THE DEATH-BED OF BEAUTY.

SHE sleeps in beauty, like the dying rose
By the warm skies and winds of June forsaken;
Or like the sun, when dimm'd with clouds it goes
To its clear ocean-bed, by light winds shaken :
Or like the moon, when through its robes of snow
It smiles with angel meekness-or like sorrow
When it is soothed by resignation's glow,

Or like herself,

she will be dead to-morrow.

How still she sleeps! The young and sinless girl! And the faint breath upon her red lips trembles! Waving, almost in death, the raven curl

That floats around her; and she most resembles The fall of night upon the ocean foam,

Wherefrom the sun-light hath not yet departed; And where the winds are faint. She stealeth home, Unsullied girl! an angel broken-hearted!

O, bitter world! that hadst so cold an eye
To look upon so fair a type of heaven;
She could not dwell beneath a winter sky,

And her heart-strings were frozen here and riven, And now she lies in ruins-look and weep!

How lightly leans her cheek upon the pillow! And how the bloom of her fair face doth keep Changed, like a stricken dolphin on the billow.

TO THE ICE-MOUNTAIN.

GRAVE of waters gone to rest!
Jewel, dazzling all the main!
Father of the silver crest!

Wandering on the trackless plain,
Sleeping mid the wavy roar,
Sailing mid the angry storm,
Ploughing ocean's oozy floor,
Piling to the clouds thy form!
Wandering monument of rain,

Prison'd by the sullen north!
But to melt thy hated chain,

Is it that thou comest forth?
Wend thee to the sunny south,
To the glassy summer sea,
And the breathings of her mouth
Shall unchain and gladden thee!

Roamer in the hidden path,

'Neath the green and clouded wave! Trampling in thy reckless wrath,

On the lost, but cherish'd brave; Parting love's death-link'd embraceCrushing beauty's skeletonTell us what the hidden race

With our mourned lost have done!

Floating isle, which in the sun

Art an icy coronal;
And beneath the viewless dun,
Throw'st o'er barks a wavy pall;
Shining death upon the sea!

Wend thee to the southern main; Warm skies wait to welcome thee! Mingle with the wave again!

THE PRISONER FOR DEBT.

WHEN the summer sun was in the west,
Its crimson radiance fell,

Some on the blue and changeful sea,

And some in the prisoner's cell. And then his eye with a smile would beam, And the blood would leave his brain, And the verdure of his soul return,

Like sere grass after rain!

But when the tempest wreathed and spread A mantle o'er the sun,

He gather'd back his woes again,

And brooded thereupon;

And thus he lived, till Time one day
Led Death to break his chain:
And then the prisoner went away,
And he was free again!

TO A WAVE.

LIST! thou child of wind and sea,
Tell me of the far-off deep,
Where the tempest's breath is free,
And the waters never sleep!
Thou perchance the storm hast aided,
In its work of stern despair,
Or perchance thy hand hath braided,
In deep caves, the mermaid's hair.

Wave! now on the golden sands,
Silent as thou art, and broken,
Bear'st thou not from distant strands
To my heart some pleasant token?
Tales of mountains of the south,
Spangles of the ore of silver;
Which, with playful singing mouth,

Thou hast leap'd on high to pilfer?
Mournful wave! I deem'd thy song

Was telling of a floating prison, Which, when tempests swept along, And the mighty winds were risen, Founder'd in the ocean's grasp.

While the brave and fair were dying, Wave! didst mark a white hand clasp In thy folds, as thou wert flying?

Hast thou seen the hallow'd rock

Where the pride of kings reposes, Crown'd with many a misty lock, Wreathed with sapphire, green, and roses? Or with joyous, playful leap,

Hast thou been a tribute flinging,

Up that bold and jutty steep,

Pearls upon the south wind stringing?

Faded Wave! a joy to thee,
Now thy flight and toil are over!

O, may my departure be

Calm as thine, thou ocean-rover!
When this soul's last pain or mirth
On the shore of time is driven,
Be its lot like thine on earth,
To be lost away in heaven!

THE SUM OF LIFE.

