Text: Edgar Allan Poe (?), Literary, Broadway Journal (New York), November 29, 1845, vol. 2, no. 21, p. ???, col. ?

[page 322, column 2, continued:]

The Aristidean, for October, is unusually rich in good things — more particularly in the way of poetry. “The Nameless River,” (which we attribute to A. M. Ide, Jr.) is exquisitely versified and has some passages of a high order of poetic excellence. We make a few quotations.

Serene its radiant waters flow,

In valleys calm and deep,

Where pine and ever-green cedar grow

And bending willows weep.

++++

Beautiful flowers its banks adorn,

Its waves are lily-crowned,

And harvests of the emerald com

Swell o’er the plains around.

++++

Yet not for this, for evermore

I love its silvery tide;

My steadfast, peerless Isadore

Dwells on the river-side!

++++

Still unto her my spirit leans,

When, by the river side,

‘Mid fragrant flowers and evergreens

I walk at eventide.

++++

Upon its grassy banks at noon,

Like one in dreams astray,

I listen to the tremulous tune

The gliding waters play.

++++

I loiter by its waves at night,

Through shadowy vales afar,

With visions of ideal delight

Entranced as lovers are.

++++

With tremulous stars the waters gleam,

Like old enchanted streams: —

Beneath her lattice, wreathed with vine,

They murmur whilst she dreams!

“The Hope of the Broken-Hearted” is remarkable for its passionate expression. We attribute it to the pen of T. Mayne Reed, Esq., of Philadelphia.

Here is something terse and passionate — undoubtedly by Mr. English.

Take back the token!

The words have been spoken;

The cord and the chain

Have been severed in twain,

So that never again

May we bind up the links that are broken.

++++

Quench the last ember,

Nor ever remember

The heart tempest-tost,

Nor the love thou hast lost,

Nor the tears that it cost,

Nor the life which has reached its December.

++++

Now and forever

Our spirits must sever, —

Must sever, and yet

Can we ever forget

Our delight when we met?

By the wo of our memory never!

Among the prose papers there is an exceedingly queer, one (no doubt by the editor.) We give an extract which will explain the design:

Anxious to present our readers with the best specimens of the poetry of this country, we addressed notes to various of our poets, [column 2:] requesting them to furnish us, without charge, the means of fulfilling our desire. This, we conceived, to be a very modest request. To our surprise, some ot these notes were returned; and others were retained, hut no reply made. To some we received answers, with the required poems.

Here is a specimen:

BOSTON.

Dear Sir: — I am happy to oblige you. I send you the enclosed written in my usual, terse, epigrammatic style. The high opinion you express ot my powers as a poet, are just; and show you have more taste than the Hollis street congregation.

I am, very truly,

JOHN PIERPONT.

ODE TO THE MUSES

BY THE REV. JOHN PIERPONT.

Ye gentle muses! make me first

Of bards — like Harry Hirst!

To me the fire afford,

Of WILLIAM W. LORD!

And be my songs like Coxe's “Saul,”

Filled up with most abundant fol

— lol,

fol

de riddle dol!

++++

Ye gentle muses! let my rhymes

Ring like the clinking chimes

Of those Campanalo-

— gian ringers, whom you know,

Within the Tabernacle Hall,

Present abundantly the fol

— lol,

fol

de riddle dol!

++++

Ye gentle muses! if you will,

With fire my verses fill;

Permit this lamp of mine

O’er other lamps to shine;

And, if you won’t, confound ye all!

I’ll treat you to abundant fol

— lol,

fol

de riddle dol!