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thought might properly be employed in a work not immediately connected with my pastoral labors.
In the recollection of the past portions of my life, I refer to these morning hours,—to the stillness and quiet of my room in this house of God when I have been permitted to prevent the dawning of the morning" in the study of the Bible, while the inhabitants of this great city were slumbering round about me, and before the cares of the day and its direct responsibilities came upon me,- I refer, I say, to these scenes as among the happiest portions of my life ; and I could not do a better thing in reference to my younger brethren in the ministry, than to commend this habit to them as one closely connected with their own personal piety, and their usefulness in the world.
Life at Three-Score.
ROBERT C. SANDS, 1799–1832. ROBERT C. SANDS was born in the city of New York, May 11, 1799. He entored the Sophomore class in Columbia College in 1812, and was graduated, with a high reputation for scholarship, in 1815. He soon after began the study of law in the office of David B. Ogden, entering upon his new course of study with great ardor, and pursuing it with steady zeal. He had formed in college an intimate friendship with James Eastburn, afterwards a clergyman of the Protestant Episcopal Church; and in 1817 he commenced, in conjunction with his clerical friend, a romantic poem, founded on the history of Philip, the celebrated Sachem of the Pequods. But Mr. Eastburn's health began to fail early in 1819, and he died in December of that year, before the work was completed. It was therefore revised, arranged, and completed, with many additions, by Sands, who introduced it with a touching proem, in which the surviving poet mourned, in elevated and feeling strains, the accomplished friend of his youth. The poem was published, under the title of Yamoyden, at New York, in 1820, was received with high commendation, and gave Mr. Sands great literary reputation throughout the United States.
In 1820, Mr. Sands was admitted to the bar, and opened an office in the city of New York; but his ardent love of general literature gradually weaned him from his profession. In 1822 and 1823, he wrote many articles for the “Literary Review," a monthly periodical, and in 1824 the “Atlantic Magazine" was established and placed under his charge. He gave it up in six months; but when it became changed to the “ New York Review," he was engaged as an editor, and assisted in conducting it till 1827. He had now become an author by profession, and looked to his pen for support, as he had before looked to it for fame or for amusement; and when an offer of a liberal salary was made him as an assistant editor of the “New York Commercial Advertiser," he accepted it, and continued his connection with that journal until his death, wbich took place on the 17th of December, 1832; in the mean time editing and writing a
great number of miscellaneous works. A selection from his works was published in 1834, in two volumes, ootavo, entitled Writings in Prose and Verse, with a Memoir.
FROM THE PROEM TO YAMOYDEN.
Go forth, sad fragments of a broken strain,
The last that either bard shall e'er essay:
That first awoke them in a happier day:
And he who feebly now prolongs the lay
Of sacred song; the wont, in golden dreams,
O'er haunted steep, and by immortal streams;
Where the blue wave, with sparkling bosom, gleams
Forever lit by memory's twilight beams;
O'er battle-fields, the epic thunders roll;
Through Argive palaces shrill echoing stole;
There would we mark, uncurb'd by all control,
Or hold communion with the musing soul
Friend of my youth! with thee began my song,
And o'er thy bier its latest accents die;
Though not to me the muse averse deny,
Sometimes, perhaps, her visions to descry-
And he who loved with thee his notes to try,
T“That American literature experienced a great loss in the early death of Sands, will be felt by the reader who makes acquaintance with his well-cultivated, prompt, exuberant genius, which promised, had life been spared, a distinguished career of genial mental activity and productiveness."-DUYCKINCK.
A series of interesting papers on the early and unpublished writings of this "true son of genius" may be found in the twenty-first and twenty-second volumes of the "Knickerbocker Magazine."
? Mr. Eastburn died December, 1819, on a voyage to Santa Cruz, undertaken to regain his health.
ODE TO EVENING.
Hail! sober evening! thee the harass'd brain
And aching heart with fond orisons greet;
To thoughtful mind the hour for musing meet:
'Tis then the bard may hold communion sweet With lovely shapes, unkenn'd by grosser eyes, And quick perception comes of finer mysteries.
