Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1846-09-04

eth. and whittier II goetb.
come, \ come, oh list to my song,
We have heard me oft and known me long,
But little have needed the varied lay
I chaunt for We nightly or carol by day.
From the viewless abyss where my spirit is nurs'd
In the strength of the mighty my bands burst,
With the fond pride of power and the madness OF
mirth
To carcer Ger the and lay waste the green earth
Sometimes 90 forth in frocksome mood tgocd
When TO witness my pastime would do your hear
Upsetting, o'ertarninr and whisking away,
Whatever meet in my mischievous play.
Then away, and away, over mountain and plain,
IIurrah for wild chaos shall bring up the train;
Oh, It's merry TO scatter your trfes about,
And frighten YOU all with the rattle and rout,
It's merry to toss the dark waves into foam.
Old Neptune to beard in his cavernous home,
To seize his trident and whirl it on high
And mngle the wild heaving main with the sky.
Anon it is mine all your weakness to show,
Your loitiest schemes in the dust to oer,hrow
To startle proud MORALS vainly secure,
So bold to adventure, so fra to endure.
l HE me away to a far desert land
Where the pilgrims lone path is a wide waste Of sand
And wrap'd in the shroud of the deadly simoom
lchaunt the wild dirge of the caravans doom
A bark lies hccam'd on the motonless seas.
Her sails idly tapping awaiting the breeze
come, and my voice mngles hoarse with the moan
As the bubbles arise where the vessel goes down
And oh It's sublime from my battlaments high,
To muster in force meath dark scowling sky;
The lightnngs my banner, the stornl-cloud my car.
While Heavens artillery makes glorious war
One blast, and the pride of the forest lies low
Proud temples and towns cnlshd by blow,
My path strcw'd with ruins, enter your walls
And the iniahtest monument tolters and falls.
lIark heard yc that shrek, that yell Of despair
Lo yon Ter brave ship By the red Ightning's glare
Her rigging all tattcrd, disinnstcd and torn,
In black waves cngl!phd, on huge pillows horne.
Mid the Of the waters my song rises high,
! whistle AMI shrek the scul PUSHES by;
And drown cen the boom of thu last signal gun,
hs the gallant ship rolls and sinks heavily down.
But many kindIicr deed is mine
The tcndrils clasp of the clambcring vine,
Breathe soft on the bank where wild flowers lie,
And WOO the wood violet to opc its blue eye.
] pass DER the islands of spice in their bloom
And wait my wing their sweetest perfume;
Sweep over the land where pesti!cnce reigns,
And the purified air brings health to the plains
And music to me, owes its wild thrilling tone,
], soul-inctina cadence is all my own;
| sigh and the harp with soft melody rings,
tune tn chords when tn nighting he sings
When Soils fiery chr in the heavens rides high,
Aud the way -farerpants meath the brigh, burning sky
w til a cooling elixir his faint heart cheer,
Not the mines of Goconda would purchase too deai
So in boyhood when bounding DER mountain and ger
coold the hot flush on your evcrd brow then,
And when on the play ground your merry laugh run.
Rccchoed the shout and the song that you sung.
! stole to n cell where a captive lay bound,
Crept in fresh and pure through each crevce around
With the sweet breath of Heaven TO warm his wa
cheek
And bare off the tear Heavens mercy to seek.
| entered easement where deaths seal was set,
The brow ofthe victim with cold dew wet
Affection was there, the pures, the best,
And fond love had plowd his head on her breast.
Oh then there were tears Of agony there,
Unfolding her pinions, Hope fled from Despair;
And love could but clasp her frail hands 10 pray,
As she knelt by the couch where the stricken one la,
an'd his pale check pay'd on his brow,
His burning lipb he len, his eye it, lat q w:
gave the last boon earth to moItns can give
Alas It's not mine To bid dying man live
But bring to the infant his frs, vital breath,
And the last TO revive him when gaspng in death
In the sunny curls play on youths radient brow
And the silver locks lift when his grey head lies low
Oh ever I'm with YOU for veal or toy woe,
Whoever thou art where'er thou may'st go,
Oer,hv cradle, thy coffin, my pinions wave,
And moan in the willow that weeps DER thy grave,
I blow where list, by Jehovahs command,
Who holdeth the wind in his own right hand;
Nor seers, nor sages, my hiding place know,
Nor whence my coming nor whittier go.
Then list to the song that sing as fly,
must speed on the errands Of Him the most High,
Till the angel shall stand the and the shore,
And wait the last fiat that time is no more"
ANI.E.
Brandon, Aug. %, 1916.
From the Boston Evening Journal