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BY P. c. PENDLETON. |
VOL. t.
THE
S©^ l E , IHI2S3BSr
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POETRY.
From the Louisville Journal.
AMERICAN SONGS, NO. IV.
ev William Wallace.
••’TIS TRUE THAT THE HARP.”
’Tis true that the Harp of the Poet lies sleeping!
But oh, would you have it from slumber unbound,
When the spirits of melody bend o’er it weeping
And fearfully draw from the lyre a sound ?
For a voice hath gone f >rth from the Queen of the ocoan,
The themes and the scenery of L berty’s clime,
Can never awake in her sons an emotion
Os rapture and feeing, granl—thrilling—sublime 1”
’Twas thus as I sat by a dark rolling fountain.
My harp gave its tones to the whispering gale,
Whenlo! from the distant and pine covered mountain,
I saw a rich splendor flash down on the vale,
’Twas Columbia’s Genius, whose eyes gave the glory !
Around her tall brow were the wings of the Storm,
And the scenes which have chequer’d her undying st try
Were traced on the robes that enveloped her form 1’
A wake from thy slumber !’’ the spirit cried, glowing
While the lustre that fell from her own sparkling eyes f
“ No themes for the Poet ?” when brilliantly flowing
Yon Cataracs mirror the storm of the skies !
No themes lor the Lyre? Behold the bright River!
How uloriusly under the Heaven it shines.
While thf s it -light of Eve, like anarch-angels quiver,
Hangs splendidly over its towering pines!
N > scenes f>r a Bard ? Look abroad on the billows
Where I’erry has gallantly written his name,
And still o t old Erie the Thunder God pillow’s
His forehead of fury in garlands of flame !
Hark ! hark, from the b'ue "f the Heaven hung o er us
The proud Bird of Lit erty utters its scream,
As he mounts to his Idol, and proudly befae us
Ii lost in his l'ght, and “ unfolds in its beam.”
No scenes for a Lyre ? When gloriously beaming
With the bright eyes of Heaven, that Flag is beheld
On the mountain, the top-mast, the capttol streaming,
As if by the fingers of Seraphim held!
So long as our Eagle shall moisten his pinions
In clouds bending over this mountain’s steep—
So long as Columbia’s unshackled dominions
Are wreathed by the foam of the dark-rolling deep.
So long as her proud Mississippi, while counting
The years of Eternity rolls to the sea,
Or the bow of Niagara splendidly mounting
From the Cataract’s bosom shines out on the free;
So long hurl your scorn to the Queen of the Ocean,
So long let your scorn w’ith the truth be imprest,
An Isn’ w th a Poet’s —a Patriot’s devotion !
The Torrents, the Lakes, and the deeds of the West!
INDEPENDENCE ODE.
EV MRS. CAROLINE LEE IIENTZ.
Rouse—rouse 1 ye sons and heirs of glory!
With music hail this hallowed day;
Let roaring streams and mountain hoary
Echo the gratulating lay.
Far as our country’s starry banner
On the free gale its splendor flings—
Far as our Ei.gle spreads its wungs,
Comes rolling on the deep hosanna.
Chorus —Resound—resound, ye walls !
Give back the choral song!
Rrj >ice—rejoice 1
Let every voice
The jubilee prolong.
Ye spirits of our gallant fathers!
Who sleep in honor's gory urn,
While o'er your graves a nation gathers,
Do not your sacred ashes burn ?
And thou, in Vernon’s temple sleeping—
Lord of the band—the great, the just!
Thrills notee’n now thy conscious dust,
As the proud strains are round thee sweeping ?
Resound —resound, ye wads ! &c.
For ever hallowed he the morning
’Neath whose returning beams we bow,
And regal bondage proudly scorning,
Renew the patriot’s annual vow.
Ye free-born winds ! our triumph's telling,
Waft them to earth’s remotest clime ;
And o'er the coming waves < f time,
Be still the same glad authem swelling.
Resound —resound, ye walls 1 Sec.
MISCELL ANEOUS.
From the Charleston Courier-
LETTERS FROM EUROPE AND ASIA.
