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Born on the stage-thro' every shifting scene,

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene,

In thee the rays of virtue shine; Still has your smile her trembling spirit fir'd !

More calmly clear, more mildly bright, And can she act, with thoughts like these inspir'd ? Than any gem that gilds the mine, Thus froin her mind all artifice she fings, All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things!

Benign restorer of the soul! To you, uncheck’d, each genuine feeling flows

Who ever fly'st to bring relief, For all that life endears—to you she owes.

When first we feel the rude controul

Of love or pity, joy or grief.

The sage's and the poet's theme,
Oh! that the chemist's magic art

In every clime, in every age;
Could crystallize this sacred treasure !

Thou charm’st in fancy's idle dream,
Long should it glitter near my heart,

In reason's philosophic page.
A secret source of pensive pleasure.

That very law which moulds a tear,
The little brilliant, ere it fell,

And bids it trickle from its source,
Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye;

That law preserves the earth a sphere,
Then, trembling, left its coral cell-

And guides the planets in their course.
The spring of sensibility!

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At summer eve, when Heav'n's aërial bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near-
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing,
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring !
What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play,
And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought

Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore
Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore.
Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields
His bark careering o'er unfathom'd fields;
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar,
Where Andes, giant of the western star,
With meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world.

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles; Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow, And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delay; Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep: Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul. His native hills that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, Rush on his thought: he sweeps before the wind, Treads the lov'd shore he sigh'd to leave behind; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! While, long neglected, but at length caress’d, His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.

Thus, with delight, we linger to survey
The promis'd joys of life's unmeasur'd way;
Thus, from afar, each dim-discover'd scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been;
And every form, that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

What potent spirit guides the raptur'd eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity ?
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heav’nly pow'r,
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour?
Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man-
Her dim horizon bounded to a span ;
Or, if she hold an image to the view,
'Tis nature pictur'd too severely true,

With thee,sweet Hope ! resides the heav'nly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight:
Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way,
That calls each slumb’ring passion into play.
Wak'd by thy touch, I see the sister band,
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
To pleasure's path, or glory's bright career.

Primeval Hope, th' Aonian Muses say, When man and nature mourn'd their first decay; When every form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below; When murder bared her arm, and rampant war Yok'd the red dragons of his iron car; When peace and mercy, banish'd from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heav'n again; All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind.

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare, From Carmel's height, to sweep the fields of air, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world-a sacred gift to man.

Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe: Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower;



Hope! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see The boundless fields of rapture yet to be ; I watch the wheels of nature's mazy plan, And learn the future by the past of man.

Come, bright improvement! on the car of time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime;


Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career;-
Trace every wave, and culture every shore. Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along,

And Freedom shriek'd-as Kosciusko fell!
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song,

The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there, Where human fiends on midnight errands walk,

Tumultuous murder shook the midnight airAnd bathe in brains the murd'rous tomahawk; There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray,

On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, And shepherds dance at summer's op'ning day;

His blood-dy'd waters murm’ring far below;

The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Each wand'ring genius of the lonely glen

Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men,
And silence watch, on woodland heights around,

Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,

A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! The village curfew as it tolls profound.

Earth shook-red meteors flash'd along the sky, In Lybian groves, where damned rites are done, And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry! That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun,

Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave, Truth shall arrest the murd'rous arm profane,

Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save? Wild Obi flies--the veil is rent in twain.

Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod, Where barb'rous hordes on Scythian mountains

That smote the foes of Zion and of God;

That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car Truth, mercy, freedom, yet shall find a home;

Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar? Where'er degraded nature bleeds and pines,

Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines,

Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast; Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there,

Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, And light the dreadful features of despair.

And heav'd an ocean on their march below? Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load, Departed spirits of the mighty dead! And asks the image back that heaven bestowed ! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns,

Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, And, as the slave departs, the man returns. Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!

Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, Oh! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd a while,

And make her arm puissant as your own! And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile,

Oh! once again to freedom's cause return When leagu'd oppression pour'd to northern wars

The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburo! Her whisker'd Pandoors and her fierce Hussars, Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land, shall see Peal'd her loud drum,and twang'd her trumpet horn; That man hath yet a soul, and dares be free! Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,

A little while, along thy saddening plains, Presaging wrath to Poland and to man!

