VI

POEMS OF

YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD

1823-1834

THE BELL

I LOVE thy music, mellow bell,
I love thine iron chime,

To life or death, to heaven or hell,
Which calls the sons of Time.

Thy voice upon the deep

The home-bound sea-boy hails,

It charms his cares to sleep,

It cheers him as he sails.

To house of God and heavenly joys
Thy summons called our sires,
And good men thought thy sacred voice
Disarmed the thunder's fires.

And soon thy music, sad death-bell,
Shall lift its notes once more,
And mix my requiem with the wind
That sweeps my native shore.

1823.

THOUGHT

I AM not poor, but I am proud,
Of one inalienable right,
Above the envy of the crowd,
Thought's holy light.

Better it is than gems or gold,

And oh! it cannot die,

But thought will glow when the sun grows

cold,

And mix with Deity.

BOSTON, 1823.

PRAYER

WHEN Success exalts thy lot,
God for thy virtue lays a plot :
And all thy life is for thy own,

Then for mankind's instruction shown;
And though thy knees were never bent,
To Heaven thy hourly prayers are sent,
And whether formed for good or ill,
Are registered and answered still.

1826 [?].

I BEAR in youth the sad infirmities

That use to undo the limb and sense of age;
It hath pleased Heaven to break the dream of bliss
Which lit my onward way with bright presage,
And my unserviceable limbs forego.

The sweet delight I found in fields and farms,
On windy hills, whose tops with morning glow,
And lakes, smooth mirrors of Aurora's charms.
Yet I think on them in the silent night,

Still breaks that morn, though dim, to Memory's

eye,

And the firm soul does the pale train defy

Of grim Disease, that would her peace affright.
Please God, I'll wrap me in mine innocence,

And bid each awful Muse drive the damned harpies

hence.

CAMBRIDGE, 1827.

BE of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly

Serve that low whisper thou hast served; for know,
God hath a select family of sons

Now scattered wide thro' earth, and each alone,
Who are thy spiritual kindred, and each one
By constant service to that inward law,

Is weaving the sublime proportions

Of a true monarch's soul. Beauty and strength,