LOVE AND POLITICS. A BIRTH-DAY MEDITATION. ANOTHER year! alas, how swift, Like shadows thrown by clouds that drift Is turn'd within life's volume brief, There are some moments when I feel Had not a right alike to go, But it was love that taught me rhyme, Of words a useless sluggard prove, And often bitter thoughts arise Of what I've lost in loving thee, And in my breast my spirit dies, The gloomy cloud around to see, Of baffled hopes and ruined powers Of mind, and miserable hoursOf self-upbraiding, and despairOf heart, too strong and fierce to bear. "Why, what a peasant slave am I," To bow my mind and bend my knee To woman in idolatry, Who takes no thought of mine or me. Thus do my jarring thoughts revolve To dash thine angel image thence; And then for hours and hours I muse On things that might, yet will not be, Till, one by one, my feelings lose Their passionate intensity, Which on wild wing those feelings waft And now again from their gay track I call, as I despondent sit, Once more these truant fancies back, Which round my brain so idly flit; And some I treasure, some I blush To own-and these I try to crushAnd some, too wild for reason's reign, I loose in idle rhyme again. And even thus my moments fly, My life itself is wiled away; ALINDA, it shall not be so; Both love and lays forswear I here, As I've forsworn thee long ago. That name, which thou wouldst never share Proudly shall Fame emblazon where On pumps and corners posters stick it. The highest on the JACKSON ticket. WHAT IS SOLITUDE? NoT in the shadowy wood, Not in the crag-hung glen, Not where the echoes brood In caves untrod by men; Where loitering surges break, Where man hath never stood, Not there is solitude! Voices in lonely dells, Talk in earth's secret cells; Over the gray-ribb'd sand Breathe ocean's frothing lips, Over the still lake's strand The flower toward it dips; Pluming the mountain's crest, Life tosses in its pines; Coursing the desert's breast, Life in the steed's mane shines. Leave-if thou wouldst be lonely Leave Nature for the crowd; Scek there for one-one onlyWith kindred mind endow'd! There-as with Nature erst Closely thou wouldst commune The deep soul-music, nursed In either heart, attune! Heart-wearied, thou wilt own. Vainly that phantom woo'd, That thou at last hast known What is true solitude! JAMES NACK. [Born, about 1807.] THERE are few more interesting characters in | Rupert, and other Tales and Poems," with an in our literary annals than JAMES NACK. He is a native of New York, and when between nine and ten years of age, by a fall, while descending a flight of stairs with a little playmate in his arms, received such injury in his head as deprived him irrecoverably of the sense of hearing, and, gradually, in consequence, of the faculty of speech. He was placed in the Institution for the Education of the Deaf and Dumb, where he acquired knowledge in all departments with singular exactness and rapidity. He was subsequently for many years an assistant in the office of the Clerk of the City and County, and in 1838 was married. In 1827 Mr. NACK published "The Legend of the Rocks, and other Poems;" in 1839, Earl RIS. teresting memoir of his life, by General WET. The MIGNONNE. SHE calls me " father!" though my ear SPRING IS COMING. SPRING is coming! spring is coming! To our well-remember'd wild-wood, MARY'S BEE. AS MARY with her lip of roses Is tripping o'er the flowery mead, The rosy lip a rose indeed, A moment there he wantons; lightly He sports away on careless wing; 66 Be this," said I, to heedless misses, WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. [Born, 1806.] THE author of "Guy Rivers," "Southern PasJages and Pictures," etc., was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in the spring of 1806. His mother died during his infancy, and his father soon after emigrated to one of the western territories, leaving him under the guardianship of a grandmother, who superintended his early education. When not more than nine or ten years old, he began to write verses; at fifteen he was a contributor to the poetical department of the gazettes printed near his home; and at eighteen he published his first volume, entitled Lyrical and other Poems," which was followed in the next two years by Early Lays," and "The Vision of Cortez and other Pieces," and in 1830, by "The Tricolor, or Three Days of Blood in Paris." In each of these four volumes there were poetical ideas, and occasionally well-finished verses; but they are worthy of little regard, except as indications of the early tendency of the author's mind. 66 When twenty-one years old, Mr. SIMMS was admitted to the bar, and began to practise his profession in his native district; but feeling a deep interest in the political questions which then agitated the country, he soon abandoned the courts, and purchased a daily gazette at Charleston, which he edited for several years, with industry, integrity, and ability. It was, however, unsuccessful, and he lost by it all his property, as well as the prospective earnings of several years. His ardour was not lessened by this failure, and, confident of success, he determined to retrieve his fortune by authorship. He had