YORKTOWN.

Here met three nations, panoplied for fight,
  Moving before the vision gorgeously;
Then shamed with Battle’s gloom the paling Night,
  Upon the land and sea.

Earth quailed beneath the cannon’s burrowing roar,
  Beneath three Armies’ slow and ominous tread;
And Ocean who the portioned conflict bore,
  Shuddered with pain and dread.

But when the morning rolled the double shroud
  Of Night and Battle from the land and sea,
The Sun looked forth through no obstructing cloud,
  And saw a Nation free.

POET’S ENCHANTED LIFE.

THE ANGEL-CHILD.

A fairy land of grass and flowers,
  And of the greenest trees
A land of singing brooks and springs,
  A land of singing breeze. 
A land of bright but mellowed hues,
  Beneath the western skies,
The lady bore a beauteous child,
  In this sweet paradise. 
An auburn head—­an olive face—­
  An eye of azure light—­
A perfect beauty seemed the child,
  To my enchanted sight. 
I loved him for his loveliness,
  This budding, beauteous child,
The mother’s heart within would leap
  When e’er the infant smiled,
And when upon her warming breast,
  She watched his closing eyes,
His lips would smile, as if he saw
  The angels in the skies. 
And truth to say, she ofttimes thought,
  The angels were near by,
So strange a gleam was on his hair,
  So bright his cherub eye. 
He was so meek and gentle-souled,
  So free from evil stain,
Ah! well I knew, ’twere toil to find
  So lovely child again. 
It was a antique, white-walled cot,
  Beneath the western skies,
This lady dwelt with this sweet child,
  In this sweet paradise. 
The mother loved her beauteous child;
  Oft gazing on his sleep,
The joy that smoothed her matron brow,
  Was beautiful and deep. 
The summer flower hath hasty growth—­
  The sweet child grew apace,
And lo! a brighter loveliness,
  Was born upon his face. 
So fair—­so fair—­and oh! so dear! 
  Alas! a mother’s love
May be too strong to please her God—­
  The child went up above. 
And now alone the mother was
  In all this world so wide,
For ere the child had lisped his name
  Her stricken husband died. 
Alone in all this world so wide,
  Alone the mother was;
If this were true—­God wot ’twas false,
  Our hearts should sigh alas. 
The child—­the child—­transformed! come down,
  On rainbow-colored wings,
Whose flashing, o’er the mother’s path,
  A mystic glory flings. 
He set gay flowers of heavenly pride
  Amid this cursed clime—­
Ah! brilliant flowers—­ah! brighter flowers,
  Than bloomed in Eden’s prime. 
He softly led her on the way,
  And sang to her charm’d soul,
A sweet, low strain that men heard not,
  And fiends could not control. 
At last the mother went with him
  To dwell on Heaven’s wide plain,
Where father, mother, cherub now,
  Sing forth a glorious strain.