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Maps, plates, charts, etc.. may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmte A des taux de reduction diff Arents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour i^tre reprodult en un seul clichA. 11 est film* A partir de i'angie supArieur gauche, de gauche h droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n^cessaira. lias diagrammes suivants iilustrent la mAthoda. 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 ^ ^ V ■v-W 5tr)c-i; V /L. i^Z^^^^ I- V POEMS ■:^. BY ISABELLA WHITEFORD. BELFAST: WILLIAM M'COMB. LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. DUBLIN: J.ROBERTSON. EDINBUROH: GALL AND INOLI3. MSCCCLX. w PREFACE. At the request of my friends I submit to the public this little volume. I am fully awaxe, in so doing, it is open to public criticism, and I feel very sensibly, without any affectation, its defects are neither few nor small. But as it makes no pretensions to poetry of a higher order than what might possess interest from its purely local character, or serve to while away a twilight hour, or bring back the sunny memoiy of childhood s early associations, I would claim for it, kind reader, your indulgence and consideration. I. W. St. John's, NEWFotnmtAND, 1859. y^ *.m»jmifM ^ i-^WiB* CONTENTS. ■n^ 4 TO MUS. 8 , IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HEB EXQUISITE BOUQUET OF WAX FLOWEBS 9 A MAY MEETING 10 FIBST FABEWELI. TO HOME, 12 THE CBISIS 16 ON THE DEATH OF AM XNFANT, • 18 A sailob's musings 19 SONG — ^WILT THOU PBOMISE? 21 HOPE BEALISED, 22 THE POLAB STAB 24 THE GBEEE EXILE'S BETUBN, 27 HOME 81 WHAT IS BEAL HAPPINESS ? 32 UNES WBITTEN AT BBUCE'S CASTLE, BATHLIN 87 BUBNING OF THE " OCEAN MONABCB," 88 AUTUMN, 41 THBEE SCENES IN EYEBT DAY LIFE, 42 DISCOVEBY OF THE NOBTH-WEST PASSAGE 48 WBITTEN FOB ST. JOHN'S LADIES* BAZAAB, 61 ADYEBTISEMENT FOB LADIES* BAZAAB, 64 ON A BOUQUET OF PBIMB0SE3 AND VIOLETS, 66 ON AN INSCBIPTION IN " QUIDI VIDl'* GBAVEYABD, .... 67 THE DYING CHILD TO HEB MOTHEB 60 " THEY SHALL ALL FADE AS A LEAF," 61 TO MABY 63 " BEJOICE, O YOUNG MAN, IN THY YOUTH," 67 1 rt •df I CONTENTS. PAOI. IN UEMOBY OF 68 OM A CELEBRATED FAINTEB'S SKETCHINO HIS DAUOH* teb's face after death, 73 death of wellington, 75 excelsiob, 77 the wild rose 79 fast, present, future » 80 the dreamer, 83 on the death of a little girl (emma a. b.) 85 welcome to spring 87 a requiem, 80 passing away, 01 solitude not loneliness, 93 suggested by the death of db. beaumont 97 a sabbath-sohool, igo WINTEB, < 102 WESTERN ISLE 105 FAREWELL, 107 A TRIBUTE TO MRS. H. B. STOWE, 108 UNCLE TOM's DEATH SCENE 114 A SCRIPTURE SCENE (IST SAMUEL, XXVI.) 117 REMINISCENCE OF A DEAB FBIEND 122 SEA SOUNDS 124 THE BLIND OIBL'S GBIEF, 128 FRAGMENTS — ^ALBION, EBIN, CALEDONIA, TEBBA NOVA,.. 131 VICTOBY AND DEATH 133 TO J. A. W 138 THE SONG OF THE LAST BED INDIAN, 139 TO SPBING, 143 ALL GONE, 145 FOR A lady's album 147 rk VI CONTENTS. VAOS. " I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY," 149 THE PANSY, 161 " AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT" (ZECH. XIV. 7), 153 ALMA, 165 TO MBS. H. (on HEABING HEB BEGBET HAVING NO LIKE- NESS OF A BEAUTIFUL DECEASED DAUGHTEB, 160 eabth and the FLOWEBS, 161 OUB UNFOBOOTTEN, 163 ON THE GENEBAL THANKSGIVING, 1855 166 BLOW UP THE TBUMFET, 171 TO JANE, ON BECErVING HEB DAGUEBBEOTYPE, 173 A winteb's scene, 176 BEVENGE ON I1«DIA, 170 TO CAPTAIN PEBCY, BBIO " JESSIE," 183 ON FBAGMBNTS OF STONE FBOM THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY, 185 AN HOUB WITH MEMOBY, 186 ON A BELIO FBOM " MABS' HILL," AT ATHENS, 188 ON THE DEATH OF THE BEV. B. A. CHESLEY 180 DAVID AND THE WELL OF BETHLEHEM, .. v 101 "SAILED AND HAS NOT SINCE BEEN HEABD OF," 105 ON A BOUQUET OF WAX FLOWEBS 107 ELECTBICITY, 100 THE BELLE, 901 BETBOSPECTION 304 ALONE AT THE BENDEZVOUS « 305 TO MABY, ON BECEIVING A CABBAGE BOSfi FBOM HOME, 306 LINES ON THE SALE OF XNOYDABT, GLENGABBY 308 THINGS FOB AN ALBUM,. . . t 310 MBMOBIES AND MEMENTOES I ...... • 313 MIDSUMMEB EVE 313 TO El L. M., ESQ. (FOB AN HUSH HABP BBOOGH OF HIS 4 llf* Jfh ^ 11^ t.^ CONTENTS. vn riei. OWN CARVINO), 31S THK DEATH OF WOLFE, S16 ON A HEAD BT SIB THOMAS LAWRENCE, 919 THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH 221 TO THE COMET OF 1858, 223 ON THE FLUTTERINO SOUND OF LEAVES SAID TO BE PE- CULIAR TO EARLY AUTUMN, 226 AN ORPHAN SLEEPINO, 220 THE PIC-NIC — A MEMORY, 227 LIFE DREAMS 229 THE MERCHANT OF MARSEILLES, 231 NAAMAN THE SYRIAN, 244 TO A DEAR ONE, THREE YEARS OLD, 248 MOSES ON THE MOUNT— THE GREAT REQUEST, 240 WHAT I WOULD NOT 2&2 CHILDHOOD, 263 BY THE RIVER 264 MUSIC OF SPRING, 267 MARIAN, 260 OLIVIA 260 PEACE AND WAR, 263 FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, 266 TO MABUN, 268 " IF THIS BE DEATH, OH, HOW SWEET," 271 SUGGESTED BY READING THE LATE REV. R. A. CHESLEY'S "REFLECTIONS ON THE DUTIES OF A MINISTER,".. 272 TO MRS. K., ON THE DEATH OF SANDY, 274 " TANY," 276 FAREWELL TO* THE REV. E. B., 277 MAIDEN FANCIES 280 THE GENIUS OF ROBERT BURNS, 281 ». H " i n vin CONTENTS. rAOi. FOR FUNDS FOR CHURCH BUILDING 283 FAREWEIX TO MRS. H'B., 284 SONQS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM WRITTEN IN CHILD- HOOD — BONO I., 285 u. — normamdalk's bono 286 ni. — Allan's bono, 288 IV.— EDWARD BRUCE'S BONO, 280 V. — noreen's mother's bono, 290 FOR rosima's album 201 to rosina, on her marriaoe, 292 "lERME," 294 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. TO MRS. S- IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HER EXQUISITE BOUQUET OF WAX FLOWERS, Wild flowers immortalised the valley's Queen, With tiny, trembling cups and leaves of green, And May-flowers fair as those I culled erewhile, Radiant with beauty, in our own Green Isle ; And golden ball, and bunch-berry, fruit, and flower. The fragile children of a summer hour : I bless the Power that cheats our ardent gaze, And gives you fadeless thro' dark winter's days. I am a worshipper — I fear, too much; Wherever beauty is, with magic touch, A strange attraction draws and keeps me there; I never learned to couple " false and fair." B 10 A MAY MEETING. Altho' it may be so, still in mv dreams, Whate'er is good, that beautiful still seems ; Till beautiful and good become so one, That I have never either met alone. Where Beauty wakes up beauty, there's my shrine, In music, flowers, or "human face divine;" Then, lady, thou wilt know how much I prize The flowers that took their tints to please thine eyes: Nor gems, nor gold, could ever be to me One-half so priceless as those flowers from thee. May'st thou be like them ! — pleasure light thine eye ! And, like them, too, forget to fade and die ; And may thy path thro' life, as free from thorns, Be bless'd with every good that life adorns 1 A MAY MEETING. 'TwAS like a dream of old romance. Or like a meteor's lightning glance ; The dreams, the hopes, the joys of years. Without their sorrows or their fears ; The bliss of ages in an hour ; The slender bud burst into flower. A MAY MEETING. 11 'Twas like the dazzling glare of light, Chasing the shadows of the night ; 'Twas Hope, with full possession crowned, Breathing its balm on all around. s: It was — but I can say no more — A meeting on a rocky shore ; That rocky shore, a lonely isle, Where few of Nature's beauties smile, But rocks grotesque in every form, Most mildly grand when wreathed in storm ; Our home, a simple cottage there, Fanned by the pure Atlantic air. And those who met — affection's few, With love Time never can subdue ; For, were that chain of love once broke, Not wealth, nor power, could heal the stroke. A love begun in childhood's days, Not one that dazzles and betrays, But calm, and pure, and holy still, Flowing in one bright, steady rill. We met — I've failed to sketch the scene, And yet I cannot draw the screen ; w/ 12 FIRST FAREWELL TO HOME. Of all our band we missed not one, The good, the happy — but they're gone. Mountains and oceans intervene Our happy household band between : Too sweet the vision was to last, " 'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past." FIRST FAREWELL TO HOME. FARE-thee well, my own sweet home, Far amid the ocean's foam. , Memory still will cling to thee, Deeply, fondly, tenderly j . » Binding with a lasting spell To the scenes I loved so well: Every mountain, every dale. Every flower that loved the vale. Every sweet entrancing bliss, In that home of happiness. By the morn and evening prayer, From the lips I loved to hear ; Father ! — a tone was in thy voice, That still made my heart rejoice. t FIEST FAREWELL TO HOME. 13 \ By my mother's tender love, Which no time could e'er remove ; With its world of hopes and fears, Joys and sorrows, smiles and tears. By the depth of love that lies In either sister's beaming eyes, Looking together on one flower, Growing in love from hour to hour, And brothers — but they're gone av ay O'er the ocean's fitful spray, And one whose bark is, even now, Parting the wave with glistening prow ; Guide him. Father ! safely o'er, To Terranova's distant shore ! May those loved brothers meet in joy. With not a cloud their bliss t' alloy. Home, again, I turn to thee, Scene of happy infancy. Where, even now, loved children play Through the long, bright summer day. One sweet boy — I see him now; Three sunny summers on his brow, - And his rosy dimpled cheek Wreathed in smiles whene'er I speak. How his voice, so soft and clear, 14 FIRST FAREWELL TO HOME. Fell like music on my ear ! In my dreams that child I see In his happy, childish glee ; But it strikes a chord too deep, And I waken but to weep. Homie ! thou art a blessed spot ! A thing that ne'er can be forgot ; Through the crowded streets I roam, Yet my thoughts still tend to home. 'Mid the brilliant, young, and gay, Full of life and buoyancy, Homeward ever turns my soul, As the needle seeks the pole. Oh! how wistfully I pry, Through thy veil. Futurity, To my meeting all once more On my own beloved shore, And its grand wild rocks will be Such a blessed sight to me ; And every voice I loved to hear, Will sound more doubly sweet and dear. Would that I could reach that home, Ne'er again from it to roam ! Would all our household band were there, In my joy their part to bear ! THE CRISIS. Until then, farewell my home, Far amid the ocean's foam ; May peace and joy around thee dwell, Farethee-well ! my home, farewell ! . THE CRISIS. A^D are they gone, those blissful years] Even their partings and their tears, Now enshrined by memory, seem Bright and glorious as a dream ^ Of the fancy's richest twining. Light, and life, and joy combining; Which the sleeper, on awaking. Finds was all the fancy's making- Finds but torpor, gloom, and night, For promised life, and joy, and light. Ah, well I knew it would not last, For things so bright fade still too fast ; It might not be — I knew 't was vain To think such bliss could long remain. Our long unbroken happy band Are parted now — a foreign land Is trod by those who charmed each scene; 15 16 THE CRISIS. We hallow where their steps have been. The hand is gone that twined the flowers Around our home in parting hours, That watched their budding and their bloom, And loved t' inhale their rich perfume. Now the flow'rets, fading fast, Tell of joys with spring gone past ; Nature cannot charm the eye As it used in days gone by, When together we have strayed Where her wildest pranks were played ; Where rocks on rocks majestic piled, Grand, irregular, and wild, Like some breastwork of defence. Charmed with its rude magnificence; And where the ready hand would trace Sketches of each remembered place ; Or the very air would be Vocal with sweet harmony. Oh! 'twas a pole-star in our sky — , A sunbeam on life's ocean ; A green oasis passing by, To raise each fond emotion. Darkly broods the memory o'er The hour we parted on our shore. THE CRISIS. 17 '^. :) Slowly, sadly, months roll on. Since we mourn'd the loved ones gone. They can tell it, and they only. Who have felt how long, how lonely Time wears round, when those beloved From our sight are far removed. Hushed be this sad repining strain, Hope whispers, we shall meet again — Shall meet, where parting is no more — Hush, my soul, be sad no more! Thy Father's ways thou canst not know. Suffice it, he will have it so. Flowers look brightest after rain. Sweetest pleasure follows pain ; Winter gives to Spring its zest, Labour ever sweetens rest. Morn is doubly clear and bright After all the gloom of night; Father, safely o'er the deep, Guide the friends for whom we weep, And our meeting will be bliss An excess of happiness. 18 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. ^f ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. What means this stillness round ? So solemn, so profound ; And mourners, too, without the sound of woe ? Draw you that curtain back, Mark there death's fearful track — A young, a lovely thing, so soon brought low ! The curtains drawn aside, Oh ! who would wish to hide A thing so lovely, shrinking from the view; Upon a couch there lies One who has gained the prize. And bade to earth a long, a last adieu ! Few moons had waned and shone Upon that sleeping one ; Its life was like the rose-bud's — fair, but brief A short, a rapturous hour, » And then the fragile flower Passed from the earth without a faded leaf The curls of golden hair, Around the brow so fair, The long soft lashes — veiled as if in sleep ; m i The lips 80 free from care — A smile still lingers there, ^ And on the cheek— oh ! who for thee could weep ! Weep for a spirit gone, Where sorrow is unknown, Ere aught of earthly woe could cloud its sight ; Pure as the budding rose, Some kind hand around it throws. That young spirit now in radiant light. «J A SAILOR'S MUSINGS. Thoughts of home, ye are crowding fast, 'Spite of the surge and the howling blast ; And friends are passing in quick review With forms as fair, and hearts as true, As ever bless'd my boyish dreams With Fancy's rainbow-coloured gleams. Again I wander o'er hill and glade, Where choicest schemes with Hope were laid; Where coming years fresh joys should bring. And Summer flowers outstrip the Spring. * And the rosy face of a sister smiled. Oh ! how I loved the gentle child ! 20 A sailor's musings. With her laughing lips and bright blue eyes, And golden tresses ! — how memory flies ! Recalling the sport of our childish hours, When I wreathed those curls with fresh wild-flowers, And bore her aloft through the Summer air. As proud as a victor in laurelled chair ! But she is changed, that laughing child, To the gentle girl, so sweet and mild; And yet does her heart as warmly beat With aftection's thrill whene'er we meet; And the bm'sting sigh, and the starting tear. At parting, show I still am dear ! And my mother, too, I see her form. Bending along with each blast of the storm. With a fervent prayer that her sailor boy May return again in peace and joy. In the warm affection that prompts that prayer None but a mother's heart can share. And the deep rich tones of my father's voice. Bidding each heart 'round him rejoice, Telling his hope that I'll shortly come To gladden once more his heart and home ; And tell him what things, both strange and new, Have been wrought by mo and my faithful crew. And my gallant bark is speeding on To the land whence those fairy dreams are drawn, And the bright waves are dancing before her prow. And the sun is gilding them gaily now; And the storm is hushed — and the golden west Half hides the sun in his glowing breast. Hush ! what was that signal given 1 No sail is rent — no mast is riven ; 'Tis the sailor's joy, the cry of delight. The cheering sound — there is land in sight ; One cheer for home, o'er the ocean's swell, One long, long cheer— good night, all's well ! SONG. Wilt thou promise through life's giddy throng. Where the loveliest and bravest are met, 'Mid the smile, and the jest, and the song, That the past thou wilt never forget 1 :,l In the hall, in the garden, or bower. No matter how happy thou art, When thy laugh sonda its musical power, Remember, they too must depart. I ask no remembrancer there; But when sickness or sorrow is tliine, Oh! how gladly I'd soothe all thy care, And each fleeting pleasure resign ! Oh ! think of the moments gone past. When our bright sun of joy never set;— Too brilliant, too joyous to last, Yet still far too dear to forget ! Farewell ! and wherever you rove, Give your smiles unto all who are dear. Keep for me one small token of love, And let that be- -a sigh or a tear. HOPE REALISED. Was it a dream 1 or did I see My own dear home once more 1 Was that the dash of bright waves free. Along its rocky shore ? My soul has, wearied, turned away From Fashion's fitful joy ; for my scenes of childish play, And I once more a boy 1 What though the rich and upreat may court My favour and esteem, And when I join the gay resort. Bright eyes with pleasure beam ! 'Neath Friendship's mask there may be guile, Though hidden from the gaze. for my mother's gentle smile, My father's grateful praise ! And this is what I longed for once ; Aye these are youth's bright dreams, That still grow dimmer in advance And now how vain it seems ! Thus Hope, the little airy thing. Still gilds the future hours. Oh ! sweeter are the buds of Spring Than Summer's richest flowers. THE POLAR STAR. Thou glorious star of night ! " In thy pure and regal splendour, There's a calmness in thy light, That no moonbeams e'er could render. For changeless art thou still, Though all may change about thee; Go to what clime we will. It were not bright without thee. Answer me — hast thou seen, In all thy steady gaze, More than our fickle moon . Through every varying phase 1 I have — when the sun was gone And the moon had hid her light, I have led some trav'Uer on Through the dark and cheerless night. Perchance some friend of thine, Has been gladdened by my ray, For I told, though brighter beams decline. There's love can ne'er decay. THE POLAR STAR. 25 I have marked, when the Northern Light has thrown Its fitful gleams around thee, And with a bright and circling zone Of regal splendour bound thee. But it was not this had caught my eye: Though its arrows were bright and gleaming, Too soon they fled from the glowing sky, Like memorials of infant's dreaming. But thou, o'er the waters' blue expanse, What hast thou seen, in thy piercing glance 1 I have seen the mariner tempest toss'd Afar on the trackless deep. And I was his guide when all hope was lost- When the friends he loved were asleep. I have marked the starting tear, As his eye was turned on me : He knew that a friend was near On the dark and trackless sea ; For I breathed of hope, I whispered a tale Of rapturous joys to come ; I told of meeting with friends again. Afar from the ocean's foam. I have kept my vigils o'er the grave Of each friend of thine early youth ; 26 THE POLAR STAR. The loved, the beautiful, and the brave, I have watched with ceaseless truth. Wouldst thou know still more 1 Not a spot of earth Thou hast loved in thy childhood's days, In joy or sorrow, in woe or mirth, But has met my nightly gaze. And in future, tho' thou and the world may change, Thou shalt meet me as before : I ne'er shall move, I ne'er shall range. Till time itself be o'er. It is enough, thou glorious star ! Oh ! who would wish for morning, Whilst the sun and moon are veiled afar, And thou art the skies adorning ; Whilst thou art guiding the traveller on, Or lighting a friend's lone tomb ; Whilst the sailor's heart is homeward drawn Through the darkness and the gloom 1 Still sparkle on — I know thy worth : Where'er through earth I roam, When my eye shall meet thee in the North, I will think of my happy home. THE GREEK EXILE's RETURN. 27 THE GREEK EXILE'S RETURN. "'lis Greece — but living Greece no more.'' — Byron. The sun had "^hed its last soft ray Through olives dim — the parting day Threw milder lustre o'er a scene Most pictm'esque, yet most serene. The scene lay in Lepanto's vale, Where citron forests scent the gale ; The vine had clothed the mountain's side, The lime-tree spread its branches wide, And laurels, with the faintest breeze. Glanced lightly tlirough the gloomy trees ; The jessamine's stars were wreathed between, And violets glistened from the green ; While fountains flung their feathery spray, Like glittering rain-drops, far away. Beneath a mournful cypress shade A ruined cottage was displayed. And Time, ashamed to view the scene. Had o'er it thrown a robe of green. The white rose with the ivy twined, And shed its perfume on the wind : The marble statue, now o'erthrown, With Lentisculus was o'ergrown ; The myrtle shed its sweetest breath Round scenes more desolate than death; But e'en a stranger's heart would thrill To see such beauty round it still. Yet there was one— no stranger's eye, Had gazed around so earnestly ; No stranger's brow such care had worn, To gaze on scenes so 'reft and torn; No stranger's breast had heaved so high. With that heart-rending, stifled sigh ! His form accorded with the scene — The wreck of what it once had been : The noble brow, of olive shade, Round which the raven ringlets play'd ; The eyes— soft, melancholy, black — Now held from scenes of daring back ; A form to rouse the latent fire Of minstrel's lay and minstrel's lyre, He leaned upon the broken pile. And wildly gazed around awhile ; Then sadder memories o'er him swept : He raised his deep toned voice and wept. " And is this all, my glorious home. That now is left of thee 1 THE GREEK EXILE S RETURN". 