The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, April 1844

Oh! thither hie, and see
How Nature’s youth doth tell of thee.

Where hang the sweet wild roses,
And the pale lilies drooping;
Where the violet reposes
’Neath young leaves o’er it stooping;
Oh! wander there, and see
How Nature’s beauty speaks of thee.

Where the glad brook is bringing
Sweet music never dying;
Where the bright birds are singing,
And gentle winds are sighing;
Oh! thither go with me,
And list to Nature’s song of thee.

Where ivy is entwining,
The stern tree’s branch down-bending;
Where flowers are e’er combining
Their perfume, heaven-ascending;
Oh! roam thou there, and see
How Nature’s love breathes but of thee.

BELISARIUS

The trumpet’s voice had stirred the sky,
And rustling banners waved on high;
The shouts of victory went up,
And wreaths of laurel crowned the cup
That flowed amid the festal halls,
Within the crowded city’s walls;
Stern warriors came in long array
To grace the conqueror’s pageant day:
Triumphant peeled the clarion’s tone
And spears and glancing armor shone,
Mid the dust of thousands sweeping by,
Like meteors in a midnight sky.
They’d left behind their hosts of slain
Upon the far-off battle plain,
And brought the marks of conquest back;
Proud trophies glittered on their track:
Rich armor from the vanquished won,
Bright jewels glancing in the sun;
A captive monarch’s golden throne,
And heaps of countless treasure shone;
But prouder, nobler spoils and high,
Adorned that mighty pageantry.
Reluctantly, with lofty form,
Like strong oaks blasted by the storm
But not bowed down, the captives came,
Their dark brows flushed with grief and shame;
And he, their sovereign, king no more,
In mockery the purple wore.
His the proud step, majestic mien,
The lip compressed and look serene
That mark a spirit strong and high,
A soul that smiles on destiny.
As surges breaking on the shore,
Or like the distant torrents roar,
The shouts of victory rolled afar.
And shook the hills, as the victor’s car
Gorgeous and bright was borne along
By the swift rush of the gathered throng.
A glorious sight on his haughty way,
With laurel crown, and mail-clad breast,
With waving plume and princely crest,
Was the conqueror on that day.
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An old man paced the guarded room,
With quivering lip and brow of gloom,
And his silver hair in the moonlight shone
Like the grayish front of a time-worn stone;
Nor voice, nor sound the still air woke,
Till his burning words the silence broke:

I

‘Where is the shining car
And where the gorgeous train?
Fled as the falling star
That sunk behind the main!

II

‘Where is the victor’s crown?
The pageant sweeping past?
Gone with the thistle-down,
Swept by the hurrying blast.

III

‘Where is the trump of Fame
That woke the startled air?
’Tis like my branded name,
And like my dying prayer.

IV

‘I’ve braved the din and strife