To cheer, with mild good-humour's sprightly ray,
And smooth life's passage o'er its thorny way;
To circle round the hospitable board,

And taste each good our generous climes afford;
To court a quick return with accents kind,
And leave, at parting, some regret behind.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE PEQUODS.

АH me! while up the long, long vale of time,
Reflection wanders towards th' eternal vast,
How starts the eye at many a change sublime,
Unbosom'd dimly by the ages pass'd!

What Mausoleums crowd the mournful waste!
The tombs of empires fallen! and nations gone!
Each, once inscribed in gold with "AYE TO LAST,"
Sate as a queen; proclaim'd the world her own,
And proudly cried, "By me no sorrows shall be
known."

Soon fleets the sunbright form by man adored.
Soon fell the head of gold, to Time a prey;
The arms, the trunk, his cankering tooth devour'd,
And whirlwinds blew the iron dust away.
Where dwelt imperial Timur? far astray,
Some lonely-musing pilgrim now inquires:
And, rack'd by storms, and hastening to decay,
Mohammed's mosque foresees its final fires,
And Rome's more lordly temple day by day expires.
As o'er proud Asian realms the traveller winds,
His manly spirit, hush'd by terror, falls;
When some deceased town's lost site he finds,
Where ruin wild his pondering eye appals;
Where silence swims along the moulder'd walls,
And broods upon departed Grandeur's tomb.
Through the lone, hollow aisles sad Echo calls
At each slow step; deep sighs the breathing gloom,
And weeping fields around bewail their empress'

doom.

Where o'er a hundred realms the throne uprose,
The screech-owl nests, the panther builds his home;
Sleep the dull newts, the lazy adders doze,
Where pomp and luxury danced the golden room.
Low lies in dust the sky-resembled dome;
Tall grass around the broken column waves;
And brambles climb, and lonely thistles bloom:
The moulder'd arch the weedy streamlet laves,
And low resound, beneath, unnumber'd sunken
graves.

Soon fleets the sunbright form by man adored,
And soon man's demon chiefs from memory fade.
In musty volume now must be explored,
Where dwelt imperial nations, long decay'd.
The brightest meteors angry clouds invade;
And where the wonders glitter'd, none explain.
Where Carthage, with proud hand, the trident sway'd,
Now mud-wall'd cots sit sullen on the plain,
And wandering, fierce and wild, sequester'd Arabs
reign.

In thee, oh Albion! queen of nations, live [known;
Whatever splendours earth's wide realms have
In thee proud Persia sees her pomp revive,
And Greece her arts, and Rome her lordly throne:
By every wind thy Tyrian fleets are blown;
Supreme, on Fame's dread roll, thy heroes stand;
All ocean's realms thy naval sceptre own;

Of bards, of sages, how august thy band!

And one rich Eden blooms around thy garden'd land.

But oh, how vast thy crimes! Through Heaven's

great year.

When few centurial suns have traced their way;
When Southern Europe, worn by feuds severe,
Weak, doting, fallen, has bow'd to Russian sway,
And setting Glory beam'd her farewell ray,
To wastes, perchance, thy brilliant fields shall turn;
In dust thy temples, towers, and towns decay;

The forest howl, where London's turrets burn,
And all thy garlands deck thy sad, funereal urn.

Some land, scarce glimmering in the light of fame,
Scepter'd with arts and arms (if I divine),
Some unknown wild, some shore without a name,
In all thy pomp shall then majestic shine.
As silver-headed Time's slow years decline,
Not ruins only meet th' inquiring eye: [twine,
Where round yon mouldering oak vain brambles
The filial stem, already towering high, [sky.
Ere long shall stretch his arms, and nod in yonder
Where late resounded the wild woodland roar,
Now heaves the palace, now the temple smiles;
Where frown'd the rude rock and the desert shore,
Now pleasure sports, and business want beguiles,
And Commerce wings her flight to thousand isles;
Culture walks forth; gay laugh the loaded fields:
And jocund Labour plays his harmless wiles;
Glad Science brightens; Art her mansion builds;
And Peace uplifts her wand, and HEAVEN his blessing
yields.

