But oh, the foul demons (horrific to tell)
  Have mixed a fierce poison, the wild flame of hell;
And it killeth each fairest and loveliest thing
  That the earth ever knew in her bridal of Spring.

’Tis the wild stream of hell! oh it burneth the soul,
  It scatheth, and blighteth, and killeth the whole;
Yet, a Vulture, it gnaweth the quivering liver,
  Forever consuming, but satiate never.

Ay, it fills the wide world with the wailing and woe,
  That liken the shrieking of Devils below: 
And the words of the eloquent never can tell,
  The abyss of this anguish, this foretaste of Hell.

Oh God of the curst! turn this fierce stream away,
  In trembling, and misery, and anguish we pray;
Make the waters of Temperance flow wide o’er the Earth,
  Till she shine as of yore in the smile of her birth!

BLANNERHASSETT’S ISLAND.

On beautiful Ohio when you sail,
And view its banks, forever green and fair,
And feel the falling sunlight, and the gale
That freshly stirs that wild and western air;
You may observe a lovely island there,
A greenery spot, enclosed by waters bright,
A spot of beauty, and a spot most rare;
There the fair summer moon sheds softest light,
And summer stars look down from heaven’s cerulean height.

Around that isle, a mournful story clings,
That ever wakes a soft and sad regret,
In those who feel the sorrow which it brings,
All swift and fresh upon the memory yet,
Of those who sail beyond it, brightly set,
An emerald within that crystal flood;
Its sad, strange name a feeling doth beget
That wakes a sigh in bosoms meek and good,
And leaves the thoughtful sprite in no ungrateful mood.

Here Blannerhasset[E] dwelt; a blest recluse,
In this green Eden of the leafy West;
And felt sweet Peace her softest balm infuse,
Into his once too world-disturbed breast: 
There did he find a deep and quiet rest: 
The mockbird sang his vespers, while the star
Shone sweetly o’er the rippling river’s crest;
There no rude sound the halcyon calm did mar,
And Grief was absent still, and Hate was banished far.

So Blannerhasset with his partner, dwelt,
In kind connubial tenderness, in this
Most gay and blooming scene; here, here they felt
That feeling which if earth hath aught like bliss,
Is bliss! the tender look! the touch! the kiss! 
And, often mid this sylvan scene was heard,
(Where no vile Envy gave its serpent hiss,)
The voice of love, the only, joyous, word
Which blended with the notes of wind, and rill, and bird.

Sweet pair! with all that’s best of life, possest,
Wealth, love, refinement, learning, genius, birth;
Bright, blooming offspring, virtuous, good and blest
Charming their hearts, with that young, pangless mirth;
And, when at evening mild, they saunter’d forth,
Beneath the rosy sky, they looked toward heaven,
And wondered why this was so bright an earth,
And why that God whose gifts to man are even,
This wondrous happiness to them alone had given.