Hours of childhood, and other poems
Date: 2021-01-28T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Canadian poetry

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hours of childhood, and other poems

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Hours of childhood, and other poems

Author: Anonymous

Release date: January 28, 2021 [eBook #64408]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOURS OF CHILDHOOD, AND OTHER POEMS ***

Hours

OF

Childhood

AND

OTHER POEMS

Montreal

PUBLISHED BY A. BOWMAN

AUGUST

1820.

A. Bourne, Lc.

HOURS OF CHILDHOOD,

AND

OTHER POEMS.

For me the day
Hath duties which require the vigorous hand
Of stedfast application, but which leave
No deep improving trace upon the mind.
But be the day another’s;—let it pass!
The night’s my own!—
Kirke White.

MONTREAL:
PUBLISHED BY A. BOWMAN.
........
1820.

PREFACE.

IT is a fact universally allowed, that few authors are so totally indifferent to the stamp which their writings may bear in the minds of the public, as to feel no anxiety concerning their success; and to contemplate with perfect composure, the prospect of a critical analysis of their productions, in which, each blemish is to be exposed to the most rigid censure.

No writer is entirely exempt from this doubtful solicitude—even those who have raised themselves above the quibblings of fire-side commentators, and are only read to be admired, have their moments of fear;—the opinions of the public may change; critics may condemn, and their names may be tarnished by a failure.

Since then, those who possess every classical requisite for poetical excellence; who are blessed with time, retirement, and an access to the writings of all nations, and ages; whose minds are cheered in their pursuits, by a solid hope of success, founded on the remembrance of former approbation, cannot altogether confide in their infallibility. It will not be doubted, that a youth, unlettered, and unlearned, who in his first essay has been debarred all those advantages which are considered almost indispensible in the pursuit of literary distinction—should appear before the public with the utmost diffidence; fearful that the pursuit which has given him employment in his midnight hours, and added a zest to his short period of leisure, should reflect discredit upon his authorship.

The writer of Hours of Childhood, far from enjoying “Poetic leisure,” has, from the age of thirteen, filled a situation which requires “the vigorous hand of stedfast application,” and, which has left little time for studious improvement: But his work is to appear on the same stage, with the productions of the man of science; and to be judged by the same tribunal.—These are not happy auspices—yet, he ventures to present this volume to the public, conscious of the many defects which may be discovered in it,—but hoping to reap instruction from its fate. Nor would he deprecate criticism; he wishes only that the sentence bestowed upon it, should, as far as justice will allow, consider the circumstances under which it appears. It has no patron; it goes forth into the world, unprotected, and alone—to stand or fall by its own merits—as a tender parent ushers into the world a beloved child;—sensible of his faults, he cherishes a hope, that it will judge of them with charity; nor crush, by a sentence too severe, the latent seeds of virtue which may spring up to maturity and perfection. The child has been his comfort, in many an hour of sorrow; and fancy, with healing influence, has drawn his growing virtues starting forth into fragrant blossom. For whatever national feeling is expressed in this work, an apology cannot be necessary to a reasonable person, of what country soever: The warm attachment of the author to his Native Land, is but the natural feeling of every honest heart,—in that land, the hours of infancy were whiled away under the influence of hope, and fancy; and the delights of that innocent period, are engraven on the tablets of memory, in the lovely hues of youthful imagination. Nor does this laudable partiality cast a reflection upon the same predilection in the natives of other countries; those who feel the true amor patriæ are charmed with the same sentiment in others of whatever nation.

The smaller pieces are the effusions of the moment written at different times, and are incapable of being altered from their original crudeness.

CONTENTS.

| Page.
Hours of Childhood, | 9
A Mother’s Love, | 67
Addressed to a Young Lady, | 72
Stanza’s, | 78
“The Moon’s Pale Ray”, | 80
To a Friend, | 83
The Alter’d Lay, | 86

POEMS.

HOURS OF CHILDHOOD.

THERE is a solace to the aching breast,
Long worn by care, that sighs for tranquil rest;
Midst toils of day, in slumbers of the night,
Fond memory paints each infantine delight,
Each vanish’d joy that woke the bosom’s glow,
When all look’d gay as heaven’s aerial bow,
And youth, and health, and nature’s charms combin’d,
Shed calm contentment o’er the guileless mind.
The ceaseless waves of time, that swiftly roll
Man’s feeble bark to dark oblivion’s goal,
Sweep harmless o’er the mem’ry of those days,
When childhood tuned its unambitious lays,
And soft-eyed pleasure, in her gay attire,
Woke the wild numbers of the trembling lyre.

II

Bright were the scenes that fancy drew,
And blythe the hours that gaily flew,
In life’s gay morn, when all was new;
And softly, hope her radiance shed,
In happy childhood, round my head,
Deceitful smiled; that angel smile
Was wont my sorrows to beguile,
And every transient cloud of woe,
That dim’d the visions of my eye,
Fled, as the sun’s enliv’ning glow
Chas’d the light vapour from the sky:
And nature, in that halcyon hour,
Claim’d o’er my mind a magic power,
Ope’d to my eye her boundless store,
And bade her vast delights explore,
Her solemn contemplative glades,
Her grottoes cool, her sylvan shades,
Or where she wears no gentle smile,
But frowning wastes her form despoil;—
Midst gloomy haunts and forests drear,
Where silence tires the drowsy ear,
Or where, with stunning sound, the waves
Toss boisterous, when the tempest raves.

III

And fancy, oft, would guide my feet
To glooms, where sleepless spirits wander’d,
Or lonely vales, retirement sweet,
Where some lorn stream its course meander’d.
Oft, in some deep untrodden dell,
Where Eremite might build his cell,
Remote from all the ills that wait
The pompous equipage of state;
To human steps so much unknown,
Ev’n thought might find herself alone;
Nought on her silence to intrude,
Or break her much lov’d solitude.—
Imagination’s forceful power,
Would charm away the passing hour;
And fondly picture scenes of old,
By hoary matron’s legend told,
In number’s mystic, strange, and wild,
To soothe me, when a froward child;
Of ravening giant of the wold,
Of ladie fair, and gallant bold;
And grey hair’d minstrel, blythe and old;
Of martial lists, of daring deeds,
Of nodding plumes, and prancing steeds;
Of knight caparison’d in arms,
To combat for a damsel’s charms:
Or still, the more replete with fear,
The story whisper’d in the ear,
Lest angry fiend, perchance, might hear,
Of wither’d hag, or wandring sprite,
Who roam the unhallow’d hour of night,
Or form more gay, of Fairy light,
Who, when the moon’s soft ray is glancing
On the flowery green, is dancing
In many an airy roundelay;—
Vanishing ere dawn of day.

