Soon fleets the sunbright form by man adored,
And soon man's demon chiefs from memory fade.
In musty volume now must be explored,
Where dwelt imperial nations, long decay'd.
The brightest meteors angry clouds invade;
And where the wonders glitter'd, none explain.
Where Carthage, with proud hand, the trident
sway'd,

Now mud-wall'd cots sit sullen on the plain, And wandering, fierce, and wild, sequester'd Arabs reign.

In thee, O Albion! queen of nations, live Whatever splendours earth's wide realms have known;

In thee proud Persia sees her pomp revive,
And Greece her arts, and Rome her lordly throne:
By every wind thy Tyrian fleets are blown;
Supreme, on Fame's dread roll, thy heroes stand;
All ocean's realms thy naval sceptre own;
Of bards, of sages, how august thy band!
And one rich Eden blooms around thy garden'd
land.

But, O how vast thy crimes! Though Heaven's great year,

When few centurial suns have traced their way;
When Southern Europe, worn by feuds severe,
Weak, doting, fallen, has bow'd to Russian sway,
And setting Glory beam'd her farewell ray,
To wastes, perchance, thy brilliant fields shall

turn;

In dust thy temples, towers, and towns decay; The forest howl, where London's turrets burn, And all thy garlands deck thy sad, funereal urn. Some land, scarce glimmering in the light of fame, Scepter'd with arts and arms, (if I divine,) Some unknown wild, some shore without a name, In all thy pomp shall then majestic shine. As silver-headed Time's slow years decline, Not ruins only meet the inquiring eye: Where round yon mouldering oak vain brambles twine,

The filial stem, already towering high,

Ere long shall stretch his arms, and nod in yonder

sky.

Where late resounded the wild woodland roar, Now heaves the palace, now the temple smiles; Where frown'd the rude rock and the desert shore, Now pleasure sports, and business want beguiles, And Commerce wings her flight to thousand isles;

Culture walks forth; gay laugh the loaded fields; And jocund Labour plays his harmless wiles; Glad Science brightens; Art her mansion builds; And Peace uplifts her wand, and HEAVEN his blessing yields.

O'er these sweet fields, so lovely now and gay, Where modest Nature finds each want supplied, Where homeborn Happiness delights to play, And counts her little flock with household pride, Long frown'd, from age to age, a forest wide : Here hung the slumbering bat; the serpent dire Nested his brood, and drank the impoison'd tide;

Wolves peal'd the dark, drear night in hideous

choir,

Nor shrunk the unmeasured howl from Sol's terrific fire.

No charming cot embank'd the pebbly stream; No mansion tower'd, nor garden teem'd with good;

No lawn expanded to the April beam, Nor mellow harvest hung its bending load; Nor science dawn'd, nor life with beauty glow'd, Nor temple whiten'd in the enchanting dell; In clusters wild the sluggish wigwam stood; And, borne in snaky paths, the Indian fell Now aim'd the death unseen, now screamed the tiger yell.

Even now, perhaps, on human dust I tread, Pondering with solemn pause the wrecks of time; Here sleeps, perchance, among the vulgar dead, Some chief, the lofty theme of Indian rhyme, Who loved Ambition's cloudy steep to climb, And smiled, deaths, dangers, rivals to engage; Who roused his followers' souls to deeds sublime, Kindling to furnace heat vindictive rage,

And soar'd Cæsarean heights, the phoenix of his

age.

In yon small field that dimly steals from sight,
(From yon small field these meditations grow,)
Turning the sluggish soil from morn to night,
The plodding hind, laborious, drives his plough,
Nor dreams a nation sleeps his foot below.
There, undisturbed by the roaring wave,
Released from war, and far from deadly foe,
Lies down in endless rest a nation brave,
And trains in tempests born there find a quiet
grave.

Oft have I heard the tale, when matrons sere
Sung to my infant ear the song of wo;
Of maiden meek consumed with pining care,
Around whose tomb the wild rose loved to blow;
Or told, with swimming eyes, how, long ago,
Remorseless Indians, all in midnight dire,
The little sleeping village did o'erthrow,
Bidding the cruel flames to heaven aspire,
And scalp'd the hoary head, and burn'd the babe
with fire.

Then, fancy-fired, her memory wing'd its flight
To long-forgotten wars and dread alarms,
To chiefs obscure, but terrible in fight,

Who mock'd each foe, and laugh'd at deadliest harms,

Sidneys in zeal, and Washingtons in arms.
By instinct tender to the woes of man,

My heart bewildering with sweet Pity's charms,
Through solemn scenes, with Nature's step she

ran,

And hush'd her audience small, and thus the tale began.

