Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1857-03-18
STAR.
TFOR THE STAR

had the honor Of Introducing him to J. How
ard Payne, and his lines were impromptu
They are too good to be lost. McDermott
Moore in Hymn to Nature expresses himself
thus:
There is little church yard, by the wave
" fair river in an isle Of woe;
Pensive school boy marked it for his grave,
And now an exile, wandering to and fro,
e
Blow on, ye suIliest stoi ms Of fortune, blow
He little recks 1t II his lot be cast
TO rest by that dear strsam, when all your doubts
are past.' - , .... ....
The author of Home, Sweet Home, sleeps
grave far from the little church yard, by the
wave Of fair river. He is entombed in
Greenwood Cemetery. MAJOR.
On the Return Of tho Author OF "Home,
-.. -s Sweet Home" -
Merrily cleaves the lordly bark
Through the clsshing food with its crest Of
Mingled with many glancing spark
That sh ne, like gems, in the wave below;
o, who shall fathom the mins.rel's mind,
Standing aloo' on the rolling bow,
As his cheek is famed bv the balmy wind,
That blows from the land Of his boyhood new
Long has he poured his lay sublime,
TO raptured ears Int distant cline;
But vain were the plaudits the islands gave J;
sun memory beckoned him DER the wave
80 Iowly their palaces seemed to be
TO the shrines Of the goddess that guards the
free;
Still would bis eve in rapture rest .# 's
On the golden skies Of his native West;
At length the feelings OF days gone by,
Wrought so deep In his spirits core,
be seeks the land where he'd love to die,
For nature and hope could brook no more.
The clouds that foated along the sky
Have dissolved In mists, and are gathering
round,
r~n
And the land Is lost In the dusk profound
Blu: still Is the bard on the bending boom
Striving to pierce the gathering haze;
And what Is denit by the clouds that gloom
Memory gives to his raptured gaze.
Memory tells where such things should be,
And be sees them all as he strives to see;
The sombre wood. and the daizied hill,
AL clad In their own wild beauty still.
Oh, soon he'll see with proud regret,
How fcenes are &C an2ed since his childhood Get,
There s no home In the world like his own ''Sweet
Home"
Now the vessel has reared the land
Sails are furled, and cables flung;
Bounds the bard to his native strana,
Not unhonofed, and not unsung.
that was triumph Of song indeed,
As we gathered at night in a festive crowd,
To give to our poet lasting need,
And to girdle his brows With a garland proud
For woman was there with her conqueIing eyes,
And her beauty so dszz'ed the ring that night,
That our festive hall seemed a paradise
And every lady an angel bright.
how happy that wandering bard
To whom beauty has given such bright reward
Little he recks how bis hope bsguies,
Thus safe In his rampant Of beauty's smiles.
woman dear woman II given by thee
The bays Of the poet-though poor he be
Is still more dear and Tore lasting fer
Than the wreath Of the hero, though red with
war. o."
long may It circle that minstrel's brow,
Ana long NAV II bloom when the baYo is past
As a beacon Of hope and Of glory now,
As trophy to hang on his tomb at Last
Note Mr. John Howard Payne landed in
New York, after an absence of twenty years,
during the summer of 1882. His friends, or
moro properly speaking, his fellow citizens,
gave him a benefit at the Park theatre, in
which two of his own most populsr pieces,
Brutus and Charles II , were enacted. Forest,
Wallask, Kemble and his daughter, the ire.
si.tible Fanny, sustaining the chief characters.
The crowd that assembled on the occasion
must have been most gratifying to the feelings
was a galaxy of such lovely women present
that We could net help exclaimipg with the
author of the Yelled Prophet
"That the same lips and eyes
They wear on earth, will serve In Paradise -