The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1840-12-08
POETRY.
From the Nep Orleans Courier.
MISSISSIPPI BOATMEN.


II is within the bounds of moderation TO cal
caate that, at least, twenty five or thirty thou
sand men constantly find employment on our
Western waters in steam boats, vessels propel-
ed BY sails, and Hat boats, barges, &c. No one,
who has seen a majority OF the Western boat
men, will question their physical powers no
one acquitted with their characters, will deny
great energy and indomitabale courage, united
with good share Of common learning and use
full knowledge. One might travel the wide world
over and not meet class Of men to be compared
to them, in many of those qualities which con-
stitute the heroes of by-gone days. Nor are
they without their own poets and their own
music As they move across the broad lake, or
float down the magnificent river, these hardy
sons of the West amuse themselves and make
the welkn ring with their songs, and the BRUIr
Of their long horns. They perform on bugle
of long, conical shape, constructed of small
wooden slaves, which produces sounds not in
feror it is said, to the trumpet, and much sweet
err On beautiful clear and still morning, in
that bamy climate, the echoes of the boatmen's
trumpets prolonged at great distance, through
the neighborng woods and groves, which border
the rivers, are said TO possess charm and en-
chantment, which none can realize but those
who have heard it. There is no chord which will
vibrate sooner to the heart of a Kentuckian or
Tennessean, when in distant land, than the
"reminiscences of these native, but rude ballads,
to which his ear had been familiar from his in
fancy, and which he associates with all the gran
deur and beauty of the scenery of his home
The subject is beautifully alluded to in the fol-
lowing sianzas from the Frankfort (Ky.) Com
monwealth:
THE. BOAT-HORN
Oh Boatmen wind that horn again
For never did the joyous air
Upon its lambent bosom bear
So wild, so soft, SO sweet strain.
What though thy notes are sad and lone,
BY every simple boatman blown!
Yet, could list from eve till morn,
Delighted, to the simplest horn
How oft, in boyhood's cloudless day,
I've strod by wild Ohio's stream,
Marking his silvery pillows play,
Bright with the suns declining beam,
While some lone boatmen from the deck,
Musing on coming storms, and wreck,
Pourd his soft numbers to that tide
Where all his hopes, his fortunes ride,
As if to the tickle wave
From wreck, and storm, his boat TO save
Delighted nature drank the sound
Enchanted echo bore it round
In whispers soft, and softer STILL
From hill to plain, from plain to hill,
And cen the reckless, fIolic boy,
Elate with hope, and wild with Joy,
Who gambold by the rivers side,
And sported with the frettng tide,
Feels something pervade his breast,
Chain his light step, cut short his jest,
Bends DER the food his eager ear
To catch the sounds far off, and dear,
Drinks the sweet draft, but knows not why
The tear of rapture fills his eye
And can he now, TO manhood grown,
Tell why those notes, simple and lone,
As on the ravshd they fell,
Bound every in magic spell
There is TIDE of feeling given
To all on earth-its fountain, Heaven =
Beginning with the downy flower,
Just opend in Floras vernal bower,
Rising creations orders through
With holder murmur, brighter hue
That TIDE is sympathy Its ebb and flow
Give life its CLEAN of joy, its shades of wo.
Music, the master-spirit that can move
Its waves to war, or lull them into love,
Can charm from beauty eye the bitter tear
And lift from sorrows heart its load of care;
Can cheer the sinking sailor the wave,
And bid the soldier on, nor heed the grave
Inspire the faintng pilgrim on his road
And elevate his heart and soul to GoD.
Then, Boatmcn wind that horn again
Though much of sorrow mark its strain
Yet are its notes to sorrow dear
What though they wake fond momory's tear
Tears are memorys sacred feast,
And rapture oft her chosen guest.