BY A LADY OF NEW-YORK.
We commence to-day the regular publica
tion of this series—starting from Paris. Os
course, while discoursing of regions and scenes
so familiar to most readers as those of Western
Europe, these letters will have less of the attrac
tion of novelty, than when treating of mote
distant and less known countries. W T c be
speak attention, however for all.
Paris,
Your last am'able and very interesting letter
has filled the measure of my obii gat on to you,
which have been accumulatii g for so many
months past. The pains you have taken to
keep me “au entrant," with affairs at home
and the agreeable and lively comments upon
passing events around you. put to blush all the
Devoted to Literature, Internal Improvement, Commerce, Agriculture, Foreign and Domestic News, Amusement, See.
i dull epistles which I have inflicted upon you
; since I left home.
Were it not for the pledge mutually given of
keeping up a connected chain of correspon
deuce, I am certain that long since I should
have discontinued my humble endeavors to re.
piy the amount of my indebtedness to you.
My only ami city during the past winter has
been to keep the enemy in check as much as
possible, hoping that when the Spring should
permit me to take the field, I should be able to
pick up sufficient “ material” on every side to
carry on an active summer campaign against
you. You must, lam persuaded, lie complete
ly sated with my details of Paris life, although
it is generally conceded that no place on earth
furnishes so great a share of novelty every day
in the year, or in which time can be consumed
with so little effort for those whose only aim
is de se desennuyer; yet still for those whose
pursuits are of a graver nature, there is no
where such a field of useful and profitable ac
tion as this same Paris.
The great concourse of students, men of
letters, of science, and philosophy, make this
capital the greatest emporium of learning the
world ever knew, successfully rivalling Alex
andria or Athens in their best estate. It is the
present great Exchange of the intellectual
world. Greater transactions and operations
take place here, and bolder speculations are
driven, than in all the congregated marts of
knowledge in the universe. It is the never
failing source from which millions have slaked
their thirst for science, and at which countless
millions yet unborn may come and quaff the
living nectar under satiety. But I forget that
neither you ror I are at home in the sphere of
suchconosccnti; the atmosphere we breathe is
rarer and the food we crave is lighter; at least I
speak for myself—and the volatile effusions 1
have hitherto transmitted to you, are sufficient
proofs of my position. Up to the present time,
you are aware that my principal occupation
here has been to follow up the fashions and
amusements of the day, and to observe Parisian
society in all its forms and phases. 1 have
courted pleasure, and have never for a moment
strove against the tide of dissipation.
Ali the round of Paris amusements, operas,
theatres, soires, “donsautes et musicales, de
jeur.es, dinners, balls, and suppers, and the
Court, rides, drives, promenades, museums,
galleries, &c., I have enjoyed in all their per
fection, and to my heart’s content. Now. I
am prepared to indulge in all the pleasures of
the new era which is to succeed that now al
most closing upon me.
But before I enter upon the new field, I have
many grave duties to perform, many anxious
cares which require my attention, trying scenes
to which I must summon all my fortitude, and
nerve myself for the conflict of contending
feelings which await me. I will not now fatigue
you again with another recital of the exercise
of mind which I underwent when the time for
my departure from Paris was decided on, and
the sad reality forced itself in earnest upon my
mind.
Parents and friends may be left behind, and
the pangs of such separations may be under
stood by all; but it is only a mother who can
appreciate the feelings of one who has left her
child, ner infant, her babe behind, and the rude
breezes every instant widening the gulf between
her and her soul’s strongest tie on earth, until
the very heart strings are ready to burst with
the intensity of the anguish. Such feelings are
only to be indulged within the pale of one’s
own domestic c.rcle, and all such sorrows
should be laid at the foot of the family altar.
In accordance with this idea, I have already
poured out my heart on paper to my dear
venerable parent, in whose bosom my little
cherub nestles during the distant wanderings
of her mother.
