Thus broke ambition's trumpet-note On Visions wild, Yet blithesome as this river On which the smiling moon-beams float, That thus have there for ages smiled, And will thus smile forever. And now no more the fresh green-wood, And leafy domes above them bent, So eloquent! Mocking the varied skill that's blent In art's most gorgeous piles No more can soothe my soul to sleep Their verdant passes through, The game's afoot!-and let the chase And wave death's pageant o'er me- Is glancing bright before me! Which taught the haunter of EGERIA's grove And lower, for awhile, his conquering lance A voice whose influence all, at times, have felt Do clashing meet Around the land: It whispers me that soon-too soon Of fruitless toil, And ills alike by thousands shared, Of which each year some link is made To add to "mortal coil:" And yet its strange prophetic tone So faintly murmurs to my soul The fate to be my own, That all of these may be Reserved for me Ere manhood's early years can o'er me roll. Yet why, While Hope so jocund singeth And with her plumes the gray-beard's arrow wingeth, Should I Think only of the barb it bringeth? Though every dream deceive That to my youth is dearest, Until my heart they leave Like forest leaf when searest Yet still, mid forest leaves, Where now Its tissue thus my idle fancy weaves, Still with heart new-blossoming While leaves, and buds, and wild flowers spring, At Nature's shrine I'll bow; Nor seek in vain that truth in her Since that time Mr. HOFFMAN has devoted his attention almost constantly to literature. While connected with the " American," he published a series of brilliant articles in that paper, under the signature of a star (*), which attracted much attention. In 1833, for the benefit of his health, he left New York on a travelling tour for the far west," and his letters, written during his absence, were also first published in that popular journal. They were afterward included in his "Winter in the West," of which the first impression appeared in New York, in 1834, and the second, soon after, in London. This work has passed through many editions, and it will continue to be popular so long as graphic descriptions of scenery and character, and richness and purity of style, are admired. His next work, entitled "Wild Scenes in the Forest and the Prairie," was first printed in 1837, and, like its predecessor, it contains many admirable pictures of scenery, inwoven with legends of the western country, and descriptive poetry. This was followed by a romance, entitled "Greyslaer,” founded upon the famous criminal trial of BEAUCHAMP, for the murder of Colonel SHARPE, the Solicitor-General of Kentucky,-the particulars of which, softened away in the novel, are minutely detailed in the appendix to his "Winter in the West." "Greyslaer" was a successful noveltwo editions having appeared in the author's native city, one in Philadelphia, and a fourth in London, in the same year. It placed him in the front rank of American novelists. He describes in it, with remarkable felicity, American forest-life, and savage warfare, and gives a truer idea of the border contests of the Revolution than any formal history of the period that has been published. The Knickerbocker magazine was first issued under the editorial auspices of Mr. HOFFMAN. He subsequently became the proprietor of the American Monthly Magazine, (one of the ablest literary periodicals ever published in this country,) and during the long term of which he was the chief editor of this journal, he also, for one year, conducted the New York Mirror, for its proprietor, and wrote a series of zealous papers in favour of international copyright, for the New Yorker, the Corsair, and other journals. The poems which follow are but a small portion of those which Mr. HOFFMAN has written; but they are nearly all that I have been able to collect from the magazines and gazettes in my possession. He has permitted them to have their periodical career in the journals, under a variety of unique signatures of his own invention, and the names of popular foreign authors, unclaimed, and by himself unvalued. The poetry of Mr. HOFFMAN is graceful and fanciful. No American is comparable to him as a song-writer. Although some of his pieces are exquisitely finished, they have all evidently been thrown off without labour, in moments of feeling. A few of his pieces, in which he has copied the style of the old and antique song," are equal to the richest melodies of the time of HERRICK and WALLER. MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. WRITTEN AT WEST POINT. I'm not romantic, but, upon my word, There are some moments when one can't help feeling As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirr'd And even here, upon this settee lying, With many a sleepy traveller near me snoozing, Thoughts warm and wild are through my bosom flying, Like founts when first into the sunshine oozing: For who can look on mountain, sky, and river, Like these, and then be cold and calm as ever? Bright Dian, who, Camilla-like, dost skim yon Tell me where'er thy silver bark be steering, strands; Tell if thou visitest, thou heavenly rover, A lovelier stream than this the wide world over? Doth Achelöus or Araxes, flowing Twin-born from Pindus, but ne'er-meeting brothers Doth Tagus, o'er his golden pavement glowing, Or cradle-freighted Ganges, the reproach of mothers, The storied Rhine, or far-famed Guadalquiver-Match they in beauty my own glorious river? What though no cloister gray nor ivied column Along these cliffs their sombre ruins rear? What though no frowning tower nor temple solemn Of despots tell and superstition hereWhat though that mouldering fort's fast-crumbling walls Did ne'er enclose a baron's banner'd halls Its sinking arches once gave back as proud When herald's trump on knighthood's haughtiest day Call'd forth chivalric host to battle-fray: For here amid these woods did he keep court, He who his country's eagle taught