Delphi Complete Poetical Works of George Moses Horton Illustrated E-Book

George Moses Horton

• Herausgeber: Delphi Publishing Ltd
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: Delphi Poets Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 276

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The first African-American author to be published in the United States, George Moses Horton was famously known as the ‘Slave Poet’. He spent most of his life enslaved in a North Carolina plantation, until Union troops reached the state in 1865. His three volumes of poetry cover a wide range of subjects in a variety of styles. Exhibiting a keen ear for rhythm and rhyme, his verses reveal a thorough understanding of human nature, exploring themes of slavery, freedom, politics, faith and love, while celebrating the rural beauty of Chatham County. Although his poetry failed to bring him freedom or profit, his enduring struggle and the beauty of his art have secured his place in the history of American literature, elevating the status of a black poet in a manner unprecedented for his time. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature’s finest poets, with superior formatting. For the first time in history, this volume presents Horton’s complete works, with related illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)

* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Horton’s life and works
* Concise introduction to Horton’s life and poetry
* Images of how the books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* The complete text of the collection ‘The Naked Genius’ — one of the rarest works of Americana
* Includes rare uncollected verses
* Features Horton’s autobiography— discover his incredible life
* Ordering of texts into chronological order and genres

CONTENTS:
The Life and Poetry of George Moses Horton
Brief Introduction: George Moses Horton
The Hope of Liberty (1829)
The Poetical Works of George M. Horton (1845)
The Naked Genius (1865)
Uncollected Poems

The Poems
List of Poems in Chronological Order
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

The Autobiography
Life of George M. Horton

Leseprobe

George Moses Horton

(c. 1798-c. 1883)

Contents

The Life and Poetry of George Moses Horton

Brief Introduction: George Moses Horton

The Hope of Liberty (1829)

The Poetical Works of George M. Horton (1845)

The Naked Genius (1865)

Uncollected Poems

The Poems

List of Poems in Chronological Order

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

The Autobiography

Life of George M. Horton

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

© Delphi Classics 2024

Version 1

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George Moses Horton

By Delphi Classics, 2024

COPYRIGHT

George Moses Horton - Delphi Poets Series

First published in the United Kingdom in 2024 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2024.

Cover illustration: The Captive Slave by John Simpson, 1827, Art Institute of Chicago.

Frontispiece illustration: Head of a Negro by John Singleton Copley, c. 1777, Detroit Institute of Arts.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 978 1 80170 212 6

Delphi Classics

is an imprint of

Delphi Publishing Ltd

Hastings, East Sussex

United Kingdom

Contact: [email protected]

www.delphiclassics.com

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NOTE

When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size and landscape mode, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

The Life and Poetry of George Moses Horton

Jackson, Northampton County, North Carolina — George Moses Horton was born into slavery on a plantation in Northampton County, North Carolina.

In 1999, North Carolina placed a historic marker, the first in the state for an African American, near the farm where Horton lived.

Brief Introduction: George Moses Horton

The first African-American author to be published in the United States, George Moses Horton, the “Slave Poet”, was born into slavery on William Horton’s tobacco plantation in c. 1798 in Northampton County, North Carolina. He was the sixth of ten children and the names of his parents are unknown. When he was six years old, his slave owner relocated his family and the people he held in slavery to a farm in Chatham County, North Carolina, where Horton lived until the end of the Civil War. In 1814 William Horton gave the younger enslaved people as property to his relative James Horton.

The young George reportedly developed an interest in learning to read and write by listening to the Bible read aloud and the hymns he heard. He learned to read and write based on what he was hearing during revival meetings, which he referred to as his “reading lessons.” He was soon compiling pieces based on the verses that he remembered from the King James Version of the Bible. In c. 1817, he began making a ten-mile trip north to Chapel Hill in order to sell fruits and farm products for his master. While there, Horton employed his gift for composing elegant love poems for the University of North Carolina students, selling them for 25 cents or more. These students took an interest in Horton, impressed by his ability to compose verses and his desire for greater knowledge. They provided him several books, including Murray’s English Grammar and Its Accordant Branches, Samuel Johnson’s Dictionary in miniature, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Thompson’s Seasons, as well as parts of Homer’s Iliad and Virgil’s Aeneid.

