On your own mountain's side ye taught of yore, Whose honoured hand took not your gift in vain, Worthy the budding laurel-bough it bore,-* Farewell! a long farewell! I worship thee no more. A MONODY MADE ON THE LATE MR. SAMUEL PATCH, BY AN ADMIRER OF THE BATHOS. By waters shall he die, and take his end.-SHAKESPEARE. Toll for Sam Patch! Sam Patch, who jumps no more, This or the world to come. Sam Patch is dead! The vulgar pathway to the unknown shore Of dark futurity he would not tread. No friends stood sorrowing round his dying bed; Nor with decorous woe, sedately stepped Behind his corpse, and tears by retail shed;The mighty river, as it onward swept, In one great wholesale sob, his body drowned and kept. Toll for Sam Patch! he scorned the common way That some great men had risen to falls, he went He wooed the bathos down great water-falls; Pleasant, as are to women lighted halls, Crammed full of fools and fiddles; to the sound Of the eternal roar, he timed his desperate bound. Sam was a fool. But the large world of such, Has thousands-better taught, alike absurd, And less sublime. Of fame he soon got much, Where distant cataracts spout, of him men heard. Alas for Sam! Had he aright preferred The kindly element, to which he gave Himself so fearlessly, we had not heard That it was now his winding-sheet and grave, Nor sung, 'twixt tears and smiles, our requiem for the brave. He soon got drunk, with rum and with renown, By one mad impulse driven, they flounder through For wool (and if the best accounts be straight, Came back, in negro phraseology, With the same wool each upon his pate), In which she chronicled the deathless fate Of him who jumped into the perilous ditch Left by Rome's street commissioners, in a state Which made it dangerous, and by jumping which He made himself renowned, and the contractors rich I say, the muse shall quite forget to sound She do not strike it when Sam Patch is drowned. Hesiod. Theog. 1. 1. 60. 30. The Lesbian Sappho leapt from in a miff, Because the wax did not continue stiff; As everybody knows. Why sing of these? I think he called himself. Themselves to please, Or else unwillingly, they made their springs; For glory in the abstract, Sam made his, To prove to all men, commons, lords, and kings, That "some thi gs may be done, as well as other things." I will not be fatigued, by citing more Who jumped of old, by hazard or design, Nor plague the weary ghosts of boyish lore, Vulcan, Apollo, Phaeton--in fine All Tooke's Pantheon. Yet they grew divine By their long tumbles; and if we can match Their hierarchy, shall we not entwine One wreath? Who ever came "up to the scratch," In logic, and the safer course they took; And quite dumb-founded, which they cannot brook; They break no bones, and suffer no contusion, In slang and gibberish, sputtering and confusion ; But that was not the way Sam came to his conclusion. He jumped in person. Death or Victory Was his device, " and there was no mistake," Except his last; and then he did but die, A blunder which the wisest men will make. Aloft, where mighty floods the mountains break, To stand, the target of ten thousand eyes, And down into the coil and water-quake, Though still the rock primeval disappears, wonder Shall Sam go down the cataract of long years; And if there be sublimity in tears, Those shall be precious which the adventurer shed When his frail star gave way, and waked his fears Lest, by the ungenerous crowd it might be said, That he was all a hoax, or that his pluck had fled. Who would compare the maudlin Alexander, Blubbering, because he had no job in hand, Acting the hypocrite, or else the gander, With Sam, whose grief we all can understand? His crying was not womanish, nor planned For exhibition; but his heart o'erswelled With its own agony, when he the grand Natural arrangements for a jump beheld, And measuring the cascade, found not his courage quelled. His last great failure set the final seal Unto the record Time shall never tear, While bravery has its honour,-while men feel The holy natural sympathies which are First, last, and mightiest in the bosom. Where The tortured tides of Genesee descend, He came his only intimate a bear,— (We know not that he had another friend), The martyr of renown, his wayward course to end. Beat down, in the huge amphitheatre "I see before me the gladiator lie," The hopeless issue have refused to try; No! with true leap, but soon with faltering flight,— "Deep in the roaring gulf, he plunged to endless night." But, ere he leapt, he begged of those who made As might be picked up from the " company" When all the streams have worn their barriers low, Give to the brave, who have passed the final goal,- In coarse, but honest verse, make up the judgment roll. Therefore it is considered, that Sam Patch Shall never be forgot in prose or rhyme; His name shall be a portion in the batch Of the heroic dough, which baking Time Kneads for consuming