SEARCHER of gold, whose days and nights
All waste away in anxious care,
Estranged from all of life's delights,
Unlearn'd in all that is most fair—
Who sailest not with easy glide,
But delvest in the depths of tide,

And strugglest in the foam;

O! come and view this land of graves,
Death's northern sea of frozen waves,

And mark thee out thy home.

Lover of woman, whose sad heart

Wastes like a fountain in the sun,
Clings most, where most its pain does start,
Dies by the light it lives upon;
Come to the land of graves; for here
Are beauty's smile, and beauty's tear,
Gather'd in holy trust;

Here slumber forms as fair as those
Whose cheeks, now living, shame the rose,
Their glory turn'd to dust.

Lover of fame, whose foolish thought
Steals onward o'er the wave of time,
Tell me,

what goodness hath it brought,
Atoning for that restless crime?
The spirit-mansion desolate,

And open to the storms of fate,

The absent soul in fear;

Bring home thy thoughts and come with me, And see where all thy pride must be:

Searcher of fame, look here!

And, warrior, thou with snowy plume,
That goest to the bugle's call,

Come and look down; this lonely tomb

Shall hold thee and thy glories all:
The haughty brow, the manly frame,
The daring deeds, the sounding fame,
Are trophies but for death!
And millions who have toil'd like thee,
Are stay'd, and here they sleep; and see,
Does glory lend them breath?

TO ANN.

THOU wert as a lake that lieth

In a bright and sunny way;

I was as a bird that flieth

O'er it on a pleasant day;

When I look'd upon thy features

Presence then some feeling lent;

But thou knowest, most false of creatures,
With thy form thy image went.

With a kiss my vow was greeted,
As I knelt before thy shrine;

But I saw that kiss repeated
On another lip than mine;
And a solemn vow was spoken

That thy heart should not be changed;
But that binding vow was broken,
And thy spirit was estranged.

I could blame thee for awaking Thoughts the world will but deride; Calling out, and then forsaking

Flowers the winter wind will chide; Guiling to the midway ocean Barks that tremble by the shore; But I hush the sad emotion, And will punish thee no more.

THE LOST AT SEA.

WIFE, who in thy deep devotion
Puttest up a prayer for one
Sailing on the stormy ocean,

Hope no more-his course is done. Dream not, when upon thy pillow,

That he slumbers by thy side; For his corse beneath the billow Heaveth with the restless tide.

Children, who, as sweet flowers growing, Laugh amid the sorrowing rains, Know ye many clouds are throwing Shadows on your sire's remains? Where the hoarse, gray surge is rolling With a mountain's motion on, Dream ye that its voice is tolling

For your father lost and gone?

When the sun look'd on the water,
As a hero on his grave,
Tinging with the hue of slaughter
Every blue and leaping wave,
Under the majestic ocean,

Where the giant current roll'd,
Slept thy sire, without emotion,
Sweetly by a beam of gold;

And the silent sunbeams slanted,
Wavering through the crystal deep,
Till their wonted splendours haunted
Those shut eyelids in their sleep.
Sands, like crumbled silver gleaming,
Sparkled through his raven hair;
But the sleep that knows no dreaming
Bound him in its silence there.

So we left him; and to tell thee
Of our sorrow and thine own,
Of the wo that then befell thee,
Come we weary and alone.
That thine eye is quickly shaded,

That thy heart-blood wildly flows,
That thy cheek's clear hue is faded,

Are the fruits of these new woes.

Children, whose meek eyes, inquiring,
Linger on your mother's face-
Know ye that she is expiring,
That ye are an orphan race?
God be with you on the morrow,

Father, mother,—both no more;
One within a grave of sorrow,

One upon the ocean's floor!

THE DEATH-BED OF BEAUTY.

SHE sleeps in beauty, like the dying rose
By the warm skies and winds of June forsaken;
Or like the sun, when dimm'd with clouds it goes
To its clear ocean-bed, by light winds shaken:
Or like the moon, when through its robes of snow
It smiles with angel meekness-or like sorrow
When it is soothed by resignation's glow,

Or like herself,

she will be dead to-morrow.

