George Pope Morris

(Music by Balfe.)

Twilight.


Oh, boatman, haste!--The twilight hour
    Is closing gently o'er the lea!
The sun, whose setting shuts the flower.
    Has looked his last upon the sea!
    Row, then, boatman, row!
    Row, then, boatman, row!
Row!--aha!--we've moon and star!
And our skiff with the stream is flowing.
    Heigh-ho!--ah!--heigh-ho!--
    Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho!


Midnight.


Oh, boatman, haste!--The sentry calls
    The midnight hour on yonder shore,
And silvery sweet the echo falls
    As music dripping from the oar!
    Row, then, boatman, row!
    Row, then, boatman, row!
Row!--afar fade moon and star!
While our skiff with the stream is flowing!
    Heigh-ho!--ah!--heigh-ho!...

Oh, think of me, my own beloved,
    Whatever cares beset thee!
And when thou hast the falsehood proved,
    Of those with smiles who met thee--
While o'er the sea, think, love, of me,
    Who never can forget thee;
Let memory trace the trysting-place,
    Where I with tears regret thee.

Bright as you star, within my mind,
    A hand unseen hath set thee;
There hath thine image been enshrined,
    Since first, dear love, I met thee;
So in thy breast I fain would rest,
    If, haply, fate would let me--
And live or die, so thou wert nigh,
    To love or to regret me!

Music--"Jess Macfarlane."




Oh, this love--this love!
    I ainse the passion slighted;
But hearts that truly love,
    Must break or be united.
        Oh, this love!

When first he cam' to woo,
    I little cared aboot him;
But seene I felt as though
    I could na' live without him.
        Oh, this love!

He brought to me the ring,
    My hand asked o' my mither--
I could na' bear the thought
    That he should we anither.
        Oh, this love!

And now I'm a' his ain--
    In a' his joys I mingle;
Nae for the wealth of warlds
    Wad I again be single!
        Oh, this love!

Oh, would that she were here,
These hills and dales among,
Where vocal groves are gayly mocked
By Echo's airy tongue:
Where jocund nature smiles
In all her boon attire,
And roams the deeply-tangled wilds
Of hawthorn and sweet-brier.
Oh, would that she were here--
The gentle maid I sing,
Whose voice is cheerful as the songs
Of forest-birds in spring!

Oh, would that she were here,
Where the free waters leap,
Shouting in sportive joyousness
Adown the rocky steep:
Where zephyrs crisp and cool
The fountains as they play,
With health upon their wings of light,
And gladness on their way.
Oh, would that she were here,
With these balm-breathing trees,
The sylvan daughters of the sun,
The rain-cloud, and the breeze!

Oh...

I know that thou art mine, my love,
    I know that thou art fair;
And lovelier than the orange-flowers
    That bind thy glossy hair:
That thou hast every gentle grace
    Which nature can design--
I know that thou art mine, my love,
    I know that I am thine:
            Yes, thine, my love,
            I'm thine, my love,
    Thine, thine, and only thine.

I know that thou art true, my love,
    And welcome as the breeze
Which comes, with healing on its wings,
    Across the summer seas:
That thou hast every winning charm
    Which culture may refine--
I know that thou art mine, my love,
    I know that I am thine.
            Yes, thine, my love,
            I'm thine, my love,
    Thine, thine, and only thine.

After life's eventful mission,
    In her truthfulness and worth,
Like a calm and gentle vision
    She has passed away from earth.

Lovely she in frame and feature!
    Blended purity and grace!--
The Creator in the creature
    Glowed in her expressive face!

Angel of a nature human!
    Essence of a celestial love!
Heart and soul of trusting woman,
    Gone to her reward above!

Mourners, dry your tears of sorrow--
    Read the golden promise o'er;
There will dawn a cheerful morrow
    When we meet to part no more.

To me the world's an open book
Of sweet and pleasant poetry;
I read it in the running brook
That sings its way toward the sea.
It whispers in the leaves of trees,
The swelling grain, the waving grass,
And in the cool, fresh evening breeze
That crisps the wavelets as they pass.

The flowers below, the stars above,
In all their bloom and brightness given,
Are, like the attributes of love,
The poetry of earth and heaven.
Thus Nature's volume, read aright,
Attunes the soul to minstrelsy,
Tinging life's clouds with rosy light,
And all the world with poetry.

Two children of the olden time
    In Flora's primrose season,
Were born.    The name of one was Rhyme
    That of the other Reason.
And both were beautiful and fair,
And pure as mountain stream and air.

As the boys together grew,
    Happy fled their hours--
Grief or care they never knew
    In the Paphian bowers.
See them roaming, hand in hand,
The pride of all the choral band!

Music with harp of golden strings,
    Love with bow and quiver,
Airy sprites on radiant wings,
    Nymphs of wood and river,
Joined the Muses' constant song,
As Rhyme and Reason passed along.

But the scene was changed--the boys
    Left their native soil--
Rhyme's pursuit was idle joys,
    Reason's manly toil:
Soon Rhyme was starving i...

I miss thee from my side, beloved,
    I miss thee from my side;
And wearily and drearily
    Flows Time's resistless tide.
The world, and all its fleeting joys,
    To me are worse than vain,
Until I clasp thee to my heart,
    Beloved one, again.

The wildwood and the forest-path,
    We used to thread of yore,
With bird and bee have flown with thee,
    And gone for ever more!
There is no music in the grove,
    No echo on the hill;
But melancholy boughs are there--
    And hushed the whip-poor-will.

I miss thee in the town, beloved,
    I miss thee in the town;
From morn I grieve till dewy eve
    Spreads wide its mantle brown.
My spirit's wings, that once could soar
    In Fancy's world of air,
Are crushed and beat...

