Exhausted and weary, the spell of the place
Sank down on my eyelids, and soft slumber stole
So sweetly upon me, it left not a trace
Of sorrow o'ercasting the light of the soul.
The writer then imagines himself borne lightly through the air to the place of his birth.
The valley of Matanzas
lies beneath him, hallowed by the graves of his parents.
I gazed on that spot where together we played,
Our innocent pastimes came fresh to my mind,
Our mother's caress, and the fondness displayed
In each word and each look of a parent so kind.
I looked on the mountain, whose fastnesses wild
The fugitives seek from the rifle and hound;
Below were the fields where they suffered and toiled,
And there the low graves of their comrades are found.
The mill-house was there, and the turmoil of old;
But sick of these scenes, for too well were they known,
I looked for the stream where in childhood I strolled
When a moment of quiet and peace was my own.
With mingled emotions of pleasure and pain,
Dear Florence, I sighed to behold thee once more;
I sought thee, my brother, embraced thee again,
But I found thee a slave as I left thee before!
Some of his devotional pieces evince the fervor and true feeling of the Christian
His Ode to Religion
contains many admirable lines.
Speaking of the martyrs of the early days of Christianity, he says finely:—
Still in that cradle, purpled with their blood,
The infant Faith waxed stronger day by day.
I cannot forbear quoting the last stanza of this poem:--