IV

Ah! in life’s morn, the trusting soul
Is calm;—the hours unheeded roll;
No passions urge their fierce controul.
Then, not a wish was unsupplied,
For scarce a boon had I to crave,
Save those, which in the heart abide,
And those indulgent nature gave.
Upon the blossom of my cheek,
The rose bud’s hue was wont to speak
The calmest sunshine of the heart,
That health and happiness impart:
Free, as the mountain breeze, was I!
That sweeps the light cloud o’er the sky;
Unknown a foretaste of the woes,—
Companions of man’s ripening years,—
That bar the eyelids from repose,
And wash them with untimely tears.
I knew not, then, the brow o’ercast
By gloomy thought, or sullen care,
I brooded o’er no pleasures past;
The future, all look’d bright and fair:
An undefined, elysian dream,
Illum’d by hope’s deceitful beam.
That hope has past!—its early ray
No more irradiates my way.—

V

How wildly swells the craggy height!
Whence the rough torrent, rushing bright,
In morning’s gay reflected beams,
A sheet of burnished silver seems;
With bickering wave, and foaming spray
In columns rising to the day;
While, midst the far resounding roar
The dark plumed eagles proudly soar;
Commingling, with the discord rude
That wakes the mountain solitude,
Their rustling pinion’s heavy sound;
Their bodeing, and terrific scream;—
Re-echoing o’er the cliff profound;
Startling the owlet from his dream,
Where, in the darkest wood, supreme
In sullen loneliness, he sits,
Mutt’ring his moody tones by fits;
Till evening spreads her shadow dun,
And, ’neath the western hill, the sun
Has sunk, his daily circle run.
Then, to some distant turret’s height,
He speeds his melancholy flight,
To mope, unseen, the livelong night.

VI

Where every sense, in tumult drown’d,
Yields to the mighty torrent’s sound,
I loved in thoughtfulness to roam;—
Where the swift cataract, white with foam,
Rush’d down the steep, in tumult rude,
To muse in contemplative mood;
To dwell, upon the mountain’s brow,
O’er the soft scenes that spread below.
Ah! there are those, who senseless, scorn
Each joy of lovely nature born!
Nor listen to her angel voice.
Too sadly erring in their choice,
They fly the unfrequented shade,
The bower, for contemplation made;
And seek in concourse, noise, and strife,
Those calmer joys of human life
Which only in retirement dwell,
Remote from folly’s wild’ring spell.
There is a music in the sound,
That swells the eddying stream around;
A boldness in the torrent’s flood;
A calmness in the waving wood;
A softness in the verdant vale
Where fragrant flowers their balm exhale;
That fills the bosom with delight,
And charms the child of nature’s sight.

VII

I loved to stand upon the rock,
Sear’d many an age by thunder’s shock,
And mark the boiling flood beneath
Toss its wild foam, in many a wreath;
And count each bubble, as it rose,
Like joy’s bright gem, midst seas of woes;
Whelm’d, instant, in the rushing tide;—
Too vain and empty to abide.
So rise, upon life’s flowing stream,
The gay, who shine in folly’s beam:—
They glitter bright their little hour,
The shallow tools of transient power.
Then, like the bubble on the wave,
They sink beneath the pow’r that gave
Their fleeting splendour; by the frown
Of tyrants hurl’d from grandeur down.

VIII

Oft, on the mountain’s highest peak,
Round which rude peals of thunder break,—
When tempests from on high are hurl’d,—
I’ve stood, and mark’d, beneath unfurl’d,
The varied charms of nature’s face;
Where, undisturb’d, my eye could trace
Each winding brook, each rushing stream,
Each charm that wakes in fancy’s dream;
The ocean’s measureless expanse,
On whose calm breast bright shadows glance;
Unruffled, pure, and peaceful, save
Where zephyrs fan its sleeping wave.
There, breaking thro’ its endless blue,
Soft rise the isles of verdant hue,
Where heavenly habitants might rest,
And sanctify earth’s lovely breast.
And fancy oft would paint, (among
Their verdant bowers, where wild bird’s song
Enliven’d, with its melody,
The tranquil scene; which well might vie
With nature’s fairest, loveliest spot,)
The blest, and undisturbed lot,
With some congenial, tender breast,
To seek retirement, peace, and rest,
And bid to folly’s train adieu,
For verdant isle, in ocean blue.

IX

Or stretched, in undulating maze,
To tire with charms the wandering gaze,
The landscape bright before me lays:—
The valley, hill abrupt, and steep,
Sequester’d dell, remote and deep;
The rustling fields of golden corn,
Emblazon’d by the beams of morn;
The hamlet’s cluster’d form, where rest,
With health, and peace, the simply blest;
Where reigns, (by heaven auspicious lent,)
Joy’s purest spirit, calm content;
Enlivening every rustic eye,
That beams with self-taught sympathy.
Blest with each joy these scenes impart,
Which soothe, yet not corrupt the heart;
Unversed in manners of the crowd,
The falsly gay, the meanly proud,
Who scoff at peasant joys aloud;
Unversed in fashion’s mystic lore;
Untaught to crave another’s store;
They peaceful live, and calmly die,
Embosom’d in tranquillity.

