THE
HERMIT
OF
CHEVERLEY
WOOD
Les
An



ANACER IMIN








THE HERMIT
OF
7:3154
CHEVERLEY WOOD,
AND OTHER POEMS.
BY EMMA C. WAIT.
LONDON:
RANKEN & CO., DRURY HOUSE,
ST. MARY-LE-STRAND.
1873.


DRURY HOUSE
LONDON.W.C


To
MY DEAR MOTHER AND SISTERS,
WHO HAVE
SO AFFECTIONATELY TENDED
ME
THROUGH YEARS OF SUFFERING,
This Volume
IS LOVINGLY
AND
GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED.
Behold the chalice of my deep affliction
Is brimming o'er with added drops of joy,
And flows to you from out the fragile crystal
In waves of love that time can not destroy.





CONTENTS.
The Hermit of Cheverley Wood .
Saint Elsie's Well
In Loving Memory
The Wood Violet
My Life
Autumn
A Midnight Cry
Lines to My Brother-in-Law.
The Workman's Evening Rest
Teddy's Ship .
Divided Lives
The Path by the River
My Saviour
The Stars
A Birthday Wish.
Called Away .
The Heart's Complaint
Margaret an Acrostic
Baby's Pet Lamb.
The Rustic Seat
The Dying Girl's Messenger of Peace
PAGE
1
35865
33
61
67
68
70
71
75
79
81
83
85
86
87
58338
89
90
92
93


vi
CONTENTS.
Sonnet.
The Moon.
Recollections of Bamborough Castle.
The Night Watches
The Voice of the Sea
Retribution
What I Ask
Little Minnie
Το
A Cry for Patience
By the Sea
The Bachelor's Mission
IOI
102
104
109
IIO
112
114
115
117
119
120
121
123
124
125
127
129
134
136
138
139
140
140
141
143
146
Lines on Hearing of the Death of a once Dear Friend 148
―
Good Night
There is a Spot
A Happy Heart
The Sabbath Day
Strangers Now
My Baby
The Marks of Age
Friendship and Love
Sunset.
Farewell
·
•
·
The Way
To a Baby-Girl
Brave and True
Geraldine
·
Cut Down
My Heart.
The Dawn of Love
•
•
•
•
·
•
•
•
•
·
•
•
PAGE
95
·
96
98


CONTENTS.
vii
My Dear Old Songs
Sonnet to the Nightingale
A Birthday Prayer
Isabel.
Old Letters
Magdalen
Sleep
Au Revoir
On the Death of a Dear Sister
A Message Sent by Flowers.
Evening Shadows.
A Bay-Leaf
•
Nowhere to Lay His Head
Out in the Cold
Thy Name
Hope's Whisper
May
Come, See the Place.
Withered Flowers.
Heaven
My Beau Idéal
•
•
·
·
•
•
•
·
•
•
170
171
172
173
174
176
. 178
180
·
•
•
PAGE
150
151
152
153
154
156
158
159
161
163
164
167
168





THE HERMIT
OF
CHEVERLEY WOOD.
THE sun had ris'n, his golden light
Had bathed the earth in beauty bright;
The dewdrops sparkled on each tree,
The little birds sang merrily,
As to its very utmost speed
A horseman urged his panting steed.
Both horse and rider told that they
Had travelled far since yesterday.
They both looked wearied, yet they pressed
Onward with an unchanging zest.
One glance the rider caught at last
Of beauties through which he had passed.
He'd reached the summit of a hill,
And now he bade his horse stand still,
That he might for a moment view
The scene that ever sweeter grew,
B


THE HERMIT OF
As now the sun's rich tinted beams
Were thrown across clear winding streams,
Which through a vale meandered on.
The scene was fair to look upon;
It touched his heart, his hat he raised,
And God he humbly thanked and praised.
A moment thus, and then once more
He pressed on quickly as before.
A noble wood now came in sight,
Its trees had reached a lofty height,
Their leaves were dancing to the song
Of sighing zephyrs borne along;
The air was filled with melody,
From birds that flew from tree to tree,
So ready in their freedom sweet
With swelling notes the day to greet.
Reaching the margin of the wood,
The noble rider once more stood,
But not to gaze on earth or sky;
Another sight had met his eye.
A man, with flowing beard and hair,
Knelt in the attitude of prayer ;
His eyes were closed, his hands were clasped,
While at his feet a greyhound basked;
A long low whine, as of reproach,
It gave upon the knight's approach.


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
3
Startled, and like a stag at bay,
The man arose, to calmly say—
"Ah! stranger, hast thou lost the road?
Well, turn thee unto my abode,
"Tis but a hut of meanest kind,
But food and rest you there will find;
Your dress is travel-stained I see,
Pray, stranger, deign to follow me;
The best I have I'll give to you,
Your steed shall have refreshment too."
The stranger bowed and smiled assent
To that kind offer kindly meant.
"Is there no village near?" he said,
Following where the strange man led.
"Ah, no mine is the only home
For miles, whichever way you roam;
For years I've lived here all alone,
My dog my one companion."
"What!" cried the youth,
The strange recluse of Cheverley—
Him who so long has baffled well
"and do I see
Those who have sought where he could dwell?
They've sought him on each peaky height,
Each cavern searched dark as the night,
So curious were they; can it be
That thou to whom I speak art he?"


4
THE HERMIT OF
4
"Yes, I am he," the man replied,
As slowly now he turned aside
From the wide path which they had trod
Into a narrow winding road.
Most beautiful it was and fair,
A place that spoke of tender care;
A tiny brooklet wound along
One side of it with babbling song,
And there deep in the lonely wood
The hermit's hut in view now stood.
The stranger started in surprise
At the fair sight that met his eyes.
It was not rude as most huts are,
But sweet with many a flowery star.
The trees there had been cut away
That there might fall the light of day.
Some plants, too, grew in that wild haunt,
Which would supply his simple want.
"Welcome!" the hermit said, as wide
He threw his little door aside.
The stranger crossed the threshold, then
He turned to his strange host again—
"It is not poverty indeed
That forces thee this life to lead,"
He said, for his bright eyes had caught
Some treasures that are dearly bought.


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
сл
5
A book-shelf hung behind the door
Containing much of rarest lore:
Pens, ink, and paper lay around,
And some deep books most richly bound.
The hermit pointed to a chair,
Then quickly brought his humble fare—
A loaf of bread, some fruit and wine-
From which he oft was wont to dine.
"Eat, eat, my friend," he calmly said;
"The board is small and poorly spread,
Yet still your strength it will restore
Ere you the road must take once more."
"Thanks, thanks!" the youth exclaimed; "and while
I feast wilt thou the time beguile
By showing me this mystery-
That here a man like thee I see,
Of courtly mien and learning great-
Wilt thou the tale to me relate?"
A look of sadness overcast
The hermit's face, but soon it passed,
And then it wore its wonted calm,
With stately grace he raised his arm.
"Never before," he said, "have I
Related my life's history;
But as you ask me for the tale
The past for you I will unveil."


6
THE HERMIT OF
A moment's pause, then he began
His story sad, and thus it ran :—
"You see me in this humble home,
Yet I was once a priest of Rome.
The Mother Church from earliest youth
To me seemed goddess of the truth:
Its laws I kept, its dress I wore-
I loved them in those days of yore.
One night, the solemn service o'er,
I walked along the sacred floor;-
I thought I was alone with God,
As slowly through the aisles I trod.
The church was dim but for the light
Of candles on the altar bright;
The smell of incense filled the air,
As though fair flowers were growing there.
A rustling sound fell on my ear,
I turned and saw a lady near.
She pressed toward the altar rail,
Once there she threw aside her veil-
The youthful beauty of that face
Would need a poet's pen to trace.
She seemed in grief, for there she leant
As if in deep abandonment.
I knew she'd come for priestly aid,
So after due observance made


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
7
Unto the Cross as I passed by,
I moved towards her silently,
And drew aside a crimson fall
Revealing the confessional.
Into its sacred precincts she
Quickly arose and followed me.
'Daughter, we are alone,' I said,
And laid my hand upon her head;
Then she threw off her heavy cloak,
And strange wild words from her there broke.
It was so strange a tale to tell,
It fell upon me like a spell;
Though years have passed since that occurred
I can remember every word :—
'Most Holy Father!' thus she said,
'A friend while on her dying bed
Besought me, oh! so earnestly,
That I would stay and watch her die.
Although her faith was not like mine,
The mission seemed to me divine-
To minister to one I loved,
Who would from me be soon removed.
I stayed with her from day to day,
And watched her gradual decay;
My prayers unto Our Lady rose,
That she would bless that soul's repose.


8
THE HERMIT OF
And while I sat that loved one near
Her dying words fell on my ear:
66
Adell," she said, with sinking voice,
"My passing spirit would rejoice
If for a moment I could think
My words would turn you from the brink
Of that dark gulf on which you stand.
Here, darling, take my wasted hand,
And listen while I once again
Swear to you that your faith is vain.
You pray unto the Virgin mild,
She cannot save, perverted child;
'Tis but by faith in God's dear Son
That ever heaven can be won;
Your Purgatory is a myth-
A priest's invention for therewith
They are enriched at your expense—
It will not stand the light of sense.
Your many prayers will not avail;
When once the soul has passed the veil
It passes to its God who gave
It life, and who alone can save.
Jesus has come, and He for us
Hath giv'n His life upon the cross,
That He might save us from all sin,—
Through Him we free salvation win.


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
9
Your Church this truth doth never teach,
Such simple faith it cannot reach.
Adell, throw off your slavish chain,
It will be your eternal gain.
See what my faith has done for me:
I joy in my extremity;
I feel at death no dark alarms,
I'm safe in Christ's protecting arms.
Adell, my Adell" But her breath
Was spent by fast approaching death;
A smile o'er every feature stole,
While from the body passed the soul.
Father, to thee I now confess,
Nor would I make my sin seem less :
While listening to my dying friend
A subtle power seemed to descend-
Something that plainly showed to me
I worshipped a false deity.
Affrighted from the room I fled,
I knew not where, so great my dread:
A low sweet voice seemed calling me,
"Throw off the yoke of Papacy."
My steps were guided to a room
Where many lights threw off its gloom;
A book lay open-to engage
My thoughts I stooped and turned a page.


10
THE HERMIT OF
Father, 'twas the forbidden Book
On which my eyes were turned to look.
Something impelled me to remain,
I read it o'er and o'er again;
And now, wherever I may be,
The words I saw are still with me:
They sometimes give me hope, and then
They plunge me in despair again.
Say, father, is my sin too great
To be forgiven? I fear no fate,
No awful penance, if at last
Thou wilt absolve me from the past.'
Stranger, I heard her voice implore
For absolution, but forebore
To exercise my priestly power;
For, strange to say, within that hour
A feeling stirred within my soul
Which was beyond my own control.
A veil seemed lifted, and I saw
The Church of Rome my eyes before-
Not as I saw it in my youth,
But robbed of all its fancied truth;
Its outward grandeur still it bore,
But it was rotten at the core.
With tender words the young Adell
I sent from me, and then I fell


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
II
Prostrate in that confessional,
And doubt hung o'er me like a pall.
At length this darkened soul of mine
Caught one fair glimpse of love divine;
I searched the Book from day to day,
At last I found the living Way;
And then I sought the fair Adell,
The glorious news that I might tell.
I told her that her lips had shown
The truths that now I longed to own,-
Oh how I wondered that so long
I'd lived content among the throng
Of those in darkness, side by side,
Who superstition deified.
Poor child! although she had confessed,
Her spirit still could find no rest;
And as my words fell on her ears,
Her soul found sweet relief in tears-
There was no doubt that God had moved
Those thoughts that would not be reproved.
I walked with her o'er Bible ground,
And soon she peace and joy had found.
Amid my new-found peace I was
Troubled at heart for one great cause-
How should I to the Church make known
That I its faith had from me thrown?


12
THE HERMIT OF
*
*
*
*
One night while sitting wrapped in thought,
A message unto me was brought;
At church my presence was desired,
Then quickly I myself attired.
As I approached the sacred porch
I saw the glare of many a torch,
Dark scowling visages they showed,
Faces I knew with anger glowed.
A moment only did I doubt,
Then with an inward prayer devout
I passed them, strode along the aisle,
But no face met mine with a smile.
There hundreds of my brother priests
Waited for me like maddened beasts;
There was no doubt the truth was known,
The traitor never has been shown.
I was arraigned before them all,
And made to answer every call;
Yet I stood strong through faith in God,
Whose Son through paths of suffering
trod.
I heard a murmur in the throng,
I turned, and rudely borne along,
I saw sweet Adell's graceful form
Facing the darkness of the storm.


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
13
They marshalled her unto my side,
And then together we were tried.
But, oh! it was unequal play,
They would not hear what we might say,
But scorned the tale we had to tell,
And shameful words upon us fell.
The priest's anathemas were hurled
Against the flag we had unfurled;
We stood and heard the awful blast
Of excommunication passed.
Stranger, I think I could have borne
To have been subjected to scorn,
Had but that lady by my side
Been safe from that fierce sweeping tide.
But, oh how hard it was to bear,
To know that all she too must share.
Yet still her firm faith wavered not
As slow we turned us from the spot;
A thousand eyes upon us gleamed,
A host of unsheathed swords they seemed.
6
Fly with me, Adell,' then I cried;
'My life shall shield thee at my side:
God will His outraged saints defend,
And will us succour quickly send.'
I took her hand, we walked along,
The centre of that seething throng;


14
THE HERMIT OF
But at the door appalled we stood,
The crowd seemed thirsting for our blood.
A choking sob broke from Adell
As we were greeted with a yell;
The shrinking maiden tightly clung
To me as oaths were at us flung.
The moon had ris'n, and calmly shone
Our poor defenceless heads upon;
We felt the crowd around us press,
That moment's horror who can guess?
We could not move but where they led,
And soon I saw their purpose dread;
We were by them to be expelled
From that great city, which still held
Our many dear ones-all the cost
Of faith we felt when they were lost.
But yet we were most strangely calm
Beneath the wild, uplifted arm
Of those whose curses, dark and deep,
Might well have made e'en angels weep.
We reached at last the city's gate,
Amidst that mob infuriate;
Once we had gained a country lane,
The crowd streamed slowly back again.
But not without a parting stroke,
The worst that malice can evoke:


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
15
A stone from some malignant hand,
Thrown from that now retreating band,
Whizzed sharply past me through the air,
And struck poor Adell's temples fair;
Without a moan she forward fell
Upon the breast that loved her well.
I laid her gently down, and tried
To staunch the wound, both deep and wide;
But all my efforts to restrain
That crimson tide were all in vain.
Alone and helpless in the night,
I watched her life-blood flowing bright;
I cried to God in my despair,
That Adell might not perish there.
The sound of wheels then reached my ear,
And soon a vehicle drew near;
The kindly driver gave me aid,
And Adell soon was in it laid.
I do not know how far we went,
Her precious life seemed well nigh spent ;
At last we gained a widow's door,
Who well was known to me before.
She kindly welcomed us, and soon
Sweet Adell rallied from her swoon;
A faint smile crossed her lips again,
'I'll trust Him still, though He has slain.'


