase. + +JUDGE. +It is the same! + +CHORUS. +Huzza! huzza! etc. + +WEDGEWOOD (forgetting himself, after the chorus has finished, shouts at the top of +his voice,) Huzza!--(which the KING observing, rises to call him to order; when +WEDGEWOOD, noticing the KING, places his hand upon his own mouth; and looking round, +and holding his mallet in a threatening manner over KARL, who is silent by way of +excusing his mistake, says)--But silence in the court! (The KING, shaking his finger +at WEDGEWOOD, takes his seat; HANS leaves the box.) + +ALBERT. +Place that workman on the stand. (It is done.) Did you ever see this vase before? + +WORKMAN. +Yes, sir. + +ALBERT. +Where? + +WORKMAN. +I saw Karl receive it for the furnace, and I saw him marking upon it with a sharp +instrument, which he suddenly hid in his bosom. (KARL feels for his dagger, and +half draws it, looking at SOPHIA ferociously. SOPHIA observes him narrowly, and +with great apprehension.) + +ALBERT. +Who took the vase from the furnace? + +WORKMAN. +Karl. + +ALBERT. +Who had possession of it afterward? + +WORKMAN. +Karl. + +ALBERT. +Who pointed out the word "Tyrant" to the king at the fete of the countess? + +KING (rising with great emotion, and entirely forgetting himself.) +Karl! + +ALBERT. +Who has misled, blinded, and deceived the king? + +KING (with great emotion.) +Traitorous, fiendlike Karl! + +KARL (aloud.) +I am stunned with horror! + +KING (leaving his seat and coming down in great haste--WEDGEWOOD raises his hammer.) +By your leave, Mr. Wedgewood. + +CHORUS (as the KING descends.) +Long live the king! etc. + +(the KING takes his station in the center of the stage, and lifts his hat.) + +KING. +If the court please-- + +WEDGEWOOD (aside.) +Bravo! His Majesty is becoming a principal witness! (In a subdued tone of voice.) +Silence in the court!--The king speaks! + +KING (rapidly.) +I see it all! The case is clear. Karl had my permission to espouse Sophia. She +refused him. Laniska loved her. Karl hated him, and planned her destruction; visited +her in prison; tried to force her to fly the country with him; she refused, and he +would have slain her, had not Mr. Wedgewood, the Advocate, and Harold--who has just +told me all--struck him to the ground. Karl plotted this mischief--Karl bought the +paint--Karl wrote the word--and Karl shall DIE! + +KARL (draws his dagger.) +But not unavenged! (He darts toward SOPHIA, and makes an attempt to stab her. SOPHIA +shrieks, and runs to LANISKA. All the CHARACTERS rise, greatly excited, and watch +the scene with deep interest. The GUARDS present their pikes to the breast of KARL, +who is seized by HAROLD and CORPORAL--in the brief struggle with whom, KARL's +shirt-sleeve is torn open, and the felon's brand is discovered on his arm. To this +ALBERT points in triumph--Tableau.--The whole action is instantaneous.) + +HAROLD (with great eagerness.) +Behold, my liege, the felon's brand! (Presto!--all start with astonishment.) + +CHORUS. +Now, who's the traitor? + +[The JURYMEN rise. + +QUITETTE and CHORUS. + +KARL. +The javelin from an unseen hand + Was sent that laid me low!-- +Behold exposed the felon's brand + Unto my mortal foe! + +CHORUS. +Who's now the traitor? etc. + +JUDGE (promptly.) +What say the jury? + +FOREMAN (promptly.) +The prisoners are innocent! (Presto!--all start with joy.) + +CHORUS. +The prisoners are innocent! etc. + +(Some of the CHARACTERS clasp their hands--others embrace. SOPHIA and LANISKA +turn to ALBERT, and the COUNTESS and FREDERICA to the KING, in gratitude.) + +KARL. +Oh, rage and fury! (KARL is secured by HAROLD and CORPORAL.) + +CHORUS. +Rejoice! our loyal hearts we bring +As free-will offerings to the king! + +SOLO--SOPHIA and KING. +Oh, let me to thy ermine cling. +In gratitude, (kneels,) God bless the king! + +CHORUS. +God save the king! +Long live the king! etc. + +(The WORKMEN and GIRLS of the Factory, ADVOCATES, OFFICERS, SOLDIERS, LADIES, and +GENTLEMEN, SPECTATORS, and all the CHARACTERS on the stage, indicate by appropriate +and spontaneous action the deep and intense interest they take in the verdict.--KARL +gasps and faints, and is supported by HAROLD and CORPORAL.--WEDGEWOOD notices the +tableau with great self-complacency--[The whole action is simultaneous]--KARL is +borne off by HAROLD and CORPORAL. All the CHARACTERS then turn, and by looks and +actions congratulate each other, and the scene instantly becomes one of general joy.) + +KING. +This court is now dissolved. (The principal CHARACTERS leave their stations; and all +the PARTIES, except the JUDGES and those in the gallery, come upon the stage.