been married at an early age; his wife, as well as his father, was now dead; and no domestic ties binding him to Charleston, he in the spring of 1832 visited for the first time the northern states. After travelling over the most interesting portions of the country, he paused at the rural village of Hingham, in Massachusetts, and there prepared for the press his principal poetical work, "Atalantis, a Story of the Sea," which was published at New York in the following winter. This is an imaginative story, in the dramatic form; its plot is exceedingly simple, but effectively managed, and it contains much beautiful imagery, and fine description. While a vessel glides over a summer sea, LEON, one of the principal characters, and his sister ISABEL, hear a benevolent spirit of the air warning them of the designs of a sea-god to lure them into peril. Leo. Didst hear the strain it utter'd, ISABEL? The Charleston City Gazette, conducted by Mr. SIMMS, was, I believe, the first journal in South Carolina that took ground against the principle of nullification Thy own unpractised eye may well discern The land, for many a league, to the eastward harga Isa. Wherefore, then, Should come this voice of warning? Leon. From the deep: It hath its demons as the earth and air, Of an adventure in the Indian Seas, That swam beside the barque, and sang strange song And, but for a good father of the church, Leon. I do, I do! And, at the time, I do remember me, I made much mirth of the extravagant tale, Isa. I never more shall mock at marvellous things, Such strange conceits hath after-time found true, That once were themes for jest. I shall not smile At the most monstrous legend. Leon. Nor will I: To any tale of mighty wonderment I shall bestow my ear, nor wonder more; Girt in by perilous waters, and unknown The long procession o'er fantastic realms Of cloud and moonbeam, through the enamour'd night, May note the fairies, coursing the lazy hours In various changes, and without fatigue. A fickle race, who tell their time by flowers, And live on zephyrs, and have stars for lamps, Isa. A sweet dream: And yet, since this same tale we laugh'd at once, Perchance not all a dream. I would not doubt. Of human conjuration mix'd with this. Isa. It is not so, Or does my sense deceive? A perch beyond our barque. Look there: the wave What dost thou see? Leon. A marvellous shape, that with the billow curls, in gambols of the deep, and yet is not Its wonted burden; for beneath the waves I mark a gracious form, though nothing clear The ship is wrecked, and ATALANTIS, a fairy, wandering along the beach with an attendant, NEA, discovers the inanimate form of LEON clinging to a spar. But what is here, Nea. One of the creatures of that goodly barque-- That, from their distant homes, went forth in her, A al. There is life in him And his heart swells beneath my hand, with pulse It cannot be, that such a form as this, So lovely and compelling, ranks below The creatures of our kingdom. He is one, Nea. He looks as well, In outward seeming, as our own, methinks— Such lips should give forth music-such a sweet Leon. [starts.] Cling to me [Kisses him. In broken murmurs, like a melody, From lips that waiting long on loving hearts, Mr. SIMMS now commenced that career of in tellectual activity of which the results are as volu minous and as various, perhaps, as can be exhibited by any author of his age. His first romance was Martin Faber, the Story of a Criminal," published in New York in 1833. The most important of his subsequent productions in this department, as classified in the edition lately issued by Mr. REDFIELD, are, the revolutionary series, "The Partisan," "Mellichampe," "Katherine Walton," "The Scout," "Woodcraft," "The Foragers," and "Eutaw;" border tales, "Guy Rivers," Richard Hurdis," Border Beagles," "Charlemont," Beauchampe," and "Confession;" historical, "The Yemassee," "Vasconcellos," "The Lily and the Totem," Pelayo," and Count Julian." Besides his more extended romantic fictions, he has produced a great number of shorter stories, some of which may be ranked as the best exhibitions of his powers. He has also given to the public a "History of South Carolina,” a "Life of Captain JOHN SMITH, the Founder of Virginia," a "Life of NATHANIEL GREENE," a "Life of FRANCIS MARION," a "Life of the Chevalier BAYARD," "Views and Reviews of American History, Literature, and Art," and other performances in biography, description, and speculation. In poetry, since the appearance of “ Atalantis," he has published "Southern Passages and Pic tures," 1839; "Donna Florida, in Five Cantos," 1843; Grouped Thoughts and Scattered Fancies, a collection of Sonnets," 1845; "Areytos, or Songs of the South," 1846; “ Lays of the Palmetto, a Tribute to the South Carolina Regiment, in the War with Mexico," 1846; "The Cacique of Accube, and other Poems," 1848; "Norman Maurice," 1850; and a collection of his principal poetical works, under the title of Poems, Descriptive, Legendary, and Contemplative," in two volumes, 1854. A more particular account of the novels of Dr. SIMMS, (he has received the degree of LL. D. from the University of Alabama,) is given in "The Prose Writers of