Caroline Lee Hentz (1800-1856), a celebrated author and playwright, also took an interest in Horton, helping him to improve his verses. Teaching slaves to read and write was legal in North Carolina until 1836, when restrictions were imposed due to fears of slave revolts. Hentz was highly influential in having Horton’s poems “Liberty and Slavery” and “Slavery” published in the Lancaster Gazette in April of 1828, for which she provided an introductory note. In June of the same year, she sent a third Horton poem, “On Poetry and Musick” to be also published by the Gazette. The three poems were renamed and included in Horton’s first collection, The Hope of Liberty, which appeared in 1829. Now that he was somewhat established as a poet, Horton attempted to earn enough money from his poetry to purchase his freedom. Alas, he was not successful.

Horton was the first Southern Black to publish literature. By 1828 a number of newspapers in North Carolina and beyond were discussing his verse. Though he knew how to read, he published the book before he had learned how to write. As he recalled, “I fell to work in my head, and composed several undigested pieces.” After Horton’s first poem was published in the Lancaster, Massachusetts, Gazette, his works were published in other newspapers, such as the Register in Raleigh, North Carolina, and Freedom’s Journal in New York City. His poetic style was typical of contemporary European poetry and was similar to the poems written by his white contemporaries, which is a reflection of his reading and his work for commission. He composed both sonnets and ballads. His earlier works focused on his life in slavery. Such topics, however, were more generalised and not wholly based on his personal experience. He referred to his life on the “vile accursed earth” and the “drudg’ry, pain, and toil” of life, as well as his oppression “because my skin is black”.

Sometime in the 1830’s, he informally married (legal marriages were not permitted) Martha Snipes, an enslaved woman owned by Franklin Snipes in Chatham County.  The couple went on to have two children, Free and Rhody. Little else is known about the family. On two occasions, Horton sought the help of others to secure his freedom. In 1844 he wrote a letter to the well-known abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison and in 1852 he wrote another letter to Horace Greeley, the editor of the New York Daily Tribune, including a poem titled “A Poet’s Feeble Petition”, expressing his longing for freedom. Neither letter reached their recipient due to the messenger entrusted by Horton not passing them along and discarding them.

In c. 1858, at the age of sixty, Horton described himself as “Belonging to Hal Horton living now in Chatham County”. In 1865, when Union troops arrived in his area, following the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863, they liberated all the slaves in the states that had seceded. Horton befriended a young Union officer with that group, William H. S. Banks, who was greatly impressed with his literary achievements. Horton left Chapel Hill with Banks, traveling to Philadelphia in the free state of Pennsylvania.

With the end of the Civil War, Horton had finally become a free man. He continued to write poetry for local newspapers. His poem “Forbidden to Ride on the Street Cars” expressed his disappointment in the unjust treatment of Blacks after emancipation. Arriving in Philadelphia before the summer of 1866, he wrote Sunday school stories on behalf of friends that lived in the city. Still disappointed by the racial discrimination he encountered in Philadelphia, Horton emigrated to Bexley, Liberia, arriving on 7 January 1867. This is the last known reference to the poet. While later death dates are found in some recent publications, his death location, date and burial are unknown. Some historians claim he later returned to Philadelphia.

He was said to be an admirer of Byron, whose poetry he used as a model. His first collection, The Hope of Liberty (1829), was focused on the issues of slavery and bondage. He did not gain enough in sales from that book to purchase his freedom. In 1845, Horton published another book of poetry, The Poetical Works of George M. Horton, The Colored Bard of North-Carolina, To Which Is Prefixed The Life of the Author, Written by Himself. Newspapers took notice again in December to January 1849-1850, and advertisements for the book were printed in a Hillsborough newspaper from 1852 into 1853. Horton was given direct credit for some poems published in newspapers in 1857 and 1858. A short review of his last book, Naked Genius,appeared in the Raleigh Daily Progress on 31 August 1865. His later works, especially those written after his emancipation, expressed rural and pastoral themes. Like other early Black American writers, such as Jupiter Hammon and Phillis Wheatley, Horton was deeply influenced by the Bible and African-American religion.