16
THE HERMIT OF
Those were the only words she spoke,
Her heart was stricken sore, and broke;
Her name has been of no renown,
But now she wears a martyr's crown."
The hermit paused, his face was bright
As from some strange seraphic light;
A low sob from the stranger broke,
Then once again the hermit spoke.
With gentle hands the greyhound's head
He fondly stroked, while thus he said-
"The very night that Adell died
I found my greyhound at my side;
His scent had traced me through each
street,
And found at last my safe retreat.
He gazed at me as if he knew
The awful scenes I had passed through;
And from that hour unto this date
We never have been separate.
I laid poor Adell in her grave,
Where sighing trees above her wave-
Her young life had been full of care,
But recompense was waiting there."
The hermit raised his earnest eyes,
And pointed upward to the skies.
*
*
*
*
*


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
17
"Though crushed and wounded, yet my faith
Survived that youthful martyr's death;
I questioned not Almighty power
To bring some good from that dark hour.
'Oh! be it mine now to proclaim
The saving power of Jesus' name!'
'Twas thus I spoke, I longed to show
The joys which through salvation flow.
But, ah! how little did I think
How soon my eager heart would sink!
I was pursued-go where I would,
The curses of the Church withstood
All my best efforts, all were foiled,
My fellow-men from me recoiled.
The Church of Rome no mercy knows,
Its priests are ever deadly foes
To those who have cast off its faith-
Their vengeance follows them to death.
I had much wealth, yet I could find
No peace or comfort in my mind,
For everywhere I turned I saw
The look of hatred as before.
At last the deep unceasing strife
Drove me to seek a hermit's life;
I coveted its sweet repose,
Far from the reach of all my foes;
с


18
THE HERMIT OF
And for my lonely home so free
I chose the wood of Cheverley.
I built this little hut, and then
My peace and joy came back again.
Your eyes have seen my ample store
Of modern and of ancient lore,
And though so far from humankind,
I study to enrich my mind;
My lonely home to me is dear,
I think I love it more each year.
'Tis five miles to the nearest town,
And when my scanty store runs down,
Then Frip and I the journey take,
Our little marketing to make.
Though now my dog is growing old,
Yet in the chase he still is bold;
He brings me many dainties rare,
And equally the dish we share.
I always seem to think that God
Has marked my solitary road,
For in a special manner He
Doth condescend to dwell with me.
Fair visions float about me oft,
While sitting in the twilight soft;
My Adell comes to me again,
Shining with light from yon bright plain.


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
19
Perhaps her angel form will come
At last to take my spirit home;
Her martyr's crown I then shall see
Shining in heaven's radiancy."
The hermit ceased, the stranger's eyes
Were fixed upon him in surprise;
The thrilling sweetness of his voice
Like music made his heart rejoice.
"Oh, let this story be proclaimed,"
In eager tones the youth exclaimed;
"Come forward to the world once more,
The tale shall spread from shore to shore.
Thy princely words so simply grand
Will stamp its truth in every land;
All Rome shall quake, a blow 'twill be
Struck at the root of Popery.
Thou think'st that I mistook my way
That thou hast seen me here to-day?
But, no! this secret way I took
Simply because we dare not brook
The wrath of priests, should it be seen
That private meetings I convene.
I'm one of a small Christian band
Who've risen in this darkened land;
The Gospel seed 'tis ours to cast,
Hoping to see some fruit at last :


20
THE HERMIT OF
The crafty priest's unerring eye
Seems to be on us constantly.
I was despatched with greatest speed,
Because there now is urgent need
That all of us to-night should meet
To ask God for His guidance sweet.
Oh, come with me, and let the ring
Of thy rich tones glad tidings bring!"
He pleaded hard and earnestly,
But the recluse of Cheverley
Thus made reply unto the youth
Whose eyes were opened to the truth :-
Stranger, I think it is God's will
I should remain a hermit still;
Though from the world so far away,
I am not idle night or day.
I've concentrated all my powers
Of intellect through lonely hours,
In writing out in more detail
The past that now I do unveil.
66
I often pray God to inspire
And touch my pen with living fire;
And watching it as quick it flew,
I've felt that it had work to do.
May it not be that God has sent
Me into this retirement,


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
21
Far from the world's engaging strife,
To write the story of my life,
That in my solitude He might
Shed o'er my words His holy light
To quicken them, that they may roll
Black clouds of doubt from many a soul?
If it be thus, say, stranger guest,
Shall not my hermit's life be blest?
Is it not sweet to think that He
Looked down and saw my misery,
And seeing all my tears and pain,
Hath turned them to eternal gain?
I am no vain enthusiast,
Yet thoughts like these cannot resist.
In darkness lies great ancient Rome,
Thrown from the height of each proud dome;
It seems as though deep curses lay
Upon this land that owns the sway
Of him who ever claims to be
Earth's one infallibility.
I think God's mercy is so great
That it will even penetrate
Into this land of errors deep,
Waking dead consciences from sleep.
Were things not working to that end
When He did sweetly condescend


22
THE HERMIT OF
To open eyes so dark as mine
Unto the truth that is divine?
I led the people far astray;
And thus, perhaps, the first faint ray
Of Christianity must shine.
Through all the woes that have been mine;
And from my Adell's grave shall rise
A holy offering to the skies:
Hereafter, from that sacred place,
Many shall their salvation trace,—
The story of her faith in God
Shall light poor sinners on the road.
Stranger, I think that Rome at length
Will rise in grand triumphant strength,
Shake off the chain she's worn so long,
And learn to sing the glad new song;
That through her ancient streets there'll be
A sound of gospel liberty.
Thus if I can so plainly see
The way marked out by God for me-
If the great work on which I've spent
The energies which He has sent,
Is destined to effect some good
Unto the Church where once I stood,
Then wherefore should I now resign
The noble task that has been mine?


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
23
Thy words, brave youth, have shown to me
That He is working mightily
Towards that end for which I've striven-
That Rome may see the light of heaven.
The knowledge that thy little band
Has risen in this darkened land,
Proves that the seed-time has begun
Which must unto the harvest run.
No, stranger, no! I do not burn
Unto the world once more to turn.
My calm life has unfitted me
For wrestling in its troubled sea;
My work approaches now an end,
And then I think that God will send
A messenger to bear me hence,
To find with Him my recompense."
The stranger stood in wonder great,
To hear the hermit thus relate
That through appalling earthly strife
He'd found the mission of his life,
While with prophetic language he
Foretold the future destiny
Of that great city, which as yet
Its former ways could not forget.
Each word he spoke seemed to the youth
To bear the impress of the truth.


24
THE HERMIT OF
"Most noble hermit!" thus he said,
"I thank my God that He has led
My steps unto this lonely place,
One of His holy saints to trace.
Thou sayest truth, the world's dark sea
Is no fit place for such as thee;
Life's battles now for thee are o'er,
And thou hast been a conqueror ;
Henceforth there is laid up in heaven
A crown, which will to thee be given.
Oh, sir! I will not longer ask
Thee to perform so hard a task,
As once again the sword to wield
Upon the world's great battle-field-
Far better that thou should'st have peace
Until thy earthly labours cease.
But, ah! I would this now implore,
That I might come to thee once more:
I fain would sit low at thy feet,
And listen to thy words so sweet.
List'ning to-day, thy every word
My inmost soul has strangely stirred.
Oh! do not this fond wish restrain-
Say, may I seek thee here again?"
A smile stole o'er the hermit's face,
Giving to it a nameless grace.


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
25
66
'Stranger," he said, "I cannot bear
To cast away so sweet a prayer;
Yes! come to me, if I can give
Strength to your faith that it may live.
Now that the sympathetic cord
Is touched, I know it will afford
Bliss that I have not known for years,
To speak again with one who wears
The armour of our Captain high,
Whose name we seek to glorify.
Stranger, whenever you may come,
You're welcome to my lonely home."
The youth arose; his fine dark eyes
Showed forth his joy without disguise,
As to the hermit gently he
Gave thanks for all his courtesy.
"The road," he said, "I now must take,
'Twill shorter seem for this sweet break;
It will not be ere fall of night
The distant city I will sight."
The hermit with a gentle sigh,
Now that the parting drew so nigh,
Arose, and silently once more
Threw open wide his little door.
With friendly words their way they took
Until they reached the tiny brook,


26
THE HERMIT OF
Near which the stranger's horse was tied,
Close to the welcome water's side.
Refreshed and strengthened by the food
He had received, the brave beast stood,
Waiting to hear his master's call,
Ready unto his work to fall.
Once more emerging from the wood,
Those new-made friends together stood.
"God bless thee, stranger! may He meet
With thee to-night with counsel sweet.
I pray Him that thy little band
May swell until through all the land
The tidings glad of Christ shall come
As freedom to benighted Rome.
And if we meet on earth no more,
We'll meet upon the heavenly shore;
There'll be no bar to friendship there
Where peace and love are everywhere."
The hermit's tender, last farewell
Upon the youth most sweetly fell.
"Farewell, farewell!" he cried, "and soon
Thou'lt see me; with the next full moon
I'll find my way once more to thee
Within the wood of Cheverley."
He mounted then his faithful steed,
And bade him go with greatest speed;


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
27
And with a smile both sad and bright
The youth rode quickly out of sight,
Leaving the hermit to his fate,
So lonely and so desolate.
*
*
*
*
Three weeks had passed, when once again
The stranger travelled o'er the plain :
The sun was high in heaven ere he
Had reached the wood of Cheverley.
He'd noted well the path his guide
Had taken by the sweet brook-side;
He tied his horse to the same tree;
From it the hut he now could see.
He hurried on and reached the door,
Knocked, each time louder than before,
But no response the youth could win,
So at the last he ventured in.
Oh! what a scene there met his sight,
In the fair morning's golden light!
Upon his couch the hermit lay,
His face turned to the light of day,
Lifeless and cold-while at his head
His greyhound, too, lay cold and dead.
The hermit's face was all serene,
As if sweet thoughts his last had been;


28
THE HERMIT OF
His hands were clasped, as if 'twere given
That praying he should enter heaven.
The stranger sank upon a chair,
Stunned by the sight so sad yet fair.
How terrible it seemed that one
Should die untended and alone!
He who the highest gifts possessed
Had passed in solitude to rest,—
Yet, no the hermit's lonely road
Was cheered and lighted by his God.
At length the youth glanced sadly round:
In ample order all was found;
Upon the little table nigh
An open note soon met his eye.
These last words were addressed to him,
And penned with eyes fast growing dim;
The lines sometimes he scarce could scan
For blinding tears, but thus they ran :-
"Ah! stranger, when thou com'st again,
The sight of me will give thee pain;
For then my spirit will have passed
Unto its promised rest at last.
But do not grieve-earth's work is done,
And heaven's glories now are won.
Does it not seem that it was true
What I that morning told to you-


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
29
That God designed the work that I
Have carried on unweariedly?
My manuscript is in the press,
And He will give it rich success.
My Adell came to me to-night,
Clothed as an angel, oh! so bright;
A beaming look was in her eyes,
As pointing upward to the skies,
She seemed to beckon me away
Unto the realms of endless day.
Her fancied presence does not go,
But moves about with motion slow,
As though she waited for command
To bear me to the heavenly land;
And so I seem to know that I
Will soon be in eternity.
One grief within my heart is found,
That I must leave my faithful hound
To perish near me in his grief,
Which will I know find no relief.
Stranger, if haply thou should'st come
Ere he has died, oh! take him home,
And love him for the hermit's sake,—
Wilt thou this kindness undertake?
It is so sweet to feel the breath
Of love that's faithful unto death.


30
THE HERMIT OF
I've often wished that I might lie
At Adell's side, where the soft sigh
And murmur of the self-same trees
Might tell our sad tale to the breeze.
But now I do not even seem
To care for that once cherished dream;
What matters it where bodies lie,
When souls have met again on high?
Look out some lowly spot where I
May rest in sweet obscurity;
My book will bear my real name,
Upon my tombstone place the same.
And now once more a last farewell!
May God's sweet Spirit with thee dwell;
In those few words so widely framed
All earth's best blessings there are named.
Grieve not, for now at rest will be
The strange recluse of Cheverley."
The very gate of heaven it felt
Unto the youth as there he knelt,
Asking for guidance from above,
And strength from never-failing love,
To carry out each simple plan
Laid down by that now sainted man.
And after prayer, no more cast down,
He rode back swiftly to the town;


CHEVERLEY WOOD.
31
Told all the tale to Christian men,
All things were quickly settled then.
The youth himself set out to trace
The martyred Adell's resting-place :
It was not difficult to find,
For there, where flowers were entwined,
A simple cross her sweet name bore,
With date of when she reached that shore
Where now they two together stood,
All purified through Jesus' blood.
And so those men devoutly brought
The hermit to the grave he sought,
And laid him by sweet Adell's side;
Thus was his last wish gratified.
The day had passed, when that small band
Received a note in some strange hand:
Its contents were a great surprise,
A noble cheque there met their eyes;
Its signature was bold and free,
The hermit's name of Cheverley
Was thus revealed—the name so long
Omitted from the world's gay throng.
This was the last work he had done
Before his earthly course was run,-
Fit ending to a noble life:
Noble because through all its strife


32
THE HERMIT OF CHEVERLEY WOOD.
He had looked up in faith to God,
And with humility had trod
The path assigned to him in love,
To fit him for his life above.
And often hath the stranger stole,
With chastened gladness in his soul,
That he might sit where peacefully
Sleeps the recluse of Cheverley.
His life has fled, but still we find
The fragrance from it left behind,
As flowers that are dead and gone
In perfumed sweetness still live on.


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
33
Saint Elsir's Well.
THE Soft, sweet radiance in the west
Threw o'er the earth a mystic light;
But nowhere did its glory rest,
With such array of colours bright,
As o'er the vale of Coresleigh.
The sunset, lingering with a smile,
Lit up the vale's fair scenery—
None sweeter in our lovely isle.
A little village slept beneath
The shelter of the grand old hills,
Whose brows were crowned with purple heath,
And o'er whose sides a hundred rills
Came rippling with a happy song,
As though rejoicing that their course
Was thus to gaily creep along
To join the stream, whose only source
Had ever been those secret springs ;-
That stream that o'er its pebbly bed
With low-voiced music softly sings,
As like a gleaming silver thread
D


34
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
It winds about with gentle flow,
Kissing with dewy lips the sweet
Fair flowers that near it trembling blow,
In simple grace, in that retreat.
The house of God, with tap'ring spire,
Stands on a distant flower-clad hill;
Its bells, like poet's sweetest lyre,
The troubled heart can strangely still;
For through the trees their music floats
Out clearly, and the stirring strain
Is caught by echo, and the notes
Flow softly through the vale again.
The pretty churchyard gently slopes,
And many a simple stone proclaims
The dear and fondly cherished hopes
That perished with those sainted names.
Sweet Coresleigh! thy peacefulness
Seems now as though no other scene
Had left its mark of wretchedness
To mar thy beauty so serene.
But as the canker-worm will steal
Into the heart of roses fair,
And eat till withered leaves reveal
The enemy that's hiding there;


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
35
So into thee long years ago
The canker-worm of sorrow crept,
And stopped not in its work of woe
Till over thee had rudely swept
A bitter tale of grief and wrong.
Ah! how it comes to me once more
While roaming thy sweet scenes among,
Remembrance of those days of yore.
Methinks 'twas just an eve like this,
The king of day low in the west,
Departing in a trance of bliss,
His glowing mantle on his breast,
When through the quiet village strolled
A maiden sweet and fair to see,
And slowly through the haze of gold
That lay upon bright Coresleigh,
Struck out upon the path that led
Up to the church, through pastures sweet,
Where wild flow'rs on their grassy bed
Talked of their gladness at her feet.
Not lighter seemed the tiny wing
Of songsters on their happy way
Than she, whose swift elastic spring
Scarce left a mark upon the way.


