Joseph Rodman Drake

“ But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill
Of the gauze-winged katy-did;
And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will,
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings,
Ever a note of wail and wo,
Till morning spreads her rosy wings,
And earth and sky in her glances glow.
III.
’Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;
He has counted them all with click and stroke,
Deep in the heart of the mountain oak,
And he has awakened the sentry elve
Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,
To bid him ring the hour of twelve,
And call the fays to their revelry ”

“ And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood.
The mild west wind was soft and low,
It cooled the heat of his burning brow,
And he felt new life in his sinews shoot,
As he drank the juice of the cal'mus root;
And now he treads the fatal shore,
As fresh and vigorous as before.
XVII. Wrapped in musing stands the sprite:
'Tis the middle wane of night,
His task is hard, his way is far,
But he must do his errand right
Ere dawning mounts her beamy car,
And rolls her chariot wheels of light;
And vain are the spells of fairy-land,
He must work with a human hand. ”

“ But oh! the light of the constant soul
Nor time can darken nor sorrow dim;
Though wo may weep in life’s mingled bowl,
Love still shall hover around its brim.
TO SARAH.
I.
One happy year has fled, Sall,
Since you were all my own,
The leaves have felt the autumn blight,
The wintry storm has blown.
We heeded not the cold blast,
Nor the winter’s icy air;
For we found our climate in the heart,
And it was summer there.
II.
The summer’s sun is bright, Sall,
The skies are pure in hue;
But clouds will sometimes sadden them,
And dim their lovely blue ”

“ The sigh of bliss—the rapture breathing word;
No longer now upon his features dwelt
The glance that sweetly thrills—the looks that melt;
No speaking gaze of fond attachment told,
But all was dull and gloomy, sad and cold.
Yet he was kind, or laboured to be kind,
And strove to hide the workings of his mind;
And cloak’d his heart, to soothe his wife’s distress,
Under a mask of tender gentleness.
It was in vain—for ah! how light and frail
To love’s keen eye is falsehood’s gilded veil.
Sweet winning words may for a time beguile,
Professions lull, and oaths deceive a while ”

“ Left I for this thy shades, were none intrude,
To prison wandering thought and mar sweet solitude?
Yet I will look upon thy face again,
My own romantic Bronx, and it will be
A face more pleasant than the face of men. ”

“ But the war cry he strikes with is, ‘conquest or death!’
VI.
Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens,
Each son that thou rearest, in the battle’s wild shock,
When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given,
Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock.
Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow,
Let him stride the rough mountain, or toss on the foam,
He will strike fast and well on the field or the billow,
In triumph and glory, for God and his home! ”

“ Through the wave the sturgeon flew,
And, like the heaven-shot javelin,
He sprung above the waters blue.
Instant as the star-fall light,
He plunged him in the deep again,
But left an arch of silver bright
The rainbow of the moony main. ”

“ On wings of woven air in some enchanted vale.
It is an eve that drops a heavenly balm,
To lull the feelings to a sober calm,
To bid wild passion’s fiery flush depart;
And smooth the troubled waters of the heart;
To give a tranquil fixedness to grief,
A cherished gloom, that wishes not relief.
Torn is that heart, and bitter are its throes,
That cannot feel on such a night, repose;
And yet one breast there is that breathes this air,
An eye that wanders o’er the prospect fair,
That sees yon placid moon, and the pure sky
Of mild, unclouded blue ”

“ From the lorn heart each sweetening solace gone,
Abandoned, friendless, withered, lost, and lone;
And when with keener pangs we bleed to know
That hands beloved have struck the deepest blow;
That friends we deemed most true, and held most dear,
Have stretched the pall of death o’er pleasure’s bier;
Repaid our trusting faith with serpent guile,
Cursed with a kiss, and stabbed beneath a smile;
What then remains for souls of tender mould?
One last and silent refuge, calm and cold—
A resting place for misery’s gentle slave;
Hearts break but once, no wrongs can reach the grave. ”

“ The breeze fresh springing from the lips of morn,
Kissing the leaves, and sighing so to lose 'em,
The winding of the merry locust's horn,
The glad spring gushing from the rock's bare bosom:
Sweet sights, sweet sounds, all sights, all sounds excelling,
Oh! 'twas a ravishing spot formed for a poet's dwelling. ”