--To +the JUDGES.) Your lordships must pardon all irregularities. This is the first +trial by jury that ever took place in Prussia. Hereafter, no human power shall +interrupt your grave deliberations. (To COUNT LANISKA.) Count Laniska, I took +your sword from you this morning: I here present you mine. (COUNT kneels, and +receives it.) + +COUNT. +This, with my life, I dedicate to Your Majesty's service! + +KING (to ALBERT.) +As for you, sir, the sword, is not your weapon. (HAROLD advances with a golden pen +upon a velvet cushion. ALBERT kneels.) Receive this emblem of far greater power +than all the implements of war, and wield it for the benefit of mankind. Rise, Baron-- + +ALBERT. +Mansfield, Your Majesty-- + +KING (with surprise.) +Mansfield? + +SOPHIA. +My heart was not deceived! My long-lost brother! + +ALBERT (ALBERT and SOPHIA rush into each other's arms.) +My dear, dear sister! + +KING (looking at them.) +So, so, so! Oh, what an old fool I have been! (Looking around.) Come hither, Sophia. +(She advances; the KING takes her hand.) I owe you some amends for your long and +patient suffering on my account (taking the COUNT's hand)--and thus I make them. +(SOPHIA and LANISKA join hands joyfully.) How well the criminals understand each +other! (Rubbing his hands, and walking joyfully about the stage.) Ah, Mr. Wedgewood, +I don't care if I take a pinch of snuff out of that same box I gave you the other +day. + +WEDGEWOOD (presenting box.) +Your Majesty has added to its value a diamond worth all the rest, in finding it is +large enough for two of us. + +KING. +Good! (Notices FREDERICA.) What! Frederica, my fair namesake and little +god-daughter--in the dumps? (Looking at ALBERT.) Oh, I understand. (To COUNTESS.) +By your leave madam. (Hands FREDERICA to ALBERT.) You perceive, Mr. Wedgewood, that +I have a large family to look after and provide for; but I am a happy father, sir--mine +are good children, very good children! I wish I had more like these. + +WEDGEWOOD (significantly.) +If Your Majesty goes on in this way, there'll be plenty more--IN TIME. + +KING. +All are now satisfied--at least I hope all are so here. (To the audience.) If, as +a king, I may, on another occasion, command an audience-- + +WEDGEWOOD (forgetting himself, lifting his mallet and flourishing it like an +auctioneer.) +Going! (Recollecting himself.)--I mean--(slowly and with gravity)--s-i-l-e-n-c-e i-n +t-h-e c-o-u-r-t! (meaning the audience.) + +KING. +These witnesses will, I am sure, attend the next trial of The Maid of Saxony-- + +WEDGEWOOD. +If it is convenient. + +FINALE. +Our hearts are bounding with delight! + 'Tis Freedom's jubilee! +For right has triumphed over might-- + The bond again are free! + Hurrah!--hurrah! + Let the welkin ring + To Justice and Liberty + Paeans we sing! + +(Tableau--Curtain falls.) + +End of the Maid of Saxony. + + + + + +Notes. + + + + +The Deserted Bride (page 51.) + + +This poem was written after seeing Miss Fanny Kemble, for the first time, in one +scene of "The Hunchback." + + +The Croton Ode (page 57.) + + +Written at the request of the Corporation of the city of New York, and sung near the +Park Fountain by the members of the New York Sacred Music Society, on the completion +of the Croton Aqueduct, October, 14, 1842. + + +Woodman, Spare That Tree! (page 64.) + + +Riding out of town a few days since, in company with a friend, who was once the +expectant heir of the largest estate in America, but over whose worldly prospects +a blight has recently come, he invited me to turn down a little romantic woodland +pass not far from Bloomingdale. "Your object?" inquired I. "Merely to look once +more at an old tree planted by my grandfather, near a cottage that was once my +father's."--"The place is yours, then?" said I. "No, my poor mother sold it;" and +I observed a slight quiver of the lip, at the recollection of that circumstance. +"Dear mother!" resumed my companion, "we passed many happy, HAPPY days, in that old +cottage; but it is nothing to me now--father, mother, sisters, cottage--all are +gone!"--and a paleness over-spread his fine countenance, and a moisture came to his +eyes, as he spoke. After a moment's pause, he added: "Don't think me foolish. I +don't know how it is, I never ride out but I turn down this lane to look at that +old tree. I have a thousand recollections about it, and I always greet it as a familiar +and well-remembered friend. In the by-gone summer-time it was a friend indeed. +Under its branches I often listened to the good counsel of my parents, and had +SUCH gambols with my sisters! Its leaves are all off now, so you won't see it to +advantage, for it is a glorious old fellow in summer; but I like it full as well in +winter-time." These words were scarcely uttered, when my companion cried out, "There +it is?" Near the tree stood an old man, with his coat off, sharpening an ax. He +was the occupant of the cottage. "What do you intend doing?" asked my friend with +great anxiety. "What is that to you?" was the blunt reply. "You are not going to +cut that tree down, surely?"