Part 17 (1/2)
”Bring back the joyous hopes of youth!
The faith that knew no flaw of doubt!
The spotless innocence and truth That clothed my maiden soul about!
Bring back the grace of girlhood gone, The rapturous zest of other days!
The dew and freshness of the dawn, That lay on life's untrodden ways-- The glory that will s.h.i.+ne no more For me on earthly sea or sh.o.r.e!
”Call back the sweet home-joys of old That gladdened many a Christmas-tide-- The faces hidden in the mould, The dear lost loves that changed or died!
O, gentle spirits, gone before, Come, from the undiscovered lands, And bring the precious things of yore To aching heart and empty hands; Keep all the wealth of earth and sea, But give my lost ones back to me.
”Vain are my tears, my pleadings vain!
O, roses, drifting with the tide, To me shall never come again The glory of the years that died!
Thro' gloom and night, sweet flowers, drift on-- Drift out upon the unknown sea; Into the holy Christmas dawn Bear this impa.s.sioned prayer for me: O, turn, dear Lord, my heart away From things that are but for a day; Teach me to trust thy loving will, And bear life's heavy crosses still.”
NATHAN COVINGTON BROOKS, A.M., LL.D.
The following sketch is princ.i.p.ally from the Third Volume of Biographical Sketches of Eminent Americans.
”Nathan Covington Brooks, the youngest son of John and Mary Brooks, was born in West Nottingham, Cecil county, Maryland, on the 12th of August, 1809. His education was commenced at the West Nottingham Academy, then under the charge of Rev. James Magraw, D.D., and subsequently he graduated as Master of Arts, at St. John's College, Annapolis, Md. His thesis was a poem on the World's Changes. Diligent and persevering in his studies, his rapid progress and high attainments won the regard of his teachers, while his amiable manners endeared him to his cla.s.smates.
While his princ.i.p.al delight was in the study of the Cla.s.sics, he devoted much attention to mathematics and other studies. Like many other writers, some of his earliest efforts were in verse. Indeed it may be said of him, as of Pope, that he 'lisped in rhyme.'
Though we have no Shakespeares, or Miltons, or Byrons, there is no scarcity of literary amateurs who, in their hours of recreation and dalliance with letters, betake themselves to poetry as an amus.e.m.e.nt for their leisure hours or a solace amid the rude trials of life. High in the rank of these writers of occasional poetry stands Dr. Brooks.
Nature, in all her forms, he has made the subject of close observation and profound reflection, and in looking at Nature, he has used his own eyes and not the spectacles of other writers. He has a keen relish for the beautiful, and a deep sympathy with the truthful and the good. His taste, formed on the finest models, has been ripened and chastened by a patient study of the great monuments of antiquity. His thoughts seem to be the natural development of his mind; and his words the unstudied expression of his thoughts. The music of his verse reminds us sometimes of the soft cadences of Hemans, and not unfrequently of the mournful harp of Byron.”
In his eighteenth year he was a contributor of prose and poetry to the _Minerva and Emerald_, and _Sat.u.r.day Post_, of Baltimore; subsequently contributed to _The Wreath_, _Monument_, _Athenaeum_, and _Protestant_, of the same city. In 1830 he edited _The Amethyst_, an annual and soon after became a contributor of prose and poetry to _Atkinson's Casket_, and _The Lady's Book_, of which latter he was the first paid contributor; wrote for _Burton's Magazine_, and _Graham's_, _The New York Mirror_, _The Ladies' Companion_, and the _Home Journal_; and the following annuals, _The Gift_, _The Christian Keepsake_, and _The Religious Souvenir_. He contributed also prose and poetry to _The Southern Literary Messenger_, _The Southern Quarterly_ of New Orleans, _The London Literary Gazette_, and _The London Court Journal_.
In 1837 Marshall, of Philadelphia, published a volume of his religious poems, ent.i.tled ”Scriptural Anthology.” In 1840, Kay Brothers, of Philadelphia, published a volume of his prose and poetry, under the name of ”The Literary Amaranth.” Besides these Dr. Brooks has edited a series of Greek and Latin cla.s.sics, has written four volumes on religious subjects, one on ”Holy Week,” just issued from the press, ”The History of the Mexican War,” which was translated into German, ”Battles of the Revolution,” etc.
