ON MY NEW PEN.

You now are new, you look quite fair, But you are formed for toil and care; You soon must plunge within that ocean, Where you must swim in vast commotion! Your fate's unknown, but I will say, You'll meet with tempests in the way Unless you sail with every tide, And make each veering wind your guide, Surrounding hosts of furious foes, Will from afar, your course oppose; And all combine to sink and drown you. And in the deep with vengeance frown you, One thing that augurs ill, I think,-- You're doom'd to dabble in the ink! The task that seems laid out for you, Is quite unpleasant--painful too. If you intend to be correct, The faults of men you must detect, And tell them of their sins and blunders, In melting strains, and loud as thunders, Like maddened bees they'll then arise, And sting you deep, your words despise. [131] For your advice they'll loudly blame you-- Misrepresent and much defame you. My dear young friend, now let me say, You'd better tread the beaten way; And never fail all men to flatter, If right, or wrong, that makes no matter, Look o'er their faults, and let them be, What others do is naught to thee.       Go join yourself to some big creed, And that will license every deed; Your friends will then in swarms surround you, And priestly ease and wealth abound you, The world will then admire the feather, Caress and praise you altogether! When you behold the priests' corruptions, And all their craft and interruptions, Say not a word against their plan, But join the most applauded clan; Be priest yourself that interest take, And then be mute for conscience' sake; You'll find it will your store increase, To shear the flock and take the fleece, Pen up your fold within their bounds, Nor let them tread forbidden grounds! Go feed them on old Popish stuff, On men's inventions, huge and rough, And swell them up with pride and fashion, [132] And give them John's or Martin's ration! They'll scarcely then suspect you wrong, But loudly praise you in the throng, They'll love, and fear, strictly obey you, And for your service richly pay you. Now take my word, while you are young, Lest you be beaten, bruis'd and stung. And if you will be wayward led, You may too late think what I've said.       To this the pen in warmth replied, Thou hypocrite and worse beside, To try to lead me from the truth, And make me Devil in my youth, Your sage advice I must despise, And deem it fruitless and unwise; I heard it with surprise and horror, It fill'd my soul with grief and sorrow. I see mankind by priests are blinded, But few sincere and honest minded, They've made religion cloak to hide, The works of darkness, sin and pride. I will not crowd their beaten way, But tell them they are gone astray. I'll take the word of God in hand, And on that rock by faith I'll stand, And loud oppose the priests' inventions, Their numerous creeds, and bad intentions. [133] And though I should be quite alone, And represented sad, forlorn; Though priests should rise in hosts around me, They shall not daunt, nor once confound me. I'll try to teach the truth, and say, Beware of priests, their craft and way, Their orthodox is now astray! I care not what they say of me, I was a quill, and quill I'll be, I'll mark their faults--their faults I'll scribble, Though they may rage and loudly quibble; I will not seek my future fame, Nor sink at censure on my name; I'll speak in prose and various measure, Without regard to earthly treasure.

AN ELEGY

On the death of RICE HAGGARD, an eminent preacher of the       Gospel--well known, and highly esteemed, in the South and       the West by the Christian brethren. He died at an advanced       age in Champaign county, Ohio, when on a journey to       preach the Gospel.

O! Haggard! thou hast left the house of clay, And wing'd thy passage to immortal day! Kind Angels hail'd thee to their bright abode, And shouted welcome, valiant son of God.       Imagination points me now thy throne, [134] Among the saints and highest seraphs known, There dwells thy spirit, and forever reigns, Triumphant in high heaven's supernal plains.       No storms distress thee in thy sweet repose, But heavenly peace on thee thy God bestows. Thy toils are ended, and thy fortunes found, Where golden treasures and rich spoils abound, Eternal honors crown thy worthy brow, And scenes celestial open to thee now!       I hail thee gladly in thy robes of white, On streets of gold--in mansions of delight. No howling winds, nor tempests beat thee there, Nor earthly wants to generate thy care, Thou hast escap'd thy native land below, To ever live where trees ambrosial grow; Thou hast behind thee, left a name revered, That once consoled the saint, and sinners fear'd?       In youth thy God commanded thee away, From fond pursuits and objects of the day-- To leave the plough, and all thy friends around, To seek a Saviour and the gospel sound.       Thy parents poor, had never taught thee then To read the Bible, nor to use the pen; But in the smooth sand thou didst learn to write, And taught thyself to read by faggot light!       Not long till science shone upon thy mind, [135] Thy sins forsaken and thy soul refined, The Saviour's call to sound the Jubilee, Was loudly heard and then obey'd by thee.       In melting strains thy youthful voice was heard, And weeping eyes among the crowds appear'd; Thy son'rous voice, like silver trumpet's sound, Awak'd the sinner from his sleep profound; Convinced him he was on the downward way, Constrained him to repent, to weep and pray.       Thy friend's [sic]--a num'rous train, now left in tears, To mourn thee absent for some tedious years, Do fondly hope to meet thee once again, Where death is foil'd in heav'ns extended plain.

ON WINTER.

Farewell, ye pleasant shades and blooming flow'rs, Ye passing zephyrs and refreshing showers, Farewell, ye plumy birds in mellow lay, And all ye pleasures of a summer's day.       Cold winter comes and nips with frost the bloom, And shrouds the forests with a sullen gloom He binds the mellow earth in icy chains, And shakes his hoary locks and grimly reigns. [136] He comes in howling tempests, frosts and snow, And swells his chilly blasts on all below; He drives his northern storms along the sky, And growls loud terrors as he passes by. Dark clouds presage his giant presence near, And forests loose the foliage of the year; He binds the waters--flings his snows amain, And drifts the mountain and the distant plain.       Beneath his steps a thousand insects die, And skulking beasts unite a frighted cry, His chilling breath makes nature's beauties fade, Despoils the umbrage of the bow'ry shade. The songs are hush'd that thrill'd along the plain, And flocks and heards [sic] lie down with sullen pain; The summer birds have fled his chilling sway, To chaunt their notes along in milder day; The plains and forests mourn his frosty hand, The feeble sun scarce peeps upon the land. So shall the days of youthful sports be sped, And wintry age shall whiten on the head,       No revel scenes to cheer the old man's pow'rs, But dull and cheerless drag his tedious hours; The charms of earth now fading in his eye, Bid him farewell, and far forever fly! [137]

THE RURAL CHRISTIAN

There lives a man remote from pride,       From ostentation free, The holy spirit is his guide--       But few so kind as he. No gorgeous pillars prop his dome,       Nor pompous art display'd; But there remains his humble home,       Immersed in willow shade. Around this antique dwelling grows,       The sweet perennial flowers, That scent the zephyr as it blows       Along the leafy bowers. The waving blue grass makes the green,       And woos the passing eyes; While flowing shrub'ry deck the scene,       And Lombard poplars rise. A fruitful garden then extends       Along the passing way; And with surrounding beauty blends,       And crowns the toils of May. But all this outward rural bloom,       Can faintly point to thee, [138] The bliss that decks the cottage room,       When strangers come to see. The wants of nature are supplied,       By mercy's tender hand; With this the man is satisfied,       And would no more demand. His humble wife and children sweet,       In harmony unite; And round the throne of mercy meet--       Enjoy supreme delight. There meekness, peace and friendship dwell,       Upon that hallow'd ground; And from each breast sweet praises swell,       For blessings they have found. His wealth is more than shining dust,       Or more than kings bestow-- A hope of crowns that cannot rust,       Releas'd from earth below.

RETIREMENT.

Let me retire from noisy fire, From cares of wealth and scenes of strife,       And build my cottage where Kind nature gives a cooling spring, [139] And merry birds wild anthems sing,       And flowers spontaneous there. From sordid cares my mind would soar, And trace the ways of God the more,       And swell his praises high; My wan's [sic] but few would be supplied, I'd seek no more on earth beside,       But look beyond the sky. Should winter blow his Boreal storm, I'd make my little cottage warm,       And gather round the fire; My babes would smile and prattle sweet, My wife, myself, and all would meet,       In one harmonic choir. I'd teach the infant mind to pray, And point it to a brighter day,       Than transient suns can give; I'd join myself in holy song, The praise of God I would prolong,       And thus I'd wish to live. Should vernal suns expand the green, And blooming beauties deck the scene,       I'd take the pleasant share; To cultivate a little soil, And see my labors and my toil,       A welcome harvest bear. [140] The world might pass me by with scorn, Esteem me wretched and forlorn,       Not worthy of her train; She might not know I had a name, Unless it were contempt and shame,       Erratic in the brain. But why should I regard the world? With all her glories wide unfurl'd,       And all her golden store? She proffers more than she contains, Her pleasures turn to grief and pains,       And satisfy no more. Her noisy sons who dash the street And scorn their equals when they meet,       Know not their danger nigh; But soon, alas! their race will end, And then without a heavenly friend,       How wretched must they die! But me, the giddy world knows not, Obscured within my rural cot,       I have what nature gives; For me the sun shines bright and clear, For me refreshing rains appear,       For me the harvest lives. I envy not the rich man's store, I have his share, and ten times more, [141]       A heavenly peace within; My God in all his works I praise To him my raptur'd soul I raise,       Above the world and sin.

THE POLAR STAR.

All hail I thou midnight constant guide,       Thou steady polar star; The sailor on the stormy tide,       Salutes thee from afar. When wind and billows long prevail,       And clouds of darkness rise, Then sailors' art and courage fail,       Beneath inclement skies. On boist'rous seas unfriendly tossed,       The vessel runs astray; The pilot has his compass lost,       Nor knows the dang'rous way. But when the clouds disperse and fly,       And heaven grows calm and clear, He sees thee shining in the sky,       And bids farewell to fear. His course direct, by thee he learns,       And seeks the destined strand; [142] The dangers of the deep discerns,       And finds his native land. The lonely pilgrim as he strays,       Nor devious path can see, May boldly tread the sylvan maze,       And safely trust in thee. But should the sky thick clouds resume,       And hide thee from his sight, He's lost! and wanders in the gloom,       And wanders from the right. Ah! could we always see thee plain,       Nor clouds to interpose, We then could ride the stormy main,       Nor fear the wind that blows. But yonder shines a brighter beam,       Amid the throne of heaven; His blest illuminating gleam,       Lights up the darkest eve'n. While sailing on the tide of life,       The boist'rous billows roll, The stormy winds of angry strife,       Alarm the fainting soul. Sometimes how dark the hemisphere,       How roll the seas below-- How nigh the rocks of death appear,       How strong the tides of wo! [143] My vessel tossed on distant seas,       Her sails are ripped and torn; She reels before the stormy breeze,       And makes me pensive mourn. But all the dangers that arise,       Can't make me yet despair; I see my pilot in the skies,       Who smiling, points me there. This steady star I keep in sight,       As on the waves I'm driven; The veering breeze may blow me right,       And land me save in heaven. Then let me not so much complain,       And let me weep no more; This star directs across the main,       Towards a peaceful shore. Propitious star, forever shine,       And never withdraw from me; Direct this devious course of mine,       Over this tempestuous sea. O! lead me on to those bright plains,       Where my rich treasure lies; Where saints immortal feel no pains,       Nor tears bedew their eyes. [144]

THE ROSE.

Within the garden there expands,       A blooming fragrant flower; That captivates me, as it stands,       With its enchanting power. Its modest grace, and sweet perfume,       So harmonize together, Old Eden can't its tints assume,       In lovely vernal weather! Its sweet companions smile around,       And wave their proudest orders, But such a beauty can't be found,       In all the flowery borders. Its dress is rich beyond compare,       Plain, humble, unassuming, More beauteous than its kindred fair,       More od'rous, sweet and blooming. Kind nature hath on it impress'd,       A rich perfume to lave it, We long remember it is blest       Though winds annoy and wave it. But, O! this sweet enchanting rose,       How thick with thorns surrounded-- [145] I've tried to pluck it, as it grows,       But often have been wounded. Its thorns have pierced me to the sense,       Before I thought of danger, And frequently inflict offence,       To the incautious stranger. The full blown rose will fade away,       Its glory soon be blighted, Its beauty wither and decay,       Not worthy to be plighted. There is a rose of sweeter grace,       And ever more inviting, It is the lovely female face,       With all her charms delighting. This lovely, captivating form,       The raptured soul surprises; The stoic heart, her features warm,       While strange attachment rises. Here virtue, beauty, grace conjoined,       In every blooming feature, How tender, sweet and well refined,       Infatuating creature! No jewel half so priz'd I see,       The best and richest treasure, A faithful friend she's prov'd to me,       The meed of human pleasure. [146] But, O! that bloom may soon decay,       With clouds be overshaded, I would lament the ruthless day,       That saw her scath'd and faded. But should the bloom in virtue shine,       I always will remember, That tender friend--I call her mine,       In frosts of bleak December. 'Tis virtue that will never fade,       Let virtue's robes adorn her, I then will love her in the shade,       And will not, cannot scorn her.

A DIRGE.