to soar, And sights and sounds at which the world have wonder'd Within these wild ravines have had their birth; Young Freedom's cannon from these glens have thunder'd, And sent their startling echoes o'er the earth; And not a verdant glade nor mountain hoary But treasures up within the glorious story. And yet not rich in high-soul'd memories only, Is every moon-kiss'd headland round gleaming, Each cavern'd glen and leafy valley lonely, me And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming: But such soft fancies here may breathe around, As make Vaucluse and Clarens hallow'd ground. Where, tell me where, pale watcher of the nightThou that to love so oft has lent its soul, Since the lorn Lesbian languish'd 'neath thy light, Or fiery ROMEO to his JULIET stoleWhere dost thou find a fitter place on earth To nurse young love in hearts like theirs to birth? O, loiter not upon that fairy shore, To watch the lazy barks in distance glide, When sunset brightens on their sails no more, And stern-lights twinkle in the dusky tideLoiter not there, young heart, at that soft hour, What time the bird of night proclaims love's power. Even as I gaze upon my memory's track, Bright as that coil of light along the deep, A scene of early youth comes dream-like back, Where two stand gazing from yon tide-wash'd steep A sanguine stripling, just toward manhood flushing, A girl scarce yet in ripen'd beauty blushing. The hour is his-and, while his hopes are soaring, Doubts he that maiden will become his bride? Can she resist that gush of wild adoring, Fresh from a heart full-volumed as the tide? Tremulous, but radiant is that peerless daughter Of loveliness-as is the star-paved water! The moist leaves glimmer as they glimmer'd thenAlas! how oft have they been since renew'd! How oft the whip-poor-will from yonder glen Each year has whistled to her callow brood! How oft have lovers by yon star's same beam Dream'd here of bliss-and waken'd from their dream! But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending, Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain's crest, And Night, more nearly now each step attending, As if to hide thy envied place of rest, Closes at last thy very couch beside, A matron curtaining a virgin bride. Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting: While through the shadowy boughs thy glances quiver, As of the good when heavenward hence departing, Thus broke ambition's trumpet-note On Visions wild, Yet blithesome as this river On which the smiling moon-beams float, That thus have there for ages smiled, And will thus smile forever. And now no more the fresh green-wood, And leafy domes above them bent, So eloquent! Mocking the varied skill that's blent In art's most gorgeous piles No more can soothe my soul to sleep Their verdant passes through, The game's afoot!-and let the chase And wave death's pageant o'er me- Is glancing bright before me! Which taught the haunter of EGERIA's grove And lower, for awhile, his conquering lance A voice whose influence all, at times, have felt Do clashing meet Around the land: It whispers me that soon-too soon Of fruitless toil, And ills alike by thousands shared, Of which each year some link is made To add to "mortal coil:" And yet its strange prophetic tone So faintly murmurs to my soul The fate to be my own, That all of these may be Reserved for me Ere manhood's early years can o'er me roll. Yet why, While Hope so jocund singeth And with her plumes the gray-beard's arrow wingeth, Should I Think only of the barb it bringeth? Though every dream deceive That to my youth is dearest, Until my heart they leave Like forest leaf when searest Yet still, mid forest leaves, Where now Its tissue thus my idle fancy weaves, Still with heart new-blossoming While leaves, and buds, and wild flowers spring, Nor seek in vain that truth in her 66 Since that time Mr. HOFFMAN has devoted his attention almost constantly to literature. While connected with the "American," he published a series of brilliant articles in that paper, under the signature of a star (*), which attracted much attention. In 1833, for the benefit of his health, he left New York on a travelling tour for the far west," and his letters, written during his absence, were also first published in that popular journal. They were afterward included in his " Winter in the West," of which the first impression appeared in New York, in 1834, and the second, soon after, in London. This work has passed through many editions, and it will continue to be popular so long as graphic descriptions of scenery and character, and richness and purity of style, are admired. His next work, entitled " Wild Scenes in the Forest and the Prairie," was first printed in 1837, and, like its predecessor, it contains many admirable pictures of scenery, inwoven with legends of the western country, and descriptive poetry. This was followed by a romance, entitled Greyslaer," founded upon the famous criminal trial of BEAUCHAMP, for the murder of Colonel SHARPE, the Solicitor-General of Kentucky,-the particulars of which, softened away in the novel, are minutely detailed in the appendix to his "Winter in the West." "Greyslaer" was a successful noveltwo editions having appeared in the author's native city, one in Philadelphia, and a fourth in London, in the same year. It placed him in the front rank of American novelists. He describes in it, with remarkable felicity, American forest-life, and savage warfare, and gives a truer idea of the border contests of the Revolution than any formal history of the period that has been published. The Knickerbocker magazine was first issued under the editorial auspices of Mr. HOFFMAN. He subsequently became the proprietor of the American Monthly Magazine, (one of the ablest literary periodicals ever published in this country,) and during the long term of which he was the chief editor of this journal, he also, for one year, conducted the New York Mirror, for its