"Thro' verdant banks, where Thames's branches glide,

Long held the Pequods an extensive sway; Bold, savage, fierce, of arms the glorious pride, And bidding all the circling realms obey.

Jealous, they saw the tribes beyond the sea Plant in their climes; and towns and cities rise; Ascending castles foreign flags display; Mysterious art new scenes of life devise;

And steeds insult the plains, and cannon rend the skies.

"They saw, and soon the strangers' fate decreed, And soon of war disclosed the crimson sign; First, hapless STONE! they bade thy bosom bleed, A guiltless offering at the infernal shrine: Then, gallant NORTON! the hard fate was thine, By ruffians butcher'd, and denied a grave: Thee, generous OLDHAM! next the doom malign Arrested; nor could all thy courage save; Forsaken, plunder'd, cleft, and buried in the

wave.

"Soon the sad tidings reach'd the general ear, And prudence, pity, vengeance, all inspire: Invasive war their gallant friends prepare ; And soon a noble band, with purpose dire, And threatening arms, the murderous fiends require :

Small was the band, but never taught to yield; Breasts faced with steel, and souls instinct with

fire:

Such souls from Sparta Persia's world repell'd, When nations paved the ground, and XERXES flew the field.

"The rising clouds the savage chief descried, And round the forest bade his heroes arm; To arms the painted warriors proudly hied, And through surrounding nations rung the alarm. The nations heard; but smiled to see the storm, With ruin fraught, o'er Pequod mountains driven;

And felt infernal joy the bosom warm,

To see their light hang o'er the skirts of even, And other suns arise, to gild a kinder heaven.

"Swift to the Pequod fortress MASON sped, Far in the wildering wood's impervious gloom; A lonely castle, brown with twilight dread, Where oft the embowell'd captive met his doom, And frequent heaved around the hollow tomb; Scalps hung in rows, and whitening bones were strew'd;

Where, round the broiling babe, fresh from the womb,

With howls the Powaw fill'd the dark abode, And screams and midnight prayers invoked the evil god.

"There too, with awful rites, the hoary priest, Without, beside the moss-grown altar stood, His sable form in magic cincture dress'd, And heap'd the mingled offering to his god, What time, with golden light, calm evening glow'd.

The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom, And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd; Bright rose the curling flame; and rich perfume On smoky wings upflew, or settled round the

tomb.

And the war-scream the ear with anguish gored.
Alone he burst the gate: the forest round
Re-echoed death; the peal of onset roar'd;
In rush'd the squadrons; earth in blood was
drown'd;

And gloomy spirits fled, and corses hid the ground.

"Not long in dubious fight the host had striven,
When, kindled by the musket's potent flame,
In clouds and fire the castle rose to heaven,
And gloom'd the world with melancholy beam.
Then hoarser groans with deeper anguish came,
And fiercer fight the keen assault repell'd:

Nor even these ills the savage breast could tame; Like hell's deep caves the hideous region yell'd, Till death and sweeping fire laid waste the hostile field.

"Soon the sad tale their friends surviving heard, And MASON, MASON, rung in every wind: Quick from their rugged wilds they disappear'd, Howl'd down the hills, and left the blast behind. Their fastening foes, by generous STOUGHTON join'd,

Hung o'er the rear, and every brake explor'd; But such dire terror seized the savage mind, So swift and black a storm behind them lower'd, On wings of raging fear, through spacious realms they scour❜d.

"Amid a circling marsh expanded wide,

To a lone hill the Pequods wound their way;
And none but Heaven the mansion had descried,
Close-tangled, wild, impervious to the day;
But one poor wanderer, loitering long astray,
Wilder'd in labyrinths of pathless wood,
In a tall tree embower'd, obscurely lay:
Straight summon'd down, the trembling suppliant
show'd

Where lurk'd his vanish'd friends within their drear abode.

"To death the murderers were anew required, A pardon proffer'd, and a peace assured; And, tho' with vengeful heat their foes were fired, Their lives, their freedom, and their lands secured. Some yielding heard. In fastness strong immured,

The rest the terms refused with brave disdain ; Near and more near the peaceful herald lured, Then bade a shower of arrows round him rain, And wing'd him swift from danger to the distant plain.