In his literary career he has won three prizes that will be cherished as heirlooms in the family, a silver pitcher, for the best prose tale, ent.i.tled ”The Power of Truth,” and two silver goblets, one a prize for the poem ent.i.tled ”The Fall of Superst.i.tion,” the other a prize for a poem, ”The South-sea Islander,” for which fifteen of our leading poets were compet.i.tors.
Though in his leisure moments Dr. Brooks has achieved so much in literature, his profession has been that of an educator, in which he has had the mental training of males and females to the number of five or six thousand. In 1824, he was appointed to the village school in Charlestown, Cecil county, in 1826, established a private school in Baltimore city; in 1831 was elected princ.i.p.al of the Franklin Academy, Reistertown, and in 1834 princ.i.p.al of the Brookesville Academy, Montgomery county, both endowed by the State; in 1839, he was unanimously elected over forty-five applicants as princ.i.p.al of the Baltimore City High School which position he held for nine years, until asked by the Trustees of the Baltimore Female College, in 1848, to accept the organization of the inst.i.tution. The College is chartered and endowed by the State of Maryland, has graduated over three hundred young ladies, and trained and sent forth two hundred teachers. Emory College, Oxford, Georgia, conferred the degree of LL.D., on Professor Brooks in 1859, and in 1863 his name was presented, with others, for the presidency of Girard College. Though Major Smith, a Philadelphian of an influential family, was elected president, Professor Brooks received more votes than any of the other compet.i.tors. In 1827, he married Mary Elizabeth, eldest daughter of William Gobright, a lady of great beauty and excellence, and in 1867, married Christiana Octavia, youngest daughter of Dr. William Crump, of Virginia. Of the former union four sons and two daughters are living; of the latter union a son. The following poems are selected as specimens of his style.
THE MOTHER TO HER DEAD BOY.
The flowers you reared repose in sleep With folded bells where the night-dews weep, And the pa.s.sing wind, like a spirit, grieves In a gentle dirge through the sighing leaves.
The sun will kiss the dew from the rose, Its crimson petals again unclose, And the violet ope the soft blue ray Of its modest eye to the gaze of day; But when will the dews and shades that lie So cold and damp on thy shrouded eye, Be chased from the folded lids, my child, And thy glance break forth so sweetly wild?
The fawn, thy partner in sportive play, Has ceased his gambols at close of day, And his weary limbs are relaxed and free In gentle sleep by his favorite tree.
He will wake ere long, and the rosy dawn Will call him forth to the dewy lawn, And his sprightly gambols be seen again, Through the parted boughs and upon the plain; But oh! when will slumber cease to hold The limbs that lie so still and cold?
When wilt thou come with thy tiny feet That bounded my glad embrace to meet?
The birds you tended have ceased to sing, And shaded their eyes with the velvet wing, And, nestled among the leaves of the trees, They are rocked to rest by the cool night breeze.
The morn will the chains of sleep unbind, And spread their plumes to the freshening wind; And music from many a warbler's mouth Will honey the grove, like the breath of the south; But when shall the lips, whose lightest word Was sweeter far than the warbling bird, Their rich wild strain of melody pour?
They are mute! they are cold! they will ope no more!
When heaven's great bell in a tone sublime Shall sound the knell of departed Time, And its echoes pierce with a voice profound Through the liquid sea and the solid ground, Thou wilt wake, my child, from the dreamless sleep Whose oblivious dews thy senses steep, And then will the eye, now dim, grow bright In the glorious rays of Heaven's own light, The limbs, that an angel's semblance bore, Bloom 'neath living trees on the golden sh.o.r.e, And the voice that's hushed, G.o.d's praises hymn 'Mid the bands of the harping seraphim.
TO A DOVE.
MOURNING AMID THE RUINS OF AN ANCIENT CHURCH.