His three volumes of poetry cover a wide range of subjects in a variety of styles and tones. Horton’s poetry displays a keen ear for rhythm and rhyme and a thorough understanding of human nature. His poems explore politics, faith and love, while celebrating the rural beauty of Chatham County, the home of the plantation on which he spent much of his life. Nonetheless, the strongest and most compelling voice found in his verses must be that of the slave, who for sixty-eight years toiled in a white world, whose culture he longed to share. Throughout his life, Horton had struggled for his freedom, composing his poetry for a single purpose, never wavering in this pursuit. Although his poetry failed to bring him freedom or profit, his enduring struggle and the beauty of his art have secured his place in the history of American literature, elevating the status of a black poet in a manner that was unprecedented for his time.

Caroline Lee Hentz, c. 1852, an American novelist, most noted for her defences of slavery and opposition to the abolitionist movement. She supported Horton in his early writing.

Portrait of Phillis Wheatley in ‘Revue des colonies’, 1837

Abraham Lincoln issued the ‘Emancipation Proclamation’ on 1 January 1863, as the nation approached its third year of civil war.

A Philadelphia Street Car, which inspired one of Horton’s most celebrated verses, c. 1880

Grand Bassa County, in the west-central area of Liberia, c. 1900. In later years Horton emigrated to Liberia.

The Hope of Liberty (1829)

OR, POEMS BY A SLAVE

CONTENTS

EXPLANATION.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

PRAISE OF CREATION.

ON THE SILENCE OF A YOUNG LADY,  ON ACCOUNT OF THE IMAGINARY FLIGHT OF HER SUITOR.

THE LOVER’S FAREWELL.

ON LIBERTY AND SLAVERY.

TO ELIZA.

LOVE.

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

THE SLAVE’S COMPLAINT.

ON THE TRUTH OF THE SAVIOUR.

ON SPRING.

ON SUMMER.

ON WINTER.

HEAVENLY LOVE.

ON THE DEATH OF REBECCA.

ON DEATH.

ON THE EVENING AND MORNING.

ON THE POETIC MUSE.

ON THE CONSEQUENCES OF HAPPY MARRIAGES.

ON HEARING OF THE INTENTION OF A GENTLEMAN TO PURCHASE THE POET’S FREEDOM.

TO THE GAD-FLY.

THE LOSS OF FEMALE CHARACTER.

The first edition’s title page

EXPLANATION.

GEORGE, WHOISthe author of the following Poetical effusions, is a Slave, the property of Mr. James Horton, of Chatham County, North-Carolina. He has been in the habit, some years past, of producing Poetical Pieces, sometimes on suggested subjects, to such persons as would write them while he dictated. Several compositions of his have already appeared in the Raleigh Register. Some have made their way into the Boston newspapers, and have evoked expressions of approbation and surprise. Many persons have now become much interested in the promotion of his prospects, some of whom are elevated in office and literary attainments. They are solicitous that efforts at length be made to obtain by subscription, a sum sufficient for his emancipation, upon the condition of his going in the vessel which shall first afterwards sail for Liberia. It is his earnest and only wish to become a member of that Colony, to enjoy its privileges, and apply his industry and mental abilities to the promotion of its prospects and his own. It is upon these terms alone, that the efforts of those who befriend his views are intended to have a final effect.

To put to trial the plan here urged in his behalf, the paper now exhibited is published. Several of his productions are contained in the succeeding pages. Many more might have been added, which would have swelled into a larger size. They would doubtless be interesting to many, but it is hoped that the specimens here inserted will be sufficient to accomplish the object of the publication. Expense will thus be avoided, and the money better employed in enlarging the sum applicable for his emancipation. It is proposed, that in every town or vicinity where contributions are made, they may be put into the hands of some person, who will humanely consent to receive them, and give notice to Mr. Weston R. Gales, in Raleigh, of the amount collected. As soon as it is ascertained that the collections will accomplish the object, it is expected that they will be transmitted without delay to Mr. Weston R. Gales. But should they ultimately prove insufficient, they will be returned to subscribers.