"Through the sole, narrow way, to vengeance led,
To final fight our generous heroes drew;
And STOUGHTON now had pass'd the moor's black
shade,

When hell's terrific legion scream'd anew.
Undaunted on their foes they fiercely flew;
As fierce, the dusky warriors crowd the fight;
Despair inspires; to combat's face they glue;
With groans and shouts they rage, unknowing
flight,

And close their sullen eyes in shades of endless night."

Indulge, my native land! indulge the tear That steals impassion'd o'er a nation's doom: To me each twig from Adam's stock is near, And sorrows fall upon an Indian's tomb. And, O ye chiefs! in yonder starry home, Accept the humble tribute of this rhyme. Your gallant deeds, in Greece or haughty Rome, By MARO Sung, or HOMER's harp sublime, Had charm'd the world's wide round, and triumph'd over time.

THE SOCIAL VISIT.*

YE Muses! dames of dignified renown, Revered alike in country and in town, Your bard the mysteries of a visit show; For sure your ladyships those mysteries know: What is it, then, obliging sisters! say, The debt of social visiting to pay?

"Tis not to toil before the idol pier;

To shine the first in fashion's lunar sphere;
By sad engagements forced abroad to roam,
And dread to find the expecting fair at home!
To stop at thirty doors in half a day,
Drop the gilt card, and proudly roll away;
To alight, and yield the hand with nice parade;
Up stairs to rustle in the stiff brocade;
Swim through the drawing-room with studied air,
Catch the pink'd beau, and shade the rival fair;
To sit, to curb, to toss with bridled mien,
Mince the scant speech, and lose a glance between;
Unfurl the fan, display the snowy arm,
And ope, with each new motion, some new charm:
Or sit in silent solitude, to spy

Each little failing with malignant eye;
Or chatter with incessancy of tongue,
Careless if kind or cruel, right or wrong;
To trill of us and ours, of mine and me,
Our house, our coach, our friends, our family,
While all the excluded circle sit in pain,
And glance their cool contempt or keen disdain:
To inhale from proud Nanking a sip of tea,
And wave a courtesy trim and flirt away:
Or waste at cards peace, temper, health, and life,
Begin with sullenness, and end in strife;
Lose the rich feast by friendly converse given,
And backward turn from happiness and heaven.
It is in decent habit, plain and neat,
To spend a few choice hours in converse sweet,
Careless of forms, to act the unstudied part,
To mix in friendship, and to blend the heart;
To choose those happy themes which all must feel,
The moral duties and the household weal,
The tale of sympathy, the kind design,
Where rich affections soften and refine;
To amuse, to be amused, to bless, be bless'd,
And tune to harmony the common breast;
To cheer with mild good-humour's sprightly ray,
And smooth life's passage o'er its thorny way;
To circle round the hospitable board,
And taste each good our generous climes afford;
To court a quick return with accents kind,
And leave, at parting, some regret behind.
*From "Greenfield Hill.”

"Swift to the Pequod fortress MASON sped, Far in the wildering wood's impervious gloom; A lonely castle, brown with twilight dread, Where oft the embowell'd captive met his doom, And frequent heaved around the hollow tomb; Scalps hung in rows, and whitening bones were strew'd;

Where, round the broiling babe, fresh from the womb,

With howls the Powaw fill'd the dark abode, And screams and midnight prayers invoked the evil god.

"There too, with awful rites, the hoary priest, Without, beside the moss-grown altar stood, His sable form in magic cincture dress'd, And heap'd the mingled offering to his god, What time, with golden light, calm evening glow'd.

The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom, And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd; Bright rose the curling flame; and rich perfume On smoky wings upflew, or settled round the

tomb.

"But now nor awful rites nor potent spell
To silence charm'd the peals of coming war;
Or told the dread recesses of the dell,
Where glowing MASON led his bands from far:
No spirit, buoyant on his airy car,

Controll'd the whirlwind of invading fight:
Deep dyed in blood, dun evening's falling star
Sent sad o'er western hills its parting light,
And no returning morn dispersed the long, dark
night.

"On the drear walls a sudden splendour glow'd, There MASON shone, and there his veterans

pour'd.

Anew the hero claim'd the fiends of blood, While answering storms of arrows round him shower'd,

And the war-scream the ear with anguish gored.
Alone he burst the gate: the forest round
Re-echoed death; the peal of onset roar'd;
In rush'd the squadrons; earth in blood was
drown'd;

And gloomy spirits fled, and corses hid the ground.

