_ ¢ Ee Spemes Zh as : Ss i Pe aaa eg er on a F in the Clerk’s Oflice of the District Court for the District of Nor * JOHN F. TROW, Printeny 49 Ann street, New York. 4 * ane in'teitey according to Act of Congress, in the year 1953, th Caroline. CONTENTS OF VOL. IL. PAGE Luora. The Blind Girl to her Bible The Three Angels. ‘ : ‘ , 12 Lines 15 ; Lines to the Statesville Division of the Sons of Temper- I ance s : Dy 16 | To my Mother . : Be sae ° . 19 } “Higher? .° |. ; ¢ 2 20 } A Lady to her Lover . : : 4 : 22 | The Motherless j 5 ‘ : 24 \ 1 Axsrauam Forrest Morevrap. q The Mississippi—A Verisimilitude : i : 29 a The Hills of Dan A : ; A ; 33 ' Conscience, Reflection, and Repentance-—An Allegory 84 ; i Lines found after his. death ; ‘ 5 A 89 i { The Genius of Dan . : j Bie ; 40 Mountain EclogueDamon and Delia . ‘ : 42 Mrs, Grorar C. Menpenuatt. To the Fearful ‘ i . Z . 47 4. CONTENTS. Miss Any Porn. To a Bird in the Winter Ivanhoe and Rebecca To Mary . . Pride and Humility . The Piece of Blue The Waking Boy Waker Pearce. Ode to Love The Birth of Hope Vesperia Song of the Gondolier To Love . Cartes C, Ranorrav. Lines, written off Pico, August, 1888 Lines written while entering the Port of Fayal To the Stormy Petrel Tur Hoy. Rozerr Srrance, The Smile of Love The Rose-bud of North Carolina Earth’s Lullaby to her Children Ballad Ballad Sonnet 5 : The Music of the Heart Lines to a lady accompanying a volume of Festas Lines written in a Lady’s Album The Lost Pleiad James B. Siirparn. Carolina . 63 64 65 65 69 71 ho (a 74 17 79 80 81 82 82 83 84 88 CONTENTS, M ibs s. PAGE Lines to the Author of the “Hills of Dan” : 106 “How ean I smile again?” F : a Z 108 To a Young Lady on her Birth-day : : 110 The Poet?s Lay 116 James F, Srnroys, The Florida Serenade 121 The Mississippi River 128 A Sigh for the Past . A 124 Pm Deaf and hear thee not 125 . My Angel Child 127 “Don’t give up the Ship ” 129 Tears ; : 131 The Dying Chief's Address 83 A. P, Sprrry. Old Guilford, I love thee 136 Night 1387 Life’s a Dream 138 Tur Hoy. Jonn Lewis Tayror, The Memory of an Engaging Child 149 TENELL 4, * The Triumph of Spring 145 The Wife’s Twilight Tour 15d The Faries’ Dance 158 The Home of my Boyhood 162 “Nemo semper felix est” 164 The Funeral of Ienry Clay 165 Lines Suggested by the Address of W, W. Avery, Esq., before the tio Literary Socictiés at Chapel Hill, 1851 GS t \ ‘ go te ; CONTENTS. i ; PAGE : - ; ‘ PAGE t , : A. M. Veazey My Castles in the Air. f ; : rps walk) Woman . : ° : : 5 e172 The Katydid . d . . . oa) 220 4 ~” Woman’s Power . ; : ; ; oe 221 } Warren W. Wivsrow. p Mountain Scenery. i : : , 224 Waccamaw by Moonlight : ; ‘ 175 “ Presume not God to Scan” ; : e327 To Scotland . : : : ; ; 228 Seymour W. Wintec. ~ The Pine-Tree and the Vine 230 } Tanthe . : 7 : : : Zageen ) Evening Prayer 232 i Song of the Spring. : ; : ‘ 186 moles Leaves. . ; : a » 284 | } Song : , : , i : 187 Revolutionary Reminiscence é 5 5 238 i The Broken Heart . ae ' : ; 189 ( Alamance . ; : : : ; SLO) t | To the Memory of the Early Dead . ‘ : 191 ( } The Unknown Flowers . ee : eS \ ““The Loved and Lost ” : - : . 194 ‘a a -Epwarp WARREN. Lines written on hearing of the final defeat of the Hun- garians : 4 ; : cen Ys) Musings in Spring ; 5 : . 198 a The Maid of Honor’s Address to the Queen of May . 201 . | Woman’s Smile : : : ; : 203 To Kate . $ ; ; ; 5 DOL | Saran B, Wiysroy. The Camp-Meeting . Ree ae 0 % 206 ANonyMoUs. t { The Pedagogue to his Mistress. 5 : «+ 209 i “One’Kind Kiss”. ; : ; : 211 | 5 P ’ : e “Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is he?” . a vail e To Mary : . 4 ’ : . 214 | Lines ; , 5 5 4 5 5 215 : | , i) Swannanoa . : . a : : 216 | Penny nS a ony ms se . es WOOD-NOTES. Rrtoly. THE BLIND GIRL TO HER BIBLE. “She raised the precious yolume and kissed it, felt the impression of the let- ters, and from that time read with her lips.” Ox blessed book, how dear thou art! How precious to my youthful heart ! Blind as I am, how could I live ’ Without the hopes thy pages give # Once I could see, and loved the light, But more the brightness of the night ; VOL. 31.—~2 is . LUOLA. 11 is WOOD-NOTES, Yet when, dear book, they brought me thee, But now I know not night from dawn, ; ae : My eyesight is for ever gone. I wept not when the truth I knew, My heart at once strong, man-like grew. Made for all those who cannot see, yr, And bade me hope I yet should read, And with my hand my mind should lead ; And when those hands they kindly placed : So every letter might be traced, I thought without a single tear, Oh ebonys (fool hac when Of every thi : ee eee My hopes were brightest, even then IT knew the flowers would bloom and die, Despair should o'er my spirit steal; Unnoticed by my darkened eye; My callous fingers could not feel! And that the stars would still shine on, And bright would break the summer morn 3 And yet the fount of tears seemed dry, Yet e’en as darkness darker seems 3 An hour before the morning beams, No “heart dew” cooled my burning eye, So on my dark and gloomy night, But mournfully while others slept, Was soon to dawn a morrow bright. E thought of a2, bat never wepb For in my grief I wildly grasped ? And to my heart thy pages clasped ; FT could not weep, for hope was gone, I kissed them o’er and o’er again, Submission in my heart w . : ‘ : y heart was born, Until my mind, and heart, and brain, And I could silent stand, and hear I felt with untold rapture reel, My mother’s voice fall on my ear, For I could read—my lips could feel. And know I'd never see her smile : : Fondly, tho? sadly, on her child. Ah! then I wept those joyful tears, And even calmly I could bear Full recompense for joyless years, To hear my ’s voice in prayer y Father’s voice in prayer, Forgotten was each gloomy day, And only sigh his face to see, The clouds of grief were rolled away, When fervently he prayed for me, a be NNT TR ee RED at ere 12 WOOD-NOTES, my heart o’erflowed with grateful love, And soared in praise to God above ; And ever while thy words they press, My lips that God of love shall bless, THE THREE AN GELS. Weary of a summer's day, A young child threw his toy away, And resting neath the willow’s shade Slept sweetly in the forest glade. One little hand Supports his head, The greensward is his fragrant bed ; While zephyrs cool his forehead fuir, Or play among his sunny hair, He dreams—and |o! before him sees, Three angels resting on the breeze: First Innocence, with melting eye Comes near, and sighs as angels sigh, Then holds before his eager sight A robe—a spotless robe of white. A snowy lily too she brings, Half hidden by her drooping wings, 4 > LUOLA. These, she exclaims, are for the child, Who’s ever gentle, meek and mild. The boy, while yet the angel spake, Stretched forth his hand the gift to take, But stopped, as Memory nearer came, And while she called him by his name, Held in his view a mirror bright, Which sparkled in the sunset light. “ Read, child,’—he heard the angel say, “The wicked things you’ve done this day, See passion here and mark you there, Forgotten was your morning prayer, This casket bright I brought for you If you could wear the white robe too.” The boy looked down and murmured low, “The robe is not for me I know.” To wipe away his gathering tear, The angel Hope at once drew near “My crown,” she said, “ was for your brow, I see you cannot wear it now, But weep not, darling, for, next year We all again shall meet you here. Improve the time, that you may wear The treasures that we each may bear.” 13 LUGLA 18 14 WOOD-NOTES, The child awoke—I heard him say, “Tl better spend each coming day ; LINES That I may have the casket bright, And wear the spotless robe of white.” Av early morn in life’s young day, Each day he went to God in prayer, When sunlight gilds my joyous way, Each day he found assistance there ; When life’s a dream, and care unknown, And when the year had flown again, And Hope’s young buds are but half blown; Slept sweetly in the forest glen. Before thy throne I lowly kneel, Thy presence in each blessing feel, The angels came and brightly smiled, . While looking on the lovely child, And Hope exclaimed, that for his brow And there repeat my morning vow— Iyoou oe apve Tov Meov! { ! Her Golden