6
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
She onward went until she passed
The churchyard gate o'ergrown with
moss;
But where a line of yew-trees cast
Their shadow while their branches toss,
The swiftness of her footsteps waned,
And slowly by the wall she trod
Until a narrow path was gained—
The entrance to a lonely road
That wound along the hill's sweet brow,
And led to a secluded spot
Where many a village lover's vow
Had sweetly charmed their humble lot.
And now upon the list'ning ear,
Sweet as the gentle love-bird's call,
The low, soft plash of water clear
Sounds from a tiny waterfall,
That over many a smooth-worn stone
Runs rippling from the well-spring
deep,
Upon whose placid breast is thrown
Wild flowers that near it sweetly creep.
Beneath the willow's shade a seat
Direct from Nature's hand is seen-
A shadow from the noontide heat,
A grateful rest at eve serene.


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
37
'Twas that fair spot the maiden sought,
But swifter than her tiny feet
That hour another one had brought
Unto that sweet secluded seat-
One whose strong arms about her thrown
Told well unto the trembling maid,
The love as tender as her own
That sometimes made her heart afraid.
For, ah! she could but faintly guess
At what his station was, for he
With care (though all in tenderness)
Had kept his birth in secrecy.
So she but knew that they had met
As strangers one short month before,
And felt she never could forget
The love now hers for evermore.
With fond caress the lovely face
He drew to him, that he might trace
Beneath its innocent disguise
The love that lay in those dear eyes,
And in the mantling blushes bright,
That seemed to catch the rosy light
Of yon fair sunset, dying now
Behind the dark hill's lofty brow.


38
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
But as the moments wore away,
Taking with them each crimson ray,
A shadow o'er the sweet face stole,
Reflected from her inmost soul;
For on her gentle heart there fell
From the dear lips she loved so well,
The tidings that another day
Must find him far from her away.
Lost now the music of the sweet,
Clear water trickling at her feet;
Unheeded, too, the lovely scene
That fair a moment since had been;
The soft wind sighing through the vale
Seemed but to tell again the tale
Of sadness that had o'er her swept,
As through the trembling trees it crept.
But as the sweet stars after rain
Will pierce the clouds and shine again,
So Elsie's stricken heart once more
Beat with the joyousness of yore,
As from the lips she thought so true
A tale of fairy brightness grew.
Why linger on each tender word
That her pure soul so deeply stirred?
Enough that on the morrow morn
They stood before God's altar one.


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
39
Each solemn vow to Elsie's heart
Seemed but the song "We need not part";
And at her handsome bridegroom's side
She went away a happy bride.
But Elsie recked not of a heart
She left behind in Coresleigh-
One fighting with its cruel smart,
And writhing in its agony.
But so it was a village lad,
Who long had loved fair Elsie well,
And waited patiently and glad,
That he might of his passion tell,
Until a home he should prepare
Fit for so sweet and fair a wife:
And now a stormy cloud of care
Had fallen on his blissful life.
He did not grieve as some men grieve,
But with a violence unblest,
He called on hatred dark to weave
Her deadly web within his breast.
He called for vengeance from a God
Whose sweetest attribute is love,
And sought through every path he trod
His shattered hopes to disapprove.


40
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
But all in vain his burdened soul
Sought refuge in so wild a way;
His heart refused the strange control,
Nor would his reckless will obey.
The summer flowers had drooped and died,
The warm south winds no longer sighed
Through the sweet vale of Coresleigh,
With their soul-stirring melody ;
But now the snow-clad hills were seen,
Where heath and flowers had lately been,—
When like a sunbeam o'er the place
Came once again fair Elsie's face.
But not the Elsie of the past,
For with the halo wealth had cast
About her, every charm of old
Was multiplied a hundred-fold.
Upon her now were always seen
Jewels and silks of richest sheen ;
But underneath the costly dress
Her heart of loving tenderness
Was all unchanged, the poorest child
In all the village, when she smiled,
Felt that she was its friend, and came
Its loving worship to proclaim;


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
41
And with one heart the village rose,
And welcomed her to its repose.
But as the weeks and months went on,
And found sweet Elsie all alone,
A feeling sore and sad to see
Crept through the vale of Coresleigh.
'Twas but the faintest breath at first,
But soon the startling question burst-
Where was her husband now that she
Was lonely left?-oh! could it be
A tale of shame, that Elsie's brow
So pure would brand for ever now?
Ah! surely not, 'twas said-but when
The weeks rolled slowly on again,
There rose once more the doubt and fear,
As Elsie's trying time drew near
And brought no husband to her side,
Eager to claim his cherished bride.
A little babe at length was pressed
With fondest welcome to her breast;
'Twas then that those about her heard
From Elsie's lips the first sad word :-
"Would that my Bertrand had been here!"
Fell wearily upon the ear.
1:


42
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
"And where is Bertrand," questioned one,
"That thou hast been so long alone?"
Then with a tearful joyousness,
Stroking her babe with fond caress,
Sweet Elsie gently spoke of him
In words that made their eyes grow dim.
She told how she, his happy wife,
Had found that Bertrand's noble life
Was promised to fair England's queen,
To guard our isle; that he had seen
Two battles fought, and that great fame
Now rested on his ancient name,—
That name which every simple heart
Remembered, with a sudden start
Of joy, as England's hero great
At the last battle, when the fate
To human eyes of our proud land
Had seemed to be within his hand,
And he with courage would not yield,
But took possession of the field.
But all unlikely did it seem,
And wild as fancy's wildest dream,
That ever one so great as he
Should linger on at Coresleigh,
Climbing the hills at Elsie's side,
And at the last make her his bride.


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
43
Ah, no! each loving heart there felt
The cruellest wrong of all was dealt
Unto poor Elsie; and her eyes
Pierced through the kindly-worn disguise.
Of soothing words and comfort given,
And felt as if the light of heaven
Had suddenly gone out-as though.
To her the heaviest load of woe
That ever had been borne before
Had come;
but she in silence bore
The doubt, for with the faith of youth
She staked her all on Bertrand's truth.
She uttered no reproach, but she
Grieved much, though it was silently;
And on her infant's face oft fell
Great glistening tears, that nurses tell
Unhappy omens are for they
Foretell its death not far away.
—
But what of that poor village lad,
Whose love for Elsie had so sad
An ending? He had been away,
Almost unheard of, since the day
That Elsie faded from his sight,
And left him in such gloomy night.


44
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
But it was known that he had gone,
Her face once more to look upon :
He vowed with fearful oaths that he
Would not return to Coresleigh
Till he had seen her, and had brought
Upon her every vengeful thought
That had been cherished in his heart,
When rudely forced from her to part.
But, as unmindful of his vow,
Stephen returned to it once more;
But, ah! he knew the secret now,
That Elsie lived there as before,
And the deep hatred of his soul
Seemed only wilder grown with time;
The zeal with which he sought the goal
Was worthy of a task sublime.
But as the fiercest flame will yield
To water's power, when o'er it thrown,
And as the conqueror on the field
Has wept for fallen foes unknown;
So the first sight of Elsie's face
Quenched in his heart the sinful fire;
And with a sigh he wept to trace
A grief so heartfelt, so entire,


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
45
That it was leaving signs of care
Upon the pure and noble brow
That he had left so sweetly fair.
Forgotten then each angry vow,
And all the love he felt for her
In the dear happy days of yore,
Returned his blighted heart to stir,
And bring him peacefulness once more.
And once again the summer fell
Upon sweet Coresleigh, and bright
Grew the flowers, as though to tell
Their joy that past was winter's night.
But, ah! the gladness all around
Found no response in Elsie's breast;
The grief she felt was too profound
To let her troubled heart find rest.
The fearful sting of doubted fame
Rested upon her, while she knew
The author of her fancied shame
Was proudly honourable and true.
Sorrow was seen upon her face,
Nothing her sadness could beguile;
But when her babe, with infant grace,
Into her eyes would sweetly smile,


46
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
Then o'er the lovely face would sweep
The sunny brightness of the past;
Her rippling laughter soft and deep
Was. only on her infant cast.
"Why is she thus ?" would Stephen ask,
And village tongues the tidings told,
Their heartfelt grief, the kindly mask,
They threw on her so dear of old.
In silence deep the tale he heard,
But it was that dread calmness found
Above volcanoes, ere is stirr'd
The burning lava that around
Will one day desolation cast:
Beneath his silence who could guess
Lay the dark seeds whose flow'rs would blast
His hope of heaven and happiness?
As time wore on a greater grief
Fell on th' already stricken heart:
Poor Elsie's babe, that tender leaf,
Was blighted, and the bitter part
Was hers to see the blossom droop,
And watch while it so silently
Broke from its stem-the fragile loop
That held its life gave way, and she


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
47
Was left in utter loneliness.
Ah! who can add aught to the blow
That fell upon her?-who can guess
What this last bitter drop of woe
Was to the gentle heart, that had
So long wept sorrowfully for
The absent one. Ah, no! too sad
Would be the task, no earthly lore
Could picture it; but the deep eyes
Of sympathy, with clearer view,
Will see the grief that speech defies,
Or feel by pangs that once it knew.
Poor Elsie, in her sorrow deep,
Had but one solace in her life,
And she this hope would fondly keep,
That Bertrand still would claim
wife.
his
But, ah! 'twas sad to see the face
So bright of yore grow pale and
still-
To see her move about the place,
Her daily routine to fulfil.
The only peace she seem'd to feel
Was at the hour of sunset sweet,
When she would to the old well steal,
And sit her down upon that seat


48
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
That eloquently spoke of him
Whom now she could no longer see;
And there with cup full to the brim,
She prayed, "God send him back to me!"
And nightly 'neath the willow trees,
Poor Stephen stood her prayer to hear,
That sweetly as the evening breeze
Fell on his jealous list'ning ear.
But Elsie's drooping energy
Was roused again. O'er Coresleigh
There swept a scourge of deadly kind;
And while it reigned the strongest mind
In terror quailed, and felt afraid
To move where stricken ones were laid.
But Elsie, with no fear of death,
Shrank not away from tainted breath,
But moved about from bed to bed
With gentle smile and quiet tread,
That cheered the weary hearts of all
Who living saw their dear ones fall.
And like a spring of water clear
To thirsty souls did she appear;
For bending o'er them oft she told
The Bible story, sweet of old;


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
49
She held the lamp upon the road,
And showed the sinners' way to God;
Until the lonely river-side
Of death was reached, she was their
guide!
A power seemed giv'n her from above,
To carry out her work of love:
And as the patient, lovely face
Was seen about the stricken place,
And as her voice, so sweet and low,
Seemed softening each heavy blow,
Then there arose in Coresleigh
A whisper spoken reverently-
That Elsie was a saint that Heaven
Had unto them most sweetly given.
And as the sickness fell away,
'Twas said by them from day to day,
That Elsie's prayers at sunset's hour
Had brought from Heaven all-healing
power.
And as they watched her night by night
Climb at that hour the grassy height,
And take her way to that lone well,
Each simple village heart would swell
To think that such a tide of strife
Had fallen on Saint Elsie's life.
E


50
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
The autumn wind sighed mournfully
About the hills of Coresleigh;
The sunshine resting on the leaves
A darker crown for summer weaves.
But though the winds at eve grew cold,
Still faithful Elsie as of old
Crept wearily, with pallid face,
Unto her much-loved trysting-place.
And ever at the well would she
Gaze through the sweet vale wistfully;
Watching for one that had not come,
As he had said, to take her home.
And as she sat there in the haze
Cast from the gorgeous western blaze,
One evening, while her heart felt chill
With hope deferred, yet hoping still,
There fell upon sweet Elsie's ear
Something that brought the ready tear
To her sad eyes. 'Twas but the sound
Of quick, light footsteps on the ground;
But, ah! the tumult in her breast!
She stirred not for a moment, lest
The sound so sweet should die away.
But as they nearer came, and they
Grew more familiar still, a cry
Broke from her, and the glowing sky


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
51
What now
Seemed swimming wildly round, while she
Sprang to her feet, and instantly
Was caught in Bertrand's arms.
The doubt that lay on her pure brow?
'Twas but as naught the silent kiss
Of strangely-mingled pain and bliss
Swept all her misery away,
And left her now in cloudless day.
In utter silence moments sped
With lightning wings, when Bertrand said-
"My Elsie, can it all be true
That I am here, and with you, too?
My wife, one sentence to me speak-
Give me the welcome that I seek."
66
Bertrand, my Bertrand! thy dear name
Seems all my trembling lips can frame:
But do my clinging arms not tell
My joy at thy return full well ?”
'Twas thus she spoke: not at the first
Will the deep flood of mem'ry burst;
But each word, as a tiny spring,
Will others in its sweet course bring.
But while they sat beside the well,
And twilight came, 'twas hers to tell
Of their fair blossom now at rest,
And spend her grief upon the breast


52
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
So true that, with emotion deep,
He could with her still sadly weep
For the dear little one not seen,
Whose life so like a flower's had been.
Then it was his turn to unfold
His soldier life, so free and bold,
In foreign lands far o'er the sea,
Where he had longed for her to be;
But, with true love's unselfishness,
He would not risk her tenderness
In that hot clime. But as that word
Fell softly from him, something stirred
Behind them, 'neath the willow's shade,
And he, with soldier's swiftness, made
A sudden spring, as though he thought
Some enemy's retreat he'd caught.
Bertrand, that sound was but the breeze
Sighing softly among the trees;"
Thus Elsie spoke, and, smiling, he
Remembered with new ecstacy
66
That he was now on English ground,
Where lurking foes are seldom found.
But there's no land, however great,
Where are not found revenge and hate:


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
53
Men who would scorn a traitor's part
Hug things as vile within their heart.
And so it was when Bertrand's ear
Had fancied that a foe was near,
'Twas all too true, for crouching there
Was Stephen in his wild despair.
For that sad story's low refrain
Was beating in his fevered brain:
He still believed it true, and all
The passions that men's minds enthral
Were stirred in him, when there he saw
The villain upon whom he swore
To be revenged. He watched them meet,
With fondest love, in rapture sweet:
He saw the noble, manly breast
That gave to Elsie heavenly rest.
His shattered mind no more could bear,
But with a cry that rent the air
A loaded gun, with steady aim,
He fired; and, with the fatal flame,
Fled with a swiftness born of fear,
And stopped not till the village near
He met with friends, to whom the tale,
With frenzied words, he did unveil.
And as they turned towards the hill
Stephen his course continued still;


54
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
And from that night no man could trace
In all the world his resting-place.
How true the deadly shot had been
Was quickly in its victim seen,
For in a death-like swoon he sank
At Elsie's feet upon the bank.
"Bertrand, my Bertrand!" Elsie cried,
With blanched lips, kneeling at his side:
Her heart within her seemed to die
As from him broke no moan or sigh.
She prayed aloud in accents wild
That God would look on her His child,
And help her in that hour of need,
And succour send to her with speed.
"Hast Thou," she asked, "this fond joy given
To us but newly to be riven ? "
And as she prayed, upon her ear
Fell the sweet sound of voices near;
And then she knew each heartfelt word
That she had prayed, in Heaven was heard.
Ah! who shall say the Father's ear
Is closed when trembling ones draw near,
To tell their sorrow at His feet,
And ask for strength their griefs to meet?


