88 TO THE MISSOURI. And to the thought of sickness,-death-avaunt! Nor on my joys, unbidden guest, intrude: Forget it at the rout and brilliant hall, And in the crowded ball. Thou canst not always!-thou mayst shut thine eye But the unwelcome truth that thou must die, TO THE MISSOURI. WRITTEN BEFORE THE CONSTITUTION OF THE STATE OF MISSOURI WAS ADOPTED. ROLL, vast Missouri! roll thy mighty wave, Queen of the waters! waft to Indian shores Where genius triumphs, where rich plenty pours TO THE MISSOURI. Go mighty billow! bear to Nature's child 89 The living fount whence happiness should flow. Go tell the wretch the Whiteman yet can feel, He yet can weep the wrongs that avarice gave; Though deep the wound, the Calumet shall heal, The Peace branch blossom on the hatchet's grave. Roll on-uncrimsoned with pollution's stain, The crime of Freemen still unknown to thee,To latest ages fertilize the plain, That proudly boasts the Ethiopian free! TO THE MISSOURI. WRITTEN AFTER THE CONSTITUTION OF THE STATE OF MISSOURI Was adopted, 1820. To thee, Missouri! fancy woke the strain, [lay; While prescience hailed Compassion's simple She fearless sang of Freedom's sylvan reign, When Slavery's night should yield to smiling day. 90 TO THE MISSOURI. Raptured, she soared to fields of Eden bloom, And winged her way to hope's Elysian sphere,Alas, how changed! the vision fades in gloom, And naught remains but Pity's lonely tear. Shame on the heart where avarice finds a rest, Yet shall not feeling, manhood, ever sleep ;— Some happier age in Legislation's halls, Thou Eloquence! wilt break the accursed chain; While Freedom's Genius towers along the walls, Nature shall plead, nor plead her rights in vain. SONG OF JACOB TO RACHEL. 91 SONG OF JACOB TO RACHEL. Oн, who is she! ye swains declare, What Shepherdess that wanders nigh? Is she a form of earth or air, The maid that meets my ravished eye? Her locks are gemmed with Hermon's dew, Like night's star ray her smiles are seen; eyes of morn's cerulean hue, Her Speak all the spotless soul within. With sandals girt, to Haran's well, At noon the fainting Hebrew came; Her charms he heard the Shepherds tell, They sang of love and Syria's dame. The maid that smiles so sweetly fair, Shall bless the weary pilgrim's toil; Like Sharon's rose her beauties are,— The flower of blooming Padan's soil. |