The true Democrat., 1856-11-18
NO. 6.
For the True Democrat. ID MISS FLORA LEE.

'S''Ni ihSiooDg II HLLle poem cnt1-
 tied " VIRGINIA" by MIMosA. lour letter, safely come to hand, brought musings of our native land. From fair Mimosa's ready pen, Reviving youthful scenes again; And tho' long years and sad have flown, Since its hills and valleys trod. Still says my heart, "Thou art mine own. My native land my kindred sod" And often as the year returns, My soul with deeper longing yearns, TO tread again each hallowed scene, Where boy-hood gambol'd o'er the green; Or by the brooks where mimic art, Essay'd to act the builders part, And taught the stream to turn at will, The busy wheels of many mill; Or bade the barks to spread their sails, To catch the ever varying gales; Or meath the trunk some bending tree, Which cast it's shadows broad and free. With plant reed and bated hook, Entc'd the tenants of the brook; Or, where. my active limbs to lave, sought the rivers limpid wave, VT pilu the IlSht canoe, or skill; Or tempted oft the mountain cliff Abrupt and steep where foot or hand, Scarce cranny found to hold or strand. And mem'ry, too, delights to dwell On angel forms once lov'd so we'll They claim a place still in my heart Refusing ever to depart. Rest, gentle ones! while time remains, And the life-tide bounds in my veins, Still ye shall keep afection's hold, A sacred rampant as of old. Oft, musng on the mighty dead, Who calmly rest in glorys bed, High aspirations seize my soul, Their worthy mem'ries to enrol, In verse as deathless and sublime, As balm the names of olden time Already hath my pen essayd, To trace the worth of Indian maid, Who prompted, doubtless, from on high, Rescued the infant colony, When swift destruction secm'd to low'r, Impending OCT its feeble pow'r -The god-lke man who stood between, Foes from without, and foes within, When Faction rear'd her Gorgon crest, And on the verge of ruin prest; When famine gaunt stalkd haggard there, And sickness turn'd in black dispair Her leaden eye to pitying heaven, And weeping pray'd her sins forgiven. 0, 1t Is grand to contemplate, What far surpasses regal state, The moral attitude of worth That overcomes all tolls of earth, And with serenity of eye, Braves ev'ry ill, and dares to die Such was bis worth in early youth, Who drew his sword defence the truth. When the fierce Spaniard sought to chain, Fair Begia in his menial train; And the wild Paynim pour'd the tide, Of horrent war OCT Europe wide, Till the red cross that feebly stood, Seemd sinking in it's votaries' blood. : And shall less essay to trace, With ventrous hand the mental grace That How'd mellfuent from his tongue, When Lee portrayal his country's wrong, And with an energy of soul That broke the bounds of all control, Stood fearless forth the advocate Of freedom in her low estate, Hurling defiance to the throne, Proclaimed an infant nation born. Or less, the purpose firm and strong, That breasted still the tide of wrong, Like Peleus' son when Xanthus' flood, Pour'd all his torrents red with blood, And with his sword his country's cause Maintained, in all the worlds applause. Go, read at Mohmoth, ye who dare, Tokscan the gory scenes of war, How, toiling in the sums fierce ray, He led the phalanx' firm array, And cheokd the pride of Britain's pow'r, Fen in her boasted victor hour; And rolling from the field away, The war-cloud that obscured the day. At ancient York, where once again. The British lion cower'd his mane, When useless grown his virtuous blade. He, on his country's altar laid Rich tho the need of martial praise That clustered round his earlier days. The civic chaplet grac'd his brow, Far comier than the laurel bough. While yet, admiring nations viewed The chief, in all the plenitude Of pow'r and place, awe-struck they stood At majesty of loftiest mood, When he, with air firm and sedate. Resigned the envied robe of state What recreant bard would fail to string, Ills harp such worthy names to sing, Would well deserve in freedoms ire. To have the clouds strpt from his Tyre; His mellow voice no longer know, Shriek horrid discord in each tone, Till from the tuneful number driven. No longer space for him in heaven Thus, cousin, have l sought to pay, Mlmosa's song with my rude lay; And tho uncooth may be the strain, High Is the theme, nor all in vain, My feeble effort to proong, Such worth, even in my worthless song. Perchance, some happier bard may yet, Repay the long arrear of debt, Due to those worthies who gave birth, A mighty nation to the earth.
 HUNSDON.