The flowers of your fields, they were lovely and fair, And charmed with their fragrance the hours that are gone, Yet, it had been a desert if you’d not been there, Ye tender and beautiful nymphs of the lawn.
Adieu, smiling circle; wherever I go, In memory still shall I turn to this spot, And cherish thy noble and generous glow, Till virtue, and friendship, and love be forgot.
ON THOSE WHO FELL IN THE WAR OF 1812.
On Niagara’s banks they sleep, And in Erie’s stormy deep, Where the rapid Wabash glides, On Ontario’s warlike sides; By the deep, where Lawrence fell, Or in lone Moravian dell, On the field where Pike was slain, At Sandusky—at Champlain. There the bones of heroes rest; Honor’d, loved, lamented, blest.
Keene, N. H. 1815.
ON THE MARRIAGE OF
MR. SAVAGE TO MISS WILD.
[1811.]
Long had a Savage roved the lonely bower, Braved the cold storm and trod the dangerous glen, Till touched by love’s all humanizing power, He sought that happiest state of peaceful men.
No more wan care, his tardy hours beguiled, But fixed in thought, in hymen’s fetters tied, Deep in the tempting bosom of a Wild, His every wish, hope, peace and joy abide.