ALBERT 0.

AN EPIC POEM.

CANTO I.

"Seem they grave or learned?

Why, so didst thou-seem they religious?
Why, so didst thou; or are they spare in diet,
Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment,
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but with purged judgment trusting neither?
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.

Shakspeare.

I.

AMERICA! "my own, my native land!”
The birth-place of Alberto as of me,—
The soil that holds its fathers' ashes, and
The champions of her cause and liberty ;
Great in her greatness-girded with the band
Of freedom, forged in her sons' unity—
The proud heirs of freedom, the heritage
Bequeathed by patriot-father and by sage.

II.

America! if I, a son of thee, should

In too boastful tone thy own greatness sing, And paint thy beauties in a selfish mood,

It is the feeling which from thee doth spring, The feeling which I'd lose not if I could,

But have it still around my spirit cling, Blend with my being and existence-and Bind me closer with thee, my native land.

III.

What though a wayward wight Alberto be—
His heritage is freedom-and his home

The land where lives the spirit of liberty ;
The passion and the will he had to roam,

And the dark waters of the bounding sea

In their own might and beauty round him foam;

He hath departed—and in distance dies

The land that first did greet his infant eyes.

IV.

On the dark bosom of the ocean glide

The bark that bears him from each native scene, But not from fancy's eye doth distance hide His home and country—but are smiling seen Through mem'ry's cell to open far and wide,

Bringing back feelings time may never wean, But live within the heart and chainless mind, Close with the very web of life entwined.

V.

Around him heave the waters of the deep,

And on the vessel speeds her foaming way;
The moon in heaven seem her watch to keep,
And sheds on Ocean's bosom many a ray,
The waters in their strength and pride doth leap,
Ev'n as the reinless wild steed on his way,
Or proud eagle in his heaven-ward flight,
The heir of freedom, courage and of might.

VI.

But he left not his home without a sigh,

For there was much had claim on his young heart, And even to dim with tears his dark eye;

When thus he from his country did depart,
He struggled with a feeling which doth try,
A feeling we contend with, when apart

We live from what we love-and feel, and deem
That all we love and left, we'll not redeem.

VII.

But, adieu, and perchance a last adieu-
For life's a taper of so weak a flame,
A breath may puff out-and the waters blue
May be his sepulchre-yet man for fame
Will hazard all things, and all things subdue

To crown his own ambition with a name;
And if such be the hero of my lay,
It may be 'warded to him in his day.