The starless night of desolation reigns;

Truth shall restore the light by nature giv'n, Warsaw's last champion from her height survey’d,

And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n! Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,

Prone to the dust oppression shall be hurld,Oh! Heav'n! he cried, my bleeding country save!

Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, Rise, fellow men! our country yet remains ! And hate the light-because your deeds are dark; By that dread name, we wave the sword on high! Ye that expanding truth invidious view, And swear for her to live with her to die!

And think, or wish, the song of Hope untrue;

Perhaps your little hands presume to span He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd

The march of genius, and the pow'rs of man; His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd;

Perhaps ye watch, at pride's unhallow'd shrine, Firm-pac'd and slow, a horrid front they form,

Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine : Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;

“ Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease, and here Low, murm'ring sounds along their banners fly;

Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career.” Revenge, or death,—the watchword and reply; Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,

Tyrants ! in vain ye trace the wizard ring; And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm!

In vain ye limit mind's unwearied spring:

What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few!

Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep? From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew :

No:- the wild wave contemns your scepter'd Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of time,

hand ;Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;

It roll'd not back when Canute gave command ! Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow? Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, Still must thou live a blot on nature's brow?

Shall war's polluted banner ne'er be furld? And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world ? And ev'ry sound of life was full of glee,
What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied ? From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men;
Why then hath Plato liv’d-or Sydney died ?-- While heark’ning, fearing nought their revelry,

The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then
Ye fond adorers of departed fame,
Who warm at Scipio's

Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.

or Tully's name! Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire

IV. The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre!

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore

Heard, but in transatlantic story rung, Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, For here the exile met from ev'ry clime, Where Valour tuned, amid her chosen throng, And spoke in friendship ev'ry distant tongue: The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song; Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung, Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms

Were but divided by the running brook; Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms!

And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung, See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell,

On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook, And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell!

The blue-ey'd German chang'd his sword to pruSay, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore,

ning-hook. Hath valour left the world to live no more?

No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die,
And steruly smile with vengeance in his eye?

Nor far some Andalusian saraband
Hampden no more, when suffering freedom calls,

Would sound to many a native roundelay“ Encounter sate, and triumph as he falls?

But who is he that yet a dearer land Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm,

Remembers, over hills and far away? The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm?

Green Albyn! what though he no more survey

Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore, Yes! in that generous cause, for ever strong, Thy pellochs rolling from the mountain bay, The patriot's virtue, and the poet's song,

Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor, Still, as the tide of ages rolls away,

And distant isles that hear the loudCorbrechtan roar! Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay!


Alas! poor Caledonia's mountaineer,

That want's stern edict e'er, and feudal grief,
Had forc'd him from a home he lov'd so dear!

Yet found he here a home, and glad relief,

And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf, 1.

That fir'd his Highland blood with mickle glee:

And England sent her men, of men the chief, On Susquehana's side, fair Wyoming!

Who taught those sires of empire yet to be, Although the wild flower on thy ruin'd wall

To plant the tree of life, to plant fair Freedom's And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring

tree! Of what thy gentle people did befall;

Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore. Here was not mingled in the city's pomp
Sweet land! may I thy lost delights recall,

Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom; And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore, Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp, Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore ! Nor seal'd in blood a fellow creature's doom,

Nor mourn'd the captive in a living tomb.

One venerable man, belov'd of all,
Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,

Suffic'd where innocence was yet in bloom, The happy shepherd swains had nought to do, To sway the strife, that seldom might befall; But feed their flocks on green declivities,

And Albert was their judge in patriarchal hall. Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,

VIII. From morn, till evening's sweeter pastime grew, With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown, How rev'rend was the look, serenely ag'd, Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew; He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, And aye those sunny mountains balf-way down Where all but kindly fervors were assuag'd, Would echo flagelet from some romantic town. Undimm'd by weakness' shade, or turbid ire:

And though amidst the calm of thought entire, III.