X

The waving forest’s wide domain,
Beyond the lawn, my vision greets.
There, every verdure softly meets;—
The towering pine’s deep em’rald stain;
The willow’s light and cheerful green;
The beach, in yellow foilage drest;
The poplar’s dark and shining vest,
Its leaves, in every breath that quiver,
And in the cool air seem to shiver;
Each bright variety of hue
There strikes upon th’ admiring view.
Through its dark groves’ refreshing shade,
The wild breeze hollow murmurs made;
Its bosom heav’d with gentle motion,
Like the softly troubled ocean;
Beneath that forest’s sombre shade,
Oft have my vagrant footsteps stray’d,
Oft have I paus’d, its depths among,
To breathe a light and artless song;
Oft paus’d amidst its gloomy haunts,
Where nature’s wildest livery flaunts,
To heave the sigh that childhood grants,
When crowds of wishes, undefined,
Steal on the uninstructed mind.—

XI

Why did I sigh? I knew not, yet,
A semblance even of regret;
Why did I sigh? was it, because
Nature’s fair bloom would soon decay?
The fountain’s stream would know a pause,
The forest’s foilage fade away,
Each fairy vale, each verdant meadow,
Would pass, like morning’s fleeting shadow?
Ah no! that gloomy hour was fraught
With all the luxury of thought;—
A willing gloom, a painful pleasure,
Play’d o’er my heart in rapt’rous measure;
’Twas poesy’s spirit swell’d my soul,
And bade, on fancy’s golden pinions,
Airy thoughts, extatic, roll
O’er the mind’s unchain’d dominions.

XII

’Twas meditation’s hallowed ground!
And soft she shed her influence round:
O’er many a forest flower I stray’d,
That bloom’d beneath the dark oak’s shade,
And yielded sweet its wild perfume,
Shrouded in uncongenial gloom,—
And birds, from soft melodious throats,
To gentle echo sung their notes.

XIII

Upon the wild stream’s shadowy brink,
’Tis sweet, alone to stand, and think;—
In riper years it claims a sigh,
A sigh, the bosom cannot stifle,
That as the current rushes by,
Rending each flower that blossoms nigh,
So time our early joys will rifle.
Delights, that gild our dawn of day,
Like the swift stream, will pass away;
Each image, in life’s early dream,
Dissolves, ere manhood’s stronger beam
Lights the true pathway of our fate,
Or shows how vain, (but ah too late!)
Was the fair future fancy gave;
Vain as the streamlet’s gliding wave,
That sparkles but a moment’s space,
Then fades, nor leaves one single trace
Of where, or what it was before,—
Lost in the billow’s ceaseless roar!
We gaze, and as the river flows,
Life’s varying course its passage shows;
Now, swell’d by headlong mountain streams;
“Now, softly murmuring calm and slow,
Far off its waveless mirror gleams,
“(And heaven’s own shadow spreads below)
Amid the ever blooming grove,
“Like future joy thro’ hope’s false beams:
They fickle, frail, and worthless prove!
Each hour that owns bright pleasure’s sway;
The fire of genius; fancy’s ray;
Love’s cheating power, and ardent flame,
All! all! save friendship’s sacred name,
Upon the torrent wave of time,
Flee, with our manhood’s fleeting prime;
And leave, alone, the sullen gloom
Of spirits, journeying to the tomb;
Save, that, tho’ faint her light is beaming,
Hope still upon the soul is gleaming!
Points, thro’ misfortune’s darkest shade,
To brighter joys, that never fade;—
Not vivid, as in life’s gay morning
“She danc’d in nature’s lovely bowers;
Not falsely, as in youth adorning
With promis’d ecstacy the hours!
But calm, unclouded, firm, and pure;
Tho’ dim her beams, their guidance sure.—
So on the last resounding wave,
That speeds to an unfathom’d grave,
The sunbeam sheds its brilliant ray;
On each bright drop its glimm’rings play;
It fades in radiant beams of day:
Whelm’d in the ocean’s bosom deep,
The silent waves unconscious sleep;—
Unconscious, that they once had swept
Along the soil, where genius slept;
Or bounded o’er the rocky height,
Swell’d into rage by tempest’s might;
Or, that their waters once had laved
A land that ne’er might be enslaved;
By patriot arm in peril sav’d,
Ev’n as unconscious as the clay,
That wraps our remnants of decay,
When to the joyless sea of age
Recedes the stream of youthful rage.—

XIV

Hark! from the village, distant far
Re-echoed, varied discords jar;
The busy hum, the social din,
That welcome gentle twilight in,
Come swelling, from the vale below,
Up the lone mountain’s craggy side;
Sweeping “in solemn tones and slow,”
Round the broad summit’s crested pride:
Gently o’er the water dashing,
Where the silver waves are flashing
Beneath the rays of yellow light,
That mark the near approach of night.
How lovely is the placid hour!
How soft and tranquil is its power,
Ere the sun’s last faint tints have faded,
While yet the tender radiance lingers,
In heaven’s softest colours shaded,
By gentle twilight’s fairy fingers.—
The swain from healthful labour turns
His lingering steps, as, dimly burns,
Upon yon western summit’s height,
Sol’s latest beams of golden light,
To the dear cot where labors cease,
And kind endearments whisper peace.
Around their smiling father’s knee,
In unassum’d and heartfelt glee,
The troop of little urchins press,
And clamour for his fond caress.
Nor slighted is the dame’s embrace,
Proud of her simple, virtuous race.—

XV

Soft smiling, in the burnish’d west,
Where Phoebus’ orb has sunk to rest,
Shines heavenly Venus’s goddess light,
(Propitious beam to lovers sight:)
Thick starry throngs pervade the skies,
And, on the gentle water lies
The semblance of the lovely heaven,
Drest in the hues of comeing even’;
And, as the Zephyr stirs the breast
On which the starry myriads rest,
The mighty band, in tumult tost,
Now glimmer, now they fade away;
In seeming, wild confusion lost,
Like glitt’ring spears in mortal fray.
Then, as the semblance struck my eye.
Came the long tale across my mind,
Of conq’ring hosts, and victory,
That proud ambition’s votries blind
To evils reason can descry.

