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1837.

Hope realized and love's warm glow
Seem'd mingling o'er his furrow'd brow,
And smiles of pleasure told in part
The inward gladness of his heart.
But ever and anon there stole
Some softer feeling o'er his soul,
And something like a tear would roll
Unnoticed down his furrow'd cheek,-

The child of thoughts he could not speak.

Why rings the old castle with gladness this morn?
Why echoes the wood with the blithe hunter's horn?
Why slandeth their lord with his train at their side,
And his eye beaming lightly with gratified pride?
This day it shall close o'er his doubts and his fears,
It shall witness the realized wishes of years,
And his name shall be join'd, by the dearest of ties,
To the only one worthy so brilliant a prize.
Whose fathers of old were his fathers' allies.
Why stealeth the teardrop so sad to his eye?

Why bursts from his bosom the half-smother'd sigh?
Alas, for that father! this day he must part
From the pride of his household, the joy of his heart;
No more may he gaze on his beautiful child,
Whose step ever bounded, whose lip ever smil'd;
Who cast such a charm o'er his wild mountain life
As the sunbeam may throw o'er the dark frowning cliff.
Now read ye the cause of the joyful array ?

'Tis to welcome the lord of this festival day;

For he comes with his glittering train by his side,
To claim of her father his beautiful bride.

ELEGY UPON LEO, AN OLD HOUSE-DOG.

THOU poor old dog! too long affection's tongue
Hath left thy merits and thy death unsung;
Too long the muse hath sought for themes of fame,
And left untold thy well-remember'd name;
And though that name hath lived on memory's leaf,
Has touch'd for thee no thrilllng chords of grief.
Thou dear old dog! thou joy of childish years!
Here let me shed for thee my heartfelt tears;
Here let me turn from life's cold cares aside,
And weep that thou, my faithful friend, hast died.
Oh that no tears less pure might e'er be shed,
Than those which mourn a loved companion dead!
This is a world where faithful hearts are few,
Where love too oft is vain, too oft untrue;
And when some cherish'd form to earth is borne,
O'er fond affection's sever'd chain we mourn;

Thus I for thee, that one more friend hath gone,
Who, though a dog, could love for love alone.
Thou dear old friend! on memory's starlit tide,
Link'd with a sister's name thy name shall glide;
And when for her our tears flow fast and free,
Our hearts shall breathe a ling'ring sigh for thee;
For thee, that sister's dearest, earliest pet,
Whom even when dying she remember'd yet,
Thou wast her playmate in each childish hour,
When her light footsteps sprang from flower to flower;
When not a cloud on life's fair surface lay,
And joys alternate chased the hours away;
When her young heart beat high with infant glee,
And fondly sought to share those joys with thee.
And when youth's star arose on childhood's morn,
And loftier thoughts on time's dark wing were borne;
When hope look'd forward with exulting eye,
And fear, the coward, still crouch'd trembling nigh;
When long had pass'd those hours of infant glee,
Still, still she loved, and still would sport with thee.
[Unfinished.]

1837.

MORNING.

How calm, how beautiful a scene is this!
When nature, waking from her silent sleep,
Bursts forth in light, and harmony, and joy!
When earth, and sky, and air are glowing all
With gaiety and life, and pensive shades
Of morning loveliness are cast around!
The purple clouds, so streak'd with crimson light,
Bespeak the coming of majestic day;

Mark how the crimson grows more crimson still,
While ever and anon a golden beam
Seems darting out its radiance!

Herald of day! where is that mighty form

Which clothes you all in splendour, and around

Your colourless, pale forms spreads the bright hues
Of heaven? He cometh from his gorgeous couch,
And gilds the bosom of the glowing east.

1837.

LINES

WRITTEN AFTER SHE BEGAN TO FEAR THAT HER DISEASE WAS PAST REMEDY.

I ONCE thought life was beautiful,

I once thought life was fair,

Nor deem'd that all its light could fade

And leave but darkness there.

But now I know it could not last-
The fairy dream has fled!

Though thirteen summers scarce have past
Above this youthful head.

Yes, life-'twas all a dream-but now
I see thee as thou art;

I see how slight a thing can shade
The sunshine of the heart.

