Lydia Huntley Sigourney

“ Shall we not then seek to multiply the objects which it is legitimate and healthful to admire? Shall we not familiarize our children with the harmony of color, the melody of sound, the symmetry of architecture, the delights of eloquence, and the charms of poetry? The fragrant flower, the whitening harvest, the umbrageous grove, the solemn mountain, the mighty cataract, are they not all teachers, or text-books in the hands of the Great Teacher? ”

“ Whose fearless voice for truth and virtue strove,
Whose stainless life, and death serene, have taught
The Christian world to wonder and to love,—
Come forth, with Plato, to thy hallow'd grove
And bring that golden chain by Time unriven,
Which round this pendent universe ye wove,
For still our homage to your lore is given,
And your pure wisdom priz'd, next to the page of Heaven.
Still gathering round, high shades of glorious birth
Do throng the scene. Hath aught disturb'd their rest?
Why brings Philosophy her idols forth
With pensive brow, in solemn silence drest? ”

“ Ere the wile of the tempter its bliss had shamed,
Or the terrible sword o'er its gateway flamed.
Flowers, sweet flowers, with your words of cheer,
Thanks to the friend who hath sent you here;
For this, may her blossoms of varied dye
Be the fairest and first 'neath a vernal sky,
And she be led, by their whisper'd lore,
To the love of that land where they fade no more. ”

“ And early hoary, seeks the voiceless tomb,
Its lessons still unlearn'd; nor lose thyself
In the entangling lore of many lands,
Until thy mother tongue seem strange to thee.
Much knowledge is much toil, and hath no end.
But come thou forth, amid the breeze-swept trees,
And learn their language. Ask the peaceful vales,
Where roam the herds, or where the reaper plies
His busy sickle—ask the solemn sea,
With all its foaming wilderness of waves,
To spread its mighty volume out for thee,
And search thou there, on every fearful page,
Jehovah's name. ”

“ Stretching at your feet, on the brow of this beautiful mountain, is a lake, more than a mile in circumference, deep, cold, crystalline, and bordered with trees. The white bathing-house on its margin, and the pleasure-boat on its bosom, with bright streamers, and graceful gliding motion, are pleasing points in the landscape. The utmost pinnacle of the mountain, which rises northward of the lake, is surrounded by a hexagonal tower, sixty feet in height, seeming to spring from the dark, grey rock, which in color it resembles. ”

“ Some tender leaflet, nurs'd with Nature's tears
Around this urn. But Corsica, who rock'd
His cradle at Ajacio, turn'd away,
And tiny Elba, in the Tuscan wave
Threw her slight annal with the haste of fear,
And rude Helena sick at heart, and grey
'Neath the Pacific's smiting, bade the moon
With silent finger, point the traveler's gaze
To an unhonor'd tomb.
Then Earth arose,
That blind, old Empress, on her crumbling throne,
And to the echoed question, "who shall write
Napoleon's epitaph?" as one who broods
O'er unforgiven injuries, answer'd, "none." ”

“ LIFE'S EVENING.
"Abide with us, for it is now evening, and the day of life is far spent."
Bishop Andrews.
The bright and blooming morn of youth
Hath faded from the sky,
And the fresh garlands of our hope
Are wither'd, sere, and dry;
O Thou, whose being hath no end,
Whose years can ne'er decay,
Whose strength and wisdom are our trust,
Abide with us, we pray. ”

“ The Connecticut is seen sweeping onward like a king, through its fair domain, amid the spires of numerous towns and villages, while, by the aid of a glass, the sails of the vessels in the port of Hartford, and the movements in the streets, are distinctly visible.
The prospect from the South Rock, in the vicinity of the farm-house, though of less extent, is one of extreme beauty, and presents, as in a vivid, glowing picture, the grouping of the objects more immediately beneath you,—lake, copse, villa, cultivated lawn, and crowning tower. ”

“ Thro' the land where the blessed Miquon [1] died;
No red man's blood, with its guilty stain,
Hath cried unto God, from that broad domain,—
With the seeds of peace they have sown the soil,
Bring a harvest of wealth, for their hour of toil.
On, on, through the vale where the brave ones sleep,
Where the waving foliage is rich and deep;
I have stood on the mountain and roam'd thro' the glen
To the beautiful homes of the western men,
Yet nought in that realm of enchantment could see,
So fair, as the vale of Wyoming to me. ”