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
55
And now a yellow moon hung high
In Heaven's blue starry canopy,
Throwing her light upon the place
Where Bertrand "lay with upturned face.
Ghastly, yet nobly grand, was he
Who by an unknown enemy
Was thus cut down at Elsie's side,
In manhood's prime, fair England's pride.
Though rough the hands of Elsie's friends,
Yet kindly hearts them softness lends,
As Bertrand's wounds they seek to dress,
With touching care and tenderness.
They brought clear water from the well,
And as in sparkling drops it fell
Upon his face, a low deep sigh
Broke from the warrior wearily.
"Bertrand! oh, Bertrand! only speak
To me, or else my heart will break!"
That was poor Elsie's cry, and he
Moved once again her face to see;
And, like a lightning-flash, his mind
Turned where his heart was fondly shrined.
Elsie, my wife!" he said; but, ah!
'Twas only like some midnight star,
"6


56
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
That swiftly shoots across the sky,
Bright but a moment to the eye;
For her he then no longer knew.
And as he fainter, weaker grew,
His wand'ring mind was with his men
Upon the battle-field again;
And as he cheered them on, each word
The hearts around most deeply stirred:
Then through the stillness of the air
There went a melting, low-voiced prayer:-
Father, I lift my heart to Thee
In thanks for this great victory!
How valiantly Thine arm doth fight
For those upon whose side is right!
Now let me touch proud England's shore,
And give me back my wife once more."
And with these words brave Bertrand's soul
Had reached the Christian soldier's goal.
66
Ah! how the simple hearts were wrung
As Elsie to his cold form clung,
Her face upon his bosom pressed,
Even in death her sweetest rest.
"Dear Elsie, come with us," one said,
Gently stroking the prostrate head;


SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
57
But Elsie spoke not, and in fear
The others tremblingly went near-
Drew to their arms the stricken one,
To find sweet Elsie's spirit gone.
Too much the blow for that fond heart,
Already wounded with the dart
Of grave suspicion on each face
That met her in her native place,
Mixed with the thrilling joy that they,
Standing around, heard Bertrand say-
"My wife!" with lips that scarce could frame
The holy sweetness of that name.
Too late they heard the truth, for now
In vain they hung o'er Elsie's brow;
Weeping that they a doubt had thrown.
Upon the life so saint-like grown,
That even now her lying there
Seemed but Heaven's answer to a prayer
To take her from the earth away,
Where life would be but one sad day
To her, when Bertrand now was gone,
Leaving her in the world alone.
And from the day that side by side
Bertrand and Elsie had thus died,
Because so long her nightly prayer
For him and them was offered there,


58
SAINT ELSIE'S WELL.
They gave the well sweet Elsie's name,
And healing virtues for it claim.
This is the tale, fair Coresleigh,
That thy sweet vale brings back to me;
And this the tale that near the well
The evening zephyrs sadly tell,
While through the willow trees they seem
To chant a holy requiem.
But still ev'n it can not efface
The sweetness from that lovely place;
But rather like a picture found,
Whose subject through the dark background
Comes out in stronger force and power,
'Tis brighter seen through that dark hour:
And those who visit Coresleigh,
Its wond'rous loveliness to see,
Still hear the village people tell
The story of "Saint Elsie's Well."


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.





IN LOVING MEMORY.
61
*a Ganing Hrmary-
WITH letters deeply cut in love
I would record thy name;
To thee a tribute such as this
Were sweeter far than fame.
My Father! oh, how precious is
Thy sacred name to me!
I try to be resigned, yet grieve
With deep intensity.
Years have rolled on, but sadly yet
I miss thy kindly face,
Thy cheerful voice, thy much-loved form,
From its accustomed place.
I grieve for thee when music sweet
Falls gently on my ear;
For it recalls the tunes I played,
That were to thee so dear.


62
IN LOVING MEMORY.
I miss thee at the evening time,
When I could come and rest,
In playful, loving confidence,
My head upon thy breast.
How often are my weary eyes
Heavy with unshed tears,
While looking wistfully away
To other, happier years!
A deep, deep sorrow has been mine
Since our last sad embrace;
And passionately my heart cries out
Once more to see thy face.
'Tis but in moments of despair
I cry out in my pain;
In calmer hours I would not ask
To have thee back again.
For then Hope whispers to my soul,
In Heaven we two shall meet;
Then separation will but make
Re-union more sweet.


THE WOOD VIOLET.
63
What sweeter tribute to thy worth
Could e'er be paid to thee,
Than that thy children hold thee still
In loving memory !
The Wood Biolet.
SHRINKING modestly from sight,
Nestling 'neath the green leaves bright,
Watered by the dews of night,—
Oh! sweet violet, all unseen,
Careless of the world's gay sheen,
Thou art blooming, fair, serene :
'Midst the woods, where wand'ring feet,
Guided by thy fragrance sweet,
Find at last thy safe retreat.
Little floweret, pure and fair,
With thy pearly petals rare
Perfuming the lonely air,—


64
THE WOOD VIOLET.
Let my life like thine be found
Shedding sweetness all around,
Then with joy it shall be crowned.
Though like thee I live apart,
Fain I would some wounded heart
Draw to mine and heal its smart.
Little flower, you do not know
Of the lips oft pressed in woe
To your cup of purest snow.
But my bosom by its own
Knows the pain that, hopeless grown,
Fain would hide its grief alone;
And I would stretch out my hand
Through the lonely sorrow-land,
Telling some I understand.
Thus like thine my life would be
Fragrant in obscurity,
Sweetness flowing out from me.


MY LIFE.
65
My Fitr.
THE twilight falls about me here,
Kneeling with tight-clasped hands;
Peering with tear-dimmed eyes into
The past dear sunny lands
Of Hope and Love, where once I stood
With shy, expectant feet,
Waiting with eager, wistful gaze
My future life to meet.
It seemed a path of roses fair
That stretched before my eyes;
With fountains clear of love and joy,
O'erhung with cloudless skies.
The song of birds made melody
Through all the shining way;
I longed to start upon the road
That so inviting lay.
I started off with prospects bright
Upon the world's wide track;
And now, with twilight falling round,
I'm kneeling, looking back.
F


66
MY LIFE.
But, oh! the difference between
My girlhood's fancied road,
That lay so temptingly in view,
And paths that I have trod.
I plucked the roses, but I felt
The thorns that 'neath them lie;
I drank at founts of happiness,
And felt the springs grow dry ;
I heard the melody of birds,
That seemed so sweet of yore;
I felt the fondest ties of life
That charmed the road before.
But, ah! I saw them one by one
Fade from my yearning sight,
And sad and desolate my life
Was left in gloomy night.
In ruins lay the structures fair
That were of life a part,
After the sudden shock that caused
The earthquake of my heart.
But often in the twilight hour,
With gentle touch and kind,
I search the ruins of the past,
My buried joys to find;


AUTUMN.
67
I look with tender, loving gaze
Upon the scene of strife,
And sigh that only joys long dead
Are left to me of life.
Autumu.
THE summer wanes, and from the flowers
The petals noiseless fall;
The leaves are fluttering from the trees,
At Autumn's silent call.
The sun has tinged the luscious fruit
With dusky blushes bright;
The warm, soft winds have softly woo'd
The summer birds to flight.
The sea-bird, with a lazy sweep,
Skims o'er the sapphire sea,
Resting a moment on the waves,
Soothed by their melody.


68
A MIDNIGHT CRY.
A hush seems over everything
Throughout the sultry day,
As though all Nature mourned to watch
The summer's sad decay.
And shall an Autumn like to this
Fall o'er my sunny way
?
Shall that one time be all that's left
Of youth's sweet, happy day?
'Tis sad to think the flowers of bliss
Their petals sweet may cast;
That scattered leaves, so perfect once,
May tell me of the past!
Ah! who shall blame us if we draw
The nectar from the flowers
That bloom around us in our youth,
When hope and trust are ours?
A Midnight Ery.
OUT of the depths of anguish and despair,
While midnight darkness in my soul doth reign,
Lord, hear my cry, my pleading words of prayer,
And 'midst afflictions do Thou me sustain.


A MIDNIGHT CRY.
69
Thou knowest, Lord, how hard it is to bear
This scorching trial of my faith by fire;
Alone I could not stand, but with Thy care
I feel that I have all I can require.
Oh! do Thou come with sweet and holy calm
Over the troubled waters of my soul;
And may Thy presence be the heavenly balm
Whose healing influence will make me whole.
Oh let me hear those blessed words of Thine-
"Let not your heart be troubled or afraid,”—
Then may this weak and trembling heart of mine
Be strengthened by Thee and be not dismayed.
Behold, O Lord! Thou knowest well the pain
That has evoked this bitter, wailing cry:
Wash Thou and cleanse me from each guilty stain,
My sinful heart renew and sanctify.
Shine forth amid the darkness of the night
Which overwhelms my soul, and o'er me fling
Some gentle ray of Thy celestial light,
And with new faith to Thy dear cross I'll cling.


7༠
LINES TO MY BROTHER-IN-LAW.
Eines to my Brother-in-Haw,
ON RECEIVING A PRESENT OF GROWING PLANTS.
I THANK you for the flowers that you
In thoughtful love have sent to me;
I'll watch them growing with delight,
And you in them will often see.
How many things surrounding me
Remind me of the friends I love;
There's scarce a thing my eyes rest on,
But some one's thoughtfulness can prove.
It pleases me to see my plants
Put forth their leaves so fresh and green ;
They open up a vein of thought,
Myself and much-loved friends between.
Receive my thanks then for your gift,-
'Twas kind of you to think of me:
While lying here 'tis sweet to know
I'm held in tender memory.
――――


THE WORKMAN'S EVENING REST.
71
The Workman's Burning Best.
"THE sun is sinking now, my bairns,
Father will soon be here;
There, climb the window-sill to watch,
And tell me when he's near.
"And I will put the rasher down,
And cut his rounds of bread;
It pleases him when he comes home
To see his tea all spread."
'Twas thus the comely mother spoke,
And with a merry shout
The children gladly clambered up,
And eagerly looked out.
And through the little cottage home
The mother softly went,
Upon her face while at her work
A smile of sweet content.
"Mother, father is coming now!"
The children's voices cry;
And what a scene of bliss to greet
The weary labourer's eye!-


72
THE WORKMAN'S EVENING REST.
The rosy face of wife and bairns,
The clean hearth, spotless white;
The tempting rasher toasting well,
Before the fire so bright;
The earthen teapot on the hob,
The snow-white home-made bread.
And when he takes his seat, and grace
Has reverently been said,
The children round the table come,
Their joy a sight to see,
The youngest of them taken up
Upon the father's knee.
And as the meal is going on,
'Mid talk and laughter light,
Each little mouth before him there
Must taste the father's bite.
Then after tea the eldest boy
Will fill the short clay pipe;
While little Bessie mother helps
The things to wash and wipe.


THE WORKMAN'S EVENING REST.
73
And while the father smokes his pipe,
Wee Jean will fetch her stool,
And earnestly with father's help
Will learn her tasks for school.
While at a little table Jack
And Will are busy, too:
And May, the youngest of them all,
Is with her toys in view.
Then all of them, their books laid by,
Walk through the garden trim;
There's not a peer in all the realm
But well might envy him.
And on the railings neighbours lean,
And talk with language calm,
Of Church, and State, and Parliament,
Or of war's wild alarm.
But as the twilight deepening
Falls round the little band,
The father turns towards the house,
A child in either hand.


74
THE WORKMAN'S EVENING REST.
And when the lamp is trimmed and lit,
The parents take their place;
And all the children gather round
With all-inquiring face.
Then God's good Word is read aloud,
And plain are made things deep;
But ere the Word and prayer are done
Wee May is fast asleep.
And each in turn the little ones
Are laid upon their bed;
When from a drawer the work is brought,
The needle and the thread.
And quick the mother's fingers fly,
Though she has worked all day;
The stock of frocks and coats all seem
So soon to wear away.
But though her needle quickly goes,
She still has many a word
To say, about events that have
At home or work occurred.


TEDDY'S SHIP.
75
And looking round his cottage home,
Within the workman's breast
Is stirred a prayer of thankfulness
For his sweet evening rest.
Trudy's Ship.
"AUNTIE, I launched my little ship
Into the stream to-day;
A number of boys assembled
To watch it sail away.
"And, Auntie, Lucy christened it,
She called it 'Prince of Wales';
You cannot think how nice it looked,
With all its outspread sails.
"And the silken flags you made me
Were streaming out so grand,
As amid the boys' loud cheering
I thrust it from the land.


76
TEDDY'S SHIP.
"Auntie, I wish you had been there,
But, ah! you see you lie
Upon your couch from year to year,
And all life's joys go by.
"But still you listen patiently
To what you cannot see;
Oh how I wish that you were strong
And healthy, too, like me."
"Oh! Teddy, do not weep for me,"
I to the boy replied;
For he, with merry eyes grown dim,
Had knelt down at my side.
"But tell me of your ship's first cruise,
Was it sea-worthy found?
There, tell me of its journey, dear,
Did it not run aground?"
Quickly his tears were chased away,
As with an ardour bright
He sketched the trial trip for me,
And brought it to my sight.


TEDDY'S SHIP.
77
"With steady course the 'Prince of Wales'
Sailed down the little stream,
Until it reached the broken bridge,
And there a floating beam
"Lay in its way, and, Auntie dear,
It struck against the wood;
But bounding back it then went on,
But soon once more it stood.
66
This time it was some weeds that caught
It in their tangled mesh;
But the brave ship broke through them all,
And onward sailed afresh.
"We followed it as on it went,
But, oh! does it not seem
Absurd, that its next rock was just
Some daisies in the stream?
66
Some children playing on the bank
Were trying them to swim;
But with one stroke the 'Prince of Wales'
Capsized their barges slim.


78
TEDDY'S SHIP.
"And after that no obstacle
Came roughly in its way,
And so my ship came back to land.
The victor of the day."
"Well, Teddy dear," I said, "it seems
A prosp'rous trip indeed,
With but a beam, some weeds and flowers,
Its fair course to impede.
"But while you have been telling it,
A thought has come to me,
That like your ship your life may be
Upon the world's great sea.
"Like it I think you'll sail away
From all you so much love;
And only God, my boy, can tell,
What rocks to you may prove.
"Teddy, ambition's voice will urge
You on to seek renown;
But on that rock the human ship
Oft strikes, and then goes down.