crown was suited now, At noon when blessings brighter seem, While Innocence her robe displayed, Thine eet When friends are clustering by my side, And Hope’s bright flowers expanded wide; | Remembering whence these blessings came, : . And trusting in Thy mighty name, And sweetly then the angels sang, Before Thee let me humbly bow— The greenwood with the echoes rang, “This sinful child of mortal birth, And smilingly the child arrayed ; pea aetitee. And memory on her glass could ‘trace, Almost an angel’s form and face. Ingov oe apve Tov @cov! aed a. ety When evening’s gloom is gathering fast, And shadows o’er my life are cast— When friends forget the vows they made At morn, and noon—in evening’s shade, alan aon ae ol ie He wears the crown of diamonds bright, The lily and the robe of white, We'll join him to the angel band, And take him to the happy land.” Bo Ne OE eM ee J 16 WOOD-NOTES. Wher Life is real, Hope has fled, And every earthly comfort dead,— Submissive to thy will I’d bow, . Inoov ce apve rou cov! LINES TO THE SLATESVILLE DIVISION OF THE SONS OF TEMPERANCE, Fioar on—float on, thou gallant bark, Float o’er the deep blue sea, And safely bear upon its waves The noble and the free! Be still, old Ocean—ealmly breathe, Nor dash thy billows high ; Be still—and mirror on thy waves The tranquil summer sky. Float on—nor fear the threat’ning storm, For firm and strong thou art, From stem to stern—from keel to mast Secure in every part; No woman’s hand thy white sails wove, Or spun thy mighty shrouds, No fragile reed supports thy flag, Which floats among the clouds ! ; f ; 1 LUOLA. No careless workman shaped thy prow, Or placed thy timbers strong, No ’prentice hand thy rudder turns, To guide the vessel wrong. No; for a master-workman’s skill Planned thy majestic form,— Fixed every timber to withstand The fury of the storm. I know thy Pilot—and tho’ time Has slightly marked his brow, With stately step he takes his. stand Triumphant at thy prow ; His practised eye detects the rock, The foam embedded shoals, And where far in the deep blue sea The dashing whirlpool rolls. May Heaven still protect the man, "And spare him to thy crew, And make him faithful to his trust, And to his calling true ! And may each gallant sailor prove With steady step and eye, How “strong he is to do the right,” The tempter to defy. VOL. 11,—2* revatio — mete en SE 18 WOOD-NOTES, And on thy deck fair Ceres stands "Midst golden heaps of corn, And yellow sheaves, and harvest wealth From thousand souteas drawn ; She scatters round her bounteous store, Nor fears the traffic dire, Which can with fiendish hand convert Her gifts to liquid fire. Float on—thou peaceful bark—float on, Make glad the Mother’s heart, For from a dangerous port she saw Her son in thee depart. Float on—and may thy prosperous course Soon quell the pale wife's fears, And cause her budding hopes to bloom, Tho’ oft bedewed with tears, Float on—for Many a maiden’s he Implores for thee success ; art And morn and eve her prayers ascend, Thy crew and thee to bless ! Well may she pray—too well she knows While gazing on thy deck, Her broken, crushed, and ruined heart Would follow soon thy wreck ! 19 LUOLA.. Still onward—onward may you speed, Borne by propitious gales, Which with the sparkling billows play, : Then fill thy snowy sails. Still may thy gallant, noble crew, Be strengthened day by dey : Float on, float on, thou Temperance Bark, God speed thee on thy way. TO MY MOTHER, tio ie aoe Pve been since we parted, with friends kind and dear, a se With those I would love to have ever near ; But my heart is still faithful wherever T roam, me. And turns with delight to the lov’d ones at ho: Pve been in a crowd, with the thoughtless and gay, ve Where fashion and beauty were holding their sway ; : . Yet, while with my tongue I re-echoed their glee, et, i , with thee. My heart sought communion, dear mother, with t And music I’ve heard in such thrilling strains, The blood bounded quick with delight thro’ my veins ; PAS ‘ But every sweet note, plaintive, Joyous, or clear, i rt near. Made me think of thee, mother, and wish thou wert n \ a Ie EN ere aS 4 aisha canta, “ a ee ree st ‘i 20 WOOD-NOTEs. And when the proud top of the Pilot I gained, My heart glowed with pleasure, w Yet still when I gazed on the welkin’s deep blue, Untutored, fond memory turned ever to you. Yes, thus will it be in my journey through life, Forgetfal of pleasure, forgetful of strife, My heart will be faithful, wherever I roam And turn with delight to the loved ones at home, “HIGHER.” “Hicusr!” shouts the school-boy proud, Bursting from a merry crowd, “Linger sluggards on the plain, I will yonder eyrie gain.” Beams his eye with conscious pride. On the scene outstretching wide ; And yet he sighs—his toil was yain— There is no higher point to gain, “Higher!” breathes he with a sigh, As the student turns his eye, ith rapture unfeigned ; LUOLA. Rene = First upon the glowing page— Record of some by-gone age— Then, where upon the scroll of fame Imagination paints his name, Burns within Ambition’s fire, “Future ages write it higher.” “ Higher !” shouts the man whose brow Bends beneath its laurels now 2 On the highest steep I'll stand, Win it by this trusty hand. Worthless would my spirit be, If above me I could see Another rise and honors claim, Which should cluster round my name ! “Higher!” breathes the Christian, too, As before his favored view, Brightly comes the world above, Angels, Saints—the God of Love! “ Higher let my motives be, Father, keep me near to Thee; Neath the shadow of Thy wings, High above all earthly things.” WOOD-NOTES, A LADY TO HER LOVER. Im thinking, dearest, of the time, That bright and sunny day, When first I wandered by your side, "Twas in the month of May, When flowers sprung in wood and del] ? And on the mountain side The ivy and the laurel bloomed, Its rugged cliffs to hide, And nature’s minstrels gaily sung, The sky was bright above, But you and I were strangers then, And had not learned to love. I'm thinking of the mountain spring, And of the fallen tree, That lies across the sunny stream; __ That place is dear to me, I'm thinking of the leaf you sought, High on the mountain’s brow, Intended for my album, love, Trhave the treasure now, LUOLA. And you remember, too, I ween, The tree and drooping vine, Beneath whose shade you spoke your love; And asked me to be thine. I wonder what has changed you so, For then upon your brow A shade of sadness ever hung, That cloud has vanished now; And then you wandered o’er the past, Thro’ days of darkness gone, But now within your heart I know The light of hope is born. Oh dearest, I was happy then, Beneath that old grape-vine, And loved you tho’ I could not give A promise to be thine. But time may change both you and me, In each defects we'll find, On.mine I know you'll kindly look— "To yours I will be blind. And tho’ our sweet romantic dreams May fade away with youth, Gray Time can never rob my heart Of constaney and truth. 