proprietor, and wrote a series of zealous papers in favour of international copyright, for the New Yorker, the Corsair, and other journals. The poems which follow are but a small portion of those which Mr. HOFFMAN has written; but they are nearly all that I have been able to collect from the magazines and gazettes in my possession. He has permitted them to have their periodical career in the journals, under a variety of unique signatures of his own invention, and the names of popular foreign authors, unclaimed, and by himself unvalued. The poetry of Mr. HOFFMAN is graceful and fanciful. No American is comparable to him as a song-writer. Although some of his pieces are exquisitely finished, they have all evidently been thrown off without labour, in moments of feeling. A few of his pieces, in which he has copied the style of "the old and antique song,” are equal to the richest melodies of the time of HERRICK and WALLER. MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. WRITTEN AT WEST POINT. I'm not romantic, but, upon my word, As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirr'd And even here, upon this settee lying, With many a sleepy traveller near me snoozing, Thoughts warm and wild are through my bosom flying, Like founts when first into the sunshine oozing: For who can look on mountain, sky, and river, Like these, and then be cold and calm as ever! Bright Dian, who, Camilla-like, dost skim yon Tell me where'er thy silver bark be steering, Tell if thou visitest, thou heavenly rover, Doth Achelöus or Araxes, flowing Twin-born from Pindus, but ne'er-meeting brothers Doth Tagus, o'er his golden pavement glowing, Or cradle-freighted Ganges, the reproach of mothers, The storied Rhine, or far-famed Guadalquiver-- What though no cloister gray nor ivied column Did ne'er enclose a baron's banner'd halls Its sinking arches once gave back as proud Call'd forth chivalric host to battle-fray: For here amid these woods did he keep court, He who his country's eagle taught to soar, And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming: But such soft fancies here may breathe around, As make Vaucluse and Clarens hallow'd ground. Where, tell me where, pale watcher of the nightThou that to love so oft has lent its soul, Since the lorn Lesbian languish'd 'neath thy light, Or fiery ROMEO to his JULIET stoleWhere dost thou find a fitter place on earth To nurse young love in hearts like theirs to birth? O, loiter not upon that fairy shore, To watch the lazy barks in distance glide, When sunset brightens on their sails no more, And stern-lights twinkle in the dusky tideLoiter not there, young heart, at that soft hour, What time the bird of night proclaims love's power. Even as I gaze upon my memory's track, Bright as that coil of light along the deep, A scene of early youth comes dream-like back, Where two stand gazing from yon tide-wash'd steep A sanguine stripling, just toward manhood flushing, A girl scarce yet in ripen'd beauty blushing. The hour is his—and, while his hopes are soaring, Doubts he that maiden will become his bride? Can she resist that gush of wild adoring, Fresh from a heart full-volumed as the tide? Tremulous, but radiant is that peerless daughter Of loveliness-as is the star-paved water! The moist leaves glimmer as they glimmer'd thenAlas! how oft have they been since renew'd! How oft the whip-poor-will from yonder glen Each year has whistled to her callow brood! How oft have lovers by yon star's same beam Dream'd here of bliss-and waken'd from their dream! yon But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending, Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting: While through the shadowy boughs thy glances quiver, As of the good when heavenward hence departing, THAW-KING'S VISIT TO NEW YORK. HE comes on the wings of the warm south-west, To drink these gems which the wave turns up, Then hies to the wharves, where the hawser binds There were faces and figures of heavenly mould, Th' Idalian nymphs were wont to wear. With twinkling foot and ankle trim. And he practised many an idle freak, For want of aught else to do, Arouse a miser's choler, And he laughs while he melts the soul of him And he thinks how small a heaven 't would take, And now, as the night falls chill and gray, And left him alone to gas and gloom, Music and mirth were gayly mingled; And thrusts at a dandy's heart; On a pedant, to try his art; But his aim is equally foiled by the dust y lore that envelopes the man of must. And next he tries with a lover's sighs To melt the heart of a belle; But around her waist there's a stout arm placed, Which shields that lady well. (would And that waist! O! that waist-it is one that you Like to clasp in a waltz, or-wherever you could. Her figure was fashion'd tall and slim, But with rounded bust and shapely limb; And her queen-like step as she trod the floor, And her look, as she bridled in beauty's pride, Was such as the Tyrian heroine wore When she blush'd alone on the conscious shore, The wandering Dardan's unwedded bride. And the Thaw-king gazed on that lady bright, With her form of love, and her looks of light, Till his spirits began to wane; And his wits were put to rout, "They are mockery all-these skies, these skies- The other's lashes through; They are mockery all, these flowers of spring, And the love to which we would madly cling, The winds are false which the perfume stir, WRITTEN IN A LADY'S PRAYER-BOOK. THY thoughts are heavenward! and thy heart, they say, Which love, O! more than mortal, fail'd to move, Now in its virgin casket melts away, And owns the impress of a Saviour's love! Many, in days gone by-full many a prayer, [thee, Pure, though impassioned, has been breathed for By one who once thy hallowed name did dare Prefer with his to the Divinity! Requite them now! not with an earthly love; But since with that his lot thou mayst not blessAsk, what he dare not pray for from aboveFor him the mercy of forgetfulness! |