America." His poems, like his other productions, are noticeable for warmth of feeling and coloring, and vivid and just displays of the temper and sentiments of the southern people, the characteristics of southern life, and the rivers, forests, savannas, and all else that is peculiar in southern nature. He has sung the physical and moral aspects and the traditions of the south, with the appreciation of a poet, and the feeling of a son. His verse is free and musical, his language copious and well-selected, and his fancy fertile and apposite. The best of his dramatic pieces is "Norman Maurice," a play of singular originality in design and execution, which strikes me as the best composition of its kind on an American subject. He resides at Woodlands," a pleasant pianta tion in the vicinity of Charleston. THE SLAIN EAGLE. THE eye that mark'd thy flight with deadly aim, Had less of warmth and splendour than thine own; The form that did thee wrong could never claim The matchless vigour which thy wing hath shown; Yet art thou in thy pride of flight o'erthrown; And the far hills that echoed back thy scream, As from storm-gathering clouds thou sent'st it down, Shall see no more thy red-eyed glances stream For their far summits round, with strong and terrible gleam. Lone and majestic monarch of the cloud! No more I see thee on the tall cliff's brow, When tempests meet, and from their watery shind Pour their wild torrents on the plains below, Lifting thy fearless wing, still free to go, True in thy aim, undaunted in thy flight, As seeking still, yet scorning, every foe— Shrieking the while in consciousness of might, To thy own realm of high and undisputed light. Thy thought was not of danger then-thy pride Left thee no fear. Thou hadst gone forth in storms, And thy strong pinions had been bravely tried Against their rush. Vainly their gathering forms Had striven against thy wing. Such conflict warms The nobler spirit; and thy joyful shriek Gave token that the strife itself had charms For the born warrior of the mountain peak, He of the giant brood, sharp fang, and bloody beak. How didst thou then, in very mirth, spread far Thy pinions' strength!-with freedom that became Audacious license, with the winds at war, Striding the yielding clouds that girt thy frame, And, with a fearless rush that naught could tame, Defying earth-defying all that mars The flight of other wings of humbler name; Morning above the hills, and from the ocean, With such calm effort as 't was thine to wear— Bending with sunward course erect and true, When winds were piping high and lightnings near, hy day-guide all withdrawn, through fathomless fields of air. The moral of a chosen race wert thou, In such proud fight. From out the ranks of menThe million moilers, with earth-cumber'd brow, That slink, like coward tigers to their den, Each to his hiding-place and corner thenOne mighty spirit watch'd thee in that hour, Nor turn'd his lifted heart to earth again; Within his soul there sprang a holy power, And he grew strong to sway, whom tempests made not cower Watching, he saw thy rising wing. In vam, From his superior dwelling, the fierce sun Shot forth his brazen arrows, to restrain The audacious pilgrim, who would gaze upon The secret splendours of his central throne; Proudly, he saw thee to that presence fly, And, Eblis-like, unaided and alone, His dazzling glories seek, his power defy, Raised to thy god's own face, meanwhile, thy rebel eye. And thence he drew a hope, a hope to soar, Even with a wing like thine. His daring glance Sought, with as bold a vision, to explore The secret of his own deliverance— The secret of his wing-and to advance To sovereign sway like thine-to rule, to rise Above his race, and nobly to enhance Their empire as his own-to make the skies, The extended earth, far seas, and solemn stars, his prize. He triumphs-and he perishes like thee! Breaks down the gloomy barrier, and is free! He mocks, as thou, the sun!--but scaly blinds amaze. And thou, brave bird! thy wing hath pierced the cloud, The storm had not a battlement for thee; But, with a spirit fetterless and proud, Thou hast soar'd on, majestically free, To worlds, perchance, which men shall never see! Where is thy spirit now? the wing that bore? Thou hast lost wing and all, save liberty! Death only could subdue-and that is o'er: Alas! the very form that slew thee should deplore! A proud exemplar hath been lost the proud, And he who struck thee from thy fearless flightThy noble loneliness, that left the crowd, To seek, uncurb'd, that singleness of height Which glory aims at with unswerving sightHad learn'd a nobler toil. No longer base With lowliest comrades, he had given his might, His life that had been cast in vilest placeTo raise his hopes and homes-to teach and lift his race. "Tis he should mourn thy fate, for he hath lost The model of dominion. Not for him The mighty eminence, the gathering host That worships, the high glittering pomps that dini The bursting homage and the hailing hymn: He dies he hath no life, that, to a star, Rises from dust and sheds a holy gleam To light the struggling nations from afar, And show, to kindred souls. where fruits of glory are. |