23 LS Na cee nical iiliinalin iinet dioahn datas, pein pc et ig bce ce 5 ONT RR A sh ae WOOD-NOTES. And dearest, when we take those vows, Uniting us for life, ~ Kind Heaven will teach my willing heart To be a faithful wife. THE MOTHERLESS. "Tis eve, a cold autumnal eve, And round a blazing hearth, A father and his children draw, But not to-night in mirth ; Sadly upon the cheerful flame, And vacantly they gaze, But no bright laughing eye reflects The ruddy sparkling blaze. For Death, long hovering o’er the group, Led forth, with icy hand, To-day—the mother and the wife From this dear household band. Sweet innocents! they little know ‘The depth of their great loss, How sad and lonely on thro’ life, The motherless must toss. LUOLA. But he with crushed and bleeding heart, Sits near a vacant chair, With arm thrown round it as in days When Isabel was there. No tear steals down his pallid cheek, "Tis grief too deep for tears, A grief that must increase with age, And strengthen with his years. As time glides on, a thoughtless world Say he has ceased to grieve, But ah ! ’tis only that false world His calmness can deceive ; As yonder ’neath that ice-bound stream, The current still must sweep, While in the cold moonlight it seems All motionless to sleep ; So in his heart that tide of woe Still deeper wears its way, While mem’ry’s sad but fragrant boughs Droop o’er it day by day. He misses every where the hand Which made his home so dear, And feels all things are sadly changed Since that Joved hand was here. * pw ilar WOOD-NOTES, The vine she trained with tasteful care Upon the cottage walls, In wild festoons and broken boughs Upon the door-step falls ; Her Mock-bird, too—neglected now, Has ceased to plume his wing, And weary, waiting for her step, His lay forgets to sing. At evening, when he hies him home, He misses at the gate The beaming eye and cheerful smile Accustomed there to wait ; The little fingers, too, that sought” And firmly clasped his own, The kiss upon his fevered cheek, The soft and silvery tone. But oh! *tis in his dreary home He misses most her care s His wild neglected children tell No mother’s hand is there, Dear Willy —his proud manly boy, Whose strong impetuous will, His mother’s calm and gentle tone Could in a moment still ; LUOLA. eae ois Ungoverned now each plaything claims, And no resistance fears, From little Katie’s pleading look, And sad unchildlike tears. Tlis angry words like burning coals Fall on his father’s heart, As visions of his future course Prophetic seem to start. And Katie—his frail gentle one, Calls up again his tears, For in her sweet, expressive face The absent one appears. So like an angel, too, she seems, As kneeling by his chair, With folded hands in broken words She lisps her evening prayer. He almost fears her spirit bright, May with her prayer take wing, And by her angel mother’s side Its morning praises sing. And Ally, too, his baby boy, Joins in with feeble moan, And seems to whisper to his heart, “Thou art indeed alone.” 27 eee ae WOOD-NOTEs, But when with lullaby he tries To soothe his ery of pain, It dies upon his trembling lip, For she appears again, And takes the place where long ago With deep but tearful Joy, She carolled that sweet household lay To soothe his eldest boy. A mother’s love! how like the clasp Of some bright, fragile chain, Which broken onee, no artist’s skil] Can e’er unite again. For, one by one, a severed link Is on Life’s ocean tost, A plaything for each restless wave Till every link is lost, But may the fragments still be kept By one whose name is Love, Until He makes His jewels up, And clasps them all above. Abraham Forrest Morehead. - THE MISSISSIPPL A VERISIMILITUDE. “All Nature through her lifeless offspring speaks Of man, to man.”—/ANon, Tue Earth was new—Creation smiling rose F rom ancient Chaos, and delighted seemed To hear her Lord and Author predicate That all her goodly frame was perfect made. As yet the Mountains were but little hills— No River yet meandering sought the Sea— The Sea itself was slowly gathering in His multitude of waters to his bed. Forth from his mother-fount emerging came The infant Mississippi; slowly moved pl stasis 30 WOOD-NOTES. His slender stream among the new-born flowers, As one that feared advance and seemed ashamed To show his poorness to the light of day. Along the plain no gurgling noise he made, But silently he crept and kissed the stems Of those kind flowers that gave him guardian shade. As yet no sunshine drank his treasures up— No breeze disturbed his soft tranquillity— Till by the tributes of his kindred rills He feels his stream to swell—his current grow— His speed increase, and all his powers expand. No longer now he creeps, the modest brook, But merging into light, he gives his waves To revel with the Zephyrs, and to sport In mutual dalliance with the solar beam. The torrent’s pride forbids him now to fear, His courage waxing bolder, he disdains To turn aside and shun the craggy height, But pours adown the steep precipitous With sullen roarings to the gulf below, And then collecting in the dark ravine His chafed waters, white with angry foam, Resumes his course, nor heeds what contravenes. The ponderous rock moved from his seated base— The half-grown trees snatched from their native soil, Are rolled away with his impetuous stream. ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. Now grown a river, in his manly pride He moves majestically slow; nor heeds The lesser streams that come to feed his course. A multitude of mighty rivers came, To own their vassalage and reverence due, And seek admittance in his princely train— Preferring to an independent course, To be the subjects of so great a lord, And in his favor share. A thousand leagues From East to West the distant fountains sent Their tributary stores to swell his tide ; Whilst each acceded flood in concert joined To hail the Monarch River, Sire of Streams! What spirit—be it born of Earth or Heaven— With such access of strength and wide domain And myriads of perennial parasites, Would not have felt his secret soul expand And swell to high ambition? Deem not then That he—the mighty Mississippi—felt unmoved His princely greatness : Fondly did he dream That mother Earth owned him her eldest born, And gloried in his growth, and gave him power To be the lord o’er her dominions vast-—— 31 gee : Fe] t a) B bia | i | WOOD-NOTES. To move for ever—and to swallow up With his Saturnian jaws her younger brood Of Mountains, Lakes, and ev’n his kindred streams. But soon his visions fled; and with their flight Came sudden terror and debasing awe. Athwart his course the great Atlantic lay— The youthful Ocean glorying in his might— : From East to West, from South to North outspread, Extended yet through earth his circling shores. Amazed the Giant River halts, and looks Upon the Giant Sea. Instinctive dread Seized on his wavering soul. His foremost waves Recoil; and with his greatest force he strives To turn his flood of waters and re-seek, Through his long course, his fountain source again. In vain he strives; for his incumbent stream, In which he placed his glory and his pride, Now downward drives him with its growing weight. Fate had decreed the sources of his power To be the sources of his ruin too. Too late he saw his sad mistake: Ev’n now Annihilation gaped to seize his prey. With fell despair and all the mad impulse Of disappointed greatness once enjoyed, He rors his stream into an hundred parts, ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. And headlong rushing into Ocean's depths, Was lost amid the caverns of the deep. The winged breezes whistled o’er his graye— The sullen waves his funeral anthem sung. THE HILLS OF DAN. Tue world is not one garden spot ? One pleasure-ground for man; Few are the spots that interyene, Such as the “ Hills of Dan!” Though fairer prospects greet mine eyes : In Nature’s partial plan, Yet I am bound by stronger ties, To love the Hills of Dan. The breezes that around them play, And the bright stream they fan, Are loved as scenes of childhood’s day, Amid the Hills of Dan. Here, too, the friends of early days, Their fated courses ran ; VoL. 11.—3 TIED : | | : i” HH SAE ae WOOD-NOTES, ‘And now they find a resting-place Amid the Hills of Dan. Ye saw the twilight of my dawn, When first my life began ; And ye shall see that light withdrawn, My native Hills of Dan. Whatever fortune may ensue, In life’s short changeful span, Oft mem’ry shall turn back to view My native Hills of Dan. The love that warms this youthful breast Shall glow witbin the man ; And when I slumber, may I rest Amid the Hills of Dan. CONSCIENCE, REFLECTION AND REPENTANCE. AN ALLEGORY, Turovau life’s Sahara wild and drear, A little streamlet pure and clear, Of magic powers, coursed its way, With rippling waters bright as day. ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. Pellucid as the dews of night, Reflective as the mirror bright, But bitter as the hellebore, That sullies Anticyra’s shore. Inclining o’er its waters grew A little thorn-bush, rough to view, . Whose every branch, as though ’twere hung With magic voice and secret tongue, Breathed softly as the breeze pass’d by, In undistinguished symphony,— «0! mortal, cast thine eyes below, “ And mark the scenes those waters show.” Then all, who pass’d that way, did look With anxious eyes into the brook! Thought they, it must a wonder ke, That words come from a lifeless tree, Now soon as did their wond’ring sight Upon the glassy surface light, Amaze and terror held them fast, As though the Martial Maid had pass’d Before their eyes her Aigis dread, Which bore Medusa’s ghastly head. Nor figure, form, nor countenance Reflected met th’ inquiring glance; But all the crimes their hands had wrought, And every ill-designing thought, 35 36 WOOD-NOTES, The by-gone days of life had known, Bright as reality were shown. The murder saw his victim, slain Full twenty years before ; The robber saw the goods he’d ta’en ; The monarch saw the captive chain, A guiltless nation wore ; And every other son of crime, With deep conviction burned, When, spite of desolative time, His deeds anew returned. And some there were, who from the brook Straight turned their horror-stricken eyes— For mortal firmness scarce could brook, A view of such realities— And wandering far; as though a dream, Forgot the warnings of the stream. But others felt the painful dart Remorse had plunged into the heart, But knew not where to find the aid To heal the wound; yet there delayed, And gazed with one unvaried look, Like statues pendent o’er the brook. Then from the little tree issued— That little tree in aspect rude— These accents, breath’d in gentle tone— “O} mortal, now thy guilt is shown, ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. "Tis time to wash away the stain, And free thyself from error’s chain ; This little stream will lead thee where Thou'lt find a solace for thy care— But follow its descending course— Enough! Thou know’st thy last resource.” Then died the breeze the boughs among, Nor more its magie accents rung ; Then whoso heard the voice obeyed, Nor longer in suspense delayed, And followed down the puwling stream, Till to a gloomy lake they came, By sable clouds encircled round, As lurid as the Styx profound, (Of Hell the circumfluent bound.) Of light was seen no cheerful beam, Save now and then a transient gleam, Which darted from the other shore, But, quick as lightning’s flash, pass’d o’er ; Yet by the glimmering ray was seen, Far o’er the wave a cheering scene— A verdant land that seem’d to invite All who beheld the welcome sight. Some wished to cross, and on the brink Hesitating stood ; for if to sink WOOD-NOTES. Should be their doom, the waters deep Would yield them quite unwelcome sleep. Fen some did quit the dismal shore, To wander the bleak desert o'er, And found, too late, at life’s dread close, The woful road their folly chose. But others of more dauntless mind, Intrepid left the shore behind; And while Hope whisper’d sure success, And fruits of endless happiness, They spurned aside the gathering spray, And fearless cut their wat’ry way, Till landed on the wished-for shore, They saw their cares and toils all o’er. The stream that gave their crimes to view, And flowed life’s dreary desert through, Was Conscience called: the mirror bright, That brings transgressions all to light ; The bush was called Reflection too, Which prompted mortals what to do. Repentance was the gloomy lake, Through which mankind the world forsake, And of a Holy land possessed, Fulfil their Maker’s high behest. ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. 39 Mr. Morenxap, a few weeks previous to his death, which took place in his 22d year, had a slight attack of pleurisy, from which he hoped he had recovered. A few days before that sad event, he left his office and went to his brother-in-law’s, where he was attack- ed by measles, which terminated his existence. After his death the following lines were found in his office, written on a scrap of paper, which seem to indicate a presentiment that he never would return. As the young knight, in times of chivalry, When, with his vassal host, he stood prepar’d To voyage with his king to eastern climes, And fight for his Redeemer’s sepulchre— Ere yet he spread his canvas to the gales That were to waft him from his home and friends, And all the endearments of his native land— Upon the rind of the long-during beech Left deeply carved, the letters of his name ; That (when another land his home should be, If living—and, if dead, his sepulchre) Those whom he lov’d might look upon that name, And sadly think of him, whom yet to see Years might forbid, or death himself deny : So I, just launching on life’s troubled sea, With wealth, and fame, and greatness, for my stars To guide; bound for a clime to me unknown, But well assured I go without return! ; = ae FS aE ace a ag en Tei ee a ee WOOD-NOTES. Would leave, among the scenes and friends of youth, One slight memorial, as a pledge to those, Who, in remembrance, wish to hold my name, To tell them, when they would forget, that once They knew a man who was their friend, and long: A near companion of their youth, and whom They did not deem unworthy of their love! THE GENIUS OF DAN. Tue famous old Bards of antiquity say, Each object terrene has a quick’ning fay, Like the soul which animates man; They teach there are spirits in oceans and seas, In mountains and rivers, in forests and trees, And why may not I, with such warrants as these, Attribute a Genius to Dan? Oh yes, there are spirits wherever the mind Amid the wide compass of Nature can find Aught that gives pleasure to scan,— It shows its own soul with the charm it enjoys, And when it holds converse, tho’ wanting a voice, The language of feeling is all it employs, And such is my Genius of Dan. ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. 41 Oh lovely creation! tho’ fancied thou art, Yet few real friends are so dear to my heart, Since our acquaintance began ; For truly I deem thee as wholly mine own— A part of myself, coming from me alone, Who gave thee a being, and gave thee a throne, And called thee the Genius of Dan, Yes, well can I mind when concealed on the banks, I drew to my ambush the bright finny ranks, ' Then homeward exultingly ran 3 And while my acknowledgments justly I knew, For this my good fortune to Some one were due, Some secret interpreter held to my view Bright imaged,—the Genius of Dan. Fstood on the hills and surveyed from my height, All the beauties that Summer displayed to my sight,-- The bright flowing stream as it ran,— The wide-spreading wood and the corn -laden field, The peace and contentment th at Plenty revealed, And who but some spirit these blessings could yield ? JE thought ’twas the Genius of Dan. There rose in the midst of that beantiful Scene, A village whose aspect was dreary I ween, When first its existence began ; VOL. 11,.—g* 42 WOOD-NOTES. «© But now all that lonely appearance has fled, And Beauty, and Talents, and Riches instead, Have risen as Laz’rus arose from the dead, Awoke by the Genius of Dan. Accept, lovely Spirit, this tribute of lays, This first feeble effort—a hymn in thy praise, From a son of thy mountain clan,—— And believe me, I love thee, whatever thou art ; From mem’ry thine image shall never depart, Till gone of thy daughters shall steal off my heart, And rob thee—bright Genius of Dan. MOUNTAIN ECLOGUE. DAMON AND DELIA. Detra.—The setting sun sinks in his watery bed, Ilis parting rays illume the mountain tops, The western clouds are tinged with fiery red, And silent night her sable curtain drops. Far in the east the silvery queen of night Her lucid ork above th’ horizon shows, 2 t ‘ f 4 ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD. Dan’s placid stream reflects her languid light, And all creation seeks its calm repose. Nought strikes the ear except the sullen roar Of swollen waters, which down the cascade pour, Or the faint murmurs of the nightly breeze, That rustles in the tops of stately trees. Here Damon, for a moment we will roam, To view the scene ere darkness calls us home: But tell me, for I wish to know, whose cot That is which rises in yon lonesome spot # Its paltry frame is sinking to decay, Yet once it must have known a better day. Damon.