29 Alas ! that e'er the day should come When I such things should see ! That I should see thee 'reft and torn, By cruel spoilers' hands ! Would that my chains I still had worn, And died in foreign lands ! Would that the music of thy streams Had reached mine ear no more ! Then might I see thee in my dreams, As thou wert seen of yore. Yet, Greece, thou wert not dearer then Than thou art to me still ; Thy stately woods are dear as when I first felt pleasure's thrill. Thy sides are cloudless still, ancl blue As ever they have been; Thy sward still wears its matchless hue Of ever-varjring green. Yet, where are now the friends with whom I've trod each classic spot 1 The earth retains its ancient bloom. But they 1 — they answer not ! Where are mine own loved, kindred friends 1 My soul shrinks from the view : 30 THE GKEEK EXILE S RETURN. Whilst every other feeling blends, Are they not with me too 1 Where are the hands that touched the lyre, And woke the magic swell 1 That could such rapturous thoughts inspire, Breathing o'er hill and dell ] Where, too, is gone the light guitar That led the mazy ring, And echoed o'er the woods afar Its welcome to the Spring 1 They're gone ! — and I — why should I live 1 What care I now to die ? Earth ! what hast thou that thou canst give 1 Not e'en a kindred sigh ! Yet, Greece, my prayer shall be for thee, Land of the great and brave ! I would that I could make thee free, And live and die thy slave ! Farewell, my country ! — fare thee well ! Now gladly I depart ; For earth hath not a single spell To chain my widowed heart." The chant was hushed — funereal smile, With hectic lit his cheek awhile, He gazed around o'er hill and plain, Which yet were ringing to his strain, Then laid his head, as if to rest, Upon a marble statue's breast ; The rising moon showed his rest was deep : He had sunk in death's unbroken sleep. HOME. Fond associations cling Round thee, home of life's young spring ! Something binding like a spell. To mountain, valley, rock, and dell ; Something earth can ae'er estrange, Though fortune, place, and friends may change ; Something holy, deep, refining ; Something almost past defining. The deepest sorrow time can tell Is uttered in our first farewell. We look and linger by each spot. Fearful lest it might be forgot ; Though like a green oasis still It meets us, turn where'er we will. 32 WHAT IS REAL HAPPINESS ] With a bloom time cannot mar, Thoiigli liome and friends be scattered far. Dear home ! there linger round thee ever, Feelings, memories, nought can sever ! ( WHAT IS REAL HAPPINESS? What is real happiness 1 I heard a lady ask. And, searching every source of bliss, I set myself to task; And winged Fancy flew away To a pretty child at play — A fair-haired child of summers three, Roving through a rich parterre, Gathering, with infant glee, All the fairest flowers there ; And its lips, from very gladness, A simple nursery rhyme was singing, Without a single tone of sadness. Over all that garden ringing ; And, I saidj what is this less. Lady, than real happiness ] Scarce my lips the word had spoken When a butterfly skimm'd by. WHAT IS REAL HAPPINESS 1 33 And the child's fair flowers were broken, As it strove to catch the fly ! And long and ardent its pursuit, Over shrubs, and flowers, and fruit, Till it rests upon a rose : Quick, child ! seize it ere it goes ! 'Tis done ! — the butterfly's his own ! Listen to his merry laughter, As he sits down on a stone, Never dreaming what comes after j Opens up his firm-closed fingers, Starts, and thinks the insect fled ; O'er his hand his blue eye lingers. Scarce believes 'tis crushed and dead ! A thick mist o'er his blue eyes swept. He flung him on the ground and wept ; Now I find I'm wrong, for this Is not real happiness ! Away, again, to a Southern bower, Where perfumes are borne from every flower ; Where the birds ring out their sweetest notes. And nothing but harmony round it floats; And all that wealth and taste supplies In and around that fair bower lies. Up from amid a gorgeous pile 34 WHAT IS REAL HAPPINESS 1 Of crimson velvet a maiden rose, And many a proud eye turns meanwhile To watch her steps— to her harp she goes. Pen could not picture a form more fair ; Bright were her curls of golden hair, And her cloudless brow was pure and pale, And her eye was bright as the sky's blue veil; The faintest tinge of the rose on her cheek, And her lip a glowing crimson streak. She swept the harp-chords, and there rose A soft, rich strain like the dying close Of a swan, as it breathes out its life in song ; And her sweet voice caught the notes again. And rivalled in music the harp's rich strain. 'Tis almost too much for the listener's brain, As its cadence melts along. And I tliought, if on earth there can be bliss. This must be real happiness ! But I looked again, and the maiden stood Gazing out on an old green wood. And her cheeks with burning tears were wet, And she clasped her hands, and murmured, "Not yet ! Father, without a shade of woe O'er my joyous life, how can I go ? Hadst thou called my friends oft' one by one, I would not have murmured, but calmly gone; But to know I am dying, day by day, And all around so bright and gay, My soul recoils— it cannot be, The thought is more than agony ! " And I thought, am I always doomed to miss The secret of real happiness ! Away, again ! with the traveller roam, Bid a long farewell to friends and home ; Go seek the source of the mighty N'le, With an ardour and a zeal untiring ; Meet every danger with a smile. Ever that one pursuit inspiring. The more of peril, the more of pain ; The more he struggles his end to attain ! 'Tis won ! — 'neath those grassy hillocks, see The old Nile springs in his infancy. A moment of rapture the traveller knew. Till memories that long had slept Across his vision their shadows threw; He was far from home, from kindred true. And full of peril his journey, too; And as o'er his mind thoughts crowding swept, 36 WHAT IH REAL HAPPINESS? The traveller sat him down and wept ; And I said in despair, " 'Tis not in this Man can find real happiness !" Fancy, check thy flowing rein, Seest thou not thy search is vain 1 'Tis not in childhood's innocent bliss Thou canst find real happiness ; 'Tis not in beauty or wealtli to give That boon for which we strive and live. Stop and list to the evening prayer, 'Neath the humble roof of a pious pair: " God of our fathers ! we have sought then in youth, And have found thy Word and promise truth ; We have lacked no earthly bliss. Thy ways are pleasantness and peace, Thy love and mercy never cease; Thy service is true happiness. Our childi'en, thy especial care, Thy love shall guard from every snare; Able, and willing too ; And thou hast promised thou wilt give Grace — glory : it is joy to live ; We love thy will to do. But, oh ! what is it to the gain, Tlic endless bliss, we shall attain When heaven is full in view ! And through eternity we'll raise One tribute of immortal praise To Him who brouglit us safely through !" LINES WRITTEN AT BRUGES CASTLE, RATHLIN. Cast your eye o'er the waters' blue expanse. That bounds this isle of the ocean, As calmly it lies 'neath the moonbeam's glance, When hushed from its wild commotion. And yon bark in the distance, with full-spread sail, Wooing the evening's breeze, Now mocked by the sea-bird's sudden wail, As it wings its fliglit o'er the seas. And nearer still, by the curlew's note, Your dream-like musings breaking, Till you start at the sounrtb that round you float. As each lone note an answer is waking. And you see those rocks like a mountain tower, In all their ancient glory ; 38 BURNING OF TKE " OCEAN MONARCH." 1 And surely 'tis grand, at the midnight's hour, To see them rugged and hoary. Oh ! why should the tourist love to stray To scenes far-famed of old 1 He need not wander so far away, O'er mountain, waste, and wold. Let him gaze with a feeling of rapture here, Where Bruce commanded of yore. And this fort, where the sentinel, void of fear. Has nightly watched the shore. And then let him track his way again To some land of deathless flowers, Far from the horrors of the main. To a calm, still home like oiurs ! BURNING OF THE " OCEAN MONARCH." 'TwAS morn ! a gallant bark, with swelling sail, Went proudly on to catch the favouring gale ; She scorned the waves that played around her now, And kissed in glittering foam her stern and prow. Not more secure the sea-bird skims the deep, BURNING OF THE " OCEAN MONARCH." 39 Not more at rest the scaly monsters sleep, Than does that noble ship glide o'er the main, Whilst many an eye is turned to home again. Old Albion's cliflFs slowly recede from view, Whilst whispering voices weep their last adieu; Yet 'mid their tears angelic Hope was nigh, Pointing with outstretched hand and kindling eye. Across the deep Columbia's forests rise, Richer in verdure, towering to the skies; And many a heart sped lightly o'er the wave. To meet the cordial greeting fancy gave. The laughing eye of rosy infancy Looked o'er the wave with tameless, childish glee; And youth, and manhood, and old age, were there. And woman old and frail, and maiden fair. Hush ! heard you that ] it seemed a stifled sound ; Again it comes ! hark, how it spreads around ! Saw you that flash, like some lone sunbeam, stray Across the ocean's dark and glittering spray 1 List ! list ! again the sound grows higher, higher, Till hundred voices echo back, '"Tis fire !" 'Tis fire ! — that fearful cry will no one hear ? Will no one save them, and the land so near ] 'Tis vain ! — the maddening hundreds spurn control ; j One fearful feeling actuates the whole. 40 BURNING OF THE " OCEAN MONARCH." In vain they wear the ship and spread the sail ; Death comes still nearer with the freshening gale; Man may not try to curb the rising flame ; It shoots aloft as something nought can tame. And mark what numbers now, with frantic mien, Plunge in the wave and die unknown, unseen ! Vainly brave men their voices raise to quell The awful sounds now mingling in that swell ; Seeking the ocean's depths to shun the fire, In one caress mother and child expire. See that old man support, with trembling arm, A helpless infant, soothing its alarm ! The death-fire glows — 'tis brighter, fiercer still. Defying all the power of human skill. A ship is bearing onward now, full sail : Brave, generous men ! — nor shall their courage fail To meet its just reward from earth and Heaven. Promptly the welcome rope and boat are given ; They're safe — and names like " Jerome Littledale," Shall be revered when mightier heroes fail; Their noble deeds of mercy shall be known Wherever praise is sung or valour shown. The work is done — the quivering flames ^row higher, Then, with an awful whirl, sink and expire ; And charred and broken fragments seem to say, AUTUMN. 41 This, this alone, remains ! this sad display; The rest is the insatiate ocean's prey. AUTUMN. Autumn, hail ! thy sunlight mellow, Gently stealing, soothes away Youthful green to sober yellow — All glowing shades to brown or grey. Flaxen curl, that waved in childhood, Spring-time hath been like to thee ; Youth's soft eyes, the Summer wildwood, With its violets seems to be. And years mature, when childish pleasures And youth's love-dreams all are o'er. Speak of fallen leaves, yet treasures Up rich fruits from Autumn's store. Fruits, pale Spring-time's buds encasing. Shielded safe from frost or worm ; Fruits, bright Summer flowers embracing. Laughed at sunshine, shower, or storm. The bursting buds and glowing flowers, Yield the promised, look'd-for fruit ; 42 THREE SCENES IN EVERY-DAY LIFE. Yet shade of melancholy lowers Round leafless bough or sapless root. Life is such ! we hurry breathless From bud to flower, from flower to fruit; And starry eyes, though dimm'd, yet deathless, Seem to chide the fond pursuit; Seem to say — " Earth's hopes are cheating ; The mirage, too, once lured us on : Turn from joys so false, so fleeting, To bliss that cannot be withdrawn. THREE SCENES IN EVERYDAY LIFE. FIRST. She was so simply beautiful, The village pastor's child. It seemed, where'er she turned her face. Eternal Summer smiled. No village girl could ever be In bridal robes arrayed, Unless the gentle maiden gave Her kindly-proffered aid. THREE SCENES IN EVERY-DAY LIFE. 43 And from her lips, on dying ears, Sweet words of comfort fell; But only they who heard that voice. Its soothing power could tell. So sweetly happy, too, she seemed, How peerless was her grace ; What peace, and love, and pleasure beamed In her soul-speaking face ! Could it have been the evening's breeze, That kissed her sunny hair, Had lit so deep a tint of rose Upon a cheek so fair 1 You might, perhance, have thought it so ; But look ! unwoke by fear. There trembles in her soft blue eye The bright, unbidden tear. A youth the maiden long had loved Was standing by her side, And whispering words most eloquent. To which no words replied. But well he wist a deeper love Was hers than words could tell, 44 THBEE SCENES IN EVEEY-DAY LIFE. And those who knew her ahnost feared The maiden loved " too welL" The youth was proudly beautiful, With rank above her own; He sought her love; the maiden thought 'Twas for her love alone. But he must win renown, he said, Ere he might claim his bride ; The village pastor shook his head, And called it foolish pride. And as he breathed a fond farewell, She thought her brain would burst ; Oh ! well for her it might be said, " No grief was like the first." SECOND. Years pass away : 'mid the great and the gay We will linger awhile to-night ; The trumpet of fame has breathed forth a name. And all in its praises unite. 'Tis the youth who has won his long-sought renown; He is proud now — too proud e'en to smile ; And the welcoming throng, as they hurry along. Proclaim him so noble the while ! THREE SCENES IN EVERYDAY LIFE. 45 We will follow agaiu, where, apart from that train, He ia sitting, reflecting aloud ; More stern is his brow, more compressed his lip now. The pastor had well called him proud. " I was foolish," he said, " when I promised to wed ; She would never be happy with me : No ; I loved her too well to break the sweet spell, In the end I knew how it would be. " Yet I still love the girl : Lady B.'s lip would curl If ever I made her my wife; But, as likely as not, she may have forgot Every promise I made in my life. " Long years since have fled; her sire, too, is dead; I am sure she can ne'er look the same : In her own rank she'll find some one more to her mind, And 't would dash aU my visions of fame. " Besides, I well know 'tis a duty I owe To my friends I could never get over; I would see her again, but 't would cost me such pain To bid her adieu as a lover ! " Well, I feel more resigned, now I've made up my mind To wed that bright star, Lady B.; . ft! ^1 46 THREE SCENES IN EVERY-DAY LIFE. My first youthful romance I'll dismiss with a glance : I'm sure no one on earth will blame me." THIRD. Her home was lone and cheerless As she left its flower-twined door; But her eye was bright and tearless — Brighter than e'er before. At the spot of earth she faltered Where all who loved her lay ; That, too, seemed sadly altered, With its mound of fresh-raised clay; For her mother's grave she'd tended, From her earliest childhood's days. With flowers whose breath ascended Like earth's sweetest notes of praise. And she never thought of sadness, When her father told how fair She was in her home of gladness, With the happy spirits there. The flowers were sadly drooping. As if they too could know, And sympathise, by stooping, In her deep and silent woe. THEEE SCENES IN EVEEY-DAY LIFE. 47 " Father, my heart is blighted; Every earthly hope is gone; The love once craved is slighted — I've nought left to lean upon. " Yet I turn to One in Heaven Who soothes the mourner's woe; But can he, too, be forgiven Who has caused these tears to flow 1 " Alas ! I tremble, father, For that day when all shall meet, The oppressed and the oppressor. At a righteous Judge's feet. "And I know that, never sleeping. Stem conscience — arrowy dart, The avenging angel's keeping Its dread vigil o'er his heart. " But my bitterest sorrow's waning ; When earth's night has passed away. To my soul 't will be the gaining Of a bright eternal day. " I shall go forth on the morrow. For a place where none shall know ll I ii 48 DISCOVERY OF THE N0ETH-WE8T PASBAOE. That I ever felt a sorrow — That I ever tasted woe." #■»■#•»« She went forth — her eye was brighter, With a love of heavenly birth, And, although her cheek seen.ed whiter, Meekly filled her place on earth. # * * n # And he — wan, and worn, and wasted. Though he joined each festive scene, Pleasure was by him untasted — Bitter memories wounding keen ; And Mercy, tender hearted. O'er his fate lets fall her screen. DISCOVERY OF THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. ALL EXCEPT THE CONCLUDING STANZA OF THE FOLLOWING WAS WBITTEN PRIOR TO CAPT. M'CLINTOCK'S DISCOVERIES. 'Tis won at length ! — what Franklin vainly sought. Won ! — ^bitter tears proclaim 'tis dearly bought — Bought with the blood of men as braise and true As ever glory, fame, or science knew ; DISCOVERY OF THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. 49 And while we sympathise with those who toiled And won the goal so many turned from, foiled ; And while through ages hence their honoured name Shall prompt young hearts to emulate their fame, And glory in their greatness as their own. Still with their praises comes a dirge-like tone — A wailing for the lost for whom no sound Of joy or grief can break the spell profound That veils in deepest mystery their fate, And leaves loved objects lone and desolate. Where sleep'st thou, Franklin, with thy gallant bandl Hope and suspense long, long went hand in hand ; Suspense ! — more terrible than death thou art — For ever dying — never to depart ; A restlessness no opiate's power can smooth. And even religion alnr'ost fails to soothe. The knowledge of their fate, how dark soe'er, Could scarce more painful be than what we fear. Perchance, long since they rest beneath the deep, Or icy mausoleums their relics keep. How did they perish 1 Did the tempest's rush 'Neath towering bergs of ice their brave barks crush. Where blessing, prayer, or dying groan might ne'er Meet aught responsive in its hour of fear 1 Or sunk they, one by one, 'neath famine's breath, 60 DISCOVERY OP THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. Or lingered in disease, till kinder death Quenched their home-yearnings, long and fond, but vain, And with one blow dismissed despair and pain 1 In vain we ponder, pry, and speculate ; No search, no seer may e'er reveal their fate : The sailor in his lonely watch may gaze Upon the Aurora's fitful polar blaze, • And solemnly adjure it to declare If it hath marked the lonely wanderers there. " Hast thou seen them 1 They came forth To the wild and stormy North, And their homes are lone and desolate even now : Friends have sought for them in vain ; Tears have fallen for them like rain : If aught on earth has seen them, it is thou." But the Aurora's meteor-light Flung its shades through ether bright, Nor dimmer seemed a single radiant gleam ; Yet it seemed a low, soft sigh, As of sympathy, swept by. As in a circling zone met each beam. # # # * * Turn to the living ! Erin, proudly claim Thine own brave 8on, who has won immortal fame : Well canst thou boast thy patriot-hc7 o, too, On arctic waste, or blood-bought Wfiterloo. There is a feeling, close allied to prrde, We scarcely care to speak, yet carmot hide. When one who breathed the air we call our own By some illustrious deed is widely known. Hail to thee, Erin's son !