ages-and the chime Of Fame's old bells, long as they truly ring, Shall tell of him; he dived for the sublime, And found it. Thou, who with the eagle's wing Being a goose, would'st fly,-dream not of such a thing! THE DEAD OF 1882. Oh Time and Death! with certain pace, Nor by the pestilence that sweeps And to those vast dim chambers hie:Where mingled with the high and low, Dead Cæsars and dead Shakespeares lic! Dread Ministers of God! sometimes Ye smite at once, to do His will, In all earth's ocean-severed climes, Those whose renown ye cannot kill! Men sadly ask, when shall return For where is he*-who lived so long-- Found out the handiwork of God?t Ordained to gaze on heaven, could trace The soul's vast features, that shall tread The stars, when earth is nothingness? Where he who struck old Albyn's lyre,§ Till round the world its echoes roll, And swept, with all a prophet's fire, The diapason of the soul? Where he who read the mystic lore, Buried, where buried Pharaohs sleep; And dared presumptuous to explore Secrets four thousand years could keep? Where he who with a poet's eye Of truth, on lowly nature gazed, And made even sordid Poverty Classic, when in His numbers glazed? Where that old sage so hale and staid,** The "greatest good" who sought to find; Who in his garden mused, and made All forms of rule, for all mankind? Near where thy Wesley's coffin lies. They go, and with them is a crowd, For human rights who THOUGHT and DID, We rear to them no temples proud, Each hath his mental pyramid. All earth is now their sepulchre, The MIND, their monument sublimeYoung in eternal fame they are Such are YOUR triumphs, Death and Time. GRENVILLE MELLEN. GRENVILLE MELLEN Was born at Biddeford, Maine, June 19, 1799. He was the eldest son of Chief-justice Mellen, of the court of common pleas in that state. He was graduated at Harvard in 1818; studied law with his father, and settled at Portland, Maine. In 1823 he removed to North Yarmouth, in the same state, where he remained for five years. His poems at this period and subsequently to his death, appeared frequently in the periodicals, the magazines and annuals, of the time. In 1826 he pronounced before the Peace Society of Maine, at Portland, a poem, The Rest of Empires, and in 1828 an Anniversary Poem, before the Athenian From Boston he came to reside in New York. His health, which was always delicate, was now much enfeebled; he was lingering with consumption when he made a voyage to Cuba, from which he returned without benefit, and died in New York September 5, 1841, at the residence of his friend, Mr. Samuel Colman, for whose family he felt the warmest affection, and whose house he had called his home for the latter years of his life. Before his death he was engaged upon a collection of his unpublished poems, which still remain in manuscript. A glance at his poems shows a delicate susceptibility to poetical impression, tinged with an air of melancholy. He wrote with ease, often carelessly and pretentiously-often with eloquence. With a stronger constitution his verse would probably have assumed a more condensed, energetic expression. With a consciousness of poetic power he struggled with a feeble frame, and at times yielded to despondency. The memory of his tenderness and purity of character is much cherished by his friends. All THE BRIDAL Young Beauty at the altar! Oh! kneel down Has gathered on its dark transparency. And doth she tremble-this long cherished flower! With this chaste, silent picture of the heart! THE BUGLE. But still the dingle's hollow throat, O, wild enchanting horn! Wake, wake again; the night Is bending from her throne of Beauty down, With still stars beaming on her azure crown, Intense and eloquently bright! Night, at its pulseless noon! When the far voice of waters mourns in song, And some tired watch-dog, lazily and long, Barks at the melancholy moon! Hark! how it sweeps away, Soaring and dying on the silent sky, As if some sprite of sound went wandering by, With lone halloo and roundelay. Swell, swell in glory out! Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, And my stirred spirit hears thee with a start, As boyhood's old remembered shout. Oh, have ye heard that peal, Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise, Where wings and tempests never soar. No music, that of air or earth is born, PROSPER M. WETMORE. PROSPER MONTGOMERY WETMORE was born at Stratford on the Housatonic, Connecticut, in 1799. At an early age he removed with his parents to New York. His father dying soon after, he was placed, when scarcely nine years of age, in a counting-room, where he continued as a clerk till he reached his majority. He has since that period been engaged in mercantile business in the city of New York. With scant early opportunities for literary culture, Mr. Wetmore was not long in improving a natural tendency to the pursuits of authorship. He made his first appearance in print