—Yes, it has known a better day; but he Who claimed it once, has long since ceased to be A tenant of this world; I know not where He fled, too pure for this untoward sphere— But for your pleasure I'll rehearse the tale Of lonely Adolf, poet of the vale. Secluded from the world in solitude, Dwelt Adolf in yon cottage rude; Ambition’s lot he never learned to crave, Nor to blind avarice grew a sordid slave ; Free from the grovelling passions of mankind, His soul by every virtue was refined ; His mind undimm’d by education’s glare, Unpolished, shone in all its brightness rare: wae RTE ane He ether: LOS 44- 8 WOOD-NOTES. For Nature claimed him as her fay’rite ehild, And nursed him in this solitary wild, ’ Breathed in his breast the love the Muse inspired, Till all his soul with ecstasy was fired. Oft have I seen him in some lonely wood, Where aged oaks and lofty poplars stood, Declaiming to the rucks and trees around, While zealous echo strove to catch the sound, And when ’twas caught, rehearsed it o’er and o’er, As tho’ her ears were ne’er so charmed before. He spoke the words which inspiration gave, Or impulse prompted, harsh, uncouth, and grave, Untuned to music, unrestrained by rhyme, Just such as spoke the bards of olden time, When from the buoyant feelings of the breast Their songs poured forth, in numbers uncompressed ; And when he ceased, the oak low bowed its head, And gave assent to what the recluse said : The breeze again resumed its whistling noise, Which hushed before to list the poet’s voice; The groves again with choral music rung— The birds before had ceased, to listen while he sung. The evening zephyr fanned the mountain stream, The rippling wave had caught the last sunbeam, The latest bird his vesper song carrolled, When thro’ the groves in listless mood I strolled, ABRAHAM FORREST MOREHEAD, 45 Afar, beneath yon ancient sycamore That lifts its head where * Widemouth’s waters roar. I saw lone Adolf stand in pensive mood, And silent watch the swift-descending flood ; Unseen, unheard, I secretly drew nigh, And viewed him o’er with scrutinizing eye ; T longed to know with what intent he sought This lonesome place, or what unquiet thought Engaged his mind, and on his feelings wrought ; But whilst I gazed he stooped down to the brook, And from the stream some limpid water took ; First tasted it, then threw it to the ground, Stepped back a pace, and wildly looked around. When none he saw—for I was hid—he broke The gloomy silence, and these words he spoke : “ Thou Spirit of the waters, hear my prayer.” Sprrrr—* What wouldst thou, mortal ?” Reciuse.— “That thou shouldst bear Me, weary of this nether-world, on wings Of subtle air, to that bright world where springs The fount of endless pleasure; where the day Is infinite, and old age and decay Are absorbed in youth; where a genial sun age Tnvigorates whate’er it shines upon. . *A Caseade in Rockingham Co. eae, — 46 ’ WOOD-NOTES, This is my sole request; tho’ strange it be, Refuse it not,—for much I long to see The land where poets dwell—and of their band to be.” Spirir.* Thy strange request by me shall be obeyed, Sate to Elysium thou shalt be conveyed— Yet this I grant to none on earth Save thee: I hold thy virtue and thy worth As well deserving what I shall bestow. But'see, ’tis growing late—and time that we should go.” He said—and from the gulf arose a cloud, — And quick around him threw its misty shroud, _ Concealed him from my sight, then onward flew, And ’scaped from earth into th’ ethereal blue! Such, Delia, is the tale I had to tell: Fond mem’ry bids my buoyant bosom swell Whene’er I stand in this sequestered spot, And think on him who graced yon mouldering cot; His sterling virtue and his noble mind Showed one bright diamond mid the rubbish of mankind. Wes. George C. Mendenhall. TO THE FEARFUL. “Why are ye fearful, oh, ye of little faith.” Tne stars of Palestina smiled Above the sea of Galilee, Like Angels o’er a blessed child That slumbers on its mother’s knee ; And balmy as the infant’s breath Beneath its mother’s waving hair, The zephyrs gently rose beneath The sails that softly glided there. The warring spirit spread afar The raven wing of rayless gloom, And shrouded every glowing star Now trembling o’er the vessel’s doom ; WOOD-NOTES. He bade the tempest winds prepare To make the fated bark his own; His signal was the lightning’s glare, His watch-word was the thunder-tone. From shore to shore his mandate rang, And from the water’s mirror’d breast, The maddened billows wildly sprang Like maniacs from a lucid rest. “The ship was covered with the wayes,” - The hardy seamen ceased to toil, And wide the deep’s sepulchral caves Were opened to receive their spoil. Serene amid the awful storm That hurled destruction round his head, One holy, meek, and lowly form Reclined upon an humble bed; His spirit: rested from its woes, The lightning flashed, the thunder pealed In vain: in calm and deep repose His eye was closed, His ear was sealed. With lips that wore the hue of death -His poor disciples gathered near, The whispered prayer of fainting faith To breathe into His gracious ear ; ee ooo MRS. GEORGE C. MENDENHALL, 49 “Saye, Lord! we perish !” And hushed the storm and stilled the flood— and He rose, That meek and lowly man of woes— The all triumphant Son of God! Oh! all triumphant Son of God, My night is stormy, dark, and wild ; See from Thy bright and blest abode — Thy fainting, frail, despairing child! Save, or I perish! Lord, arise! Let earth as Heaven obey Thy will, Thy word can rule the gloomy skies, Oh, bid my fearful heart “ Be still /” Say Miss Ann Pope. TO A BIRD IN THE WINTER. Srt, still art thou warbling, Tho’ snow-flakes are falling, And leafless and bare is the old cherry-tree ; I love thy sweet hymning, Thy song of thanksgiving, And fain would be learning a lesson from thee. Tho’ the hedge yields no berry, The old tree no cherry, Thy heart knows no fainting, thy spirit no fear; Thy instinct still leading To trust to God’s feeding, And praise him with wild notes, melodious and clear. MISS ANN POPE. 51 Thy vision doth borrow No shade from to-morrow, With gladness thou eatest the crumb of to-day, While Rope lights thy dream With the warm summer beam, Which is coming to hasten cold winter away. Then, dear little friend, Thy melody blend With the voice of the.storm as it rushes along ; I see thee e’en now On the green cedar bough, And am waiting to catch the first gush of thy song. It whispers of gladness It mocketh at sadness, And tells of a trust which no trials can shake. Thou surely wert sent To teach me content, So the lesson right home to my bosom [Il take. In life’s bleak December, Oh! then I'll remember What thou hast unconsciously taught me to know ; That I may retain, *Mid sorrow and pain, The joys that from faith and humility flow. WOOD-NOTES, IVANHOE AND REBECCA. Ou, hither she comes, the loyeliest of flowers That e’er bloomed in haughty old Albion’s bowers; So soft is her step, and so bright is her eye, She looks like some Seraph when treading the sky. So thought the brave knight, as Israel’s daughter Came skilled in the art by Miriam taught her, - To bind up his wounds, his fears to beguile, And win from the sad-hearted warrior a smile. Now say, as she guides the dark menial’s hand, As each balsam is spread at her gentle command ; Can Ivanhoe look on a-vision so fair, And think of aught else than the beauty so rare ? His passionate gaze on the girl doth reveal Too much of Love’s rapture for Wilfred to feel ; She saw it; hope wished in her bosom to stay, But thoughts of Rowena soon chased it away : While he felt such emotions could only remain, To darken his honor and tarnish his fame ; So stemming the torrent, its progress was stayed, And his heart was again with his own plighted maid. An pe \ one MISS ANN POPE. 53S, : Ah, no! poor Rebecca, though grateful he be, The stream of his love will no more flow to thee; The faith of thy fathers a barrier would prove, Which thy own humble virtues could never remove. For the blood of Messiah on Judah doth rest, In robes of oppression her children are drest ; ‘Her harp on the willow is silently hung, And the veil of reproach o’er her offspring is flung. Thou desolate daughter of Isaac the Jew, The hearts which care for thee are humble and few ; Thy beauty, thy virtue, thy talents are bound In chains by the hand of stern destiny wound. TO MARY. Mary, I love thy very name, For it has music in it, Far sweeter than the mock-bird’s song, Or warblings of the linnet. It wears not fancy’s fluttering robe, Just woven for a fairy ; WOOD-NOTES. But sweetest of all household words, Is plain and simple “ Mary.” It is not meet that vulgar souls, The mean or vile should bear it ; But like an ever verdant wreath, The pure and good should wear it. Such was the mother of our Lord, * So meck in her devotion ! And she who sat at Jesus’ feet, And chose a heavenly portion. While e’en the sinful Mary shed Tears of such deep contrition, That for her sins and follies past She found a full remission. The “ Marys” sought the Saviour’s tomb At blush of earliest dawn ; *Twas “Mary” wept in hopeless grief, To find her Lord was gone. And “ Mary!” was the first fond word - The risen Saviour spoke, ‘When soon within her troubled heart The wildest rapture broke. MISS ANN POPE. Then let thy youthful steps pursue The righteous paths they trod, And still with growing ardor seek The presence of thy God. And when the thunders of His wrath The affrighted world shall hear, His voice will gently breathe thy name, And greet thy ravished ear. PRIDE AND HUMILITY. 