For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE GENIUS OF COLUMBIA TO HER NATIVE MUSE.
| A parent's eye, sweet mountain maid, Hath seen thee rise in Sylvan shade; And patient, lent attentive ear Thy first, wild minstrelsy to hear: And thou hast breathed some artless lays, That well deserve the meed of praise; For, nursed by spirits bold and free, Thy notes should breathe of Liberty. Yet some who scan thy numbers wild, Inquire if thou art Fancy's child, Or some impostor, duly taught To weave with skill the borrow'd thought. Then list, my child! Experience sage May well direct thy guileless age. Breathe not thy notes with spirit tame, Nor pilfer, from an honor'd name, The praise that crowns the sons of fame. Be not by imitation taught, To blend with thine, the vagrant thought, From Britain's polish'd minstrels caught. Full oft my mountain echoes tell, How Byron's genius fram'd a spell, Which reason vainly seeks to quell: Did not his spirit cast a gloom On all who shared his adverse doom, E'en from the cradle to the tomb? With intellectual treasures bless'd, With misanthropic thoughts possess'd, Their sway alternate fired his breast. He pour'd the lava stream alone, In torrents from that burning zone, Which girt his bosom's fiery throne. Enough! on his untimely bier Affection shed no hallow'd tear— He claim'd no love—he own'd no fear. And she,1 whose light poetic tread Scarce sways the dewdrop newly shed Upon the rose-bud's infant head; Most meet to be the tender nurse Of virtue, wounded by the curse Of passion's fierce and lawless verse, Whose dulcet strain, with soothing pow'r, Can calm the soul in sorrow's hour, And scatter many a thornless flow'r: The thoughts that breathe in each soft line, Seem spirits from a purer shrine Than earth can in her realms confine. Yet mayst thou not, in mimic lay, Such lofty arts of verse essay? 'Twere but a vain and weak display. Be Freedom's bold, unfetter'd child, And roam thy native forests wild, Where, on thy birth, all nature smil'd; Dwell on the mountain's sylvan crest, Where fair Hygeia roams confest, Bright Fancy's ever honor'd guest: Mark the proud streams that onward sweep, And to old Ocean's bosom leap— Majestic offspring of the deep. Their inspiration shall be thine, And nature, from that mighty shrine, Shall prompt thee with a voice divine! When thy free spirit is reveal'd, The spells within its depths conceal'd Will soon a golden tribute yield. In numbers free, by nature taught, Breathe forth the wild poetic thought, And let thy strains be Fancy fraught. Enough! my child! a parent's voice Would fain direct thy youthful choice To themes, majestic and sublime, The fruits of Freedom's favor'd clime. Enough! For thee has nature thrown O'er the wild stream a curb of stone, Whose pendant arch in verdure dress'd, Binds the tall mountain's cloven crest.2 For thee the volum'd waters sweep Through riven mountains to the deep.3 For thee the mighty cataract pours In thunder, through opposing shores; And rushing with delirious leap, Bursts the full fountains of the deep; A billowy phlegethon—whose waves Rend the strong walls of Ocean's caves. |
C.
1 Mrs. Hemans.
2 The Natural Bridge.
3 Harper's Ferry.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.