Poems by George Pope Morris Part 7

In the ranks of Marion's band, Through mora.s.s 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 Santee she died!-- Where sings the surge A ceaseless dirge Near the lone grave of Sallie.

Janet McRea. [See Notes]

She heard the fight was over, And won the wrath of fame!

When tidings from her lover, With his good war-steed came: To guard her safely to his tent, The red-men of the woods were sent.

They led her where sweet waters gus.h.!.+

Under the pine-tree bough!

The tomahawk is raised to crush-- 'Tis buried in her brow!-- She sleeps beneath that pine-tree now!

Her broken-hearted lover In hopeless conflict died!

The forest-leaves now cover That soldier and his bride!

The frown of the Great Spirit fell Upon the red-men like a spell!

No more those waters slake their thirst, Shadeless to them that tree!

O'er land and lake they roam accurst, And in the clouds they see Thy spirit, unavenged, McRea!

Lisette.

When Love in myrtle shades reposed, His bow and darts behind him slung; As dewey twilight round him closed, Lisette these numbers sung: "O Love! thy sylvan bower I'll fly while I've the power; Thy primrose way leads maids where they Love, honor, and obey!"

"Escape," the boy-G.o.d said, "is vain,"

And shook the diamonds from his wings: "I'll bind thee captive to my train, Fairest of earthy things!"

"Go, saucy archer, go!

I freedom's value know: Begon, I pray--to none I'll say Love, honor, and obey!"

"Speed, arrow, to thy mark!" he cried-- Swift as a ray of light it flew!

Love spread his purple pinions wide, And faded from her view!

Joy filled that maiden's eyes-- Twin load-stars from the skies!-- And one bright day her lips DID say, "Love, honor, and obey!"

My Mother's Bible.

This book is all that's left me now!-- Tears will unbidden start-- With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart.

For many generations past, Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; Who round the hearth-stone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill!

Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still!

My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear; How calm was my poor mother's look Who leaned G.o.d's word to hear!

Her angel face--I see it yet!

What vivid memories come!-- Again that little group is met Within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried: Where all were false I found thee true, My counselor and guide.

The mines of earth no treasures give That could this volume buy: In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die.

"The Dog-Star Rages."

Unseal the city fountains, And let the waters flow In coolness from the mountains Unto the plains below.

My brain is parched and erring, The pavement hot and dry, And not a breath is stirring Beneath the burning sky.

The belles have all departed-- There does not linger one!

Of course the mart's deserted By every mother's son, Except the street musician And men of lesser note, Whose only earthly mission Seems but to toil and vote!

A woman--blessings on her!-- Beneath my window see; She's singing--what an honor!-- Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!"

Her "man" the air is killing-- His organ's out of tune-- They're gone, with my last s.h.i.+lling, [See Notes (1)]

To Florence's saloon. [See Notes (2)]

New York is most compactly Of brick and mortar made-- Thermometer exactly One hundred in the shade!

A furnace would be safer Than this my letter-room, Where gleams the sun, a wafer, About to seal my doom.

The town looks like an ogre, The country like a bride; Wealth hies to Saratoga, And Worth to Sunny-side. [See Notes (3)]

While fas.h.i.+on seeks the islands Encircled by the sea, Taste find the Hudson Highlands More beautiful and free.

The omnibuses rumble Along their cobbled way-- The "twelve inside" more humble Than he who takes the pay: From morn till midnight stealing, His horses come and go-- The only creatures feeling The "luxury of wo!" [See Notes (4)]

We editors of papers, Who coin our brains for bread By solitary tapers While others doze in bed, Have tasks as sad and lonely, However wrong or right, But with this difference only, The horses rest at night.