But if that trial was so severe, how much
more poignant must now te my grief, when I
am called upon by imperious necessity to leave
behind me my newly acquired treasure, to
consign to the care of strangers my infant boy,
scarce yet two months old ? Dear Lydia,
though now but five years old, makes her own
way like a hcorine among her companions of
the pension, and though but six months at the
school, she speaks French now better than her
mother. She is enjoying excellent health, and
is with worthy and trusty protectors, so that I
entertain no anxiety on her account. But my
boy, how shall I leave him—yet how can I
take him with me? I can endure the former
better than I could dare to presume to do the
latter. He is provided for in so ample a man
ner, that let what may happen, I feel I have
performed my duty. I have been very fortu
nate in obtaining a very superior foster-mother
fjr him, a young Burgundian peasant woman,
and 1 !ea\e both of them under the care of a
trusty and competent English woman.
In addition to the above arrangements, my
amiable Frier and, Mrs. , has proffered her
kind “ surveillance ” over both my children,
and to keep me constantly advised how mat
ters go.
1 have been thus particular in relating to
you my little family arrangements, not only
because I am aware bow much interest you
take in my welfare; but to show you that I
have endeavored to fortify myself against all
the hard thoughts which I am certain will
attach to me for thus abandoning among stran
gers my infant boy and daughter. lam sensi
ble that I shall render myself obnoxious to the
charge of unnatural conduct, but a clear con
science will enable me to withstand all the
illiberal remarks and unjust assaults which 1
am sure to have mnde upon me in the premises.
I will once more remind you of one pail of
our mutual pledge: Confidence in such matters
once established, each will Ito more at case,
MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 2, 1838.
conscious that one’s scribblings will meet no
other eye, save that for which they are intended.
Therefore, as you value my friendship, and
hold in estimation the golden rule then do by
mine as you would that I should do by yours.
Read, and then destroy.
Paris,
Since my last, all my domestic arrange
ments have been completed ; we are on the
point of departure, and such is the tumult of
my feelings that I am quite overpowered.
The regrets, the sighs, the tears of yester
day have now all vanished. I feel high in
health, hopes, and expectations. Anew scene
is opening upon me ; anew world is before
me. I scarcely know whither lam going, or
what lam about. My head is in a whirl, and
my heart throbs with new and undefinable
emotions. I said that I had anew world be
fore me ; indeed, I have all this world before
me, the greatest share of which is, to me, ex
cept in theory, terra incognita. I left tny
native shores, not knowing exactly whither
I was going, or when I should return to them.
I had given to me carte blanche in all respects.
To me futurity is all a dream,a mystery, which
I shall not tow attempt to unravel. The
most I know is, that I am under the protection
of one of tried experience in the world, and
whose frequent voyages and travels, for many
years past, enable him the betler to foresee and
avoid the many difficulties which we may have
to encounter, and whose taste has been so
early formed in those schools wherein the old
world is inosUkt i>e appreciated, that I shall be
spared the necessity of pioneering my own
way through the, to me, practically unknown
regions upon which lam about to enter; one
also who seldom fails in any undertaking in
which all his energies are called into action ;
and nothing ever swerves him from his purpose,
save the immutable laws of Nature, and whom
nothing can check but “force majeure .”
I do not say that we left home without some
plan. As my indulgent husband left that mat
ter mostly to me, 1 did with his assistance make
a sort of “programme" of my future travels ;
but I was at the same time warned that so
much depended upon circumstances, that no
plan of travel can be followed out to the letter,
and that but few ever are even to the spirit.
For the last ten years,
“ I oft had heard of travels [battles,]
-And longed to follow to the field
my youthful imagination had not only been
wrought upon by that which usually comes
before us all, respecting foreign and distant
regions, but many a long winter evening and
summer day, has time been beguiled away in
interesting conversations with my present
“ cicerone ,” respecting the countries over the
water.’* The emerald hills ol'Britain, the sun
ny plains of France, the quiet land of Germany,
the glacier peaks of Switzerland, and above all,
the classic fields of Italy. My feelings were
sometimes wrought up to such a pitch of ex
citement, that I frequently desired immediately
to quit all and fly away upon the wings of the
morning ; but judgement came to the rescue,
and determined me to submit cheerfully to
circumstances, and vegetate away a few more
years in t’.c usual round of New-York life.