4 Deer in the vale a little flower, in modest beauty grew ; All snowy white its petals weie, Its eye of heavenly blue. It was a trembling tim’rous thing, Hiding beneath its leaf, Which hung a broad green banner out As if to give relief. A woodman passed one summer morn * Adown the flowery vale, WOOD-NOTES. And stopped to breathe the incense rare That floated on the gale. _And close within his pathway soon, The wee-bit flower he spied; And the woodman feared to crush its bloom, And turned his steps aside. A tall old oak, with an hundred arms, Upon the hillside stood ; It was the boast of the country round, And the pride of the forest wood. Its head went flaunting towards the sky, Its root deep in the earth ; And it seemed to say as it stood up there, “Tm a tree of noble birth.” But the woodman lowered the glittering axe, Which on his shoulder lay, And cut around its massive trunk ‘Throughout that livelong day. And with the sun’s last golden beam There came a startling sound ; And the tall old oak, with its lofty crest, Lay trembling on the ground. MISS ANN POPE. The proud in heart shall have a fall, “Thus must it ever be; But cherished, sought, and prized of all, Is the soul’s sweet flower Humility. THE PIECE OF. BLUE. A lady on the eve of a trip to the mountains, remarked to her little boy they might, in crossing, pass through a cloud. He exclaim- ed with delight, “Oh, then, I'll get a piece of the blue!” Moruner, I'll go thro’ the cloud with you, For then I can have a piece of the blue; Of the blue, blue sky that hangs so fair, High o’er my head in the radiant air. Mother, we'll go through the cloud and see, What that beautiful thing can be: Often I’ve turned a curious eye Up to the blue and far-off sky. And thought as each white cloud I numbered, That some pure spirit on it slumbered, While round his bed a curtain fell, Of the violet’s hue I love so well. VOL, 11.—4 Pe | & WOOD-NOTES. F MISS ANN POPE Mother, it surely can be no harm F And still we strive, but strive in vain, If I should stretch my tiny arm, ; From them contentment to attain. And take a piece to bear away, Down to the earth where mortals stay. :: But there are hills by us untrod, Where stands the city of our God; You say good angels hover near me, And if your soul be good and true, Perhaps to them it might endear me, There you shall reach the « ear bua” To see me fondly cherish a prize, Which I had brought from their own bright skies. Over the mountain summit wild Our steps may rove, my artless child; But tho’ in the clouds our feet we wet, THE WAKING BOY. The prize you seek is higher yet. ele eet He waketh—he waketh— My beautiful boy! Yea, you may climb the loftiest peak, 7 P, up from his slumbers Deepening the flush on your sunny cheek ; Hi rine ‘al $ And the height would only serve to show ms @ springeth with joy | ith the era i rs How distant the ether’s trembling glow. @ grace of simplicity, Shakes off repose, aoe Your eager hand would fail to touch And out ’mid the breezes The blue your heart desires so much ; And sunshine he goes, And sickened still with hope deferred, He waketh—he waketh— Your wings would droop, my little bird! His soul- ing s soul-beaming eye, Tis ever thus on earth, my boy, Already hath stolen Attractive seems each coming joy, A glance from the sky ; 60 WOOD-NOTES, While rosy-clad morning ‘Hath brought the delight, Which fancy but told of In whispers by night. He dreameth no longer— The angels have flown To the unshadowed region They claim as their own, And left this bright cherub To gladden the day, And make us all happy While they are away. He waketh—he waketh— How all things rejoice, As comes like an echo His musical voice ! Now ringing with gladness, Now murmuring low, And soft like the streamlets As onward they flow. He waketh—he waketh— With bird, bee, and flower, He’s out ’mid the dawning, To welcome the hour; MISS ANN POPE. But nothing in Nature Seems half so divine, As this snow-drop of heaven, This sweet boy of mine. 61 a WALKER PEARCE. 68 Think’st thou the light which gently beams From Woman's eye in kindling streams, Shall wrap the soul in blissful dreams But for a day? Or shall it like a beacon guide Walker aeutee, 8 The spirit o'er life’s stormy tide, And sweetly linger by its side In realmsabove? * . flere, here this ceaseless light shall be ODE TO LOVE. The leading star on rapture’s sea ;— For naught could charm Eternity O, TELL me not those sunny hours But thee—oh Love! Illum’d by Love’s divinest powers, Must fade away like summer flowers, To bloom no more: But rather say they. will return THE BIRTH OF HOPE, Beyond the dark sepulchral urn, And still more softly, brightly burn, As yet Hope was not; for all was bliss, E’en than before. And bliss fruition is and certainty ; But when our orand-dam sinned, and Paradi For what were hopes of heayen worth By that f ee OY that one act of disobedience, closed That break the tend’rest ties of earth, It ie S gates against ar Q Y And doom its fondest joys at birth Ty = BO Age crt ia . ‘ -he flaming minister red 5 oiineay! ig muusters of God debarred ; WOOD-NOTES. As lingered they to gaze once more upon Its sunny walks, and groves, and fountains cool, Repentance touched the heart of Eve; her eye Tear-drops distilled, which coursing down her cheek, Fell on a violet, and from the flower Forth came fair Hope, a maiden all complete. VESPERIA. Wuen Even decks with sparkling seal The bosom of the west ; And bids exhausted Nature steal Into the arms of rest,— What time the songsters of the vale Infold their languid wings ; And listen to the plaintive tale That Philomela sings,— Down where the purling streamlet glides, With trembling steps I rove: Lost to Ambition’s distant guides, Led by the wanderer Love! WALKER PEARCE. Vesperia! does thy beauteous fies - Illume the Sylvan bower? Hast thou forgot our trystin g-place, Nor mark’d the signal hour? Oh! haste thee, love !—the tinted east Reveals the Queen of Night; And every star appears to feast On visions of delight. SONG OF THE GONDOLIER. O’rr crystal lake and flowery vale The silver moon is beaming : Each light Gondola’s dazzling sail Upon the breeze is streaming— ‘The tender lute’s Soft echo shoots To greet the starlit skies ; But oh, less bright The glowing night Without thy radiant eyes! VOL. 11,—4* WOOD-NOTES. Then, come my Love—thy fairy form Amidst Venetia’s daughters, Shall add a more resplendent charm To deck the beauteous waters— Tho’ tender lute’s Soft echo shoots To greet the starlit skies ; Yet oh, less bright The glowing night Without thy radiant eyes! TO LOVE. Come, gentle Muse, thy sway restore, And strike the harp to love once more ; For never did those chords impart A strain more welcome to the heart : Pour then thy numbers on the breeze, Till Nature share our ecstacies, And spread the pleasing theme around .From hence to Ocean’s utmost bound. Thou knowest how a rosy child, With golden ringlets streaming wild, WALKER PEARCE. And pouting lip, and dimpled chin, And eye that look’d the soul within, ‘One summer eve tripp’d o’er the plain, And wreath’d me in his mystic chain— Oh! let the sweet delicious thrill Hold empire in my bosom still, Intoxicating