--"Yes, but I am though," said the woodman. "What for?" +inquired my companion, almost choked with emotion. "What for? Why, because I think +proper to do so. What for? I like that! Well, I'll tell you what for. This tree +makes my dwelling unhealthy; it stands too near the house: prevents the moisture +from exhaling, and renders us liable to fever-and-ague."--"Who told you that?"--"Dr. +S---."--"Have you any other reason for wishing to cut it down?"--"Yes, I am getting +old; the woods are a great way off, and this tree is of some value to me to burn." +He was soon convinced, however, that the story about the fever-and-ague was a mere +fiction, for there never had been a case of that disease in the neighborhood; and +then was asked what the tree was worth for firewood. "Why, when it is down, about +ten dollars." "Suppose I make you a present of that amount, will you let it +stand?"--"Yes."--"You are sure of that?"--"Positive."--"Then give me a bond to that +effect." I drew it up; it was witnessed by his daughter; the money was paid, and +we left the place with an assurance from the young girl, who looked as smiling and +beautiful as Hebe, that the tree should stand as long as she lived. We returned to +the road, and pursued our ride. These circumstances made a strong impression upon +my mind, and furnished me with materials for the song I herewith send you.--Extract +from a Letter to Henry Russell, the Vocalist, dated New York, February 1, 1837. + + +The Chieftain's Daughter (page 78.) + + +"Every part of the brief but glorious life of Pocahontas is calculated to produce a +thrill of admiration, and to reflect the highest honor on her name. The most memorable +event of her life is this recorded: After a long consultation among the Indians, +the fate of Captain Smith, who was the leader of the first colony in Virginia, was +decided. The conclave resumed their silent gravity. Two huge stones were placed +near the water's edge; Smith was lashed to them, and his head was laid down, as a +preparation for beating out his brains with war-clubs. Powhattan raised the fatal +instrument, and the savage multitude with their blood-stained weapons stood near their +king, silently waiting the prisoner's last moment. But Smith was not destined to +thus perish. Pocahontas, the beloved daughter of the king, rushed forward, fell upon +her knees, and, with tears and entreaties, prayed that the victim might be spared. +The royal savage rejected her suit, and commanded her to leave Smith to his fate. +Grown frantic at the failure of her supplications, Pocahontas threw her arms about +Smith, and laid her head on his, her raven hair falling around his neck and shoulders, +declaring she would perish with or save him. The Indians gasped for breath, fearing +that Powhatan would slay his child for taking such a deep interest in the fate of +one he considered his deadliest foe. But human nature is the same everywhere; the +war-club dropped from the monarch's hand--his brow relaxed--his heart softened; and, +as he raised his brave daughter to his bosom, and kissed her forehead, he reversed +his decree, and directed Smith to be set at liberty! Whether the regard of this +glorious girl for Smith ever reached the feeling of love, is not known. No favor +was ever expected in return. 'I ask nothing of Captain Smith,' said she, in an +interview she afterward had with him in England, 'in recompense for what I have done, +but the boon of living in his memory.' John Randolph was a lineal descendant of this +noble woman, and was wont to pride himself upon the honor of his descent. Pocahontas +died in the twenty-second year of her age."--sketches of Virginia. + + +Song of Marion's Men (page 82.) + + +"Sallie St. Clair was a beautiful, dark-eyed Creole girl. The whole treasury of her +love was lavished upon Sergeant Jasper, who, on one occasion, had the good fortune +to save her life. The prospect of their separation almost maddened her. To sever +her long, jetty ringlets from her exquisite head--to dress in male attire--to enroll +herself in the corps to which he belonged, and follow his fortunes in the wars, unknown +to him--was a resolution no sooner conceived than taken. In the camp she attracted +no particular attention, except on the night before battle, when she was noticed bending +over his couch, like a good and gentle spirit, as if listening to his dreams. The +camp was surprised, and a fierce conflict ensued. The lovers were side by side in +the thickest of the fight; but, endeavoring to turn away a lance aimed at the heart +of Jasper, the poor girl received it in her own, and fell bleeding at his feet. After +the victory, her name and sex were discovered, and there was not a dry eye in the +corps when Sallie St. Clair was laid in her grave, near the river Santee, in a green, +shady nook, that looked as if it had been stolen out of Paradise."