How still she sleeps! The young and sinless girl! And the faint breath upon her red lips trembles! Waving, almost in death, the raven curl

That floats around her; and she most resembles The fall of night upon the ocean foam,

Wherefrom the sun-light hath not yet departed; And where the winds are faint. She stealeth home, Unsullied girl! an angel broken-hearted!

O, bitter world! that hadst so cold an eye
To look upon so fair a type of heaven;
She could not dwell beneath a winter sky,

And her heart-strings were frozen here and riven, And now she lies in ruins-look and weep!

How lightly leans her cheek upon the pillow! And how the bloom of her fair face doth keep Changed, like a stricken dolphin on the billow.

TO THE ICE-MOUNTAIN.

GRAVE of waters gone to rest!
Jewel, dazzling all the main !
Father of the silver crest!

Wandering on the trackless plain,
Sleeping mid the wavy roar,
Sailing mid the angry storm,
Ploughing ocean's oozy floor,

Piling to the clouds thy form!
Wandering monument of rain,
Prison'd by the sullen north!
But to melt thy hated chain,

Is it that thou comest forth?
Wend thee to the sunny south,
To the glassy summer sea,
And the breathings of her mouth
Shall unchain and gladden thee!

Roamer in the hidden path,

'Neath the green and clouded wave! Trampling in thy reckless wrath,

On the lost, but cherish'd brave; Parting love's death-link'd embraceCrushing beauty's skeletonTell us what the hidden race

With our mourned lost have done!

Floating isle, which in the sun
Art an icy coronal;
And beneath the viewless dun,
Throw'st o'er barks a wavy pall;
Shining death upon the sea!

Wend thee to the southern main; Warm skies wait to welcome thee! Mingle with the wave again!

THE PRISONER FOR DEBT.

WHEN the summer sun was in the west,
Its crimson radiance fell,

Some on the blue and changeful sea,

And some in the prisoner's cell. And then his eye with a smile would beam, And the blood would leave his brain, And the verdure of his soul return, Like sere grass after rain!

But when the tempest wreathed and spread A mantle o'er the sun,

He gather'd back his woes again,

And brooded thereupon;

And thus he lived, till Time one day
Led Death to break his chain:
And then the prisoner went away,
And he was free again!

TO A WAVE.

LIST! thou child of wind and sea,
Tell me of the far-off' deep,
Where the tempest's breath is free,
And the waters never sleep!
Thou perchance the storm hast aided,
In its work of stern despair,
Or perchance thy hand hath braided,
In deep caves, the mermaid's hair.

Wave! now on the golden sands,
Silent as thou art, and broken,
Bear'st thou not from distant strands
To my heart some pleasant token?
Tales of mountains of the south,
Spangles of the ore of silver;
Which, with playful singing mouth,

Thou hast leap'd on high to pilfer?
Mournful wave! I deem'd thy song

Was telling of a floating prison, Which, when tempests swept along, And the mighty winds were risen, Founder'd in the ocean's grasp.

While the brave and fair were dying, Wave! didst mark a white hand clasp In thy folds, as thou wert flying?

Hast thou seen the hallow'd rock

Where the pride of kings reposes, Crown'd with many a misty lock, Wreathed with sapphire, green, and roses? Or with joyous, playful leap,

Hast thou been a tribute flinging,

Up that bold and jutty steep,

Pearls upon the south wind stringing?

Faded Wave! a joy to thee,
Now thy flight and toil are over!

O, may my departure be

Calm as thine, thou ocean-rover!
When this soul's last pain or mirth

On the shore of time is driven,
Be its lot like thine on earth,
To be lost away in heaven!

DOCTOR WARD was born at Newark, in New Jersey, on the eighth of June, 1807. His father, General THOMAS WARD, is one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most respectable citizens of that town; and has held various offices of public trust in his native state, and represented his district in the national Congress.