Some high and haughty features might betray Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire His leave, how might you the flamingo see

That fled composure's intellectual ray, Disporting like a meteor on the lakes

As Ætna's grow dim before the rising day.


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Th' Oneyda warrior to the planter said,

And laid his hand upon the stripling's head: I boast no song in magic wonders rife,

• Peace be to thee! my words this belt approve; But yet, oh Naturel is there nought to prize, Familiar in thy bosom-scenes of life?

• The paths of peace my steps have hither led : And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies

• This little nursling, take him to thy love, No form with which the soul may sympathise ?

* And shield the bird unfledg’d, since gone the pa

rent dove.
Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild
The parted ringlet shone in 'simplest guise,

An inmate in the home of Albert smil'd,
Or blest his noonday walk-she was his only child.

Christian! I am the foeman of thy foe;

• Our wampum league thy brethren did embrace: X.

Upon the Michagan, three moons ago, The rose of England bloom'd on Gertrude's cheek

• We launch'd our pirogues for the bison chace,

• And with the Hurons planted for a space, What though these shades had seen her birth, her A Briton's independence taught to seek

· With true and faithful hands, the olive stalk: [sire

But snakes are in the bosoms of their race,
Far western worlds; and there his household fire
The light of social love did long inspire,

* And though they held with us a friendly talk, And many a balcyon day he liv'd to see

• The hollow peace-tree fell beneath their tomahawk! Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire,

When fate had reft his mutual heart-but she
Was gone-and Gertrude climbid a widow'd fa-

• It was encamping on the lake's far port, ther's knee.

A cry of Areouski broke our sleep,

• Where storm'd an ambush'd foe thy nation's fort, XI.

• And rapid, rapid whoops came o'er the deep; A lov'd bequest,-and I may half impart,

• But long thy country's war-sign on the steep To them that feel the strong paternal tie,

Appear'd through ghastly intervals of light; How like a new existence to his heart

* And deathfully their thunders seem'd to sweep, That living flow'r uprose beneath his eye,

"Till utter darkness swallow'd up the sight, Dear as she was, from cherub infancy,

• As if a show'r of blood had quench'd the fiery fight! From hours when she would round his garden play;

To time when as the rip'ning years went by,
Her lovely mind could culture well repay,

• It slept—it rose again-on high their tow'r And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day.

Sprung upwards like a torch to light the skies,

• Then down again it rain'd an ember show'r, XII.

• And louder lamentations heard we rise: I may not paint those thousand infant charms;

• As when the evil Manitou that dries (Unconscious fascination, undesign'd!)

• Th' Ohio woods, consumes them in his ire, The orison repeated in his arms,

• In vain the desolated panther flies, For God to bless her sire and all mankind;

* And howls, amidst his wilderness of fire: The book, the bosom on his knee reclin'd,

• Alas! too late, we reach'd and smote those Hurons Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con,

dire! (The playmate ere the teacher of her mind :)

All uncompanion'd else her years had gone,
Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue sum-

• But as the fox beneath the nobler hound,
mer shone.

• So died their warriors by our battle-brand;

· And from the tree we with her child unbound XIII.

• A lonely mother of the Christian landAnd summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, • Her lord-the captain of the British bandWhen sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent, • Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay. An Indian from his bark approach their bow'r,

• Scarce knew the widow our deliv'ring hand; Of buskin'd limb, and swarthy lineament;

Upon her child she sobb’d, and swoon'd away, The red wild feathers on his brow were blent,

Or shriek'd unto the God to whom the Christians
And bracelets bound the arm that help'd to light pray.
A boy, who seem'd, as he beside him went,

Of Christian vesture, and complexion bright,
Led by his dusky guide, like morning brought by

Our virgins fed her with their kindly bowls night.

• Of fever-balm, and sweet sagamité;

• But she was journeying to the land of souls, XIV.

• And lifted up her dying head to pray Yet pensive seem'd the boy for one so young- "That we should bid an ancient friend convey The dimple from his polish'd cheek had fled; · Her orphan to his home of England's shore ; When, leaning on his forest-bow unstrung,

And take, she said, this token far away,


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