DIVIDED LIVES.
79
"Yet there are evils less than that
May lead you far astray-
Things that look small as weeds and flowers
May tempt you from the way.
"Oh! when your fairy bark is launched,
Take God along with you;
For on the voyage of life He is
The only compass true."
"Oh! Auntie," whispered low the boy,
"Please pray to God for me,
That He may come and guide my bark
Across the world's wide sea."
Divided Lives.
I NEVER see a yawning gulf
Through which dark torrents rush ;
I never see a waste moorland
Through which the wild-birds brush;
I never see a sullen tarn
Which no sweet mountain rill
Can waken from its sluggish calm,
But with a painful thrill


80
DIVIDED LIVES.
I think of our poor wasted lives,
So wrecked and barren grown,
Because they are now passed apart,
Each travelling on alone-
So far away from that bright path
That love had opened up,
And which we fondly hoped to tread
When bliss had filled our cup.
Stern duty with its shadow dark
Frowned down upon our way,
And there was nothing left for us
But sadly to obey.
1
So with a mighty crash our hopes
Were swept along life's stream,
And crags of wild despair shut out
Our young life's happy dream.
What though upon those frightful rocks
Some lovely blossoms blow,
Still, still between their outstretched armas
The deafening torrents flow;
And though our poor divided lives
So calm and still are seen,
We cannot bridge the yawning gulf
That frowns our hearts between.


THE PATH BY THE RIVER.
81
The Bath by the River.
Down by the winding river,
Where trees meet overhead,
And green leaves gently quiver,
And flowers their fragrance shed,
A shady path is lying,
So lovely and so fair,.
Where summer breezes sighing
Make music in the air.
There birds are ever singing
Throughout the live-long day,
While through the tall trees winging
Their careless, happy way.
There the blue forget-me-not
In beauty shows its head;
Graceful ferns in that sweet spot
Bend o'er the violet's bed.
The fox-glove and the primrose
And daisies stud the grass,
With the hyacinth that grows
Wild in that lonely pass.
G


82
THE PATH BY THE RIVER.
Soft moss and lichen creeping
About the tree's dark roots;
The ivy's tendrils sweeping
Amid the fresh green shoots.
It takes a moment only
To bring anew to me
That shady path so lonely,
Its every flower and tree.
I seem again to listen,
The quiet river's flow;
To see the sunlight glisten,
To feel the soft winds blow.
The lights and shadows falling
Once more about me seem ;
The ringdove softly calling
I hear in my sweet dream.
For, ah! it is but dreaming,
That spot is far from me;
The river brightly gleaming
I never more may see.


MY SAVIOUR.
83
Nor watch the wild flowers growing,
Nor hear the birds' clear song,
Nor feel the soft breeze blowing,
Nor roam those trees among.
But though my eyes should never
Behold again that scene,
My memory constant ever
Will keep it fresh and green.
My Saviour.
THEY crowned Thee with the piercing thorn,
They dressed Thee, in their bitter scorn,
In robes that earthly kings had worn-
Oh, my Saviour!
They spat upon Thee, bent the knee
To Thee in mock humility,
Yet no complaint escaped from Thee-
Oh, my Saviour!


84
MY SAVIOUR.
They led Thee forth Thy cross to bear,
While shouts of hatred rent the air,
My weeping eyes behold Thee there-
Oh, my Saviour!
Despised and scorned, in anguish deep,
I see God's anger o'er Thee sweep,
And tears of penitence I weep—
Oh, my Saviour!
Each shameful, deep indignity,
This weight of woe and misery,
I know that Thou didst bear for me-
Oh, my Saviour!
Thy life and death hath given to me
The hope of immortality,
My sin-bound soul Thou hast set free-
Oh, my Saviour!
To sit thus at Thy blessed feet,
Clothed in Thy righteousness, 'tis sweet
To feel Thy sacrifice complete-
Oh, my Saviour !


THE STARS.
85
Thy cross is now Thy crown, and fair,
Yea, brightest of its jewels rare,
Men's ransomed souls are sparkling there-
The Stars.
I LIE and watch
The stars arise,
Softly lighting
The evening skies;
And, oh! I think
Their gentle light
Makes more holy
The silent night.
Oh, my Saviour!
In their pale depths
- Again I see
The dear ones loved
And lost to me.
Fond eyes that once
Looked into mine,
Seem watching me
In love divine.


86
A BIRTHDAY WISH.
When weary, sad,
And sore opprest,
I look above
And long for rest,
The sweet stars tell
A wondrous tale,
Of One whose love
Will never fail.
Pale, quiet stars,
Fair gems most bright,
Softly cheering
The lonely night,
While watching here
Your light serene,
Sweet thoughts of heaven
From you I glean.
Birthday Wish.
DEAR one, I ask not first for thee
Health, happiness, or friends;
But for an acquiescence sweet
In good or ill God sends.


CALLED AWAY.
87
Does it seem hard I do not ask
For thee earth's choicest flowers?
Alas! too well I know their worth
When come life's darkest hours.
I wish thee all, both health and friends,
For having them we're blest;
But placing sweet submission first,
I know I ask the best.
Called Away.
NOT with a hasty summons,
Not with a wild alarm;
Not with a voice of terror,
Not with a threat'ning arm;
But through long years of suffering,
A voice from day to day
Is ever sweetly calling
Me from you far away.


88
CALLED AWAY.
Although the summons parts us,
Oh let me, let me go;
The weary pain attending
My life you do not know;
Nor guess the failing faintness
That grasps my heart and will 1;
You only feel, beloved,
You love me fondly still.
You think of happy moments,
When I could share with you
The glowing dreams, so life-like,
That opened to our view;
And grieve because no longer
I care with you to stay,
Because I am so ready
The summons to obey.
My dearest, oh! you know not
My love for you so deep,
That with my arms about you
I fain would fall asleep.
To you earth's best affections
Their fondest tribute pay,
In thanks that on your bosom
I am thus called away.


THE HEART'S COMPLAINT.
89
The Heart's Complaint.
OH! foolish heart, be still, be still,
And do not so complain;
Cease thy repinings and thy cries,
Thy throbbings are in vain.
Thou sighest that in all the world
Thou canst no refuge find;
The love of self doth so absorb
The feeble human mind.
Thou mournest that thy wealth of love
Is carelessly thrown by;
While flattery and outward show
Are held in honour high.
Thou weepest that the metal true
Should be o'erlooked so long,
While so much current coin is false
And made the theme of song.
Thou thinkest, "Ah! how quick am I
To note all sterling worth!
Yet I am passed unheeded by,
Uncared for on the earth."


༡༠
MARGARET.
Thou grievest much that thou art left
Upon thyself to prey,
While hearts not half so true as thee
Are sought for every day.
But comfort take, poor troubled heart,
There is a world in view
Whose pure inhabitants can judge
Between the false and true.
ΑΝ
Margaret.
ACROSTIC.
My gentle Margaret, my pearl!
A noble dignity of thought
R ests on thy brow so fair and pure,
G raced by a sweetness that hath caught
A lustre from another sphere,
Rich in its influence when seen;
E ach graceful motion of thy form
To me suggests a pearl-a queen.


BABY'S PET LAMB.
91
Baby's Tri Lamb.
OH! gentle creature, pure and spotless white,
The sight of you can fill my eyes with light;
My baby's pet and plaything all in one,
How oft with joy your sports I've looked upon!
Your bells would wake my darling from his sleep,
And o'er his crib he'd rise to slyly peep:
And then, at sight of you, his laugh would ring
So loud and sweet, that it would quickly bring
My loving mother-feet unto his side,
To find his merry eyes with laughter wide.
Oh! pretty creature! how his little face
Would press against you in a close embrace
And with one dimpled arm about you thrown
He's wandered in the paths that you have shown,
Returning with you decked in bright array
With flowers he had plucked upon his way.
Oh! wearied playmates, lying down opprest,
A picture fair of innocence at rest!
No dearer object roams about our home,
Naught nearer to my baby's heart can come :
Even in sickness he will ask for you,
;
Will fret and cry if you are not in view
You seem to be of baby's life a part,
And his pet lamb is dear unto my heart.


92
THE RUSTIC SEAT.
The Bustir Brat.
YOU'LL not forget the rustic seat
Where we have sat to-night-
Where you have pledged your love to me,
And filled my soul with light.
You'll see it as it is just now,
Beneath this spreading tree;
And often seek our trysting-place
In thought when far from me.
You'll sometimes steal a quiet hour
In your proud city home;
And memory will bring you back
The scenes through which we roam.
You'll see the landscape clear and soft,
With the rich sunset's hue,
The far-off golden harvest fields,
The river winding through.
You'll see again yon little gate,
At which we say "Good-night";
And I will I not have a place
In your sweet fancy's flight?


THE DYING GIRL'S MESSENGER OF PEACE. 93
Ah! yes; I know that you once more
Will seek this meadow sweet,
Because you know that I will wait
At this lone rustic seat.
Oh! love, how hard it is to say
Farewell to you to-night-
To feel that when to-morrow comes
You will not glad my sight!
Distance will part us for a time,
But here in thought we'll meet,
And sit again with love-clasped hands
Upon this rustic seat.
The Dying Girl's Messenger of Jearr.*
"OPEN the window wide, mother,
My breath is going fast;
Then sit beside me, for I fain
Would see you to the last.
* While a young believer in Christ lay dying, a white
pigeon flew through the open window and circled round her,
flying instantly out again, when she touchingly remarked that
it seemed to her as a messenger of peace.


94
THE DYING GIRL'S MESSENGER OF PEACE.
"Only a little longer now,
Till my last sigh has flown;
Then I shall be, oh, solemn thought!
Before the great white throne.
"I think I should be still afraid
To meet God face to face,
But that upon my forehead soon
My Saviour's name He'll trace.
"Ah! that will be a magic plea,
For when He sees that name,
For Jesus' sake I know that He
My pardon will proclaim.
"Then thousands of angel voices
Will sing a glad new song,
Their welcome to the ransom'd soul
That swells their countless throng."
And as she spoke a pigeon white
Fluttered against the pane,
Entered, and hovered o'er the girl,
And then flew out again.


SONNET.
95
"Mother," whispered the dying girl,
"I've not one doubt or fear;
Kiss me, oh! kiss me, for I feel
That death is very near.
"I think that snowy pigeon was
A messenger of peace!"
A saintly smile stole o'er her face,
Her soul had found release.
Souurt.
TO AMBITION.
FAITHLESS Ambition, how you lure
Deluded victims to their fate!
What hardship will they not endure
While for the goal they eager wait?
You tempt them with the luscious fruit
That hangs upon the tree of fame;
They think not of the fickle root
That crumbles ere they carve their name.


96
THE MOON.
They onward press with all their might,
Nothing shall stop their steps they vow;
They think to climb Parnassus' height,
But stumble ere they gain its brow.
None ever reach Ambition's height,
For to man's wild, unconquered will
There's ever greater things in sight,
That prompts him to continue still.
The Hoon.
SOFTLY rising in her beauty
Comes the radiant queen of night,
Flinging o'er the heaving ocean
Vivid rays of silver light.
And the dancing, restless waters,
Lapping gently, seem to sing;
Telling sweetly of their gladness,
Like some joyful living thing.


THE MOON.
97
Over mountains, over valleys,
Softly too her light she throws ;
And each fairy scene of nature
In her magic beauty glows.
Scenes that seemed to us perfection
In the sunny morning light,
Find a new and tender beauty
Bathed in moonlight clear and bright.
With the mountain's stately grandeur,
See, it shows each tiny rill;
Floods the fair lake's placid bosom,
Lights each dim and distant hill.
Shining through the trellised casement
Of the happy and the gay,
Where each pleasure seems but greater
Than the joy of yesterday.
Looking down on scenes of darkness,
Haunts of misery and sin,
As if trying wretched outcasts
Back to purity to win.
H


98
RECOLLECTIONS OF
Stealing into rooms of sickness,
Where fond hearts are full of care;
With low sobs of deep emotion,
She is warmly welcomed there.
Hearts alike in joy or sadness
Love to watch her gentle light;
Nothing speaks more sweetly to us,
Whether life seems dark or bright.
Pale and calm, in beauty sailing,
Throwing out her silver sheen,
What is sweeter in creation
Than the evening's radiant queen?
Becollections of Bamborough Castle.
UPON the turret of that lordly castle,
Tow'ring grandly far above the wave-beat shore,
I stood, with the white moonlight falling round me,
List'ning to the mighty ocean's ceaseless roar.


BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.
99
I saw a scene of fair, enchanting beauty-
Far below the village slept in peacefulness;
Over half the houses sombre shadows fell,
Over others moonbeams hung in mute caress.
Beyond the houses I saw the dear old church,
Standing erect like a sentinel of God,
Keeping a watch o'er His most holy dead
Sleeping quietly beneath the fresh green sod.
Slowly I turned, and another fairy scene
Of rich magnificence burst upon my view:
The sea, with crested waves rolling to the shore;
And strange, wild phantasies from its music grew.
Far beyond, amid the waters' vast expanse,
The grey, rocky chain of the "Fern Islands"
stood;
Signal lights from both the watch-towers far and
near
Shot out their brilliance o'er the moonlit flood.
The mighty sea, with its borrowed silver breast;
Ships, like phantom creatures, fading from my sight:
All these seem to whisper of a hand Divine,
Whose great power hath formèd everything aright.


100 RECOLLECTIONS OF BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.
Soon that scene of beauty from my fancy fled,
And in place of it there came one wild and dark:
A fierce, tempestuous sea there dashed around
With cruel force against a foundering bark.
And while thus I stood I almost seemed to hear
Wild, despairing cries across the waters float:
All hope seemed dying within the sailor's breast,
When, through that dread sea, there came a little
boat.
Who were its brave crew? Young sturdy Englishmen,
Whose stout hearts would tremble not at that wild
shore ?
No, an old, old man and maiden fair were all
The hands that guided and plied the heavy oar.
On, on they came, unfaltering in their course,
Undaunted by waves, that rolled like mountains
high,
Until they had reached the stranded vessel's side,
Amid the soul-stirring shouts of victory.
Oh! noble heart, that within Grace Darling's breast
Beat bravely high in that island home unseen!
How sweet for thee the memory of the deed
That crowned thee proud Northumbria's heroine !


THE NIGHT WATCHES.
IOI*
Oh! surely that scene was what I needed most
When wearied and sad I to that turret stole;
Sad with useless dreams of a too happy past,
Wearied with the restless longing of my soul.
Thus in Nature's peaceful works God spoke to me,
Giving holy calm unto this troubled breast,
And strengthened I looked away from that bright
scene,
Unto some sweet future day of perfect rest.
The Hight Hatches.
WHAT though the night be long and dreary?
Thou'rt still with me;
Thou never canst grow faint and weary
Of watching me.
O Lord! Thine eyelids never slumber,
So Thou canst see
The reason of my mournful number
Of praise to Thee.


102
THE VOICE OF THE SEA.
Thou know'st that I am faint and weary,
Oh! send Thy light
To cheer the hours so long and dreary,
Throughout the night.
If it is Thy will, oh! give me rest,
Nor let we weep;
Gather me gently unto Thy breast,
And bid me sleep.
Thus within Thine arms, for Jesus' sake,
Oh! let me lie
Throughout each night, till I awake
With Thee on high.
The Haire of the Bra.
OH! what are you saying, restless Sea,
As you break on the yellow sand?
What is the tale you are telling me,
As you roll o'er the pebbly strand?