— all praise be thine ! Bright laurels round thy head for ever shine I WRITTEN FOR THE ST. JOHN'S LADIES' BAZAAR. Seems it not a kindred feeling To that with which we gaze on flowers, To follow Learning first revealing Glorious truths to infant powers- Truths which make man wise and holy — Truths which make man good and great- Tniths which save from vice and folly — Truths which gild the darkest fate— '^ ) 1 1 52 ^WRITTEN FOR THE ST. JOHN's LADIES' BAZAAR. Truths arousing emulation, Kindling childhood's cheek and eye — Firing lawful, just, ambition With the great and good to vie ? — To hear their little lisping voices Chanting strains for angels meet, Grasping themes which earth rejoices From creation's dawn to greet. Mark them smile with infant gladness O'er our parents' paradise — Their quivering lip and tearful sadness. When from God's presence Adam flies ! Hear them trace the Bible story — Tremble at the mighty flood ; Dread the majesty and glory Of a just, ofiended God ; Listen with sweet, childish pleasure To the raven and the dove. Love God's covenant to treasiure, By His rainbow placed above ; Learn from haughty Babel's tower The falsity of human pride ; . V 4 WRITTEN FOR THE ST. JOHN's LADIES' BAZAAR. 53 See sinful cities by God's power 'Whelmed beneath a burning tide ; Read Abra'm's faith and Moses' meekness ; Samuel's youthful piety, David's might and David's weakness- All his plaintive sorrow see ; Solomon's wisdom, in strange keeping With the folly of his son ; Kings, and priests, and prophets sleeping With their fathers, one by one, Till the angel choir, appearing, Chant the rapturous, heaven-bom song, Peace, goodwill to man, declaring — Send the Gospel lay along. See the meek and gentle Jesus, Sovereign Lord of earth and sky ! See how He his parents pleases, Up from helpless infancy ! See Him little children blessing, With the tenderest care and love ; Declaring, only those possessing Childhood's faith gain heaven above. \v Hear them tell the thrilling story, Elings and priests desked to know, Of Christ's suffering, death, and glory, Saving man from endless woe. Who would not give to the lovely and good. Who crave for such little ones heavenly food 1 Who would not shed over poverty's lot A day-spring to gladden the humblest lot 1 God speed this good work!— May this Infant School be Like the mustard-seed, germ of tall boughs spreading free ! Terra Nova shall emulate Albion's fame. And her children rejoice in her Infant School's name. And pleasingly dwell in bright years stiU afar. On its life-giving fountain — the " Ladies' Bazaar" ! ADVERTISEMENT FOR THE LADIES' BAZAAR Come and purchase our fancy ware ; Here are things beautiful, rich, and rare — Many a little gem of art ; Buy from us even a trifling part. ON A BOUQUET OF PRIMROSES AND VIOLETS. 55 Fairy fingers at work have been To furnish forth this varied scene, Come, buy a purse ! — we'll charm it to hold A wealth for thee of uncounted gold — A wealth like his who, though reckon'd mad, The more he bestowed, the more he had. Lovest thou flowers ? We have them as fair As ever were twined in a lady's hair : If not for thyself, buy something to prove There is still a being on earth to love : If thou hast not such, then think 'tis given To teach poor children the way to heaven. ON A BOUQUET OF PRIMROSES AND VIOLETS. " We had hope in many a spring since then ; But they never brought to our hearts again Those long-lost violet hours."— Fbanceb Bbowvb. The moon oft waxed and waned since then ; Sweet flowers decked the hill and glen : The cuckoo heralded the Spring ; The swallow sped on Summer wing. The scene's been changed, and changed again. Till not a shadow doth remain 56 ON A BOUQUET OF PRIMROSES AND VIOLETS. JJ Of all the bliss our childhood knew — Of early friends, loved, tried, and true— Of voices hushed, whose music stole In deathless cadence o'er my soul — Of laughter pealing deep and clear, Unheard except by childhood's ear, Ringing from out the very soul ; Spurning the hollow world's control. God's earth ! 'tis very beautiful ; Its flowers are for ever the same, But selfish man, in his haste to cull Brighter and fairer, will crush and pull Young, lovely buds that might have been Flowers fit to deck a May-day queen. Though no botanist lips might have breathed a name That linked them with gems in floral fame. Oh ! it needs not this for a flower to be Instinct with living biography; For the lily fair may flush the cheek. Or the damask-rose turn it pale; But the primrose ever clings to me With the holiest tie of all — With its fair twin- sister — the violet meek ; For never a primrose pale did we seek But the violet was within call. ON AN INSCRIPTION IN A GEAVEYAED. 57 We sought them under the soft green fern, By the shadowy cave and the mountain cairn — By the rocky shore and the sedgy stream, And the hill that was kissed by the sun's last beam; And we never sought in vain. Brighter visions have cheated our future hours ; Our world has brought us few fadeless flowers; We have found, for pleasure, pain. Some the rose have grasped and found the thorn ; Others' sun has set while yet it was morn : And they never came again, With the joyousness of our childhood's days. Ere with care we tracked life's dreary maze — Ere we dreaded the scorn, or feared the frown, Of the world, or grasped at ambition's crown. Dear wild-flowers of childhood ! ye wake again Undying echoes from memory's strain ! ON AN INSCRIPTION IN "QUIDI VIDI" GRAVEYARD. 'TwAs eventide, and I had strayed Where the silent dead at rest were laid : It was a lonely spot. £ 'ijummi No "storied ums" were there to show, In sculpture fair, earth's surface woe For those who earned it not. I Poor, foolish men ! who think to raise Eternal monuments of praise. Who sleep by limpid Nile 1 The pjrramids, 'tis true, are there ; But neither name nor rank declare. Of those who raised the pile. Whilst thus I mused, my eye espied A stone with — "Alice born and died;" " Heaven's kingdom is of such :" O'er her had sped two sunny years ; The babe had done with' sighs and tears, Ere yet she felt their touch. A snowdrop graven for her crest — A rose-tree planted o'er her breast ; Affection's hand was there : The hand of one who loved her smiles — Of one who watched her artless wiles With all a mother's care. What wert thou, pretty babe 1 — for btiU Thine image comes, turn where I will, As something passing fair : Thy tomb betrays no pomp — no pride ; A simple name, and nought beside — " Alice " alone is there. Meet resting-place for thee, fair child ! Unrecked, the cold world frowned or smiled, Looked pleased, grave, gay, or sad : Thy household gods were all to thee ; Thou lov'dst not strangers' eyes to see The things that made thee glad. Heaven's oflfspring, sweet Simplicity ! — In life or death, who loves not thee 1 How beautiful art thou ! Grace, beauty, love, are thine alone : Whether thy seat be bower or throne, All hearts before thee bow. i^HBI 1 T ' 1 60 THE DYING CHILD TO HER MOTHER. THE DYING CHILD TO HER MOTHER 1 Hi FOUNDED ON FACT. 1 1 Lay me down on my little bed ; Mother — I am dying : Speak softly— let no tears be shed, For holy angels round me spread Their wings, to aid my flying. ^H 1 Mother, I longed this morn to play With a little girl I loved : Mother, your sobs will fright away The angels that linger around all day ! I feared, but they have not moved. 1 1 And, mother dear, we blithely played Till I chanced to look on Mgh ; And my eyes above the blue skies strayed To my other home, where the flowers ne'er fade. And the beautiful never die. H ] 'B And, mother, an angel whispered low That you would meet me there, And said that this earth waa full of woe, And that those who longest dwelt below Cared least for that home so fair. Hi IB n . L "they shall all fade as a leaf." 61 Then, mother, why should my first glad song Be sadden'd with tears from thine eye 1 For life at the best — no matter how long — Is quickly o'er with the great and strong ; Then, is it not better to die ] * # # ♦ ♦ The fair child's presage of death was right ; But it came not to her too soon : Her glad spirit winged to heaven its flight, And exchanged a world of shadow and night For heaven's unclouded noon. "THEY SHALL ALL FADE AS A LEAF." Now Autumn's winds in mournful cadence sweep ! It is a solemn season ; turn, and weep, Ye young and beautiful, whose flashing eye And glowing cheek proclaim that ye must die — Must fade away as fades the falling leaf. Your life as sunny — almost, too, as brief. It shone, and danced, and sparkled in the sun, Gemm'd with bright dew dropsj but its race is run : A thing to perish ! See ! its parent tree Bends and recoils, then yields submissively ; • *.%•« V • »♦•- i!; :,ti I* i! 62 "they shall all fade as a leaf." And the sere, trembling leaf before the blast Is borne awny to mix with earth at last ! Peasant, prince, potentate, all pass away, And earth looks not one whit less fair or gay, Unmissed as is the Pleiades' lost star ! Save by the circle in which now they are. How many mourn, at dewy evening's close, Th' untimely doom of some fair, half-bloom rose — Some loving being — ^best beloved of all, On whom life's choicest blessings hourly fall ! The world is to her view a sunlit dome — An idol of each heart within her home. An idol ! — mortal ! — tremble, and beware ! What think'st thou 1 — is she not for earth too fair ? Shade back her rich, soft ringlets, where there lies Something too bright for earth, in those clear eyes, On that fair brow, that glowing lip and cheek. Ah ! dread disease ! why still the loveliest seek ? Haste ! — bear her from her childhood's home away To softer climes, where warmer sunbeams play. 'Tis vain ! She's gone, with flower, and leaf, and bird ! Her laugh, her voice, her step, no more are heard. All, all is hushed ! no whisper now of mirth ; Her home is lonely — desolate her hearth. 'Tis ever thus with us : we look in vain To meet with starry, once-loved eyes again, That watch'd our Spring buds and our blowing flow'rsj They've passed away, wo fondly once called ours : And all earth's fairest things find life as brief And perishable as the fallen leaf. TO MARY. You're sitting at the window, Mary; I see the shadows pass, In quick succession, one by one. Across the long, green grass, In the field beside youi' cottage, where In thoughtless school-girl hours We often leaped the dyke, Mary, To gather Summer flowers. Strange thoughts are passing through your brain ] Your eyes are dim with tears ; And memory flies away, Mary, To blessed bygone years, . When we sat beside your desk, Mary, The livelong Summer day. And chatted, laughed, and sang, Mary, As the evening wore away ; 64 TO MARY. Or stole, from sliady Ballina, At dewy twilight hours, The pure white roses o'er the hedge, More dear than other flowers. And vainly did you strive, Mary ! To reason 'gainst our will, You loved the pretty flowers, Mary, And you loved us dearer still. I see the pale moon shine, Mary, Across the school-room floor ; But, oh ! 'tis lonelier now, Mary — Far lonelier than before. The flowers are in the window, Mary- The lilac's by the door : My heart is full to bursting, Mary, And I must look no more. 'Tis foolish of me, too, Mary ; But I must see it all ! The clock still clicks away, Mary — The maps are on the wall ! But many a voice is hushed in death, And many a fond heart cold, And many a one, to far lands gone, In sordid search of gold. And they may find it too, Mary — Find gold, man's treasured gem — But never hearts ao true, Mary, As graced youth's diadem ; Nor such as yours— the noblest soul E'er joined with earthly dust ; Nearest akin I ever knew To those unfallen— uncurst. I picture you even now, Mary ; You're beautiful to me ! Perchance the world may smile, Mary, But they see not as we see. For heaven sat on your brow, Mary, And in your soft blue eye ; And well I know, in weal or woe. You communed with the sky. You say you miss us much, Mary, And you trust we'll meet ^.a. heaven ; But, oh ! if we repine, M' jy, I trust we'll be forgiven. Yet God forbid that we were doomed To meet no more on earth : What would I give for but one hour Beside your peaceful hearth ! 66 TO MARY. Oh ! I would not waste that hour, Mary, In telling where I've been — In painting foreign lands to you, Or strange sights I have seen. But I would sit and drink, Mary, The music of your voice j What mean those tears ! I'm sure, Mary, In that hour I would rejoice. We would talk of every hour, Mary, Since your fingers clasped with mine — First taught my infant hand, Mary, To pen a speaking line — To hem a 'kerchief straight, Mary — To crochet, knit, or read — To parse by Lindley Murray, Whilst I held the " key" instead. Still, we will meet again, Mary ! My heart grows strong in trust ! Our love's too good and pure, Mary, E'er to corrode or rust. Then, though I say " farewell," Mary, 'Tis only for a while : I see hope's light — 'tis pure and bright — Shed o'er our own dear isle. " REJOICE. YOUNG MAN, IN THY YOUTH." Haste, gay young man ! away, and be Foremost in the revelry; See ! the tempting banquet ^read ; See ! the wine is glowing red — Quaff it till thy spirit rise — Quaff it till thy reason dies ; Push it onward ! — quaff it still, Till o'er thy senses steals a chill — Till thy brain begins to swim — Till thine eyes are growing dim — Till the music's richest swell Sounds to thee like passing knell ! Rejoice young man ! — to-night is thine ; Deeper drink the sparkling wine. The morning breaks — now homeward reel. No remorse, nor shame, thou'lt feel, Though a mother's heart be broken With agony untold — unspoken ; Though sister's blush thy name to hear, And turn to hide the starting tear. It matters not : what carest thou For their pallid cheek or brow ? Rejoice ! — for what 1 a drunkard's doom ! 68 IN MEMORY OF A worn-out frame — an early tomb ! " Remember" — ('tis a solemn word) — " Remember," says earth's sovereign Lord, As surely as His word is said. He'll pour His judgments on thy head ! IN MEMORY OF Onward, my bark ! speed onward ! For, oh ! I long to be Onc« more among my living loved, Across the bounding sea. I feel as if I ne'er before, Had yearned so much for home. Wild wind and wave, oh ! beaj me o'er Across the trackless foam. Fill, fill our sails till the flashing spray, Enwreathe us like bright clouds ; Away, my bark, till my home I see, Prom my watch-tower in the shrouds. I am weary — weary of this land, Though its giant forests rise, In kingly beauty, sternly grand, . Up to the glowing skies. Farewell awhile ! our anchor's up ; I hear the sailor's song, And my heart beats high with joy to be O'er the blue waves borne along. And I will not miss one breath of wind, Nor shorten one yard of sail, Till 1 leave the sea-gull far behind, Contending with the gale. Onward and onward sped that bark. Proud, beautiful, and free ; In safety reached her sailor's home ; But HE — oh ! where was he ? Vain all his yearning for his home : Twelve days from land he died : The bark rode safe o'er ocean's foam — He sank beneath its tide. Within his home, oh ! none might dare Tell to the world the woe That crushed out hope — that bade despair Reign, now he was laid low : Laid low 1 — the beautiful — the brave — Where no kind hand was near, To soothe his passage to the grave : With love that conquers fear. They told — the stem and fearless men — That tempests round them swept ! We feared to ask if even one By his death-bed watch had kept ; Yet painted oft the dreadful scene We dreaded to have known ; Suspense ! — ^the worst could not have been Worse than what thou hast shown. Yet, sure, if angels minister In hours of mortal woe, And prayer can reach the Holy One, At whose command they go, Would they not calm with gentlest sound Earth's last sad strife with death, And pour their holy notes around, To soothe the parting breath ] The tempest sweeps unheeded by ; To him 'tis nothing now : 'Tis past — ^the eye is lustreless — The fever left the brow. The tyrant Death hath power no more. Nor yet the green, glad earth : Ocean's dark waves part, and close o'er Belies of love and mirth. IN MEMORY OP 71 Hush tempest ! gently sweep : Dost thou not know There is grief cannot weep, So deep its woe 1 Ocean wild ! softly bear To thy cold breast What was once bright and fair, Beloved and blest. Twine for him, ocean bright, Thy soft sea-flowers ; Tinge them with hues of light Nearest to ours : 'Mid his dark locks enwreathe, Round his proud brow. Once full of "thoughts that breathe"- Sad, silent now ! Mortal ! what seek'st thou most. When thou art not 1 Ere thou to earth art lost ? — To be unforgot. Then peaceful, beloved one, Thy slumbers may be ; They perish with death alone, Memories of thee. Everything tells of thee — Beauty and light — What thou wert wont to V*8, Ere Death came to blight. Sadness and sorrow, Darkness and gloom, Their darkest rays borrow From thy silent tomb. Ah ! yes, sad thoughts of thee Most love to sweep Over the mighty sea. When storms wake the deep. Forget ! — can the sea forget, In ceaseless unrest, When its wild waves have met With foaming crest, That there is a Power Can always control. In its haughtiest hour. Its waves ceaseless roll 1 Forget !— oh ! we may forget Pleasure and peace ; Sad, sad is our regret Such mem'ries should cease. But when sorrow so blasting Hath furrowed the heart, 'Tis too deep and too lasting From memory to part. Grief is not grief If it can be forgot : Only death is relief From thy monarchy, Thought; And only with thought Can his memories cease, And with death shall be brought To his cherished ones peace. ON A CELEBRATED PAINTER'S SKETCHING HIS DAUGHTER'S FACE AFTER DEATH. Death ! leave no trace of thine upon her face ! Oh ! is it not enough that thou hast taken Her bright smile, starry eyes, each winning grace 1 Thy work is done — ^thou never canst efface Mem'ries which must again and oft awaken ; And I must give them form ! there yet shall be A speaking something left to solace me. God help me ! for henceforth this must be all That I can have on earth. Hence blinding tears ! F Dim not mine eyes ; I will not let you fall E'en though mine eyelids burst. Grief wears no pall, But should submit to love— the love of years. And I must sketch the face I once thought mine. Till it shall be, again, almost divine. Oh ! nerve my hand, high Heaven ! and calm my brain i Till I may gaze on her and think her sleeping ; Give but one glimpse of that fair form again, Ere death swept past and left its blighting stain. Hush ! — list ! — that " still, small voice" around her breaking, Dispels all earthly grief. By faith I see A vision bright — her immortality. Yes, yes ! she lives, and I can paint her now — Give to her lip its glowing, vermeil streak ; Encircle with bright, holy calm her brow ; Call back lost charms to which no flatterers bow ; Wreathe wonted smiles upon her rose white cheek ; Illume her eye with intellectual light, As near as can be to what bless'd my sight. 1, llli tier eek; The prototype is gone ; yet, wondrous art ! The grave is robbed by thee, and I can still Gaze on the form I loved, till death shall part My soul and body, when this trembling heart Shall throb no more ; nor need I earthly skill To soothe my memory : we shall reunite In realms above, where all is life and light. DEATH OF WELLINGTON. " A requiem— and for whom ? For Tolour fallen : a broken rose or sword ?" Thy country's weal attained — Thy country's battles won — No mean ambition stained — Thou glorious Wellington ! No recklessness of life — No grasping for a crown- Humane even 'midst a battle's strife. How great was thy renown ! And when war passed away, At the council board was heard, With statesman's ruling sway, Thy short, decisive word. Yet childhood claimed thy smile, Youth's pleasures charmed thy sense ; No power seductive e'er to wile Thine hours of indolence. Thy latest strife is o'er — Not in battle's stern array, But on Albion's tranquil shore. Has thy sun set on the day. Yet thou'st gained undying glory From a hundred battles won, And thy name in deathless story Shall from age to age be known. Conqueror of conquerors ! sleep: Stern death is conqueror now ! Honour and fame have failed to keep Him from thy laurelled brow. Thou art fallen, in a good old age ; And a grateful people mourn That thou'rt passed away from this earthly stage To the unretuming bourne. " EXCELSIOR." 77 "EXCELSIOR." Always keep some end in view ; Never let your life be aimless, Though the object you pursue Should even by your lips be nameless Rest not satisfied you've done All your fathers did before ye : Not thus the great and good have won Honour, power, fame, and glory. je Had Howard tracked his father's course- Been as good and nothing better — Never tried what gentle force Could do to ease the suffering debtor- We had never heard his name Linked with all that's good and holy; Never felt, for once, that Fame Had not spoken aught but truly. Had Newton gazed on day and night, Chasing each one from their portal. Satisfied he knew of light Quite as much as any mortal. 