Mrs. Sarah Hall.

What joyous notes are those, so soft, so sweet, That unexpected, strike my charmed ear! They are the Robin’s song! This genial morn Deceives the feathered tribe: for yet the sun In Pisces holds his course; nor yet has Spring Advanc’d one legal claim; but though oblique So mild, so warm, descend his cheering rays, Impris’ning winter seems subdued. No dread Of change retards their wing; but off they soar Triumphing in the fancied dawn of Spring. Advent’rous birds, and rash! ye little think, Though lilacs bud, and early willows burst. How soon the blasts of March—the snowy sleets, May turn your hasty flight, to seek again Your wonted warm abodes. Thus prone is youth, Thus easily allured, to put his trust In fair appearance; and with hope elate, And naught suspecting, thus he sallies forth, To earn experience in the storms of life! But why thus chide—why not with gratitude Receive and cherish ev’ry gleam of joy? For many an hour can witness, that not oft, My solitude is cheered by feelings such, So blithe—so pleasurable as thy song Sweet Robin, gives. Yet on thy graceful banks, Majestic Susquehanna—joy might dwell! For whether bounteous Summer sport her stores, Or niggard Winter bind them—still the forms Most grand, most elegant, that Nature wears Beneath Columbia’s skies, are here combin’d. The wide extended landscape glows with more Than common beauty. Hills rise on hills— An amphitheater, whose lofty top, The spreading oak, or stately poplar crowns— Whose ever-varying sides present such scenes Smooth or precipitous—harmonious still— Mild or sublime,—as wake the poet’s lay; Nor aught is wanting to delight the sense; The gifts of Ceres, or Diana’s shades. The eye enraptur’d roves o’er woods and dells, Or dwells complacent on the numerous signs Of cultivated life. The laborer’s decent cot, Marks the clear spring, or bubbling rill. The lowlier hut hard by the river’s edge, The boat, the seine suspended, tell the place Where in his season hardy fishers toil. More elevated on the grassy slope, The farmer’s mansion rises mid his trees; Thence, o’er his fields the master’s watchful eye Surveys the whole. He sees his flocks, his herds Excluded from the grain-built cone; all else, While rigid winter reigns, their free domain! Range through the pastures, crop the tender root, Or climbing heights abrupt, search careful out, The welcome herb,—now prematurely sprung Through half-thawed earth. Beside him spreading elms, His friendly barrier from th’ invading north, Contrast their shields defensive with the willow Whose flexile drapery sweeps his rustic lawn. Before him lie his vegetable stores, His garden, orchards, meadows—all his hopes— Now bound in icy chains: but ripening suns Shall bring their treasures to his plenteous board. Soon too, the hum of busy man shall wake Th’ adjacent shores. The baited hook, the net, Drawn skilful round the wat’ry cove, shall bring Their prize delicious to the rural feast. Here blooms the laurel on the rugged breaks, Umbrageous, verdant, through the circling year His bushy mantle scorning winds or snows— While there—two ample streams confluent grace— Complete the picture—animate the whole! Broad o’er the plain the Susquehanna rolls, His rapid waves far sounding as he comes. Through many a distant clime and verdant vale, A thousand springy caverns yield their rills, Augmenting still his force. The torrent grows, Spreads deep and wide, till braving all restraint Ev’n mountain ridges feel the imperious press; Forced from their ancient rock-bound base—they leave Their monumental sides, erect, to guard The pass—and tell to future days, and years, The wond’rous tale! Meanwhile, The conqueror flood holds on his course, Resistless ever—sinuous, or direct. Unconscious tribes beneath his surface play, Nor heed the laden barques, his surface bear; Now gliding swiftly by the threat’ning rocks, Now swimming smoothly to the distant bay. To meet and bring his liberal tribute too, The modest Octoraro winds his way— Not ostentatious like a boasting world Their little charities proclaiming loud— But silent through the glade retir’d and wild, Between the shaded banks on either hand, Till circling yonder meed—he yields his name. Nor proudly, Susquehanna! boast thy gain, For thence, not far, thou too, like him shall give Thy congregated waters, title—all, To swell the nobler name of Chesapeake! And is not such a scene as this the spell, That lulls the restless passions into peace? Yes. Cold must be the sordid heart, unmov’d By Nature’s bounties: but they cannot fill, That ardent craving in the mind of man, For social intercourse,—the healthful play— The moral gem—the light of intellect— Communion sweet with those we love!

Will you accept this bud my dear, Fit emblem of the coming year: The bud expands, the flower blooms, And gives awhile its rich perfumes: Its strength decays, its leaf descends, Its sweets are gone—its beauty ends, Such is the year.—The morning brings The bud of pleasure in its wings: Hope, health, and fortune, smile their day, And charm each threat’ning cloud away: But gathering ills increase their force, And though concealed—make sure their course. They come—they press—they stand confest, And disappointment tells the rest.

’Tis early eve—the sun’s last trembling glance, Still hovers o’er and gilds the western wild, And slowly leaves the haunts of solitude. Venus, bright mistress of the musing hour, Above the horizon lifts her beck’ning torch; Stars, in their order, follow one by one The graceful movement of their brilliant queen, Obedient to the hand that fix’d them all, And said to each—Be this thy place. Refreshing airs revive man’s sinking strength, And hallowed thoughts come rushing to the heart! Now from her eastern clime the golden Moon, Set in a frame of azure, lifts her shield, And all creation wakes to life renewed! Not long she holds supreme her joyous course; Her foes in sullen vapors fitful rise, And envious, hovering over her splendid path, Now thin—now dense, impede her kindly ray. In hasty, partial gleams, of light and shade, She holds her purposed way.—Now darker clouds Collect, combine, advance—she falls—’twould seem To rise no more—sudden they break—they pass, Once more she shines—bright sovereign of the skies! Thus ’tis with life—it is not dubious hope In early youth—’tis joy—joy unalloy’d; Joy blooms within, all objects take the tint, And glowing colors paint the vista’s length. Not long, life dances on the plastic scene, Care’s haggard form invades each flow’ry path; Disease, with pallid hue, leads on her train, And Sorrow sheds her tears in wasting showers! But Pain and Grief pass on, and harrowing Care Awhile put on some pleasing, treacherous shape; Then hope revives, health blooms! love smiles— And wealth and honors crown the distant day. How long? Envenom’d ills collect all ’round, And while short-sighted man his fragile schemes Pursues—not grasps—blow after blow fall swift, Fall reckless—and he sinks beneath their weight! To rise no more? Like yon triumphant Moon, That “walks in brightness” now, beyond the clouds, Through patient suffering, man shall surely rise To dwell above that orb, in light ineffable, Where pain—where sin—where sorrows, never come!