Dreams of the Past [pp. 705-706]

John Quincey Aidams, Esq.-Dreams of the Past,
never did we see a man so disconcerted as Orator
Jerry. Looking at us with an et-tu-Brute expression of face, he then turned to the others, and pronouncing-we would fain hope, not prophetically"you'll be hanged!" burst like a worried bull from
the circle, and disappeared.
JOHIN QUINCEY ADAMS, ESQ.
I foraward to the Messenger from the autograph of Exlesirdent ADA.,IS, which, at my request, he has allowed me
to copy, the following lines, (the original being in the possession of fairer hands,) which show that amid all the cares
of public life, and his vast and multiform duties, how easily
his abundantly stored mind varies from the severe to the
playful-from the profound, to the poetic and fanciful.
I can send yout but the initials of the fair personages to
wvhom they are dedicated, and who inspired them; and if
! could, it mnight not be pleasing, as richly as they deserve
the tribute, that your readers should be farther possessed.
The lines to Ellen, are sw eetly poetic; and those to Sally,
are a lively and spirited imitation, and in soIme respects are
superior to the exquisite original, of the 22d Odo of the
1st Book of Horace, beginning
" Integer vitae scelerisque purtus
Non eget Mauris jaculis, neque arcu."
MR. T. W. WHI'rE, Editor of }
.Southern Literary M-esse g}er.
TO MISS E..... B....
Olh! wherefore, Lady, was my lot
Cast, from thy own, so far?
Why, by kind Fortune, live we niot
Beneath one blessed star?
For, had thy thread of life, and mine
But side by side been spun;
My heart had panted to entswine
'The tissue inito ON-E.
And why should Time conspire
To sever us in twain?
Arid wiherefore have I run my race,
And cannot start again'
Thy thread, how long! how short is miniie!
Mine spent-thine scarce begun:
Alas! we never can entwine
The tissue into ONE!
But, take my t,lessing on thy name:
The blessing of a sire.
Not from a Lover's furnace flame'Tis from a holier fire:
A thread unseen beside of thine
By fairy fortms is spunAnd holy hands shall soon entwine
The tissue into ONE.
JOHN QUINCEY ADAMS.
I'T'tsIiigto?, D. C., Augast 7,1841.
A CANZONET TO SALLY;
IMITATED FRO0I HORACE.
FOR MISS SALLY B....
The man in righteousness array'd,
A pure and blameless liver,
Needs not the keen Toledo blade,
Nor venom-freighted quiver.
VOL. VII-89
What though he wind his toilsome way
O'er regions wild and wearyThrough Zara's burning desert stray;
Or Asia's jungles dreary:
II.
What though he plough the billowy deepl
By lunar light, or solar.
Meet the resistless Simoom's sweep,
Or iceberg circumnipoltir.
In bog or quagmire deep and dark,
His foot shall never settle;
He mounts the summit of Mont Blanc,
Or Popocatepetel.
III.
On Chimborazo's breathless height,
tie treads o'er burning lava;
Or snuffs the Bohan Up-is blight:
The deathful plant of Java.
Through every peril lie shall pass,
By Virtue's shield protected;
And still by Trtith's unerring glass
His path shall be directed.
IV.
Else, wherefore was it, Thursday last,
While strolling down the valley;
Defericeless, niusing as I pass'd
A Canzonet to Sally;
A wolf, with tooth protruding snout,
Forth from the thicket bouniidedI clrtp'd mny hands andi raised a shout He heard-and fled-confounded.
V.
Tangier nor Tunis never bred,
An animal more crabbed,
Nor Fez, dry nurse of lions, fed
A monister half so ranid.
Not Ararat so fierce at beast
Inls seen, since days of Noah;
Nor strung more eager for a feast,
l'lie fell Constrictor Boa.
VI.
Ohi! place me where the solar beans
Ifas scorchi'd all verdure vernal:
Or on the polar verge extreme,
Block'd up with ice eternal Still shall my voice's tender lays
Of love, remain unlbroken;
And still my charirling SALLY praise,
Sweet samiling, and sweet spoken.
JOIIN QUINCELY ADA.M'S.
Washiag-ton, D. C., A,grtst 7, 1841.
DREAMS OF THE PAST.
BY MVIISS J. T. LOMAX.
They are with me, when the twilight dew is bending
The rose-lerif, with its drop of quivering light,
And Summer birds their sweetest songs are blending
In one wild gush of welcoming to Night.
When, where the crimson-sunset had been gleaming,
The regal glory hath begun to wane,
And the pale starlight sets the young heart dreaming,
And calls old fancies into life again.
Then, from gone times, a spirit-voice comes thrilling,
And earlier visions rise upon my view;
Fair forms, once more my mental path are filling,
With dreams of all, Time never can renew.
1841.]
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