“ Dead to the moaning of want and pain?
Lo! the dust of the peasant is sleeping free
'Neath the holy shade of the church-yard tree:
Baron bold! is it well with thee?
I see on the scroll by thy couch of sleep,
The name of the Saviour engraven deep:
Was that thy chart when the sunbeam smiled?
Was that thine anchor when storms were wild?
When the shaft of the Spoiler had pierced thy heart,
Did it win the grief from that poison-dart?
Then, till the dawn of the day of doom,
Till the trump of the angel shall break the gloom,
Rest in the peace of the Christian's tomb. ”

“ And keep my blessings full in sight,
While in this land of peace and light,
Where liberty and plenty dwell,
And knowledge seeks the lowliest cell,
No woodman's steel my heart invades,
Nor heathen footsteps track my shades.
Yet too expansive grows the lay,
Forgive its egotism, I pray,
And should'st thou in thy goodness deign,
A line responsive to my strain,
Fain would I of their welfare hear,
That group of noble souls, and dear,
Who from their eastern birth-place prest,
To choose a mansion in the west. ”

“ Rear'd its light dome among them, and the voice
Of a devoted shepherd, day by day,
Call'd back those wanderers to the sheltering fold
Of a Redeemer's righteousness.
And then
Thy path was on the waters, and thy hand
Close clasp'd in his who bore so fearless forth
The glorious Gospel to those ancient climes
Which in the darkness and the shade of death
Benighted dwell.
Strong ties detain'd thee here:
Home—father—sightless mother—sister dear—
Brothers and tender friends—a full array
Of hope and bliss. But what were those to thee,
Who on God's altar laid the thought of self? ”

“ Flushed high with health, to mortal paleness turn'd,
How awful such a rush from time must be.
Thy brow was calm, yet deep within thy breast
Were ranklings of a recent grief for her
The idol of thy tenderness, with whom
Life had been one long scene of changeless love.
Yea, thou didst watch the winged messenger
In sleepless agony, that bore her hence,—
And when the eye did darken, from whose beams
Thine own had drank from youth its dearest joy,
Upraised thine hands and gave her back to God,
Bowing thy spirit to His righteous will. ”

“ A thick forest covered the mountain, half the trees standing, half of them prostrate, and every one dead. Not a particle of bark remained among all these ghostlike remnants of a gigantic, but now blasted and extinct vegetation. The huge rocks were swept bare of earth, by the violent winds from which this chain derives its name. Nothing met the eye in any direction, but naked granite and blasted trees. A feeling of intense awe chilled through our veins and crept into our hearts, as we gazed upon a scene that forced upon us a new and vast conception of desolation and sublimity. ”

“ She dwelt, whose hallow'd welcome was so dear;
O Mother, Mother! all thy priceless love
Is fresh before me, as of yesterday.
Thy pleasant smile, the beauty of thy brow,
Thine idol fondness for thine only one,
The untold tenderness with which thy heart
Embraced my firstborn infant, when my joys,
Swelling to their full climax, bore it on,
With its young look of wonder, to thy home,
A stranger visitant. Fade, visions, fade! ”

“ Seek ye a boon of us,—the nameless, the unknown?
We, who have blest you with our lisping tongue,
And to your baptism bow'd when life was new,
And when upon our mother's breast we hung
Your flowing nectar with our life-stream drew,
Who dipp'd our young feet in Castalian dew,
And pois'd with tiny arm that lance and shield,
Before whose might the boastful Persian flew,
We, who Ulysses trac'd o'er flood and field,
What can ye ask of us, we would not joy to yield? ”

“ Shot o'er the river-tide, and then the wheel,
Careful yet tedious, mark'd the well-known track
O'er hill and valley. Patiently she bore
The weary travel, and when sunset brought
The well-remember'd haunt, upraised her head,
And with a tremulous and tender tone
Hail'd each familiar object. It would seem
As if, indulgent to her fond request,
Death waited for her. Though the thread-like pulse
Stirr'd not the ivory arm, and the poor heart
Scarce forced the life-tide oozing drop by drop,
Yet still Death waited for her. ”

