FROM stories rare, of which I've read and heard,Descriptive of the far-famed southern clime,I was induced to make a flying tourTo the metropolis of the sunny South.I left my village home ere yet the budsOf spring had come to deck the woodland hills,Or balmy fragrance of the sweet wild flowersHad from their tiny cups been offered up.A splendid steamer bore me proudly onUpon our own Ohio's flashing waves,Whose sparkling waters, pure, meandering flowBetween their lofty shores, and sweetly laveThe sloping bases of romantic hills,That, towering, seem in majesty upreared,As if to guard them from intrusive harm;While sweetly gliding waves and wavelets chaseEach other till their kindred waves embrace,Where Mississippi's turbid waters sweepIn solemn grandeur to the mighty deep.Nought of importance meets the traveller's eye,Till many miles are numbered down this stream;The scene on either shore is lowly laid,Of forests dense, monotonous and drear.But gay young hearts, when nought is found withoutTo cheer the spirit, turn their thoughts within,—(I mean in-doors); for here sweet music pealed,And gay forms "tripped the light fantastic toe"In graceful measure through the merry dance;While wit and mirth and joyous songs of gleeGave fleet wings to the hours of revelry.Ere long, as if by magic, all was changed;And as Mohammed, in one night, was borneFrom earth to the Elysian fields above,So our transition seemed from dreary scenesOf low, wild lands, to those delightful valesWhere Sylvia reigned in glorious majesty,And blooming plants, and flowers of royal tint,In clustering beauty hovered round her throne,And, with bewitching fealty, obeyedThe orders of her maiden, Zephyr's voice,And bowed their gentle heads, and clapped their hands,In fond expression of their gratitude,For the sweet glances of her sunlit eye,And tender music from the feathery choir—Sweet heralds—that were chanting to her praise.One lovely morn, while yet the dew-drops clungIn fondness to the rosebud's coral lip,And sparkling shone from out the lily's cup,—When all within the sweep of vision seemedArrayed in beauty for some festive scene,—Our proud "Montgomery," like an aquatic bird,That seemed o'erwearied with the long night's toil,Now gracefully retired to the shore,And gave brief respite to her dripping wheels.A few short moments passed, and from her decksAnd crowded cabins streamed a living fileOf joyous beings, eager to attainA first foothold upon the levee's brow,From which the prospect seemed an Eden fairOf rich plantation scenery, nowhere foundReplete with so much loveliness as here,In this reputed land of wealth and fame.In towering grandeur, on a gentle swellOf those delightful premises, reposeThe planter's mansion, winged on every sideWith light verandahs, and o'erhung with treesWhose boughs were bending with the weight of leavesAnd fragrant flowers from creeping vines, thatTwined in fond embrace around each spreading branch,Or waved in graceful festoons on the breeze.Our joyous party strolled with lightsome stepsAround the outskirts of those pleasant grounds,Respectfully refraining near approach;When, leaning, half concealed amid the flowers,A fair young girl was seen."A Floral Queen!" a dozen lips exclaimed.With grace peculiar to her own sweet clime,And in a low, soft voice, like music-tones,She gave us kind admittance to her realm,And, with her own fair fingers, culled for usThe brightest of her lovely floral gems.The moments flew unheeded while we strayedAmong those fairy scenes,—as in a dream,—Intoxicated with the mingled breathOf various perfumes wafted on the breeze,And charmed with each new beauty that surprisedOur buoyant fancy, till the magic spellOf poesy, that was stealing o'er the mind,Was broken by the boat's sonorous bell,Which warned us that one hasty glance was allNow left for our infatuated eyes.Bright scenes, as lovely as the one described,Dot, at short intervals, the smooth, green shoresOf this great river, interspersed with townsAnd busy cities, redolent with life;While here and there a marshy strip of landUncultivated lies,—luxuriantlyO'erspread with broad palmetto fans, that waveTheir green wings with the slender-shafted cane,O'ershadowed by the sombre cypress trees,From whose strong arms depending mosses hangIn silvery valance to the water's edge.The prospect grows more animate and brightAs we approach the haven of our hopes;And as we near this city of renown,A thousand wild, fantastic visions rise,—Imaginary fancies,—highly wrought,Of fond romance and daring tragedy,As gathered from the legends of the past,When New Orleans was in the early blushOf her primeval life,—Ere yet the war-cry through the forest wildHad ceased its dread creations, or the screamOf savage beasts from their entangled lairsWas silenced by the steady, onward treadOf Christian footsteps, in the march of time.But fancy here may dream no longer nowIn measured numbers of what might have been,Or what the future may have yet in store.For, as we near and nearer still approach,And steeples tall, and spires and domes appear,Tier after tier, in glittering sunlight seen,The mind becomes confused amid the humOf human voices, floating on the breeze,That come like ocean surges from afar,Or the dull sounds of distant tornado.The past and future are alike dismissed;And every thought and impulse of the soulSeems centered in the one eternal now.