None will imagine it possible that pieces produced as these have been, should be free from blemish in composition or taste. The author is now 32 years of age, and has always laboured in the field on his master’s farm, promiscuously with the few others which Mr. Horton owns, in circumstances of the greatest possible simplicity. His master says he knew nothing of his poetry, but as he heard of it from others. GEORGE knows how to read, and is now learning to write. All his pieces are written down by others; and his reading, which is done at night, and at the usual intervals allowed to slaves, has been much employed on poetry, such as he could procure, this being the species of composition most interesting to him. It is thought best to print his productions without correction, that the mind of the reader may be in no uncertainty as to the originality and genuineness of every part. We shall conclude this account of GEORGE, with an assurance that he has been ever a faithful, honest and industrious slave. That his heart has felt deeply and sensitively in this lowest possible condition of human nature, will easily be believed, and is impressively confirmed by one of his stanzas,

Come, melting Pity, from afar, And break this vast enormous bar Between a wretch and thee; Purchase a few short days of time, And bid a vassal soar sublime, On wings of Liberty.

Raleigh; July 2, 1829.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

OFTHESEPOEMS, the present publisher has never seen or heard of but one copy, which was recently obtained by Joshua Coffin, of this city, from a gentleman who met with it in Cincinnati a few years ago. The pamphlet is republished, without any alterations, — even verbal; except the insertion of the headline, “Poems by a slave,” over the pages, and the omission of the title page, which ran as follows:

“The Hope of Liberty, containing a number of poetical pieces. By George M. Horton. Raleigh, printed by Gales & Son, 1829.”

Observe 1st, That Gales, the printer of the pamphlet, is now one of the firm of Gales & Seaton, at Washington, — no abolitionist. 2nd, The publisher admits slavery to be “the lowest possible condition of human nature and that the slaves are not all happy, for George “felt deeply and sensitively.” 3d, The man who could write such poems was kept for 32 years in “the lowest possible condition of human nature,” and was to remain there if he would not consent to go to Liberia.

Whether the poems sold for sufficient to buy this man, so dangerous to “Southern institutions,” and export him, I have not been able to ascertain. Perhaps George is still a slave!

L. C. G.

Philadelphia, September, 1837.

PRAISE OF CREATION.

Creation fires my tongue!   Nature thy anthems raise; And spread the universal song   Of thy Creator’s praise!

Heaven’s chief delight was Man   Before Creation’s birth — Ordained with joy to lead the van,   And reign the lord of earth.

When Sin was quite unknown,   And all the woes it brought, He hailed the morn without a groan   Or one corroding thought.

When each revolving wheel   Assumed its sphere sublime, Submissive Earth then heard the peal,   And struck the march of time.

The march in Heaven begun,   And splendor filled the skies, When Wisdom bade the morning Sun   With joy from chaos rise.

The angels heard the tune   Throughout creation ring: They seized their golden harps as soon   And touched on every string.

When time and space were young,   And music rolled along — The morning stars together sung,   And Heaven was drown’d in song.

Ye towering eagles soar,   And fan Creation’s blaze, And ye terrific lion’s roar,   To your Creator’s praise.

Responsive thunders roll,   Loud acclamations sound,And show your Maker’s vast control   O’er all the worlds around.

Stupendous mountains smoke,   And lift your summits high, To him who all your terrors woke,   Dark’ning the sapphire sky.

Now let my muse descend,   To view the march below — Ye subterraneous worlds attend   And bid your chorus flow.

Ye vast volcanoes yell,   Whence fiery cliffs are hurled; And all ye liquid oceans swell   Beneath the solid world.

Ye cataracts combine,   Nor let the pæan cease — The universal concert join,   Thou dismal precipice.

But halt my feeble tongue,   My weary muse delays: But, oh my soul, still float along   Upon the flood of praise!

ON THE SILENCE OF A YOUNG LADY,  ON ACCOUNT OF THE IMAGINARY FLIGHT OF HER SUITOR.

Oh, heartless dove! mount in the skies,   Spread thy soft wing upon the gale, Or on thy sacred pinions rise,   Nor brood with silence in the vale.

Breathe on the air thy plaintive note,   Which oft has filled the lonesome grove, And let thy melting ditty float —   The dirge of long lamented love.

Coo softly to the silent ear,   And make the floods of grief to roll; And cause by love the sleeping tear,   To wake with sorrow from the soul

Is it the loss of pleasures past   Which makes thee droop thy sounding wing? Does winter’s rough, inclement blast   Forbid thy tragic voice to sing?