78 " EXCELSIOR." His genius might have soared away, Like a comet, wild— erratic; Science ne'er liad gained a ray From light so pure and so prismatic. Had Franklin watched the lightning's glare Tremblingly as did his mother, We had never talked through air, Quick as thought, to one another. Had Fulton watched the kettle boil- Studied not what made it shiver — Steam had never saved man toil. Sped him o'er earth, sea, and river ! If yoiu* fathers gained a name. Study ye to make it greater ; If it was unknown to fame. Resolve to leave it so no later. Be your post how low soever— Toil at anvil, loom, or mill — Every chain that binds you, sever, Till the highest post you fill. Study not what others think ; Seek not what you can't attain ; THE WILD ROSE. (9 From toil and danger never slirink, There is a point wliich you can gain ; By God's blessing, if you ask it, And with stern endeavour joined If there be indolence, then task it, With a firm and steady mind. No one ever yet could climb well If he did not still look higher ; Fix a point and mind your time well — You'll gain to what you now aspire. Never yield, though oft defeated ; Keep your eye upon your aim; In the end, though worn and heated. You'll obtain a place and name. THE WILD ROSE. Fair, faded thing ! in fancy now I see thee deck the mountain 3 brov' ; I even now thy fragrance feel, In fondest memories, round me steal : Back to my soul again it brings A thousand sweet imaginings. Thou art a wild-flower from my home, Sent to me o'er the ocean's foam, Culled for me from my scenes of youth. By the faithful hands of love and truth, And pressed to the lips of a child as fair As thy blossoms pure — and as free from care. Thou hast bloomed, fair flower, where the rocks around. Have echoed my childhood's happiest sound — Where each friend was linked in that silken chain That, once formed, can ne'er be broken again. Thou'rt dearer to me, thus withered and lone Than the fairest rose by tlie summer blown ! Then I greet thee, my flower, and I bid thee hail, As a treasured memento that ne'er can fail ! PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE. THE PAST. What was the past 1 joy, hope, and strife ; Catching at phantoms — clinging to life ; Rainbow hopes and shadowy fears — Joys and sorrows, smiles and tears, Blended so softly that sorrows seem. In the vista, a half-remembered dream ; PAST, PEESENT, FUTITEE. 81 And Joy seems clipp'd of his airy wing, And Pleasure has proved a hollow thing, And hopes were false, which we fondly nursed ; We grasped the bubble, and, lo ! it burst. But those doubts and fears that long distress'd Our anxious hearts, are hushed to rest : 'Neath the darkest cloud is the brightest bow: Ask of the past— hath it not been so ] THE PRESENT. What is the present 1 We scarce can tell. It is with us now — let us use it well ; Let us soothe the sorrowing, wipe the tear From the orphan's cheek while we sojourn here ; Waste not a moment unemployed : Time uniniproved is time destroyed. The buried talent, although restored. Failed to appease the righteous lord. Why not improve the talent given 1 Why give back Heaven's own gift to Heaven ] What if the earth refuse to grow The golden corn from the seed we sow ? What if the acorn we plant with care Refuse the stately oak to bear 1 Barren or blighted, we are the same, H 82 PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE. And never think ourselves to blame ! Improve the Present : it will not last, Now was the present of the past. the future. What is the Future 1 Mercy alone A gracious veil has o'er it thrown. Wove by her hands. Hope shone the while. And lightened the work by her gracious smile ; And the veil retains the look Hope wore, And gilds the future o'er and o'er. We are grasping at pleasures — how bright they seem! Reality scatters the pleasing dream : For the fairest rose has a hidden thorn, Yet the darkest night has a radiant morn. Father in heaven ! all praise to thee. Thou hast mingled our cup most equally ; Just given enough of bitter to show That we must not make our rest below — Enough of sweet and of hope to raise Om' grateful hearts to Thee in praise, And where Hope's finger points the way, To seek through the Future a brighter day. THE DEEAMER. 83 THE DEEAMER. I SAT upon a rocky height, Beside a time-worn tower ; The rising moon shed mellowed light O'er castle, crag, and flower : The ocean stretched its waves below, It slept — the treacherous deep — As if no ruffling breeze might e'er Disturb it in its sleep. The stars looked down in sparkling grace, Their mirrored forms to see ; And heaven, and earth, and ocean 8ee'!)':fl In perfect harmony. I sat and dreamed, and the futu"o seemed To pass before mine eye As bright and fair, as free from care. As the sleep of infancy ; As happy and gay as the summer day When we followed the butterfly'cj track — When we crushed the flowers in our thoughtless hours, And they flung us their fragrance back. 84 THE DREAMER. And each childish woe of long ago Had passed from our breasts away, Like the dazzling snow 'neath the bright sun's glow, Till our earth looked green and gay. But the spell soon broke, and the dreamer woke, And the bright scene charmed no more ; And a crumbling stone from that castle lone Was borne from the rocky shore. Memory ! wherefore wilt thou still Wander back to that tower-crowned hill 1 I look on the past, and friends are gone — Some to a world where care is unknown, The brows of some have grown " chill and changed," And the hearts of others are far estranged ; Yet I'd rather trust on and be deceived Than deem them false whom T once believed; Far better dream that they still are true Though the reed we lean on may pierce us through; For world-worn wand'rers, weighed down with care, Will find that doubt is allied to despair. ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE GIRL (EMMA A. R.) She slept — you could not call it death, So terrorless it seemed ; I almost stooped to catch her breath, And fancied that she dreamed, So tranquil was that fair young face : No mark of suffering you could trace. The dark hair parted ou her brow — That brow so free from care; The pencilled lashes resting low On cheek as white rose fair; So passionless— nor smile nor shade, On lip or brow, had death poiu-trayed. Her little hand clasped half-blown flowers; That hand — ^how beautiful ! It rivalled all the sculptor's powers, And all the painter's skill : Around her couch were flowers and leaves ; For broken flowers who ever grieves ] 86 ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE GIRL Had not those flowers a nobler end, Than fading where they grew 1 Did not their shade and perfum<' tend To soften death's dark hue — To tell of flowers beyond the tomb — Flowers that eternally shall bloom ? And who could weep for that fair child 1 Tears seemed a mockery ; Tears for the bright — the undefiled — The heiress of the sky. Ah, no ! — if ever Jesus smiled, 'Twas when He blessed a little child. What ! tears on earth for joy in heaven ! Another angel's song — Another golden harp is given, God's praises to prolong. Lord ■ each us that we may proclaim, Foral' ihou dost we bi^ss Thy name. WELCOME TO SPRING. Hail to thee, hail ! sweet smiling Spring, For the life and the beauty thou dost bring. With thy chaplet of flowers and of leaflets green, And thy tiny bursting buds between ; With thy freshening leaves on a thousand trees. And the music borne on thy balmy breeze Of childhood's laughter wild and free. Gushing forth in unstudied melody. Dearer and sweeter it is by far Than the music of lute or soft guitar. Holy and pure, unsaddened by tears Is the merry laugh of those sunny years, Recalling dreams of our own sweet home — Of our childhood's hours, when we loved to roam. Away where the rocks, majestic piled, Hid in each crevice the flow'ret wild — The delicate primrose of modest hue — The graceful hyacinth's deep rich blue— The violet hiding in ferny bowers. The meadow-sweet with its starry showers. Hush ! back with these thoughts ! they but oppress The mind with a sense of loneliness ; mm I They call back visions that long have fled, Friends numbered with the silent dead, And some far severed by life's rough stream, Passing away like a shadowy dream ; Cheating fond hopes that we deemed by far Too sure for the world's cold breath to mar. Away ! let mournful things be told, When Autumn's leaves are sere and old. Hail to thee, Springtime, hail ! What although Thou art resting here on untrodden snow ! Thou art glowing on scenes as grandly wild As any on which the sun hath smiled ; Thou art calling forth beauty, and life, and grace In forests uutrod by the human race ; Thou art kissing the ice, and the waters leap In joyful haste to their parent deep ; Thou art sending our sealers and proud ships home V/ith their precious freights o'er the ocean's foam. Then, Springtime, we greet thee with outstretched hand To our home by adoption — to Newfoundland. Italia's sons could never send forth A welcome equal to ours of the North. Then, Father, give, for the earth is thine, Grateful hearts for the warm sunshine. A REQUIEM. Springtime sweet ! we give thee greeting For thy bygone happy hours — For tears at parting, joys of meeting ; Like a rainbow, bright but fleeting; Like the shower and sunshine meeting In thy budding bowers, Gathering thousand memories From calendars of former days. Whether are fled thy glances now ? Present, past, or future strewn. With buds and flowers— thy bright -wreathed brow Should wear a joyous tone. " It is not so !" says thoughtful Spring ; " My buds and flowers I cheerfully fling O'er the graves of the good and lovely dead. I have been at thy childhood's home, and shed, In tribute grateful o'er that sweet spot, A wreaih of daisies, * forget-me-not,' And every flower thou wouldst have brought To strew on the narrow home of one Who chose to rest 'neath that pure white stone, Rather than share a vault where lay The mouldering relics of kindred clay." » 90 A REQUIEM. She needed not the pomp of earth ; Her's were a mind and soul supreme. Oil ! how it checks our Springtime mirth, This sad and mournful theme, Tho' we know that her soul is away with the blest, Where sorrow can never come ! The poor, whom she loved, may seek her rest, Beside her own fair home ; But who will answer their midnight call 1 For she was to them physician — all ; Though mixing with Fashion's gayest throng, With taste unequalled in sketch or song. She never shrank from the humblest poor. Mom, noon, and night she sought their door, To soothe the dying, and weep with those Who bent 'neath the weight of earthly woes : Oh ! mourn for her bitterly, rocky isle ! Methii s thy sea-mews' wail Will sound a more plaintive note the while It is borne on the fitful gale ; And the surf, as it beats on the rocky shore. Seems it not sadder now and lower ] How solemn — how measured — that dip of the oar. As the )ittle, airy bark glides by The spot where her hallowed ashes lie ! "passing away." 91 And the evening's beam sh< > softer gleam On that church beneath thr H ; And the rock-house flowers Li^iO ueflth their bowers Methinks I see it still. And the lark soars up from its grassy nest, With its mellowed roundelay : And the thrush above thy place of rest Wakes with the waking day, And chants forth a requiem fitting thee— Rich, mild wood-notes gushing free, At morn and eve unceasingly. I thank thee, sweet Spring ! for I know thou wilt bring Those little flowers to which memories cling, And scatter them over the spot where lies One of God's holy votaries. "PASSING AWAY!" " Passing away" ! No shadows lie Around the blessed truth's low swell ; But in a world where all things die. It charms us like a holy spell. — 1 ^^^< IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /q ^ *^% ^0 1.0 1.1 11.25 ££ 125 Si l!!L 112.0 I 6" Hiotogra{diic Sciences Corporation 23 WKT MAIN STRUT WiBSTM,N.Y. 14SS0 (716) •73-4503 •ss \ <^ ^ -•V ^..■v ;\ ..■fe , f !y^*''»tu; tt0 t \ We may feel insignificant j a thought May flash upon us— we may be forgot : Where all these mighty objects claim God's care, Can such an atom in His counsels share ; And talk of loneliness, whilst all around Live, breathe, and praise, in silence or in sound 1 What then is loneliness 1 It is to be Amid a city's sin and misery Companionless, where pleasure mockery seems — Its pageant idle as unreal dreams ; Where all is false, the tear-drop in the eye Dissolves again for lack of sympathy; Suffering and sorrow wear a ghastly smile And only study how they may beguile, For well they know the butterflies that wing In pleased enchantment round the flowers of Spring : Withdraw the sun — let the bright colours die, In search of gayer scenes they quickly fly. Where well thou knowest thy real joy or sorrow, A moment from their own could never borrow. 'Tis here in scenes like these — and such scenes only The purely good and noble can feel lonely. Must shrink Mimosa-like from the rude touch Of man's own empire — peopled by but such As with discordant touch make life's chords jar, ON THE DEATH OF DK. BEAUMONT. 97 Till harsh-voiced discord rise to deadly war, And without unison in look, word, tone, We are —without a solitude — alone. SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF DOCTOR BEAUMONT, thk eminent wesleyan minister, who expihed suddenly in waltham stbeet chapel, london, just a3 he uttebed the two koliiowing lines of the first hymn on sunday morning: — " Thee, while the first Archangel sings, He hides his lace behind his wings." Wkslbt's Hyums, page 305, Hymn 316. Servant of God ! well done ! Thy heavenly crown is won ; Telling how angels sing. Thy raptured soul took wing, . Ere sickness or decay Had stolen one hour away ; No river deep to cross — No dread of pain or loss — No parting, when we rend. From every earthly friend — No knowledge that the earth, 98 ON THE DEATH OP DR. BEAUMONT. With all its joy and mirth, Its beauty and its light, Death was closing from thy sight — No vale of deepest shade. Where the mightiest are afraid. Thou of the trumpet tongue, On which so many hung ! Thy words rang out God's praise, Such as holy angels raise. When with veiled face they sing Hymns to their glorious King. Praise — thy last employ on earth. Higher, holier, shall be thine : Thou shalt rise from mortal birth. And join thy lays with hosts Divine. But an instant — all is o'er : Thou art safe on Canaan's shore, One brief step from earth to heaven. Bid death triumphantly farewell. Life immortal to thee given. Hail it with a rapturous swell ; Shout, with all th' angelic throng. One unending heaven-born song. Swift thy flight as chariot driven m ON THE DEATH OF DR. BEAUMONT. 99 By the flaming hosts of heaven, When the Tishbite soared away In his tenement of clay ; And thy people mourn for thee As Elisha's mourning rose — My Father, who wert won't to be Chariots, horsemen, to our foes, Lay down thine armour bright, Untarnished sword and shield — Conqueror in many a fight. Now quit the field ! Thy goal is won— thou wear'st the crown ; How worthless earth is thy renown. Glancing by with but meteor light — A moment— and 'tis lost to sight. But thy reward, oh ! it will last When empires, earth, and time are past; Undimmed and unalloyed 'twill be — Co-eval with eternity. Servant of God ! well done ! — well done ! Thy rest is gained ! — thy crown is won ! A 8ABBATH-8CH00L. A SABBATH SCHOOL. T «n\ teach you the fear of the Lord." -P» «»"■"• When young, gW vo'"^^'^ ,^^„ dewe, What hallowed — -;;Xrare now gone hy ! Ot hours thus spent, hut wmcn , :» 1» 'twixt earth and heaven. Aresting-plaeertis, tw« ^s on thee Of what tbey are, or what they y V i^tfnlness should sit upon thy brow ; Calm thoughtfulness sno ^.^ Divine instruction can he best conv y + truths with solemn earnestness ; "tllTyoStrtshy tenderness andlove. That "all her paths axe peace, ^ A SABBATH-SCHOOL. 101 Study each varied character and mind, And suit thy teaching to each different state ; Gently support the weak, and lead the blind, Pointing to all eternity's dread weight. Impulsively the blood mounts to your cheek, To think so many beings, all immortal, With childish faith believe each word you speak, And, through your vision, gaze through heaven's portal. The souls committed to thy charge may be Designed, perchance, to fill earth's Great Ones' story; But more important far it is to thee, Designed to fill an early place in glory. Where are the children that knelt by our side — The low, sweet voices that we loved so much ? No charm earth links that Death cannot divide — No mortal form too subtile for his touch. Life's joys are fleeting— records traced on sand ; Death's wave sweeps over them : they all are gone : Then teach thy young charge something that will stand When seasons, earth, and time are all withdrawn. 102 WINTER. WINTER. Sad, gloomy old Winter ! thou'rt coming again, And we tremble with awe at thy terrible reign. With thy fearful repose — so unearthly— so dread — And thy white, chilly shroud, to encircle thy dead ; Thou hast nought, even plaintive, around thee old king. For doleful and wild is the song thou dost sing. Lone Autumn's sere leaves, they are crushed 'neath thy heel; E'en their rustling is hushed as thy cold breath they feel; And the rill, with its low, rippling music, is stilled. For thy mandate so stern. Nature's empire has filled ; And the bird's song is hushed, and the bee's pleasant hum, No longer at noon o'er the meadows will come ; And the soft veil of mist, that so gracefully swept Over mountain and lake when the rosy sun slept. Wafted off with his waking, and left the bright flowers Dew-sparkling to meet him, refreshed as with showers: All have fled at thy presence : how wilt thou atone For their absence, stem monarch, now reigning alone ? " I come at thy call ! — none fears for me — No bud, nor flower, nor stately tree ; WINTER. 103 For Autumn was liere ; and their green leaves passed With a mournful sound, 'neath his l weeping blast. Thine earth to me looked all bleak and lone, And I saw that its beauty was dead and gone. So in pity I come, and gracefully throw O'er the blighted verdure my robe of snow, As pure and bright as a bridal veil, Wrapping in softness each hill and dale. I look on the rill, and its murmuring tide Wails the flowers that have gone from its sunny side ; And the lake is moiuning its lily-queen, That spread o'er its waters her broad leaves green. Lifting above thera her royal head, Which out to the sunshine its petals spread. I saw all this, and I soothed the stream, 'Neath my magic wand, to a pleasant dream ; And I breathed on it yet, till its waters froze. As marble founts 'neath my hand arose, So rich and so varied in form and mould, That they charmed like flowers of green and gold. I swept o'er the lake, with a kingly tread And a crystal carpet was o'er it spread ; And happy children, on skate or sleigh, Rejoiced in my merry holiday ; And I made the air more ethereal still, And echoed their laugh from liill to hill ; I fanned the stars till they burned more bright, And seemed to dance in the Northern light. I made moonlight beauty more serene, And daguerreotyped many a bygone scene To the old and feeble, the changed and sad. Of days of yore when their hearts were glad — When their song rang out with the sleigh-bell's tone, As they sped away through the forests lone. Sweet scene ! The youth, while his fingers guide His noble steed, oft turns aside To whisper low, tender words to one He has promised to love through life alone ; His heart's first idol — none e'er can be Adored with the same idolatry. The reckless may laugh, and the haughty frown ; 'Tis useless all — he can never drown The wayward fancy that wings its flight To the bliss enjoyed in the soft moonlight. With liberal hand the bright snowflake O'er the leafless boughs of the wood I shake ; I know that your eyes will miss the flowers That bloomed erewhile in your garden bowers ; So I breathe on your windows and crust them o'er With leaves and blossoms a glistening store, WESTERN ISLE. 105 Fantastic in form— as if fairy wand Had touched the pane with a painter's hand. Why call me "old 1" Merry Christmas I own, And the happy New Year is mine alone. How can I be old, when I call to play The gleesome child and the stripling gay 1 Why call me stem 1 I plead for the poor, And whisper their wants from door to door. Why call me gloomy 1 What smiles so bright, As fireside faces on Winter's night 1 ,. 