TO MY OLD HOME AT PLATTSBURG.
THAT dear old home, where pass'd my childhood's years, Where fond affection wiped my infant tears; Where first I learn'd from whence my blessings came, And lisp'd, in faltering tones, a mother's name; That cherish'd home, where memory fondly clings, Where eager fancy spreads her soaring wings; Around whose scenes my thoughts delight to stray, And pass the hours in pleasing dreams away. Oh! shall I ne'er behold thy waves again, My native lake, my beautiful Champlain? Shall I no more above thy ripples bend In sweet communion with my childhood's friend? Shall I no more behold thy rolling wave, The patriot's cradle and the warricr's grave? Thy banks, illumined by the sun's last glow, Thine islets mirror'd in the waves below ? Back, back, thou present-robed in shadows lie! And rise the past before my raptured eye! Fancy shall gild the frowning lapse between, And memory's hand shall paint the glowing scene ; And I shall view my much-loved home again, My native village and my sweet Champlain, With former friends retrace my footsteps o'er, And muse delighted on thy verdant shore. Alas! the vision fades, the dream is past; Dissolved the spell by sportive fancy cast! Why, why should thus our brightest dreams depart, And scenes illusive cheat the sorrowing heart? Where'er through future life my footsteps roam, I ne'er shall find a spot like thee, my home! With all my joys the thoughts of thee shall blend, And join'd with thee shall rise my childhood's friend!
On Fame! thou trumpeter of dead men's deeds! Thou idol of the heart, thou empty flatterer, That, like the heathen of the Nile, embalmest Those that thou design'st to love, and ever hiding Their vices and their follies with a veil Of soft concealment, doth exalt them high Above the common crowd, crown'd with thy might,
That future years may copy and admire. Thou bright, alluring dream! thou dazzling star! Where shall we find thee! Thou art call'd Fickle and vain, and worthless of pursuit,
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YES, mother, fifty years have fled, With rapid footsteps o'er thy head; Have pass'd with all their motley train, And left thee on thy couch of pain! How many smiles, and sighs, and tears, How many hopes, and doubts, and fears, Have vanish'd with that lapse of years!" Though past, those hours of pain and grief Have left their trace on memory's leaf; Have stamp'd their footprints on the heart, In lines which never can depart; Their influence on the mind must be As endless as eternity. Years, ages, to oblivion roll, Their memory forms the deathless soul; They leave their impress as they go, And shape the mind for joy or woe! Yes, mother, fifty years have past, And brought thee to their close at last. Oh that we all could gaze, like thee, Back on that dark and tideless sea, And 'mid its varied records find A heart at ease with all mankind, A firm and self-approving mind! Grief, that had broken hearts less fine, Hath only served to strengthen thine; Time, that doth chill the fancy's play, Hath kindled thine with purer ray; And stern disease, whose icy dart Hath power to chill the shrinking heart, Has left thine warm with love and truth, As in the halcyon days of youth. Oh turn not from the meed of praise A daughter's willing justice pays; But greet with smiles of love again This tribute of a daughter's pen.
THE STORM HATH PASSED BY. THE storm hath pass'd by, like an angry cloud Which sweeps o'er the brow of the azure heaven; The sun and the earth to its sway hath bow'd,
And each radiant beam from the scene been driven.
All hail to the smile of the cloudless sky! All hail to the sun as he rides on high! All hail to the heavens' ethereal blue, And to nature, when deck'd in her own lovely hue!
It hath pass'd! the storm, like a giant form, Which summons the winds from their tempest cave; Which opens a grave in each ocean wave, And wraps the world in its shroud of gloom.
Oh! welcome the smile of the gladden'd earth! And welcome the voice of the wood-bird's mirth! And welcome these varying hues which delight Like dawn at the close of a wearisome night.
The clouds have pass'd, with the shadows they cast, And hush'd is the sound of the wind-god's power, And his deep, wild blast, as the tempest pass'd, Which rang on the ear at the midnight hour.
