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High up the lashing northern deep,
Where glimmering watch-lights beam,
Away in beauty where the stars

In tropic brightness gleam;
Where'er the sea-bird wets her beak,
Or blows the stormy gale-
On to the water's farthest verge
Our ships majestic sail.

They dip their keels in every stream
That swells beneath the sky;
And where old ocean's billows roll,
Their lofty pennants fly:

They furl their sails in threatening clouds
That float across the main,

To link with love, earth's distant bays
In many a golden chain.

They deck our halls with sparkling gems
That shone on Orient strands,
And garlands round the hills they bind,
From far-off sunny lands;
But Massachusetts asks no wreath
From foreign clime nor realm,
While safely glides her ship of state
With Genius at the helm.

IV.

CHRISTINE:-A MELODY.

She stood, like an angel just wandered from heaven,
A pilgrim benighted away from the skies,
And little we deemed that to mortals were given,
Such visions of beauty as came from her eyes.

She looked up and smiled on the many glad faces,

The friends of her childhood who stood by her side, But she shone o'er them all, like a queen of the Graces, When blushing, she whispered the oath of a bride. We sang an old song as with garlands we crowned her, And each left a kiss on her delicate brow, And we prayed that a blessing might ever surround her, And the future of life be unclouded as now.

V.

I'VE LIVED UPON THY MEMORY.

I've lived upon thy memory

I knew that thou wert mine

When first I took that trembling hand,

And pressed those lips of thine;
And now I care not what my lot
On life's wide shore may be,
So I may look upon thy face,
And dwell, my love, with thee.

I've lived upon thy memory

For many a long, long year,
And though I loitered on the road,
My heart was ever here;
Beneath another sky I've slept-
It was my fate to roam-
But all my dreams of happiness
Were made of thee and home.
Oh! I have wandered many miles
Far o'er the beauteous earth,
But never passed a sunnier land

Than that which gave me birthWhere blooms the fairest rose of all, Down in a quiet glen;

It is mine own-that little flower
Hath called me back again.

VI.

SACO FALLS.

Rush on, bold stream! thou sendest up
Brave notes to all the woods around,
When morning beams are gathering fast,
And hushed is every human sound;

I stand beneath the sombre hill,
The stars are dim o'er fount and rill,
And still I hear thy waters play
In welcome music, far away;
Dash on,
bold stream! I love the roar
Thou sendest up from rock and shore.
"Tis night in heaven-the rustling leaves
Are whispering of the coming storm,
And thundering down the river's bed,

I see thy lengthened darkling form;
No voices from the vales are heard,
The winds are low,-each little bird
Hath sought its quiet, rocking nest,
Folded its wing, and gone to rest,-
And still I hear thy waters play

In welcome music, far away.
Oh! earth hath many a gallant show
Of towering peak and glacier height,
But ne'er beneath the glorious moon,

Hath Nature framed a lovelier sight,
Than thy fair tide with diamonds fraught,
When every drop with light is caught,
And o'er the bridge, the village girls
Reflect below their waving curls,
While merrily thy waters play
In welcome music, far away!

VII.

TO ALEXINE, IN HER FIRST YEAR.
"Tis said, my little promised one,
The fashion is with men,

To toast quite young their lady loves,
And billet-doux to pen.

But don't you think it very queer,

That I should make such speed
To sit me down to write these rhymes
For one who cannot read?

And yet, and yet it may not be

A matter of surprise,

For many stranger things befall

Young ladies with black eyes. Perchance your own may scan this line, On some far-distant day,

When they are glistening in their prime,
And I am turning gray.

And will those playful orbs, so bright,
Smile on me then as now,

And will you come so willingly,

When years have decked that brow?
And when your pulse is beating quick,
And mine is falling fast,

And when this cheek has lost the glow
Of youth, which cannot last-

Say, sweet one, will you come and sing
As now you seem to do,

Some stirring song, or plaintive note
Of love so kind and true?

Alas! alas! I fear the set

Of childhood's radiant star,
Will leave me bowing in the sphere,
Where nice old ladies are!

Yes, dearest! that keen archer's hand
Your cousin's form will bend,
And you'll obey, and honor' him,-

But only as a friend.'