XVI

Or upland, from the ocean’s surge,
I turn’d my eye, the landscape’s verge
(As twilight’s lovely hour come on,
And faint along the horizon,
Bland nature’s soft, and tender dye,
Seemed mingling with the hues of sky,)
“Was drest in softest livery.
When all around was sweet and still,
Its distant note the Whip-poor-will
Sigh’d on the zephyr’s airy sail,
That softly swept along the vale,
And o’er the stream, in magic swell,
The echo fondly loved to dwell;
As if, beneath its chrystal wave,
It sought a calm and tranquil grave;
’Till wak’d, the softly solemn strain
Renew’d its music wild again,
And echo, still, the note repeated,
And vale, and hill, its numbers greeted.

XVII

Far off, upon the village green,
The children at their sports are seen;
Beneath fair Cynthia’s argent ray,
In mazy squadrons mix’d, they play.
Now, to the ranks of mimic war
They rush, beneath the martial star,
Its red rays beaming from afar;
And brandish high the edgeless brand,
And poise the musket at command,
While every bosom, frought with ire,
Feels all a hero’s glowing fire:—
Or o’er the plain, in panting chace,
The football-sports provoke the race;
And hark! the wild and clam’rous shout,
That hails the victors of the rout,
The boyish note, of rapt’rous glee,
The joy of bloodless victory.—

XVIII

How happy! but they all must know
The poignant sting of human woe.
Short is the morning of delight,
And all its tints are sweetly bright;
No cloud tempestuous mars its peace,
Till sad conviction bids it cease,
And reason’s voice, in thund’ring sound,
Bids view each real object round;
The sorrows all are doom’d to brave—
Save those, who, where the cypress wave,
Have hap’ly found an early grave;
Oh, they in sweet unconsciousness,
Nought know of sorrow, woe, or care!
The sod, in infant thoughtlessness,
Cradles their forms in silence there;
And, in the fitful gusts of air,
The drooping willow,
Their turf with bending foilage sweeps;
Each branch, in dewy fragrance, weeps
O’er the cold grave, where childhood sleeps
On balmy pillow.
Blest lot, to reach the happy goal
When unpolluted was the soul;
Ere vice had dim’d the heavenly ray,
Or mix’d that spark with baser clay:
The goal of our short human course
No skill can pass; no giant force
Can change its being or its date;
All tread the downward path of fate!
O who would o’er their cold graves sigh!
Or shed one parting tear of sorrow,
They died in happy infancy,
They live in day that knows no morrow.

XIX

Mark! the bright moon, thro’ azure sky,
Sails slow, in conscious majesty!
No cloud o’er all the heav’n is seen,
But, like the spirit of a dream,
When nought of earth dare intervene,
She darts around her softest beam!
It glitters on the rippling stream;
It dwells along the hillock’s side;
It sleeps upon the ocean’s tide;
It sparkles o’er the forest wide;
And every shrub, and every flower,
Owns its soft sway, and magic power:
The dew drops, on the velvet green,
Glitter beneath the radiance sheen;
Around, in wild profusion spread,
The violet droops its modest head,
The daisy rears its pensile stem,
Dressing the turf with many a gem;
A chequer’d carpet, spangled meet
For sprightly dance of fairy feet.
Titania, as in ancient days
She liv’d in Shakespeare’s magic lays,—
Might o’er the turf unearthly glance,
And lead the circles of the dance;
With Oberon in concert move,
The peerless Queen of airy love.

XX

Upon the rude rock’s barren height
Shoots the pale ray of lunar light;
And, streaming round its gloomy base,
Bright beams the murky darkness chase.—
There, the intentive eye may trace
The sparkling granite’s shining grain;
The dusky flint’s conspicuous vein;
And many a fragment, rudely rent
When thunder shook the firmament.
Let the proud sons of wealth and power
In riot spend the midnight hour;
In wine dissolve their cares away,
And fain be vicious, to be gay.
Let wealth unfold her glittering store,
An hour of peace, I value more
Than mines of India’s golden ore;—
Let all her pleasures sense display,
That hour more rapture yields than they.
In such an hour, the soul is free
From shackles of mortality;
In such an hour, in scenes like this,
Reflection opes her store of bliss,
And fancy’s bright, unclouded trance
Bids, before the enraptured eyes,
Light unearthly spirits dance,
And many a fabled form arise
In recording memory’s glance.

XXI

O’er all the landscape’s varied scene
My footsteps wander’d; up the green;
Thro’ tangled forest spreading wide;
Along the mountain’s echoing side;
Through vales where streams pellucid glide;
O’er lawns the forest groves between,
Whence, dim, the mountain’s head is seen,
Embosom’d in a misty veil,
In giant strength it views the dale;
O’er the soft landscape’s tranquil form
Frowns, midst the terrors of the storm,
Scorns the low beauties of the vale,
And bares its forehead to the gale.
Such he, whose high, ambitious mind
Sighs for an empire unconfined;
The path of blood, and danger braves,
To tyrannise a land of slaves;
Who stems, with iron nerve, the tide,
To raise his empire’s tow’ring pride;
Who scorns the humble vale of peace,
Retirement, and domestic ease;
No joy within his bosom glows,
To virtue cold as Alpine snows;
No blessing falls upon his head,
For him no fervant prayer is said;
Unknown to him the soul serene,
The smiling eye, the cheerful mein;
Peace flies his bosom, fell despair
Fixes her fiend-like impress there;—
None weep his fall, none dress his bier,
Or heave for him one sigh sincere;
Nor love, nor friendship’s soothing power
Attend his dissolution’s hour.

XXIII

The Macedonian’s restless mood
Deluged the world in kindred blood.
Not half the globe in fetters chain’d,
Could sate him, while the rest remain’d.
Unmeasured, as earth’s farthest bound,
Ambition, still new conquest found;
But still, though lord of every soil,
Enrich’d by every kingdom’s spoil,
Unknown to him the pure delight,
Of deeds approved in virtue’s sight;
Blood mark’d the progress of his fame,
And terror waits upon his name.

XXIV

The Roman, whose resistless hand
Spread war to Britain’s distant land;
Bade Rome’s brave eagles, proudly sweep
O’er every strand, o’er every deep,
And after thousand perils brav’d,
His country’s liberties enslaved:—
Count not the nations he subdued;
Count not the toils his strength withstood;
Count not his honest martial fame,
To fix a stamp to Cæsar’s name!
Mark but the moral of his end,
Beneath the poinard of his friend.