Ever anxious that all my desires should be
gratified, my husband, a short time previous to
our departure, as you know, communicated to
me the joyful intelligence that all my cherished
anticipations, and more, might be realized
whenever I chose toembark. That happy day
a ou witnessed, and beheld my enchantment —
I have scarcely yet got over it; indeed, lam
still in the same transport of delight ns when I
looked over the tumultuous waves and felt the
lifted planks dance under me ; the same thrill
shoots through me as the poet must have
experienced when in ecstacy he exclaimed—
“ O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire and behold our home !”
I will now give you a brief outline of the
route which I have (with the concurrence of
my husband) marked out. It is, you will per
ceive, very similar to that I traced out to you
on the map last summer, and but for the unfore
seen circumstance which has detained nte so
many months in Paris, and added nnothcr
precious jewel to my previous store, I should
perhaps have been far, fur from here, even to
the “ fartherest Ind,” and now indicting an
epistle to you from Delhi or Cashmere. But
this detention, so far from damping my ardor,
has only served to increase my thirst for ad.
venture.
Fearing least some other interruption might
come across our path, arid deprive us of some
part ofour tour, we fee! desirous not to linger
long in Gaul, but immediately to “ carry the
war into Africa,” to penetrate at once into the
farthest East, and open the present campaign
by charging the enemy in his very centre.
Wo leave Paris to-morrow, for Vienna,
taking Switzerland and Bavaria in our way.
From Vienna we would desire to descend the
Danube through Hungary and Wallacltia, to
Bucharest, and from thence, over the Balkan,
to Adrianople and Constantinople. But we
have lately heard rumours from the latter place,
that the plague is now making considerable
ravages there, and is on the increase. We
have written to ascertain the truth, and if the
present rumours prove correct, when we get
our letters from thence at Vienna, we will not
approach those regions until the autumn shall
he far advanced, for it would be extreme folly
to run into certain danger. We have made
the proper provision of letters of credit, &c.
for central and north Europe ; and shall, in
; case we are foiled in our immediate attempt
i upon the East, employ the summer and autumn
! in visiting the centre and north of Europe.
From Vienna, therefore, we will go north
through Bohemia, Saxony and Prussia, to
Hamburg,embark there for Copenhagen,thence
take the steamer for Gottenburg and Christiani,
make a short tour in Norway, and thence,
, crossSwecden,directly to.Stockhohn; cross ti e
1 Gulf of Bothnia to Abo, traverse Finland to
St. Petersburg, then by Moscow to Odessa,
and take the steamer for Constantinople.
: There we shall make preparations for an over
land journey to India ; get letters and firmans
from all those authorities whose countenance
tine! assistance we may require ; also credits
from the American and Jew Bankers. We
shall there meet stores, camp equipage, &c.
which we shall order round from London and
Marseilles.
All tilings well arranged at Constantinople,
we take the steamer for Trebizondc, and there
get up our caravan. In going through Arme
nia, we shall vist Mount Arrarat; crossing
Persia, will vist tie sites of Nineveh, Babylon
and Persepelis. Make a short stay at Bagdad ;
and embarking at Bussora, descend the Persian
Gulf to Bombay. After an excursion of a few
months in India, as circumstances may permit,
return to Bombay, take the Red Sea steamer,
and land at Cosseir, cross the desert (which is
there quite narrow—only about three days
journey,) to the Nile. Visit the Thebiad, and
then decend the river to Grand Cairo. There
make up another caravan for the Holy Land,
taking in our way Mount Sinia and Petra.
After seeing in detail the Holy Land, we
propose to go from Damascus to Alt ppo; then
cross Asia Minor, via Antioch, Tarsus and
Konialt, to Constantinople—from thence to
Smyrna by steamer, and then to Athens.