Is it because the Fragrant breeze   Along the sky forbears to flow — Nor whispers low amidst the trees,   Whilst all the vallies frown below?

Why should a frown thy soul alarm,   And tear thy pleasures from thy breast? Or veil the smiles of every charm,   And rob thee of thy peaceful rest.

Perhaps thy sleeping love may wake,   And hear thy penitential tone; And suffer not thy heart to break,   Nor let a princess grieve alone.

Perhaps his pity may return,   With equal feeling from the heart, And breast with breast together burn,   Never — no, never more to part.

Never, till death’s resistless blow,   Whose call the dearest must obey — In twain together then may go,   And thus together dwell for aye.

Say to the suitor, Come away,   Nor break the knot which love has tied — Nor to the world thy trust betray,   And fly forever from thy bride.

THE LOVER’S FAREWELL.

And wilt thou, love, my soul display, And all my secret thoughts betray? I strove but could not hold thee fast, My heart flies off with thee at last.

The favorite daughter of the dawn, On love’s mild breeze will soon be gone: I strove but could not cease to love, Nor from my heart the weight remove.

And wilt thou, love, my soul beguile, And gull thy fav’rite with a smile? Nay, soft affection answers, nay, And beauty wings my heart away.

I steal on tiptoe from these bowers, All spangled with a thousand flowers; I sigh, yet leave them all behind, To gain the object of my mind.

And wilt thou, love, command my soul, And waft me with a light controul? — Adieu to all the blooms of May, Farewell — I fly with love away!

I leave my parents here behind, And all my friends — to love resigned — ’Tis grief to go, but death to stay: Farewell — I’m gone with love away!

ON LIBERTY AND SLAVERY.

Alas! and am I born for this,   To wear this slavish chain? Deprived of all created bliss,   Through hardship, toil and pain!

How long have I in bondage lain,   And languished to be free! Alas! and must I still complain —   Deprived of liberty.

Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief   This side the silent grave — To soothe the pain — to quell the grief   And anguish of a slave?

Come Liberty, thou cheerful sound,   Roll through my ravished ears! Come, let my grief in joys be drowned,   And drive away my fears.

Say unto foul oppression, Cease:   Ye tyrants rage no more, And let the joyful trump of peace,   Now bid the vassal soar.

Soar on the pinions of that dove   Which long has cooed for thee, And breathed her notes from Afric’s grove,   The sound of Liberty.

Oh, Liberty! thou golden prize,   So often sought by blood — We crave thy sacred sun to rise,   The gift of nature’s God:

Bid Slavery hide her haggard face,   And barbarism fly: I scorn to see the sad disgrace   In which enslaved I lie.

Dear Liberty! upon thy breast,   I languish to respire; And like the Swan unto her nest,   I’d to thy smiles retire.

Oh, blest asylum — heavenly balm!   Unto thy boughs I flee — And in thy shades the storm shall calm,   With songs of Liberty!

TO ELIZA.

Eliza, tell thy lover why Or what induced thee to deceive me? Fare thee well — away I fly — I shun the lass who thus will grieve me.

Eliza, still thou art my song, Although by force I may forsake thee; Fare thee well, for I was wrong To woo thee while another take thee.

Eliza, pause and think a while — Sweet lass! I shall forget thee never: Fare thee well! although I smile, I grieve to give thee up forever.

Eliza, I shall think of thee — My heart shall ever twine about thee; Fare thee well — but think of me, Compell’d to live and die without thee. “Fare thee well! — and if forever, Still forever fare thee well!”

LOVE.

Whilst tracing thy visage I sink in emotion, For no other damsel so wond’rous I see; Thy looks are so pleasing, thy charms so amazing, I think of no other, my true-love, but thee.

With heart-burning rapture I gaze on thy beauty, And fly like a bird to the boughs of a tree; Thy looks are so pleasing, thy charms so amazing, I fancy no other, my true-love, but thee.

Thus oft in the valley I think, and I wonder Why cannot a maid with her lover agree? Thy looks are so pleasing, thy charms so amazing, I pine for no other, my true-love, but thee.

I’d fly from thy frowns with a heart full of sorrow — Return, pretty damsel, and smile thou on me; By every endeavor, I’ll try thee forever, And languish until I am fancied by thee.

