| Say, wouldst thou build a lasting seat, Secure from Fortune's rage; A quiet and a safe retreat, To rest thy weary age? Set not thy house upon the sand, By ocean's sounding shore; Vain Pleasure's palace cannot stand When tempests rise and roar. Nor yet upon the mountain's side Command thy tower to rise: How oft the airy hall of Pride Calls lightning from the skies! But build upon the solid rock, In that sweet vale of green Where the Good Shepherd feeds his flock, And wait life's closing scene. |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.
| There's a tuneful river In Erin's Isle, Where the sunbeams quiver In silvery smile; Where the leaves that fall 'Neath the autumn sky, Grow gem-like all, And never die: And such is the stream, by truth enlightened, That leaves the breast by wisdom brightened, Where even the joys that the storms dissever, Are turned to gems that glow forever. There's a darkling tide In the Indian clime, By whose herbless side There's a sulphury slime— To the flower that it touches, A scorching wave,— To the bird that approaches, A weltering grave:— And such are the waters of bitterness rising In the desart bosom of dark disguising; And the birds of joy, and the flowers of feeling, Must perish, wherever that wave is stealing. |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LINES
TO MISS H—— M——
On her talking against slavery.
| You're a foe to all slavery, Harriet, you say; Then why do you talk in so charming a way? For I too have surely a right to be free, And yet you are fastening your chains upon me! |