Lord, what am I? Ah, who can say? A man! a worm! a clod of clay! Ingenious form, of wond'rous birth, Of high degree, a child of earth. Corrupted matter, low confined, Possess'd of spirit closely joined, Impoverish'd reptile, drowned in woes, Without a friend--pursued by foes. My life, how like the gliding stream; Or like the nightly vanish'd dream; [147] My transient day is nothing more, Than bubbles bursting on the shore. The oceans tow'ry billows rise, And seem to climb amid the skies, But soon they sink, and roll away, Not co-existent with the day. So would I vainly place my seat, That men should move beneath my feet, But soon, alas! I must descend, Where dust enfolds our earthly end. But tho' I have short time to stay, In this imprisoned tent of clay, I have a mind--that mind can trace Beyond the grave, a boundless space. This reasoning sense, a part divine, Death can't destroy, nor grave confine, That speaks a God, proclaims an hour, When death shall lose his tyrant pow'r. I feel within, a lucid ray, That ope's to me eternal day, An ardent sense to grasp a prize, Not found where earthly treasure lies. I will forsake those swarms that play, Like floating gnats on summer's day, That skim along like butterflies, And fell unfledg'd with sad surprise. [148] I claim no kin to their gay race, I count their pride my low disgrace, Their wealth, their pleasure, and their fame, Are flitting shades--an empty name. I claim my kindred, not with earth, And none but those of heavenly birth; No hoards I seek of golden ore, But look for treasures valued more. The earth can't long confine me here, I'll bid farewell without a tear, To all her cares, and mount the skies, And sieze [sic] my lov'd, immortal prize.

A THOUGHT ON WAR.

Like mighty storms on winter's sky,       Descending from the hills, That rake destruction as they fly,       And sweep the trembling rills. So war with his attendant host       Approximates the field, There champion chiefs their courage boast,       Nor will the contest yield. They give command and rush amain,       The soldiers bleed around, [149] And countless numbers lick the plain,       And bleed upon the ground. When foaming streams together meet.       And toss their surges high, When, on the rocky shallows beat,       The rooted forests die. So chief with chief, and mall, with man,       In battle's dread affright, Commix and rage, and kill who can,       And heap the bloody sight. From wing to wing the carnage runs,       No hiding place is near, Wide wasting death, in cannon guns,       In sword, in dart and spear. A thousand thunders shake the sky,       The frighted clouds look pale, A thousand heroes gasp and die,       And blanch upon the vale. Promiscuous slaughter raves along,       And thins the rank and file, How soon, alas! he wastes the throng,       And heaps the reeking soil. Relations, friends and brothers dear,       In murd'rous conflict meet, And stain with blood the polish'd spear,       And die at other's feet. [150] Let ocean break divine decrees,       And whelm the guilty shore Let pestilence tile cities siege,       And slay a thousand more. Let earthquakes shake the distant strand,       And wide dispart the earth; Alarm the nations as they stand,       And stop their guilty mirth. Let famine rage along the plain,       And waste our wicked race, Let glutton'd monarchs feel the pain,       And wear a haggard face. And should our crimes yet more inflame,       O Lord, thy dreadful ire, Then teach us all our guilt and shame,       By mildews, blasts and fire. These are thy scourges, Lord, we know,       To humble human pride, But stay thy hand, nor strike the blow,       And better things provide. But war with his attendant woes,       Is not from thee, divine, From hellish passions he arose,       And no descent of thine. [151] Let nations know the gospel strain,       And hear the Saviour's lore; Let them the christian cause maintain       And war shall be no more. Let swords be made to plough the field,       And spears to sickles turn; O, may the world to Jesus yield,       And his example learn.

THE VERNAL SEASON.

Farewell, thou stormy rig'rous blast, Your gloomy horrors now are past, And all your frowns seren'd at last,       By smiles of lovely spring. From orient realms the vernal sun, Appears again--the prize is won, His cheerful beams reviving run,       And make creation sing. The torpid insects move again, Forget the gripe of winter's chain, And scatter o'er the smiling plain,       And tell their modes of joy; A thousand notes of music sweet, Resound aloud from each retreat, [152] With one accord the songsters meet,       And all their tongues employ. The savage beasts of fiercer flame, The herds and flocks of ev'ry name, Their various joys aloud proclaim,       While sounding anthems swell; The far sequestered forests join, The heaths and meadows all combine, And sound aloud the hymn divine,       The God of nature tell. Unnumbered charms attract the sight, The purple, blue and spotless white, That dress all nature with delight,       Inflame my ravish'd soul; The umbrage of the distant trees, The pinks awaken'd by the breeze, The blushing rose, well formed to please,       My senses sweet control. The orchards smile in fragrant bloom, The desert wastes their flowers asume, [sic] And wanton zephyrs waft perfume,       Along the passing air; The lofty mountains ope their green, The low sunk vales that lie between, Put on the beauty of the scene,       And wave enchantment there. [153] Let stoic hearts conjoin to sing, The parent of returning spring, And mount on soft, celestial wing,       Above the earthly clod; Let nature teach their souls to raise Unceasing thanks and songs of praise, And mingle in harmonic lays,       To their Creator God. The scene how like the vernal years, When youth in every face appears, And nought to start the trickling tears,       Nor cause the rising sigh; The rapt'rous prospects wide extend, While hope and joy each other blend, The flattered youth desires no end,       And thinks no blasts are nigh. Remember that the rose will fade, And all the beauty of the glade, With all the foliage of the shade,       Shall droop and die again; So may the fondest, blooming face, The object of an am'rous race, Soon wither into cold disgrace,       And heave the heart in pain. Temptations haunt the female's way, By chance the fondest passions may [154] Allure to danger, quite astray,       O youth, be well aware; Be modest, virtuous--ever try, Trust not the fancy of your eye, Lest from your heart your comfort fly,       And leave a sorrow there. Behold the time is drawing near, When transient charms shall disappear, Again all nature shall be drear,       And chant no more to you; Endure a chaste and virtuous toil, Enjoy the season with a smile, And take a large immortal spoil,       For that shall be your due.

AN EVENING THOUGHT.

The vernal season bloomed around,       The sky was clear and mild, I mused upon the scene profound,       Without a thought, defiled. The fainting sun declined my view,       Low sunken in the west, His golden beams through ether flow,       And charmed my thinking breast. [155] Calm may my moments roll away,       And not a crime be seen, Nor darkening clouds conclude my day       Nor tempest intervene. And when this life on earth shall end,       And day shall close in night; Then may my soul to heaven ascend,       To hail supernal light. Then can my friends in raptures say,       The pilgrim's gone to rest, He's wing'd along his airy way,       To be forever blest.

THOUGHTS OF RETIREMENT.

O could I find some distant spot,       Amid wild nature's bowers, 'Tis there I'd build my humble cot,       And spend remaining hours. I need not then forget to sleep,       Nor should my soul repine, For cruel wrongs I need not weep,       Nor blush for deeds not mine. The richest man I'd envy not,       With all his silken pride, [156] I'd pitty [sic] his unhappy lot,       With servants at his side. His gold, his purple and his lace,       And all his pompous store, Will run him through all airy race,       And leave him wretched, poor. I want my portion, not of dross,       Nor outward gaudy show, What this proud world esteems but loss,       And melancholy wo. A golden treasure safe in heaven,       A crown of glory there, The crimes committed be forgiven,       My Saviour's image bear.

THE WONDERS OF CREATION.

I'll sing aloud creation's wonders,       And praise my God in every lay, And speak of lightnings, roaring thunders,       That fill the heart with dread dismay. O stop ye vain, and look around you,       Behold the blackness of the sky. [158] The terrors of a God confound you,       As raving whirlwinds pass you by. All nature quakes at death so nigh her,       And trembles at the steps of God; Electric matter flashes fire,       And mountains shudder at his nod. Great hail storms from the clouds descending       Fall rapid on the trembling ground, Strong trees before the tempest bending.       Groan sadly with the dismal sound. Now let me trace the starry regions,       When sable clouds are roll'd away: Astonished see the shining legions,       Irradiate the close of day. I see the orbs of lucid glory,       Roll swift along the realms of night, But who can tell their mystic story,       Or trace their far ethereal flight. Imagination's highest flying,       Can never bound the ample place, Where those revolving globes are viewing       In tracts of wide eternal space. The moon in lunar blaze advances,       And climbs the firmament on high, While every star in glory dances,       Far round the vast extended sky. [159] The sun appears in brighter blazes,       And pours his floods of light around, He rolls along his louder praises,       Nor once forgets the song profound. His presence cheers the earth with gladness,       And all the nations hail him near; Before him flies chaotic sadness,       And sable spectres disappear. I now will view the earth around me,       And see th'extended scene below; Here wonders rising still astound me,       Where rivers, seas and fountains flow. There lies the great, expansive ocean,       Old mother of the distant spring, Raised into high, tremendous motion,       By Neptune's wide encircling wing. The rivers' far sequestered sources,       Unceasing search the distant main, Thro' rugged mountains burst their courses,       Nor once attempt to start in vain; Through fertile vales they often wander,       In lonely deserts push their way; 'Tis on their banks I often ponder,       Upon life's swift descending day. For on the lofty mountain's bower,       I have beheld the distant scene, [160] The marks of a creative power,       In every object intervene. The far projected rocks ascending,       Sublimely fills the roving eye, The ruder steeps around extending,       Seem lost amidst the azure sky. Far off I see the rural village,       And wide surrounding meadows there. The fertile vallies [sic] smile with tillage,       And waving harvests richly bear; Methinks I see the rustic smiling,       While ruddy milk maids pass along: O would they in their daily toiling,       Ascribe to God their constant song.

A PRAYER IN TROUBLE.

I long to rise and sear away,       And leave distress behind; O would those clouds that make me stray       Forsake this troubled mind. O would the sun once more arise,       And shine forever bright, That I might wipe my weeping eyes,       And bid farewell to-night. [161] Too long, alas! I've been oppressed,       With sorrow, grief and sin, And none but Christ can make me blest,       Or give me peace within. 'Tis for his sake I'd leave all things,       Upon this earthly sphere, O, had I but celestial wings,       I'd soon with him appear.

ODE ON THE PRIMEVAL AGES.

My flut'ring [sic] fancy flies along       O'er all the wide creation, The ard'ous flight she would prolong,       See each and every nation, View golden days by poets sung,       When harmony abounded, And man and Eden were but young,       And vocal praise resounded. She there would pause and look around,       To see the plains extended, And hark to hear the song profound,       Of ev'ry creature blended. Along the margin of the glade,       Were copious rivers gliding, [162] Promiscuous flocks beneath the shade,       In mutual bliss abiding. The elements of nature slept,       Nor heard were storms and thunder, No man had ever sigh'd or wept,       Nor caus'd to quake and wonder. Young zyphyrs gently fann'd the rose,       And played along the bow'rs, Transporting joys, unmixed with woes,       Refreshed the cheerful hours. She there beholds all men unite,       No rumors heard among them, The law of love was law of right,       Nor conscious guilt had stung them. Propitious nature gave them bread,       She gave them milk and honey, With liberal hand each one was fed,       Without the aid of money. No blood had stain'd their harmless hands,       Unknown were wars and plunder, No foe had found their peaceful lands,       To cut their cords asunder; Shepherds and swains in concert meet,       To tune the Edenian lyre, Matrons and maids each other greet,       And join the gleeful choir. [163] Their festivals were crowned with joy,       All had an equal portion, A thousand tongues the song employ,       Far distant from commotion; No changing clime had yet been seen,       Nor elevated mountains, The vocal plains were ever green,       Refresh'd by cooling fountains. Long lived those sons in Eden born,       No foul disease annoyed them, No hapless child was found forlorn,       No pestilence destroyed them; A thousand years were as a day--       A day of purest pleasure, The sky serene--it rolled away,       And crowned their earthly treasure.

ODE TO SPRING.

Hail! thou lovely vernal season,       Welcome to this cheerless earth, Welcome to our sense and reason,       Parent of reviving birth. Earth is full of music sounding,       Nature smiles in blushing grace, At thy presence swarms abounding,       Singing in their new born race. Now the groves and distant mountains,       Ope their umbrage to the day, On the meads along the fountains,       Bleating lambkins frisk and play. Wintry storms have ceased their blowing,       Gentle breezes fan the sky, Birds are singing, herds are lowing,       Hungry beasts forget to sigh. Morning zephyrs wake the roses,       Sweet flow'rs dress the vales below, On the lawn the swain reposes,       Hears the brooks in murmurs flow; Larks awake our morning slumbers,       With an early song of praise, [166] Vocal groves with various numbers,       Fill the earth with tuneful lays. Come on ye mild refreshing showers.       Swell the bosom of the earth, Wake up the vegetative powers,       Let them have a fruitful birth O, let me see the orchards blooming,       Rustics healthy plough the green, And the milk maid unassuming,       Pensive moving over the scene. Wake up the heart and tune the lyre,       Sing an anthem to the sky, Let male and female form the choir,       Raise seraphic music high, Join the song, ye pensive, fearful,       Send it up to God in heaven, Let the soul be always cheerful,       Always tranquil, smooth and even.

AN APOSTROPHE TO THE MOON.