O'er these sweet fields, so lovely now and gay,
Where modest Nature finds each want supplied,
Where homeborn Happiness delights to play,
And counts her little flock with household pride,
Long frown'd, from age to age, a forest wide :
Here hung the slumbering bat; the serpent dire
Nested his brood, and drank th' impoison'd tide;
Wolves peal'd the dark, drear night in hideous choir,
Nor shrunk th' unmeasured howl from Sol's terrific
fire.

No charming cot imbank'd the pebbly stream;
No mansion tower'd, nor garden teem'd with good;
No lawn expanded to the April beam,

Nor mellow harvest hung its bending load;
Nor science dawn'd, nor life with beauty glow'd,

[yell.

Nor temple whiten'd in th' enchanting dell;
In clusters wild the sluggish wigwam stood;
And, borne in snaky paths, the Indian fell
Now aim'd the death unseen, now screamed the tiger-
Even now, perhaps, on human dust I tread,
Pondering with solemn pause the wrecks of time;
Here sleeps, perchance, among the vulgar dead,
Some chief, the lofty theme of Indian rhyme,
Who loved Ambition's cloudy steep to climb,
And smiled, deaths, dangers, rivals to engage;
Who roused his followers' souls to deeds sublime,
Kindling to furnace heat vindictive rage,

And soar'd Cæsarean heights, the Phoenix of his age.

In yon small field that dimly steals from sight
(From yon small field these meditations grow),
Turning the sluggish soil from morn to night,
The plodding hind, laborious, drives his plough,
Nor dreams a nation sleeps his foot below.
There, undisturbed by the roaring wave,
Released from war, and far from deadly foe,
Lies down in endless rest a nation brave,
And trains in tempests born there find a quiet grave.

Oft have I heard the tale, when matron sere
Sung to my infant ear the song of wo;

Of maiden meek consumed with pining care,
Around whose tomb the wild-rose loved to blow:
Or told, with swimming eyes, how, long ago,
Remorseless Indians, all in midnight dire,
The little sleeping village did o'erthrow,
Bidding the cruel flames to heaven aspire,

[fire.

And scalp'd the hoary head, and burn'd the babe with

Then, fancy-fired, her memory wing'd its flight
To long-forgotten wars and dread alarms,
To chiefs obscure, but terrible in fight,

Who mock'd each foe, and laugh'd at deadliest harms,
Sidneys in zeal, and Washingtons in arms.

By instinct tender to the woes of man,

My heart bewildering with sweet pity's charms,
Through solemn scenes, with Nature's step she ran,
And hushed her audience small, and thus the tale
began.

"Through verdant banks, where Thames's branches
Long held the Pequods an extensive sway; [glide,
Bold, savage, fierce, of arms the glorious pride,
And bidding all the circling realms obey.
Jealous, they saw the tribes beyond the sea
Plant in their climes; and towns and cities rise;
Ascending castles foreign flags display;
Mysterious art new scenes of life devise;

[skies.
And steeds insult the plains, and cannon rend the
"They saw, and soon the strangers' fate decreed,
And soon of war disclosed the crimson sign;
First, hapless Stone! they bade thy bosom bleed,
A guiltless offering at th' infernal shrine:
Then, gallant Norton! the hard fate was thine,
By ruffians butcher'd, and denied a grave:
Thee, generous Oldham! next the doom malign
Arrested; nor could all thy courage save;
Forsaken, plunder'd, cleft, and buried in the wave.
"Soon the sad tidings reach'd the general ear,
And prudence, pity, vengeance, all inspire:
Invasive war their gallant friends prepare;
And soon a noble band, with purpose dire,

And threatening arms, the murderous fiends require :
Small was the band, but never taught to yield;
Breasts faced with steel, and souls instinct with fire:
Such souls from Sparta Persia's world repell'd,
When nations paved the ground, and Xerxes flew
the field.

"The rising clouds the savage chief descried,
And round the forest bade his heroes arm;
To arms the painted warriors proudly hied,
And through surrounding nations rung th' alarm.