Classic Poem

Oh , warble not that song of home—
Its plaintive notes are dear,
But oh! they wake on memory's strings
A chord I may not hear.
Now silent night, o'er hill and dale
Its dusky mantle throws,
And flow'rets by the zephyrs lulled
On Earth's green lap repose.
And in the blue etherial heaven
Smiles many a star serene,
There the bright moon in splendor rolls—
How lovely is the scene.
'Twas on a night like this—so still,
So calm did nature seem—
The winds in ocean caves were hushed,
And the same silvery beam,
Which now I watch with eager eye
So beautiful and mild,
In fair Savannah's distant clime
Looked forth and on me smiled.
I saw it not; for on a couch,
The cold and lifeless clay
Of Allen Lee, my bosom friend,
Alas! before me lay.
Long had I watched the hectic flush
That tinged his pallid cheek;
It told the melancholy truth
I felt, yet dare not speak.
I bore him to that genial clime
To breathe its balmy air,
And o'er him day and night I watched
With all a brother's care.
Who the solicitude can paint
Of a physician's breast,
As o'er a patient's couch he bends
With torturing fears oppressed;—
The weeping relatives around
Beseeching him to save
A brother or a darling child
From the dark threatening grave.
But if no relative is near,
But if no relative is near,
And skill disease defies,
A stranger in a distant land,
The sinking sufferer lies,—
Intrusted solely to his care
By friends and kindred dear,—
Then if his efforts prove in vain,
His anguish how severe!
Such was my lot, and such the grief
Intense my heart that wrung;
When on the friend I dearly loved
Death's hand its work had done.
A moment ere from earth away
His tranquil spirit fled,
He warmly clasped my hand in his
And thus to me he said:—
“My more than brother, fare thee well!
I leave thee for a while,
Death has no terror to my mind,
I meet it with a smile;
Yet there is something I would ask,
Grant me my last request;
Oh! leave me not to moulder here,
Where stranger ashes rest;
But in my own dear native land,
Oh! let my grave be made;
Close to my childhood's happy home
Beneath some friendly shade.
Say to my mother I have gone
Triumphant to the sky,
With the angelic host to spend
A blest eternity.
To Mary,—ever faithful wife,
To her this pleasing relic bear,
And bid her near her gentle heart
Her Allen's image wear.”
He paused, and wiped away the tear
That trembled in his eye.
“Now on thy bosom lay my head,
For oh! I there would die.”
Peaceful as in its mother's arms
The babe is lulled to sleep,
He closed on earth his languid eyes
And left me there to weep.
Then thoughts of home and all its joys
O'er my lone spirit came;
A minstrel 'neath my window sang
An old familiar strain;
And did I in that land remote
List to those accents dear?
Oh! 'twas too much. “Home! sweet, sweet home!”
I could not, dared not hear.
I paced the room with hurried steps,
My throbbing temples pressed;
Conflicting feelings, strong and deep,
Were struggling in my breast.
The music ceased, and as the tones
Of that old melody,
Soft as the balmy breath of eve,
Died on mine ear away,
I looked upon the lifeless form
Of that departed one,
And thought on what a brittle thread
Is man's existence hung.


The “Lafayette,” a noble ship,
Was anchored in the bay;
My precious charge, with mournful step,
Thither did I convey.
Four weary days and sleepless nights
Of agony I passed,
When I beheld—thrice welcome sight!
The destined port at last.
With feelings I can ne'er describe,
I reached his mother's door;
All was soon told, and the first gush
Of bitter sorrow o'er,
She raised her trembling hands to Heaven
As if in silent prayer;
“O God!” in broken tones she cried,
“Teach me thy stroke to bear!”
And in the rural spot he chose
They laid him down to sleep,
And oft at evening's quiet hour
They wander there to weep.
Then warble not that song of home,
Its plaintive notes are dear;
But oh! they wake on memory's strings
A chord I may not hear.