O moon! arise, fair nymph of heav'n.       Unveil thy lovely face, Shine o'er the hills, light up the ev'n.       Nor stay thy welcome race. [167] Thou contest forth a blushing maid,       All mantled o'er with gold, Before thee flies the misty shade,       And clouds are from thee roll'd. Thy golden beams are hail'd with joy,       Among the woodmen here, The lonely shepherd and his boy,       With new strung harps appear. The smiling hills and mountains glow,       With glancing dew-drops bright, The babbling brooks with pleasure flow       Along the silent night. I've seen thy twinkling beams,       Along the darksome shade, Then rais'd alone, a solemn song,       And nightly fears were laid. But in one night of solemn toil,       Thy face shall blush in blood, And from thy orbit thou shalt roll,       Far through a fiery flood! Thy deep blue shall then be lost,       Thy disk no more shall glow, Thyself in wrecks of matter toss'd,       Shall to that ruin go! [168] But now thou dost in splendor ride,       In thy ethereal car. Expand thy smiles of gladness wide,       And send thy glories far. Disperse your clouds, ye winds that blow,       And let this maid of night, In full effulgence blaze below,       And give the shades her light. So may my clouds of error fly,       And light within arise, That I may fear no danger nigh,       Beneath my cloudless skies.

THE WORLD TURNED PEACOCK.

Among domestic fowls I see, Whate'er his name or nature be, He is a fop, I answer thee,       And loves to show his feathers; When vernal stills serene the skies, He struts about and proudly tries, To show his graces to our eyes,       And looks disdain on others. I grant 'tis beauty there we find, In that long train he drags behind, [169] He looks quite gay and well refin'd,       No other half so gaudy; He wide expands his plumage round, Where azure, gold and blue abound, He vainly treads along the ground,       Craves praise from every body! But this vain fowl of which we boast, Of all the fowls the public toast, Is not often used to broil or roast,       Nor ever worth his feeding; His plumage lasts not half the year, When that may chance to disappear, He looks quite shabby, full of fear,       And indicates low breeding. He makes no music when he sings, He cannot fly with unfledg'd wings, No profit to the public brings,       His pageantry has faded; He's nothing left our note to gain, We all rejoin and now disdain, The flow so proud and once so vain,       And now so just degraded. Thus the vain word with all her beaux, When dress'd in ribbons and fine clothes. Her beauty and her grandeur shows,       Disdaining all below her; [170] Too much engaged to look ahead, She turns and struts where she may tread, Her trimmings all to public spread       She wishes all to know her. Her sweet perfume and curled hair, Her silks, and bows, and ribbons there, Behold the sight! who can forbear,       To love And run and take her? She dazzles in her plumage gay, She turns her beauties to the day, And struts along the public way,       Ah! who could well forsake her. She now assumes a sword in hand, Turns gen'ral, giving loud command, Stands head of the surrounding band,       While thousands round adore her; Her epaulettes and buttons blaze, She now achieves in martial ways, The universal public gaze,       That flashes far before her. She oft turns merchant and declares, Superior worth is all her wares, The giddy youth turns round and stares,       And sees them all so pretty; 'Tis there she flatters--often lies, Deceives the vain, offends the wise, [171] And hides the faults from him that buys,       Talks pleasantly and witty. She's a coquette in every art, She shows at first the better part, And charms the vain, deluded heart,       And brings him on to love her; I see each sex and every age, In warm attachment all engage, Run after her with equal rage,       Determin'd all to prove her. She courted me with luric [sic] charms, I fell within her closing arms, My thirst allay'd--I felt alarms,       I wanted then to leave her; Again she clasp'd me to her breast, And said she'd make me further blest, Remove my fears and give me rest,       But I would not believe her. I broke her gold-ensnaring chain, And turned from her with strong disdain, Resolved to love her not again,       Nor hear her voice enchanting; I set my heart above her name, Despised her with contempt and shame, And now for high, immortal fame       My soul is ardent panting. [172]

BIGOTRY REPORTED.

A horrid thing pervades the land, The priests and prophets in a band,       (Called by the name of preachers,) Direct the superstitious mind, What man shall do his God to find,       He must obey his teachers. Those leaders, differing in their mode, Each traveling in a different road,       Create a sad division; Each one believes he must be right, And vents at others all his spite,       Contemns them with derision. Their proselytes around them wait, To hear them preach, and pray, and prate,       And tell their growing numbers; They love to hear their preachers tell, The adverse sects will go to hell,       All laid in guilt and slumbers. Each party has its special rules, Borrowed from bishops, popes and schools,       And thinks them best of any; And yet they change to suit the times, [173] And differ in the different climes,       To catch the passing penny. They are directed to obey, And never tread another way,       All others are deceivers ; All those who do dissent from this, Are not within the road to bliss,       Nor can be true believers. Some thousands thus are dup'd and led, By prejudice and priestcraft fed,       Who love to bold contention; Their old confessions they defend, For human rules do strong contend,       The ground of much dissention. [sic] Is this religion? I God forbid, The light within the cloud is bid,       My soul be not deceived The Great Redeemer never told The priests to separate his fold,       And this I've long believed. I love religion--do declare, That peace and love are ever there,       And universal kindness; The Bible is my rule for this, It points me to eternal bliss,       Dispels Sectarian blindness, [174] Let Christians now unite and say, We'll throw all human rules away,       And take God's word to rule us; King Jesus shall our leader be, And in his name we will agree,       The priests no more shall fool us.

WOMAN.

The richest blessing men can find,       On all the earth below, Is woman, faithful, true and kind,       Blest soother of our wo. When elements of nature rise,       And threaten to devour, She like an angel of the skies,       Bespeaks a milder hour. When fortune frowns and we're distress'd,       And thousand sorrows swell, Her mild caresses make its blest,       We think that all is well, In distant lands, where strangers are       Unkind, and cruel too, Site shows the same affection there,       A tender heart and true. [175] She feels the weight of all our sighs,       And all our groans she hears, She pities oft with weeping eyes,       Nor spares her streaming tears. When sickness makes our spirits faint,       We languish and deplore, Her fondling smiles ease all complaint,       And we repine no more. When melancholy fills the heart,       And darkens all the day, She has the pleasing sov'reign art,       To drive it all away. Pure gold without her is but dross,       For gold has never blessed, She is the crown of every loss,       The richest crown possessed.

AN ELEGY,

On the death of Mrs. DIANA GOWDY, of Xenia, Ohio, daughter       of John and Elizabeth Morgan, of Shenandoah County. Va.       who departed  his [sic] life October 10, 1829, in hope of a       happy immortality. Aged about 27 years.

O! help me muse to sing that worthy name, And give her virtues to immortal fame, That generations yet unborn may read: The female graces all in he'll agreed. [176]       In infant years she was her parents' pride, No child so comely, nor so lov'd beside, Her form her beauty and her nat'ral grace, Were mostly perfect of the female race. Kind nature dress'd her for her fairest child, Beheld her kindling charms, and fondly smil'd; She stored the virtues in her youthful breast, And seem'd content that she was thus possess'd.       She was accomplish'd with politest mien, In all her movements elegance was seen, Her modest worth and cultivated mind, Bespoke her plainly, polisli'd and refin'd.       As flowing lilies, and the opening rose, Expand their blushes when the zephyr blows, And pour their charming beauties on the sight, And give the raptur'd soul supreme delight; So were a thousand charms upon her plac'd, None were so beauteous--so supremely grac'd, She was the pride and toast of all the fair, And all delight in her presence there.       She was not careless of that better part, That lifts the soul and purifies the heart, She learned her Saviour, and his laws obeyed, And safe in heaven her future hope she laid; Her soul was pious, innocent and mild, To heaven related, nor by earth beguiled. [177]       In her full blown arrived her bridal day, Her consort lived in regions far away, Few days were I passed, she left her native lands, And took her distant home where Xenia stands.       She graced the station of a virtuous wife, And lived remote from vanity and strife; With generous hand she often blest the poor, Who sought a pittance at her parlor door, Her name was honored, and her name was dear, And sounded sweet in every listening ear, She was too good on earth to be confined, Her soul was fit with angels to be joined.       Her bridal years were few--they roll'd away, And brought distress, a mournful we ping [sic] day; Stern death approach'd, and in his arms she slept. Her husband, friends, and distant strangers wept, She left a husband drowned in flowing tears, And solemn gloom 'mong num'rous friends appears; No time, nor place, can wipe away the grief, That bursted from their hearts without relief. O! dreadful day! that saw her buried deep In silent dust! how did spectators weep; And while their streaming tears fell from their eyes, Her soul ascended to the upper sides. [178]       What anguish wrung her tender parents' breasts, When first thy [sic] heard, "in dust Diana rests;" Their house was fill'd with mourning and with gloom, Far from Diana's sacred honored tomb! Could they have wept around her dying bed. Could they have seen her lying pale and dead, Could they have walked the solemn fun'ral stop, And seen the spot where their Diana slept! They could have borne their grief with less despair, To bid farewell to dear Diana there!       She calmly died, her eyes were clos'd in peace, And all her sorrows in one moment cease; The angels met her at death's iron door, And safe conveyed her to the heavenly shore! Methinks she mounted on celestial wings, And there with christians and with seraphs sings! Why weep ye, parents? Your Diana stands, Enrol'd [sic] in glory in celestial lands; Your child has left a painful world below, And found a land where living pleasures flow.       No fell disease to fade her beauty there, No parting pains, nor world's distressing care, She dwells in peace--o'er tyrant death she reigns, And wears her crown in heaven's supernal plains. [179]

DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT.

How dull, how dark, how sable is the night, She's hid creation from my raptur'd sight, Horrific clouds come rolling round the sky, And on the hills in tow'ring columns lie! The distant vale is wrapp'd in silent gloom, Where darkling birds their boding notes resume. No twinkling star thro' opening clouds appears, No brighter moon to banish nightly fears, But winds loud howling in the mountain far, Rush on amain in their ether'al car; A sullen breeze drives wide the cottage door, And warns the owner to prepare for more. The valley stream slow murmurs to the ear, But murmurs mournful as the breezes veer.       From yon lone tree, not distant from the grave, Where lie the wise, the coward and the brave, I hear the owl long hooting o'er the dead, Along the place where ghostly shadows sped! Far distant, where the lonely cottage stands, Beside the gurgling brook, in wilder'd lands, The howling dog is heard--the echoes mourn, And on the quivering breeze are distant borne.       The stag lies snuffing on the mountain side, The timid hind, his faithful, bouncing bride, [180] Becomes alarm'd but hears the breezes pass His spiry horns--then nips the mossy grass. The bounding roe is in the rocky cleft, In nightly slumbers he is lonely left; The heathcock's head is hid beneath his wing, The woody warblers have forgot to sing, The fearless beasts and all the merry birds, Have sought retreat, and the domestic herds, No sounds concordant in the passing air, The owl's loud hoots, are only wafted there; Or yelling wolf along the cottage way, Or barking fox who seeks his nightly prey.       The lonely stranger in the desert wide, Has lost his way, and knows not where to guide; Thro' shrubs and thorns, a devious course he bends, In miry bogs, in winding rills descends; He fears to tread, he fears the ghosts of night, He trembling goes, but wanders from the right. The old trees groan along the silent ground, And passing goblins whisper in the sound! Alas! he tries, but tries in vain to know, Where he should find a safer path to go; He finds no friend to loud him timely aid, But sinks in death amid the gloomy shade!       So would the prodigal with flowing eyes, With lifted hands and penitential cries, [181] Deplore his wayward course so eager run, But now so wretched--nought but mis'ry won. My friends receive the pilgrim for the night, Solace his sorrows till the morning light, And when his journey and his days shall close, O, may no fears disturb his last repose.

A REFLECTION ON READING HISTORY.

The blazing sun in rapid haste,       Conveys the time away, And so the ancient ages waste,       And splendid works decay. I've read of ancient cruel war,       That wakens up my soul, I see the tide of blood afar,       And seas of crimson roll. What have my ancient fathers done?       How have the sages fled! They fell in battles lost or won,       All mingled with the dead. The lofty spires and towers they made,       The grandeur of a day, Are long ago in rubbish laid,       Like shadows fled away. [182] The proudest kings who nations sway'd,       Have fallen from the throne, Death called them to his lonely shade,       And made their power his own. What is all this pomp I see?       This grasp for human power? A pomp of nothing! and 'twill flee,       In the ensuing hour. How long in dust my fathers sleep--       I soon most follow there; Those eyes shall then forget to weep,       And all those tears forbear.

AN ELEGY,

On the death of MRS. NESMITH, who departed this li e [sic]       la [sic] May, 1822.