every sense With its transporting influence } Say, is there aught of human bliss On earth,—in heaven to equal this— When Love first glides a smiling guest Into the young and panting breast 2 Ah! bid me all—all else resign, But ne’er this visitant divine. What tho’ the star of glory wane, And fortune’s gifts flow past amain? The lustre of a melting eye Shall honor, wealth, and joy supply— If frequent in the walks of men A pensive shade flits o'er my brain, "Tis Woman—whose mysterious power Hath ruled me from my natal hour: Th crowded mart—or wilderness, The memory of some floating tress, Some form will o’er my vision stray, And steal me from myself away. 68 WOOD-NOTES. And e’en with her--that being bright ! If dazzled by the magic light, My cheeks disclose the flush of shame, And timid tremors seize the frame, "Tis that no words—no tones reveal The thousandth part I’m doom’d to feel ! There glideth not a graceful form, There throbbeth not a bosom warm, There flasheth not a winning glance Beneath yon azure void’s expanse, But findeth in this soul of mine A fond response—a willing shrine. O, when my spirit call’d from hence, To Fate shall yield her last defence, May scenes as dear before me bloom, To gild with flow’rs of hope the tomb, As met the rapt Arabian’s view, ‘When piercing deep the distant blue, The Houri-host those charms unfurl’d— A faith which shook the Eastern world ! Thus, Woman, o’er my pathway rise, And lead thy votary to the skies ! | Charles €. Rahotenr. LINES Written off Pico, one of the Azores, or Western Islands, cele- brated for its Peak, which is next in height to the Peak of Tene- riffe, August, 1838. Cxouns rest on Pico’s steep and lofty brow, And all unrufiled is the tranquil face Of gentle ocean; which resembles now One vast extent of smooth, transparent glass— Save the long restless swell, which ever o’er Its bosom heaves, when storms disturb no more. So pleasing is the scene,—so calm, so still, Fain would my bosom catch its peaceful hue ; Still all its tumults and forget its ill As twilight settles on the waters blue; And busy memory, lulled awhile to sleep, Perplex no more the wanderer o’er the dee — Pp p 70 WOOD-NOTES. Whose mind revisits now his native shore, Where fond affection, round the household hearth, With anxious bosom, hears the tempest roar And howl around the mansion of. his birth; And weeps to think that such a storm may be, , A brother’s dirge—his grave the treacherous sea. Yet o’er these bounding billows, fleet and free, With heart undaunted has this wanderer come ; And leaving, for the excitement of the sea, . The fond endearments that adorn his home — He smiles to think that e’en the stormy wave, Can bring no terrors for ‘the free and brave. But now, no storms disturb the ocean’s breast ; No angry billows dash toward the sky ; Its heavings cease—its wayes are all at rest, And smiling nature slumbers peacefull yi With fragrance from the land, the breezes creep Over the rough waye—and stormy passions sleep. Nee CHARLES C. RABOTEAU. LINES WRITTEN WHILE. ENTERING THE PORT OF FAYAL. Lanp, oh! from our masthead—the cheerful cry Has called all hands on deck to view the scene; Here craggy rocks uprear their summits high, And many a rolling cloud appears between. Bleak are the hill-tops—barren to the view— And seared as though with hot voleanic fire: They frown upon the face of ocean blue, As if they bade defiance to its ire. Yet even here—upon this rocky land, . Oer the few level spots of kindly soil, Dame Nature scatters with a bounteous hatid Her richest fruits, rewarding man for toil. And even here—so craggy, rude, and wild, Did Freedom rear her banner in the air, And spread abroad her institutions mild, Man might be happy, and the land be fair. But here no Freedom reigns—priestcraft alone Has ruled for ages o’er man’s prostrate mind ; Here superstition rears her iron throne, And triumphs in the slavery of mankind. WOOD-NOTES. This is no home for me—I could not give My neck a footstool for the proud and high; Beneath thy banner, Freedom, let me live, Before thy blazing altars let me die! TO THE STORMY PETREL. Written at sea. Birp of the sea! that loves the storm, And skims the bounding billow’s foam ! Where dost thou rest thy tiny form ? Where may we seek to find thy home? Loud roars the tempest thro’ the sky, And still the wild winds whistle oer, Weather and lee we see thee nigh, Or flitting on the waves before. The Linnet loves the hazel bush, And sings around it all day long; The Mock-bird and the speckled Thrush, Awake the greenwood with their song :— The Sparrow twitters in the morn, To greet the dawning of the day, And round her dwelling in the thorn, Warbles a sweet melodious lay. CHARLES C. RABOTEAU. But thou, lone bird! o’er ocean’s foam, When winds are piping loud and high, A rover with no constant home, Utterest thy wild and plaintive ery ; And dancest on the topmost spray, Tn perfect recklessness and glee, Then flittest lightly far away O’er the rough billows of the sea. But when the waves are calm and still, Precursor of the coming storm, We deem thee harbinger of ill, Nor greet with smiles thy flitting form; Yet wanderer o’er the deep, like thee I’ve been upon the ocean long, And heard the stormy winds howl free, And listened to their wildest song. Companion of my stormy way, I bid thee now a long farewell; No more with thee to skim the spray, No more upon the waves to dwell. My long-lost home I seek once more, Affection bids me welcome there— No more to hear the tempest roar, No more the restless waves to dare. The Hon. Robert Strange. e THE SMILE OF LOVE. A six of Love! sweet, gentle thought, How thronging with thee come, With every dear affection fraught, All memories of home. We see the happy infant smile Upon the mother’s breast ; In sportive playfulness the while, Or sunk in dreamy rest. There, too, the mother’s smile of Love, With angel-fondness glows, Like some stray sunbeam from above, Upon a budding rose. THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE. And holier thoughts than language bears, That smile of Love bespeaks ; Although the brow a sadness wears, And tears are on the cheeks, What volumes in those thoughts we scan ! What varied hopes and fears, Of what awaits that future man, In lapse of coming years ! And e’en of time they leap the goal, And search beyond its bound, For what may there betide the soul— Eterni ty—profound. Paternal Love, too, has its smile, Most Godlike in its form : Lighting the filial hearth the while, Amid life’s wildest storm. Yet sadness mingles with its hght, That warns, as still it cheers, Of sorrow coming, oft to blight The buds of opening years. And here we mark a sweeter smile, (The heart none sweeter knows :) 16 WOOD-NOTES THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE. 77 All ills of life it doth beguile,— Ayily gulp piipemalleotstore, The smile true Love bestows. A cheering comfort given, To man when banished from above, The smile that timid Beauty wears, A relic of lost Heaven. Guileless, yet full of art; i When first to own, her bosom dares ‘ This glorious smile all Nature wears, The chosen of her heart. Naught can its brightness shroud ; Its sweetness each kind rainbow bears A smile that nerves the soul for strife, : Upon the darkest cloud. On Time’s uncertain stream ; And gilds the darkest hour of life, For, smiles of Love in Beauty’s eye, With its resplendent beam ;— : . Tho’ sweet, can scarce compare, With Rainbow love-smiles in the sky, That heightens every roseate hue, Which tell us God is there! r Each fragrance makes more sweet ; Truth, in its light, becomes more true, And earthly joy complete. It warms the heart—it melts the soul— THE ROSE-BUD OF NORTH CAROLINA Enkindles soft desire ; From vice it purifies the whole, Wovtp you gather a garland of beauty bright ? In its delicious fire. You should wander at dawn, or by pale moonlight, 5 While the breeze is fresh on th i : There’s yet another smile than this, Or thei i ee r their leaves are moist with the dewy showers ; One Rose you should gather, and gladly entwine her, The soft Opening Rose-bud of North Carolina. In radiance far above ; Filling the soul with holy bliss— Tis God’s own smile of Love. 18 