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Title: Blannerhassett's Island
Author: James Avis Bartley [
More Titles by Bartley]
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[A] 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.
Then came a dark-soul'd man, with magic eye,
And glozing tongue, and Blannerhasset's mind,
Became his slave, he could not now deny
His devilish spell, a villian, smooth refin'd,
Whose mighty arts his thoughtless victim bind,
In fearful chains: Burr was this Satan's name,
Who crept into this Eden unconfin'd,
And drove this erring pair of later fame,
Like that of old, to roam and sigh o'er earth the same.
"Come, go with me," said Burr, "and you shall find,
Strange honors, riches, and a deathless name,"
And Blannerhasset thought the villian kind,
Who fed his soul, on novel dreams of fame,
While Burr aspir'd to breathe a sinful flame,
Through Blannerhasset's sweet and guiltless wife,
But she his artful cozening overcame,
And brav'd the demon with victorious strife,
And sacredly maintained the whiteness of her life.
But they were ruin'd, this sequester'd pair,
Who shunn'd the world's alluring charms to crime,
Soon they were driven forth in dark despair,
Like the sad consorts of that earlier time.
A grief fell on that island's blooming prime.
They pass'd away, and never saw again,
Their island home amid that pleasant clime.
Awhile they roamed o'er earth's most desolate plain,
But soon securely slept from life's wild woe and pain.
This is real history of that isle,
That ever draws the weary traveller's eye,
He sees its fairy greenness brightly smile,
Amid that river; as he passeth by,
Perchance his human eye's no longer dry,
While he recalls that mournful history;
And he may ask, with sudden sorrow, why,
The dream of rapture doth so early flee
And souls so meek and good, the prey of fiends should be.
That isle is now as lovely as of yore,
Gay Nature smiles as sweetly, the wild air
Is resonant with music; the green shore
Exhales a constant fragrance, sweet and rare,
But those who made its borders still more fair,
Have slept the sleep of death, long years ago,
Yet is their memory fresh, and ever there
The pilgrim's heart will feel the thought of woe,
His eye will blend a tear with yon fair river's flow.
[Footnote A: Transcriber's note: Spelling is different in the title of the poem; both have been kept as in the original.]
[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Blannerhassett's Island
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