Sunbury American and Shamokin journal. [volume] (Sunbury, Northumberland Co., Pa.) 1840-1848, 1843-09-09
DEATH, OR MEDonUs, DREAM.
Br THE AUTHOR OF AuAsUERus.


Here is poem which is very likely to be judged
hy strange critical canons, |. c. not upon its own
merits hui upon the merits Of the administration at
Washington. We think il unfortunate for the au.
thor that il should I've SO, for the book is one more
worthy Of admiration than the standard by which
it will be judged may allow it TO receive. 1t has
srme faults Of manner and some ineegancies Of
expression, but on the whole displays unusual po.
e,cal ability. There are passages in il which seem
to US TO possess high degree Of beauty and pow
er. As specimen Of its general style, we extract
the following description Of "The Seasons "-Nec
York POST
aspiring laughing romcs to hlcss the ver'ant land,
Sweet hrcezcs kiss the glowing curls that lie
Uron her blooming check: a lambent fire
Plays from her radiant eyes meath her light step
Daisies and cowslips grow. Upon the bud
She brea,hes, and quick the rose nnfolds
It's tinted leaves and trembling with keen bliss,
Sips the pure morning dews, and soft exhales
A gentle ndor through the gardens walks,
More sweet than beauty's breath. Hark TO those
sounds
The warbIing notes that rise upon the gale
Steal DER the soul like voices Of pure prayer,
Or dream of Edcn's joys. Der all the earth
Strike through the fibrous soil, and qnicken there
A thousand lovely forms these straigh,way start
From that deep sleep which heaven So kindly sends
Though winters rugged hour, while soon they
Join
The happy circle of all beau'eous things,
That ill the world with perfume and with song,
Haling their houneous mistress, virgin Spring.
Mark Summer, sitting meath yon spreading
palm,
She gazcs round, and smiles in quiet pride
While counting % er the glorious wealth that fills
Her wide domain. Now wave the growing fields
Boncah the rip'ninc winds and the warm sun;
Now the soft pulp of the dstending fruits
imbil es rich nectar from the glowing beams
OF the calm, . llen day Now Hope sits laughing
IN a world ofIight, and Promise near
Weavcs the bright numbers Of Joyous lay,
With plenty still the hurthtn ofhis theme.
Next Autumn Comes. the sweet industrious maid,
Who garnrrs up the treasures Of past days,
Brown nuts, and yellow grain, aud ripen'd stores
OF melowd fruits; yet still pensive smile,
As soft as moonig ght some slumb ring stream,
Throws o'rr her face a melancholy shade
OF sober thought as though her hear, was sad.
That the large harvcs,s which her sickle wins
Should leave the earh so hare. And then she sings
A p!aintive strain that echues through the land,
like the wild cooings of some soft.tOncd dove,
\ note of resignation and of peace,
Though still u sound Of salncss fom the soul.
Lo! Winter rushcs from the land Of storms
From the cold Arctic regions, where he snt
'Mong clouds aud darkness, and vast missh1pet
forms
He comes with fros,s and bowling winds, and hail
And ,hr di-k terrors offs sunless ky.
Unshorn his ragged beard, and his fierce eyes,
Relentless as the mudere''s stony heart,
Condemns the vic,im, while his icy breath,
More draiy than the lighnng's fire gIeam.
Sweeps h,e into oblivion"