Albert Pike

Albert Pike Poems

1.

Though the heart hath been sunken in folly and guilt—
Though its hopes and its joys on the earth have been spilt—
Though its course hath become like the cataract's foam—
Still, still it is holy, when thinking on Home.
...

2.

How many a tongue
With words of wondrous eloquence, hath sung
Of ' Home, sweet Home!' How the old memories throng,
Stirred by the sweet notes of the dear old song,
...

THOU glorious mocker of the world! I hear
Thy many voices ringing through the glooms
Of these green solitudes; and all the clear,
...

Thou art a radiant and imperial star,
Planet! whose silver crest beams bright, afar
Upon the edge of yonder eastern hill,
...

Thou art lost to me forever!—I have lost thee, Isadore!
Thy head will never rest upon my loyal bosom more;
Thy tender eyes will never more look fondly into mine,
Nor thine arms around me lovingly and trustingly entwine,—
Thou are lost to me forever, Isadore!
...

6.

Southrons, hear your country call you!
Up, lest worse than death befall you!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
...

Come out and sit with me, dear wife, beneath these branching trees,
And let our little children come, and clamber on our knees!
It is a sweet, soft, pleasant morn, the loveliest in May,
And their little hearts are beating fast, longing to be at play.
...

Young nursling of the Spring and southern mind!
Thou comest like tenderness fostered by neglect,
Or like new hope within a desert mind,
Lonely and beautiful. With new gladness decked,
...

Dear husband, raise me in thine arms,—the hour is drawing near
When I must part with thee, and these our little children dear.
Though froward often, I have been a loving, faithful wife,
And on thy breast I fain would rest, and breathe away my life.
...

A gentleman from ARKANSAW, not long ago, 'tis said,
Waked up one pleasant morning, and discovered he was dead;
He was on his way to Washington, not seeking for the spoils,
But rejoicing in the promise of a spree at JOHNNY COYLE'S.
...

The Ancient Wrong rules many a land, whose groans
Rise swarming to the stars by day and night,
Thronging with mournful clamour round the thrones
Where the Archangels sit in God's great light,
And, pitying, mourn to see that Wrong still reigns,
And tortured Nations writhe in galling chains.
...

When Autumn's chilly winds complain
And red leaves withered fall,
We know that Spring will laugh again,
And leaf and flower recall.
...

I.
Kind Comforter of all the weary Gods,
With drooping eyelids, head that ever nods!
Thou silent soother, that with all thy train
...

PRINTEMPS.
SWEET SPRING stands blushing 'mid the flowers,
Heralded by benignant showers,
And soft airs through the young leaves sighing
...

15.

The light of morning now begins to thrill
Upon the purple mountains, and the gray
Mist-robed old pines. Brightly upon the still
Deep banks of snow looks out the eye of Day;—
...

16.

Wake! children of France! shall your tyrant forever
Enslave and enchain you, and trample you down?
Do you fear the sharp fetters that gall you to sever,
And tear from the brow of the despot his crown?
...

THE SEA, THE SEA!
It rings as loud, it rolls as free,
As brightly flashes on this shore,
As where the deep, grave, calm vibration,
From its great heart's green, gushing core,
Washes the footprints of a nation
Of freemen, on New England's shore.
...

Farewell to thee, New England!
Farewell to thee and thine!
Good-bye to leafy Newbury,
And Rowley's hills of pine!
...

Like the young moon,
When, on the sunlit limits of the night,
Her white sheen trembles amid crimson air,
...

I.
Above me snows and ice-crags, and around
The Cordilleras towering, grand and stern;—
Near me a stream over the black rocks bounding,
...

Albert Pike Biography

Albert Pike (December 29, 1809–April 2, 1891) was an attorney, soldier, writer, and Freemason. Pike is the only Confederate military officer or figure to be honored with an outdoor statue in Washington, D.C. (in Judiciary Square). Pike was born in Boston, Massachusetts, son of Ben and Sarah (Andrews) Pike, and spent his childhood in Byfield and Newburyport, Massachusetts. His colonial ancestors included John Pike (1613-1688/1689), the founder of Woodbridge, New Jersey.[1] He attended school in Newburyport and Framingham until he was fifteen. In August 1825, he passed his entrance exams and was accepted at Harvard University, though when the college requested payment of tuition fees for the first two years, he chose not to attend. He began a program of self-education, later becoming a schoolteacher in Gloucester, North Bedford, Fairhaven and Newburyport. In 1831, Pike left Massachusetts to travel west, first stopping in St. Louis and later moving on to Independence, Missouri. In Independence, he joined an expedition to Taos, New Mexico, hunting and trading. During the excursion his horse broke and ran, forcing Pike to walk the remaining 500 miles to Taos. After this he joined a trapping expedition to the Llano Estacado in New Mexico and Texas. Trapping was minimal and, after traveling about 1300 miles (650 on foot), he finally arrived at Fort Smith, Arkansas. Settling in Arkansas in 1833, he taught school and wrote a series of articles for the Little Rock Arkansas Advocate under the pen name of "Casca." The articles were popular enough that he was asked to join the staff of the newspaper. Later, after marrying Mary Ann Hamilton, he purchased part of the newspaper with the dowry. By 1835, he was the Advocate's sole owner. Under Pike's administration the Advocate promoted the viewpoint of the Whig party in a politically volatile and divided Arkansas. He then began to study law and was admitted to the bar in 1837, selling the Advocate the same year. He was the first reporter for the Arkansas supreme court and also wrote a book (published anonymously), titled The Arkansas Form Book, which was a guidebook for lawyers.[citation needed] Additionally, Pike wrote on several legal subjects and continued producing poetry, a hobby he had begun in his youth in Massachusetts. His poems were highly regarded in his day, but are now mostly forgotten.[3] Several volumes of his works were self-published posthumously by his daughter. In 1859, he received an honorary Ph.D. from Harvard,but declined it. Pike died in Washington, D.C., aged 81, and was buried at Oak Hill Cemetery (against his wishes—he had left instructions for his body to be cremated).[3] In 1944, his remains were moved to the House of the Temple, headquarters of the Southern Jurisdiction of the Scottish Rite. As a young man, Pike wrote poetry which he continued to do for the rest of his life. At twenty-three, he published his first poem, “Hymns to the Gods.” Later work was printed in literary journals like Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine and local newspapers. His first collection of poetry, Prose Sketches and Poems Written in the Western Country, appeared in 1834. He later gathered many of his poems and republished them in Hymns to the Gods and Other Poems (1872). After his death these appeared again in Gen. Albert Pike’s Poems (1900) and Lyrics and Love Songs (1916).)

The Best Poem Of Albert Pike

Home

Though the heart hath been sunken in folly and guilt—
Though its hopes and its joys on the earth have been spilt—
Though its course hath become like the cataract's foam—
Still, still it is holy, when thinking on Home.
Though its tears have been shed like the rains of the spring—
Though it may have grown loath to existence to cling—
Oh, still a sweet thought like a shadow will come,
When the eye of the mind turns again to its Home.

Though the fire of the heart may have withered its core
Unto ashes and dust—though the head have turned hoar
Ere its time, as the surfs o'er the breakers that foam—
Still, a tear will arise when we think upon Home.

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