I see that all thy brightest hours,
Unmark'd, have pass'd away;

And now I feel how sweet they were,
I cannot bid them stay.

In childish love or childish play

My happiest hours were spent,

While scarce my infant tongue could say
What joy or pleasure meant.

And now, when my young heart looks up,
Life's gayest smiles to meet;

Now, when in youth her brightest charms
Would seem so doubly sweet;

Now fade the dreams which bound my soul
As with the chains of truth;

Oh that those dreams had stay'd awhile,
To vanish with my youth!

Oh! once did hope look sweetly down,
To check each rising sigh;

But disappointment's iron frown
Has dimm'd her sparkling eye.

And once I loved a brother too,
Our youngest and our best,
But death's unerring arrow sped,
And laid him down to rest.

But now I know those hours of peace
Were never form'd to last;

That those fair days of guileless joy
Are past-for ever past!

January, 1837.

TO MY OLD HOME AT PLATTSBURG.

THAT dear old home, where pass'd my childhood's years,
Where fond affection wiped my infant tears;
Where first I learn'd from whence my blessings came,
And lisp'd, in faltering tones, a mother's name;
That cherish'd home, where memory fondly clings,
Where eager fancy spreads her soaring wings;
Around whose scenes my thoughts delight to stray,
And pass the hours in pleasing dreams away.
Oh! shall I ne'er behold thy waves again,
My native lake, my beautiful Champlain?
Shall I no more above thy ripples bend
In sweet communion with my childhood's friend?
Shall I no more behold thy rolling wave,
The patriot's cradle and the warrior's grave?
Thy banks, illumined by the sun's last glow,
Thine islets mirror'd in the waves below?
Back, back, thou present-robed in shadows lie!
And rise the past before my raptured eye!
Fancy shall gild the frowning lapse between,
And memory's hand shall paint the glowing scene;
And I shall view my much-loved home again,
My native village and my sweet Champlain,
With former friends retrace my footsteps o'er,
And muse delighted on thy verdant shore.
Alas! the vision fades, the dream is past;
Dissolved the spell by sportive fancy cast!
Why, why should thus our brightest dreams depart,
And scenes illusive cheat the sorrowing heart?
Where'er through future life my footsteps roam,
I ne'er shall find a spot like thee, my home!
With all my joys the thoughts of thee shall blend,
And join'd with thee shall rise my childhood's friend!
1837.

FAME.

A FRAGMENT.

On Fame! thou trumpeter of dead men's deeds!
Thou idol of the heart, thou empty flatterer,
That, like the heathen of the Nile, embalmest
Those that thou design'st to love, and ever hiding
Their vices and their follies with a veil
Of soft concealment, doth exalt them high
Above the common crowd, crown'd with thy might,

That future years may copy and admire.
Thou bright, alluring dream! thou dazzling star!
Where shall we find thee! Thou art call'd

Fickle and vain, and worthless of pursuit,

Yet

1838.

*

*

ON MY MOTHER'S FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY.

YES, mother, fifty years have fled,
With rapid footsteps o'er thy head;
Have pass'd with all their motley train,
And left thee on thy couch of pain!
How many smiles, and sighs, and tears,
How many hopes, and doubts, and fears,
Have vanish'd with that lapse of years!
Though past, those hours of pain and grief
Have left their trace on memory's leaf;
Have stamp'd their footprints on the heart,
In lines which never can depart;
Their influence on the mind must be
As endless as eternity.

Years, ages, to oblivion roll,

Their memory forms the deathless soul;
They leave their impress as they go,
And shape the mind for joy or woe!
Yes, mother, fifty years have past,
And brought thee to their close at last.
Oh that we all could gaze, like thee,
Back on that dark and tideless sea,
And 'mid its varied records find
A heart at ease with all mankind,
A firm and self-approving mind!
Grief, that had broken hearts less fine,
Hath only served to strengthen thine;
Time, that doth chill the fancy's play,
Hath kindled thine with purer ray;
And stern disease, whose icy dart
Hath power to chill the shrinking heart,
Has left thine warm with love and truth,
As in the halcyon days of youth.
Oh turn not from the meed of praise
A daughter's willing justice pays;
But greet with smiles of love again
This tribute of a daughter's pen.
1838.

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