Some poets choose the names of noble birth, To sound their fame far thro' the list'ning earth, And tell they conquered, or they rul'd a throne, While trembling thousands their dominion own.       But I will sing a name in earth remote, (O, for poetic fire! to touch my note,) And tell the virtue and the grace that lie Concealed from notice of the public eye. An aged female, youthful once and gay, [183] That bloom'd as roses in the vernal day; Her youth she spent in fashion's flow'ry road, Perhaps forgetful of herself and God!       She early wedded to a man unknown, To smiling fortune, or to high renown, Became obscure, and by the world oppressed, By hard misfortune, and by sin, distressed: Her worldly prospects from her cottage fled, Like noon-day shadows, all her pleasures sped, And left her hopeless in the world below, To drink unmixed the cup of human woe.       She found this life a burden hard to bear, And night had sunk in clouds of dark despair; But, O! that God who rules in worlds on high, Loud bade her stop, for she should never die; That word from Heaven like ten-fold thunders roll, Addressed the sorrows of her sinking soul: "Long hast thou lingered on this weeping vale, Where grief abounds and thy life's comforts fail; But thou hast sinn'd, and sinn'd a thousand ways-- Withheld from God thy service and thy praise. Dost thou not fear to stand before his throne, Where all thy crimes must shortly be made known? [184] This life at which thou hast repin'd so long, For thy eternal bliss I will prolong."       These words address'd, like brilliant floods of day, From off her soul rent all the clouds away; She then beheld herself--herself accused, She saw her Saviour by her sins abused; Not fit to live, and now afraid to die, Aloud for mercy she began to cry-- She sought a blessing such as God bestows, And found redemption from her former woes; Her soul releas'd, to love divine restored, The world forgotten was no more deplored. By grace illum'd, by grace of God forgiven, She look'd for her reward laid up in heaven.       Like patient lambs to strokes of death resign, She bears her grief and doth no more repine; The pomp of fashion and the lap of ease, Her humble soul could now no longer please-- This earth too mean to seek a resting place, She found a rest--a rest in heavenly grace. Renew'd in heart, she leads a pious life, A fondling mother and a virtuous wife.       Like well-oil'd lamps bestow a brilliant light, To show the path in a bewilder'd night, So her example all around her blaz'd, [185] While saints admir'd, and careless sinners gaz'd, She read the Bible, and by faith she found, Celestial manna flow'd on earthly ground; She built her hope on that foundation stone, And sought the aid which comes from God alone.       Like eagles soar in their lofty flight, Leave meaner prospects far beneath their sight. So did her soul and her affections rise, Nor found a home beneath the upper skies. She was a christian, and to christians join'd, And not in word--to works of love inclin'd, No selfish sect, nor human creed, could hold Her pious soul from loving all the fold. No grace nor virtue that adorns our race, But seem'd with her to find a welcome place.       When health and friends would in her cottage meet, She sat like Mary at her Saviour's feet; In sickness she resigned herself to God, And bore with patience the afflicting rod, When death approach'd, with age her head was gray, She met the stroke without the least dismay. A husband, sons and daughters wept around, A mother who had won the heavenly ground. They saw the triumphs of a Saviour's blood, Disparting all the rage of Jordan's flood! [186] They saw a saint triumphant gain the shore, Where tempests rage, and storms arise no more, They heard her last expiring words declare, "Come follow me, a crown of glory wear."       If absent souls can speak to mortal's ear, O! give attention and profoundly hear; Methinks I hear the sister's voice so sweet, Where ransom'd saints and angels kindly meet, Recounting all her worldly troubles o'er, Where souls in triumph are distress'd no more.       Do I imagine that I hear her say-- "O, children, stop, if in the downward way! Return from sin, nor onward farther go, Lest you may sink in dreadful depths of wo; My pious son, my pious daughter, too, Hold on your way, your Saviour still pursue; Not long till death shall ope the gates of bliss, And let our ransom'd souls each other kiss.       Here pains forgotten--souls exalted high, Receive full pleasure in the boundless sky; Stand firm, my children, in a tempter's land, Go on to conquer--reach the heavenly strand, And here we'll meet on King Immanuel's shore, Where grief, and pain, and death distress no more." [187]

OLD AGE.

My beauty fades, my eyes grow dim,       My frame must soon decay, I feel that every active limb,       Must soon be lifeless clay. This lamp of life that burns below,       Will soon exhaust, and die, This vital fount shall cease to flow,       And all its streams be dry. I will not tremble at the stroke,       If Christ but lend his aid, Although the thread of life be broke, [sic]       This flesh in dust be laid. And though this mortal frame repose,       Beneath the grassy clod, My ransom'd soul shall rest with those       Who worship with their God. Then it shall join in holy song,       In praises all divine, With the triumphant heavenly throng,       In endless ages shine.

A DREAM--SUCH AS POETS FEIGN.

Far in a grove alone I stray'd       And sought a silent bower, I sat me down beneath the shade,       To muse the happy hour. The scene was charming to my sight,       The wild birds sweetly sang, The vocal woods gave me delight,       And far around me rang. The place was paradise to me,       My thoughts rov'd on amain, I'd found the spot I long'd to see,       And bliss without a pain. The sweetest feelings of the soul,       In one celestial stream, Bore me away with sweet control,       In a seraphic dream. Methought I saw a damsel fair,       And tears were in her eyes, Her head, her breast, and arms, were bare,       I heard her bursting sighs. I heard her call, and call aloud,       To those who pass'd her by, [189] But few among the busy crowd,       Gave her the least reply. I stopp'd and look'd her in the face--       'Twas then she sweetly smil'd, Her features shone with heavenly grace       Far more than nature's child. I stepp'd toward her, and I cried,       O, tell to me thy name, And tell me where thou dost abide,       And whence thy sorrows came. With diffidence and down-cast eye,       In modest tone she spoke, She wiped a tear, and gave a sigh,       And thus her silence broke. "My name is Charity and Love,       Descended from the skies, My native home is heaven above,       Where no distresses rise. I left the happy millions there,       To visit all mankind, I would their restless souls prepare,       A better world to find. I long have called to every class,       To take me by the hand, But some would mock, and deafly pass,       And let me weeping stand. [190] Some years ago I passed along,       Where multitudes reside, And several of the gazing throng,       Engaged me for their bride. The merchants took me in their store,       And learned of me to smile, But this they did to sell the more,       And gain the peasant's toil. Mechanics too, of every kind,       Entreated me full well, While flatt'ry and deceit could find,       A better way to sell. But now the times severe have grown,       And labor gives no gain, Their hearts are hard as hardest stone,       And me they all disdain. They've turn'd me from their parlor doors,       And ston'd me in the street, I find no place upon their floors,       Nor aught of them to eat! I then besought the priestly clan,       To gain a shelter there, Some took me in and soon began,       To celebrate the fair. [191] They'd dress me up on Sabbath day,       And lead me to the place, Where hundreds meet to sing and pray,       And wait for heavenly grace. But all the week their acts proclaim'd       Their negligence to me, They seldom loved to hear me nam'd       And would my presence flee. Their love to me was not unfeigned,       But few I found were true, When thy their worldly objects gained,       They bade me long adieu [sic] They've led me up the pulpit stair,       To preach abroad my fame, But oft have scandalized me there,       And push'd me down with shame. They often rave, and drive me far,       From where they stand to preach, And in the zeal of pulpit war,       Their prejudices teach. They all agree, and have combin'd,       To kill me, if they can, They have hunted up and down to find,       And drive me from their clan. [192] This is the cause, young man, I tell,       Why I must wander here, And why so high my sorrows swell,       And I so sad appear. I now must seek the wilderness,       Nor find a cottage nigh, I there must wail my deep distress,       And vent for man my sigh." I'll go with thee, I loudly said,       And give thee my embrace, With thee, for mail my tears I'll shed,       In the sequestered place. These words addressed, I then awoke,       And pondered well the theme, And, O! how charm'd by her that spoke       The substance of my dream.

ON THOUGHT.

Amazing thought! how rapid dost thou fly! O'er all the world and round the ample sky, Thou dost the meads and flowry [sic] plains survey, Where nature wantons in delightful play. From shade to shade thy golden wings have flown, From pole to pole, and thro' the burning zone. [193] The tow'ring hill where human never trod, Where lofty cedars to the whirlwinds nod, Thou dost ascend and fearless travel there, And stretch thy soaring pinions in the air. Stupendous mounts, projected in the cloud, Where fork'd lightnings play, and tempests shroud, Where rocky walls sublimely fill the sight, Thou dost unwearied speed thy wond'rous flight. Thou canst delight in beauties of the glade, And play along the wild, sequester'd shade, And trace the rivers as their courses lead, Along the mountains and the grassy mead. Where rising towns in beauteous order stand, And superb cities deck the sea-side strand, Where smoky hamlets thro' the country rise, And rural landscapes bloom beneath the skies; There thou dost fly and revel on the scene, And widely wing creation's vernal green. Where Ætna struggles and emits her smoke, Or Hekla's mouth with burning cinders choke, Thy vent'rous wings have borne thee in thy race, To view the wonders of the dreadful place. The gloomy caverns underneath the ground, Thou dost survey and wing the dread profound; In martial fields where death and fury fly, And roaring cannons shake the smould'ring sky. [194] Along the place in trembling thou hast fled, And sadly saw the dying and the dead. When sable night is muffled round the spheres, And gloom and sadness fill the world with fears, Then thou art fearless, ever on the flight, The darkest abyss naked to thy sight! When fierce tornadoes travel o'er the world, And sumptuous cities are in ruin hurl'd, In dread confusion thou dost hover there, Or trace the whirling storm along the air.       Thy wakeful nature never knows to sleep, Thou brav'st the billows of the flowing deep, Thou climb'st the tow'ring waves in midnight hours, And smoothly glid'st above their frightful pow'rs. The earth too narrow for thy ample bounds, Thou dost ascend and try the heavenly grounds, In floating ether thou hast found the way, To trace the planets round the source of day. In thy adventures thou hast found the land, Where trees ambrosial and a Saviour stand. The blooming lily and the vernal spring, There saints immortal and the angels sing. O! dwell forever in that happy place, There grow and flourish on a Saviour's grace, Rove o'er the plains and rise th'eternal hight, [sic] Slid stay thyself in uncreated light. [195]

A WORD TO THE FAIR.

Ye beauteous fair! if you'd prepare,       To live a happy life, You must discern, and fully learn,       The pleasures of a wife. While you are young, your path is hung,       With snares on every side, You look for bliss, but, O, you miss,       Till you become a bride. Then if you can select a man,       And give him all your heart, When this you do, be ever true,       Nor act the coquette's part. But first remind, be sure to find,       A man of sober name. Let him be found of morals sound,       And long of virtuous fame. Know him to be from vices free,       A man or generous mind, And one that feel s, another's ills,       Affectionate and kind. A handsome face, in am'rous race,       Too often does decoy, [196] And riches are sometimes a snare,       And may your bliss destroy. Now ask your heart, if he's the part,       You only do admire? Or is it gold which you behold,       That kindles your desire? As men deceive, don't you believe,       Your ev'ry lovers [sic] tale, If love should pain, you must refrain,       Nor let it soon prevail. Be not in haste, but always chaste,       Be modest and refin'd, And when you can, obtain the man,       To whom you would be join'd. Let him be sure your heart is pure,       And wait for hymen's tie, To bless the day when females may       With their fond wish comply.

DIALOGUE

Between Missouri, the Eastern States, the Southern States,       and Middle States, during the session of Congress of 1821,       on the Missouri Question.

MISSOURI TO THE EASTERN STATES.

Dear sisters, why are you so bold, [197]       That you reject my motion, Last year I was in Union roll'd,       To have it legal portion; But now your wit and language strain,       And in the Congress thunder, You strive to turn me off again,       And cut our bands asunder. You wish me not to hold a slave,       My black and stolen treasure, Some motive else you seem to have,       I'll tell you at my leisure; I think you wish to raise a jar,       And sound the nation's feeling, To light the match of civil war,       And set us all to reeling. You can but know what you have done,       Is very bold and daring, Thro' all the South loud clamors run,       A fearful omen wearing; My sister States who hold their blacks,       Are all with me united, We will retain those precious snacks,       And not by you be frighted, You now pretend to say 'tis wrong,       That bondage be admitted, I cannot hold the sable throng, [198]       And be in Congress seated; You err in this politic strife,       Now give the subject over, And let me own what's dear as life,       Your spleen no more discover.

EASTERN STATES TO MISSOURI.

You call us sisters, very well,       But if we're true relation, You can no longer buy and sell,       The freedom of creation; We'll never give our vote again,       That slavery be extended, We'll save you of the moral stain,       Tho' you be much offended. Our motive's pure, our cause is good,       We've nothing kept concealed, On freedom's side we long have stood,       And nothing else revealed; The Constitution is our guide,       In all our long debating, By it you must be laid aside,       Though all your angry prating. At this you grin and wildly stare,       And, blame the true heart Yankee, You raise. the strife you cannot bear,       And then you call us pranky; [199] No other cause we have in view,       No scheme for war we're laying, But that you may not hold a slave,       We wish in ev'ry saying.

SOUTHERN STATES TO THE EASTERN STATES.

Dear sisters, we must tell you plain,       In this dispute we blame you, Because this point you long maintain,       It surely will defame you; Our property we will defend,       In spite of all your brav'ry, We cannot think to condescend,       To lose the pelf of slav'ry. Let us alone who love the trade,       Of bart'ring human nature, Let this young, nymph* be sister made,       And now no longer hate her; You boast of freedom, so do we,       Then let us cease our jarring, Lest we may live to see the day,       When sisters may be warring. *Missouri.

MIDDLE STATES TO THE SOUTHERN STATES.

In justice we no more forbear,       But loudly speak for freedom, [200] To hold your salves it is not fair,       To whip, and starve, and bleed 'em; And if the cold and stony heart,       Will hold those sons of sorrow, Missouri shall not have a part,       No bondage from you borrow. We have no wish to raise a fight,       But on this ground we settle, We will defend fair freedom's right,       With all our might and mettle; Let this young nymph wash out her shame,       And then we will receive her, Until she does we'll spurn her name,       And keep her out forever.