Doctor WARD received his classical education at the academies in Bloomfield and Newark, and the college at Princeton. He chose the profession of physic, and, after the usual preparation, obtained his degree of Doctor of Medicine in the spring of 1829, at the Rutgers Medical College, in New York. In the autumn of the same year he went to Paris, to avail himself of the facilities afforded in that capital for the prosecution of every branch of medical inquiry; and, after two years' absence, during which he accomplished the usual tour through Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and Great Britain, he returned to New York, and commenced the practice of medicine in that city. In the course

of two or three years, however, he gradually withdrew from business, his circumstances permitting him to exchange devotion to his profession for the more congenial pursuits of literature and general knowledge. He is married, and still resides in New York; spending his summers, however, in his native city, and among the more romantic and beautiful scenes of New Jersey. His first literary efforts were brief satirical pieces, in verse and prose, published in a country gazette, in 1825 and 1826. It was not until after his return from Europe, when he adopted the signature of "FLACCUS," and began to write for the "New York American," that he attracted much attention. His principal work, "Passaic, a Group of Poems touching that River," appeared in 1841. It contains some fine descriptive passages, and its versification is generally correct and musical. "The Monomania of Money-getting," a satire, and many of his minor poems, are more distinguished for vigour than for melody, though he rarely violates the rules of metre.

MUSINGS ON RIVERS.

BEAUTIFUL rivers! that adown the vale With graceful passage journey to the deep, Let me along your grassy marge recline At ease, and musing, meditate the strange Bright history of your life; yes, from your birth, Has beauty's shadow chased your every step; The blue sea was your mother, and the sun Your glorious sire: clouds your voluptuous cradle, Roof'd with o'erarching rainbows; and your fall To earth was cheer'd with shout of happy birds, With brighten'd faces of reviving flowers And meadows, while the sympathising west Took holiday, and donn'd her richest robes. From deep, mysterious wanderings your springs Break bubbling into beauty; where they lie In infant helplessness a while, but soon Gathering in tiny brooks, they gambol down The steep sides of the mountain, laughing, shouting, Teasing the wild flowers, and at every turn Meeting new playmates still to swell their ranks; Which, with the rich increase resistless grown, Shed foam and thunder, that the echoing wood Rings with the boisterous glee; whileo'er their heads, Catching their spirit blithe, young rainbows sport, The frolic children of the wanton sun.

Nor is your swelling prime, or green old age, Though calm, unlovely; still, where'er ye move, Your train is beauty; trees stand grouping by To mark your graceful progress: giddy flowers, And vain, as beauties wont, stoop o'er the verge To greet their faces in your flattering glass; The thirsty herd are following at your side; And water-birds, in clustering fleets, convoy

Your sea-bound tides; and jaded man, released
From worldly thraldom, here his dwelling plants,
Here pauses in your pleasant neighbourhood,
Sure of repose along your tranquil shores.
And when your end approaches, and ye blend
With the eternal ocean, ye shall fade
As placidly as when an infant dies;
And the death-angel shall your powers withdraw
Gently as twilight takes the parting day,
And, with a soft and gradual decline
That cheats the senses, lets it down to night.
Bountiful rivers! not upon the earth

Is record traced of Gon's exuberant grace
So deeply graven as the channels worn
By ever-flowing streams: arteries of earth,
That, widely branching, circulate its blood:
Whose ever-throbbing pulses are the tides.
The whole vast enginery of Nature, all
The roused and labouring elements combine
In their production; for the mighty end
Is growth, is life to every living thing.
The sun himself is charter'd for the work:
His arm uplifts the main, and at his smile
The fluttering vapours take their flight for heaven,
Shaking the briny sea-dregs from their wings;
Here, wrought by unseen fingers, soon is wove
The cloudy tissue, till a mighty fleet,

Freighted with treasures bound for distant shores,
Floats waiting for the breeze; loosed on the sky
Rush the strong tempests, that, with sweeping
Impel the vast flotilla to its port; [breath,
Where, overhanging wide the arid plain,
Drops the rich mercy down; and oft, when summer
Withers the harvest, and the lazy clouds
Drag idly at the bidding of the breeze,

New riders spur them, and enraged they rush, Bestrode by thunders, that, with hideous shouts And crackling thongs of fire, urge them along.