“ Seen from the Table-Rock, the tumbling green waters of the rapids, which persuade you that an ocean is approaching, the brilliant color of the water, the frightful gulf, and headlong torrent at your feet, the white column rising from its centre, and often reaching to the clouds, the black wall of rock frowning from the opposite island, and the long curtain of foam descending from the other shore, interrupted only by one dark shaft, form altogether one of the most beautiful, as well as awful scenes in nature. ”

“ If Fancy, she who bids young Thought, its freshest incense bring,
By stern reality rebuk'd, should fold her stricken wing,
There is a brighter, broader realm than she hath yet reveal'd,
From flesh-girt man's exploring eye, and anxious ear conceal'd.
Earth is Death's palace: to his court he summons great and small,
The crown'd, the homeless and the slave, are but his minions all;
We turn us shrinking from the truth, the close pursuit we fly,
But faultering on the grave's dark brink, do lay us down and die. ”

“ With a great voice of thunder it warns you not to approach. The winds spread out their wings and whelm you in a deluge of spray. You are sensible of the giant force of the tide, bearing up the boat, which like an egg-shell is tossed upon its terrible bosom. You feel like an atom in the great creation of God. You glance at the athletic sinews of the rowers, and wonder if they are equal to their perilous task. But the majesty of the surrounding scene annihilates selfish apprehension, and ere you are aware, the little boat runs smoothly to her haven, and you stand on the Canadian shore. ”

“ Lament for thee, through all the sounding deeps.
Hark! from sky-piercing Himmaleh, to where
Snowdon doth weave his coronet of cloud,
From the scath'd pine-tree near the red-man's hut,
To where the everlasting banian builds
Its vast columnar temple, comes a wail
For her who o'er the dim cathedral's arch,
The quivering sunbeam on the cottage wall,
Or the sere desert, pour'd the lofty chant
And ritual of the muse: who found the link
That joins mute nature to ethereal mind,
And made that link a melody. ”

“ I should have deemed it a mere adornment of the grounds, a spot sacred to silence, or to the soft-breathed song, but the cypress and willow declared it a habitation of the dead. Upon a sarcophagus of white marble, lay a sheet, and the outline of a human form, was plainly visible beneath its folds. It was reverently turned back, and displayed the statue of the Queen of Prussia. It is said to be a perfect resemblance,—not as in death,—but when she lived, to bless and to be blessed. She seems scarcely to sleep; the mind and heart are on her sweet lips. ”

“ Her heart went wandering to her loved one's grave,
Marking in every bud that blossom'd there,
In every joyous butterfly that spread
Its radiant wing amid the flowers, a type
Of glorious resurrection. Every drop
Of dew that sparkled on the turf-clad mound
Seem'd holy to her. Even the bitter grief
That made the parting hour so desolate,
Put on the robe of humble faith, and said,
"'Tis well, my Lord, well with the little one
That dwells with thee." ”

“ Mother! who with ineffable tenderness, art bending over the babe that heaven hath given thee, knowest thou what shall befall it in this evil world? Parents, who gaze with pride on the budding promise of the fair boy, whom you have nurtured, know ye what may be his lot in the latter days? Redouble your efforts, deepen your trust in the Eternal, that the evening prayer of your son rise not from the prison-house of guilt, when you are motionless in the grave. ”

“ Love, with warmth that ever glows,
Speaketh through our lips of rose,
Friendship, to our dewy sighs
Trusts her hoarded memories,
Gratitude, with Penury pale,
Hasting to our native vale,
Bade us fervent, for their sake,
Plead, and no denial take,
Come back to us.
Tardy Spring hath held us long,
From thy bowers of light and song,
Now on vine, and shrub, and tree,
See! we bloom to welcome thee,
For thy tasteful eye we pine,
Wilt thou teach us where to twine? ”

“ Is launch'd so lonely on this tossing sea
Of time and change; and mid thy future course,
If here, in our dark clime, thy years unfold,
Bind her fair image to thy loving heart,
My little one, and let thy father hear
From thy young lips the same rejoicing words
Of piety and peace, which thrill'd his heart
With grateful prayer when at his fireside sat
The chosen idol of his early love. ”