Oh! welcome the soft, balmy zephyrs of spring! And welcome the perfumes they silently bring And the rosy-tinged cloudlets that gracefully glide O'er the fair brow of heaven in beauty and pride!
It hath fled in its night, the dark spirit of night, Which cast such a shade o'er the light of the soul; It hath fled and died, while the sunset beam
From its surface triumphantly backward shall roll.
Oh! welcome the smiles of a gladden'd heart! And welcome the joy which those smiles impart! And welcome the light of that sparkling eye Which tells that the storm in its dread hath pass'd by !
ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ ON A YOUNG ROBIN.
DESPITE the curling lip, the smile of scorn, Thine early fate, oh! hapless bird, we mourn; Too soon withdrawn thy scanty store of breath, Too soon thy sprightly carols hush'd in death! Here let us lay thee on thy mother's breast, Where no rude steps shall come, no cares molest, No cruel puss disturb thy silent rest.
Ан, whither art straying, thou spirit of light, Froin thy home in the boundless sky? Why lookest thou down from the empire of night, With that silent and sorrowful eye ?
Thou art resting here on the autumn leaf, Where it fell from its throne of pride; But oh, what pictures of joy or grief,
What scenes thou art viewing beside!
Thou art glancing down on the ocean waves, As they proudly heave and swell; Thou art piercing deep in its coral caves, Where the green-hair'd sea-nymphs dwell!
Thou art pouring thy beams on Italia's shore, As though it were sweet to be there; Thou art lighting the prince to his stately couch, And the monk to his midnight prayer.
Thou art casting a fretwork of silver rays Over ruin, and palace, and tower; Thou art gilding the temples of former days, In this holy and beautiful hour.
Thou art silently roaming through forest and glade, Where mortal foot never hath trod; Thou art lighting the grave where the dust is laid, While the spirit hath gone to its God!
Thou art looking on those I love! oh, wake In their hearts some remembrance of me, And gaze on them thus, till their bosoms partake Of the love I am breathing to thee.
And perchance thou art casting thy mystic spell On the beautiful land of the blest, Where the dear ones of earth have departed to dwell, Where the weary have fled to their rest.
Oh yes! with that soft and ethereal beam, Thou hast look'd on the mansions of bliss, And some spirit, perchance, of that glorified world Hath breathed thee a message to this.
Hail, beam of the blessed! my heart
Has drunk deep of thy magical power, And each thought and each feeling seems bathed
In the light of this exquisite hour!
Sweet ray, I have proved thee so fair
In this dark world of mourning and sin,
May I hail thee more bright in that pure region, where Nor sorrow nor death enter in.
O'ER the broad vault of heaven, so calmly bright, Twilight has gently drawn her veil of gray, And tinged with sombre hue the golden clouds, Fast fading into nothing: o'er the expanse Are swiftly stealing hues, which mildly blend And shadow o'er the pure transparence Of the azure heaven. Now is night array'd In all her solemn livery, and one by one Appear the sparkling gems which deck her robe. Each glittering star shines brighter than its wont, As though some brilliant festival were held, Some joyful meeting in the courts above. Now mark yon group of amber-tinted clouds, Shrouding the silvery form of Luna; Their melting tints vanish away, and then The pale, cold moon springs up unshackled In her vast domain. Fair empress of the sky! Chaste queen! thy hallow'd beauty can impart A soften'd radiance to each sombre cloud Of melancholy night, and, like a noble mind, Immersed in seas of darkness, thou canst cast A portion of thy brilliant, mellow'd softness Around the deepening gloom. While viewing thee A sweet and pensive calm o'erspreads my soul, And, conjured by thy gentle, melting rays, Unerring memory hastens to my aid; With her, I view again my own dear home, My native village, 'neath thy cloudless sky Serenely sleeping: 'tis as fair a picture Of unsullied peace as ever nature drew. Thy rays are dancing on the gentle river, In one unbroken stream of molten silver, And marking in the glassy Saranac Thy graceful outline, while the fairy isles Which on its bosom rest are slumbering In thy light, while the fair branches, bending O'er thy wave, turn their green leaves above, And bathe in one celestial flood of glory.
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