Poems by George Pope Morris Part 24

I do not find a fault to chide, A foible to annoy, For you are all your father's pride, And all your mother's joy, Willie, And all your mother's joy.

You're all that I could hope, Willie, And more than I deserve; Your pressure of affection now I feel in every nerve.

I love you--not for station--land-- But for yourself alone: And this is why I clasp your hand, So fondly in my own, Willie, So fondly in my own.

The Rock of the Pilgrims. [See Note]

A rock in the wilderness welcomed our sires, From bondage far over the dark-rolling sea; On that holy altar they kindled the fires, Jehovah, which glow in our bosoms for Thee.

Thy blessings descended in suns.h.i.+ne and shower, Or rose from the soil that was sown by Thy hand; The mountain and valley rejoiced in Thy power, And heaven encircled and smiled on the land.

The Pilgrims of old an example have given Of mild resignation, devotion, and love, Which beams like the star in the blue vault of heaven, A beacon-light swung in their mansion above.

In church and cathedral we kneel in OUR prayer-- Their temple and chapel were valley and hill-- But G.o.d is the same in the isle or the air, And He is the Rock that we lean upon still.

Years Ago.

Near the banks of that lone river, Where the water-lilies grow, Breathed the fairest flower that ever Bloomed and faded years ago.

Now we met and loved and parted, None on earth can ever know-- Nor how pure and gentle-hearted Beamed the mourned one years ago!

Like the stream with lilies laden, Will life's future current flow, Till in heaven I meet the maiden Fondly cherished years ago.

Hearts that love like mine forget not; They're the same in weal or wo; And that star of memory set not In the grave of years ago.

The Soldier's Welcome Home. [See Notes]

(Written upon the return of General Scott from his brilliant Mexican campaign.)

Victorious the hero returns from the wars, His brow bound with laurels that never will fade, While streams the free standard of stripes and of stars, Whose field in the battle the foeman dismayed.

When the Mexican hosts in their fury came on, Like a tower of strength in his might he arose, Where danger most threatened his banner was borne, Waving hope to his friends and despair to his foes!

The soldier of honor and liberty hail!

His deeds in the temple of Fame are enrolled; His precepts, like flower-seeds sown by the gale, Take root in the hearts of the valiant and bold.

The warrior's escutcheon his foes seek to blot, But vain is the effort of partisan bands-- For freemen will render full justice to SCOTT, And welcome him home with their hearts in their hands.

The Origin of Yankee Doodle. [See Note]

Once in a time old Johnny Bull Flew in a raging fury, And swore that Jonathan should have No trials, sir, by jury; That no elections should be held Across the briny waters: "And now," said he, "I'll tax the tea Of all his sons and daughters."

Then down he sate in burly state, And bl.u.s.tered like a grandee, And in derision made a tune Called "Yankee doodle dandy."

"Yankee doodle"--these are the facts-- "Yankee doodle dandy; My son of wax, your tea I'll tax-- You--Yankee doodle dandy!"

John sent the tea from o'er the sea With heavy duties rated; But whether hyson or bohea, I never heard it stated.

Then Jonathan to pout began-- He laid a strong embargo-- "I'll drink no tea, by Jove!"--so he Threw overboard the cargo.

Next Johnny sent an armament, Big looks and words to bandy, Whose martial band, when near the land, Played--"Yankee doodle dandy."

"Yankee doodle--keep it up!

Yankee doodle dandy!

I'll poison with a tax your cup-- You--Yankee doodle dandy!"

A long war then they had, in which John was at last defeated; And "Yankee doodle" was the march To which his troops retreated.

Young Jonathan, to see them fly, Could not restrain his laughter: "That tune," said he, "suits to a T, I'll sing it ever after!"

Old Johnny's face, to his disgrace, Was flushed with beer and brandy, E'en while he swore to sing no more This--"Yankee doodle dandy."

Yankee doodle--ho! ha! he!

Yankee doodle dandy-- We kept the tune, but not the tea, Yankee doodle dandy!

I've told you now the origin Of this most lively ditty, Which Johnny Bull p.r.o.nounces "dull And silly!"--what a pity!

With "Hail Columbia!" it is sung, In chorus full and hearty-- On land and main we breathe the strain, John made for his tea-party.

No matter how we rhyme the words, The music speaks them handy, And where's the fair can't sing the air Of "Yankee doodle dandy!"

"Yankee doodle--firm and true-- Yankee doodle dandy, Yankee doodle, doodle doo!

Yankee doodle dandy!"

Lines

On the Burial of Mrs. Mary L. Ward, at Dale Cemetery, Sing-Sing, May 3, 1853.

The knell was tolled--the requiem sung, The solemn burial-service read; And tributes from the heart and tongue Were rendered to the dead.

The dead?--Religion answers, "No!