--Tales of Marion's +Men. + + +Janet McRea (page 83.) + + +"We seated ourselves in the shade of a large pine-tree, and drank of a spring that +gurgled beneath it. The Indians gave a groan, and turned their faces from the water. +They would not drink of the spring, nor eat in the shade of the tree; but retired +to a ledge of rocks at no great distance. I ventured to approach them and inquire +the cause of their strange conduct. One of the Indians said, in a deep and solemn +tone: 'That place is bad for the red-man; the blood of an innocent woman, not of +our enemies, rests upon that spot!--She was there murdered. The red-man's word had +been pledged for her safety; but the evil spirit made him forget it. She lies buried +there. No one avenged her murder, and the Great Spirit was angry. That water will +make us more thirsty, and that shade will scorch us. The stain of blood is on our +hands, and we know not how to wipe it out. It still rests upon us, do what we will.' +I could get no more from them; they were silent, even for Indians. It was the death +of Miss McRea they alluded to. She was betrothed to a young American by the name +of Jones, who had taken sides with the British, and become a captain of their service. +The lovers, however, had managed to keep up a correspondence; and he was informed, +after a battle in which he distinguished himself for his bravery, that his inamorata +was concealed in a house a few miles from Sandy-Hill. As it was dangerous for him +to take his horse to her residence and bring her to his tent in safety. He urged +her, in his letter, not to hesitate a moment in putting herself under their protection; +and the voice of a lover is law to a confiding woman. They proceeded on their journey, +and stopped to rest under a large pine-tree near a spring--the one at which we drank. +Here they were met by another party of Indians, also sent by the impatient lover, +when a quarrel arouse about her which terminated in her assassination. One of the +Indians pulled the poor girl from her horse; and another struck his tomahawk in her +forehead, tore off her scalp, and gashed her breast! They then covered her body with +leaves, and left her under the huge pine-tree. One of the Indians made her lover +acquainted with the facts, and another brought him her scalp. He knew the long brown +tresses of Miss McRea, and, in defiance of all danger, flew to the spot to realize +the horrid scene. He tore away the thinly-spread leaves--clasped the still-bleeding +body in his arms, and, wrapping it in his cloak, was about bearing it away, when he +was prevented by his superior officers, who ordered the poor girl to be buried on +the spot where she had been immolated. After this event a curse seemed to rest upon +the red-man. In every battle their forces were sadly cut up--the Americans attacking +them most furiously whenever they could get an opportunity. The prophets of the +Indians had strange auguries; they saw constantly in the clouds the form of the +murdered white woman, invoking the blasts to overwhelm them, and direction all the +power and fury of the Americans to exterminate every red-man of the forest who had +committed the hateful deed of breaking his faith and staining the tomahawk with the +blood of a woman, whose spirit still called for revenge. It was agreed among the +Indians in a body to move silently away; and by morning's light not a red-man was +to be found near the British troops. Captain Jones, too, was no more. In the +battle he led on his men with that fearlessness and fury that distressed minds +often do; but his men grew tired of following him in such perilous attacks, and +began to fly. As he returned to rally them he received a ball in the back. Burning +with shame, love, and frenzy, he tuned and threw himself on the bayonets of the +enemy, and at once closed his agonies and expiated his political offence. He was +laid by the side of her he had so ardently loved and deeply lamented."--Events of +the Revolution. + + +The Dog Star Rages. + + +They're gone with my last shilling. (Page 88.) +"This is a fact, and no poetic fable."