in 1816, at the age of seventeen, and soon became an important aid to the struggling literature, and, it may be added, writers of the times. He wrote for the magazines, the annuals, and the old Mirror; and as literature at that period was kept up rather as a social affair than from any reward promised by the trade, it became naturally associated with a taste for the green-room, and the patronage of the theatrical stars of the day. Mr. Wetmore was the companion of Price, Simpson, Brooks, Morris, and other members of a society which supported the wit and gaiety of the town. Am Watmon In 1830 Mr. Wetmore published in an elegant octavo volume, Lexington, with other Fugitive Poems. This is the only collection of his writings which has been made. Lexington, a picture, in an ode, of the early revolutionary battle, is a spirited poem. It has fire and ease of versification. The Banner of Murat, The Russian Retreat, Greece, Painting, and several theatrical addresses possessing similar qualities, are among the contents of this volume. In 1832 Mr. Wetmore delivered a poem in Spenserian stanza on Ambition, before one of the literary societies of Hamilton College, New York, which has not been printed. In 1838 he edited a volume of the poems of James Nack, prefaced with a brief notice of the life of that remarkable person. Mr.Wetmore, however, has been more generally known as a man of literary influence in society than as an author. He has been prominently connected with most of the liberal interests of the city, both utilitarian and refined-as Regent of the University, to which body he was appointed in 1833, promoting the public school system; as chairman of the committee on colleges and academies in the State Legislature, to which he was elected in 1834 and 1835; as member of the City Chamber of Commerce; as an efficient director of the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb; as President of the American Art-Union, which rapidly extended under his management to a national institution; and as a most active member and supporter of the New York Historical Society. These varied pursuits, the public indexes to more numerous private acts of liberality, have been sustained by a graceful personal manner, a sanguine temperament which preserves the freshness of youth, and a wide versatility of talent. The military title of General Wetmore, by which he is widely known, is derived from his long and honorable service in the militia organization of the state, of which he was for many years Paymaster-General. PAINTING. Peopling, with art's creative power, The lonely home, the silent hour. 'Tis to the pencil's magic skill Life owes the power, almost divine, To call back vanished forms at will, And bid the grave its prey resign: The lineaments beloved so well; With mailed men to people forth; On Calvary, the dying look That told life's agony was o'er- To dry the widowed mother's tear: Conceptions of the master-mind; What visions open to the gaze! "Tis nature all, and art is gone, We breathe with them of other days: Italia's victor leads the war, And triumphs o'er the ensanguined plain: Behold! the Peasant Conqueror Piling Marengo with his slain: That sun of glory beams once more, But clouds have dimmed its radiant hue. The splendor of its race is o'er, It sets in blood on Waterloo! What scene of thrilling awe is here! No look of joy, no eye for mirth; With steeled hearts and brows austere, Their deeds proclaim a nation's birth. Fame here inscribes for future age, A proud memorial of the free; And stamps upon her deathless page, The noblest theme of history! JAMES LAWSON, A CITIZEN of New York, and for many years connected with its literary interests, was born November 9, 1799, in Glasgow, Scotland. He was educated at the University of that city, and came early in life, at the close of the year 1815, to America, where he was received at New York in the countting-house of a maternal uncle. Mr. Lawson seems early to have taken an interest in American letters; for in 1821 we find him in correspondence with Mr. John Mennons, editor of the Greenock Advertiser, who was then engaged in publishing a miscellaneous collection of prose and verse, entitled the Literary Coronal. Mr. Mennons desired to introduce specimens of American authors, then a novelty to the British public, into his book, and Mr. Lawson supplied him with the materials. It was through this avenue and one or two kindred publications, that the merits of several of the best American authors first became known abroad. Halleck's "Fanny" was repud by Mr. Mennons in September, 1821, a fac-simile of the New York edition. In a second volume of the Literary Coronal of 1823, it was again re-published with poems by Bryant, Percival, James G. Brooks, and Miss Manley. An English edition of Salmagundi was published in the same year in the style of the Coronal, by Mr. Mennons, who was, perhaps, the first in the old world