Before the Battle.


The clarion call of liberty
    Rings on the startled gales!
The rising hills reverberate
    The rising of the vales!
Through all the land the thrilling shout
    Swift as an arrow goes!
Columbia's champions arm and out
    To battle with her foes!


After the Battle


The bugle-song of victory
    Is vocal in the air!
The strains, by warrior-voices breathed,
    Are echoed by the fair!
The eagle, with the wreath, blood-bought,
    Soars proudly to the sun,
Proclaiming the "good fight is fought,
    And the great victory won!"

She loved him--but she heeded not--
    Her heart had only room for pride:
All other feelings were forgot,
    When she became another's bride.
As from a dream she then awoke,
    To realize her lonely state,
And own it was the vow she broke
    That made her drear and desolate!

She loved him--but the sland'rer came,
    With words of hate that all believed;
A stain thus rested on his name--
    But he was wronged and she deceived;
Ah! rash the act that gave her hand,
    That drove her lover from her side--
Who hied him to a distant land,
    Where, battling for a name, he died!

She loved him--and his memory now
    Was treasured from the world apart:
The calm of thought was on her brow,
    The seeds of death were in her heart.

Where is now my peace of mind?
    Gone, alas! for evermore:
Turn where'er I may, I find
    Thorns where roses bloomed before!
O'er the green-fields of my soul,
    Where the springs of joy were found,
Now the clouds of sorrow roll,
    Shading all the prospect round!

Do I merit pangs like these,
    That have cleft my heart in twain?
Must I, to the very lees,
    Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain?
Silent grief all grief excels;
    Life and it together part--
Like a restless worm it dwells
    Deep within the human heart!

In the ranks of Marion's band,
Through morass and wooded land,
Over beach of yellow sand,
    Mountain, plain, and valley,
A southern maid, in all her pride,
Marched gayly at her lover's side,
    In such disguise
    That e'en his eyes
    Did not discover Sallie!

When returned from midnight tramp,
Through the forest dark and damp,
Oh his straw-couch in the camp,
    In his dreams he'd dally
With that devoted, gentle fair,
Whose large black eyes and flowing hair
    So near him seem,
    That in his dream,
    He breathes his love for Sallie!

Oh, what joy, that maiden knew,
When she found her lover true!--
Suddenly the trumpet blew,
    Marion's men to rally!
To ward the death-spear from his side!--
In battle by ...

Joyous the carol that rings in the mountains,
While the cleared vales are refreshed by the fountains--
After the harvest the cheerful notes fall,
And all the glad reapers re-echo the call!
                        La ra la la, &c.

Oh, how the heart bounds at that simple refrain!
Dear haunts of my childhood, I'm with you again!
Green be your valleys, enriched by the rills,
And long may that carol be sung on your hills!
                        La ra la la, &c.

I'm the Iron Needle-Woman!
    Wrought of sterner stuff than clay;
And, unlike the drudges human,
    Never weary night or day;
Never shedding tears of sorrow,
    Never mourning friends untrue,
Never caring for the morrow,
    Never begging work to do.

Poverty brings no disaster!
    Merrily I glide along,
For no thankless, sordid master,
    Ever seeks to do me wrong:
No extortioners oppress me,
    No insulting words I dread--
I've no children to distress me
    With unceasing cries for bread.

I'm of hardy form and feature,
    For endurance framed aright;
I'm not pale misfortune's creature,
    Doomed life's battle here to fight:
Mine's a song of cheerful measure,
    And no under-currents flow
To destroy the throb...

In Imitation of the Lays of the Olden Time.




"Come, list to the lay of the olden time,"
    A troubadour sang on a moonlit stream:
"The scene is laid in a foreign clime,
    "A century back--and love is the theme."
Love was the theme of the troubadour's rhyme,
Of lady and lord of the olden time

"At an iron-barred turret, a lady fair
    "Knelt at the close of the vesper-chime:
"Her beads she numbered in silent prayer
    "For one far away, whom to love was her crime.
"Love," sang the troubadour, "love was a crime,
"When fathers were stern, in the olden time.

"The warder had spurned from the castle gate
    "The minstrel who wooed her in flowing rhyme--
"He came back from battle in regal estate--
    "The bard was a prince of ...

While before St. Agnes' shrine
Knelt a true knight's lady-love,
From the wars of Palestine
Came a gentle carrier-dove.
Round his neck a Silken string
Fastened words the warrior writ:
At her call he stooped his wing,
And upon her finger lit.

She, like one enchanted, pored
O'er the contents of the scroll--
For that lady loved her lord
With a pure, devoted soul.
To her heart her dove she drew,
While she traced the burning line;
Then away his minion flew
Back to sainted Palestine.

To and fro, from hand to hand
Came and went a carrier-dove,
Till throughout the Holy Land
War resigned his sword to Love.
Swift her dove, on wings of light,
Brought the news from Palestine,
And the lady her true knight
Wedded at St. Agnes' s...

'Twas night.    Near the murmuring Saone,
    We met with no witnesses by,
But such as resplendently shone
    In the blue-tinted vault of the sky:
Your head on my bosom was laid,
    As you said you would ever be mine;
And I promised to love, dearest maid,
    And worship alone at your shrine.

Your love on my heart gently fell
    As the dew on the flowers at eve,
Whose blossoms with gratitude swell,
    A blessing to give and receive:
And I knew by the glow on your cheek,
    And the rapture you could not control,
No power had language to speak
    The faith or content of your soul.

I love you as none ever loved--
    As the steel to the star I am true;
And I, dearest maiden, have proved
    That none ever loved me but you.
Ti...