As falls the blessing, how the satiate earth
And all her race shed grateful smiles!—not here
The bounty ceases: when the drenching streams
Have, inly sinking, quench'd the greedy thirst
Of plants, of woods, some kind, invisible hand
In bright, perennial springs draws up again
For needy man and beast; and, as the brooks
Grow strong, apprenticed to the use of man,
The ponderous wheel they turn, the web to weave,
The stubborn metal forge; and, when advanced
To sober age at last, ye seek the sea,

Bearing the wealth of commerce on your backs,
Ye seem the unpaid carriers of the sky
Vouchsafed to earth for burden; and your host
Of shining branches, linking land to land,
Seem bands of friendship-silver chains of love,
To bind the world in brotherhood and peace.

Back to the primal chaos fancy sweeps
To trace your dim beginning; when dull earth
Lay sunken low, one level, plashy marsh,
Girdled with mists; while saurian reptiles, strange,
Measureless monsters, through the cloggy plain
Paddled and flounder'd; and the Almighty voice,
Like silver trumpet, from their hidden dens
Summon'd the central and resistless fires,
That with a groan from pole to pole upheave
The mountain-masses, and, with dreadful rent,
Fracture the rocky crust; then Andes rose,
And Alps their granite pyramids shot up,
Barren of soil; but gathering vapours round
Their stony scalps, condensed to drops, from drops
To brooks, from brooks to rivers, which set out
Over that rugged and untravell❜d land,
The first exploring pilgrims, to the sea.
Tedious their route, precipitous and vague,
Seeking with humbleness the lowliest paths:
Oft shut in valleys deep, forlorn they turn
And find no vent; till, gather'd into lakes,
Topping the basin's brimming lip, they plunge
Headlong, and hurry to the level main,
Rejoicing: misty ages did they run,
And, with unceasing friction, all the while
Fritter'd to granular atoms the dense rock,
And ground it into soil-then dropp'd (O! sure
From heaven) the precious seed: first mosses, lichens
Seized on the sterile flint, and from their dust
Sprang herbs and flowers: last from the deepening
mould

Uprose to heaven in pride the princely tree,
And earth was fitted for her coming lord.

TO THE MAGNOLIA.

WHEN roaming o'er the marshy field,
Through tangled brake and treacherous slough,
We start, that spot so foul should yield,

Chaste blossom! such a balm as thou.
Such lavish fragrance there we meet,
That all the dismal waste is sweet.

So, in the dreary path of life,

Through clogging toil and thorny care, Love rears his blossom o'er the strife,

Like thine, to cheer the wanderer there: Which pours such incense round the spot, His pains, his cares, are all forgot.

TO AN INFANT IN HEAVEN.

THOU bright and star-like spirit!

That, in my visions wild,

I see mid heaven's seraphic host-
O! canst thou be my child?
My grief is quench'd in wonder,
And pride arrests my sighs;
A branch from this unworthy stock
Now blossoms in the skies.
Our hopes of thee were lofty,

But have we cause to grieve?
O! could our fondest, proudest wish
A nobler fate conceive?

The little weeper, tearless,

The sinner, snatch'd from sin;
The babe, to more than manhood grown,
Ere childhood did begin.

And I, thy earthly teacher,
Would blush thy powers to see;
Thou art to me a parent now,

And I, a child to thee!

Thy brain, so uninstructed

While in this lowly state, Now threads the mazy track of spheres, Or reads the book of fate.

Thine eyes, so curb'd in vision,

Now range the realms of space— Look down upon the rolling stars, Look up to God's own face.

Thy little hand, so helpless,

That scarce its toys could hold, Now clasps its mate in holy prayer, Or twangs a harp of gold.

Thy feeble feet, unsteady,

That totter'd as they trod,
With angels walk the heavenly paths,
Or stand before their GOD.

Nor is thy tongue less skilful,
Before the throne divine

"T is pleading for a mother's weal,
As once she pray'd for thine.
What bliss is born of sorrow!
"T is never sent in vain-
The heavenly surgeon maims to save,
He gives no useless pain.
Our Gon, to call us homeward,

His only Son sent down:

And now, still more to tempt our hearts, Has taken up our own.