You'll come to him for sage advice,

At that sweet time of life,
When you are thinking to become
Another's blooming wife.

Ah! at the wedding, I shall be
One of the drollest sights,-
A prim old-fashioned gentleman,
In spectacles and tights!
Well, be it so,-and if my days

Are gladdened by your smile,
Your doting, gray-haired kinsman will
Be happy all the while.

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THE TREASURED HARP.

All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold except his wife's harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little story of their loves; for, some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument, and listened to the melting tones of her voice. Irving's Sketch Book.

Go, leave that harp!-twined round its strings
There's many a magic spell:
Leave that untouched,-the strain it brings
This heart remembers well.

Let that remain !-all else beside,
Go scatter to the wind!

The chords that won my home a bride,
No other home shall find.

It hath a power, though all unstrung
It lies neglected now,

And from her hands 'twill ne'er be wrung,
Till death these limbs shall bow!

It hath no price since that sweet hour
She tuned it first, and played
Love's evening hymn within the bower
Her youthful fingers made.

A spirit like a summer's night

Hangs o'er that cherished lyre,
And whispers of the calm moonlight,
Are trembling from the wire;

Still on my ear her young voice falls,
Still floats that melody,-
On each loved haunt its music calls,-
Go! leave that harp and me.

IX.

SONG,

OVER THE CRADLE OF TWO INFANT SISTERS, SLEEPING.

Sweet be their rest, no ghastly things
To scare their dreams assemble here,
But safe beneath good angels' wings,
May each repose from year to year.
Cheerful, like some long summer day,
May all their waking moments flow,
Happier, as run life's sands away,

Unstained by sin, untouched by woe.
As now they sleep, serene and pure,
Their little arms entwined in love,
So may they live, obey, endure,

And shine with yon bright host above.

X.

SLEIGHING SONG.

O swift we go o'er the fleecy snow, When moonbeams sparkle round; When boofs keep time to music's chime, As merrily on we bound.

On a winter's night, when hearts are light, And health is on the wind,

We loose the rein and sweep the plain, And leave our cares behind.

With a laugh and song, we glide along Across the fleeting snow;

With friends beside, how swift we ride On the beautiful track below!

O! the raging sea, has joy for me,

When gale and tempests roar;

But give me the speed of a foaming steed, And I'll ask for the waves no more.

XI.

TO ALMEDA, IN NEW-ENGLAND.
Tell me not of greener mountains
Far away in other lands-
Nor of "Afric's sunny fountains
Rolling down their golden sands,"—
These few flowers, to me, recall
Fairer visions than they all.

Strange, that things which soonest perish,
Dying oft with close of day,
Memory will most fondly cherish

When their bloom has passed away-
Storms cannot efface forever
Bounding barks from youth's bright river!

Then lady, take this idle sonnet,
Fragile though the lines may be,-
I'm thinking of a Quaker bonnet,-
I wonder if you'll think of me
Next season, when you fold with care
This crumpled leaf to curl your hair!

XII.

VESPER MELODIES.
How dear to me that evening song,
So gently rising o'er the lake,-
Nor harp, nor lute, nor minstrel-throng
To me, can sweeter music make.

It falters now! ye rippling waves
Float on your billowy breasts the strain,
And rest not till the anthem laves
The pebbles at my feet again.

Oh, wind and wave but serve me fair,

And bring Almeda's song to shoreAnd ye may hold your revels there, In noise and foam till night is o'er!

XIII.

TO ONE BENEATH THE WAVES.

Come back from Memory's mourning urn,
And bless my sight again;
For, oh! in restless dreams I turn
To clasp thy hand-in vain!

I bid thy gentle spirit come

And look once more on me;

But thou art slumbering where the foam Rolls madly o'er the sea.

Alas! how soon our better years

To tempest winds are blown, And all our hopes and joys and fears Alike, are widely strewn,She rests in yonder village-mound, Who should have been thy bride, And thou art sleeping 'neath the sound Of ocean's flowing tide.

XIV.

TO A CHURCH STEEPLE.

Welcome! my ancient friend!