'Tis only in fancy that Winter has been To so many soft eyes a sombre scene : The darkest cloud has a silvery speck Which the sun is gilding behind its back. WESTERN ISLE. The dark Atlantic's waters foam All fiercely round our isle, And rocks, in tower, and arch, and dome, Are reared in many a pile. H ■%fi^*m0* ;■»#*.?! t ■"JUft?'*'^ WESTERN ISLE. Though here no aromatic flowers, Of varied form and hue, Mireettheeye'neathcitronbowers, Or skies of cloudless blue- No princely «^a^i«^^^^'?**^''' Deck some calm river's side, Whose waters onward gaily bear A nation's wealth and pnde. Yet on our stem and wave-worn shore Nisht's queen shines mUdly bright J;tntlpalm-rock'dsong.birds^ur Their lays in tropic mght. All boarsely sounds the thtmder-s roar, Along the mountains boommg. And surges madly lash the shore. Beneath the tempest's loommg. To me is sweeter, dearer fax. My own home's quiet gladness. Than all the scenes of pleasure are Where laughter is but madness. FAREWELL. 107 FAREWELL. Farewell ! — ^what is there in the word, By which the hardest heart is stirr'd ! The haughtiest bend — the coldest weep — And parting words still longest keep ; And memory ever loves to dwell Upon the last fond word — farewell ! ■. The noble leaves his father's hall, Where pleasure waited on his call ; Beneath these oaks his childhood play'd, His laughter echoed through this glade : What painful thoughts his bosom swell As to them all he bids farewell ! The soldier leaves his humble cot. Where poverty was all his lot : Do victory's laurels crown his brow, Or dire defeat attend him now 1 Or does the trumpet war foretel 1 StiU lingers that sad word — farewell ! The sailor leaves his own dear home, To track the ocean's flashing foam : How is it that the starting tear Comes when no storm or danger's near 1 It is, that o'er the billow's swell Comes back that sound of home— farewell ! The young bride leaves the bowers of youth, For promised honour, love, and truth ; But, oh ! can after years e'er bring Back to her heart its laughing spring 1 Around her heart is thrown a spell, By that fond parting word — farewell ! Our first farewell is sealed by tears, Which haunt us long through other years ; Yet something still forbids to mourn : There is another word — " Return !" An antidote with poison dwells, And glad returns drown sad farev/ells ! A TRIBUTE TO MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. God speed thee, Harriet Beeoher Stowe ! Thy hand hath dealt the mightiest blow i i A TRIBUTE TO MRS. H. B. STOWE. 109 That e'er made giant Slavery reel Not half so much would *' owners" feel, If, at the dreadful " noon of night," The toil-worn slaves should all unite, And, mad from cruelty and wrong, Strike, with relentless arm and strong, Those who oppressed them till their cry Ascended to th' aflfrighted sky. Thy truthful tale, pourtrayed so well, Makes every feeling bosom swell With indignation at the woe Heaped up by man on man below ; And long through coming years thy name Shall shine upon the page of fame. With Clarkson, Wilberforce, and Fry, And Howard — names that cannot die. The honour which they won on earth Was nobler far than noble birth — Nobler than trophies won in war, ' Where death attends the conqueror's car. Thine arm is merciful and kind — To wake to sight a nation blind — A nation generous, brave, and free, Boasting the flag of Liberty ; Upholding temperance, union, peace — e^.--. \ 110 r«.».xB .0 »«^-^ oUl. and power increase ; JU catar««t, v»»f ' "^' " ^^^mDUng stove ! Scomit,lanaoi ,. thee. A plagae-8P0t » W ^^^^ Ot.^hocouldp.mtot y y_ In thy soul-tunmiis ^^^^^ Helpless upon the won A TRIBUTE TO MES. H. B. STOWE. Ill ive Never knowing father, mother, Friend, relation, sister, brother- Maker, Redeemer — aught to love On earth beneath— in heaven above. Of women, talented, refined — Nought diflfering from us in mind — Because the slave-shade tints their brow, Forced 'neath a tyrant's power to bow ! Never can come a jubilee When they and theirs shall all go free. No !— from the frenzied mother tear Her sleeping babe : it may not share Nor soothe her sorrow ; it is sold — For what 1 — the trader's paltry gold. Sever the ties of man and wife — God's holy tie, that binds for life : What matters that the bleeding heart To bursting throbs 1 'tis done ! — they part ! Yes ; and a Christian takes the gold For which his friendless brother's sold. A Christian /—What ! akin to those Of whom, in Antioch, said their foes, " See how these Christian's love each other !" Could white men call a Negro " brother" ? Why not ? They own one common God ; 112 A TBIBUTE TO MRS. H. B. STOWE. Tliey're ransomed by one Saviour's blood. For fickle wealth's inglorious pride, Despise not those for whom Christ died. Say not, " The picture's overwrought ; Such 'Uncle Toms' live but in thought" Slave-holder ! at God's mighty bar You'll meet slaves that as holy are — Slaves who have won a glorious crown, Without poor " Uncle Tom's" renown, Who fell in silence, with no pen To paint their glorious deaths to men; And slavers, too, with fame as fair As noble, generous, kind St. Clair. Oh ! learn a lesson from his fate ; Elindness may come a day too late. Say not thy slaves love slavery. And happier are than thousands free : (Believ'st thou this ? — then tell them so, And let them forth from bondage go). In vain thou glossest slavery o'er With veil that Mokhanna wore ; Its real face we cannot see Until unmasked by some " Legr^e" — Foul portrait as Mokhanna drew — Accursed Slavery meets our view. A TBIBUTE TO MRS. H. B. 8T0WE. 113 We shrink, like Zelica, to see Such hideous, dread deformity ! Poor slave escaped ! there's for thy head The same price given, alive or dead ; Bloodhounds thy quivering limbs shall tear, Whilst shrieks of anguish rend the air. . God, most holy, just and true, How can Thine eyes with mercy view Such dreadful deeds, and yet not make Their land like Sodom's fearful lake ) Lord ! wake their slumbering souls to see The sinfulness of Slavery, And give them not repose or rest Till slaves are free, and Slave States blest. Again : God speed her mighty pen Whose power hath swayed the hearts of men ! May she achieve her glorious aim. And slaves, when freemen, bless her name, And show by lasting gratitude How much they prize the great and good : By some substantial honour show That Christian souls a tribute owe To noble Habbiet Beecheb Stowe. 114 UNCLE Tom's death scene. UNCLE TOM'S DEATH SCENE.* *' Jesus ! by thy mighty power I am kept until this hour ; Earthly succour tarries long, Thine arm is ever near and strong. I am purchased by Thy blood- Ransomed by the Son of God. " Bless the Lord !— I come !— I come I Saviour ! I am going home- Home ! — call me no longer poor ; Massa, see the open door : All heaven's glories round me shine ] I am Christ's, and heaven is mine ! " Tell poor Chloe nought you see Of my body's agony ; Only tell her of my story, That you found me going to glory; That I longed so to be gone, I could not wait for any one. * "Uncle Tom's Cabin," chap, xli., p. 281. UNCLE TOM 8 DEATH SCENE. 115 " Tell her always, day and night, ' Jesus made my burden light ; Never left me — not one hour ; Still upheld me by His power : My children, how I pined to see ! Tell them all to follow me. " Follow me !— I love them all ! Massa, missus ! — could I call With a voice that heaven could move, I would utter nought but love. Christ is love — ay, love divine — And I feel that Christ is mine. " Curse not Legr^e— he has but given My soul a quicker road to heaven : If he repent, Lord ! forgive ; Grant that he in heaven may live : How could I for a moment hate ? He but opes the kingdom's gate. " Mount, my soul ! — ^away ! away ! I have won the victory : Glory, glory to the Lamb ! Praises to His heavenly name ! Massa, heaven is better far Than all the homes of * Kintuck' are." Death comes— that awful change before Proclaims that soon 'twill all be o'er ; Poor " Uncle Tom" ! thou'rt conqueror now; 'Tis mark'd on thy triumphant brow. None from the love of Christ shall sever : Thou'rt with Him now !— with Him for ever. They sought him out a quiet grave, Where o'er his head the palm-trees wave; A cloak to him was cofiBn— shroud; No monument proclaims aloud, His tragic end; but God most High Declares, " Who sheds man's blood shall die." Accursed slavery ! — who would stain Their land with such a hell-forged chain 1 Columbia ! let thy slaves go free ; Proclaim thy spell-word " Liberty !" And then unblushingly go forth, Second to none in wealth and worth ! A SCRIPTUBE 8CENK. 117 A SCRIPTURE SCENR— (1 Samuel xxvi.) 'TwAS noon of night in glorious Palestine ; The soft, pole moon had just begun to shine ; O'er Hachilah's high hill her rays were thrown, And lit with beauty sleeping Jeshimon : The flowers that loved the sunlight sought repose ; The night-blooms all their cups 'gan to unclose To catch the pearly dews that softly fell, Till tiny globules filled each trembling cell. Land of the East ! — God's holy Palestine ! — Eden of earth ! — what glowing scenes were thine ! A royal band encamp upon the hill j Quick, form the lines ! — let all around be still ! Pitch here the warrior-monarch's silken tent ; Place every safeguard that art can invent. King Saul, thou'rt wearied with thy journeying — sleep ! What canst thou fear whilst Abner watch will keep — Brave, faithful Abner, ever at thy side 1 Sleep calmly, monarch !— what can thee betide 1 Thy noble, gallant band are all around : Thine own true spear plant by thee on the ground: A mightier form of sleep has fallen on all — The same that fell on Adam ere the fall. Poor, hunted David !— thou hast heard all this : Where art thou resting ? — ^in the wilderness ! No silken tent o'er thee is nightly spread, Prom the damp dews to shield thy wearied head. Brave stripling warrior ! — Israel's singer sweet ! — This thy reward for many a martial feat ! Thou dar'st not sleep : thou and thy sages see That Saul in all his cunning finds not thee : Thou, like a bandit, hid'st in caverns deep, Or perched on rocks where wild things fear to sleep ! David, upon a hill above their head, Beheld the sleeping army 'neath him spread ; Asked of his warriors which wou-Td go along, With cautious step, amid the slumb'ring throng. Abishai volunteers— so soft his tread, Until they reach the sleeping monarch's head. Then speaks: — "Lo, David ! how thy God hath given Into thy hand he who 'gainst thee hath striven ! — Thy mortal enemy — he who hath thrown A blight o'er all the bliss thou e'er hast known; •Has exiled thee from kindred— country — home, Nor left thee hope of rest save in the tomb ! " I've sworn obedience to thee : speak, I pray; Give this right hand of mine the power to slay : A SCRIPTURE SCENE. 119 Hast thou not proved me oft before, and know My skilful aim requires no second blow 1 This spear shall pierce him in his vital part, And tremble 'mid the pulses of his heart. Thou shalt be safe : I swear the slightest soimd Of fear, or pain, shall not break silence round, Kor shall one drop of useless bbod be shed To place his kingdom's crown upon thy head ; Let no word second that reproving look — Delay, even now, is more than I can brook !" "What wouldst thou do, my valiant Abishai 1 The Lord's anointed stretch thy hand to slay 1 Wouldst thou not dread th' almighty vengeance due To all who such accursed deed should do 1 Forbid it Lord, that I should ever see Thy glittering spear dimm'd with such treachery ! As the Lord liveth, who hath been my guide, From me or mine no ill shall Saul betide : Beneath God's chastening he shall fade away, Or perish in the battle's wild afl6:ay: My hand shall harm him not — take cruse and spear. Nor let us longer tarry useless here." All hushed, they gain Hachilah's sister-hill ; The valley lies betwean ; all yet is still. When David's voice rings out o'er cliff and glen — " Ho, Abner ! where art thou ] and where thy menl " God save my Lord, the king !" "What ! who art thou That dar'st salute thy kingly master now"? Askest thou, Abner 1 — ^who for chivalry Through Israel's mighty host is like to thee, Or who so faithful 1 Say, how could'st thou sleep. And fail thy sovereign's nightly guard to keep 1 One of the people sought to kill the king : Say, Abner, art thou guiltless in this thing 1 " As the Lord liveth ! justly shouldst thou die ! Why kept'st thou not the Lord's anointed ?— why 1 Behold his cruse of water and his spear ! How came they from thy monarch's pUlow here 1" Saul half awakes. Whose is the voice he hears 1 The guiltless ne'er can feel the guilty's fears, That voice oft soothed his soul with sounds divine, Trembling, he cries, " My son, the voice is thine ! Is it not David" 'i " Yes, my lord, king ! How is it I have erred, that thou should'st bring Thy valiant men to hunt out and pursue A life unworthy as mine is to you 1 ^ A SCRIPTURE SCENE. 121 " What evil have I done 1 my life hath been Devotedly thine own : through every scene Of peace or war ; thy daughter's love I gained : Ask her if it was worthlessly retained. My very soul is knit up in thy line, In bonds of tenderness almost divine ; And thou, king ! hast severed all from me — Exiled from friends, from home, and sanctuary, If thus thou track'st my steps at God's command, Will He accept no offering at thy hand ? " Know'st thou this cruse, and spear ] — would traitor's hand Have left thee sleeping 'mid a sleeping band ] , Send now a youth to fetch it — our God be This night a righteous judge 'twixt thee and me ! Return, king ! — nor let a vengeful God Require at thy right hand thy servant's blood: Although I fear thee not — my God is He Who out of thickost darkness still can see; Shakes the high mountains till the cedars fear — Speaks in the thunder — reigns in every sphere : Winds are His chariot — ocean fears His rod ; What art thou, Saul, to fight against my God !" Low bowed the stately king ! " Recal my men; Return thou, David, to thy home again : I swear, before high heaven, my hand shall ne'er Against thy life again raise sword or spear. Call thee a traitor ! — hast thou not before In the dark cave cut off the robe I wore ] Hath not thy zeal and truth my kingdom won ? I have been mad ! return my son — my son ! God's blessing rest on thee !— thou hast been just; 'Tis I have proved a traitor to my trust. I seek my home again : fear thou no ill. With arm Omnipotent around thee still !" REMINISCENCE OF A DEAR FRIEND. I SEE him now, as when I saw him last; His reverend brow was bared, and o'er it pass'd Such painful shadowings as might well beseem The fervency of youth's impassioned dream. It looked at variance strange with sage four-score, Yet well accorded with the look he wore. He was so beautiful ! not that alone Known as the beauty sculptors give to stone. REMINISCENCE OF A DEAR FRIEND. 123 His was that face which, if an artist gives, You trace his character as if he lives ; Or if word-painting give his mind aright, His speaking face in fancy meets your sight ; His head was silvered o'er ; time, grief, and care, Had scarcely left another impress there ; His intellectual brow unruffled seemed j And from his speaking eye the soul out-beamed: Eyebrow and lash retained their raven shade, O'er eyes of the same hue, where feeling played— Bright, ready wit, and sympathy, and love, And gentleness, and talents ranked above The common meed of genius in his kind, Yet unaffected as he was refined. The highest mental effort he could bear — The simplest childish joy or sorrow share: Earth's fairest flowers had blossom'd at his side. And now he found them blighted in their pride ; Just as their breath became his atmosphere. He saw them droop, and fade, and disappear — As we may dream the pole-star marks on high. The glowing meteors flashing through the sky, A moment, while they pass, its steady light Seems to our eye less pure— less calmly bright, As if it mourned them as they fled away. 124 SEA-SOUNDS. But, once they're gone, resumes its reign on high, And earthward bends its gaze more tranquilly. Such was his life. He could not brook to dim A single eye with pity's tears for him, Though death's dark wave swept all he loved away, 'Twas sad to see the old man still look gay, Lest any friend should deem his friendship less. Or sorrow with him o'er his wretchedness. Wearied at length, the good man sought repose In such calm sleep as childhood only knows; Death came most gently, with angelic hand, Wafting his soul into the Spirit-Land ; One kind farewell to earth — no pain — no strife ; Death kissed his brow as soothingly as life, And his free spirit, chained to clay no more. Rejoined in heaven his loved ones gone before. SEA-SOUNDS. Ocean ! thy voice hath ever been to me In calm or storm, a wail of agony ! I've watcii'd thee when the moonlight on thy breast Seemed dreaming, from the stillness of thy rest : SEA-SOUNDS. 125 Thy waves, though sunk to rippling, to me sighed, With low soft tones, as if an infant died. I've sat beside the cottage fire of yore. And heard thy low waves kiss the sandy shore At " noon of night"; it seemed a farewell tone, Wafted to earth by some one from it gone. All things connected with thee, too, are sad: Thy very sea -flowers, in strange beauty clad, Seemed to my view as blooming but to hide The young and lovely sleeping 'neatli thy tide ; And pearls, though twined in glossy raven hair. Shone to mine eye too pure, too sadly fair, To glow in giddy dance or reckless throng — Those lustrous gems that to the waves belong. Which thy poor mother, missing sailor, dre.im'd Amid thy glossy locks for ever gleam'd. And shed a softened ray on thy pale face, Down in thy dark and lonely resting-place. Dark world of waters ! we can ne'er divine How many a tale of sorrow has been thine, Since first thy crested billows burst their bed. And by supreme command our earth o'erspread. Where sleep they now, whom cowards left to die,* 126 SEA. SOUNDS. Relentless as the tempest to their cry — The fair and young dependent on their care 1 Brave men would save them, or else perish there. See the wrecked vessel trembling as in fear, On ocean's surface ere she disappear — The surging sea beneath— above — around — No gleam of hope, to break the gloom profound ! 'Tis not a tempest, yet the wild wind sighs, And ocean's low, convulsive sob replies : Cowards by stealth remove the safer boat. And Hope's receding ray grows more remote. Oh ! well might night assume her darkest shade. When dastard hearts like these required her aid ! Two fair young sisters clasped their hands in prayer No sounds from them of audible despair, Although life's morning dews were glistening yet, And earth had lost no charm they could regret. The past to them was more than beautiful — The present bright with flowers they hoped to cull ; The future — tears of parting ceased to flow, Or in Hope's sunlight formed a radiant bow O'er their bright future : loving eyes once more, Illum'd with welcome, waited on the shore. Yet were they not presumptuous : they had knelt, And asked God's blessing over all they felt : SEA-S0UND8. 127 Father ! thy judgments are a deep profound, Too vast, too fathomless for man to sound ! # # « # ■» Hark to that distant sound ! — again 'tis gone ! How swiftly the departing boat moves on ! That sound again ! — 'mid darkness, doubt, and fear — A lofty hymn of high and holy cheer — Of child-like trust — of hope death cannot dim, Foreshadowings of the New Jerusalem ! Faint, and yet fainter, till it dies away : Night's darkness never nursed a brighter day Than those fair beings met ! when changed earth's dress, Heaven burst upon them in its loveliness. Sad, and yet sadder, sea. Sounds thy low minstrelsy ; Lonelier beats each wave Through ev'ry echoing cave ; More plaintive on the gale Sounds the mid sea-bird's wail. And thy deep, dismal sigh Gives the hoarse wind reply, Lulling thy waves to sleep, Dreaming in slumber deep ; Clouding thy haughty brow ; uMtju i Uii ii iwii J I -. Ill II ii ju i i ' f "■ ■i fi Tossing in fury now, With thy stern, dread unrest, Mark of a troubled breast. 