After visiting most of Greece, proceed to
Sicily, via Malta, thence to Italy’, and after
wards to Paris. In case we may be able to
go directly to the East, without going to the
North this summer, our absence from Paris
will be about two years, although I have not
hinted to my friends a longer absence from my
children than one year —therefore be very
circumspect what you say on this point. *
***** *
Paris,
* * * Having concluded then to go no
further this day than Fontainebleau, our horses
are countermanded until twelve, and as our
packet for home is not yet sealed, I profit by
the occasion to say a few more last words to
you. But if 1 devote all my leisure in writing
to you, how shall I excuse myself to other
correspondents, to whom I am indebted for
favors innumerable? As I have enjoined on j
you never to show any thing you receive from
me, even to any ofour mutual friends, much
less to others, I have thought of a plan to satisfy j
all the various demands made upon me for
information from time to time of my where
abouts, together with all such details, wonders, ;
and travellers’ stories, as I may please to send ;
them.
The mode I propose is to write a sort of
circular to one friend, and then summon all
my creditors to come and receive their divi
dend.
I made one ungarded promise, however, to
my friend M is. , who with her amiable
and accomplished daughter have been spend
ing a few years in various parts of the conti
nent, for the education of the latter, and whose
delightful society I have so much enjoyed the
past winter. I promised that she should hear
from me very often, and particularly from the
East. Ido not know how I shall be able to
fulfil the promise, and still do justice to your
prior right—you who are so industriously
laboring at home for my amusement.
However, when once mounted on my Pe
gasus, 1 will endeavor always to imagine you
beside: we will then jog along together, piano,
piano, stopping to admire every new and
charming prospect, and take advantage of
every agreeable point of view.
But when I have Mrs. for a com
panion, I will slacken the rein, and canter
away in a more andante pace, sometimes I
vaulting from height to height—at others “au .
grand galop," scour the plains, until we arrive ;
where I can safely leave her to take breath.
I will then turn again, and amble along beside
you. I thus promise again to make you the
companion of my leisure while abroad, as you
are my ever-devoted friend at home.
Already the court echoes with the music of j
our steeds, as they paw the ground, impatient
of delay. Four clubb’d tailed roans, with two
periwing’d jack-booted jockeys, tied to a four
wheeled “ drag,” demand my presence. My
dear, there is not another sent to spare, or it
should be yours : so, tl’.erefore, “ lon gre, mal
gre," we must part in earnest. Now, after a
lew leagues of rough pave shall have settled
down my thoughts and ideas to a more tolera
ble consistency, and the keen cast wind whipt
home all my errant fancies, I will then attempt
a little more rationality.
This evening I will commence a course of
homespun letters, in which should you be able
to find any thing amusing, or of sufficient
interest to beguiie away an hour not worth
bestowing upon worthier objects, then will I
consider that my efforts to requite all your
kindness to me will have been of some avail.
Until then, Adieu.
GOOD.
The seaman in the South Seas make use of
whale’s milk in their coffee ! A friend of ours,
just retured from the Pacific, says it is always
cool and refreshing. The whales arc milked
by mermaids at present, but a patent for milk
ing them has just been secured hy a Yankee-,
C. R. HANLEITER, PRINTER.
From the Lady’s Book.
MRS. STGOUKNEY.
It is a difficult and delicate task to sketch
the biography of the living; particularly so,
when tne portrait is to be drawn for a personal
and esteemed friend. But in the present in
stance there is little reason to fear. The
talents and merits of Mrs. Sigourney are uni
versally felt and acknowledged. She has
nobly won her high place in the literature of
our country.
Lydia Huntly was born in Norwich, Con
necticut. Site was the only child of her pa
rents, and consequently was brought up with
great tenderness. Her parentage were in that
happy mediocraty which requires industry, yet
encourages hope; and the habits of order and
dilligence, in which she was carefully trained
by her judicious mother, have no doubt been
of inestimable advantage to the intellectual
character of the daughter.
She early exhibited indications of genius.
