HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN.

I.

FREEDOM.

FREEDOM! beneath thy banner I was born.
O, let me share thy full and perfect life!
Teach me opinion's slavery to scorn,

And to be free from passion's bitter strife;
Free of the world, a self-dependent soul,

Nourished by lofty aims and genial truth,

And made more free by love's serene control,

The spell of beauty and the hopes of youth:

The liberty of Nature let me know,

Caught from her mountains, groves, and crystal

streams;

Her starry host, and sunset's purple glow,

That woo the spirit with celestial dreams, On fancy's wing exultingly to soar,

Till life's harsh fetters clog the heart no more!

II.

ON A LANDSCAPE, BY BACKHUYSEN.

NOT for the eye alone are here outspread
Skies, fields, and herds in such divine repose;
The soul of beauty that to these is wed

Through the fair landscape tremulously glows!
We seem to feel the meadow's grateful air,
Hear the low breathing of the dreamy kine,
And the pure fragrance of the harvest share,
Until our hearts all cold distrust resign,
Feeling once more to truth and love allied;

And, while the fresh tranquillity we view, Each good they have foretold and life denied, Hope's sweetest promises again renew;

As if the twilight angel hovered there,

To waft from nature's rest a balm for human care.

III.

TO JENNY LIND.

A MELODY with Southern passion fraught
I hear thee warble: 't is as if a bird

By intuition human strains had caught,

But whose pure breast no kindred feeling stirred :

Thy native song the hushed arena fills,

So wildly plaintive that I seem to stand Alone, and see, from off the circling hills, The bright horizon of the North expand! High art is thus intact; and matchless skill

Born of intelligence and self-control, The graduated tone and perfect trill

-

Prove a restrained, but not a frigid soul;

Thine finds expression in such generous deeds,

That music from thy lips for human sorrow pleads!

IV.

THINK

DESOLATION.

ye the desolate must live apart,

By solemn vows to convent-walls confined? Ah! no; with men may dwell the cloistered heart, And in a crowd the isolated mind:

Tearless behind the prison-bars of fate,

The world sees not how desolate they stand, Gazing so fondly through the iron grate

Upon the promised yet forbidden land; Patience, the shrine to which their bleeding feet Day after day in voiceless penance turn; Silence, the holy cell and calm retreat,

In which unseen their meek devotions burn: Life is to them a vigil, which none share,

Their hopes a sacrifice, their love a prayer.

V.

TO ONE DECEIVED.

ALL hearts are not disloyal; let thy trust
Be deep and clear and all-confiding still;

For though Love's fruit turn on the lips to dust,
She ne'er betrays her child to lasting ill :
Through leagues of desert must the pilgrim go
Ere on his gaze the holy turrets rise;
Through the long sultry day the stream must flow
Ere it can mirror twilight's purple skies.

Fall back unscathed from contact with the vain,
Keep thy robes white, thy spirit bold and free,
And calmly launch affection's bark again,
Hopeful of golden spoils reserved for thee.
Though lone the way as that already trod,
Cling to thine own integrity and God!