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- POEMS - 6/52 -


in New York every Saturday, which is edited with taste, spirit, and ability, and which has a circulation of many thousand copies.

General Morris is still in the prime and vigor of life, and it is not unlikely that the public will yet have much to admire from his pen, and which will, without doubt, place him still higher in the niche of fame. His residence is chiefly at Undercliff, his country seat, on the banks of the Hudson, near Cold Spring, surrounded by the most lovely and beautiful scenery in nature, which can not fail to keep the muse alive within him, and tune the minstrel to further and still higher efforts.

Although he possesses abilities which eminently qualify him for public station, his literary taste and habits have, in spite of the strenuous solicitations of his friends, led him to prefer the retirement of private life. This, however, does not prevent his taking an active interest in all questions of public good; and the city of New York is greatly indebted to his vigorous aid for many of her most beautiful and permanent improvements.

We can not close this sketch without adverting to the following incident, which occurred in the British House of Commons:--

"Mr. Cagley, a member from Yorkshire," says the "London Times," "Concluded a long speech in favor of protection, by quoting the ballad of 'Woodman, spare that tree' (which was received with applause of the whole house), the 'tree' according to Mr. Cagley, being the 'Constitution,' and Sir Robert Peel the 'woodman,' about to cut it down."

What poet could desire a more gratifying compliment to his genius?

Poems and Ballads.

Poems.

The Deserted Bride. [See Notes]

Suggested by a scene in the play of the hunchback.

Inscribed to James Sheridan Knowles.

"Love me!--No.--He never loved me!" Else he'd sooner die than stain One so fond as he has proved me With the hollow world's disdain. False one, go--my doom is spoken, And the spell that bound me broken.

Wed him!--Never.--He has lost me!-- Tears!--Well, let them flow!--His bride? No.--The struggle life may cost me! But he'll find that I have pride! Love is not an idle flower, Blooms and dies the self-same hour.

Title, land, and broad dominion, With himself to me he gave; Stooped to earth his spirit's pinion, And became my willing slave! Knelt and prayed until he won me-- Looks he coldly upon me?

Ingrate!--Never sure was maiden Deeply wronged as I. With grief My true breast is overladen-- Tears afford me no relief-- Every nerve is strained and aching, And my very heart is breaking!

Love I him?--Thus scorned and slighted-- Thrown, like worthless weed, apart-- Hopes and feelings seared and blighted-- Love him?--Yes, with all my heart! With a passion superhuman-- Constancy, "thy name is woman."

Love, nor time, nor mood, can fashion-- Love?--Idolatry's the word To speak the broadest, deepest passion, Ever woman's heart hath stirred! Vain to still the mind's desires, Which consume like hidden fires!

Wrecked and wretched, lost and lonely, Crushed by grief's oppressive weight With a prayer for Clifford only, I resign me to my fate. Chains that bind the soul I've proven Strong as they were iron woven.

Deep the wo that fast is sending From my cheek its healthful bloom; Sad my thoughts as willows bending O'er the borders of the tomb! Without Clifford, not a blessing In the world is worth possessing.

Wealth!--a straw within the balance Opposed to love, 'twill strike the beam: Kindred, friendship, beauty, talents?-- All to love as nothing seem; Weigh love against all else together, And solid gold against a feather.

Hope is flown--away disguises Naught but death relief can give-- For the love he little prizes Can not cease, and Julia live! Soon my thread of life will sever-- Clifford, fare thee well--for ever!

The Main-Truck; Or, A Leap for Life

A Nautical Ballad.

[Founded upon a well-known tale from the pen of the late William Leggett, Esq.]

Old Ironsides at anchor lay, In the harbor of Mahon; A dead calm rested on the bay-- The waves to sleep had gone; When little Jack, the captain's son, With gallant hardihood, Climbed shroud and spar--and then upon The main-truck rose and stood!

A shudder ran through every vein-- All eyes were turned on high! There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, Between the sea and sky! No hold had he above--below, Alone he stood in air! At that far height none dared to go-- No aid could reach him there.

We gazed--but not a man could speak!-- With horror all aghast In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, We watched the quivering mast. The atmosphere grew thick and hot, And of a lurid hue, As, riveted unto the spot, Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck--He gasped, "O, God, Thy will be done!" Then suddenly a rifle grasped, And aimed it at his son! "Jump far out, boy! into the wave! Jump, or I fire!" he said: "That only chance your life can save! Jump--jump, boy!"--He obeyed.

He sank--he rose--he lived--he moved-- He for the ship struck out! On board we hailed the lad beloved With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, Then folded to his heart the boy And fainted on the deck!

Poetry.

To me the world's an open book Of sweet and pleasant poetry; I read it in the running brook


POEMS - 6/52

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