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

Blest Babe! it at length has withdrawn, The Seraphs have rock’d it to sleep; Away with an angelic smile it has gone, And left a sad parent to weep!

It soars from the ocean of pain, On breezes of precious perfume; O be not discouraged when death is but gain — The triumph of life from the tomb.

With pleasure I thought it my own, And smil’d on its infantile charms; But some mystic bird, like an eagle, came down, And snatch’d it away from my arms.

Blest Babe, it ascends into Heaven, It mounts with delight at the call; And flies to the bosom from whence it was given, The Parent and Patron of all.

THE SLAVE’S COMPLAINT.

Am I sadly cast aside, On misfortune’s rugged tide? Will the world my pains deride Forever?

Must I dwell in Slavery’s night, And all pleasure take its flight, Far beyond my feeble sight, Forever?

Worst of all, must Hope grow dim, And withhold her cheering beam? Rather let me sleep and dream Forever?

Something still my heart surveys, Groping through this dreary maze; Is it Hope? — then burn and blaze Forever?

Leave me not a wretch confined, Altogether lame and blind — Unto gross despair consigned, Forever!

Heaven! in whom can I confide? Canst thou not for all provide? Condescend to be my guide Forever:

And when this transient life shall end, Oh, may some kind eternal friend Bid me from servitude ascend, Forever!

ON THE TRUTH OF THE SAVIOUR.

E’en John the Baptist did not know Who Christ the Lord could be, And bade his own disciples go The strange event to see.

They said, Art thou the one of whom ’Twas written long before? Is there another still to come, Who will all things restore?

This is enough, without a name — Go, tell him what is done; Behold the feeble, weak and lame, With strength rise up and run.

This is enough — the blind now see, The dumb Hosannas sing; Devils far from his presence flee, As shades from morning’s wing.

See the distress’d, all bath’d in tears, Prostrate before him fall; Immanuel speaks, and Lazarus hears — The dead obeys his call.

This is enough — the fig-tree dies, And withers at his frown; Nature her God must recognize, And drop her flowery crown.

At his command the fish increase, And loaves of barley swell — Ye hungry eat, and hold your peace, And find a remnant still.

At his command the water blushed, And all was turned to wine, And in redundance flowed afresh, And owned its God divine.

Behold the storms at his rebuke, All calm upon the sea — How can we for another look, When none can work as he?

This is enough — it must be God, From whom the plagues are driven; At whose command the mountains nod, And all the Host of Heaven!

ON SPRING.

Hail, thou auspicious vernal dawn! Ye birds, proclaim the winter’s gone, Ye warbling minstrels sing; Pour forth your tribute as ye rise, And thus salute the fragrant skies The pleasing smiles of Spring.

Coo sweetly, oh thou harmless Dove, And bid thy mate no longer rove, In cold, hybernal vales; Let music rise from every tongue, Whilst winter flies before the song, Which floats on gentle gales.

Ye frozen streams dissolve and flow Along the valley, sweet and slow; Divested fields be gay: Ye drooping forests bloom on high, And raise your branches to the sky, And thus your charms display.

Thou world of heat — thou vital source, The torpid insects feel thy force, Which all with life supplies; Gardens and orchards richly bloom, And send a gale of sweet perfume, To invite them as they rise.

Near where the crystal waters glide, The male of birds escorts his bride, And twitters on the spray; He mounts upon his active wing, To hail the bounty of the Spring, The lavish pomp of May.

Inspiring month of youthful Love, How oft we in the peaceful grove, Survey the flowery plume; Or sit beneath the sylvan shade, Where branches wave above the head, And smile on every bloom.

Exalted month, when thou art gone, May Virtue then begin the dawn Of an eternal Spring? May raptures kindle on my tongue, And start a new, eternal song, Which ne’er shall cease to ring!

ON SUMMER.

Esteville fire begins to burn; The auburn fields of harvest rise; The torrid flames again return, And thunders roll along the skies.

Perspiring Cancer lifts his head, And roars terrific from on high; Whose voice the timid creatures dread, From which they strive with awe to fly.

The night-hawk ventures from his cell, And starts his note in evening air; He feels the heat his bosom swell, Which drives away the gloom of fear.

Thou noisy insect, start thy drum; Rise lamp-like bugs to light the train; And bid sweet Philomela come, And sound in front the nightly strain.