“ The struggle is fearful. The sun pours down an intense heat. The grass ripe for the scythe is trampled down, that the iron harvest of war may be reaped. The new-mown hay is pressed into the interstices of the breast-work. The earth is saturate with blood. Enthusiasm rises to madness. Devouring flames enwrap the roofs of Charlestown. The enemy, formidable for numbers as well as valor, twice repulsed, ascend the hill a third time, reinforced and resolved on victory. A comparatively small band, led on by intrepid officers, still "jeoparded their lives in the high places of the field." ”

“ The sapling, ere kind Nature's hand could weave
Its first spring-coronal, and that the worm,
Coiling itself amid our garden-plants,
Did make their unborn buds its sepulchre.
And well I knew how wild and wrecking winds
Might take the forest-monarchs by the crown,
And lay them with the lowliest vassal-herb;
And that the axe, with its sharp ministry,
Might, in one hour, such revolution work,
As all Earth's boasted power could never hope
To re-instate. ”

“ Casts a lone shadow o'er the sacred spot
Where sleeps the white-hair'd shepherd mid his flock,
The loved of God and man. The statesman's head,
With all its gather'd mass of curious lore,
Lock'd up in marble; and the soldier's arm,
Strong for his country in her hour of need,
Are here, too, 'neath the turf. And there, amid
The lawns and gardens which their hands had dress'd,
The ancient fathers, with their numerous race,
Securely dwelt. ”

“ The richness of the surrounding landscape, the beauty of the prospect from its lofty, mural promenade, the broad, quiet river, the distant, gliding sail, the waving foliage, the hallowed spire, embosomed amid graceful elms,—all seemed to soothe the mind into calm delight, rather than prepare it for painful contemplation. But the harsh sound of locks and bolts convinced us that guilt was near,—that guilt which defaces both the fair creation and the immortal soul. ”

“ When the clime of his birth like a maniac rushed,
And the blood of kings from its fountain gushed,
He had stood at his post the same.
By Memory's chart he sought
For dell, and rock, and stream,
But a spell of magic had fallen around,
And cities arose where the forest frowned,
And the far, lone lake, with masts was crowned,
Like the change of a fairy dream.
The exulting pulse beat high,
In the heart of this western zone,
His home was the breast of the free and brave,
No sceptred king, with the world his slave,
E'er sate on such a throne. ”

“ I really think the pure passion for flowers, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence. Often, during this weary illness of mine, have I looked upon new books with perfect apathy, when if a friend has sent me but a few flowers, my heart has leaped up to their dreamy hues and odors, with a sudden sense of renovated childhood, which seems one of the mysteries of our being. ”

“ In all earth's change the counsels of the skies?
None, who close wrapped in panoply divine,
Show their faith's value in this hour of need?
Up, ye who follow with unshrinking step
Him who o'ercame the grave,—up, trim your lamp,
And do his holy will. Amid the haunts
Of poverty and pain, with angel-step
Send forth your bounty. On the cherished field
Where God hath given you nurture, fix the eye,
As one who soon may leave it. ”

“ Art thou a mouth for the immortal mind?
A voice that shall be heard when ages sleep
In cold oblivion? when the rich man's pomp,
And all the ambitious strivings of the crowd
Shall be forgotten? Art thou well convinced
That such a gift is thine?
Bow thee to dust,
And take this honour from the hand of God
In deep humility, worm as thou art,
And all unworthy. Ask for naught beside,
Though worldlings scorn thy lot.
Prosperity,
Such as earth names, what are its gauds to thee? ”

“ Mid shrubs and flowers that from thy planting grew;
The group of dear ones gathering round thy board—
She, the first friend, still as in youth beloved—
The daughter, sweet companion—sons mature,
And favourite grandchild, with his treasured phrase—
The evening lamp, that o'er thy silver locks
And ample brow fell fitfully, and touch'd
Thy lifted eye with earnestness of thought,
Are with me as a picture, ne'er to fade
Till death shall darken all material things. ”

“ DEATH OF AN AGED MAN.
Rise, weary spirit, to a realm of rest!
Sorrow hath had her will of thee, and Pain,
With a destroyer's fury prob'd thy breast,
But thou, the victory through Christ didst gain;
Rise, freed from stain.
Years wrote their history on thy furrow'd brow
In withering lines; and Time like ocean's foam
Swept o'er the shores of hope, till thou didst know
Earth's emptiness. ”

“ And one long moan, like breaking harp-string sweet,
She bare the unspoken lore to her Redeemer's feet.
XLVIII.
Gone? Gone? Alas! the burst of wild despair
That rent his bosom who had loved so well;
He had not yet put forth his strength to bear,
So suddenly and sore the death-shaft fell:
Man hath a godlike might in danger's hour,
In the red battle, or the tempest's power;
Yet is he weak when tides of anguish swell;
Ah, who can mark with cold and tearless eyes
The grief of stricken man, when his sole idol dies!
XLIX.
And she had fled, in whom his heart's deep joy
Was garner'd up ”

“ Heard thy deep anthem, and those wrecking fires
That wait the archangel's signal to dissolve
This solid earth, shall find Jehovah's name
Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears
On thine unending volume.
Every leaf
That lifts itself within thy wide domain,
Doth gather greenness from thy living spray,
Yet tremble at the baptism.—Lo!—yon birds
Do boldly venture near, and bathe their wing
Amid thy mist and foam. ”

“ THOUGHTS AMONG THE TREES.
"The retiring of the mind into itself is the state most susceptible of divine impressions."—Lord Bacon.
How beautiful you are, green trees! green trees!
How nobly beautiful! Fain would I rest
'Neath the broad shadow of your mantling arms,
And lose the world's unquiet imagery
In the soft mist of dreams. Your curtaining veil
Shuts out the revelry and toil, that chafe
The city's denizens. Man wars with man,
And brethren forage on each other's hearts,
Throwing their life-blood in that crucible
Which brings forth gold. ”

“ The perfect meekness of that child-like soul,
Turning 'mid sorrow's chastening to its God,
And loosening every link of earthly hope,
To gird an angel's glorious garments on.
The younger lingered yet a little while,
Drooping and beautiful. Strongly the nerve
Of that lone spirit clasped its parent-prop;
Yet still in timid tenderness embraced
The Rock of Ages—while the Saviour's voice
Confirmed its trust: "Suffer the little ones
To come to me." ”

“ While their arrows of frost flew thick, and chill'd
The hardiest seaman's blood.
But there fell a gleam of the light above,
That with Mercy's angel dwells,
And aided the labouring bark to foil
The King of the Iceberg's spells:
For this, by many a hearth-stone bright,
A strain of praise shall be,
To him who guides the wanderer home,
And rules the boisterous sea. ”

“ With strange foreboding, till he seemed a speck
Upon the ebon bosom of the cloud.
And I remembered that he once had said,
"I fear I shall not see my home again:"
And sad the memory of those mournful words,
Dwelt with me, as he passed above my sight
Into thick darkness.
The wild blast swept on,
The strong ship tossed.
Shuddering, I heard a plunge
A heavy plunge—a gurgling 'mid the wave.
I shouted to the crew. In vain! In vain! ”

“ Their lodges to build and their nurslings rear.
The Indian fig, with its arching screen,
Welcomes them in to its vistas green,
And the breathing buds of the spicy tree
Thrill at the burst of their melody,
And the bulbul starts, mid his carol clear,
Such a rushing of stranger-wings to hear.
O wild-wood wanderers! how far away
From your rural homes in our vales ye stray.
But when they are waked by the touch of Spring,
Shall we see you again with your glancing wing?
Your nests mid our household trees to raise,
And stir our hearts in our Maker's praise? ”

“ Nursed at the ploughshare, wondering eyed her charms,
Or of her aspen gracefulness of form
Spoke slightingly. Yet when they saw the fields
Her father till'd, well clad with ripening grain,
And knew he had no other heir beside,
They with unwonted wealth of Sunday clothes,
And huge red nosegays flaunting in their hands,
Were fain to woo her. And they marvell'd much
How the sweet fairy, with such quiet air
Of mild indifference, and with truthful words
Kind, yet determinate, withdrew herself
To chosen solitude, intent to keep
A maiden's freedom. ”

“ And little dancing feet, and outstretch'd hands
Grasping the parents' skirts: it was a group
That artist's pencil never yet hath sketch'd
In all its plenitude.
And when I saw
The brightness of the tear of joy, I felt
How poor the pomp of princes, and the dross
Of beaten gold, compared with that dear wealth—
Home, and its gratulations, and the ties
Which Heaven hath twisted round congenial souls,
To draw them to itself. ”