XXV

But tranquil scenes, from vice apart,
Infuse their influence in the heart;
Instruct the mind, delight the eye,
And soften disappointment’s sigh;
Well did I know, no future bliss,
Midst busy crouds, could equal this,
Well did my bosom’s rapture tell
No future hours would please so well;
Yet oft, a vagrant wish would rise,
To breath the air of foreign skies;
Still would I heave a half formed sigh,
On other scenes to feast my eye,
Extend o’er earth my raptured view,
And search creation’s beauties through;
Oh had that wish but been suppress’d!
That sigh ne’er heav’d my infant breast,
Still had I in retirement dwelt,
And quiet’s tranquil influence felt.

XXVI

I gaz’d upon the pale moon’s face;
I sought the meteor’s path to trace;
I counted every orb of light,
That gem’d the azure vault of night;
I gaz’d o’er all the starry train
’Till softly, sleep came o’er my brain.
My senses sunk in soft repose,
Bright visions to my sight arose.

XXVII

The moon has fled upon the hill,
No more it gilds the murm’ring rill;
The stars are faint, and dimly seen,
Unlighted by their lovely queen;
The magic of the night is past,
And morning’s rays are coming fast;
In the grey skirtings of the east,
Across the ocean’s waveless breast,
Faint streaks of doubtful light appear,
Betok’ning Phœbus’s chariot near,
The mountains in the spreading light,
Gleam from their dark and cloudy height;
Stretch shadowy, o’er the landscape wide,
And tremble on the ebbing tide.
From the low dewy vale’s retreat,
Light clouds of mist the morning greet;
Now, stronger from the orient streaming,
O’er nature’s breast the sun is beaming;
The glittering woods enliven’d smile,
The fields resound the voice of toil,
Light songsters flutter in the groves,
And pleasure o’er the woodland roves:
Hark! o’er the valley, soft and clear
The rustic song swells on the ear;
The song by health and joy inspired,
In hearts with nature’s beauties fired.

XXVIII

Is there, among the giddy throng
Who heedless sweep time’s course along,—
One, who such scenes unmoved has view’d,
Nor felt his childhood’s joys renew’d,
Whose eye has on such beauties dwelt,
And his cold bosom never felt
Its thoughts with solemn power refined,
And rapture steal upon his mind?
No pure emotions fill his soul;
No bright reflections o’er it roll;
’Tis form’d in dark, and savage mould,
No genial virtues there unfold.
But sombre, as the glooms of night,
The forms that please its callous sight;
Cold to each virtue’s hallowed feeling,
The heart that nature cannot warm,
That owns not, round each fibre stealing,
In lonely wilds, her secret charm,
Chaseing every cloud of sadness!
Yielding calm and placid gladness.
’Tis nature prompts each noble aim,
Each softer grace is nature’s claim,
Each trait, from varied nature caught,
Fix’d in the mind, with her is fraught:
The hardy Swiss, from mountain rock,
As hardy stems the battle shock;
Italia’s soft and verdant plains
Repeat the lute’s melodious strains;
Each nation, wheresoe’er you range,
Change as the scenes of nature change.

XXIX

And thou, my country, lov’d so dear,
Land of free hearts, and faith sincere,
Fair freedom’s blest, congenial home,
Thou landmark in an age of gloom;
Claim’st, from the gales that round thee sweep,
Thy forests wild, thy summits steep,
Thy rushing torents rudely swelling,
The rocks, thy mighty eagle’s dwelling;—
A hardy, independant band,
The bulwark of thy favor’d land.

XXX

When the bright arms of Albion bore
Rude war, to thy affrighted shore;
When Britain’s cross, in warlike form,
Lower’d oe’r thee like a thunder storm;
Then, from their wild, uncouth domain
The hardy patriots sallied forth,
Display’d, on bloody battle plain,
Their generous ardor, loyal worth;
There nature in her bosom wild,
Had nurs’d her patriotic child,
Who gave my native soil a name,
Undying as creations frame.
His was the valor that imparts
Its influence to his followers’ hearts;
His was the skill his foes to foil
In every art, escape each toil,
Insure success by wise delay,
Or sudden snatch the prize away.

XXXI

In childhood, to my listening ear,
O! Washington! thy name was dear;
Embalm’d in every freeman’s breast,
The memory of thy deeds shall rest;
The first on glory’s radiant line,
In after days, thy name shall shine,
The freeman’s beacon blaze of war,
Columbia’s proudly beaming star.
First in the senate’s grave debate;
First at the troubled helm of state;
Thy name shall fill the future page,
The greatest of the present age.

XXXII

Such were the charms that pleas’d my eye,
When infant years flew swiftly by.
Past are those scenes, those days are fled,
Those joys are sleeping with the dead;
The world has oped her gaudy store
Of pleasures, unconceived before;
Far from my childhood’s happy home,
My wand’ring footsteps widely roam.
Ah; to whatever clime I stray,
Fond memory still shall point the way,
To the lone, undisturb’d retreat,
Where sped life’s morning, bright and fleet,—
Where childhood’s hours were gaily spent
With virtue, peace, and sweet content.
The beauties of a lovelier sky
Speak less of heaven to my eye,
The verdure of a distant plain,
The billows of a foreign main,
Raise not the rapture of delight,
Like scenes that charm our infant sight.

XXXIII

Oh home! thou dearest, loveliest spot,
However bleak, however wild!—
Thy mem’ry time can never blot,
Whate’er thro’ life may be my lot.
Still, thou shalt charm thy wand’ring child;
Tho’ many a ling’ring year has past,
Since thy fond circle shed the tear,
(To one bright eye it was the last)
And many heav’d a sigh sincere,
That sorrow, genuine sorrow started,
When from thy blest retreats I parted;—
Still, tho’ the wreaths that fancy braided
In thy lov’d bosom, long have faded,
Those friends who lov’d my infancy,
Claim still my bosom’s warmest sigh,
They love me still, no fate can sever
That faithful bond that bides for ever;
A mother’s fond unfeigning love,
Fails only, with the throb of life,
It cannot false, or faithless prove,
By wo unmov’d, unaw’d by strife.
Oh dearer far than wealth, or fame,
Is a lov’d mother’s honor’d name,—
It leads us in our early way,
Ere reason lends its guardian ray;
It points to virtue’s bright reward,
It bids us shun deceitful vice,
Persuasion drops from every word,
And love attunes that heavenly voice.