to seek after American poetry, and introduce abroad those felicitous short pieces of verse which have since become household words in England, through collections like his own. In this, he had a willing co-operator in Mr. Lawson, whose literary and personal friendship with the authors of the country has been a marked trait of his life. GamesLawend A third Edinburgh publication followed, “The American Lyre," composed entirely of American poetry. It opened with Ontwa, the Son of the Forest, a poem first published in New York in 1822, the curious and interesting notes to which on Indian character and antiquities, were written by the Hon. Lewis Cass, then Governor of Michigan. Ontwa is a spirited poem, an eloquent commemoration of the manners and extinction of the nation of the Eries. Another volume of the Coronal, liberally supplied with American verse, appeared in 1826. About this time the failure of the mercantile house in which Mr. Lawson was a partner, led him to turn his attention to literature. He had been already connected with the poet and editor, Mr. J. G. Brooks, in writing for the literary priodical of the latter, the New York Literary Gazette, and American Athenæum.* In this, Mr. Lawson wrote the first criticism on Mr. Edwin Forrest, who had then just made his appearance in New York at the Bowery Theatre, under the management of Gilfert. This opening performance, in November, 1826, was Othello; and Mr. Lawson's criticism of several columns appeared in the next number of his friend's paper. It was shrewd, acute, freely pointing out defects, and confidently anticipating his subsequent triumphs. The Literary Gazette, on its discontinuance, was immediately succeeded by an important newspaper enterprise, founded by Mr. J. G. Brooks, Mr. John B. Skilinan, and Mr. James Lawson, as associates. This was the Morning Courier grown into the New York Courier and Enquirer. The first number of this journal was issued in 1827; and its first article was written by Mr. Lawson. The joint editorship of the paper continued till 1829, when new financial arrangements were made, and Noah's Enquirer was added to the Courier. Mr. Brooks and Mr. Lawson retired, when the latter immediately joined Mr. Amos Butler in the Mercantile Advertiser, with which he remained associated till 1833. In 1830, a volume, Tales and Sketches by a Cosmopolite, from the pen of Mr. Lawson, was published by Elam Bliss, in New York. In these the writer finds his themes in the domestic life and romance of his native land, and in one instance ventures a dramatic sketch, a love scene, the precursor of the author's next publication, Giordano, a tragedy; an Italian state story of love and conspiracy, which was first performed at the Park Theatre, New York, in Nov. 1828. The prologue was written by the late William Leggett, and the epilogue, spoken by Mrs. Hilson, by Mr. Prosper M. Wetmore. This is Mr. Lawson's only dramatic production, which has issued from the press. He has, however, in several instances, appeared before the public in connexion with the stage. He was associated with Mr. Bryant, Mr. Halleck, Mr. Wetinore, Mr. Brooks, and Mr. Leggett, on the committee which secured for Mr. Forrest the prize play of Metamora by the late J. A. Stone, for which This weekly periodical was commenced by Mr. Brooks in the octavo form, Sept. 10, 1825, as the New York Literary Gazette and Phi Beta Kappa Repository; the latter portion of the title being taken from some dependence upon the support of members of that Society, which turned out to be nugatory. At the end of the volume, with the twenty-sixth number, the Phi Beta title was dropped, and an association effected with a similar publication. The American Athenæum, also weekly in quarto, conducted by George Bond, which had been commenced April 21, 1525, of which forty-four numbers had been issued. The joint publication bore the title "The New York Literary Gazette and American Athenæum," and as such was published in two quarto volumes, ending March 3, 1827. † John Augustus Stone, the author of Metamora, was born in 1801. at Concord, Mass. He was an actor as well as dramatic writer, and made his first appearance in Boston as "Old Norval" in the play of Douglas. He acted in New York in 1826, and in Philadelphia afterwards at intervals. He received five hundred dollars from Mr. Forrest for Metamora. He wrote two other plays in which Mr. Forrest performed, The Ancient Briton, in which he took the part of Brigantius, and for which he paid the author a thousand dollars; and Fauntleroy, The Bunker of Rouen,aversion of the story of the English personage of that name. In the latter, the hero was executed on the stage by a machine bearing a close resemblance to an actual guillotine. The loaded knife descended; the private signal was imperfectly given, and the young American tragedian saved his head by a quick motion at the expense of his locks, which were closely |