THE POET TO ALL.

Restrain your tongues upon this theme,       And let no more be spoken, Or else, it is no idle dream,       Our bands will soon be broken; I am no friend to human sales,       Nor to such loud contentions, O'er all the States great fear prevails,       That you will make dissentions. [sic] I would advise to give, and take,       And not be over rigid, Wind up disputes for friendship's sake, [201]       Nor longer be so frigid; Let all unite before you rise,       And be no more divided, And strengthen all the nation's ties,       On this be all decided.

AN APOSTROPHE TO GEN. BRADDOCK.

Braddock! the pride of Britain's lands,       Commander of her train. Who drove in war the Gallic bands,       Or slew then, on the plain. Thy steed was like the bounding roe,       Thy sword a blaze of fire, Thy charge upon th'invading foe,       Like winter whirlwinds dire. Thy wrath was like the gath'ring storm,       That darkens round the day, When trembling trees in sad deform,       Would gladly flee away. Like lightning gleaming across the sky,       And wings destruction far, The terrors of thy sword did fly,       Along the field of war. [202] Thy voice was like the rolling floods,       That tumbles from the hills, That sweeps the cottage of the woods,       And floats away the rills. Or like loud thunder to thy foes,       Were words of thy command, Thy conq'ring arm with death bestows,       The reeking, trembling land, Like a tall oak that lifts its head,       And braves the winter's sky; So Braddock stood--nor did he dread,       The hosts that pass'd him by. Thy arm reclaim'd the bloody field,       From Gallia's strongest host, The vanquish'd foes the contest yield--       The arduous contest lost. To save thy brethren from the grave,       And peace to them restore, Thou sail'dst across th' Atlantic wave,       And hail'd Columbia's shore. Thy march was thro' a desert wide,       To meet the bloody sight, George Washington was at thy side--       Advised thee how to fight. [203] But, O! thy heart disdain'd the thought,       Of learning arts of war, Or by a "buckskin" to be taught,       From Britain's Island far. But soon, alas! the savage yell,       Resounded thro' the vale; Like blighted figs thy soldiers fell,       And the sad day bewail. 'Twas far in mountains of the west,       That Braddock bravely bled, 'Tis there thy bones are now at rest,       Among the silent dead. Tho' once so valiant and so brave,       That Gallia dreaded thee, But now thy dwelling is the grave,       Beneath a mournful tree. How low thy mansion and thy head,       In silence thou dost dwell, A grave of earth is now thy bed,       A loathsome wormy cell. Calm as the lake thy peaceful breast,       When winds distress no more, When stormy winds are lull'd to rest,       Nor beat upon the shore. [204] Two mossy stones that stand for thee,       Are only left to say: "Braddock the great, behold and see,       Has moulder'd here in clay." No mother left to mourn thee slain,       Nor wife to call thy name, The hooting owls o'er thee complain,       Thy lonely grave proclaim. The trees that grow around the spot,       The waving thistles there, This hero's name have ne'er forgot,       But waft it on the air. The stranger when he passes by       Thy grave o'er grown with moss, Shall say "Great Braddock here doth lie,       His nation's dearest loss."

MAN--A COMPLICATED ANIMAL.

MAN'S nature is so mix'd and wrought, So various in his act and thought, That all the beasts which stock the earth, And insects of degraded birth, Are seen in him--in him they move, In him they hate, devour and love. [205]       The LION in man's anger growls, In man's ambition there he scowls, He treats his weaker fellows low, And boasts his courage and the woe, The warrior walks the martial field, And thousands to his prowess yield, He stalks the conquerer [sic] of the plains, And like the Lion lives and reigns; He moves in majesty and splendor, And to this Lion all surrender.       In man's revenge the TIGER lurks, He's fierce and cruel in his works; In scenes of blood be takes delight, And seeks his prey in silent night, When none suspect their danger near, He plunges deep his fatal spear, And sates in gore, his cursed passion, Much like the Tiger's dreaded fashion.       In man's deceit the WOLF behold, He seeks his living from the fold, He sometimes feigns to be a friend, But that's his plan to tear and rend, He is ferocious, and will try, To kill and slay, but always sly, He sneaks along the midnight path, And meditates his meal of death. [206] 'Tis by deceit, the ground is gain'd, Where He is gorg'd and you are pained, He slays your peace--fills you with sorrow, And, like the Wolf, he's gone to-morrow.       The HORSE runs fearless in the field, 'Mid cannons, guns, and swords, and shields, And man, the hero, like him goes, Undaunted in the midst of foes, His courage leads him in the way, Where hosts around in eager play, He loves the conquest--pushes on, And gains the goal, or dies forlorn; He feels no rein, but onward dashes, And, like the horse, cares not for lashes.       The ASS is stupid--stubborn too, He will not drive, nor follow you, He takes his own directed way, Nor cares if he should go astray; So man is stupid--often found, To tread forbidden, desert ground; His real good, he slow discerns, And from his danger seldom turns; His stubborn will forbids to bend, Nor can be turned by foe or friend, His own direction he will take, That right or wrong he'll not forsake, [207] Tho' he be scourged, and badly bruis'd, Reprov'd aloud, and long abus'd, His life's a load, he cannot bear it, And, like the ass, his brays declare it.       The OX that labors in the fields, And patient to his master yields, He draws his burden all the day-- Consents to give his toil away. Poor man, like him the yoke must bear, And in his labor take a share; Innur'd to toil--short rest he knows, He bears a load of ills and woes, Strong fate has bound him to his task. And why? He need not murm'ring ask, He toils in patience--hopes for gain, His cares increase--his hopes are vain. What he acquires some others get, And wanton on his labor'd sweat, At last he finds his fruits are squander'd, And like the ox--nor this he ponder'd.       The craftly [sic] FOX strays far away, And seeks by wiles his nightly prey, He sucks the blood of harmless name, And gallops off in guilt and shame; And when pursued he's hard to find, Among the woods so long inclin'd, [208] His cunning art can soon prepare, A scheme to 'scape pursuers there. So man, on gain and fortune bent, Leaves native soil and home's content; He forms his plans with artful guise, To snatch the prey with sad surprise. He takes by stealth the peasant's toils, And sates his thirst on nightly spoils-- Secretes his crime from public view, And seeks the place where none pursue. He veils himself in dark designs, Unknown to most discerning minds, He's not mistrusted in his deeds, Till by his craft his booty bleeds; He then withdraws to distant places, And saves himself in swiftest races.       Behold the nature of the BEAR, In saddest mode he travels where Dark solitude and silence brood, Along the desert mountain wood; He growls along the gloomy night, His aspect surly in the light; He is no friend to creatures round, But always sad and surly found, So man in melancholy strays, A murky solitary maze; He finds the earth a barren wild, [209] Himself akin to sorrow's child; His heart grows hard as days roll on, His aspect sad, his soul forlorn, He groans his sorrows to the day, And in his desert loves to stray; He thinks he has no friend below, And lurks desponding to and fro; He is a friend to none around him, Much like a Bear I've always found him.       The MONKEY ranges o'er the woods, And on his neighbors oft intrudes; He's 'most a fool, but full of play, He's apt to steal and run away, He's quite diverting in his turn, He'll imitate, pretend to learn, He's full of motions, full of fun, He laughs at mischief he has done; He is a pest where'er he be, He is despised--you laugh to see. And what is man, but monkey grown? He lives on labors not his own; He cheats, defrauds, and pilfers too, And if he can, takes more than's due; He plagues his neighbors where he goes, And then complains they are his foes; He makes pretensions to be wise, He would sometimes in science rise; [210] But soon, alas! you plainly see, He imitates what others be; His words and manners, and his mien, Are borrowed--this is plainly seen; He thinks he's wise, he thinks he's great, But empty skulls you can but hate, If you could see how nature made him, Ah! monkey-like, she did degrade him.       The SHEEP, a harmless creature made, In innocence has trod the glade; His nature mild, he thinks no ill, To strokes of death resigns his will; He gives his fleece without complaint, Nor murmurs when he is almost faint; He seems defenceless, often slain, By bloody prowlers of the plain; Forgetting home, he's apt to stray, And in the mountains lose his way. So man that's born of heavenly mind, To peace and virtue strong inclin'd, The ills of life in patience bears, Nor vexed beneath a crowd of cares; The gross insults and every wrong, Receiv'd from the surrounding throng, He suffers long, nor once complains, In all his sorrows, grief, and pains; He thinks no ill--treats all as friends, [211] Nor his own life by war defends; Defenceless in himself he goes, Sometimes abused by cruel foes. He strays sometimes too far from home, Too long in wilds he learns to roam, Perhaps by wolves is turn asunder, Much like the sheep that loves to wander.       The DOG remark'd for sense and thought, By instinct, and by practice taught, Will long defend his owner's cause, Urg'd on by nature's rigid laws; He'll trace his game, though out of sight, Nor lose the track by day or night. His use is known--his friendship great, But dreadful to incur his hate. So man is taught, on nature's base, To run his game, a tedious race, His object always out of sight. He still pursues with ard'ous flight; And if he once should cease the prize, He hunts again, away he tries, His life's a race that often leads O'er mountains, hills, and miry meads; He may be useful to the throng, Not to himself his spoils belong, He'll bite and snarl in time of danger, And scarce befriend you when a stranger. [212]       The SERPENT crawls and licks the dust, By heaven's sentence true and just; He takes his food by thousand wiles, And thoughtless innocence beguiles; He lies secreted in the grass, And slily watches all that pass, And waits a chance, his poison slings, And each unweary victim stings; He's cursed and hated where he's known, On him there's no compassion shown! So man is curs'd, and low debas'd, And by his foes is often chas'd; He hunts the desert for his bread, And throws all nature into dread; In secret places often lies, Not easy seen by passing eyes, Deep hidden, there he waits his prey, Flings death and terror o'er the way; His tongue is poison, and his breath Gives hydrophobia--fearful death! He lures the harmless, bites them then, And hides in gross, [sic] or murky den; His name is hated--none pretend, To love, respect, or call him friend; His poisons seen in every feature, He's like the snake, a dreadful creature. [213]       The LIZZARD [sic] of contempt'ous name, That lowly crawls the dust in shame, Seeks gnats for food, or lives on air, And starves almost on empty fare. So man is seen in low disgrace, And meanly crawls his shameful race; The golden gems that round him play, He tries to catch along the way; But fast they fly, nor can be find, Enough to satisfy his mind; He grovels in the dust and lives, On empty things, and seldom thrives; He pants for something--tries to get it, But, like the Lizzard, [sic] cannot eat it.       The common TOAD that jumpes [sic] along, And fills the air with sadden'd song, Would swiftly bound his wanton'd road, But slow he moves--himself a load, He swells with wind his little size, And puffs mean greatness to your eyes; But watch him when his wind is gone, He sinks beneath indignant scorn! So man pretends to rise and run, His course is full of noise and fun; He tries too fast to leap and climb, What he pursues is not in time. Himself a load he cannot bear, [214] He faints, and falls beneath it there; With haughty pride his bosom swells, His windy feats he often tells, He looks quite big--not well refin'd-- A pompous show--but little mind. He puffs with greatness, not his own, With empty wind he's stuff'd and blown; For in himself he's lank and leaner, Than any Toad, he's poor and meaner.       The swarms of GNATS that move along, In wide, promiscuous, giddy throng, Sport on awhile in vernal day, But soon from earth are swept away! So man in long and endless train, Is seen to dance the flow'ry plain. He mixes in the countless host, On frolic wing tumult'ous tost, He airy sports on fortune's boon, And spends in play his vernal noon; But sable winds drive him from sight, And close his dance in endless night; His life is short--uncertain vapor, Like floating gnats in evening caper.       The HORNET builds ingenious nest, And there presumes to make his rest-- A bold, a wild, a restless thing, [215] And fights with sharp, envenom'd sting. So man with skill, almost divine, Constructs the palace--makes it shine, He calls it home--a resting place, But often wings a desert chase, He roves a stranger thro' the wood, In search of foreign, empty good! His nature wild--not easy tam'd, And fiercely bold--not often sham'd; Disturb him not, for if you do, He'll fight, and deeply sting you too; He loves to pierce us, you would scorn it, But marvel not for he's a hornet.       The BUZZARD cleaves his trackless way, And scents afar his putrid prey; He leaves the richer good behind, And lives on carrion, if he find. So man in flight, on mischief bent, Pursues his course with eager scent, Talks none of good, but scandal brays, And stirs corruption as he strays; He never tastes the meat that's sweeter, But Buzzard like a carrion eater!       The EAGLE, lofty bird on flight, Soars oft away from vulgar sight, He builds his nest on mountains high, Where seldom seen by human eye, [216] He owns the forest's wide domains, And there majestic lives and reigns. So man, in science rises high, He climbs, and soars, and wings the sky; He measures globes, and blazing suns, And thro' etherial [sic] regions runs; He knows the north, the burning zone, O'er every clime his wings are flown; By daring thought, he leaves below, (His meaner fellows plung'd in woe,) Sublimely soars, and ardent gains The heaven's high hills and her broad plains, 'Tis there he builds his downy nest, In that high region takes his rest, 'Tis there he reigns forever king, And undisturbed by meaner wing; He loves the region, lives adoring, And, like the Eagle, high is soaring.       The GEESE are noted for their noise, They gabble loud, unmeaning joys, They dabble in the muddy ground, And mean and filthy they are found; They don't aspire, nor leave the place, But live in folly and disgrace. So man, a noisy being is, When drunken, sordid joys are his, He gabbles nonsense and abuse, [217] He talks no good--of little use, He fills the ear with jargon sound, And bills his filth and mischief round. He deals in slander--dirty stuff, And drains the puddle--not enough; His walks are low, and seldom rise, He's base, and filthy, and unwise; He grovels low and squalls his slander, And paddles much like goose and gander.       The SWINE that lives on husks and corn, Looks sullen, sad, and grunts forlorn, With his long snout he roots the soil, And fattens on the poor man's toil; He's always greedy and untaught, In mud he wallows--low in thought! So man on meanest treasures feeds, And runs where love of money leads; His soul grows sordid and debased, He grunts for more and looks disgrac'd; He snouts the poor man out of door, Takes all he call, and seeks for more. His manners rough and quite uncouth, And cares for none but self in truth; When fat and full, he'll tusk you deep, He'll make you fly or make you weep. He grunts and eats, and greedy swallows, He's like the hog, in mud, that wallows. [218]       The crawling WORM that moves along, Despis'd and trodden by the throng; He cannot turn, nor fly the way, But often crushed; an easy prey; He's soft and frail--composed of shame, Dirt and corruption is his name. So man of dust, in dust remains, Pursu'd for prey and writhes in pains, His thoughts, so sordid, seldom rise, Death stares him where he crawls or lies, Dangers race him round the earth, And often crush him in the birth. He cannot run nor fly his doom, But soon must find a lonesome tomb; He loves the dust, the dust he's sweeping, And, like the worm, corruption creeping.       He's like a BUG, he'll pinch and bite, And, like a CAT, he'll scratch and fight; He's like a crooked, tender SNAIL, That's easy crush'd along his trail.       He's like the MOLE, that digs his way, From public view, from open day; He's YELLOW JACKET, quick and fierce, And with a sting will deeply pierce, And like a WASP along the fences, Will deeply goad you to the senses. [219]       The MUSHROOM grows, and spreads out soon; Turns black, and dies before 'tis noon; Some men are so, they'll quickly shoot, They rise and flourish without root; But soon, alas! such fade away, And leave black marks of their decay.       Man's like an Eel [sic] --a slip'ry fish, He'll twist and flounce, elude your wish; You scarce can hold him--often find Him gone, and left the scurf behind.       He's like the monstrous CROCODILE, Pretends to weep his conquer'd spoil; He's like a BAT that's blind in day, And in sad darkness loves to stray. I think he's like a POSSUM too, He grins his anguish when untrue; Or like the CRICKET, should I say? That idly chirps his hours away! He's like the OWL that hates the light, But pours his sorrows on the night. The lust and rage of every beast, Down from the greatest to the least; The fiercest passions of their race, And fearful natures that disgrace, Are plainly seen in human life, The scene of every pain and strife! [220]       O, man! why hast thou fallen so? Created first the lord below-- Intelligent, and harmless, mild, Heaven's holy image in the child; Exalted once, without a foe, Without the plague of vice and woe. But, O! thy state, how badly chang'd! Thy glory fled, thy mind deranged! More savage now than beasts of blood, Than monsters of the raging flood. More hated than the snakes in grass, Than all the reptile tribes that pass; More cross'd, distress'd and full of pain, Than all that moves on earth's broad plain. Reform thy manners, I'll remind thee, Of better nature let me find thee.