--Byron + +Florence's Saloon. (Page 88.) +A much-frequented restaurant in Broadway. + +Sunny-Side. (Page 88.) +The country residence of Washington Irving. + +The luxury of we. (Page 89.) +W-H-O-A! + +A wheel rigged for a tiller. (Page 90.) +A peculiarity of Commodore Christopher B. Miller's yacht, "The Ultra." + +Long live the valiant Mayor. (Page 91.) +"If you want me," said His Honor, at the Astor-Place riots, on the evening of the +10th of May, 1849, "you will FIND ME--AT THE NEW-YORK HOTEL!" + + +The Prairie on Fire (page 131.) + + +This ballad is founded, in part, upon a thrilling story of the West, related by +Mr. Cooper, the novelist. + + +The Sweep's Carol (page 146.) + + +Written to be sung in character, for the purpose of introducing the wild, peculiar, +and well-known cry or carol of the sweeps of New York. + + +The Fallen Brave of Mexico (page 166.) + + +Written at the request of the Corporation of New York, for the funeral solemnities +to Lieutenant-colonel Baxter, Captains Barclay and Pierson, and Lieutenants Chandler +and Gallagher, of the New York Volunteers, who died upon the battle-fields of Mexico. +Sung by the members of the New York Sacred Music Society, on Wednesday, the 12th +day of July, 1848, in front of the City Hall. + + +The Champions of Liberty (page 169.) + + +Written, at the request of the Common Council of the city of New York, for the funeral +solemnities in honor of the gallant and lamented Major-General Worth, Colonel Duncan, +and Major Gates, late of the United States army. Sung by the Sacred Music Society +in the balcony in front of City Hall, Thursday, November 15, 1849. + + +The Rock of the Pilgrims (page 182.) + + +"The Mayflower having arrived in the harbor from Cape Cod, Mary Chilton entered +the first landing-boat, and, looking forward, exclaimed, 'I will be the first to +step on that rock.' Accordingly, when the boat approached, Mary Chilton was +permitted to be the first from that boat who appeared on the rock, and thus her +claim was established."--Thacker's "History of Plymouth," p. 30. + + +The Soldier's Welcome Home (page 184.) + +Sung at the New York Tabernacle, on the evening of April 18, 1849, by Mr. Nash, with +a chorus of a thousand voices. + + +The Origin of Yankee Doodle (page 185.) + + +This jeau d'esprit was written for and sung by the Hutchinson Family. + + +New York in 1826 (page 189.) + + +This address, which has a local interest, is republished at the request of several +of the author's friends--one of whom "desires to preserve it as one of the curiosities +of rhyme;" and another "as a picture of New York, and its belongings, a quarter of +a century ago." + +Stanza I (page 189.) +"S. W." are the initials of my much lamented friend, the late Samuel Woodworth, Esq. + +She whispers of coaches,/And lockets and broaches-- +refers to the holiday-presents in vogue at the time. + +Stanza II (page 190.) +contains the name of an institution whose failure created great consternation on Wall +street. + +Stanza IV (page 190.) +Gas-light was introduced into New York about that period, and the gas-burners were +formed in the shapes here mentioned. + +Stanza V (page 191.) + +Seats on the Battery. +At the time alluded to there were none; and there was incessant warfare between the +press and the lessees of Castle Garden, which was finally settled by the interposition +of the Common Council, who caused seats to be placed on the Battery for the +accommodation of the public. + +Stanza VI (page 191.) +This stanza contains the names of the fashionable poets and editors of the day. + +Stanza VII (page 192.) +Lafayette visited New York during the administration of Governor Clinton. The stanza +also alludes to the then-recent completion of the Erie Canal, and to the troubles +in Greece, which occupied much of the public attention. + +Stanza VIII (page 192.) +The Bowery Theatre was built in 1826. + +Stanza X (page 193.) +The Garcia troupe were then performing at the Park Theatre, and they were the first +that produced Italian operas in this country. The Kean Riot had recently occurred. + +Stanza XI (page 193.) +Names of the Museums and other shows, giants and Indians being then their principal +attractions. + +Stanza XII (page 194.) +Descriptive of the manner in which the New Year was ushered in. + +Stanza XIII (page 194.) +The "New York Mirror" was one of the earliest periodicals devoted to American letters. + + +The Maid of Saxony (page 245.) + + +This Opera was first performed at the Park Theatre, on the 25th of May, 1842, and +ran fourteen successive nights. It was entirely and completely successful, being +nightly received with cheers. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Poems, by George P. Morris*** + + diff --git a/2558.zip b/2558.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..324d88b --- /dev/null +++ b/2558.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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