ADDENDA.

There rose, amid the boundless flood, A little island green; And there a simple race abode That knew no other scene; Save that a vague tradition ran, That all the starry skies Bore up a brighter race of man, Robed in the rainbow’s dyes. A youth there was of ardent soul, Who viewed the azure hue, And saw the waves of ocean roll Against its circle blue. He launched his skiff, with bold intent To seek the nations bright, And o’er the rolling waters went, For many a day and night. His lusty arms did stoutly strain, Nor soon their vigor spent: All hope was he right soon to gain And climb the firmament; Where glorious forms, in garments bright, Dipped in the rainbow’s dyes, And streets, star-paved, should lend their light To his enraptured eyes. And then might he his isle regain, Fraught with a dazzling freight, And lead his kindred o’er the main To that celestial state. But, whilst he plied the bended oar, The island left his view; And yet afar his bark before, The azure circle flew. Yet flattering hope did still sustain And give him vigor new; But still before him o’er the main Retired the circle blue. Though whirlpools yawned; and tempests frowned And beat upon his head, And billows burst his bark around, Hope on that phantom fed; Nor yet had ceased his labors vain, Had not his vigor failed, And ’neath the fever of his brain, His vital spirit quailed. Then Death appeared upon the sea, An angel fair and bright; For he is not what mortals say— A grim and haggard sprite. And, “Thou dost chase,” he said, “my child! A phantom o’er the main; But though it has thy toils beguiled, Thou hast not toiled in vain. “Thou hast thus roused each slumbering might, And framed thy soul to be Fit now to climb yon starry height;— Come, then, and follow me.”

See the hues of evening fading From the sky and tranquil bay; See the groves, with deeper shading, Brown the dale as fails the ray. Hear the distant torrent falling, Hear the note of whip-poor-will, Hear the shepherd homeward calling Flocks that bleat on lonely hill. See yon cloud the distance glooming, Hear its far-off thunder roar, Hear the distant ocean’s booming Billows beat the eternal shore. God is in the hues of heaven Fading from the sky and bay; God is in the shades of even, That chase the heavenly hues away. God is in the torrent falling, In the song of whip-poor-will, In the voice of shepherd calling, In the bleating on the hill, In the cloud the distance glooming, In the distant thunder’s roar, In the far-off ocean booming On his everlasting shore. God! Thou art all substance wreathing Into forms that suit thy will; God! Thou art through all things breathing One harmonious anthem still.

Halloo! halloo! Wild woodland now! How the twinkling stars look down! And rocky and rude is the mountain’s brow, And dark is the forest’s frown. Ha! ha! the dens and brambled fens My wild eyes laugh to greet, And over the clifts and rocky rifts Right merrily dance my feet. Pure is the gale, and odors rise From the wild woodland hill; Wo-hoo! Wo-hoo! the dark owl cries, And shrilly the whip-poor-will; But the deep tone of the owlet’s moan Is a note of courage all free, And the whip-poor-will’s trill beneath the hill Gives music and motion to me. The farmers’ geese are very well fed, And fat and sleek are they;— The blood-hound lies in his dreamy bed, So let me seek my prey. On drumming wings the partridge springs, As over the brakes I fly; But soon, like specks, the lily-white necks Will float before my eye. Ha! ha! I’ll pause upon this height; The village is all in view; The two-legged bodies are still to-night, And I’ll the game pursue. But hark!—I hear a sound, I fear— ’Tis surely not yet day— O! ’tis the sound of the opening hound— Away! away! away! O’er bush, o’er brake, o’er rock I go, But nearer they come, I fear; Far off huzzas the two-legged foe— Wow! wow!—the hounds are near. I’ll double my track, I’ll run me back, I’ll pother the beagles some— Now for my den I’ll strain again, And gain my mountain home.

Is it to sit within thy stately hall, Or tread the crowded street, thy chief delight? From all her heights and depths though Nature call Thee to her charms—though grove, and plain, and height, Warble for thee—though Ocean’s stormy might Thunder for thee—though the starred heavens sublime Shine out for thee—though peering orient bright O’er mountain wood, the sire of day and time Doth call for thee—and with retiring light Glance down his hues from their celestial clime To lure thee forth;—yet can all these excite In thy cold breast no chord’s responsive chime? Still wilt thou choose a prison-yard and cell?— Well! God forgive thy choice, for thou dost penance well.