The Snow Flake and the Wanderer [pp. 313-314]

1841.] The Snow Flake and ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~he Wanderer 313~~~~~~~
love. I called upon her one evening. and found her read ing the poetry of Byron. As she had always professed
herself to be a pure-minded girl, I was much surprised and
pained, and manifested my displeasure. " O my dear C,"
exclaimed she, "I only read the good parts, and omit those
that are indelicate and impure." I said nothing to this,
but inwardly resolved that I would seek another love, and
leave this blighted flower to repose on the bosom of some
other one, who could sympathize with her in her taste for
poetry. He or she who reads Byron, walks among a thousand unseen dangers, to obtain a few gems, in reality not
worth the pains, and surely not the after-agony. How
could this young lady omit the infidel and obscene poems of
Byron, if she had never read them? Foolish-foolish girl!
A word respecting Bulwer. I think that man a greater
ass than the companion of Peter Bell, who could assert
the opinion that Bulwer is equal to Scott as a poet and a
novelist. Some of the best passages in his best plays are
plagiarisms from an obscure American poet. All his
novels boiled down together do not possess the value of
Ivanhoe. Who can conceive the injury this man has done
with his pen? Ask the poor-house, the prisons and brothels
of our cities!
My paper is used up-My pen has reached the jumpingoff-place; and I therefore bid you, my dear reader, an affectionate adieu.
THE SNOW FLAKE AND THE WANDERER.
ADDRESSED TO THE HARP OF THE NORTH.
SONG OF THE FLAKE.
I have come, 1 have come, from my palace of snow,
Whiere crystals are glittering bright;
Where ice-gems afar the brilliancy throw
Of the diamond's sparkling light.
And onward 1 go, with the storm-king's speed,
On wings of the wintry blast,
O'er mountain and valley, o'er land and o'er sea,
A silvery mantle to cast.
THE WANDERER.
Stay, stay in thy course, thou child of the north,
Hurry not so rapidly on;
And tell if thou caught'st, as thou wanderedst forth,
A glimpse of my far distant home.
Oft hast thou seen it, thou Beautiful Flake,
In years now gone to the past,
As thou thine annual journey didst take
On wings of the wintry blast?
And tell if thou saw'st the frolicsome stream
That runs by my cottage door;
And heard'st the sounds of its babbling strain
As it leapt from the rocky shore,
And mingled its foam with the crystal lake
That there in such loveliness lies,
The Iris-tinged spray of whose bright merry waves,
Like incense ascends to the skies?
And tell me if now on my mountain home
The warm sun brightly doth shine;
If round it in beauty gay flow'rets bloom
And there their garlands entwine.
A,id if there at morn and evening is heard
The rich, mellow, joyous note,
As the warbled song of some carolling bird
O'er thIe still valley doth float?
VOL. VII-40
Didst thou hear the laugh of a merry child
Ringing out upon the air?
The laugh of a boy as careless and wild
As birds that were soaring there?
Or my sister's voice, as soothingly sweet
As the sigh of the mountain wind;
Praying that Angels their vigils would keep
O'er him in her heart enshrined?
Didst thou see a stately queenlike one
With an air of easy grace;
And behold the beauteous light that shone
In her mild benignant face?
Didst thou hear the kindly words that fell
From those lips that always bless;
Breathing notes to the heart, that ever tell
A mother's deep tenderness?
As thou passed'st by a forest-clad hill
Where the oak and maple grow,
And forming a bower so verdant and still
Their wide-spreading branches throw;
Didst thou see one lingering pensively there,
Half sad yet pleasing his smile;
As though to some object cherished and dear
His thoughts had wandered the while?
And perhaps thou heard'st him again repeat
The words that he uttered there;
When we pledged, should glow in the breast of each
Sweet friendship's holiest flame;
When that mountain bower with the echo rang
Of our spirit's merriment;
As strains of gladness we cheerily sang,
In love and harmony blent?
Afar hast thou come, thou child of the north,
Borne on the wings of the wind;
Then tell how appeared, as thou journeyedst forth,
The scenes thou hast left behind,
My home, that stands by the mountain side,
Near the smoothly flowing lake;
The stream, the flowers, the grove spreading wide How looked they, Beautiful Flake?
THE SNOW FLAKE.
I have seen, I have seen, thou wandering one,
Each spot which thy lips have named;
And I threw upon each, as I hasted along,
A chaplet of icy-gems.
A garland of crystals my fingers wove,
Whose rays like pearl-drops shone;
Which I gaily cast, as onward I roved,
On the brow of thy mountain home.
The wild merry laugh of thy brother so gay,
1 heard not as lingering there;
Nor those tones more sweet than mutsic's soft lay,
Breathing forth a sister's prayer.
The birds were not singing their light flowing strains,
Nor flowers sent forth their perfume;
Nor joyously frolicked that murmuring stream,
By the side of thy mountain home.
But I saw as I passed by the window pane,
And peered tbrough it carelessly,
The hallowed form of thy mother, bend
Lowly to heaven for thee.
Her arms in fondness were gracefully twined
Round each of those cherished ones;
And sweetly their voices this orison chimed,
"Father! bless thou, our brother and son."
1841.]
7'he Snow Flake and the Wanderer.
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