Perhaps the loneliness of her lot, w.thout
brother or sister to share in the usual sports of
childhood, had an influence on her pursuits
and pleasures. We ate by no means in favor
of establishing priority of intellect, as the stan*
dard of real genius. Still it is true, that many
distinguished persons have been marked in
c hildhood as extraordinary ; the opening blos
som has given forth the sweet order which tho
rich fruit, like that of the Man gost an, embodies
in its delicious perfection. At eight years of
age, 1 ttle Lydia was a scribbler of rhymes—
l,kc Pope, “lisping in numbers.” Her first
work was published in 1815. It was a small
volume, entitled “Miscellaneous Pieces in
Prose and Verse.” Before this, however, she
had fortunately met with a judicious and most
generous patron. To Daniel Wadsworth, Esq.
of Hartford, belongs the tribute of praise, which
is due for drawing such a mind from the ob
scurity where it had remained “ afar from tho
untasted sunbeam.”
In 1819, Miss Huntly was united in mar
riage with Charles Sigourney, a respectable
merchant of Hartford. He was a gentleman
of cultivated taste and good literary attainmen
ments. From that period Mrs. Sigourney
has devoted the leasure which the wife of a
man of wealth may generally command, to
literary pursuits. And her improvement has
been rapid and great. Her published wotks
are “ Traits of the Aboriginies,’ a poem written
in blank verse; ‘Connecticut Forty Years
Since,’ a prose volume, principally of tradition
ary description ; three volumes of‘Poems ;’
‘Sketches,’ an interesting volume, chiefly
written for the annuals ; ‘ Letters to Young
Ladies,’ an excellent work ; and a number of
books for children and youth. In all these
works, varied as they are in style and subject,
one person is recognized as the governing mo
tive—the purpose of doing good. In her pros©
writings this zeal of heart is the great charm.
She always describes nature with a lover’s
feelings of its beauties, and with much delicacy
and taste; still, we think her talent for des
cription is more graceful and at home, as it
were, in the measured lines of her poetry than
in her best prose. Her genius seems to brigh
ten in the muse’s smile, and she can command
by that spell, as Prospero could with his staff,
the attendance of the ‘delicate spirits’ of Fancy,
which, like Ariel, bring
‘ Sounds and sweet airs,’
and those ‘ solemn breathing strains’ that movo
conscience to its repen*ant work, or lift the
trusting, contrite soul to heaven. “Oh God !
who can describe Niagara!” exclaimed Mrs.
Butler, in the agony of her admiration. Mrs.
Sigourney has described it, and worthily too;
and this single poem would be sufficient, had
she written no more, to establish her fame as
a poet. It docs more and better —it stamps
her as the devoted Christian ; for, except faith
in the dread Invisible had sustained her genius,
and trust in the Saviour had kept warm the
fount of sympathy in her, she could not have
surrounded a theme so awful, strange, and
lonely, with such images of beauty and hope.
True it is that female poetic writers owe their
happiest efforts to religious feelings. Devotion
seems to endow them with the martyr’s glow
ing fervency of spirit. In the actual world the
path of woman is very circumscribed, but in
that ‘ better land’ her imagination may range
with the freedom of an angel’s wing. And
there it is that the genius of Mrs. Sigourney
delights to expatiate. And this constant up
lifting of her spirit has given a peculiar cast
to her language and style—rendering the state
ly and solemn blank verse measure the readiest
vehicle of her feelings and fancies. She has a
wonderful command of words, and the fetters
of rhyme check the free expression of her
thoughts. She is also endowed with a fine
perception of the harmonious and appropriate,
and hence the smooth flow of the lines, and the
perfect adaptation of the language to the sub.
ject. These qualities eminently fit her to be
the eulogist of departed worth, and incline her
to elegiac poetry. To her tender feelings and
naturally contemplative mind, every knell that
summons the mourner to weep awakens her
sympathy, and the dirge flows,’as would tears,
to comfort the bereaved, where she beside
them.-
Nor is the death-song of necessity melan.
choly. Many of hers sound the notes of holy
triumph, and awaken the brightest anticipation#
of felicity—ay,
* Teach us of th« melody of heaven.’
She ‘ leaves not the trophy of death at the
tomb,’ but shows us the ‘ Resurrection and the
Life.’ Thus she elevates the hopes of the
Christian and chastens the thoughts of tho
worldly-minded. This is her mission, the true
purpose ofher heaven-endowed mind ; tor the
inspirations of genius arc from_bcaVgni_ustd_ i
NO. 45-