“ And thy bosom be shrouded in death’s cold pall,
When the bloom of that rich red lip shall fade,
And thy head on its pillow of dust be laid;
Oh! then thy spirit shall see how true
Are the holy vows I have breathed to you;
My form shall moulder thy grave beside,
And in the blue heavens I’ll seek my bride.
Then we’ll tell, as we tread yon azure sphere,
Of the woes we have known while lingering here;
And our spirits shall joy that, their pilgrimage o’er,
They have met in the heavens to sever no more. ”

“ Thou wert mine through the tempest, the blight, and the burning;
Could I think thou wouldst change when the morn was returning.
Yet peace to thy heart, though from mine it must sever,
May she love thee as I loved, alone and for ever;
I may weep for thy loss, but my faith is unshaken,
And the heart thou hast widowed will bless thee in breaking.
WRITTEN IN A LADY’S ALBUM.
Grant me, I cried, some spell of art,
To turn with all a lover’s care,
That spotless page, my Eva’s heart,
And write my burning wishes there. ”

“ IV. They come from beds of lichen green,
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly
From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,
Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high,
And rock'd about in the evening breeze ”

“ Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!
This work was published before January 1, 1928, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. ”

“ And rolling flood, and towering rock sublime,
If warrior deed or peasant’s lowly tale
Of love or wo should fail to wake the rhyme,
If to the wildest heights of song you climb,
(Tho’ some who know you less, might cry, beware!)
Onward! I say—your strains shall conquer time;
Give your bright genius wing, and hope to share
Imagination’s worlds—the ocean, earth, and air.
X.
Arouse, my friend—let vivid fancy soar,
Look with creative eye on nature’s face,
Bid airy sprites in wild Niagara roar,
And view in every field a fairy race. ”

“ They had heard of twang of the maize-silk string,
When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn,
And the nettle-shaft through the air was borne,
Feathered with down the hum-bird's wing.
And now they deemed the courier ouphe,
Some hunter sprite of the elfin ground;
And they watched till they saw him mount the roof
That canopies the world around ”

“ Oh! there were times, when to my heart there came
All that the soul can feel, or fancy frame;
The summer party in the open air,
When sunny eyes and cordial hearts were there;
Where light came sparkling thro’ the greenwood eaves,
Like mirthful eyes that laugh upon the leaves;
Where every bush and tree in all the scene,
In wind-kiss’d wavings shake their wings of green,
And all the objects round about dispense
Reviving freshness to the awakened sense ”

“ And soon the voice of heaven shall bid you rise
To meet rewarding smiles in yonder skies.
But where, for solace, shall the bosom turn
For death too strong—for tears—too proudly stern?
When shall the lulling dews of peace descend
On hearts that cannot break and will not bend?
Ah! never, never—they are doomed to feel
Pains that no balm of heaven or earth can heal;
To live in groans, and yield their parting breath
Without a joy in life—or hope in death. ”

“ At twilight in the west afar;
'Twas tied with threads of dawning gold,
And buttoned with a sparkling star. ”

“ She feels the busy tread of men;
When every tree, and bush, and flower,
Springs wildly in its native grace;
Ere art exerts her boasted power,
That brightened only to deface.
III.
Yes! thou art lovelier now than ever;
How sweet ’twould be, when all the air
In moonlight swims, along thy river
To couch upon the grass, and hear
Niagara’s everlasting voice,
Far in the deep blue west away;
That dreaming and poetic noise
We mark not in the glare of day,
Oh! how unlike its torrent-cry,
When o’er the brink the tide is driven,
As if the vast and sheeted sky
In thunder fell from heaven. ”

“ Warm’d by the lighting and lulled by the thunder,
Fann’d by the whirlwind and rock’d on the wave;
Wildly the winter wind howls round his pillow,
Cold on his bosom the spray showers fall;
Creaks the strained mast at the rush of the billow,
Peaceful he slumbers, regardless of all.
V.
Mark how the cheek of the warrior flushes,
As the battle drum beats and the war torches glare;
Like a blast of the north to the onset he rushes,
And his wide-waving falchion gleams brightly in air.
Around him the death-shot of foemen are flying,
At his feet friends and comrades are yielding their breath ”