WOOD-NOTES. Nay, go where you will, over mountain or plain, In country, or city, where gay fashions reign, Wherever Columbia’s daughters are found, Fair blossoms of beauty are scattered around : But yet there is one, among all much the finer, The fresh-blooming Rose-bud of North Carolina. In gay festive halls, where the music is sweet, And beauties like blossoms, in fresh garlands meet, Where light, like a flood, is poured over the scene, And fragrance floats round, as where roses have been ; The chief place of all, every eye will assign her, The beautiful Rose-bud of North Carolina. In home’s quiet scene, where the heart loves to dwell, Mid joys that no tongue to a stranger can tell, Whatever the life you are destined to live, One blossom is needed, her fragrance to give ; Go gather that blossom, and never resign her, The sweet, gentle Rose-bud of North Carolina. When sickness and sorrow shall visit your home, Sad guests, though unbidden, that surely will come, To have by your pillow a blossom like this, Will make e’en your death-bed a region of bliss; Her breath makes the soul every moment diviner, The pale drooping Rose-bud of North Carolina. THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE. EARTH’S LULLABY TO HER CHILDREN. Ar morn my children all scamper away, Their hearts full of hope and of mirth, To join with each other in life’s wild play, Forgetful of kind Mother Earth. But hungry or thirsty they think of me, And turn to me often and o’er; While like a fond mother I open free, My breast to the children I bore. And I nourish them there with fondest love, And give them the strength of my heart; Till again they go forth and wildly rove, Nor sigh from their mother to part. All thoughtless of me, they pass the day, In business, in love, or in war; Their senses absorbed in life’s stirring play, They faney the evening afar. But evening steals on with her twilight gloom, And Earth’s weary offspring must rest ; And one by one will my children come To sleep on their kind mother’s breast. WOOD-NOTES,. BALLAD. Tunxx.—* Oh, carry me back to Old Virglnta's shore.” Ou, carry me back, oh, carry me back, Unto those early years, When life was all a happy dream, And kindness dried my tears: No sadness then came o’er my soul, But every thing was gay,— Oh, carry me back, oh, carry me back, To some bright early day. Oh, carry me back, oh, carry me back, To that sweet dream of youth, When earth was all a sunny spot, And every heart was truth ; For duds and darkness gather now, And sighs and tears are rife,— Oh, carry me back, oh, carry me back, » To the bright morn of life. THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE, BALLAD. Tunr.—* Lucy Long.” Ou, once I was a happy flower, And grew within a vale, All sheltered from the ble ak winds’ power, Sweet odors to exhale, I strove with maiden art, To close my blushing leaves with shame, And keep him from my heart. st where my bosom heaves, Though much against my will, He boldly perched among my leaves, And from them sipped his fill. Away he flew, I little dreamed My foolish heart would burn, For what so mere a trifle seemed, And wished for his return. VOL. 1.—§ eit: — a ge = : ene d WOOD-NOTES. ) THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE. The pr i presence of each passing stranger SONNET. ) May draw from its tissue a tone, That too often, alas! there is danger = Brae Jor to the heart sweet music is bringing, May sound when that stranger is gone, Life is a day-dream of pleasure and love ; Dea Gh i Women, like beautiful spirits, are singing Not e’en from the light breath of fashion, Notes they have caught from the angels above. Its music is wholly concealed ; But alone to the warm touch of passion, Light o’er the earth in its richness, Will the heart its true m élody yield. Gilding with glory each scene as it lies ; i Light from the soft eye of beauty is gleaming, To Love—Love alon aig given And gilds with its brightness Time’s wing as he flies. Most exquisite music to make: ? Such tones as re-echoed from Heaven, The rapture of seraphs awake. THE MUSIC OF THE HEART. Tuere is a melody deep and abounding LINES TO A LADY ACCOMPANYING A VOLUME OF FESTUS. "Mid the strangely wrought chords of the heart ; The wind may not pass, but ’tis sounding A music unrivalled by art. I rary would have within thy thoughts a home, imes ’tis the wailing of ees At times ’tis the wailing of sorrow, While this brief dream of life is lasting ; From the depths of its being it brings, Nay, even in those bright worlds to come, That lie far away beyond the tomb, Where every thing mortal is hasting. Again, wildest joy on the morrow, Comes bursting away from its strings. NC ee Seer SRS ae = SE ee = : e Sa = Scant ret a or TT : ERED = i = aoe a a Tin —~ = = ae WOOD-NOTES. So I pour in a.torrent of bright, wild thought, To stir up the depths of feeling By this volume, with strange, high fancies fraught, Where beautiful lessons are fearfully taught, Like a demon dread truths revealing. For I know that a spirit so formed as thine Must catch of its wild inspiration, And mind’s mighty actings begin to combine The bosom’s own chaos with wondrous design, Like a god in the act of creation. Then, in that beautiful world of thine, So dreamfully planned and created, I dare to imagine the lot may be mine Amid the immortals, there gathered, to shine In the graces of youth reinstated. LINES, Written in a Lady’s Album opposite an engraving representing a little girl with a basket of flowers in a graveyard, among tombs, overcome with tears, and exclaiming, “I sought for flowers.” Sorrow is eloquent, dear child! But sorrow boisterous and wild, THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE. Makes to the heart no such appeal As thine, while gentle tear-drops steal Down thy young cheeks, and poignant grief Through silent weeping seeks relief, Tt hath deep mysteries—the heart— Which spoken words can never impart ; But as the electric fluid steals From cloud to cloud, alone reveals To bosoms fit to take and keep, By sympathy those mysteries deep, Such mysteries as these are read Tn thy young tears, thy drooping head, Thy prostrate form, thy heaving breast; The exclamation half suppressed ; In few brief words with magic powers, To tell thy tale—*« I sought for flowers.” Pure are the fountains of the earth Whence bubbling waters take their birth ; And pure the showers that from above Descend upon the world we love. But childhood’s tears are purer still Than gentle rain or murmuring rill. 85 WOOD-NOTES. When man transgressed and fell. from Heaven, And Innocence away was driven Forth from her home within his heart, She lingered, fearing to depart ; Then turned, and sought a final rest Within dear woman’s gentle breast. If then there be a sacred shrine For Love and Innocence divine; Where all things pure, and bright, and sweet, Together in this world may meet; The bosom of a female child Presents that temple undefiled. And such was thine, thou lovely one; A light more holy than the sun, Shone on thy path and warmed thy heart, And brought its feelings void of art, To spread themselves like blossoms fair, Yielding their perfume to the air. Such blossoms, emblems of thy state, In beauty as in transient date, It was thy frequent joy to cull, Until with basket gathered full, | q on eth REE = cemented itn —— ee EEE EE ee ee THE HON. ROBERT STRANGE. 87 Home would’st thou hie in rosy health, Proud of thy store of childish wealth. This day again your idle hours You meant to spend in search of flowers, And sallied forth with bosom light, On plains in gayest sunshine bright, Purloining Nature’s jewels fair, That lavishly she scattered there. No thoughts but those of gladness came, No sinful deed brought sense of shame ; Sounds innocent alone were heard, The hum of bee, the song of bird; "Twas one of Nature’s holiest hours, As joyously you sought for flowers. Yes, sought for flowers! but what hast found ? * Graves, tombs, and relics scattered round. Those who, like thee, once lived and loved, And in life’s happy sunshine moved, In silence here are laid to sleep, To wake no more! ‘Well mayst thou weep. This world’s a field, where all like thee Are roving wide in childish glee, Ly porter