The bee begins her ceaseless hum, And doth with sweet exertions rise; And with delight she stores her comb, And well her rising stock supplies.

Let sportive children well beware, While sprightly frisking o’er the green; And carefully avoid the snare, Which lurks beneath the smiling scene.

The mistress bird assumes her nest, And broods in silence on the tree, Her note to cease, her wings at rest, She patient waits her young to see.

The farmer hastens from the heat; The weary plough-horse droops his head; The cattle all at noon retreat, And ruminate beneath the shade.

The burdened ox with dauntless rage, Flies heedless to the liquid flood, From which he quaffs, devoid of guage, Regardless of his driver’s rod.

Pomacious orchards now expand Their laden branches o’er the lea; And with their bounty fill the land, While plenty smiles on every tree.

On fertile borders, near the stream, Now gaze with pleasure and delight; See loaded vines with melons teem — ’Tis paradise to human sight.

With rapture view the smiling fields, Adorn the mountain and the plain, Each, on the eve of Autumn, yields A large supply of golden grain.

ON WINTER.

When smiling Summer’s charms are past, The voice of music dies; Then Winter pours his chilling blast From rough inclement skies.

The pensive dove shuts up her throat, The larks forbear to soar, Or raise one sweet, delightful note, Which charm’d the ear before.

The screech-owl peals her shivering tone Upon the brink of night; As some sequestered child unknown, Which feared to come in sight.

The cattle all desert the field, And eager seek the glades Of naked trees, which once did yield Their sweet and pleasant shades.

The humming insects all are still, The beetles rise no more. The constant tinkling of the bell, Along the heath is o’er.

Stern Boreas hurls each piercing gale With snow-clad wings along, Discharging volleys mixed with hail Which chill the breeze of song.

Lo, all the Southern windows close, Whence spicy breezes roll; The herbage sinks in sad repose, And Winter sweeps the whole.

Thus after youth old age comes on, And brings the frost of time, And e’er our vigor has withdrawn, We shed the rose of prime.

Alas! how quick it is the case, The scion youth is grown — How soon it runs its morning race, And beauty’s sun goes down.

The Autumn of declining years Must blanch the father’s head, Encumbered with a load of cares, When youthful charms have fled.

HEAVENLY LOVE.

Eternal spring of boundless grace, It lifts the soul above, Where God the Son unveils his face, And shows that Heaven is love.

Love that revolves through endless years — Love that can never pall; Love which excludes the gloom of fears, Love to whom God is all!

Love which can ransom every slave, And set the pris’ner free; Gild the dark horrors of the grave, And still the raging sea.

Let but the partial smile of Heaven Upon the bosom play, The mystic sound of sins forgiven, Can waft the soul away.

The pilgrim’s spirits show this love, They often soar on high; Languish from this dim earth to move, And leave the flesh to die.

Sing, oh my soul, rise up and run, And leave this clay behind; Wing thy swift flight beyond the sun, Nor dwell in tents confined.

ON THE DEATH OF REBECCA.

Thou delicate blossom; thy short race is ended, Thou sample of virtue and prize of the brave! No more are thy beauties by mortals attended, They now are but food for the worms and the grave.

Thou art gone to the tomb, whence there’s no returning, And left us behind in a vale of suspense; In vain to the dust do we follow thee mourning, The same doleful trump will soon call us all hence.

I view thee now launched on eternity’s ocean, Thy soul how it smiles as it floats on the wave; It smiles as if filled with the softest emotion, But looks not behind on the frowns of the grave.

The messenger came from afar to relieve thee — In this lonesome valley no more shalt thon roam; Bright seraphs now stand on the banks to receive thee, And cry, “Happy stranger, thou art welcome at home.”

Thou art gone to a feast, while thy friends are bewailing, Oh, death is a song to the poor ransom’d slave; Away with bright visions the spirit goes sailing, And leaves the frail body to rest in the grave.

Rebecca is free from the pains of oppression, No friends could prevail with her longer to stay; She smiles on the fields of eternal fruition, Whilst death like a bridegroom attends her away.

She is gone in the whirlwind — ye seraphs attend her, Through Jordan’s cold torrent her mantle may lave; She soars in the chariot, and earth falls beneath her,