'Tis right thou should'st be so — Thus overcharged with woe. Yet, 'mid each change of thine, Offering still, Up at a holy shrine. Thine every will ; Owning the voice Divine, That sayeth— "Peace ! be still 1" THE BLIND GIRL'S GRIEF. Come with no soothing words to me ! Who sympathise must like the sufferer feel ; And ye can never know my agony — Too deep for unreflecting love to see — Too keen for earthly balm the wound to heal. What loss like thine, my mother, can I find To the deaf, music — light unto the blind ! No other hand shall lead where thou hast led : Once more I seek the hallowed spot alone ; Yet to me, mother, thou art never dead, Whilst faithful memory tells what thou hast said. Here I will sit, upon this moss-clad stone, And live a lifetime o'er again with thee, As if not parted by eternity. When other friends were by, they told how fair Was morn when golden sunlight drank the dew; When thou wert near, thou told'st of balmy air : I felt with thee its breathings I could share ; Thy words depicted not the flow'ret's hue, Nor dwelt in rhapsody on form or shade. As if such things to me could be poiu:trayed ! I never knew thee cull a scentless flower — Ever of fragrance speaking with delight; Told how 'twas nursed by sunshine and by shower; Sought with me at high noon the shady bower. Thou did'st not dwell on beauties known to sight — On birds' bright plumage which I might not see, It seemed thou shared its song alone with me. From infancy I felt as we were one — Ay, even in blindness as 'twere shared by thee : I thought we could not part. Now thou art gone — My every sense of ear.nly bliss withdrawn ; mm 130 THE BLIND GIRL 8 GRIEF. I learn (sad knowledge !) that I cannot see, And nought on earth can be, however bright, Equivalent to this dread loss of sight Relentless death ! I need not sight to know What I have lost by thee. I heard one tell The shower and sunshine's union in the bow- That, lacking either, it would cease to glow. Thou wert my sunshine, mother, I knew well ; And, that extinct, what now around me low'rs ) A dark futurity of sunless show'rs ! No voice informed me as thy spirit pass'd, And yet I knew it well — thy low, sad sigh. Across my soul a sickening shadow cast A perfect knowledge that it wad thy last. By faith I saw thy spirit rise on high, And felt as if the earth retained for me No longer, life, or love, or sanctuary. All fled with thee, my mother ! Thy blind child Feels loosened her last silver cord to earth: The only star that in her dark sky smiled Li.ath fled, and left her in the trackless wild, Alone— dread sound to me by home and hearth!- Which I could never realise, till now I feel beneath its weight my soul and body bow. FRAOMENT8. 131 My mother's God ! forgive my murmuring: I had forgotten all she said of Thee — The promises to which she bade me cling — The arm to lean on in my wandering— The way unseen by which Thou leadest me. Guide me, my Father !— choose for me the road Where darkness enters not Thy blest abode — Home of my mother and my mother's God I FRAGMENTS. ALBION. Land of the brave I friend of the slave I Proudly we claim thee ; Queen of the sea ! " great, glorious, and free I" Men thrill when they name thee. Beautiful land I God's Word in thy hand, God send thee glorious ! Prosper thy wooden-walls — save when the mighty falls. Keep thee victorious 1 ERIN. Erin I pulse of my heart ! when thy memories depart. Death must efface them: r" 132 FRAGMENTS. Generous thy brave sons — gentle thy fair ones- \VTio can replace them 1 CALEDONIA. Unconquered land ! no tyrant's hand Could ever chain thee ; Through blood and fire each Covenant sire Went ere he'd stain thee. TERRA NOVA. Adopted home ! the ocean's foam Breaks mildly round thee: With rocks as wild as ere were piled Hath Nature bound thee. What even though thy winter's snow Seems sad and dreary — Thy sleigh-bells own a joyous tone; Thy wood fire's cheery. VICTOEY AND DEATH. 133 VICTORY AND DEATH. 'TwAS morning ! o'er the waters the golden sunlight streamed, And fell on many a gallant bark — on many a banner gleamed ; Illum'd with pleasure many an eye will darken ere the night, For France and Albion's rival fleets are met for mortal fight. See how each snowy sail is spread inviting to the breeze! Majestically those proud ships bend to the rolling seas, That fling their spray like diamonds round the bold and glittering stem, * And form beneath the sun's bright rays a radiant dia- dem. How calm — how beautifid — ^how fair — 'mid all their pomp they are ! What mind untutored e'er could deem, their destiny was war? Closer — yet closer— on they come, tiU human forms are seen Pacing each deck with haughty step, and stern and warlike mien ; 134 DEATH AND VICTORY. But one there was, 'mid all the rest, sought out by every eye, As, maimed, and starr'd, he trod the deck of the good ship "Victory": Brave Nelson ! oh ! that name has now become a house- hold word, By which young hearts to high resolves and lofty deeds are stirr'd. How calm he seemed ! — not joyful, as he always seemed of yore ; A strange presentiment he felt which he never felt be- fore; -'J Yet he knelt, and prayed to Him alone who ruleth land and sea, To bless the right, and give His causea glorious victory. He also prayed that, 'mid the din of stem and dreadful war, No cruel, base, or treacherous deed their victory should mar: As for himself, God held his life ; and if perchance he fell, '.. He thanked that God for giving strength to do his duty well. by )od iise- eeds VICTOEY AND DEATH. 135 And then his watchword passed along, so Ml of force and beauty — " England expects that every man this day will do his duty." And thrillingly sublime there rose, through all that gallant fleet, One long, deep, loud, enraptured cheer, those deathless words to greet : And the life-like barks came steadily, as they were anxious too To prove their worth, where worth is proved, 'mid the noble and the true. They meet! war's lightning flashes round; its thun- ders cleave the air, And decks are rent, and spars are riven, and flags float strangely there ; And bright, fair curls are sadly stained, and dimm'd young starry eyes, Defeat and victory, joy and woe, commingling strangely rise. How wondrous too, it seems to be, where brave men hold their breath ! I Those British tars stand still — unmovod — 'mid carnage, blood, and death, .^m*9l0ltm m m^ w l mO'^r' « ," i Mi p »i *v«»w .' I ■ i 1 / i Till one by one the enemy, though twice their strength they own, Have struck their flags — till Britain's waves untarnished and alone. Hail to thee, banner of the brave ! — hail, flag of Liberty! We bless thee where we see thee wave, for thou wavest o'er the free. There is glory for thee, England ! — another victory won, Thy highest hopes are realised by duty nobly done; Thy kingly flag hath kissed the breeze from many an alien mast. Thy gladdening cheer of triumph hushed the cannon, surge, and blast. Yet, wherefore, 'mid this glory, is the tear in every eyel The victor's sun hath set at noon — Trafalgar's chief must die. Poor Nelson ! cover now thy stars —would they were hid before ! • They were won and worn in honour — thou shalt never wear them more ; Thou wert no craven, Nelson, else thy stars had not been seen, • And their marksmen had not aimed so true, if so brave thou hadst not been. id est ron, non, eyel jliief were VICTORY AND DEATH. 137 Thy prayer is heard — thy victory won— and twenty ships are thine, And not one act of cruelty has stained thy gallant line; And thou art lying, Nelson, with thy life-blood ebbing fast, And the victory which thou hast gained is thy greatest, but thy last ; A nation conquers, yet she weeps — what wonder that she should, When her noble chief who won the day, has sealed it with his blood 1 His funeral pall is rent in twain, and each one shares a part. And a monument is raised for him in every sailor's heart; And Nelson's name, and Nelson's fame, with Britain's shall be one, While her bulwarks are her wooden- walls, or her tars can man a gun. K ' "IKKin iwi r ii I 'm iif i i— ■'■ nff i i m i j ^i t ..■ wn ■■ i 1 I , TO J. A. W. You say the flowers you gathered last you fresh and fadeless keep, A sweet memento of the past— of love that may not sleep ; Thine was no gem from Beauty's hand — No treasured pearl from some far land, But somethmg, though thy footsteps roam. Leading back every thought to home. It was a flower, when last we strayed o'er wild rocks, one Sabbath eve. You gathered when the wind was laid, and e'en ocean ceased to heave — . . A mountain flow'r — I know it well — Not rich in either hue or smell, Yet one like hope that never dies, But still points upward to the skies. Though we may tread on many a thorn, ere we each other greet again, The darkest night hath still a morn — though parted, we shall meet again, THE SONG OF THE LAST RED INDIAN. 139 md not locks, icean When Nature wears her sweetest smile, And all is lovely in our Isle— When crag, and glen, and flow'r and bay, Shall woo thee to prolong thy stay. THE SONG OF THE LAST RED INDIAN. Alone — the last of all my race — The brave — the free — All gone, from dance, from feast, from chase — All— all, save me ! The mountain looks not half its heigh ; The moon has lost its silvery light ; The snow-flake falls less pure— less bright And wayward fancy wings her flight. Where none may see. I am in the spirit-land. And, like an arrow, from the strand Shoots away the light canoe. O'er the lake of heavenly blue. How the warriors bend their heads. Where the graceful pine o'erspreads, And the arrows, whizzing near. 1 ! !i I Single out the flying deer, With their branching antlers seen, Bounding through the forests green ; Spurning the light moss 'neath their feet In their lofty, bleak retreat — Our wild huntsman following still O'er precipice, and stream, and hill, Till his unerring arrow flies, And the choicest reindeer dies. Another scene: — My heart is breaking With the visions round me waking. Winter moonlight — and such light ! Trembling — mellowed— softly bright ; Wreaths on wreaths of unstained snow, And the cerulean ice below. . - Hark ! I hear my young brave say, "Lilla, wake !— we must away ; 1 have promised thou should'st see The sunrise o'er the lake with me. Haste ! — ^my reindeer paws the ground ; I have spread my sledge all round With softest skins, that thou may'st be Borne along right daintily." O'er the frozen ground we fly, Like the lightning through the sky ; Rouse the wolf up from his lair, And mark his red eyes' horrid glare; Fright the grizzly bear away From his yet unfinished prey ; Till we see the Eastern sky Gathering shades of every dye — Crimson, gold, pure pearl, and blue, And shades whose names I never knew, Shedding o'er our shadeless snow Such a rich and varied glow As o'erpowers my dazzled eye With its ethereal radiancy. Alone — and thus to die ! — aJone — No kindred ear To catch my dying song's last tone In this sad sphere. I feel the lengthening shadows now Come dimmer — darker — o*er my brow: Welcome release, no matter how ! Hail, kindred dear ! Linger awhile, blest orb of light ! I too would be 142 THE SONG OF THE LAST RED INDIAN. Borne onwaid through the dazzling height, Along with thee. Up yonder hill my toilsome way I haste to wend, while yet I may Mingle my song with thy last ray, And join my tribe, long pass'd away, The spirit-land to see ! 'Tis gained — far down beneath me lies, In shadowy form, The giant pine that mocks the skies, Toss'd by the storm. I feel my life-pulse fainter grow ; I scarce can see the vale below. Farewell ! — to brighter lands I go. Where pleasure is unmixed with woe : I'll soon be free. We call this sleep — the white man, death ; I bless it with my parting breath. And hail it liberty ! TO SPRING. 143 TO SPRING. Wake from thy infant sleep, sweet Spring, Like a babe, all smiles and tears ; Set thy stern sire. Winter, wondering What music 'tis he hears, Laugh low ; thine o-.ti sweet, echoing laugh Ringing back from the sunny hill. Till the ice and snow 'neath thy bright skies flow In a gently murmuring rilL " ♦ »= Charm up green buds with thy sunny smiles. And water with tears of dew, Till our earth, 'neath thy thousand endearing wiles Looks beautiful and new. Fan the old trees with thy zephyry breath Till the soft young tips peep forth — Till the leaves' pale green spreads out between, Keep the wind from the blighting North. The leaflets shelter with dimpled hand, And colour with every dye, Till they are out o'er all the land, A thousand Spring flowers lie ; 144 TO 8PBIN0. Then call for the butterfly and bee To revel amid the bloom, And twine a wreath now for thy fair young brow, From flowers of the sweetest perfume. The Summyr is lovely, yet weariness Descends on its sultry air ; And autumn leaves bear the sad impress, " All is passing away that is fair ;" And the winter tells of gloom and death— Of cold and poverty. Sweet Spring ! we own thou art queen alone ; No season can equal thee. Then rejoice the heart of the young and gay, Wake a smile from the old and sad. And call up dreams of their bright spring day, When they too were fresh and glad. Come with happiness for the village child, And strew its path with flowers ; And, linked with thy name, a blessing claim From each lip on this earth of our& ay, :'J ALL GONE ! " All gone !" How much of sadnefis Dwells in those simple words ! What bygone sounds of gladness Re-echo from the chords ! How many old loved faces Come mirrored back once more, Whilst memory, pleased, retraces The features o'er and o'er ! — The children that we played with On hills with Spring flowers clad, Or by mossy bank we strayed with. Where the rippling rill seemed glad, Rise gently up before us, By ivied tree and tower. Till a 'wildering dream comes o'er us Of childhood's sunny hour. The loveiy child that best could tell The hidden violet's bed. We little thought it first would dwell Amid the silent dead. All gone !— the young, the fair, the gay. And changed the earthward riven ; mm 146 ALL GONE. •i i 1 , But happiest they who, freed from clay, Have gained a home in heaven. All gone ! and others fill their place : Like bright flowers of a day. Those " fashioned with supremest grace" The soonest fade away. No marvel that on young, fond hearts A pensive shadow lies, Since lovely things so soon depart, And what we prize most dies. All gone! — The bright visions that Hope has been weaving — The fair and the dearly-beloved pass'd away ; Whilst the mourner rebels, as if scarcely believing Such brilliance and beauty could ever decay. (!' All gone ! — The enchantment that circled life's morn- ing— The pleasures we dreamed to be countless in store, All gone ! — like the dew-drops the spring -flowers adorn • ing, Which the sunbeams exhaled long ere noontide was o'er. FOE A LADY S ALBUM. 147 All gone ! — ^We re -visit the home of our childhood, And gather the blossoms unfolded at dawn : Unchanged still the mountain, the stream, and the wild wood, But where are our youth's homes and dear ones 1 — All gone 1 All gone, past revealing ; and memory comes stealing. With soft steps, but sad, o'er the pleasures we've known ; Yet awakes in our souls such a depth of pure feeling, That the past seems even sweeter because it is gone. FOR A LADY'S ALBUM. What shall I write thee, lady, for thy book 1 Tales of thy fatherland — of mount, or brook That thou hast loved, in childhood yearnings vain, For scenes too fair, too fragile, to remain 1 Well may I trembling write — " Queen Poesy," VaiI'd in such beauty, by my side I see — Tremble that words so worthless as I trace Should stand by those replete with every grace. 'Tis my own foolish pride ! Daxe I aspire To harpings sweet as music — wild as fire 9 Such is not mine. Oh ! I could sing of flowers, Or birds that warbled in our own green bowers, Or laugh with happy childhood, or be sad. When death steals from our midst the young and glad; And I can weep that early days are gone. With all the freshness they possessed alone — The spring-time of our life ; Spring's buds to me Seem fairer than the cups that lure the bee ; And even Autumn, with its storm-seered leaves, Still to my soul in holier memory cleaves Than Summer's gorgeousness, when the blue sky. Unveiled by clouds, meets all day long the eye ; While the bright blooms expand their glowing shades, 'Neath the sun's gaze, until their beauty fades. Yet wherefore should we murmur, since the hand We know to be Divine hath all things plann'd. And plann'd them wiser, better, nobler far Than highest thoughts of men or angels are 1 Alas, the frailty of our human frame ! We murmur even at what we cannot blame. Blessed content ! — higher than wealth, or state ! To be content is to be truly great ; To learn to prize the mercies we possess, 1 Nor, undervaluing them, to make them less. A cottage in a garden on a hill. Where wintry storms wreak out their bitter wUl ; Be its possessor blest with sweet content 1 He says — *"Tis here the sun's first rays are sent ;" But discontent, in ^" incely palace fair, 'Neath shadowy u >mplains of want of air ; Or on a hill-side L:i-.l with balmy breeze, Complains again, " It lacks the shade of trees." Then, lady, wishing sweet contentment thine, I see each earthly blessing round thee shine. And pray that health, wealth, friends, and grace may be Eiyoyed with that best boon on earth by thee. "I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY." " I WOULD not live alway." When life seems brightest, And Joy has spread her wing for Hope's fair shore — When pleasure gilds our home with radiance lightest- Gomes the sad whisper — "This must soon be o'er: We turn to rest upon a firmer stay. And sighing, think " I would not live alway." I 150 » I •WOrlD NOT LIVE AlWAY.' ..IwouianotUvealway." When hope .s bhghted, And blarJc despair is in the ^'^Jl^ ^^^ The lamps aU dead tot once onr pathway H W the proud heart rebels so sullenly : And the prou ^^^ ^y_ Thou broken-hearteai sees. i"j ,„„» ^dillbedoner-IwouldnotUvealway. When ftiends beloved must part, perchance for ever. T\^l s^t-winged, only seems to sever, ^™«inshand,whatonceh.be» I^ofourbeing-thenwcmurmjmng-y, 1 .w_T would not live alway. » Let me alone— l wouiu u» Whendeathhascomeandstolen.me^J— -I --"''C^aruTea^^S^e ' j As our own fingers ciobc u Skywarttwe „, ^o^adnotUvealway. And bless our God- iwoui V i„»v" Though earth's rich beauty n .ould not Uvc »l-;y- ™J^i, ,i,diug speU, Hath twined --* ^^^^^^^^d a dnty- ^* ?"" '":1;:^S hath formed so well. rilrChS^heirhuesincechildhood-sday. iSe^yet-Iwould not live alway. THE PANSY. 151 " I would not live alway." When death or distance Hath rifled from us all we thought most fair, And we have vainly offered blmd resistance, By many a burning word or bitter tear, Oh ! how better far to humbly bow, and say, " My Father's wise — I would not live alway." ver, ' r, ireasure, till, There is a place where sorrow may not enter, Beyond the highest bliss that mortals paint ; Where round the radiant throne archangels centre, And higher praise resounds from every saint ; Where God's tried servants, worn with earth, may say, " My Father's home — here I would live alway." THE PANSY. Well may thy name and thought be one, Sweet sombre tinted flower, That lov'st the vulgar gaze to shun, Hidden by tree or flower ; Never closing thy velvet petals fair In soft and dreamy sleep, But spreading them out to the balmy air. Thought's sleepless watch to keep. !i ) '. ' f l^^eloved thee muc. .nee -ychad.ood.aay, ■'^'^ each different hue and n«ne Jt^^^tandtheeseen.^^-^ By many a sad, sweet theme- BvZioty softened, and time refined, ' T^irseemedtousalladream. Thou art meet fcr childhood, floWretfeir, men thought has just begun; Md fit for laughing youth to w^. With thoughts that ne'er decay. ^o„ art meet to be sent to abse^ mend, """ With gentle assur^^ceftau^ That old fa^s, and names, and memnes With each tender lassmg thought f +Y,P loved and lonely asm And the graves of the lovea They should nnforgotten be. "at evening time it shall be light." 153 "AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT." Zechariah, XIV. 7. Though the morn be dark and clouded, and the dew- drops pass away Without one bright gleam of sunshine to exhale them with its ray, Though the rain descend at noontide till the flow'rs are weighed to earth, And the birds have sought their shelter, nature hushing all its mirth ; See ! the clouds are parting softly, ere the advent of the night ; The sun bursts forth in splendour, and " at evening time 'tis light." Now the bright flow'rs spread their petals forth to catch the parting gleam ; Now the birds ring out their gladness in a gushing choral stream ; And the earth looks far more lovely from its gloomi- ness erewhile : Tree and mountain, lake and river, mirror back the sun's bright smile, 154 "at evening time it shall be light." And we feel that far less grateful, had the day been fair and bright, We had raised our hearts to God, than when " at even- ing time 'twas light." ifl Christian toiler in God's vineyard ! though no sunlight gild thy mom, And thy noontide toil and travail meet indifference or scorn, Labour on, unheeding even sunless morn or cloudy noon; " Sow thy seed beside all waters ;" it will bud and blos- som soon : He whose promise faileth never, hath assured thee by His might That to Him all things are equal — " at evening time it shall be light." • * v Light to cheer thee in thy labour, when the weary day is o'er ; Light, to guide the poor benighted to a calm and peace- ful shore; Light, not scorching and oppressive, like the radiance of the sun. Nor yet trembling like the moonbeam when the reign of Night's begun ; r ; r ALMA. 155 But a soft and glowing sunset — rich, yet mellowed to thy sight ; This the " Great I Am," hath said—" At evening time it shaU be light." ALMA. Ring joyous bells out o'er the land, For a glorious victory won ; Shake out old banners to the breeze. Let the cannon roar, " Well done 1" Let English cheers, thrice three times three, Proclaim'the mighty victory ! Herald it on from hill to hill ; Illumine cot and tower ; Let graceful hearts bless the Arm Divine For our armies' conquering power ; And let high and holy praises be Ascribed to the Giver of victory. Alma is won ! — how the couriers speed With returns of the bloody fray ! But the joy-bells change to a mournful knell Ere the closing of the day ; 156 ALMA. For a mother mourns for her noble son, With a grief to all but a mother unknown. " Oh I wherefore did I let thee go, My beautiful ! — my own !