XXXIV

But he, whose pure affection blest
With friendship’s flame my days of rest,
My brother—generous, brave, and gay,[A]
Where sleep his limbs in dull decay?
Enshrin’d not were his relics cold,
O’er his deep grave no prayer was told;
No sigh breath’d softly o’er his bier,
And none, save strangers, shed a tear;
A last sad tear, at life’s dark close,
The end of all our joys and woes.
There famine’s meagre power was nigh,
Sunk was the cheek, the hollow eye,
Rob’d of its lustre, dimly view’d
One mighty sweep of billows rude;
No happy isle strikes on its fading beam,
Faintly its orb emits a dying gleam;
He turns, instinctive, his receding sight,
Towards that dear land where first he saw the light.
Then did remembrance, to his anguish’d heart,
Each youthful scene, with all its joys impart;
Barb’d every pang that rent his laboring breast,
And death’s pale form in tenfold horrors drest:
Then, came that tender, momentary thought,
With wildest, deepest, mortal anguish fraught,
It dwelt on those, who, in the morn of life
Had blest his boyhood, free from noise and strife:
Then, as his last, his lonely prayers arise,
On the wild blast, he struggles, gasps, and dies!—
Midst coral caves, in ocean’s bosom deep,
Brother belov’d! O tranquil be thy sleep!
Round the gay clusters of the green Ladrones,
The sea-gale sighs, the rushing billow moans,
There murm’rings soft, shall lull thy form to rest;
Thy soul shall dwell in regions of the blest.

[A] One of the company of the ship Resource, lost in the China seas, Nov. 20th, 1818.

XXXV

How oft, did hope thy blest return pourtray,
And bid me dwell upon that joyous day,
When once again, from every danger free,
Thy bounding vessel from the stormy sea,
Should to my arms, thy much lov’d form restore,
To taste each blessing of thy native shore;
To charm thy bosom after years of pain,
And ceaseless labor for unstable gain;
Oft, in fond fancy, would I seem to hear
Thy tale of sorrow murm’ring in my ear;
How the wild tempest toss’d thy ship on high,
And fate seem’d brooding in the whirlwind’s sigh;
How swift she flew before the lightning breeze,
And swept resistless o’er the foaming seas;
Or where in polar region’s wintry reign,
Where endless frost o’er nature binds its chain,
The stiffen’d canvass whistled in the blast,
And the vex’d cordage lash’d the lonely mast;
How in the fairest, most enchanting scenes,
Where blooming China spreads her living greens,
Her citron forests, and her Orange bowers,
Her vines of plenty, rich in fruit, and flowers;
Still, still, thy home was dearest, loveliest still,
And fond remembrance oft thy eyes would fill:
But fled the hope; no more thy comely form,
With rapt’rous gladness, shall my bosom warm;
Never, again, shall I those features trace,
That join’d to harmonize thy manly face;—
Entomb’d, unhonor’d, tho’ thy bones may lie,
Thy fate shall claim the deeply-breathing sigh;
Far distant, sunk in ocean’s caverns drear,
For thee, snail stream the sympathizing tear.

XXXVI

O virtue! ever be my guide,
Whatever storms my life betide!
May I, where’er my wand’rings lead,
Still scorn dishonor’s thriftless deed,
Still glory in a spotless name,
My wishes few, my passions tame;
Still, may my native country be
Dearer than foreign climes, to me:
Still, may the mem’ry of my sires
My bosom fill with patriot fires;
Awake Columbia’s spirit there,
And prompt, her weal, and wo to share;
O who! that bears a human heart,
Would basely shun an active part,
In day of danger, and of dread,
When foes their native soil invade,
Would mark their country drench’d in blood,
Nor pant to join the sanguine flood.
To die, or conquer in her cause,
And win fair virtue’s warm applause;
To plant, upon the tott’ring breach,
Her eagle banner stain’d with gore;
To pour the life-stream on the beach,
Ere foot of foeman touch’d the shore,
Where freedom dwells forevermore.

XXXVII

So will her sons, supremely brave,
Rejoice in vict’ry or the grave;
Howe’er around the world they rove,
Still, they their native soil will love;
The spark, from thee, great Washington!
First breath’d, shall warm each patriot son,
Raise in their breasts the lasting fire,
That ev’n in death, shall ne’er expire;
But, from their cold remains arise,
The flame of future victories.

XXXVIII

The lay that memory, lenient goddess, lent,
Is ended, and my form, that fondly bent
O’er the wild tones that swell my untaught lyre,
Has ceased, extinct the momentary fire;
Mute is the voice, that erewhile tuned the lays,
That sung, dear distant home, thy honest praise.
Oh when again, shall I thy scenes review,
And each fond tie of tenderness renew;
Roam once again, along thy lovely stream;
Court, on thy hills, the moon’s first glitt’ring beam;
Dwell on the beauties of thy landscape wide;
And hear the torrent, on thy mountain side:
Tired of the busy, of the bustling scene,
My wishes dwell along thy circled green;
Bound o’er the intervening vast of space,
And all the beauties of thy landscape trace;—
Tho far removed, my native grove, from thee,
My faithful heart midst thy wild scenes will be,
When fancy lends her wings of loveliest hue,
And past delights come rushing to the view;—
Mark the sequester’d beauties of thy vales,
And breathe again thy healthful mountain gales;
Remembrance, sweetly, every charm shall bring,
That woke delight, in youth’s gay radiant spring;
The dearest blessing of my life shall be,
The lasting mem’ry, and the love of thee.

A MOTHER’S LOVE.

I

THERE is a feeling, warm and true
As that of seraphims above,
It sheds its balm like Hermon’s dew;
It is a tender mother’s love.