THE VOICE OF THE SEA.
103
I watch as you dash against the rocks,
With a kind of wild despair;
And the feathery spray from the sudden shocks
Rises high into the air.
I have listened to the soothing sound
Of the waves on summer days;
And still to my ear a voice is found
In the music of your lays.
Are you sympathising with the pain
That has fallen upon my life?
Are you wailing out a low refrain
To my heart's never-ceasing strife?
O Sea! with the wild yet tender tone,
How you speak to my bursting soul !
What do you say in that strange deep moan
That seems out of your depths to roll?
Do you tell of noble forms that lie
Now at rest 'neath your shining waves?
Or do you repeat the dark lone cry
That has echoed over their graves?


104
RETRIBUTION.
I fondly list to you, O Sea!
And almost do I seem to hear
A message from you unto me-
"Trust thou in God, and do not fear."
Retribution.
I DID not know how much I loved
Until it was too late-
Until the words were said that wrenched
Our two lives separate.
I was so full of girlish pride,
He seemed as nought to me
Compared with those who courted me
With subtle flattery.
I was accustomed to the praise
Of those I mixed among;
And fretted that he did not choose
To join the giddy throng.


RETRIBUTION.
105
I knew that I was beautiful,
And, oh! I grew so vain;
I hated him because he would
My vanity restrain.
He paid no court to all my wealth,
Nor praised my features fair;
But spoke of beauties of the mind.
As gifts he thought more rare.
At last my wilful heart resolved
That he should feel my power,
And every art I knew was then
Directed to that hour.
But while I strove so eagerly
For my much longed-for prize,
My every better thought rose up
My conduct to despise.
I often saw his earnest eyes
With scrutinising gaze
Fixed on my face, as though he failed
To understand my ways.


106
RETRIBUTION.
But my unholy efforts soon
Were crowned with rich success;
He pleaded that I would be his
With words of tenderness.
And then with scornful, cold disdain
His love for me I spurned;
And in his wounded pride and love,
He slowly from me turned.
But, oh! I did not guess the truth
While framing that resolve;
I little thought my cruel game
My own heart would involve.
But so it was-as soon as he
Had turned from me away,
I felt my arts to win his love
Had been indeed no play;
For I had learnt to love him with
A deep, undying love,
Which only needed absence now
Its depths and strength to prove.


RETRIBUTION.
107
Ah, me! why did I not confess
The wretched truth to him?
He would have pardoned all, if but
My eyes with tears were dim.
I longed to do so, but I felt
Instead of dark despair,
His outraged heart would grieve that I
Had even once reigned there.
I knew he would not waste a thought
On one so false as I;
He was so true, I felt he must
Despise me utterly.
Far better that my poor false pride
Had been at once destroyed,
Than that my life should now be passed
With all this aching void.
I waited with a hope untold
Trembling within my breast,
That he would learn the hidden truth,
And then we should be blest.


108
RETRIBUTION.
But, oh! how useless was that hope!
He never came again;
From that sweet dream I woke to all
The weariness of pain.
Before no human heart could I
My bitter grief betray;
But often do I lay it bare
Before the twilight gray.
I love that hour, because it wraps
Me in its own soft shade,
And seems to give me strength to bear
The burden on me laid.
But when I turn again to all
The gorgeous scenes of night—
The crowded rooms, the busy dance-
I sicken at the sight;
Because I miss one noble form,
And with a gasping cry
I often turn my face away,
And wish that I might die.


WHAT I ASK.
109
I cannot change my love for him,
Though years above me roll;
The sad effects of that mean act
Are left upon my soul.
What I Ask.
Axak
WHAT care I whether eyes be brown or grey?
Or what care I should they be black or blue?
The only thing I ask for is that they
Should show a heart beneath that's warm and true.
What care I whether lips have every curve
That marks them perfect in the artist's eye?
I only ask that they shall never swerve
From speaking out the truth in purity.
What care I whether hands be soft and white,
Or whether they be perfect in their form?
I only ask to feel the hand-clasp tight
That cheers the soul amid earth's rudest storm.


IIO
LITTLE MINNIE.
Einle Hinnie.
MINNIE and I were walking out
Through meadows sweet and gay,
And while we strolled a poor dead bird
Upon the path there lay.
My darling gently lifted it,
And tears stood in her eyes.
""
Auntie," she asked, "have birds got souls?
Do they live in the skies?"
"No, dear," I said, "they have not souls."
"But, Auntie, tell me why
God has not given these pretty things
A soul as well as I?"
"I'd like if you could understand-
Try, darling, if you can-
That man alone was made for God,
And birds but made for man.


LITTLE MINNIE.
III
"God gave such pretty things to make
The earth look sweet and fair,
That men might feel His love for them
While they are living there.
66
But, Minnie, when we go to heaven
We'll have no need of these,
Because what we shall see and hear
Our hearts will wholly please."
With wistful eyes the little one
Looked up and said to me-
61
Ah, yes! but would they not make heaven
More lovely still to see?
"I know I'd like to see them there,
And this is what I'll do:
When I have got to heaven I'll say,
'Please let the birds come, too.
"They made the world so very bright
While singing in the air,
And little ones like me would watch
Them flying everywhere.""


I12
ΤΟ
With simple words deep truths I sought
In Minnie's heart to place;
The childish gravity of thought
In her was sweet to trace.
66
Auntie," she said, "how strange it is,
God always does what's right,
Even when He forbids the birds
To see heaven's holy light!
"I think I must just trust to Him,
He is so good and kind,
And think that all not found in heaven
Is far best left behind."
Ex
I Do not care to think how long
It is since last we met,
Because those bygone, happy years
I never can forget.


ΤΟ
113
It seems to me but yesterday
When we so often strayed,
Through many a quiet country lane,
Wrapped in the evening's shade.
Together we have often watched
The sun die in the west :
Do you remember how my hand
In yours would fondly rest?
And how, through silent eloquence,
Our throbbing hearts would speak?
No deeper, holier language
Our trusting hearts could seek.
I would not like to think that you
Could e'er forget those days,
Though other eyes than mine may droop
Beneath your ardent gaze.
No broken vows have parted us,
But duty, cold and stern,
Has barred for us the shining path
For which our spirits yearn.
I


114
A CRY FOR PATIENCE.
Oh! whether sweet the future is,
Or lone and dark for you,
You know that still, though far apart,
One heart to you is true.
A Cry for Hatirure.
OH! give me patience, for my life
Is full of ceaseless pain;
And by Thy mighty power do Thou
My weary soul sustain.
Thou seest that my fragile bark
Hath oft seemed near the shore;
Yet some fresh wave hath cast it back
To waters deep once more.
So long have I been tempest-tossed,
That I am in despair;
The haven is so close, and yet
I cannot enter there.


BY THE SEA.
115
Thou hast appointed months and years
Of pain to be my lot;
My faith is weak, oh! strengthen me,
That I may murmur not.
My heart is overwhelmed, O God!
Give patience unto me;
Teach me to do Thy holy will,
Whatever it may be.
Give me to feel that I am loved,
Though chastened sore of Thee;
Then I will smile amid my tears,
And suffer patiently.
By the Sea.
LOOKING out with eager eyes
At the sunset's crimson dyes,
Oh, what dreams before me rise!


116
BY THE SEA.
Those bright beams around me cast
Shadows of a recent past,
Far too bright and fair to last.
Gentle eyes of deepest blue,
Lips of coral's richest hue,
Oh! that you should be untrue!
Dancing waves with foaming crest,
Dashing on in wild unrest,
Sunset in such glory drest!
What is all this scene to me?
Sunset's glow and moaning sea
Mock me with their constancy.
Who can tell the heart's dismay,
When its idol falls away,
Slowly crumbling into clay?
Better had I once stood by
In heartrending agony,
And had seen my loved one die!


THE BACHELOR'S MISSION.
117
The Bachelor's Hission.
ALAS! this weary search for wives,
It seems the mission of our lives:
We want them more than beautiful,
We want them more than dutiful
But yet these qualities must be
Among the many we would see.
'Tis sweet to see a pretty face,
And form whose every step is grace;
'Tis pleasant also when you know
For you the soft cheeks warmly glow.
Beauty hath charms, but there must be
More than an outward symmetry.
The ladies say we do not know
What we are seeking, for we go
So lightly past them one by one,
General lovers, loving none;
But they are wrong-we know too well,
And we can find few suitable..
We do not merely want a wife
To share with us the joys of life,


118
THE BACHELOR'S MISSION.
But also that in hours of need
She may our weary footsteps lead;
But, ah! our very restlessness
Proves that we meet with no success.
But more, still more-we wish to find
One with so exquisite a mind,
That while her thoughts exalted rise,
The meanest thing she'll not despise-
A mistress for our dwellings who
In ruling is both just and true.
We want a counsellor and friend
Upon whose word we can depend-
One whose soft hand will give us ease
When we are sick, whose smiles will please,
And whose soft footstep in our room
Will drive away its dreary gloom.
We want a woman tender, fair,
One fit a mother's name to bear-
One whose devotion all can see,
Who gently rules her family;
From whom no angry word is heard,
Whose sweetness is a household word.


GOOD NIGHT.
[19
There are such women still we know,
Hid by so much of outward show;
Can it be wondered, then, that we
Continue searching faithfully,
Or that we quickly turn away
From ladies of the present day?
So long as fashion reigns around,
So long will bachelors abound.
Good Light.
THE sun has set,
The flowers sleep,
The stars have ris'n
Their watch to keep;
The little birds
Have winged their flight,-
Beloved one,
Good night, good night!
I cannot see
Thee, gentle one,
But prayers for thee
To Heaven are gone;


I 20
THERE IS A SPOT.
Sweet angels watch
Thy slumbers light,-
Beloved one,
Good night, good night!
There is a Spot.
THERE is a lonely spot where oft
My thoughts in sadness turn,
Where woodland flowers in beauty grow,
Where runs a rippling burn;
Where birds sing gaily in the trees,
Whose laden branches wave
With the soft breath of every breeze,
Above my darling's grave.
A simple cross reveals the name
Of her, who now at rest
Sleeps on unconscious of my love,
With sweet buds on her breast.
A trailing flower has crept along,
And twined about the stone;
A rose-bush droops, as if ashamed
Its beauty there to own.


A HAPPY HEART.
121
The hill slopes gently, and the church
Throws down its soft'ning shade.
Upon the spot where she I lov'd
Was long since sadly laid.
By mem'ry's aid I often steal
Back to that spot so fair,
And all my pain is fresh and new
For her that's lying there.
I seem to lay again my cheek
Upon the marble cold,
And mourn anew the severed ties,
The dearest earth can hold.
Oh! bitter, bitter is my grief,
Years have not made it less,
For still my heart clings to that spot
With mournful tenderness.
A Happy Heart.
WHY should I be sad
When others are gay?
Oh! why should I weep
My short life away?


122
A HAPPY HEART.
Ah! do not tell me
That joy is fleeting,
With all things so fair
My senses greeting:-
-
The warm sunshine, the fragrant flow'rs,
The rippling stream, the shady bow'rs;
The gentle murmur of the breeze,
Sighing softly among the trees.
Oh! do not chide me,
I cannot be sad,
With all things around me
To make me feel glad;
E'en when the green leaf
Has gone from the tree,
Still in the winter
'Tis summer to me ;-
A voice seems whisp'ring to me then,
"The trees and flowers will bloom again;"
He only weeps who sadness feels,
So happy smiles my bliss reveals.


THE SABBATH DAY.
123
The Sabbath Bay.
WELCOME, Sweet day of rest,
The one in seven
Which, thanks to Thee, O God!
Whispers of heaven;
Speaks of a home above,
Where by His wond'rous love
Sin is forgiven.
Speaks to our fainting hearts
Burdened with care,
"Oh! come ye to the cross,
And leave it there!"
Oft may we hear His voice,
And at the sound rejoicé
There to repair.
Then we shall surely know
The joy of rest,
And shall lean trustingly
On Jesus' breast;
There, oh how safe we'll be
To all eternity,
For ever blest!


124
STRANGERS NOW.
Strangers How.
YOUR arms have been about me thrown,
Your lips have pressed my brow;
My head has lain upon your breast,
But we are strangers now.
Our lips have whispered loving words
Which seemed a solemn vow;
But, ah! wherever we may meet
We are but strangers now.
How often when the sun was high,
Beneath some shady bough
Your liquid voice has read to me!
But we are strangers now.
Yes, strangers now-but, oh! how sad
These words seem to my heart!
For when I see you even yet
My pulses thrill and start.
My love for you was true and deep,
You called it into life;
You kissed my lips the night I vowed.
That I would be your wife.


MY BABY.
125
I watched your eyes that seemed to speak
With true love in return;
The priceless treasure of a heart
You only won to spurn.
For soon you grew both cold and strange,
The love died from your eyes;
Not once to spare my breaking heart
Did you the truth disguise.
You did not notice that my step,
Once light, grew sad and slow;
You cared not that my cheeks grew thin
And lost their healthy glow.
And then at last your fickle heart
Threw off each solemn vow;
And so wherever we may meet
We are but strangers now.
Baby.
BABY, little baby,
Gone, for ever gone;
All your pain is over,
Ceased your pit'ous moan.


126
MY BABY.
Baby, little baby,
How I watched and wept,
While God took my jewel,
And the casket left.
Baby, little baby,
Home seems sad and still :
Who could think a babe so
Large a place could fill?
Baby, little baby,
No more patt'ring feet
Waken mother early
With their music sweet.
Baby, little baby,
No more prattling play,
All your joyous laughter
Now has died away.
Baby, little baby,
Grandma tells me oft,
You are with the Saviour,
In His bosom soft.


THE MARKS OF AGE.
127
Baby, little baby,
That is my belief;
Yet I think He will not
Chide a mother's grief.
Baby, little baby,
He is good and kind;
Rather, broken hearts He'll
Tenderly upbind.
Baby, little baby,
We shall meet again;
In that land where cometh
Neither death nor pain.
The Harks of Agr.
I LOVE to see the snowy hair
About the brow of age;
It seems like an interpreter
Of all the life's long page.


128
THE MARKS OF AGE.
In it I always seem to trace
The story of the past;
For is it not like blossoms nipped
By winter's cruel blast?
I love to search the furrows deep
That stretch o'er brow and cheek;
My fancy calls them battle-fields,
And there I warriors seek.
I see the hopes long struggled for,
With youthful strength and might,
And they but seem to me like scars,
An earnest of the fight.
I look into the eyes now dim,
And, ah! they seem to say
That they have toiled through weary paths-
Thank God, now far away:
And now have reached a peaceful shore,
Where neither hopes nor fears
Have power to stir their care-worn souls,
Nor move their eyes to tears.


FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
129
I ponder o'er the trembling lips,
That now no longer speak
In wrath or scorn, but tenderly
Breathe out the love we seek.
Oh! how I love the aged heart
Where now no passions live,
And reverence the silver crown
That age and sorrow give!
Friendship and Four.
A BATTLE was waging
Two monarchs between,
The fire was the hottest,
That ever was seen.
Each wished to assert his
Supremacy high,
And each thought that with him
The vict'ry would lie.
K


130
FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
The names of the warriors
Were Friendship and Love,
And bravely they struggled
The strongest to prove.
Those mighty combatants.
Fought not with bright steel,
But with a sharp weapon
That thoughts can reveal.
66
'Friendship, give up the fight,”
Sweet little Love said;
Indeed, it is useless
Attempting to spread
Your new-fangled notions,
For all men can see
That you in creation
Rank second to me."
66
"No, Love," replied Frendship,
"You say not the truth,
Because I am constant
In age or in youth:
While you are so faithless,
That if but a word
Is spoken in anger
Your whole soul is stirred.


FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
131
"You're up in arms quickly,
And cast off the chain,
That hearts should bind firmly
In pleasure or pain;
You throw away lightly
The sweet cup of bliss,-
Who would not choose Friendship
To Love such as this?
"No fond protestations
I make such as you;
I do not require them,
To prove myself true."
"But, ah!" said Love brightly,
"That still does not show
That you are superior.
Let you and I go
"Quickly throughout the world,
And then you will see
That earth's greatest power
Most surely is me.
You'll see how my subjects
Will all own my sway;
How gladly they hasten
My laws to obey."


132.
FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
"I never will own it,”
Dear Friendship replied;
"Too much of your gambols
I've seen at your side.
You flatter your subjects
With joys that you bring,
And leave them to wander
As blind as their king."
"Oh, Friendship, you know not
The bliss that I give,"
Was Love's ready answer;
"Fond hearts in me live.
Now pray do not envy
The reign that is mine;
Believe what I tell you,
My joys are divine."
The battle grew fiercer,
When, placid and calm,
Sweet Peace, like an angel,
With uplifted arm,
Lighted upon the scene,
And with but a word
Settled the hot dispute
Those warriors had stirred.


FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
133
"Dear friends," said Peace softly,
"You two mighty powers
Have opened a question
That's lasted for hours,
Of which shall be greatest;
Now how it can be
That either can claim it
I do not well see.
"For your close connection
Is patent to all;
Without one the other
Most surely would fall.
One is the foundation,
Upon which is reared
The fabric of either,
As oft hath appeared.
"If Love is the temple,
Then Friendship the stone
That firmly upholds it,
And gives it its tone.
If Friendship, then Love will
Security give ;-
Rest assured that together
You two friends should live.


134
SUNSET.
"Well, Peace," said Love gently,
"You've said what is true;
I know that I'm strongest
When Friendship's in view."
"And with Love I'm firmest,"
Then Friendship replied;
"So let us in future
Be seen side by side."
Sunset.
CLOUDS of glory sailing slowly
Onward to the glowing west;
Clouds of purple, clouds of amber,
Darker ones with fleecy crest ;-
All combine to lend their beauty
To that gorgeous western scene,
Where the sun in all his splendour
Dies in glory calm, serene.


SUNSET.
135
Like a king in royal garments
Seems the setting sun to me;
Crimson, gold, and purple blending
In the choicest harmony.
And he casts his rich reflection
O'er the clouds as on they press;
Giving brighter, deeper lustre
To their own fair loveliness.
Sinking lower, ever lower,
Slowly fading from my sight,
He disappears, but leaves behind
A richly tinted track of light.
Soon my busy fancy wanders
Far away, now he is gone,
To that fair celestial city
Which he needs not shine upon.
And this hour of solemn grandeur
Softly stirs my soul to prayer,
That when for me life's sun has set
I may find an entrance there.


136
FAREWELL.
Farewell.
I Do not ask another word from thee:
The 'witching spell
Thy presence cast about me now is fled;
But though our love is lying cold and dead,
Oh! say farewell!
We stand unmasked, our natures true unearthed,
And now we see,
In place of fancied love, a dreary waste;
There is not even one congenial taste
"Tween me and thee.
I thought each aspiration of my soul
In thee had met;
I crowned thee king upon my heart's high throne,
And thou hast reigned there, unrebuked, alone,
Where thou wast set.
But now with ruthless hand I cast thee down,
Whom once I loved;
How beautiful my idol seemed, and fair,
Of pure material and beauties rare,
Yet worthless proved!


FAREWELL.
137
You said you loved me-that the sweetest dreams
Of all thy life
Were realised when, with quivering lip,
I let the promise from me softly slip
To be thy wife.
But now thy treachery is all revealed,
My panting heart
Weeps in self-pity, while it scorns the lies
That you have spoken with both lips and eyes,—
Oh let us part!
I could have pardoned all except deceit,
But not that wrong:
You kissed me, and each kiss was false, and now
I'll feel their sting upon my lips and brow
My whole life long.
But still in pity for what once has been,
Though like a knell
It sounds upon us both from that dark height
Of outraged pride on which we stand to-night,
Oh! say farewell!


138
THE WAY.
The Hay.
IF I can only hear Thee say,
"This is the way,"
Then, Lord, whate'er the path may be,
I will obey.
Dark, dark it hath been and dreary,
Affliction's night,
Yet in its deepest gloom I've felt
All must be right.
To Thy most gracious promises
My weak faith clings;
Redeemer of my soul, hide me
Beneath Thy wings,
Until this storm be overpast,
Its shadows flown;
The seed of sorrow then shall spring
To bright flowers grown.
Jesus! dear Saviour of the world,
Thou Lamb of God!
Oh! leave me not an hour alone
Upon the road.


TO A BABY-GIRL.
139
But guide my 'falt'ring steps each one
Unto that rest,
Where weary heads a pillow find
Upon Thy breast.
To a Baby-Girl.
OH! come to the green fields, baby mine,
Cowslips and daisies there I will twine
Into a wee crown for thee to wear,
Over your sweet brow and flaxen hair;
Yes, I will crown thee, my little queen,
Surely a fairer never was seen.
Then I will seek all over the field
A little sceptre for thee to wield;
And after thy heavy task is o'er,
I'll teach thee to walk on earth's soft floor,
Watching your tottering steps each one,
After I leave thee to walk alone;
And my reward for all this shall be
To see how you laugh and coo at me.
Victoria more like a queen may seem,
Bnt over my heart you reign supreme.


140
GERALDINE.,
Brave and Trur.
LINES WRITTEN FOR A GENTLEMAN'S ALBUM.
BE brave and true-these noble words
Should be Ambition's highest aim;
They bear the choice, delicious fruits
Which cluster round a good man's name.
The footprints of the brave and true
Are left upon the world's rough way,
And serve as guides to falt'ring steps,
That might without them turn astray.
Our station may be high or low,
Still let us keep this end in view-
Those only can be trusted in
Who strive to be both brave and true.
Eeraldine.
SWEET as the summer breeze,
Sweet as the fair June rose,
Sweet as the fresh green trees,
Sweet as a babe's repose:


CUT DOWN.
141
Sweet as the rippling sea,
Sweet as the moon's soft sheen,—
Sweet as those things to me
Art thou, my Geraldine.
Sweet as the mountain flower,
Sweet as the dewdrop bright,
Sweet as the twilight hour,
Sweet as the stars of night:
Sweet as the lark's clear song,
Sweet as the dawn serene,—
Sweetest among this throng
Art thou, my Geraldine.
Cut Bown.
WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF M. A. M.
CUT down in the morning
Of her fresh young life,
Ere her soul was wearied
With the world's sad strife.


142
CUT DOWN.
Cut down like the lilies
Lying on her breast,
Fading in her sweetness
To eternal rest.
Cut down, oh! so gently,
Like a falling leaf;
As the leaves her life was,
Beautiful but brief.
Cut down, with no evil
In her guileless heart,
Every kind of sorrow
From her life apart.
Cut down-weep not wildly-
Hush thy sobs awhile;
Look upon that sleeper
With her heavenly smile.
Cut down, but each feature
Speaks of deep, sweet peace;
Let that give you comfort,
Let your mourning cease.


MY HEART.
143
Cut down, not in anger,
But in God's great love;
He has called her to a
Fairer home above.
Cut down like a blossom
From its parent stem,
She is now a jewel
In Christ's diadem.
My Heart.
You ask me to open
The door of my heart,
That thus you may enter
And search every part;
I'll open the portal
Obedient to you,
But, ah! I would rather
Have hid it from view.


144
MY HEART.
There, roam through its cloisters,
Each aisle you may tread,
Waking sad memories
That long have been dead.
You'll see there spots of green
As onward you steal,
And as you move nearer
They graves will reveal.
But, ah! you can guess not
At what they contain;
They are the hopes of years
Deep buried in pain.
Oh! place your feet gently
As onward you move,
The spot is so sacred
To friendship and love.
See, high above each grave
There hangs a pale light;
By it you'll read the pain
Thus buried from sight.
Ah! have your eyes grown dim?
I'll kiss off each tear,
That each cherished record
To you may be clear.


MY HEART.
145
No other form than mine
Hath knelt here before;
No footsteps have echoed
Upon this lone floor;
But now I'm guiding you
Through each lonely cell,
Showing without reserve
The tenants that dwell.
But, dear one, do not weep—
Between those dark graves
The sea of peace runs down,
And each green mound laves;
Sometimes it overflows,
Until I can see
Fond dreams of other years
Returning to me.
Even in this sad heart
Hope's light is not dead;
The fair bird in radiance
Its sweet wings outspread;
And, oh! it soared to you
And whispered its tale;
What will the answer be?
Shall love prevail?
L


146
THE DAWN OF LOVE.
Is my heart too gloomy
A place for your rest?
Your love would lighten it,
And I should be blest.
What though the graves are green,
Oft watered by tears?
May not fair blossoms grow,
And hide them with years?
What you will come to it
And reign there as queen,
Over the ruins grey,
Where sadness has been ?
God bless you, my dearest!
How sweet it will be
To owe my life's brightness
To one dear as thee!
The Bawn of Four.
I WATCHED the soft eyes drooping
Their silky fringe,
Resting on the velvet cheek
Of rosy tinge.


THE DAWN OF LOVE.
147
The childish laugh no longer
Fell on my ear,
And she would sit so silent
When I was near.
If but a flower I gathered
And threw away,
Her gentle eyes would linger
Near where it lay.
Did our hands meet a moment,
Ah! then a blush
Would sweep o'er cheek and temple
With vivid rush.
The tender lips would quiver
If but to me
She spoke, however formal
The words might be.
As roses seem the sweetest
'Neath pearly dew,
So with Love's veil upon her
She sweeter grew.


148
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
Beneath the rosy curtain
Of shy reserve,
Love's coming day was peeping,
I could observe.
I gently stirred the curtain,
My thoughts to prove,
And I was blest in watching
The dawn of Love.
Lines
ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF A ONCE DEAR
FRIEND.
Ir is so sad for me to know
The eyes once sweetly blue and bright,
That sparkled so in days of yore,
Are shrouded now in death's dark night.
So piteous too to think that now
The wealth of shining golden hair
Is simply braided from the brow,
That was so purely white and fair.


ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
149
That all the rich vermilion hue
Has faded from the rounded cheek;
How strange the laughter-loving lips
No longer to the loved ones speak!
It seems unnatural that she
Should now be lying cold and still,
Who was so full of health and life,
And hearts with merriment could fill.
'Tis ever sad to hear that one
We love has said farewell to earth,
But saddest when a babe is left
Helpless and motherless from birth.
O once dear friend! I mourn thy death,
And I will cherish warm and true
The memory of bygone years
That brings our friendship back to view.
And I will pray thy little child
May be the Shepherd's tender care;
That He may guide its path to heaven,
That you may meet together there.


150
MY DEAR OLD SONGS.
My Bear Di8 Songs.
DEAR, dear old songs, how sadly you recall
The happy days for ever past and gone,
When I could warble out your pretty thoughts,
And give a simple joy to every one.
How oft I've seen the ready smile appear
When I have sung a gay and lively strain!
And quite as often I have seen the tears
O'erflow, when I have sung of grief and pain.
And yet, although that time is past and gone,
I love to think that once my voice was sweet;
That I have used the talent that God gave,
So that it pierced the feelings' deep retreat.
It casts a holy glow about my past
To know the treasure that I once possessed,
Although it gives a keen edge to my pain
To find it now so sadly laid to rest.
Would that again my voice might stir the hearts
Of those I love! Ah! then my songs should be
With fuller, sweeter words, and holier theme,
Set to a deeper flow of melody.


SONNET.
151
Dear, dear old songs, that once I loved to sing,
You touch my mem'ry with a soft, sweet strain;
But though so sweet, alas! those songs of old
Bring also sadder mem'ries in their train.
Bouurt
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
O LITTLE bird! whose wondrous notes
In melting sweetness round us floats
In the hushed silence of the night,-
That hour when Fancy wings her flight
And soars through regions clear and high,
And liquid as yon cloudless sky,
In which the moon and starry throng
Seem list'ning to thy tender song.
Ah! how those notes can stir my soul,
As from thy tiny throat they roll
In a wild flood of melody,
Rising and falling ceaselessly!


152
A BIRTHDAY PRAYER.
Now with a deep outburst of praise,
Now with the sweetest of love's lays,
But ever thrilling, ever clear,
To the enraptured list'ning ear.
O songster sweet! the thoughtful mind
In thee a lesson deep can find:
That not in lovely forms alone
Are virtues fair to look upon;
Thy quiet plumage hides a gift
That every human soul can lift.
And so, beneath a homely face,
Is ofttimes hid the lovely grace
Of Truth, that gem within the breast,
Which having we are sweetly blest.
Birthday Trager.
DEAREST, I pray that you may have
This sweet foretaste of heaven-
The power to feel the love of God
In gifts withheld or given.


ISABEL.
153
Isabel.
ON a mossy bank she sat,
Beside a rippling stream,
Whose waters clear reflected
The morning sun's bright beam.
"Oh! sad, sad heart!" she said,
"My every hope has fled;
I now but ask for peace,
Until thy beatings cease."
On went the shining streamlet,
With not a moment's rest;
Sweet buds, and blossoms sailing
Upon its gleaming breast.
"Oh! stricken heart!" she cried,
66 Bliss is to thee denied;
No buds or flowerets fair
E'er come to claim thy care."
Still dancing, gurgling ever,
The rippling stream goes on,
Regardless of the echo
It gives to that sad moan;


154
OLD LETTERS.
"Oh! weary heart," she asked,
"Shall sweet peace come at last?
Or is it still for me
To bear pain silently."
The murmur of the brooklet
Now seemed a sweet low song,
Telling her how grand it is
To suffer, and be strong;
"Oh! heart," she sobbed, "look up,
I'll drink my bitter cup,
Though tears are falling fast,
And peace will come at last."
Did Fetters.
I WATCH them burning slowly one by one,
Those still dear relics of a love now lost,
Alas! the hand that penned them ne'er will know
The bitter pain her broken vows have cost.


OLD LETTERS.
155
I read them ere I give them to the flames,
And tears-though manhood crowns my brow-
will start,
As some stray speech replete with love I see,
That makes it harder still from her to part.
Ah! here is one, and in it lying still
A gift of love-a lock of soft brown hair;
No, no, I cannot burn this little curl,
The pain would be too great for me to bear.
And here is this one, it shall never go,
For on it there are marks that once were tears;
Until my dying-day this shall remain
In sacred memory of former years.
I think she loved me once, for I recall
Those lustrous eyes, so full of truth and love;
And feel again her little soft white hands
Caressing mine, her love and joy to prove.
But never more shall our hands meet again,
Nor shall I see again that beauteous face;
I could not bear to look upon it, if not free
Her every passing thought in it to trace.


156
MAGDALEN.
I watch them burning slowly one by one,
Each line, each word, e'en to the name I see ;
And by each bitter pang that rends my heart,
I know I've felt love's stern reality.
Magdalen.
SEE that wasted, drooping frame,
Bowed with sense of sin and shame,
Feebly breathing out Thy name.
Jesus, save her.
At Thy cross behold her stand,
Grasping it with trembling hand,
Though her brow yet bears a brand.
Jesus, save her.
•
Oh! how hard the road she's trod,
From a life of sin to God,
Burdened with guilt's heavy load.
Jesus, save her.


MAGDALEN.
157
See her torn and bleeding feet.
Of her heart an emblem meet,
Penitence to thee is sweet.
Jesus, save her.
Watching that lone sinner there,
Listen to her humble prayer,
Stealing through the midnight air.
Jesus, save her.
"Save me! oh, Eternal Son,
Take away the ills I've done,
Look in mercy me upon."
Jesus, save her.
"Wash away sin's crimson dyes,
By Thy one great sacrifice."
Hear her heavy moans and sighs.
Jesus, save her.
Prayer like this ne'er rose in vain,
To the Lamb who once was slain;
Make, oh, make her pure again!
Jesus, save her.


158
SLEEP.
By lone dark Gethsemane,
By Thy cross on Calvary,
Jesus, by these things I see
Thou wilt save her.
Slerp.
SLEEP, welcome sleep,
When the tired eyelids close,
When the 'soul forgets its sorrow,
In calm repose.
Sleep, grateful sleep,
To the weary toil-worn frame;
A potent spell is found in thy
Mysterious name.
Sleep, soothing sleep,
To the fevered throbbing brain,
When health, through thy sweet vale, once more
Flows back again.


AU REVOIR.
159
Sleep, dreamful sleep,
When another world unfolds
Its mystic charms, and with its spell
Our spirit holds.
Sleep, peaceful sleep,
When our daily cross laid down,
In Thy soft arms we change it for
A glowing crown.
Sleep, blessed sleep,
When the soul has passed away,
Waking to all the glories of
Eternal day.
Au Braair.
NoT now good-bye, my best beloved,
But only "Au revoir";
After to-night you'll be my own,
And we shall part no more.


160
AU REVOIR.
My heart's glad song, sun, moon, and stars
Seem ever echoing;
And every hour that passes by,
New brightness seems to bring.
I even seem to tread the earth
With a new buoyancy;
I never knew until to night
How dear you are to me.
Oh! let me see those gentle eyes,
What in them glist'ning tears?
Surely they cannot mean that you
Have fear for future years.
No, no, that jealous doubt is past,
Look up, and let me see
The happy gladness of my heart,
Reflected, love, on thee.
I pray that to-morrow morning,
No tears may stain your face;
That I may see your sweetest smile
Amid your clouds of lace.


DEATH OF A DEAR SISTER.
161
That will be the happiest moment,
The proudest of my life;
When from the altar I shall turn,
Claiming you as my wife.
Du the Brath of a Brar Sister.
WE cannot yet restrain the grief
That reigns within our breast,
But still 'tis sweet to think of her,
The weary one at rest.
We would not call her back again
From all the new-found bliss
That now is hers, in yon bright world,
After the pain of this.
But still, but still our hearts are sore,
The wound is fresh and deep,
And though we try to joy with her
We also mourn and weep.
M


162
DEATH OF A DEAR SISTER.
God hath implanted in our hearts
The precious germ of love,
And will He chide us that we now
Its mighty nature prove?
Ah, no! He makes our grief His own,
He knows 'tis hard to part
From earthly dear ones, and He sends
Sweet comfort to our heart.
He bids us look beyond the grave
To heaven, the home that He
Hath purchased for us by His pains,
And death on Calvary.
He knows the slough of dark despair
Through which our spirits wade,
He wept Himself beside the tomb
Where one He loved was laid.
And so He gently pleads with us
His promises of love,
That broken families on earth
Are formed anew above.


A MESSAGE SENT BY FLOWERS.
163
Oh! may He give us faith to raise
Our eyes by weeping dim,
And tearfully in hope resign
Our dear lost one to Him.
We know she'll safe with Him remain,
And on a heavenly shore
We trust that through our Saviour's blood,
We'll meet to part no more.
rssage Brut by Flowers.
A PANSY, a Rose-bud
With moss round its leaves,
And sweet purple Lilac,
My hand fondly weaves;
A Jonquil, and Hawthorn,
A Blue-bell, and Fern
I add, that my message
You quickly may learn.


164
EVENING SHADOWS.
With these a Peach Blossom
And Balsam I'll send;
A sprig of dark Ivy
Will then sweetly blend;
A Cedar and Bay leaf
Together shall be,
And in these few flowers
My message you'll see.
Eurning Shadows.
EVENING shadows gently falling
Steal into the cheerful room,
And I sit and watch my darling,
In the twilight's mystic gloom.
With her first-born tiny treasure
Sleeping softly on her knee,
That is now the sweetest picture
That the whole world holds for me.


EVENING SHADOWS.
165
But the flick'ring firelight shows me
That her thoughts are far away,
And I fondly try to follow
In the paths where now they stray.
And I fancy she is thinking
Of her short and sunny life,
Of her home in happy childhood,
Where I sought her for my wife.
There she sees her gentle parents,
Brothers, sisters, friends so true,
Each one as a panorama
Passing swiftly in review.
Sunny slopes and verdant meadows,
Where her childish games were played,
With the tiny babbling brooklet
Where her feet so oft have strayed.
Shady lanes and leafy hedgerows
Follow in her thoughts' sweet train,
And the sound of merry voices
Echoes over all the plain.


166
EVENING SHADOWS.
And once more she is among them,
As in happy days of yore,
Never dreaming for a moment
That those days for her are o'er.
But a sigh from that sweet sleeper
Calls her back again I see,
For she starts and quickly glances
From the little babe to me.
I wonder if 'tis hard to wake
From that dream of childhood's hours,
To feel that she belongs to me,
That this little child is ours.
Ah! that thought lives but a moment,
For her hand steals into mine,
And her gentle eyes are beaming
With the mother-love divine.
I do not grudge her looking back
On her pure life's even flow,
But love to watch her fair young face
With each tender mem'ry glow.


A BAY-LEAF.
167
For when I took her from her home
She was but a child in years,
And well I know that now for me
She must taste life's earnest cares.
While the twilight softly deepens,
Drawing her unto my breast,
I feel that in life's light or shade
My fond heart is strangely blessed.
Bag-Erat.
"I CHANGE but in dying!" beautiful thought
Brought by a leaf to me!
I gather the lesson so simply taught
Of truth and constancy.
Sweet leaf, I ask
From thee this task,
Speed fast from me,
And silently
Tell him whose faith in me's relying,
In thine own words, "I change but in dying!"


168
NOWHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD.
But linger a moment, beautiful leaf:
There is a lovely flower
Which entwined with thee will in words still brief,
Gladden a lonely hour.
Near me there grows
A sweet moss-rose:
A bud will say,
With trembling lay,
"I love thee!" and you, so sweetly vieing,
Will say, "I love, and change but in dying!"
Howhere to Kay Kis Krad.
NOWHERE to lay His head! O God!
The wealth of sadness that those words contain!
Alone upon the earth He trod,
There was no solace for the Saviour's pain.
Nowhere to lay His head! and yet
He loved to give to others peace and rest;
His griefs he ever could forget
In giving joy unto some other breast.


NOWHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD.
169
Nowhere to lay His head! ah, no!
Without a shelter from the tempest strong;
Yet He was ready still to go
Through boist'rous seas, to cheer a doubting
throng.
Nowhere to lay His head! but oft
He prayed at night upon the mountain-side
For those who, now on pillows soft,
Should one day claim Him for their heavenly
guide.
Nowhere to lay His head! it seems
As though our ruined souls this truth must win
From all our vain and earthly dreams,
To hate the very name and sight of sin.
Nowhere to lay His head! oh, think!
Creator of the universe was He,
Who snatched us from the fearful brink
On which we stood, above a yawning sea.
Nowhere to lay His head! until
It lay at rest within the lonely tomb,
And then, through God's most holy will,
The sinner had escaped his awful doom.


170
OUT IN THE COLD.
But in the Golf.
OUT in the cold,
Watching the while
The favoured ones
Sunned in thy smile.
Hungry at heart,
Shivering with pain,
Fiercely the storms
Within me reign.
Out in the cold,
Far from thy side,
Bearing my grief
In silent pride.
Cold as the snow
Thine eyes to me,
Thy lips and words
An icy sea.
Out in the cold,
Throbbing with pain,
More piercing than
The pelting rain.


THY NAME.
171
Weary and worn
My sad eyes fill,
While in the cold
I watch thee still.
Thy Hame.
WHY is it that I always blush
At mention of thy name?
How is that no other words
Can move me quite the same?
Why is it that my heart beats fast,
And that my eyes grow soft,
If but the whisper of thy name
Is from me borne aloft ?
How is it that I seem to walk
In fairy paths of light,
If but thy name has echoed o'er
Where all around is night?


172
HOPE'S WHISPER.
Why is it that my joyous heart
With rippling bliss o'erflows?
If but thy name is linked with mine,
Ah! who my rapture knows?
Why is it that no other life
Seems half so fair as mine?
Oh! 'tis because thy heart's my own,
And all my love is thine.
Hour's Whisper.
WHAT is this sweet and gentle voice,
Like music in my ear,
Stealing through midnight's dreary gloom,
My lonely heart to cheer?
It is a voice I have not heard
Through years of weary pain;
And, ah its tender tone brings back
The dear old times again.


MAY.
173
How sacred I have ever held
Remembrance of the past,
Though every flower that bloomed in it
Has from my path been cast!
This voice takes not away the pain
Of all those weary years;
Nor does it teach me to expect
A life exempt from cares.
But list'ning to its soothing tone,
Clouds from my heart doth roll;
And once again I recognise
Hope's whisper to my soul.
jag·
Blue eyes smiling,
All hearts wiling,
Love beguiling,
Lovely May.
Fair hair streaming,
In light gleaming,
Bright gold seeming,
Witching May.


174
COME, SEE THE PLACE.
Red lips pouting,
Your words doubting,
At facts scouting,
Daring May.
Watch her tripping,
Rose trees stripping,
Sweet buds nipping,
Childish May.
Romping, laughing,
Always chaffing,
Life's joys quaffing,
That's my May.
Comr, Brr the larz.
COME, see the place where Jesus lay,
Behold, the stone is rolled away;
"The Lord is ris'n," the angels cry,
"By His great power and majesty."


COME, SEE THE PLACE.
175
Come, see the place-though holy ground,
Yet all who will may gather round;
None too guilty to be denied,
For sinners Christ was crucified.
Come, see the place-His empty tomb,
A place of joy has now become;
For, stooping down and looking in,
We see atonement made for sin.
Come, see the place, and let us try
To understand this mystery ;
God reconciled through Christ to us,
Whose sins have nailed Him to the cross.
Come, see the place--what matchless love
God's gift of His dear Son doth prove!
For this to live, for this to die,
That He might sinners justify.
Come, see the place, and let us raise
Our hearts to Him in thankful praise
For His great love so freely giv'n,
To purchase for us life in heaven.


176
WITHERED FLOWERS.
Withered Flowers.
'Tis only some withered flowers
I am holding in my hand;
Withered and dead, yet they are tied
By a little bright blue band.
How these faded flowers remind me
Of my golden dreams long past;
When my life was bright, and sorrow
Had no shadow o'er me cast.
Ah! fain would my memory linger
On that fair and sunny shore;
But later years have sadly dimmed
The vision so sweet of yore.
The hand that placed these once fair buds
In mine, as a pledge of love,
No longer holds it in the clasp
That our hearts could strangely move.


WITHERED FLOWERS.
177
Ah, no like this little bouquet,
Our deep love faded away;
And crushed, my once bright heart was left,
On the morning of life's day.
I will not blame him, but how sad
It is upon looking back,
To see the fairest flowers of life
Lying withered on its track.
Though fairest, they are not the best,
The hearts that are once thrown by
May bloom with a deeper beauty,
Although they were left to die.
I know not why I have treasured
These poor little faded flowers,
They come as low-voiced messengers,
Of those vanished happy hours.
I know that I am happier now,
With these dead flowers in my hand,
Than when I stood with him, once dear,
In the glory of Love's land.
N


178
HEAVEN.
But into my full and happy life
Runs the stream of memory still;
As rivers must owe all their depth
To many a rippling rill.
Beauru.
OH! heaven, heaven, beautiful place,
Where saints behold their Redeemer's face;
The city whose strong foundations sure
Throughout eternity shall endure.
Oh! heaven, heaven, thy streets of gold
Gleam with a beauty all untold;
Thy pearly gates, and thy jasper wall,
Have God and the Lamb to light them all.
Oh! heaven, heaven, thy crystal sea
Flows gently beside the healing tree;
Where the feet of saints enraptured stray,
Happy and blest through the endless day.


HEAVEN.
179
Oh! heaven, heaven, where heave no sighs,
Nor teardrops are seen in mourning eyes;
Where no more sorrow nor pain shall come,
Nor death shall enter that peaceful home.
Oh! heaven, heaven, if all thy light
Comes out from the throne so pure and white;
How could I bear before it to stand,
But for the touch of my Saviour's hand?
Oh! heaven, heaven, when shall I see
The glory that is awaiting me?
Oh! when shall I touch thy streets of gold,
Gathered at last to the Shepherd's fold?
Oh! heaven, heaven, amid the throng
Of angels singing the glad new song;
How I shall gaze on each shining face,
The friends of my earthly life to trace.
Oh! heaven, heaven, then shall appear
The reason for all my trials here;
And I shall wonder I so repined,
When all my sorrows are left behind.


180
MY BEAU IDEAL.
Oh! heaven, heaven, no night is there,
No darkness falls on the city fair;
'Tis sweet to think of the bliss that waits
The soul that passes the pearly gates.
My ran oral.
He must be very noble, who
Could win this wayward heart;
He must be one who takes in life
An active, zealous part.
I do not mean that he must be
High on the steps of fame;
I only ask that he shall bear
A bright untarnished name.
He must be the companion
Of all the true and brave;
One quick to stretch a helping hand,
Less gifted ones to save.


MY BEAU IDEAL.
181
I care naught for his outward form,
But, oh! he must have eyes
That speak nobility of soul,
To which I fain would rise.
He must be one to whom I could
Look up with honest pride;
One who, in rising higher still,
Would keep me at his side.
Who would not look with proud disdain
On woman's intellect;
But share his deepest thoughts with me,
As if I could reflect.
He must be one I knew full well
Was mine both heart and soul;
And one who would not scorn to feel
A woman's sweet control.
But one whose manliness was such,
That none could think that he
Would weakly to my will submit,
Should we not quite agree.


182
MY BEAU IDEAL.
Ah, no! I have no deep dislike
To feel a ruling hand;
But he must be one who in love
Would issue his command.
Yes! he must be all this to whom
This wayward heart of mine
Would ever owe allegiance sweet,
Or could itself resign.
Ranken & Co., Printers, Drury House, St. Mary-le-Strand, London.
















201