ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Joseph Rodman Drake
, "To Fitz-Greene Halleck, Esq." 1819 ca.; The New-York Mirror 9 (3 March 1832) 273.
1819 ca.: Joseph Rodman Drake
1825 ca.: Felicia Hemans
1827: James Gordon Brooks
1836: Washington Irving
1836: William Cullen Bryant
1836: Isaac Clark Pray
1836: Edgar Allan Poe
1846: Edgar Allan Poe
1849: Joseph C. Cogswell
1864: Nathaniel Parker Willis
1868: William Cullen Bryant
1878: John Greenleaf Whittier
1882: Epes Sargent
Joseph Rodman Drake:
1819 ca.: Fitz-Greene Halleck
Yes, faint was my applause and cold my praise,
Though soul was glowing in each polished line;
But nobler subjects claim the poet's lays—
A brighter glory waits a muse like thine;
Let amorous fools in love-sick measure pine,
Let Strangford whimper on in fancied pain,
And leave to Moore the hacknied rose and vine;
Be thine the task a higher crown to gain—
The envied wreath that decks the patriot's holy strain!
Yet not in proud triumphal song alone,
Or martial ode, or sad sepulchral dirge;
There needs no lay to make our glories known!
There needs no song the warrior's soul to urge
To tread the bounds of nature's stormy verge;
Columbia still shall win the battle's prize!
But be it thine to bid her mind emerge;
To strike her harp until its soul arise
From the neglected shade where low in dust it lies!
Are there no scenes to touch the poet's soul?
No deeds of arms to wake the lordly strain?
Shall Hudson's billows unregarded roll?
Has Warren fought, Montgomery died, in vain?
Shame! that while every mountain, stream, and plain
Hath theme for truth's proud voice or fancy's wand,
No native bard the patriot harp hath ta'en,
But left to minstrel of a foreign strand
To sing the beauteous scenes of nature's loveliest land!
Oh! for a seat on Appalachia's brow,
That I might scan the glorious prospect round!
Wild waving woods and rolling floods below,
Smooth level glades, and fields with grain embrown'd,
High heaving hills with tufted forests crown'd,
Rearing their tall tops to the heaven's blue dome!
And emerald isles like banners green unwound,
Float o'er the lengthened lake, while round them roam
Bright helms of billowy blue and plumes of dancing foam.
'Tis true, no fairies haunt our "verdant meads,"
No grinning imps deform our blazing hearth;
Beneath the kelpie's fang no traveller bleeds,
No gory vampyres taint our holy earth,
Nor spectres stalk to frighten harmless mirth,
Nor tortured demon howls adown the gale;
Fair reason checks these monsters in the birth;
Yet have we lay of love and horrid tale
Would dim the manliest eye and make the bravest pale!
Where is the stony eye that hath not shed
Compassion's heart-drops o'er the sweet M'Crea?
Through midnight wilds by savage bandit led,
"Her heart is sad — her love is far away;"
Elate that lover waits the promised day,
When he shall clasp his blooming bride again!
Shine on, sweet visions! dreams of rapture play!
Soon the cold corse of her he loved in vain
Shall blight his withered heart and fire his frenzied brain!
Romantic Wyoming! could none be found
Of all that rove thy Eden-bowers among,
To wake a native harp's untutored sound,
And give thy tale of woe the voice of song?
Oh! if description's cold and nerveless tongue
From stranger harps such hallowed strains could call,
How doubly sweet the descant wild had rung,
From one who lingering over "thy ruined wall,"
Had plucked thy mourning flowers and wept thy timeless fall!
The Huron chief escaped from foemen nigh,
His frail bark launched on Niagara's tides;
"Pride in his port! defiance in his eye!"
Singing his song of death the warrior glides:
In vain they yell along the river sides;
In vain the arrow from its sheaf is torn;
Calm to his doom the willing victim rides,
And till adown the roaring torrent borne,
Mocks them with gesture proud, and laughs their rage to scorn!
Arouse! my friend — let vivid fancy soar;
Look with creative eye on nature's face—
Bid "goblin's damn'd" in wild Niagara roar,
And view in every field a fairy race!
Spur thy good Pacolet to speed apace,
And spread a train of nymphs on every shore!
Or if thy muse would woo a ruder grace,
The Indian's evil manitous explore,
And rear the wondrous tale of legendary lore.
Away! to Susquehannah's utmost springs,
Where throned in mountain mist Arouski reigns,
Shrouding in lurid clouds his plumeless wings,
And sternly sorrowing o'er his tribe's remains!
His was the arm, like comet o'er it wanes!
That tore the streamy lightnings from the skies,
And smote the mammoth of the southern plains!
Wild with dismay the Creek affrighted flies,
While in triumphant pride Kenava's eagles rise.
Or westward far where dark Miami wends,
Seek that fair spot as yet to fame unknown,
Where when the vesper dew of heaven descends,
Soft music breathes in many a melting tone;
At times so sadly sweet it seems the moan
Of some poor Ariel penanced in the rock—
Anon a louder burst — a scream! a groan!
And now amid the tempest's reeling shock,
Gibber, and shriek, and wail, and fiendish laugh, and mock.
Or climb the palisado's lofty brows,
Where dark Omanas waged the war of hell,
'Till waked to wrath the mighty spirit rose
And pent the demons in their prison cell:
Full on their heads the uprooted mountain fell,
Enclosing all within its horrid womb!
Straight from the teeming earth the waters swell,
And pillar'd rocks arise in cheerless gloom,
Around the drear abode, their last, eternal, tomb.
Be these your lofty themes! but ne'er resign
The soul of song to laud your lady's eyes;
Go kneel a worshipper at nature's shrine!
For you her rivers flow, her hills arise;
For you her fields are green and fair her skies;
And will you scorn them all to pour your tame
And heartless lays of forced or fancied sighs?
Still will you cloud the muse, nor blush for shame,
To cast away renown and hide your face from fame?
Come! shake your trammels off! let fools rehearse
Their loves and raptures in unmeaning chime;
Cram close their rude conceits in mawkish verse,
And torture hacknied thoughts in timeless rhyme:
But thou shalt soar in glorious verse sublime!
With heavenly voice of music, strength, and fire,
Waft wide the wonders of your native clime;
With patriot pride each patriot heart inspire,
Till Europe's bards are mute before Columbia's lyre.