~ To perish by the ruthless foe — To leave thy dwelling lone — Thou whom I nursed so tenderly, To die as thou hast died. With steed and rider fallen on thee. And no loved one by thy side ? I shrink, my boy, from thy dying strife, Which thy mother might not share — The wounds through which ebbed out thy life And thy unheard parting prayer : My heart recoils that I could not be ' At thy side in thy dying agony." There were sounds of joy on the breeze to-day For the glorious victory won ; Oh ! mournful, mournful notes were they To the mother who weeps her son ! " Ah ! why did I listen to dreams of fame, And let thee go, my pride ! Thou hadst riches, a high ancestral name, And all earth could give beside ; ALMA. 157 The ancient oaku round thy stately home Seem wailing their future lord, Thou mayest not share e'en thy kindred's tomb- Thou sleep'st with thy broken sword, Where thy valiant comrades scoop'd thy grave, With hundreds more of the good and brave. " They thought to soothe your mother's woe By telling her how you fell : Alas ! its power they cannot know — Its depths I dare not tell. What are glory, honour, fame to me 1 All gone with thee, my boy ! And the world an empty void will be. And pleasure a worthless toy. 0, horrid war ! when wilt thou cease ? Thou shalt never cease with me ; For peace to me can bring no peace. When it cannot bring me thee ; And I think that victory dearly won, If it only cost thy life, my son." Another wail from a mother came In an humble, lonely cot ; "^ Her son had faH'n— they told his name. But more they mentioned not. 158 ▲LMA. Her eager eye souglit no detail Of the mighty victory, But sought, while her cheek grew deadly pale, The cherished dead to see ; And the paper fell from her feeble hand. And her eye grew strangely wild, As she saw his name with the foremost stand- Hcr all on earth— her child ; And she pressed her brow, and bent to see Was it vision, or stern reality. " My own brave son ! did they let thee die. Unnoticed and unknown, With heaps of unburied dead to lie. Cared for and sought by none 1 Oh ! had they but saved one token. Or told me how you fell, It might have lightened my agony, But not one word they tell : Yet it matters not — I know it all ; My soul has been with thee — Has watch'd that iron tempest shower. Laden with death to me ; And I turn with woe to the rayless gloom That makes my world a living tomb." Hush, joy-bells ! hush ! let Albion moiu*!!, As a mother for her son, The death of the peerless ones by whom Red Alma has been won ; Yet the victory still to our view appears Like a rainbow, formed of smiles and tears. TO MRS. H , ON. UEAItlMQ HER REORET HAVING NO UKENESS OI- A BEAUTIFUL DECEASED DAUGHTER. Hast thou no likeness of her 1 Oh, thou hast Successive views through every stage she pass'd, Faithfully given as mirror ever gave, Which nought can wrest from thee except the grave. No artist's hand could ever give that face Such sweet expression, or such matchless grace — Bestow upon each movement, look, and tone, As thy fond, faithful memory gives thine own. We thank thee, our God, for memory's power. That brings, fresh dew-gemm'd,backthe wither'd flower. # * # # # Ay, mourn her, mother, meet such sorrow should — Thine own, so loving, beautiful, and good. No eye save thine such watchful vigils kept, None prayed so fervently whilst others slept, As thou didst for her, that the evil day Might be permitted yet to pass away. Sad thought ! our fairest forms are shrined in clay, Yet mourn not, lady, with the bitter grief That fails to bring the mourner sweet relief ; But be thy grief unselfish as the flow Of gentle tears that fall for others' woe. Didst thou not always count her gain as thine ? Is it less now ? Then why should'st thou repine ? Is it for beauty vanished 1 fairer He Than aught below the skies can ever be, Who hath His promise given that she shall wake, And all His holiness and beauty take ; For she hath slept in Him. Oh ! cease to mourn: Death, the divider, who hath rudely torn Thy bud of promise from its parent tree, Shall be in time restoring Death to thee ; And thou wilt find her home the only clime Where beauty yields to neither Death nor Time — Where sorrow and temptation are unknown. And heaven, and endless happiness are one. EARTH AND THE FLOWERS. 161 EARTH AND THE FLOWERS. THE EARTH. Whither away, sweet flowers 1 Have I not nurs't, With tenderest care, Your fragile buds in Spring until they burst Forth fresh and fair ? Ah ! you that share my heart's best spots first fade. Till not a leaf remains to tell you've been, Save a few stragglers, withered and decayed, That, spectre-like, still haunt the altered scene. My pride, the kingly oak, though tempest-tost. Looks verdant still ; The ivy green in deathless love hath crost His arms until They seem one being that no storms can sever : Blest gratitude ! How priceless art thou ! — but where found ? wherever Earth owns what's good. But, children fair, I fear me much that y© Are courtier-like : when our great friend, the sun, Grows cold and strange, and seldom smiles, I see Ye shrink from my embrace, grow pale and dun. THE FLOWERS. What, mother earth ! forgetting thy high trast, Each buried root 1 But murmuring seems the language of all dust — Sin and death's fruit : We, too, have shared man's curse, and we must die ; Yet we, like him, Shall wake to life, his immortality Foreshadowing dim. Upbraid us not, dear Mother Earth; for we Love thee not less that we depart a while ; And ere the cuckoo wake the Spring thou'lt see Us springing up to greet thee with our smile. THE EARTH. . - Forgive me, flowers, for Autumn's blast had swept The past away ; I had forgotten that ye only slent 'Neath Winter's sway, To wake, like infancy refreshed ; But more hast thou. Bright flower, for youth, renewed, confessed, Sits on each brow. i Sleep on, fair flowers, and I will guard your sleeping Unmurmuringly, till warm suns wake once more OUR UNFORGOTTEN. 163 Your buds and blooms, rewarding my fond keeping With all the wealth of Spring and Summer's store. OUR UNFORGOTTEN. " But tell me, thou bird of the solemn strain, Can those who have loved forget P We call, but they answer not again, Do they love— do they love us yet." —Mas. Hbhaits. Our Uuforgotten ! — ^who are they 1 the strangely beau- tiful • With every grace of form and face That earthly mould can cull ; , That unsurpassing loveliness e'en death at first fails to make less, Perfect as statuary ! can these Our Unforgotten be 1 Oh, no ! not these. They gleam like sunshine on a stream. We meet them, and they charm us while they stay; Buc, pass'd away, they seem like memories of a dream, Unreal — shadowy— form'd but to decay ; Vague as the mist that fills the vale between the hills, By morning sunbeams kiss'd exhaled away. 164 OUK UNFORGOTTEN. Our Unforgotten — who 1 The rich and great, Borne o'er their parent earth in lordly state, Whose titles ring like clarions on our ear — Whose presence fills the sycophant with fear : Are these Our Unforgotten ones 1 They never die while live their sons ! We can forget them not whose only fame Lives passed from heir to heir with rank or with high name. Who are Our Unforgotten 1 Let these be : With the first rays of moonb'ght come with me, Though it be but in fancy, to some cave Where thou hast sat of yore, ere life's sky darken'd o'er, And tune thine ear for music from the wave. Hush ! now will some one twine a loving arm in thine, Until the breath feels warm upon thy cheek ; And memory back will bring some old familiar thing — Sweet words thou lov'dst to hear that "some one" speak — Memories, first faint and dim, of some old holy hymn Loved ones have sung in twilights long gone by ; And the^, perchance, are gone where sorrow is un known; Yet they. Our Unforgotten, cannot die. OUR UNFORGOTTEN. 165 They come in gloaming hour, when memory rules with power ; Our Unforgotten past is present, and our own. When heart to heart was twined by something unde- fined — A something to our world by name unknown. Friendship — that sounds too cold ; love can be bought and sold Too oft by sordid souls fo.r interest, beauty, gold. What marvel, then, we miss heart-fellowship like this, As rare on earth as diamonds in a mine — Sending out all around rays through the gloom pro- found, Gladdening the heart and eye where'er they shine. Again for Absent ones a household scene, With twilight stealing o'er a firelit room, Throwing bright glances o'er the deepening gloom, Whilst many a shadowy figure falls between — Fills each remembered place with a familiar face ; We love to see them where they once have been. These are Our Unforgotten ones, who need No sweet forget-me-not — no pansy dark with thought To leave with us their absent cause to plead. They come with morning's Ught, most spiritually bright; 166 ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1855. They share with us the noontide work or walk ; With the declining sun their lengthening shadows rui, At eve they are our social table-talk : To them, oft, more than heaven, Our parting thoughts are given, And wayward fancy brings them back in sleep. Though we each trifle prize of theirs that with us lies, Our Unforgotten names not thus we keep, But mirrored in our heart, too deep for aught to part — Death, distance, time, or worse — earth's endless change : Linked by the tenderest tie, all these and more defy Our Unforgotten names aught to estrange. ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING FOR DELIVERANCE FROM CHOLERA, January 18, 1855. " Offer unto God thanksgiving, and pay tliy vows unto the Most High." —Psalm 1. 14. When the arrow sped by day, and the terror walked by night — When pestilence, in dread array, passed on the left and right— Clothed in darkness so obscure, science vainly sought its cause ; Whence it came or what its cure — couW they make it own their laws 1 Over all the earth it passed ; India's heat or Russia's snows Check not its fierce sirocco blast, breathing death wher- e'er it goes. On it swept by day — by night, spreading desolation wild; Conquering the mighty by its might, claiming father, mother, child. Some said they thought it fear, till the infant prattler fell, Who had never dropp'd a tear, or one anxious thought could tell ; The aged, weary, worn, fell beneath its sudden stroke, And the young, in life's bright morn, felt that the strong cord was broke. Scarce a wailing for the dead— not one lingering, long embrace- Not one parting tear was shed o'er a loved familiar face ; But the solemn question came, "Who shall next be called away" 1 Those whom earth to-day may claim, life-like were yes- terday. Was there then no solemn vow, that if God would hear and spare. We would offer in His house sacrifice of pr&lse and prayer, r'Tateful as the erring king offered when the angel's blade He saw o'er loved Jerusalem swing, till God His ven- geance stayed ] Gratefully we give thee. Lord, thanks for all thy hand hath wrought : May it tell in every word, every action, every thought ! Thou hast spared our rich and high, and the poor have felt thy rod : that they may ne'er deny, all the mercies of their God! May they give, as thou hast given, freely to the widow's need — Prove themselves thy faithfiil stewards and their worth by generous deed ! May they soothe the sorrowing with their Christian sympathy, Comfort to the orphan bring, point the mourner up to Thee! ,^ ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1855. 169 Hark! the church-bell's solemn sound tells the day we've set apart, Tendering God, with words profound, homage from a grateful heart. Up to His courts, ye rich, and great ! ye have cause for songs of praise: Joyful crowd His temple gate ; praise Him who lengthens out your days. Come, ye poor and needy, come ; have ye not deliver- ance found 1 Hath He spared your humble home when the plague swept all around ? Gladly raise, with heart and voice, lofty hymns of holy praise ; Sing His mercy and rejoice in it as of ancient days. Praise His name, for it is good, and His mercy ever sure ; His love, which has through ages stood, to endless ages shall endure : Still the same thyself proclaimed — gracious, merciful, and kind ; All thy love and goodnessnamed — ^lingering justice kept behind. Praise Him that we seek not vainly for the spot where loved ones sleep, M 170 ON THE GENERAL THANKSGIVING, 1856. Thinking how, almost profanely, they were piled to raiso tlie heap. Praise Him that a few short hours, racked and torn by mortal pain. Were not all we could call ours, ere our doom unchanged remain. Praise Him that the scourge is over ; that we can lie down in peace ; Guardian angels round us hover, upheld by love that cannot cease. • 0] ' if angels praise Him ever, owing not one-half we owe — • Sinning not, they had no Saviour, ransoming from end- less woe — Should we not be ever praising, telling ali His love and care, ^ ^ Through all time our altars raising, till His glorious rest we share ] ' ^ \.„.,,-..^. ■A^-.ff: "BLOW UP THE TRUMPET, IN THE TIME APPOINTED, ON OUR SOLEMN FEAST DAY." Psalm lxxxi. 3. Haste to the Temple ! Hark the heralds proclaiming- All who have faith in our one common God, Who the small difference of sect would be naming, Who have escaped from the chastening rod ? Who could defy it— the pestilence sweeping, Dreadful in darkness, or wasting by day 1 Who could unmoved list the wailing and weeping, As one and another were summoned away 1 Who had a charm or a spell that could render Powerless its force— an invincible shield ? They need not come, who have nothing to tender ; They, and they only, have nothing to yield. Oome, all whose hearts are with gratitude swelling ; Pay Him the vows, that in trouble ye vowed ; Praise Him whose care o'er your temple and dwelling His rainbow of love hath triumphantly bowed. 172 "blow up tue trumpet." Praise Him, and give to the wretched and woe- worn Part of what God in His bounty hath given ; Widow and orplian, forsaken and forlorn : Praise Him, and bless Him, with acts born of heaven. Praise Him that your loved ones ye shrink not from tending, When fever and death are at strife on their brow ; That ye list their last words while their stniggle is end- ing. And show them the Bock that is higher than thou. Praise Him, the Almighty, who heals your diseases, Feels for mankind as He felt when below ; Who e'er waa refused that came meekly to Jesus, And told the sad tale of his burden of woe 'I Who would be one of the nine lepers healed, Who asked for the favour, but made no return 1 Let us take warning by truth so revealed : Who would not the thought of ingratitude spurn 1 Up to His courts, on our solemn thanksgiving ! Praise is the incense our God will most prize ; Thank Him, and bless Him, and praise Him, ye living: Such offering your Father will never despise. TO JANE. 173 TO JANE, ON RECEIVINO HER DAOUERUEOTYrE. I BLESS thee for it, thougli thou art Daguerrcotyped upon my heart, By that bright, glowing sunshine known But to life's radiant morn alone. Every feature of thy face. And more— each sweet, peculiar grace-— Requires not thus to be recalled In that heart where thou art installed. Yet ar*"- thou changed. Methinks thy brow Seems not so free from shadow now ; And thy soft eye hath looked through tears That dimmed them not in bygone years. What marvel, when thy loved and good Have sunk in death's o'erwhelming flood 1 I too have wept him ; for I knew His generous friendship— tender— tme ; And thy sire's image seems to me Thy melancholy shade to be. How selfish of me to be glad ! I saw thee not when thou wert sad : I might have gently soothed thy sorrow, With many a word that love could borrow. * Jf # * * Evermore changes ! What ! — a bride ! Another home — truth, love, untried. How softly, too, I hear thee say Thou'rt growing happier day by day ! I joy with thee it should be so — The purest bliss conferred below : A peaceful and a happy home. Where earthly sorrows seldom come ; And should that love, so tender, true — Our girlish hearts together drew, Be never breathed on earth, dear Jane, In spoken language, 'twixt us twain ; And should our earthly eyes no more Be bless'd with scenes beheld of yore, Think not that distance, time, or place Those scenes of bliss can e'er eflface. While life shall last, or memory's mine, Soft, pensive thoughts shall still be thine, Delightful as the odour shed From rose leaves when the life has fled, Of peaceful hours enjoyed with thee 'Mid thy great city's re-velry, When from the young, the fair, the gay. We two have stolen at eve away, A winter's scene. 175 To be alone amid the strife Of tliat vast mart of bustling life. for one hour again to be In such communion sweet with thee, When, childhood's happy days scarce o'er, We talked of future joys in store, And thy soft, soothing words, like balm, Essayed my hCfme-sick soul to calm ! Farewell ! farewell ! In yeai-s to come, When shadowy seems my ( hildhood's home- When wasting time, receding ever, Memory's soft, silken links would sever — Should e'er thy much-loved form to me Seem dimmer than 'twas wont to be, This much-prized treasure, kept with care, Thine own dear face shall stlil declare ; And death alone shall bring to me, Forgetfulness of thine and thee. A WINTER'S SCENE. Winter's breath sweeps, chill as death, O'er the blue lake's rippling waves. And charms asleep the haughty deep, O'er its thousand unseen caves. ••l^w »'s<.iii(iiii«npii 176 A winter's scene. I The fir-tree's deathless robe of green Is glistening with its silvery sheen, From the frost king's regalia flung, Like starry gems, its leaves among ; And the laugh and song are borne along The pure, unsullied air, From the young and gay, who keep holiday, With the merry skaters there. Away ! away ! through each graceful turn Of that strange, exciting scene. See how their fair cheeks glow and burn, As they wheel and glide between, With the soft fur coat up round each throat — The thoughtful mother's care ; And the gloves so warm — they repel like a charm The chilling frosty air. One youth goes out, and one heart beats high. With all a mother's joy. That cold and care he can defy — She has wealth for her noble boy ; And she turns aside, with conscious pride. As she sees him bound away, With lightest heart, to take a part In the skater's roundelay. Away ! away ! — he may not stay ; A winter's scene. 177 On ! farther than others— on ! Was it a dream, that rending seam ? A moment, and all is gone ! The crystal field is seen to yield, And the bravest shrink in dread : One dreadful yawn, and the boy is gone, With that icy tomb o'erhead. Methinks I hear the mother's wail, When the tidings reach her ear ; That I see her cheek turn deadly pale- Turn pale, but not with fear. " Tell me no more ! — could no one save my child ! Was there not one to peril aught for him 1 Not one that loved him near ] My brain grows wild ! I see him floating, icebergs o'er him piled. I see him, but mine eyes grow strangely dim ; And, oh ! I almost wish I could not see : I dream — I think — 'tis not reality. " But, no !