« PreviousContinue »
fully saluting the governor, as he stood in the balcony of the City-Hall. But it was a lightning glance. The light that o'er my eye-beam flashed,' was gone almost as soon as you could say it came. I sank into the humble citizen, and scorned to wear the laurels won by others, through dust and sweat, in many a field day of hard marching, and dinner campaigning. I have had the honor of being congratulated for my magnanimity and love of country, rather than love of party,' in turning my coat, and becoming an advocate for the well regulated credit system,' afterthat system had been blown to the winds. Thanks, most worthy citizens, of all parties, who always consider a man honest when he deserts to your side of the house, but I lay claim to no such high honors. Weave your chaplets for other brows :
'A poor Loco-Foco am I!
When I change, there will be two of us sophisticated,' as the fool in Lear hath it. Tell me not that I am considered a rising young man at the bar. Congratulate me not on the 'stirring' political speech to
a large and respectable meeting. Give me no laud as the caller of conventions, and the inditer of political addresses. Admire not my boldness as a dashing speculator, nor speak of my losses or gains. Yet for these, and all these, have I been congratulated. I have been decked with plumes which others borrowed for me. I have been praised and censured, congratulated and denounced, flattered and sneered at, for matters with which I had as little to do as with the doings of the
years before the flood. A friend congratulated me the other day on my improved looks since the change in my condition, and went so far as to hope that the child was doing well. That was the most unkindest cut of all, to one of my unhoused condition, and single wretchedness. Beside, let others think as they may, to my mind there was an impropriety, immodesty, and want of regard to what philosopher Square calls “the fitness of things,' that my bachelor mind revolts at Who the devil am I?
Confession, like physic, mid mortal extremes,
In the hands of a skilful concoctor,
Though not quite so good for the doctor!
Hence, some spiritual quacks, in attending their sick,
On the virtues insist of confessions;
Their sole lenitive pills are professions.
As to tears for our sins. if amendment it works,
An ounce-vial full ainple perhaps is;
At the bottom the seeds of relapses.
With a cargo of sins that hard ride did,
The moment the storm has subsided ?
1 EAUTY: OR, A LOVER'S JOURNAL.
The changes cultivatiou brings
ANNA. O! How is study misapplied With witching woman by our side; Despite our will, despite our pains, We quit the task with empty brains: We learn -- but only Cupid's lore; The heart, and not the head, we store. In vain with thee is all my skill, My eyes turn rebels to my will: When held by thee, my truant look Is ever wandering from the book; The letters dance, my senses swim, And all the blooming flowers grow
"Oh who can tell what cau e had that fair inaid
The night-bird from his native tree
Pours on the air his lulling strain; But harshly jars his melody,
Amid the discord in my brain.
From out the wood's deep bosom bear; But ah! the sighs that gush from mine,
Breathe only of the bitter there!
Not song of bird, nor glance of moon,
Nor breath of woods my smile inspires : Thy voice, thy face, thy sighs, alone
Can give the peace my soul requires !
When pressing flowers, so they may hold
June 16. Most happy thought! A sail a sail !
The moon is full, the tide is high; To-morrow, if my pains prevail,
We'll skim the waters merrily: And I'll contrive it, when we meet, To find by Anna's side a seat.
June 18. O! how the mellow heavens were bright, When our fair crew embarked last night : Above, no mist - below, no chill ; Passaic never slept so still. Huge, round, and golden rose the moon, But nounting, grew to silver soon : And dwelling, spire, whate'er was white, Shone whiter in her lavish light; While every gaudy hue was dim, And trees and hollows gloomed more
grin: As if alone her virgin ray On purest colors loved to play: And froin the moonrise to the boat One glassy line of light would float, Which, at ihe rash oar's shivering stroke, Quick into stars, and serpents broke; That glanced, and gambolled to the eye, Like mirrored rockets of the sky. But my best plans are ever thwarted My Anna and myself were parted. I thought all eyes were watching me, And kept aloof, that none might see, And so I lost her company. Yet found I solace for my pang, For oh! a tender song she sang: Her voice, rich streaming like the moon, So poured its steady shower of tune, Round which her lute's repeated tink.
lings Broke into points like starry twinklings, And in the hush of resting oars, Far-sweet the mellow murmur pours : No breath, no sound to mar it now, Save the soft rush that sweeps the prow. The very fishes, as subdued By hunger for melodious food, So near the moonlit surface came, Their sides shot back the silver flame : And these the words that travelled, blest, Through rosy pathways, from her breast:
How truly all she uttered there Described my own sad-sweet despair! As the light aspen quivering flies,
At sigh of morn, or step of bird, So are the heart's sweet sympathies
By music's balmy breathing stirred. Oh! could I hear, unmoved, her own And melting music's blended tone, When either stirs me, heard alone? All night, all night the living note In dreams around my head would float, And all my haunted depths of brain Still echo faintly with the strain.