Thrice welcome to my sight.
Where falls thy shadow I shall wend
My willing steps to-night.
Around thy base I played

In childhood's thoughtless glee,

Old spire, again tow'rd thee I've strayedDost thou remember me?

Pleasant the first faint ray

Of morning light appears

To those who wait the coming day,
And watch through many tears;

And sweet the evening star

Gleams from the shadowy sky,

On mariners, who've wandered far
From land with weary eye.

So breaks upon my path
Thy tall familiar form,
A cheering look to me it hath,
Like sunshine after storm;
And quick as lives a thought,

Or bird skims o'er the vane,

My heart leaped up, when memory caught Thy slender top again.

Welcome! my ancient friend!

Thrice welcome to my sight,
Where falls thy shadow, I shall wend
My willing steps to-night.
Thanks, thanks--out on the sea
Thou wav'st a greeting home,
I knew thou would'st remember me,
Old spire, I come! I come!

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XVI.

REMEMBERED MUSIC.

"If I could hear that laughing voice again, But once again! how oft it wanders by,

In the still hours, like some remembered strain, Troubling the heart with its wild melody!"

The fragment of a pleasant song

Is murmuring in our ears,

And we would fain the sounds prolong, Though much they move our tears. They breathe a low and pensive lay,

But one we love full well,

For oh! it sends our thoughts away
To many a bright and happy day
In that lone quiet dell.

The simple voice that warbled then
Is hushed, and all is still:
And notes that echoed thro' the glen,
Are dying on the hill,-

Yet sometimes Fancy wakes the strain,
And floats on Memory's waves
The music of that voice again,-
But ah! we linger all in vain
Among the village graves!

MR. WASHINGTON IRVING,

MR. NAVARRETE, AND THE KNICKERBOCKER.

In submitting to our readers, in March 1841, and in May of the present year, our commentaries upon Irving's Life of Columbus, and upon the indebtedness of its author to Don Martin Navarrete, we endeavored to keep ourselves within the strictest limits of critical propriety. Never having known Mr. Irving, save through his works, we were without personal feeling of any kind in regard to him. Having long and ardently admired his exquisite contributions to our literature, and been taught to think highly of his character as a man, we felt and could feel no desire to do him injustice, to wound his feelings, or sully his reputation. On the contrary, we entertained and expressed, as Americans, a high and just pride in his fame; and while we deemed it our duty, as connected with the literary press, severely to scrutinize his course, in the matter to which we referred, we made it our especial care, as it was our obligation, to treat him with that perfect respect, which should mark the literary, not less than the personal deportment of gentlemen. We call our readers to witness, that we have sedulously clung, throughout, to the line of strict propriety, and that we have been rather chary, than otherwise, of couching our conclusions in the language which facts would have justified. It is true, that after more than a year of silence on the part of Mr. Irving and his friends, we did as we thought we righteously might conclude, that the question had been yielded by default, and we resisted, in plain but respectful language, the right of any man, however eminent, to take the high ground of mute

complacent critic has inflated."

