Henceforth shall these orbs, to all husbands and wives, Shine as patterns of duty respected;
All her splendour and glory from him she derives, And She shows to the world, the kindness He gives Is faithfully prized and reflected.
SWANNANOA, nymph of beauty,
I would woo thee in my rhyme,
Wildest, brightest, loveliest river
Of our sunny southern clime!
Swannanoa, well they named thee,
In the mellow Indian tongue;
Beautiful thou art, most truly,
And right worthy to be sung.
I have stood by many a river,
Known to story and to song-
Ashley, Hudson, Susquehanna,
Fame to which may well belong;-
I have camp'd by the Ohio,
Trod Scioto's fertile banks,
Follow'd far the Juniata,
In the wildest of her pranks,-
But thou reignest queen for ever,
Child of Apalachian bills,
Winning tribute as thou flowest,
From a thousand mountain-rills.
Thine is beauty, strength-begotten,
Mid the cloud-begirded peaks,
Where the patriarch of the mountains,t
Heav'nward for thy waters seeks.
Through the laurels and the beeches,
Bright thy silvery current shines,
Sleeping now in granite basins,
Overhung by trailing vines,
And anon careering onward,
In the maddest frolic-mood,
Waking, with its scalike voices,
Fairy echoes in the wood.
Peaceful sleep thy narrow valleys,
In the shadow of the hills,
And thy flower-enamelled border,
All the air with fragrance fills.
Wild luxuriance,.generous tillage,
Here alternate meet the view,
Every turn, through all thy windings
Still revealing something new.
Where, O graceful Swannanoa,"
Are the warriors who of old
Sought thee at thy mountain sources,
Where thy springs are icy cold-
Where the dark-brow'd Indian maidens,
Who their limbs were wont to lave
(Worthy bath for fairer beauty)
In thy cool and limpid wave?
Gone for ever from thy borders,
But immortal in thy name,
Are the red men of the forest!
Be thou keeper of their fame!
Paler races dwell beside thee;
Celt and Saxon till thy lands,
Wedding use unto thy beauty-
Linking over thee their hands.
BY A. MOREHEAD, OF NORTH-CAROLINA.*
THE world is not one garden spot,
One pleasure-ground for man;
Few are the spots that intervene
Such as the "Hills of Dan!"
Though fairer prospects greet mine eyes
In nature's partial plan,
Yet I am bound by stronger ties
To love the Hills of Dan.
These lines have a tender interest, from the untimely fate of the gifted young author.
The breezes that around them play,
And the bright stream they fan,
Are loved as scenes of childhood's day,
Amid the Hills of Dan.
Here, too, the friends of early days,
Their fated courses ran;
And now they find a resting-place
Amid the Hills of Dan.
Ye saw the twilight of my dawn,
When first my life began;
And ye shall see that light withdrawn,
My native Hills of Dan.
Whatever fortune may ensue,
In life's short, changeful span,
Oft mem'ry shall turn back to view
My native Hills of Dan.
The love that warms this youthful breast!
Shall glow within the man;
And when I slumber, may I rest
Amid the Hills of Dan.
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair! Thyself how wondrous, then!
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels! for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heaven;
On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol,
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end!
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fliest
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb, that flies;
And ye five other wandering fires,
that move
In mystic dance, not without song; resound
His praise, who out of darkness called up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author, rise,
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers;
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls! ye birds,
That, singing, up to heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep,
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give us only good and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark!
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem!
Life is real life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act-act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time:
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
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