II

Bright is the pure incipient flame,
That warms the breast of ardent youth,
And dear the passion nought can tame,
Inspired by beauty, virtue, truth.

III

Sweet is the sound of friendship’s voice,
That bids each pulse to rapture move;
That bids each barren scene rejoice,
But sweeter far a mother’s love.

IV

Fond is the feeling, that inspires
With filial love, the tender child,
With gratitude his bosom fires
To her, who on his boyhood smil’d.

V

But placid, pure, and undefiled;
(By nature is the fabric wove)
By nature giv’n the savage wild,
Or christian; is a mother’s love.

VI

Mark! where of rosy health bereft,
Emaciate, wan, and deadly pale,
(The blood its dying cheek has left,)
The infant lifts its feeble wail.

VII

And see! the mother by its side,
Sunk in dejected, tearless woe,
As thro’ its veins, the ebbing tide,
She views decline, with gradual flow.

VIII

No sorrowing accent strikes the ear,
To tell the workings of her grief;
No sob is heard, no falling tear
Her burning anguish yield relief.

IX

’Tis silent, as the breathless air,
In midnight’s deepest, darkest shade;
The hopeless shadow of despair,
That asks not consolation’s aid.

X

The infant dies!—remember’d still,
More precious to the soul it seems,
For glowing mem’ry paints at will
A thousand charms in fancy’s dreams.

XI

That form, thro’ many a lapse of years,
Comes on imagination’s wing,
And oft, its mother’s soul it chears,
And seems an angel’s smile to bring.

XII

See yonder mother! on her breast
In innocence her infant lays,
In smiles that mark the soul at rest;
How on his sleep she loves to gaze;

XIII

Her soul is in her placid eye,
And rapture lights its beaming glance;
How softly heaves her bosom’s sigh,
In pure affection’s loveliest trance.

XIV

That glance, the rapture of the mind,
Those sighs, her tranquil breast that move,
Are pledges dear, that ever bind
A mother’s pure, unaltered love.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

I

There is a flower, whose modest mein
Seems every gazer’s eye to shun;
It flourishes, and fades unseen,
Through tepid showers, or radiant sun.

II

Where warm affection sheds its tears,
O’er some lost friend’s remember’d tomb,
Spite of the blast, its head it rears,
And seems to court the kindred gloom.

III

No gay parterre its blossoms share,
It dwells not in the busy croud,
But seeks the wild heath, bleak, and bare,
Or dwells in lonely solitude.

IV

It decks the humble, lowly dell,
Remov’d afar, from vice, and strife,
Where resignation loves to dwell,
When ills betide this varying life.

V

Its blossoms bath’d in pearly dew,
Its drooping crest and tearful eye,
Its lovely tints of azure hue,
Are emblems dear of sympathy.

VI

The wild bee, sips its honied store,
Disporting on, from flower, to flower;
The humming birds its sweets explore,
Shut from the precincts of the bower.

VII

And such, fair maid, thy modest mein,
It shuns the gazer’s vulgar eye,
Nor seek’st thou, eager to be seen,
The croud, where pleasure’s vot’ries hie.

VIII

But social virtues deck thy name,
A sympathetic heart is thine,
A soul that knows, nor guilt, nor shame,
Fraught with fair virtue’s power divine.

IX

Each grace that nature can impart,
Each generous feeling, too is thine,
Sincerity, that foe to art,
Richer than diamond of the mine.

X

May thy resemblance e’er remain,
To that soft, sympathetic flower;
Thy hues of grace, without a stain,
Await you to your latest hour.

STANZAS.

Mark you, the stream of the cataract pouring,
Its wild wave o’er the rock!
Hear its rude sound, upon loud echo roaring;
Earth shakes beneath its shock.
Bright in the vale is its silver stream gliding;
Softly it murmurs along,
Sweet peace on its margent presiding,
Steals the soul with her song.
Mark you the wave of the rough ocean foaming!
While the sky is in gloom;
Death, o’er the breast of the mighty deep roaming,
Gives the poor mariner’s doom.
Riding relentless the pinions of æther!
He aims the lightnings dart;
Swells the faint cry of the desolate sailor,
Sees his spirit depart.

Calm is the breast of the tempest-toss’d ocean;
Hush’d is the thunder’s sound;
Still is the fierce elemental commotion;
Soft sigh the zephyrs round;
O’er the glad scene, in its radiance appearing,
The rainbow’s hues are seen;
The sun from the clouds misty canopy peering,
Gilds the tranquil scene.

So o’er the ocean of life as we’re sailing,
Wild waves our peace annoy;
Seeming, each blast of the tempest prevailing,
Hope in our breast to destroy;
The calm of tranquility, softly returning,
Quells the storms of the breast;
The rainbow of hope, in our bosom still burning,
Points to eternal rest.

“THE MOON’s PALE RAY.”

The moon’s pale ray is smiling o’er us,
And night is joyous in her beam;
So spread around, is fancy’s dream,
Tho’ life’s tempestuous sea, before us.

No breeze is up, with soft commotion
To stir the wild lake’s breast;
Our halcyon spirits rest,
Tho’ launch’d on life’s rough heaving ocean.

Calmly, our healthful spirits slumber
On youth’s unruffled wave;
Tho’ soon upon our grave
Affection’s wail may sound in sadest number.

When neath the sod our mould’ring bones are sleeping,
O! may sorrow mark the spot,
And love forget it not,
But still around our graves, be hallow’d vigils keeping.

Arround our current gay, blooms each fav’ring gift of heaven,
And love enchanting smiles,
But beware of cupid’s wiles,—
He shades with hues of death life’s fast approaching even.

O, may our frail bark, through smoothest seas be steering;
As yon moon’s pale placid beam,
Be our love a happy dream,
And each day our kindred spirits endearing.

ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.

Dark night has enfolded her mantle around me,
And the brightness of day to oblivion consign’d
No more the wild influence of passions confound me,
They have fled, and tranquility reigns o’er my mind.
All nature reposed, at this moment is sleeping,
And man has forgotten the turmoils of care,

Ev’n mem’ry, entranced, o’er past happiness weeping,
In the “semblance of death” imaged raptures may share.

