Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 3

In that beautiful world, in that Yemen, My Soul lately wandered in bliss; Till she found there a glorious maiden, She vainly had sighed for, in this.

Then my Soul walked far with this maiden-- In this beautiful region of gold, And died on the love-burdened accents, From the fount of her bosom that rolled.

Oh Yemen! whose name is the Happy, Whose mountains are fragrant with bloom-- My Soul met her Consort there lately-- And now she says nothing of gloom.

LILLY: A POEM.

The May sun sheds an amber beam, Upon the river's liquid plain, But never to that glorious gleam, Her eyes will ope again: Sweet Lilly, come again, Sweet Lilly, come again.

We look across the landscape wide, Where spring bemocks the thought of pain, And scatters charms with lavish pride;-- The vernal joy is all in vain: Sweet Lilly, come again, Sweet Lilly, come again.

The summer breezes lightly lift The cl.u.s.tered flowers oppressed with rain, Which fleecy cloud-sieves downward sift,-- It falls on Lilly's form in vain: Sweet Lilly, come again, Sweet Lilly, come again.

Oh! can the glory of the year, The Spring that decks the widening plain, Thus strive to make the maid appear, But yield the hopeless task in vain: Sweet Lilly, come again; Sweet Lilly, come again.

Silence!--where brighter May suns beam, On greener hills and vales, Bright Lilly walks, as in a dream, Fann'd by celestial gales:-- Now, Lill! come not again!

Now, Lill! come not again.

ADIEU TO EMORY.

Adieu to thee, Emory! adieu to thee now!

There is grief in my spirit, there's gloom on my brow, I have left the sweet scenes where I knelt at thy shrine, O Learning! thy wreath with my name to entwine.

Adieu to the scenes where, when study was o'er, And the toil of the mind was remembered no more; I roamed o'er the mountains, forgetful, afar, 'Neath the light of the beautiful Evening Star.

Like the light of that star--like a splendor on high-- Like a Heavenly Dream that was born in the sky-- Bright Poesy burst on my pathway even there, And a rainbow of Beauty encircled the air.

Ah! she shone with a brilliance more dazzling and strong, Than e'er to a child of the earth could belong; And her pinions that waved through the rose-scented air, Had a tint that was brighter than thought can declare.

Yet adieu to thee, Emory,--thy scenes I regret; In a far distant scene, I may think of them yet; Fond Fancy may roam o'er thy mountains again, And love them as freshly and warmly as then.

Yet, the tears gush unbidden, when breathing adieu,-- With the change of our years, our hearts are changed too!

And, haply, the world, with its coldness, will chill My feelings at length, as bleak winter the rill.

Adieu to thy scenes, adieu to thee now!

There is grief in my spirit--there is gloom on my brow-- Though Fancy may paint all thy beauty once more, The days that have flitted, she cannot restore.

VIRGINIA.

Thy soil, Virginia! is all hallowed ground, Made such by steps of patriots; thy high fame, Alway unto our ears, a glorious sound, Kindles, in all high hearts, heroic flame.

I walk beneath thy forests, high and lone, I hear a voice that sinks into my heart, The voice of fetterless Liberty; the tone Which bids the flame of patriotism start.

Greece was the land of heroes, and her soil Is sacred with the deathless memory Of martyred virtue, which on Death could smile, At Marathon and proud Thermopylae:

Gray Rome shall never lose the magic charm, That valor's fire can pour along a land; That charm shall bid the hearts of mankind warm, Long after her last stone hath ceased to stand:

Yet, thou, Virginia! art a prouder land, For when thy hills become red shrines to Right; Thy plains become the spots, where, smiling, stand, The angels, gentle Peace and true Delight.

And now, how fair thy homes! on every hand, Thy cities and thy country domes arise, From mountains vast, to ocean's sh.e.l.ly strand, And bring a pride into our gazing eyes!

How brave thy polished sons! their hearts how free!

How far above the plotting of the mean!

How they contemn all base chicanery, And proudly move, as men, through every scene!

And when thy daughters, an angelic train, Roam mid thy flowery walks, how sweet their love!

And when they speak--the sound seems like a strain, That wander'd from a blissful clime above!

Immortal land! my soul is proud, to think I yet can walk upon thy mother soil, And, willing that her mouldering frame may sink, Back to thy breast, after its lifetime toil.

WATOGA.

Oh, think not that the polished breast, Only, can feel the fire of love, Pure as the flames that brightly rest In bosoms of the realms above.

Yes! often in the rudest form, A heart may be, more clear and bright Than ever lent the loveliest charm To G.o.ddess of the Festal light.

Come, hear a story of the time, When this wide land was one green bower, The roving Red man's Eden-chine, Where bloomed the wildest flower.

The great ships brought a wondrous race, One evening o'er the ocean beach; Strange was the pallor of their face, Strange was the softness of their speech.

'Twas evening, and the sunset threw A gorgeous brilliance o'er the scene, Deep crimson stained the heaven's sweet blue, But ocean rivalled all its sheen.

The painted red men came to view, With marvel, what the winds had brought,-- For, surely, those proud vessels flew, As if their force from Heaven they caught.

But who is yonder slender youth, With smoothest brow and smoother cheek, And eyes so full of boyhood's truth, And mouth, which closed, yet seems to speak?

"Ah, sure, that lovely youth's from Heaven!"

A dark-eyed maiden of the wood Sighed out upon the breath of even, As in the mellowed light she stood.

And, ever from that fatal hour, This white youth's image, slight and pale, Would haunt the maiden's leafy bower, And wake her spirit's wail.

In that high heart that fiercely hates, Love is as fierce and wild; And so the love is wild, that waits To mount its height in this poor child: This poor, frail child who born beneath A roof of leaves, is made to dream, That she may wear a bridal wreath For youth of snowy gleam.

Watoga! sure some demon lied, To thee, when wrapt amid thy sleep, To make thee his forlornest bride, Beneath the moaning deep.

That youth who floats an Angel through, Thy night, thy daily dream-- He loves a maid whose eyes are blue, And cheek like yon full moon's white beam.

The simple ornaments which thou Hast taken thy form to deck, The wild flower wreath that binds thy brow, The sh.e.l.ls that gem thy neck; Each ornament shall deck a bride To wed the Demon Death, Beneath the ocean's sluggish tide, A thousand feet beneath!

The fair youth who hath warped thy mind, He loves a snow-white maid!

Then know'st it!--now not long confined, Thou'lt fly the greenwood shade.

'Tis night on lone Atlantic's deep, And summer o'er that placid sea, The stars watch Earth's scarce-breathing sleep-- Oh! she sleeps deeply--tenderly.

What figure o'er yon bluff that scowls, Upon the smiling water?

Ah! whose that wild and freezing howl?

It is the forest's daughter.