AN ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN FAIR.

My muse advent'rous, shall attempt to sing, The pleasing prospect of the op'ning spring, Shall dare to tempt Alcinda's feet abroad, To tread wide nature in her flow'ry road. When cooling zephyrs fan the flow'ry way, And twitt'ring, birds their vernal gambols play, When meads are green and fields are deck'd with flow'rs, [221] Then spend the transports of some cooling hours. Regale your eyes o'er all the landscape wide, And count the brooks that round her margin glide-- Go view the rills that gently play along, What rising glories to the grass belong!       Ascend the mound, and seek the cooling shade, And view the wonders which your God has made, 'Tis hence you see the mountain's lofty brow, And hills far distant interpers'd below; Disorder seems to spread itself around, But skill divine in matchless beauty's found. The rising poplar in the expanding green, And humble glories deck the op'ning scene, Behind you vista see the village there, Where swains are toiling for their worldly care. See rural mansions rising round the grove, And harmless herds in wanton pleasures rove; The drifted smoke descends along the vale, And seems to mourn where absent lovers fail! Thine eye beholds the distant river roll, Thou hear'st her murm'ring o'er the rocky shoal; Her winding channel bends along the land, And opens where the smoky hamlets stand; Perhaps she pours a copious tide away, Amid the vale she makes a long delay, [222] And forms those banks where wand'ring lovers go To vent their sorrow, and to weep their woe.       The distant bells sound faintly to the ear, Or you the lowing herds at distance hear; The milk-maid wanders o'er the passing way, Hies home her cattle in their roving play.       The rustics now lay down their tools awhile, And homeward walk to cease from dusty toil, They whistle forth their notes of comic glee, And seek the cot of loving wife, to see The babes and wife with sweet ecstatic charms, Now meet the rustic with extended arms! Far o'er the hill is tun'd a mournful lay, Where lovers with the flute or spinnet [sic] play.       O! hear the birds sweet singing to their loves, Thro' all the green, thro' all the vocal groves Their varied notes, their trilling anthems run, And mournful most when low the ev'ning sun; Some sing aloud, ambitious to be known, And others plaintive scarcely not their own-- Some strike a note to chant a partner's theme, Some mourn in absence, and to weep they seem, In lonesome woods amid the growing glooms, A songstress sweet, her sweetest notes assumes, Philoma sings and lulls them all to sleep, And while they rest she can't forbear to weep; [223] She chants the grove, delightful is her lay, She soothes the lover in his midnight way. Thou hear'st the dove, a sweet and mournful song, A plaintive note, a note of something wrong; The lay is solemn, and the note sincere, Her mate seems absent and can never hear-- She coos, she calls, expostulates the groves, To give to her the absent one she loves; At eve's approach, she haunts the lonesome tree, To call her love, and hopes her love to see-- Then bends her head, and covers o'er her wing, She sleeps in silence, and no more can sing.       Look down the vale, the rising lily see, There beauty flows in full variety, Her modest stature decorates the green, No spot, nor wrinkle, in her bloom is seen. A modest form behold! without pretence, Like virtuous maids in harmless innocence.       Behold the flow'rs expand in living bloom, Display their glory, and their grace assume; Their varied hues in rising beauties glow, In fields extensive, and in vales below. Some rise in blue, and some are tring'd [sic] with gold, And numerous shades in modest pride unfold. No mimic art, nor toilsome hand, has plac'd Their beauteous order--all by nature grac'd; [224] Their careless form displays more beauty there, Than prudes could show with all their finic care. Behold them tremble as the zephyrs move, Inhale their fragrance, and their odors prove; The sweet perfume that passes thro' the air, Must give delight, and quell the rising care. Now see the blushes in the orchards spread, Where lovely nymphs in vernal seasons tread, Their mingling graces and their beauties rise, To charm the soul and captivate the eyes; The fanning breezes lull the swain asleep, And softly o'er the swelling bosom creep; They drive the perspirating heat away, And chant thy voice to join creation's lay.       Contemplate now on what thy walk may teach, Let vocal woods thy tender passions reach; Let brooks and rills and mountains, meads, and flow'rs, Now preach thee wisdom, and refine thy pow'rs. Remember long what various notes were sung, What diff'rent meanings in their anthems rung; The merry warblers sang their lays along, And tun'd their pleasure to the busy throng, But evening shades o'er all the valleys spread, And struck their music and their pleasures dead. So wanton youth who sport on fortune's boon, In pride and pleasure spend their vernal noon; [225] Their theme delightful, seems to charm the ear, While care is fled and all distressful fear; But hoary age destroys their empty mirth, Their day grows dim, their joys of little worth; Their sun declines and brings sad darkness on, Long silence reigns and all their pleasures gone!       The fainting sun reclines beyond thy sight, E'er shadows roll their darkness into night Thy walk resume, and find the homeward way, And ne'er forget creation's vocal lay. As ye advance, let converse cheer the mind, With morals wise, and sentiments refin'd; Walk slowly on, and keep the house in view, And talk of wonders which are ever new; Ensnare thy courtier with the skill of thought, Let heav'n and earth be in thy subject bro't. Rehearse the beauties that on earth extend, Their place, their use, their various orders blend; Talk oceans rivers, mountains, kingdom's [sic] o'er, Forests, fields, and all the distant shore; Let nations, empires and their arts be told, Their pride and grandeur, and their feasts of old. On nature dwell, and in thy accents know What grades subservient crawl the earth below; The lion yonder roars his anger round, While distant herds stand trembling at the sound; [226] There burden'd camels rove the desert sand, And here, the horse submissive ploughs the land; The scaly nations swimming in the sea, The plumy birds, and the industrious bee, And insects too, that meanly crawl the earth, Of honor less, and less of real worth, Should serve for thee in conversation's strain, And thus is man a complicated train. E'er daylight's gone return, and near the door Converse more freely than thou didst before-- Near to the house when summer's grass is green, When shining stars and brighter moon are seen, There sit awhile, thy social moments spend, And round the skies thy copious thoughts extend. While sprinkling dews revive the drooping rose, And murm'ring zephyrs wake their short repose, And waft perfume along the passing air, Let pleasure pass in conversation there. Thy rosy cheeks with modest grace shall shine, As virtue, knowledge, and good sense are thine; With mind inform'd let rapt'rous visions fly, And trace the wonders of the boundless sky.       Compare those orbs that rove expansive space, To youthful lovers in their wonted race; Some glow with light, and shine effulgence near, But soon withdraw--their glories disappear! They soon perform their rapid flight in air, [227] And leave the horizon in dark despair; The vulgar eye, once dazzled with the train, Now meets the dark and looks for light in vain! Some far remote with less resplendence glow, But constant honors from their orbits flow; As they advance their fair ether'al race, They shine in glory and increase in grace; Their midnight luster dwells upon the sight, And cheers the horrors of the sable night; They move in grandeur o'er our beggar'd world, While blazing comets are in ether hurl'd.       So men and manners differ in degree, They show their parts, but in their parts we see Some shine in grace and grandeur not their own, For grace and grandeur they have never known; Their bows are borrow'd, and their language too They glow and dazzle only while they're new.       Tho' gaudy plumes bedeck the coxcomb race, A short acquaintance brings them to disgrace! The men of virtue shine in virtue's dress, They glory not in dross--in tinsel less; Their minds a store house, only known to few, Their worth intrinsic, and their friendship true; Behold them in their native luster bright, Reflect resplendence and increase in light; Their hearts are warm, their faithful hearts declare, [228] Their pure intentions to solace the fair. Such men can bless the charmer of their hearts, Their fix'd affection never once departs; Their flame of virtue ever shall remain, While fops and beaux may show their parts in vain.       A man of manners, and a man of worth, Has estimated all the things of earth; With balance justly, he has weighed them all, And down, like trifles, he has seen them fall; He's not content with mere external things, From deeper mines he knows true pleasure springs. A mind serene, an upright soul he knows, Can only triumph over human woes; His soul pacific, like a tranquil bay, He lived last year as he would live to-day; The path of riot he has seldom trod, He learns his duty in the Book of God-- The happy nymph who weds a man like this, Shall find her days replete with purest bliss. A theme untouched must yet belong to you, In strains sublime I would the theme pursue-- Ne'er let those hearts that round thy heart entwine, Presume you never learn'd a thought divine; [229] Extend your thoughts, let holy visions run, And catch new fire from the eternal throne.       Now trace all nature to the great first cause, And tell the use of his immortal laws-- His potent word produc'd the spacious seas, His power controls all nature as he please; His wond'rous skill brought forth the race of man, And bound in golden chains the social plan; The bond of union both the sexes join'd, And Hymen's mystic ties link'd mind to mind! God feeds, supports, preserves the human race, And condescends to visit them with grace; With liberal hand compassionates the poor, A Saviour comes, the sinner to restore; His boundless love pervades his vast domain, Would woo the soul when joys eternal reign. We read in words, by inspiration giv'n, Our never-fading crown laid up in heav'n.       Extend your thoughts, and let your thought arise, And meditate the bounty of the skies; Behold yourself a creature of a day, Perhaps in angel now debased in clay, And, O! that clay so wonderfully wrought, By God created and by Jesus bought! That handsome form, that animated frame, [230] The pow'r and wisdom of your God proclaim; Remains dependent on his bounteous hand, For all the blessings which you now command. His great compassion and preserving care, Should woo thy soul to penitential pray'r.       Think not a prayer in exercise too low, Nor blush when silent tears repentant flow; The ground of prayer is sacred to the good, There Ab'ram, Moses and the prophets stood. Immortal women on that holy ground, Obtained a blessing and a Saviour found; That is the place where mortal worms receive The stamp of fame, with their Creator live; The soul exalts, becomes unfeign'd, upright, Prepares to tread the golden walks of light.       Alcinda, try to make your tomb the skies, And write your epitaph that ever dies! Make one your friend who never will betray, Nor leave you sad in the distressing day-- Give him your hand, and not your heart withhold, Who decks the bridal day with crowns of gold! Traverse with him, wherever he may go, Nor once forsake his great commands below; He'll dress you o'er in garments white and clean, [231] Nor spot, nor wrinkle, nor a fault be seen, In pious virtues and in christian grace, Thy life shall shine amidst thy kindred race; No pious soul but would rejoice to see, Those blissful graces center all in thee. No loss of honor--these thy life sustain, For now thy glory and thy wealth remain. No disappointments call distress thy mind, For grace commands thee here to be resign'd.       The weaker vessel now shall pass along, Triumphant sail amid a pirate throng; No boist'rous surge shall plunge her in the deep, Nor dang'rous quicksands give her cause to weep-- Her sails expanded, and her port in view-- Her acclamations, and her hopes renew; She weighs her anchor, and her perils cease, She gains the shores of everlasting peace, Where troubles end in lands of sweet repose, Beholds with pleasure bow she 'scap'd her woes; She sees her treasure, as she gains the prize, And sings her blissful fortune in the skies.       Is this Alcinda? Will she hear my song? To her the strains of Poesy belong. The gifts of nature and of grace combine, To make her virtue and her beauty shine; [232] While thus adorn'd, I'll sing her worthy name, And hope high heaven will record her fame.