Calm solitude’s power o’er my bosom is stealing,
In whispers of peace, its monition addres’t,
Arouses each pure spark of genuine feeling,
Allays every passion that ruffled my breast:

To the bright climes of fancy, where flowers ever blossom,
On the wild wing of thought, I would hurry my flight,
Shake off every sorrow that weighs on my bosom,
And roam with pure spirits in regions of light.

Indulging each sweet intelectual pleasure,
That fancy’s bright dream, upon man can bestow,
Could I taste of the joy, in its rapturous measure,
Without you to share it? believe me ah no!

Tho’ fancy may yield her precarious blessing,
Tho’ wit may enliven, and talent may glow,
’Tis Friendship alone, all our sorrows redressing,
Yields the purest delight that man’s bosom can know.

THE ALTER’D LAY.

I

I gave the strain to wild despair,
When pleasure’s sweetest scenes had faded,
When youth’s gay dreams, so bright and fair,
Misfortune’s murky cloud had shaded.

II

But still, tho’ sorrow rul’d the song,
And grief, that gay delights would perish,
Would Hope a softer note prolong,
And bid my breast her influence cherish.

III

She bade me turn to each delight
That blest with smiles life’s radiant morning,
And still her hand, with visions bright
Was every future hour adorning.

IV

I counted every transient joy,
That deck’d the gay and blissful season
When I, “a visionary boy,”
Disclaim’d the voice of sober reason.

V

And memory swell’d the alter’d lay
With sounds of sweet, and transient gladness,
They told of pleasure’s fairy sway,
In hours that mock’d intrusive sadness.—

VI

And there was one, in hours gone past,
Whose smile was like the smile of heaven,
When beauty’s brightest hues are cast
Along the dress of summer even.—

VII

It woke, within my youthful breast,
Emotions dear, that never slumber,
They come when all is sunk to rest,
They breathe upon the sadden’d number.

VIII

The strain still lov’d to linger o’er
The mem’ry of our happy meeting,
In childhood’s wild, uncultured bower,
When heart met heart, in tender greeting.

IX

Her form, her face, Ah what were they?
Tho’ loveliest beauties there were dwelling;
The ringlets unrestrain’d that stray’d;
The ruby lip with nectar swelling?

X

Tho’ these were fair, her lovelier mind
Each outward beauty far exceeded,
By nature’s quick’ning power refined,
Soft Pity’s gentle voice it heeded.

XI

And love, had been the tender name
That swell’d our hearts in holiest union,
But ah! too young to own the flame,
We felt the bosom’s soft communion.

XII

Sudden, again—the tremb’ling lyre
Its sound, to sorrow’s notes surrender’d;
Lost was remember’d rapture’s fire,
And woe seem’d in its strings engender’d.

XIII

Why changed the sound? ah why! no more
Did rapture wake th’ inspiring measure?
Why jar’d despair the accents o’er,
Dark’ning each scene of vanish’d pleasure?

XIV

Wild shrieks the blast of heaven, round
The grave, where all her beauties wither;
The Yew-tree moans in solemn sound,
When gently stirs the ambient æther.

XIV

The cold sod wraps her lovely form,
That rapture to my soul imparted;
She lived in beauty! but the storm
In early morn, life’s current thwarted.

XVI

Where once the laughing, mirthful eye,
With joy’s bright beam was wont to glisten;
When time on pinions fleet went by,
And we to hope’s fond tale would listen:

XVII

Or when the tear-drop started there,—
The sympathetic gem of feeling,—
And o’er that face so passing fair
Soft pity’s sorrowing look was stealing.

XVIII

The icy worm his revel keeps,
And there, his form is dully shining,
Arround that lovely forehead creeps,
Or o’er her faded cheek is twining.

XIX

The bosom, once that heav’d with mine,
The throb of joy, or sigh of anguish,
When fancied ill, or fond delight,
Bade hope arise, or sudden languish.

XX

Sleeps silent, in the earthy grave.
No woe her angel-dreams disturbing;
Misfortune’s storm there cannot rave!
No passion’s power the rest perturbing.—

XXI

O be thy spirit ever near!
Attend my rude course to its closing;
Melvina!—still thy name is dear,
A thousand past delights disclosing.—

XXII

Thou wert to me, a kindred flower—
In nature’s garden, nurs’d together,—
We grew, till in a stormy hour
Thy vernal charms were doom’d to wither.

XXIII

But gladness still, shall mark the strain,
And hope shall point to brighter pleasure,
When our torn hearts shall meet again,
In hallow’d transport’s fullest measure.

ERRATA.

It is with much regret, that the publisher (notwithstanding his endeavours to prevent it) has discovered a few instances of erroneous typography—those which would impair the sense are the following:—

“Hours of Childhood,” page 19th, section VII, line 2d, for Scar’d, read, Sear’d.

In “The Moon’s Pale Ray,” page 80th, 1st verse, 4th line, for sea, read, sea’s.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOURS OF CHILDHOOD, AND OTHER POEMS ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

back

back

Table of Contents

Hours OF Childhood AND OTHER POEMS Montreal PUBLISHED BY A. BOWMAN AUGUST 1820.

HOURS OF CHILDHOOD, AND OTHER POEMS.

PREFACE.

CONTENTS.

POEMS. HOURS OF CHILDHOOD.

- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX
- X
- XI
- XII
- XIII
- XIV
- XV
- XVI
- XVII
- XVIII
- XIX
- XX
- XXI
- XXIII
- XXIV
- XXV
- XXVI
- XXVII
- XXVIII
- XXIX
- XXX
- XXXI
- XXXII
- XXXIII
- XXXIV
- XXXV
- XXXVI
- XXXVII
- XXXVIII

A MOTHER’S LOVE.

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX
- X
- XI
- XII
- XIII
- XIV

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX
- X

STANZAS.

“THE MOON’s PALE RAY.”

ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.

THE ALTER’D LAY.

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX
- X
- XI
- XII
- XIII
- XIV
- XIV
- XVI
- XVII
- XVIII
- XIX
- XX
- XXI
- XXII
- XXIII

ERRATA.

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE