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His little hands were meekly clasped,
And to that cheek so fair,
A ringlet carelessly had strayed,
And lightly lingered there.

Beneath those silken lids that dropped,
Were eyes serenely bright;
An infant kneels, and angels gaze
With rapture at the sight.

Well may they strike their golden harps,
And swell their songs of praise;
An infant kneels in artless strains
Its feeble voice to raise.

Oh, what a lesson! if a child
So innocent must kneel,
Should not our sinful time-seared hearts
A deep contrition feel?

How often from a little child
May we a lesson learn!
Remind us of our wanderings,
And urged to quick return.

1842

THE WISH

I ask -- but not the glittering pomp --
Of wealth and pageantry;
Nor splendid dome: a rural cot
My domicile shall be.

'Tis not to mingle with the gay,
The opulent, and proud;
'Tis not to court the flattering smile
Of an admiring crowd.

I ask a heart -- a faithful heart --
Congenial with mine own,
Whose deep, unchanging love shall burn
For me, and me alone:

A heart in sorrow's cheerless hour
To soften every care;
To taste with me the sweets of life,
And all its ills to share.

Thus linked by friendship's golden chain,
Ah, who more blessed than we;
Unruffled as the pearly stream
Our halcyon days would be.

I'LL THINK OF THEE
(Words and Music)

I'll think of thee at that soft hour,
When fade the parting hues of day;
And on each grove and woodland bower
The balmy gales of summer play.

When night around her mantle throws,
And stars illume the deep blue sea,
When wearied nature seeks repose,
Oh, then, I'll dream, I'll dream of thee.

When from the East the morning breaks;
And night's dark shadows glide away;
When Nature from her slumber wakes
To hail with joy the opening day.

When sweetly bursting on the ear,
The tuneful warbler's note of glee,
I'll fondly fancy thou art near
To touch the light guitar for me.

1842

AN ADDRESS
(Recited while on the tour through New York, 1843)

The deep blue sky, serenely light,
On which your eyes with rapture gaze;
Where stars unveil their mellow bright,
And God His wondrous power displays;

The gushing fount, whose glassy breast,
Reflects the parting hues of day,
Nature in robes of verdure drest,
The opening buds, the flowerets gay;

The lofty hills, the greenwood bowers, --
Though fair these rural scenes appear,
On them to gaze must ne'er be ours:
These orbs, alas! they cannot cheer.

But, yet, instruction's nobler light,
Sheds on our mental eye its ray;
We hail its beams with new delight,
And bid each gloomy thought away.

To us the Lord kind friends has given,
Whose names we ever shall revere,
Recorded in the book of heaven,
Shall their munificence appear.

But, while our sunny moments fly,
Unsullied by a shade of care,
For those, like us bereft, we sigh,
And wish they, too, our joys might share.

1843

SONG OF THE GREEK EXILE

Farewell, guitar! this faltering hand
Will touch thy trembling chords no more.
Far from my lovely, native land,
I languish on a distant shore;
From Grecia's isle forever torn,
A captive exile, now I mourn.

Farewell, guitar! another hand
Will wake thy trembling chords for me,
And in my own dear native land
Recall my favorite melody:
The land where minstrels poured their lays,
Where dwelt the bard of by-gone days.

Oh, might I find at last a grave
In thee, my happy, happy isle!
The mournful cypress o'er me wave,
And wild flowers sadly on me smile;
There, bosom friends, and kindred dear
Would to my memory drop a tear.

1843

REFLECTIONS ON THE CLOSING YEAR

'Twill soon be gone -- the wailing night wind drear
Chants her sad requiem to the closing year:
'Twill soon be gone-the brilliant starry night
In silent eloquence repeats the strain.

'Twill soon be gone-the placid queen of night
O'er its departure sheds her mellow light.
Oh, time, what art thou? who thy course may stay?
Not ours the past nor future, but today.

Hark! hark! the distant peal of yonder bell,
In measured tones the midnight hour doth tell.
Old year, thy reign is past; we bid adieu
To thee, and usher in the new.

I'll to my couch, and dream the hours away,
'Till fair Aurora opes the gates of day:
But ere I go, dear friends, on you I call:
"A happy new year" is my wish to all.

1843

TO RUSTICUS (In answer to the lines "My Heart is Weary")

Oh, why forgotten wouldst thou sleep
Beneath some lonely tree?
Has this bright world, so beautiful,
No sunny spots for thee?
Thou sayest thy heart is weary, --
Hath sorrow swept its strings?
Its every tone of buried hopes
Some sad remembrance brings?

Go where the gushing fountain
Leaps from the rock-bound hill;
And let its quiet murmurs
Thy heart's wild throbbing still;
Scorn not the bumble daisy,
Nor lily's drooping form;
For, trust me, thou wilt never find
A rose without a thorn!

August, 1847

TIME CHRONICLED IN A SKULL

A skull was once placed in my hand and I placed a watch inside it. The thoughts that came to me then were afterwards written out in a poem.

Why should I fear it? Once the pulse of life
Throbbed in these temples, pale and bloodless now.
Here reason sat enthroned, its empire held
O'er infant thought and thought to action grown:
A flashing eye in varying glances told
The secret workings of immortal mind.
The vital spark hath fled, and hope, and love,
And hatred, -- all are buried in the dust,
Forgotten, like the cold and senseless clay
That lies before me: such is human life.
Mortals, behold and read your destiny!
Faithful chronometer, which now I place
Within this cavity with faltering band,
Tell me how swift the passing moments fly!
I hear thy voice and tremble as I hear,
For time and death are blended -- awful thought.
Death claims its victim. Time, that once was his,
Bearing him onward with resistless power,
Must in the vast eternity be lost.
Eternity, duration infinite!
Ages on ages roll unnumbered there;
From star to star the soul enraptured flies,
Drinking new beauties, transports ever new,
Casting its crown of glory at His feet,
Whose word from chaos to existence called
A universe; whose hand omnipotent
Controls the storms that wake the boundless deep,
"And guides the planet in its wild career."