A VISION,
Representing a view of the different parties of religion,       and their conduct towards each other.
	Ascending on a mountain high,       I saw the distant scene, Extending onward to the sky,       Nor clouds to intervene. Around the place I wond'ring stood       Arose a cooling spring, Which ran along the shady wood,       Where birds wild anthems sing. I tasted of the waters there,       And to my great surprise, An instant banish'd all my care,       And quick'ned both my eyes! I felt my inward strength increase,       And heal'd was ev'ry wound; I felt a cure from all disease,       My sense was strong and sound. I then beheld far off before,       A field extensive there; [233] I saw a thousand sheep, or more,       Along the brook repair. I went toward that pleasant plain,       And on the margin stood, I yet had felt no inward pain,       Nor thought of aught but good. But here a thousand thoughts arose,       To make new pains arise; I saw the cause of many woes--       The cause of weeping eyes. I saw the cots and houses stand,       Thick crowded on the place, There men abode, and gave command       To all the sheep-fold race. A wall enclos'd this pleasant ground,       But broken look'd the wall-- 'Twas first intended as the bound,       Of sheep and shepherds all. I look'd within, and did behold,       An unsuspected scene: Innumerous fences, new and old,       Cross to and fro the green. In ev'ry field I saw some sheep,       And there a shepherd too; [234] His own he'd watch and try to keep,       And only this he'd do. But most of all what pain'd my heart,       I heard the lambkins mourn, In ev'ry fold there seem'd a smart,       A countenance forlorn. They were one fold, all in one plain,       But were asunder driv'n; And now they vent their grief and pain,       And mourn from morn till eve'n. Tho' separated by a fence,       They lov'd their likeness still, They told their love by instinct sense,       And mourn'd their broken will. I saw the sheep would often try,       To push the fences down, That they might all together lie,       And all their sorrows drown. But shepherds, constant watching there,       Would fright them soon away; And strong their fences would repair,       Lest they should go astray. Another cause of grief I saw,       The shepherds disagreed; [235] Each had a rule and sep'rate law,       His flock along to lead. The shepherds clamor'd--often fought,       Alarm'd their flocks so tame; The cause of this I serious thought,       And found it to their shame. When lambs were yean'd in this one's fold,       He'd sing the shepherds lay, But that one then would be so bold,       He would steal the lambs away. A sharp dispute would then ensue,       Sometimes a bloody fight, The strongest would the theft pursue,       And boast his conquering might. This one proclaims the wicked deed,       And shouts aloud his joy, When he beholds his brother bleed,       Or can his peace destroy. That one, tho' vanquish'd, threats his foe,       Returns him all the pain, From fold to fold each one would go,       To pilfer o'er the plain. Each shepherd mark'd his tender lambs,       And taught them what to do; [236] The fold were known by different names,       And separate pastures knew. I saw some pastures eaten bare,       The sheep were poor and lean; Briers and burrs were plenty there,       No herbage to be seen. They then would try to leave their bounds,       For better pastures try, But shepherds guarding well their grounds,       Would chase them back to die. Long time I look'd,--I sought to find,       If I could learn the cause, Why shepherds did such burdens bind,       And urge such rigid laws. I understood the shepherds were       Engag'd for wages high, They gained their bread and raiment there,       And did their wants supply. They'd shear their flocks and keep the fleece,       And sell it out for gain, And thus their store they did increase--       Grew pompous, proud and vain. No wonder then, thought I, for true,       The shepherds were so mean, [237] Why they should keep their flocks in two,       And why their flocks so lean. For o'er the plain I heard a sound,       The shepherds were amaz'd-- A gen'ral clamor went around,       And I astonished gaz'd! Some men had enter'd on the plain,       Their words around me run; They sounded loud the melting strain:       "We've come to make you one." These men appear'd in shepherd's dress,       They bore the shepherd's rod; They wore the garb of righteousness,       And look'd like men of God. Some had a torch of burning flame,       To burn each fence away, The fire confus'd and put to shame       The hirelings all the day. Some took the sword and soon began       To make the hirelings bleed-- The hirelings muster'd all their clan,       For once they all agreed! They chose to fight against a few,       But soon they fled away; [238] They were unarm'd, and cowards too,       And trembled with dismay. Those valient [sic] men, like men of God,       Triumphant march'd along; They burnt the fences far abroad,       Nor fear'd the threat'ning throng. They sounded loud the message sweet,       The message from above: "That ev'ry fold should quickly meet,       And dwell in peace and love." The sheep from diff'rent folds began       To gather round the place, Where they were taught to be but one,       And feed on richer grace. A fold soon gather'd and was large,       At first the sheep were bare; Those men, as shepherds, took the charge,       To nurse and feed them there. The shepherds left their houses, lands,       And all on earth beside, To tend upon this flock's demands,       And for its wants provide. They led the sheep thro' frosts and snow,       O'er hill and dale they went, [239] Refresh'd them where sweet waters flow,       And thus their time they spent. These men were often hungry, cold,       Grew weary, poor, and faint; They took no fleece from off the fold,       Were silent in complaint. This fold increas'd--spread o'er the green,       The sheep were fat and strong; Then I beheld another scene,       Of something cruel, wrong. The men who fed them shortly pin'd,       In poverty and pain, They saw the sheep were not inclin'd,       To give them of their gain. The faithful shepherds were but few,       The sheep would not obey; They wanton'd on the shepherd's due,       And thus they went astray. Ah! cruel sheep, responded I,       Ungrateful and unkind, To see your worthy shepherds die,       For them no raiment find. They spent their time, and money, too,       To save you from your grief, [240] But now they find no love from you,       To give them blest relief. Now give your shepherds what you owe,       And then they'll lead you on; Or else you'll soon return to woe,       Be destitute--forlorn.

EPISODE,

To the memory of Elder Joseph Nesmith of Virginia.

Let the proud muse delight herself to raise, The names of heroes to immortal praise; Let her record the wonders they have done, What feats achiev'd, and battles they have won.       An humble muse shall now vibrate the lyre, My bosom swell, and all my theme inspire To tell the thousands--thousands yet unborn, The heavenly virtues that my friend adorn.       My God convinc'd him in his sportive youth, The ways of error, and the force of truth, And turn'd the current of his mind away From all the sins of this adult'rous day. He cloth'd him meekly with his mantling love, And touch'd his lips with hallowed fire above; God gave command that he should now declare, [241] And far abroad the name of Jesus bear. His mind enraptur'd with celestial views, With meek consent the heavenly call pursues, Apostle-like, untaught in priestly schools, Nor fill'd with jargon, known in priestly rules; He deals the word direct, by Jesus giv'n, And points us out the narrow way to heav'n. His mind capacious--richly stor'd with sense, Sublimely soars with charming eloquence. He paints creation in poetic strains Describes the beauties of the flow'ry plains; And tells the grandeur of the rising hills, The copious rivers and the gliding rills. Like birds of lofty wing in airy haste, Ascending high above the world's broad waste, To shun a storm from thund'ring skies below, And seek a rest that none but they can know, So he with rapt'rous wing yet more sublime, Devoutly soars above our stormy clime, And seems to travel in the regions where He plucks, and wears ambrosial laurels there; In strains seraphic he his message tells, And like a flood his flowing bosom swells. He seems to ope the golden gates of bliss, To show the saints, who bask in endless peace; He tells the glories of the eternal throne, In transports sweet, and language all his own. [242]       Like eagles wing their far etherial [sic] flight, Above the meaner birds from mortal sight, He mounts aloft on wings sublimely high, And brings glad tidings from the upper sky. His art is simple and his language chaste, And all his metaphors seem rightly plac'd; His gestures suited to the theme he tells, From reason cool to burning rapture swells; He pours the torrent of his soul around On all who listen in amaze profound. Like flowing streams increase their flow'ry sides, And form, at least, extensive sea-like tides; So have his flowing accents sweetly rung, And heav'nly strains increased upon his tongue. He seems acquainted with the human mind, With logic and philosophy combin'd; He shows the nature of immortal laws, That God's the author of effect and cause; Dead matter can't produce itself and live, In thousand forms like we behold it thrive; Nor could more chance together dumb and blind, Transform her image into Newton's mind. And as we see all matter round us grow. In bodies move and in the water flow, As suns illume, and globes revolve in space, And none can leave their orbit's destin'd place; A pow'r must form, a pow'r divine control, [243] The myriad worlds that in wide ether roll; All nature speaks, and loud declares a God, Who form'd and rules the Universe abroad.       In him our God has humbled human pride, In him, the christian tempers all abide; And like resplendent jewels richly shine, When smooth'd and polish'd from the diamond mine; The things of earth, he would esteem as dross, And glory only in a Saviour's cross.       The world's deceit--her clamors on his name, Her tongue of slander, and her tongue of fame, Can never lure this humble man of prayer, To taste again her poison'd pleasures there; The wealth he seeks is not of sordid dust, Nor gold that cankers, nor the hoards that rust; He's plac'd his treasure in the upper skies-- Eternal life is his immortal prize. He lives by faith, by faith he sees the land, Where faithful saints with crowns of glory stand; A blissful portion he enjoys below, And tastes the pleasures sinners never know.       He preaches freedom in the Saviour's name, To cheerless captives sunk in lawless shame; He opes the gospel like expanded gates, Where boundless grace for starving thousands waits-- [244] Declares the gospel is the rule of life, The bonds of union free from war and strife; For church discipline 'twas by Jesus given, To rule aud [sic] guide the high-born sons of heav'n. His souls abhors the rage for party names, That kindles passions into fearful flames; And separates the fold asunder wide-- That makes the christians in their forms divide; He loud proclaims that christian union sweet, Where all distinctions in one int'rest meet; Where useless forms and names are done away, And saints rejoice and all together pray.       Go on my brother--preach the word of God, May Jesus guard you in the heavenly road; I'll follow on, and meet you in the land, Where we'll rejoice in one celestial band.

THE DEVIL ADVERTISED.

A busy body in the land,       Goes wand'ring up and down; The schemy scoundrel long has plann'd,       To gain a great renown. I cannot give a full detail       Of features, nor his size; [245] But I am told he has a tail,       A face, and ears, and eyes. His month, they say, is monstrous wide,       And like a cat he claws; A human voice, a shaggy hide,       His feet like lion's paws. It is supposed he has two wings,       And like an eagle flies O'er all the world, he knows all things,       And wiser than the wise. He like an angel oft appears,       And with a lovely face, Pretends to shed a flood of tears,       And mourns our wretched race. He's very social and polite,       Converses free and loud, He's busy all the day and night,       To charm and lead the crowd. His parentage is yet unknown,       And none can tell his birth; In his descent he was alone,       And has no kin on earth. But tho' he's old, he's very gay,       And handsome, tall, and straight; [246] He courts the fair without dismay,       On them he's fond to wait. And they are fond, tho' strange to tell,       That he should join their train; And none can please them half so well,       Of him but few complain. He visits them in private rooms,       And so familiar there, That like a husband he presumes       To fondle with the fair. He often helps them when they dress,       He makes their corset boards, He pins their ruffles--gives caress,       Officious aid affords. When ladies gather round their tea,       In fashionable style; He visits there in merry glee,       And cheers them up the while. He's foremost there in telling news,       He tattles till he knows; And deals out slander and abuse,       Destruction on his foes. He tries his guests to entertain,       And tells what neighbors do; [247] Of them he always will complain,       In slanders old and new. He travels far from East to West,       And visits high and low, He drives from thousands all their rest,       And fills their hearts with woe. He boasts his courage and his skill,       In battles, blood, and fight, How soon his thousands he can kill,       And put his foes to flight. He loves a dram, and often drinks,       A drunkard's double share; He staggers, swears and often sinks,       In mud and scandal there. Ah! then he raves and storms along,       He threatens all around; But soon he feels amid the throng,       His head upon the ground. He is a hypocrite, I say,       For I can well declare, When saints collect to sing and pray,       I have beheld him there. He sometimes groans, and shouts aloud,       No one so good as he; [248] But quickly when he leaves the crowd,       He'll wrong and slander thee. He often fills the solemn place,       Where preachers ought to stand; Presumes to publish heavenly grace,       To sinners o'er the land. He is a Fatalist, you know,       His doctrine, strange to say, Predestinates a part to woe,       And some to realms of day. He thus deceives the heart of man,       Persuades him all is well; And leads him in this wicked plan,       Along the road to hell. He is a lawyer--often pleads,       The guilty must go clear, Disputes and suits, and quarrels breeds,       Without remorse and fear. He seems expert in all the arts,       He laughs, and he can weep; He's always arm'd with hidden darts,       And haunts where misers sleep. He is a liar and a cheat,       A gambler and a rake; [249] And with the proud he has a seat       He never will forsake. He is a thief, and robber too,       He robb'd me of my all, And I am left as beggars do,       Upon my knees to fall. I can't describe the dress he wears,       He changes every day; When for the church in black prepares,       And ruffles for the play. His name I cannot fully tell,       I've heard them call him "Devil;" "Old Sam," "Old Boy," an "Imp of Hell,' [sic]       "The source and root of evil." He has a mask upon his face,       By which he's better known; He bears the letters of disgrace,       For blackest crimes, his own. If any one will safely bind,       And bring him to the squire, A thousand dollars he shall find,       And more if he require. Confine him close within some jail,       Nor let him loose again; [250] Sweet peace shall then o'er all prevail,       And bliss without a pain.