The silent hour of bliss! when in the west
Her argent cresset lights the star of love :-
Unseen return o'er former haunts to rove;
While sleep his shadowy mantle spreads above,
Round well-known couch with noiseless tread they rove,
Hour of devotion! like a distant sea,
The world's loud voices faintly murmuring die ;
While grateful hymns are borne from earth on high.
Oh! who can gaze on yon unsullied sky,
As those, the Virgin Mother's meek, full eye
Let others hail the oriflamme of morn,
O'er kindling hills unfurl'd with gorgeous dyes !
With holier thought, and with undazzled eyes ;
Where wealth and power with glare and splendor rise,
Still Memory's moonlight lustre let me prize;
From “ Yamoyden."
MONODY ON SAMUEL PATCH."
“By water shall he die, and take his end."-SHAKSPEARE.
Toll for Sam Patch! Sam Patch, who jumps no more,
This or the world to come. Sam Patch is dead!
Of dark futurity, he would not tread.
1 Samuel Patch was a boatman on the Erie Canal, in New York. He made himself notorious by leaping from the masts of ships, from the Falls of Niagara,
No friends stood sorrowing round his dying bed ;
Behind his corpse, and tears by retail shed ;-
Toll for Sam Patch! he scorn'd the common way
That leads to fame, up heights of rough ascent,
That some great men had risen to falls, he went
And jump'd where wild Passaic's waves had rent
And graciously the liquid element
Fame, the clear spirit that doth to heaven upraise,
Led Sam to dive into what Byron calls
He woo'd the bathos down great waterfalls;
The dizzy precipice, which the eye appalls
Pleasant, as are to women lighted halls
Has thousands,-better taught, alike absurd,
Where distant cataracts spout, of him men heard.
Alas for Sam! Had he aright preferr'd
Himself so fearlessly, we had not heard
The chord whose music is undying, if
Leander dived for love. Leucadia's cliff
The Lesbian Sappho leap'd from in a miff,
Because the wax did not continue stiff ;
And Helle's case was all an accident,
As everybody knows. Why sing of these?
and from the Falls in the Genesee River, at Rochester. He did this, as he said, to show " that some things can be done as well as others;" and hence this, now, proverbial phrase. His last feat was in the summer of 1831, when, in the presence of many thousands, he jurnped from above the highest rock over which the water falls in the Genesee, and was lost. He had drank too freely before · going upon the scaffold, and lost his balance in descending. The above verses were written a few days after this event.
Nor would I rank with Sam that man who went
Down into Ætna's womb-Empedocles
I think he call'd himself. Themselves to please, Or else unwillingly, they made their springs;
For glory in the abstract, Sam made his, To prove to all men, commons, lords, and kings, That “ some things may be done as well as other things."
And while Niagara prolongs its thunder,
Though still the rock primeval disappears, And nations change their bounds—the theme of wonder
Shall Sam go down the cataract of long years;
And if there be sublimity in tears,
When his frail star gave way, and waked his fears
Who would compare the maudlin Alexander,
Blubbering, because he had no job in hand, Acting the hypocrite, or else the gander,
With Sam, whose grief we all can understand ?
His crying was not womanish, nor plann'd For exhibition; but his heart o'erswell'd
With its own agony, when he the grand Natural arrangements for a jump beheld, And, measuring the cascade, found not his courage quellid
But, ere he leap'd, he begg'd of those who made
Money by his dread venture, that if he Should perish, such collection should be paid
As might be pick'd up from the “ company"
To his mother. This, his last request, shall be
An iris, glittering o'er his memory,
Therefore it is considered, that Sam Patch
Shall never be forgot in prose or rhyme; His name shall be a portion in the batch
Of the heroic dough, which baking Time
Kneads for consuming ages—and the chime Of Fame's old bells, long as they truly ring,
Shall tell of him: he dived for the sublime, And found it. Thou, who with the eagle's wing, Being a goose, wouldst fly,-dream not of such a thing!