irresponsibility. Notwithstanding that we spoke | (could it have been from the critic-man himself?) without disguise, it was also without discourtesy, calling our attention to the awful exposé, and sugand the daily press, every where, in commenting gesting that Mr. Irving ought to know how his upon our article, adverted most especially to its total reputation had been demolished, and the public, how freedom from unbecoming virulence and harshness. wofully they had been deceived. But we had good With a disposition to do justice, thus fully re- grounds for sharing the indifference of the public cognized, and manifested too, in a course so con- in our knowledge of Mr. Washington Irving, and sistently respectful, we must confess that we felt of the services of his deceased brother, Peter Irving, no little surprise, when our attention was called to who was with him in Spain, and who labored so the July and August numbers of the New-York long and so assiduously for him in the archives of Knickerbocker. We had thought it possible, that, that nation. Hence we dismissed the matter from in the lapse of time, we might hear from some friend our mind entirely, until advised by the same critiof Mr. Irving, and we doubted not that we should cal Nil-Admirari in the 'Messenger' for May, that find in such an individual, abilities and deportment as nobody had thought it worth while to assail his worthy so respectable an association. When, there- position, he considered the truth of his charge confore, we learned that a defence had appeared in the ceded; especially moreover as time enough had periodical, with which Mr. Irving had been espe- elapsed for some obscure Spanish newspaper to cially and confidentially connected, we might have take the cold scent and join in the bay.' We had our doubts as to the strength of its probable shall take present occasion-perhaps in our next positions, but we anticipated no disparaging depar-number-to puncture the bladder which our selfture from controversial decency. We knew, it is true, that the Knickerbocker was a plant of Mr. We are free to confess, that the temptation to Irving's own watering; that it lived and had its administer to the author of such a paragraph the being only in the shadow of his name. We feared, castigation which it so richly deserves, is almost therefore, that we should find allegiance sworn to too strong for our powers of resistance. We are his cause, per fas et per nefas; yet we were dis-only admonished to refrain, by the knowledge that posed to make much allowance for the ardor of such a production must prove its own best antidote, personal friendship. If public opinion had given in the mind of every reader who has not lost in the to the Knickerbocker a right to settle disputed feelings of a partizan, the earliest and best instincts questions by its simple ipse dixit, and to put at de- of a gentleman. The insinuation, which is confiance the established rules of ordinary propriety, veyed by the question in parenthesis, could only the knowledge of prerogatives so unusual and ex- have been conceived by one who would deem the alted, had not penetrated our Boeotian segment of fact insinuated, a legitimate and creditable stratathe Republic. We had, consequently, expected to gem, and who would not hesitate to invent it, in see conclusions based upon argument and fact, as the dearth of better argument or happier illustrahad been customary in such matters, and we had tion. Our readers would follow us no farther, hoped to find the contest, if contest there were, a were we to insult them by pretending to repel it. strife of courtesy no less than of strength. If our How far the Knickerbocker is entitled to the readers can refer, as we trust they will, to the high ground which it assumes, it will be our duty numbers of which we have spoken, they may, per- searchingly to examine. For the present, we will haps, in some degree, realize our disappointment. pass the palpable mistatements and unfounded alThe article of July (p. 97) is so perfectly charac-legations which are contained above. They will teristic, that we crave permission to transcribe it: come up in the due course of things, as we progress "It is amusing sometimes to remark the sensi- with the "puncturing" which follows in the Autiveness of an envious literary non-producer, touch-gust No., (p. 194.) Of that production, it is but ing the indifference with which the public regard fair to say, that it unquestionably supports, to the his querulous fault-findings. We have a pleasant full extent, the high merit of the announcement case in point. Some months since, a writer of this which preceded it. What could have been the class in the Southern Literary Messenger' endea- motive cause of that announcement, is left utterly vored with abundant but very thankless labor, to in the dark; for the article in chief opens by deprove that Mr. Irving made no researches for his claring, that the editor's "promise" in July, was 'Life of Columbus,' but that without acknowledg- the only reason for his exposition in August, and ment he stole his materials ready prepared to his that our anonymous charges" were "evidently so hand, from a 'Collection of Voyages' by Navar- utterly unfounded, as to require no word of refutarete a Spanish author. This highly probable state- tion" at his hands. Why then the "promise" was ment of course excited little attention. Doubtless, originally made, to "puncture" what was “eviseeing at once its drift, few readers of the Mes- dently unfounded," is left to conjecture, and Mr. senger' gave the article any farther thought; for we remember to have received, some months after its appearance, an anonymous letter from the South,

66

Irving's reputation is exposed, by his defender, to the bitter reproach of requiring a bulwark of scurrility, against what needed "no word of refutation.”

66

In what follows of the defence, throughout, the fea- | are assured, have taught him, that such things betures are the same. "Gross charges," "tardy long now only to the worst corners of the worst calumny," malice," "hypocritical disclaimer," papers; that such missiles are universally detected, "spleen," ," "artifice and mystification," "impudent as the solitary arguments of those who feebly deand impertinent," "contemptible," "inflated and fend a miserable cause. He would have known, ungrammatical," "larcenous perceptions," "sting- that it was inexpedient for himself to be quoted by less insect," "impotent and malignant iconoclast"--the Knickerbocker, within a few pages of so such are a few of the phrases, epithets and descriptions, which are lavished upon us in all the "mazes of metaphorical confusion." This too by the editor of a magazine, that claims for itself, at second hand, "the very summit of our periodical literature,” and which quotes, in a page of self-beatification, in the very same number, a letter of Sir Edward L. Bulwer, to prove to the undiscerning public at home," the high station which it enjoys," and "the various and graceful intellect which it displays."