THOUGHTS ON THE 39TH CHAPTER OF JOB.

In wind and storm the dreadful God descends, And speaks to Job, while Job with awe attends His sonorous words, like ten-fold thunders sound, Shrill thro' the air, and shake the smould'ring ground. Presumpt'ous Job, to speak against thy God, To murmur at my sore avenging rod.       Gird up thy loins, before my presence stand, And answer, if thou canst, when I demand; Look round the earth, then view the spacious sky, What boundless wonders fill the roving eye! No chance directed, but the works divine, That form'd the globe, and made the planets shine. Thou can'st not know, till I reveal to you, How first wide nature's fields arose to view, Trace up effects, search out the latent cause: The first is found by universal laws, This is the source whence all creation came, Jehovah self-existent, God the name.       I spoke, choatic [sic] darkness fed away, And light effulgent form'd the coming day, [251] I laid creation's first foundation stone, And rear'd the temple by my strength alone, I roll'd confusion, and disorder far, And hush'd forever the chaotic war, The air I parted from the solid earth, And fire and water form'd the living birth; With compass vast I scrib'd all ample round, And formed the measure of the rising ground. I stretch afar the Equinoctial line, The Orient light forever there to shine; I pois'd the earth in atmospheric air, And bade it roll within its orbit there. From West to East I bade it fly along, And to this motion day and night belong; I fix'd its axis in the steady poles-- As it revolves and round its circuit rolls, The seasons turn, to change the earth's green robe, And bear their balmy sweets around the globe! I furrow'd deep, and cleft its ample side, And there the waters roll their rapid tide. I rent her bowels--scoop'd a dreadful steep, Where scaly monsters swim the wond'rous deep; I clos'd the dark recess from mortal sight, And hid her wonders in eternal night; Tho' she may toss her waves immensely high, And lash the summit of the lofty sky; [252] The furious winds may on her bosom blow, But she can never pass her bounds below; Her raging billows die at my command, And spend their fury on the reeking sand; Thus far thy flowing tide may come, I said, And here thy proudest waves be ever staid.       I now demand of thee, and canst thou tell, Who caused the day, and where the light doth dwell? Who gave command for morning light to spring, And fly abroad on universal wing? To gild the horrors of the western skies, Thence Ebon darkness from her chamber flies, Where stop the cheering beams of rosy light, That rend the curtains of the sable night? The adoring savage sees the blazing flood, And flies the vengeance of his guilt and blood; East thou researched the bottom of the main? Or known the place where Leviathans reign? Did thy adventurous foot traverse the path That leads to all her dismal mates of death? Canst thou declare why she remains so low, While thousand rivers in her bosom flow? Is it her center or her bed that sinks? That keeps her even with the flowing brinks? Canst thou declare these strange phenomena, And tell where all her rivers flow away?       The human heart contains the crimson flood Where circulate a thousand streams of blood; In the left side I placed the ventricle, And marked the route, the great canal, Where flows the blood received in thousand tubes, [253] To all extremes the current thus protrudes. At the extremes of this constructed frame, I placed the valves to play their constant game, The arteries, hence, like copious rivers flow, Receive their portion from the distant toe, And pour the torrent in the trembling heart. The living current glides thro' every heart, The heart receives, the heart conveys away The thousand strains that thro' the system play.       So I have placed in ocean's secret bed, A thousand channels which are ever fed, With copious torrents from the mother main, Which fill forever every distant vein. Those secret streams convey the tide away, And burst their passage into open day. This is the source whence all the rivers flow, Or cooling brooks that glide the earth below; The springs replenish from the distant main, And find a passage, and return again! Hast thou beheld the horrors of the gates? Where ghastly death with his pale trophies waits! Canst thou inform where his dread spoils are laid In lands Elysian, or Tartarian shade? Where groan the wicked who despised their God? Where stay the righteous--in what blest abode? Has this fell monster swept them all away, And laid them level in a tomb of clay? Have kings and beggars here together met? Do slaves and tyrants with each other set? Do they promiscuous in sad silence sleep Where none rejoice, and all forget to weep? [254] Do they pass on and leave their first abodes, And rise and glow, and live in other modes? And transmutated in a thousand forms, Do they exist in fish, or beasts, or worms? The sceptic mind would feign believe it true, But truth divine I'll now reveal to you.       Tho' death may conquer in a thousand fields, And strip the soldier of his boasted shields; Tho' he may sweep the wide extended earth, Of every grade, and every different birth, And sate his sable mansions with the slain, I'll conquer him, and let the righteous reign! Poor coward man too oft regrets to die, Unknown, untaught where he's destined to fly; Great death leads forth the righteous to repose, Where they forget this warring world of woes. They seem to slumber till they bear the sound: "Arise ye nations underneath the ground!" 'Tis then they'll mount on high celestial wing, And say: "O! death, where is thy boasted sting?" Not so the wicked--when they close their eyes, In hopeless sorrow, and despairing cries, Death's gloomy shade redoubles all their pains, Their souls are anguished where grim darkness reigns; Their conscious guilt awakes their troubled souls, And points them where the fiercer anguish rolls.       Their dreams are frightful in their dark abode, They fear the stroke of some avenging rod; And when they hear the last day's trumpet sound, They'll burst the barriers of their gloom profound, [255] The conscious guilt in which they left the world, When they behold the Prince of Grace unfurled, Shall fast increase in that terrific hour, As he displays his justice and his power.       I'll summon death from his triumphal car, And raise his conquered millions from afar; The trembling monster shall no longer boast, His blood and carnage, and his numerous host. I'll blot his memory from the book of fame, To cease forever in eternal shame; I then will reign thro' all the realms abroad, And shining millions own me for their God.       Hast thou traversed the surface of the globe, Or seen the beauties of her verdant robe? Hast thou beheld her far sequestered shade, Where howling horrors and thick gloom pervade? Didst thou ascend the mountain's lofty brow, To view the landscape interspersed below? Who formed the hills, or hast the mountains drawn, And stretch'd the margin of the flowery lawn? Who reared the rocks, projected far in air? No human foot can ever venture there! Hast thou beheld the wonderous [sic] way To the fair chambers of effulgent day? Where are the floods of ever-flowing light, That blaze resplendence on the raptured sight?

FAREWELL TO YOUTH--AN ALLEGORY.

Farewell to beauty, blooming flowers,       And all their sweet delight To pebbly brooks and shady bowers,       And all that charm the sight. Those blooming months are rolled away,       When songs attuned the plain; Far fled the sweet perennial day,       That soothed the rising pain. Cold winter now with horrid gloom,       Comes raving through the air, And strips the earth of all her bloom,       And leaves it sad and bare! The rural rustic nightly hears,       The Ærial storms arise; Tumultuous noise invades his ears,       And rumbles round the skies. The forests groan in silent night,       To warn the world of pain, The skulking beasts in wild affright.       Scud fast along the plain. How fair the morning of my day,       When ev'ry cloud withdrew; Enchanting flowers allured my way,       And the soft zephyr blew. The landscape opened far and wide,       Where every beauty grew, And youthful pleasure's flowing tide,       Extended to my view. [257] Those pleasant hours I thought would stay,       The flowers forever bloom, I little thought the rising day       Would close in sullen gloom. But, O! the mid-day sun withdrew,       The darkling clouds came on-- The stormy winds in fury blew,       All nature looked forlorn! The dreadful storm around the sky,       In burning lightning flew; The bending forests gave a sigh,       And I stood trembling too. Amid the gloom I heard a groan,       It hollow whispering said, The pleasures of thy youth are flown,       Thy golden dreams have fled." I looked around with sad surprise,       And saw the plain was bare, The flowers had faded in my eyes,       And every beauty there. The rose had withered, and the thorn       On ev'ry briar grew; I felt alarmed and faint, forlorn,       When far more comfort flew. My heart was pained and full of woe,       I felt no true delight; The howling winds remained to blow,       My day was turned to night. Farewell to youth, to former joys,       And my companions gay; [258] 'Tis withered age my peace destroy,       And points me to the clay.

ON SOLITUDE.

Ye silent shades I now have found ye,       Conceal me from the multitude; Enclose your leafy wreaths around me,       Nor let a vagrant foot intrude; Here let me drink your cooling fountains,       And hear sweet birds attune their lays, Along the dells and rising mountains,       O, let me hear what wisdom says. 'Tis here I long have wished to wander,       Far from the noisy scenes of life; O! give me now some time to ponder,       And live secluded from all strife; O let me build my cottage lowly,       And spent my life's short remnant here, And as I walk the green moss slowly,       I'll wipe away the world's cold tear. Let others boast their carnal pleasure,       And feast on what the world contains, I'll envy not their golden treasure,       Nor all the spoils of conquered plains; Content with charms of nature's glory,       I'll seek no more of human pride, Nor longer or hear the fatal story,       Of those who swim her silv'ry tide. The boasted soldier, long victorious,       All laureled over with rising fame, [259] Must soon be conquered--fall inglorious.       And hear no more his sounding name: The gorgeous monarchs--pride of nations,       The lords of all the earth below; O see them leave their pompous stations,       And down to dust and silence go. I see the forest leaves are faded,       And all the flowery plains decay, Like age, by foul diseases aided,       Turn pale and wither into clay; My moments like an arrow flying,       Convey me swiftly to the ground, Soon my friends may see me dying,       And shed their needless tears around. The stormy winds around me roaring,       Now strip the green leaf foliage bare, Here as I sit this life deploring,       I see death's image travel there; What sweets, I ask, can earth afford me,       In all her pomp and airy show, When crippled age with sorrows load me,       When death shall strike his fatal blow! Here in a mood of gloomy sadness,       O let me think of future time; Here let me rise in silent gladness,       While I survey your heavenly clime; There cease those sorrows, tears and sighing,       That fill my heart with bursting grief, There sound those songs of christians vying,       Who find salvation and relief.

ON MY OLD PEN.

Go, you scrub, and rant no more,       Rest awhile, and sleep, and snore; End your labors and your motion, Lest you sink in your black ocean.       Toil has made you rough and plain,       Neighbors say you give them pain, Some declare you touch and rub them. Ruffian-like would wound and drub them.       Once your bill wits tough and long,       Dabbled much in prose and song, Harsh has been your broken measure, Worth few thanks and less in treasure.       Raging like the storm that blows,       Murmuring at the faults of foes, Making loud and dreadful clatter, About a small and trifling matter.       Need you care how others sill,       How they end or how begin? Priests, you say, the church oppresses, Need you feel for her distresses?       No, my sir, were you to try       Till you'd famish, starve and die-- Could you roar like Vulcan's thunders, Still they'd hold their creeds and blunders.       Weeping, as you do in verse,       Makes your case with them the worse; Tears provoke them up to madness, Scorning at your gloom and sadness. [261]       Tear the mountains all away,       Plant them in the roaring sea Then you may create the creature, Form anew his every feature.       But, alas! you never can       Turn the wayward course of man, Give yourself no further trouble, Lest you make your sorrows double.       Let creed makers take their way,       Like the gnats that swarm and play, Let them push their Anti courses, Death will end their feuds and forces.       This addressed, the feather said:       Thousands wish me dumb and dead; But their threats and constant clamors Still increase my toils and stammers.       Now I will lay down awhile,       Cease my travel and my toil, If I sleep I will be dreaming, Crazy brains will still be teaming. [sic]       Rest is not designed for me,       Sleep or waked, I yet must be Thinking, when my slumber ended, Some will say the pen's amended. [262]

[LTGL 129-262]