"Not long in dubious fight the host had striven,
When, kindled by the musket's potent flame,
In clouds and fire the castle rose to heaven,
And gloom'd the world with melancholy beam.
Then hoarser groans with deeper anguish came,
And fiercer fight the keen assault repell'd:

Nor even these ills the savage breast could tame; Like hell's deep caves the hideous region yell'd, Till death and sweeping fire laid waste the hostile field.

"Soon the sad tale their friends surviving heard, And MASON, MASON, rung in every wind: Quick from their rugged wilds they disappear'd, Howl'd down the hills, and left the blast behind. Their fastening foes, by generous STOUGHTON join'd,

Hung o'er the rear, and every brake explor❜d; But such dire terror seized the savage mind, So swift and black a storm behind them lower'd, On wings of raging fear, through spacious realms they scour'd.

"Amid a circling marsh expanded wide,

To a lone hill the Pequods wound their way;
And none but Heaven the mansion had descried,
Close-tangled, wild, impervious to the day;
But one poor wanderer, loitering long astray,
Wilder'd in labyrinths of pathless wood,
In a tall tree embower'd, obscurely lay:
Straight summon'd down, the trembling suppliant
show'd

Where lurk'd his vanish'd friends within their drear abode.

"To death the murderers were anew required, A pardon proffer'd, and a peace assured; And, tho' with vengeful heat their foes were fired, Their lives, their freedom, and their lands secured. Some yielding heard. In fastness strong immured,

The rest the terms refused with brave disdain ; Near and more near the peaceful herald lured, Then bade a shower of arrows round him rain, And wing'd him swift from danger to the distant plain.

Through the sole, narrow way, to vengeance led,
To final fight our generous heroes drew;
And STOUGHTON now had pass'd the moor's black
shade,

When hell's terrific legion scream'd anew.
Undaunted on their foes they fiercely flew;
As fierce, the dusky warriors crowd the fight;
Despair inspires; to combat's face they glue;
With groans and shouts they rage, unknowing
flight,

And close their sullen eyes in shades of endless night."

Indulge, my native land! indulge the tear That steals impassion'd o'er a nation's doom: To me each twig from Adam's stock is near, And sorrows fall upon an Indian's tomb. And, O ye chiefs! in yonder starry home, Accept the humble tribute of this rhyme. Your gallant deeds, in Greece or haughty Rome, By MARO Sung, or HOMER's harp sublime, Had charm'd the world's wide round, and triumph'd over time.

THE SOCIAL VISIT.*

YE Muses! dames of dignified renown, Revered alike in country and in town, Your bard the mysteries of a visit show; For sure your ladyships those mysteries know: What is it, then, obliging sisters! say, The debt of social visiting to pay?

"Tis not to toil before the idol pier;
To shine the first in fashion's lunar sphere;
By sad engagements forced abroad to roam,
And dread to find the expecting fair at home!
To stop at thirty doors in half a day,
Drop the gilt card, and proudly roll away;
To alight, and yield the hand with nice parade;
Up stairs to rustle in the stiff brocade;
Swim through the drawing-room with studied air,
Catch the pink'd beau, and shade the rival fair;
To sit, to curb, to toss with bridled mien,
Mince the scant speech, and lose a glance between;
Unfurl the fan, display the snowy arm,
And ope, with each new motion, some new charm:
Or sit in silent solitude, to spy

Each little failing with malignant eye;
Or chatter with incessancy of tongue,
Careless if kind or cruel, right or wrong;
To trill of us and ours, of mine and me,
Our house, our coach, our friends, our family,
While all the excluded circle sit in pain,
And glance their cool contempt or keen disdain :
To inhale from proud Nanking a sip of tea,
And wave a courtesy trim and flirt away:
Or waste at cards peace, temper, health, and life,
Begin with sullenness, and end in strife;
Lose the rich feast by friendly converse given,
And backward turn from happiness and heaven.
It is in decent habit, plain and neat,
To spend a few choice hours in converse sweet,
Careless of forms, to act the unstudied part,
To mix in friendship, and to blend the heart;
To choose those happy themes which all must feel,
The moral duties and the household weal,
The tale of sympathy, the kind design,
Where rich affections soften and refine;
To amuse, to be amused, to bless, be bless'd,
And tune to harmony the common breast;
To cheer with mild good-humour's sprightly ray,
And smooth life's passage o'er its thorny way;
To circle round the hospitable board,
And taste each good our generous climes afford;
To court a quick return with accents kind,
And leave, at parting, some regret behind.
*From "Greenfield Hill.”