Returning with the changing tide,
Now on the west a blackness spreads,
Now lightning, with convulsive spasm, Splita heaven in many a fearful chasm, And heapy darkness reaching wide, Hangs like a horror o'er the tide :
As shy to meet the stranger tide,
i hear the far-rejoicing roar,
bound, Was given, inscribed with her dear name, The night her friend a bride became: 'Twas useless all, such pains to lake, For I had dreamed without the cake. And now, most precious, and most rare, Her parting gift – this lock of hair :
Which, seized as with a sudden fright,
chinks The moon, in search of opening, winks; And through the clouds her course that
hedge, She cuts her way with silver edge! Fair as the first hour is the last Who could have dreamed a storm had passed ?
Snake-Hill, July 4. Bells, drums, shouts, cannons, wakened
me, With all the roar of jubilee: But I escaped the din and stir, To climb the hills and dream of her; My journal and my stick the sole Companions of my lonely stroll; But Nature brightly smiled on me, And lent me her sweet company; And strewing beauties for my gaze, Amused me in a thousand ways. Yet, Anna, though so fair to see, She could not win my thought from thee: No! all of bright my eyes could find, But woke thy image in my mind !
The winds were fresh, the heavens were
fair, Azaleas spiced the brushing air: And orchis in the grassy seas Bowed princely to the passing breeze: And rows of weeds in iangled plight Stood wove with threads of parasite, In golden meshes prisoned quite. Bees buzzed, and wrens that thronged
Now on its giddiest tower I stand,
Dost remember, when persuading
Fingers twined the silky mass, How the glossy strands in braiding,
Shone like spun and woven glass?
Dost regret thy pleasant rambles
Round her temples' fair hill-side ? And those chasing, rolling gambols
Down her shoulders' snowy slide ?
Or, when by her cheek descending,
As she plucked the wild flowers fair, For each bud she reaped in bending,
Thou a kiss didst gather there?
Or, when near her bosom doting,
Trembling, dazzled by the glow, How a roguish breeze there floating,
Pushed thee on the bank of snow }
Oh! 't were bliss all bliss excelling
Hopes the rashest could demand, Mighi I choose, for my home-dwelling, That fair clime, thy native land!
Night. RETURNING home, as evening frowned, My Anna by the door I found, There watching, with the crowd around, The dazzling freaks of fire to see, That brightly closed the jubilee: And oh ! 't was sweel the play to trace Of varying lights upon her face: First, rockets on their fiery cars Rushed roaring up in furious chase, Then broke in silent-dropping stars: Or, like a nest of serpents frightened, Ran scattering through the sky they lightened.
(round, When blazing wheels spin whizzing And dazzling fire-drops shower the
ground, Her features bloom with crimson glare, As though a blush were mantling there: But changed to suns as pearly white As visions of ethereal light, Her form, in silvery mists, appears Some seraph wondering at the spheres.
July 17. Ah! weary fate! sick, sick at heart, Unnerved, forlorn, I sit apart : I look on book, and sky, and green;
Her image ever present plays, And like a teasing mote is seen,
Still dimming all whereon I gaze. Oh! when will this illusion cease, When will my troubled heart find peace!
July 21. What have I done? Alas! 'tis past, And my worst fears are truths at last!
She bade me enter ; all were gone
- so long ;
The thought of all — the hour so bland --
Dear Anna?' came the words at last, "Oh! hadst thou known the pain I've
passed, How all my best pursuits have flagged, As I the heavy moments dragged, And how my bogom's warmest powers Have blest those past and happy hours, When ever by thy side I moved, And loved thee ere I knew I loved ; And since, how with a fiercer flame Has borned and tossed my feverish frame, When every thought and dream would be
Of thee and only thee! Oh! then thy lips had never said My love for thee was cold or dead ! Startled at all my feeling shown, She asked me then, with timid tone: 'If true thou lov'st me, as before, Oh! why not seek to meet me more ? Whate'er I love -- my birds, my flowers, With them I wish to pass my hours.' 'Nay, judge not thus !' I checked her here, 'Love is not weaker, mixed with fear: And yet, in truth, I know not why, What most I love, that most I fly; This, this alone I know - no more I love thee better than before: And oh! when driven from thee by fear, 'Tis then thou art most truly dear. No, no!--my heart is true = 't is thing That cannot feel, or love like mine!'