trenchant a laudation of his merits, as having "recorded high opinions in favor" of that periodical.3 His prudence would have taught him, that the world might suspect so immediate an interchange of amiable offices, and perhaps exclaim with Tom Moore, "There's reciprocity in that!" Above all things, he would not have permitted Sir Edward Bulwer to be mentioned, in the same volume with so effervescent an article on so delicate a subject, for fear that the ill-natured might remember the Baronet's bright creation, Mrs. Margery Lobkins, Not to question, for one moment, Sir Edward's and taunt both historian and advocate with having sincerity, nor to dispute the palm, which his praise neglected her salutary advice to Paul Clifford-"If entitles the Knickerbocker to hold, jointly with you wants what is not your own, try and do withMcGrawler's renowned Asineum-we must never-out it; if you cannot do without it, take it away by theless humbly enter our protest against such a insinivation, not bluster.” style of defence or controversy. In warfare with Regarding Mr. Irving then as the unconscious such weapons, we are neither willing nor compe- victim of his friend's bad manners, we shall not altent to engage. They have been long surrendered, low ourselves to be provoked into any disrespect by cominon consent, to the monopoly of the ancient towards him, by the rudeness of an attack, which and honorable sisterhood of the fish-market. Any was obviously meant to goad us from our vantage attempt on the part of the Knickerbocker to invade ground of courtesy. As we stated, substantially, their grey prescription, must be left for settlement at first, our attention was originally called to this between the high contending parties. For our-subject, by conversation with several Spanish genselves, we have but one purpose-that of meeting tlemen of high attainments and position, from whom the issue which is framed-manfully, boldly, and directly.

we learned that Mr. Irving had suffered much in Spain, from a supposed want of candor towards It must be observed, however, that we should Navarrete. The tributes paid to our countryman take very different position, were it possible for by the American press, and its total silence in reus to suppose, that Mr. Irving could have been, in gard to the Spanish work in that connexion, were any way, privy to either of the articles of which alleged as giving good grounds of confirmation to we have spoken. Far be it from us to do him any the charge. Being unwilling to make such a consuch injustice. We may question the fairness of cession, as to one whom we deemed then the leader his historical dealings, but we will not offer him of our literature, we examined the subject with a the indignity of connecting him with his defender. view to Mr. Irving's defence. Unfortunately, we It is true that there are some facts which might in- were led to a conclusion directly the reverse of our duce us, if we were suspicious, to fancy that he had anticipations. Concurring with Mr. Irving himfurnished his advocate with the material for his de- self, in the expressed opinion, that "were every fence. Of these-the assertion that he was in one to judge for himself, and speak his mind frankly friendly correspondence with Navarrete, up to the and fearlessly, we should have more true criticism time of his departure for Spain-might be instanced than at present"-we determined that our mind as an example. In despite of this, however, we should "frankly and fearlessly" be spoken, upon a will do Mr. Irving the justice to say, that his taste subject so interesting to the literature of our counwould have rebelled against such a defence-his try. We knew Mr. Irving as one of the first wrigorge would have risen at it, whatever might have ters of his day; as the possessor of perhaps the been the aggravation of his feelings. We have purest and richest style in our language. We profoundly mistaken his grade of intellect, if he knew his popularity, and the risk that we should could be deluded into the belief, that he had over-run in endeavoring to sail against its current. We thrown a serious accusation by the a priori method were aware, that every distinguished man has his of calling its author an "insect," an "iconoclast," hangers-on, as every Pacha his "tails;" and we and a "Nil-Admirari,"- "like Cerberus, three knew, that such folks are always prompt to seek the gentlemen at once." His knowledge would, we 3 Aug. Knick., p. 205. 4 Sou. Lit. Mess., March 1841, 'Aug. Knick. 205.

* Id. Ib.

p. 238.

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August Knick., p. 206.

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