- -I see him, with each long, soft curl, Wet and disordered, clinging round his brow. While the dark waters, in resistless whirl, Above, beneath, around, their fury hurl. 178 A WINTER S SCENE. Was there no one to reach a friendly bough ? Reward was nothing to me — I would give All that I have, my child, to see thee live. |i| " Pardon me Father, if I err in this, My wild, unbridled yearning for my son ; But I had sketched his life, so full of bliss — (Father, forgive a mother's tenderness) — Had pictured him long years when I was gone, Swaying his country's councils for its weal. With that devotion patriots only feel. " And then the past — ^his helpless infancy—' His thousand little wiles and winning ways- Come to me now as it were yesterday : Memory, thou weariest with thy endless maze. Ah ! cease to paint so bright his early days ; I might review them if I had but been Permitted to have soothed his parting scene. " It might not be— not even a few short hours, In death, ere claimed by earth, to call him mine ; To plant his quiet tomb with bright Spring flowers. While faith would paint his home in fairer bowers. May God all-seeing give me light divine, To reach his spirit's home, and leave in trust To the unerring One his precious dust !" I REVENGE ON INDIA. Yes ! have it England ! — such revenge As well befits thy noble name — Revenge most worthy of a niche In the great temple of thy fame. What shall it be for deed so foul That nature shrinks from its detail 1 What vengeance equal t<; the crime That fills our land with one loud wail 1 For desolated homes and hearths — For slaughtered infancy and age : What shalt thou deem equivalent For darkest deeds of heathen rage 1 Glorious revenge thou hast — a sword No other arm can wield like thine : Tlieir sunlight pales before the rays Of heavenly light that round it shine. Unslitatli it, land of valiant sons, ri;isli it o'er India's masses all, TiJI ^ j.il and spirit feel its wounds, And neatli its power submissive fall. The : ;i!>w'st how quick and powerful 'tJH, And sharper than a two edged sword ; The noblest vengeance thou canst have Is sending India God's own Word. Unsheath it till their heart-sprung tears, Wash out the blood that stains their laud With vengeance such as Satan fears, Equip at once a goodly band. Far as the Ganges' waters bear, For war or commerce, Eng];i> d's ■•.we, Let God's pure Word go with - liem there. The heathen from their sin^ lo save. Oh ! launch it forth on Indus' tide, And let it prove an ark of peace To many a mother's throbbing heart. To know that infant victims cease. Let it roll like the mighty stone Hewn from the mountain's side afar, Till, crushing 'neath its power, we hear Old Juggernaut's once worshipped car. Let its life-river, gushing full, Quench out for aye the funeral pyre ; And 'neath its Sun of Righteousness Let superstition dark expire. Then, England, shall thy slaughtered ones Have vengeance meet, when o'e:* the land In jungle's depth — on palmy plain — Like monuments God's temples stand. When Jesu's name shall he adored, And bless'd o'er all our God shall be, As the Creator, Sovereign, Lord, By every trembling devotee. Mi ^,«r jJU • *s^»'»--.->*'*^~ . I I I 14. I 182 TO CAPTAIN PERCY, BRIG " JESSIE." TO CAPTAIN PERCY, BRIG "JESSIE." "Welcome, Terra Nova's heroes ! Ay, give them three times three, For they've done a deed more daring Than many a victory. Mark well the good brig " Jessie," And peal out from the fort, Te» her signal mute, a loud salute. Till the rocks ring its report. Thrice welcome, gallant Percy ! Not Rome's immortal three Were cooler in the danger Than thou hast proved to be ; And the noble name of Percy Hath won more true renown Than Chevy Chase to that proud race. Or Hotspur handed down. What mattered the fierce tempest ? What mattered that each wave Threatened the little vessel That_momcnt with a grave ? TO CAPTAIN PERCY, BRIG " JESSIE." 183 Columbia's ensign floated Out far upon the gale, Not seen the less that in distress It mutely seemed to wail. No reasoning with cool prudence ; No—" Can the thing be done" ? None talked of wreck, on that shattered deck, Of the risk that they must run ; But all shut out home's sweet visions, And hove the vessel to, And planned how best to do the rest, To save the sinldng crew. And God saw the nob)o effort, And bless'd the heroic deed ; And woman frail, and infancy, Were saved with wondrous speed : And many a brave, intrepid heart With bounding joy was thrilled, As, the danger past, and safe the last, The little ship was filled. They saw the wrecked " Northumberland" Go down without a sigh, With the blessed thought, they had left nought In the sinking bark to die. li i 184 TO CAPTMN PERCY, BRIG " JESSIE." n- " Now dole the food out carefully ; Who murmurs for being scant '( And put the " Jessie's" head about — 'Tis the nearest port W(^ want." Right nobly through the tempest With her living freight she bore, Till, torn and toss'd, with her living lost She reached green Erin's shore. And wc are waiting foi them now, And iiiairv nn ardent prayer Ascends up to oui gracious God To have them in His care. We will welcome them as heroes Who have won a victory ; And with a cheer, that all may hear We'll give them " three times three;" But the greatest meed for theii loblc deed Their own pure joy will be. ON FRAGMENTS OF STONE FROM THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY. Where those grand, wild rocks arose O'er the waters' stern repose, Mortals gazed with solemn dread, Hushing e'en their footsteps tread, Lest one sound should break the spell That around them seemed to dwell ; Rocks tow'ring high, in calm or storm. In many a wild, fantastic form ; Echoing back the seamew's wail. Borne fitfully upon the gale. Or the curlew's shrill, lone note, Like music from a distant boat. Here olden Ivy twines and clings To hoary, fragile, crumbling things, Throwing its trembling bands of green So soothingly o'er each dark scene. Giant's Causeway [—Nature's own ! Reared by Nature's God alone — Who could look unmoved on thee, Marvel of the Western sea — Stretching thy pillars 'neath the wave. N IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) & // A.^ 1.0 1.1 IttlM 125 m ■lUU IL25 mi 1.4 1^ Hiotc^raphic Sdeoces Corporation ^\ <^ <^ ^\. '^r\\ 23 WIST MAIN STRliT WfBSTIR,N.Y. MSM (716)«72'4&03 '^ ^*^> s^^ '' V ^o I h To Staffa, and to Fingal's cave, Where rolls for aye the sounding main, In surges thou roll'st back again 1 Fare-thee-well, belov'd home Isle, Where nature wears her brightest smile ; Though memory still wUl treasure thee, Would thou could'st forgotten be ! v: B AN HOUR WITH MEMORY. • Memory ! wherefore wilt thou ever Linger round each once-loved spot ? Is the task a vain endeavour To bribe thee to recal them not ? See ! the glowing Summer round us Breathes of balmy, odorous flowers : Memory wilt thou ever wound us With thy scenes of bygone hours 1 Yet this once I listen to thee I Memory, whisper all again : I more than listen now— I woo thee, Reminiscencer of pain. What hast thou said f For other hands than thine Around thy childhood's home the flow'rets twine, And voices that once mingled with thine own Are echoing thence, but with less joyous tone; And one who trod for years a foreign land Has joined the remnant of thy scattered band. Haste, Fancy ! haste ! — with them retrace each scene Of childhood's haunts— the dear, the ever green : The ruined castle with its mould'ring fort — The shadowy cave, our loved and lone resort — Coig'ure up memories of departed hours. And cull one wreath of unforgotten flowers — One deathless wreath from those thy childhood wove — One fond memento of thy childhood's love I But, hush ! — 'Tis eventide, and all is still. Save the deep-moaning sea or murmunng rill : Even the bright flowers their graceful heads are bending, As if to catch the incense now ascending ; ; For 'tis a holy hour— one free from care — The sacred hour of rest, of evening prayer. Each voice is hushed — each fair young head is bowed; A thousand living memories o'er me crowd. Father, thy deep, rich voice is in mine ear. Telling of hope, soothing each nameless fear, And praying that our fond and household band \ i I u ,'! ^ ! ■('• May meet unbroken in a happier land ; ' ' And earth can ne'er give back such love again, As murmurs, mother, in thy low "Amen !" Beloved memories !— dreams of bliss ! — farewell I I murmur not — there may be joys in store : The busy world still breaks the magic spell, ' But the bright past can be recalled no more ! ON A RELIC, FROM "MARS' HILL," AT ATHENS. Part of Mars' Hill ! — perchance the very spot Where Paul gave burning words to glowing thought j Where proud Athena's sages heard with awe. As by an oracle, their " Unknown's" la"^ — Its perfect holiness — for man's sad far Justly pronouncing death upon them all ; While Paul declared Him sternly just alone, They felt convinced it was their " God unknown," And rent, with wild acclaim, the air around, Rejoicing that their "unknown God" was found. But when he told how in heaven's courts began, The glorious scheme to save rebellious man — !'l When Mercy offered all that Truth required, And love a God for sacrifice inspired ; He came not as their gods — with loud acclaim — With trumpets' sound, and pomp, and mighty fame- But as a weeping babe — a weary man ; 'Twas " foolishness" they did not care to scan : And so it perished — human reason brought Weak sophistry to clothe the doctrine taught, v ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. R A CHESLEY. A PRINCE hath fallen ! We know it— one of the mighty's gone. His eye undimm'd, his right arm strong, his armour buckled on ; And his work — to our weak human view, his work but well begun — Much of his Father's kingdom here to be possessed and won. A prince hath fallen ! Most nobly he rushed into the | fight, I With poverty, disease, and sin, that shroud the poor j from light : I % ft [/ : fel.i li 190 ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. R. A. CHESLEY. With more unwearied zeal he toiled than misers toil for gold, And, did we mete out life by work, he had been counted old. . , We mourn him for his guilelessness, unselfishness, and I love — } For every trait that places man his fellow-men above ; And we deem the spot more hallowed where we've laid him down to rest, Than if the turf were piled above an earthly monarch's breast. He hath raised himself a monument who never sought for fame, And we will make a household word of .Chesley's hon- oured name — A name to breathe with tearful eyes when names be- loved have power To soothe the heart, like David's harp, in sorrow's gloomy hour. Farewell, thou saint ! our sordid tears flow for our- selves, not thee ; For thou hast reached the Promised Land, from sin and sorrow free : /, DAVID AND THE WELL OF BETHLEHEM. 191 But there is one left desolate— a stranger, and alone — With helpless ones to feel her loss, unconscious of their own. Yet, strong in faith, he knew in whom the widow was ■1," to trust, And who would shield his fatherless when he was laid in dust ; Our God ! with richest grace and with thy tenderest love be theirs — Husband and father to them now, in answer to our prayers. DAVID AND THE WELL OF BETHLEHEM. ir- bm for one draught of water From Bethlehem's crystal well, To bring me back a dream of those Who wove my youth's bright spell, When, wearied with the noontide's heat, I sought its palm trees' shade. And led my flock beneath the rock Where cooling zephyrs play'd ! » mj wi » l ti ««»i' i i m' ''< n» i ') i' !• « » i»» .» ■■■■'««■'» " « < « »>■■»^..~.■. /:: M: i hi r}.i I 1 \i 11 192 DAVID AND THE WELL OF BETHLEHEM. Oh ! what high aspirations, ' '■m » Like heavenly music, stole, * ' When my harp poured at eventide The language of my soul ! What bright, prophetic visions swept O'er all the years to come ! What lofty deeds to be achieved. In Bethlehem, my home ! Bethlehem! humble city I ^'^ ''^'- I ;; My seer-like glance can see, • ^ v^ ^ Dim and obscure, yet not less sure, '^ Our Shiloh spring from thee ; • ' • And often, in the calm, still eve, His godlike form rose there. Mightiest among the sons of men — Midst angels, passing fair. ^^i s Bright, swift, and clear, life's river roll'd For ever by His side ; And Bethlehem's well was lost to view, In its overflowing tide ; And my rude harp — ^no longer mine — Seemed swept by heavenly hands, Whilst thousand harps took up the strain, From thousand viewless bands. Now, wearied, worn, and exiled one — ■■-''■ r. My harp untuned, unstrung — ► ' * Adullam's cave my resting-place, How shall God's praise be sung 1 for thy waters, Bethlehem, To lead me back once more, Through blessed memory, to the days . I quaffed the draught of yore I * for the wings of yonder dove I ' I soon should lave my breast In its cool wave, and think myself v v No longer, one unblest. In vain ! in vain ! Philistia's host Is camped o'er all the ground ; It peoples Bethlehem's stronghold-keeps, The city all around. * * # ♦ ♦ Thus sang the shepherd prince, and thought no ear, Save One above, his hopeless prayer might hear ; Unconscious he that valorous ardour fired Three worthy breasts to bring the boon desired. With the eyes' language speaking soul to soul, Forth from the cave with spears upraised they stole, Pass'd through the foeman's host with haughty tread, As if they each a conquering army led. \r^ Ik V *i .*, They reached the city's gate— each sentinel In silent wonder, saw them gain the well ; With casque or helm, from hand or burning brow, Dipp'd into Bethlehem's fount, they leave it now. Now valiant Tachmonite, bear well thy spear — Revenge for slain eight hundred waits thee here. Right well they know thee and thy comrades twain, By whom so many Philistines were slain, Oome, Eleazer 1 grasp thy well tried sword I Press closely, Shammah !— forward through the horde! « # « « « They breathe again ! Thine arm, Omnipotence, Hath surely been their safeguard and defence. Rephaim's valley lieth far behind. Nor fleetest horsemen seek their hold to find. They reach the cave ! King David it is thine, Bought at more costly price than richest wine, Bethlehem's bright water, sighed for— not in vain — Borne through the host encamx)ed on hill and plain. Thine was a kin^y wish — thy peerless three Have ventured life and limb to bring it thee ; Quaff it. King David, and let it inspire A lofty theme for thy poetic lyre. O Bethlehem's blood-bought water ! I dare not drink of thee : "has not since been heard of." Thus humbly, Lord, I pour it out ; Thine let the oflf'ring be— The life blood of the men I love, - Far from me be it, Lord, ■ The love that plann'd such deed I own, Too great for man's reward. ir 105 "SAILED, AND HAS NOT SINCE BEEN HEARD OF." [SEWSPAPEB ANNOUNCEMENT OV THE FOUNDERING OF A SHIP.] Softly, gentle breezes, ere she leave the shore. Let her gallant sailors waft one farewell more ; One hour for tender partings, with fondest farewell rife. Before ye fan her canvas into fluttering life. Now, 'tis done — 'tis over — let this be the last ; Lift the clinging pennon from the dripping mast, Force the tear unfallen back upon its source ; See 1 the gallant vessel stands upon her course. Gracefully the blue waves bear her on her way j Home's loved cliffs have faded with the fading day : Bright eyes dim with weeping— e'en that speck is gone. That from the highest hill-top thou wert gazing on. I I I u ] % M lot n ni I 196 "has not SIMOfi BEEN HEARD OF." Westward with the day-god — it hath vanished too, Leaving to night's jewels that arch of glorious blue. Homeward, weary watcher !— now that sight is gone, Faith and Hope are only— solely— thine to lean upon. Tend the flowers beloved— let not one leaf look sere As the hour, long-looked-for, of meeting draweth near. Weary, weary watching ! — doubts and fears come quick. And with " hope deferred" the heart is growing sick. What can have detained her ) Tis surely past the time, Tidings should come of her from that foreign clime, Days into weeks are passing, and weeks as ages seem, Fancy groweth painful as a fearful dream ; Time is flying ever, foot and wing untired ; Months have passed, yet cometh not the news desired. " Lloyds," at length, have noticed her sailing, day and date — " Hath not since been heard of." Oh ! what was her fate? Oh I the racking torture ! — ah ! the woe intense, To many a wife and mother, of that dread suspense. " Has not since been heard of" ! How it knells for aye, Out through all their life long, as of yesterday ! " Has not since been heard of" 1 deep, abiding woe, Never mingling gently with times long ago ! Never, never ending — death in deathless form — 1 1 A BOUQUET OP WAX FLOWERS. 197 Sighing in soft breezes— shrieking in the storm ; Never resting calmly in one holy spot, Where love could plant a flower— her sweet " forget- me-not." Yet fancy's death is awful as real death can be, Because it is undying, that last keen agony ! *' Has not since been heard of." Sadder words have ne'er Vibrated in sorrow on a mourner's ear. Never shall be heard of till the final day, When the trump proclaimeth, "Time hath passed away 1" And the mourned and mourner shall stand face to face, By th* Archangel summoned from their resting-place. A BOUQUET OF WAX FLOWERS. Hail, Winter ! hail ! since flowers thus fair Wake into bloom, despite thy breathing : " Wee modest daisies" — fuchsias rare, And fragrant stocks a bouquet wreathing. Stem, leaf, and petal meet the eye, As fairly formed, tints shown out truly, '.If K'l As nature gave, in days gone by, ' When in their haunts we sought them duly. " Wee modest daisy," met no more In every nook, by hill or wild-wood, As they were wont to be of yore, In happy days of blessed childhood ! Methinks I see thee, even now, ^ ii 3 Nipp'd rudely off by tiny fingers. To chain a wreath for neck or brow : Ah me ! soft memory round them lingers ! Fain would I tell the donobs fair How much I prize their triumph glowing : Nature surpasses far their care Because her flowers are fragrant, growing. Surpassing nature, in that they Heed not the seasons as they fly ; But last undimm'd by sad decay. When the originals must die. ,^J*,.. . • " ELEOTRICITY. Mysterious power ! thou art everywhere — Giving beauty to all things beneath ; Tl ou art swift as the light — ^and free as the air. Impulsive as Liberty's breath : Thy strength is condensed in the cloud and the storm, And scattered again in the lightning's dread form. We oft see thee here in Terra Nova's cold clime, In the arrowy Northern light, As, radiant with beauty, it flashes sublime In the depth of the clear winter's night. What fanciful visions its presence inspires. As it shoots into castles, and turrets, and spires ! But, stranger than all, man has grasped thy strange power. And made thee the slave of his will ; And from merchant, and senate, and fair lady's bower, Thy couriers are speeding on still, Down far 'neath our feet, or aloft o'er our head. Bringing ever new tidings of living or dead. 200 ELECTKICITY. Lonely, indeed, is thy pathway oft-times, Strange sprite with the voiceless words ; And sorrow and joy, and blessings and crimes. Are told by thy silent chords : From man to man, with the speed of thought, From realm to realm, are thy tidings brought. Away through the depth of the stormy waves, "Where the tempests lour in wrath — Away through thy ice-bound arctic caves — Rush on in thy wondrous path ! Unheeded the tempests above thee sweep : Though art filling thy course through the mighty deep. Away where the mountains mock the skies Thy slender lines are seen ; Away where the olden forests rise, Where man has seldom been ; Away through the crowded city's hum, Untired and untiring, thy messengers come. Silently, secretly, onward it goes, Its trust betraying never ; Unchanging in heat or in Northern snows. Through mountain, wood, or river ; Adding to science one link more — Joining together each foreign shore: Bringing green Erin, the home of my childhood, Nearer and dearer — oh ! that I may see The hour when, harmonious as sounds in the wildwood, Our Isles of the ocean in union may be, And wishes and blessings, so often exchanged. Shall keep hearts that are parted from being estranged ! May He who upholds the earth in its course, And binds with electric chain. Forbid that a foeman should ever force That power for our country's pain ; But keep our Electric Telegraph free, In its service of peace by land and by sea ! THE BELLE. She sat, the belle of the evening. Alone in her room at night, On a cushion beside her lying, Her gems were flashing bright ; Her dark-brown hair, unbraided, In rich, soft curls hung round; And, by her fair hand shaded, Her blue eyes sought the ground. 202 THE BELLE. Bright eyes had told, and lips too, She was the loveliest far 'Mid all the galaxy that night — " A bright particular star." And the rich and great had sought her side, As worldlings always do. As weal or woe perchance betide, Suit their false homage too. She had entered, with an ardour Which only youth can know. On the gayest scenes of fashion-life, Its pageantry and show : And now, in utter weariness, She turns from scenes so fair — A mockery of happiness * O'er vanity and care. Something had whispered, dearer ' Were the sea-shells Jfrom the strand She had gathered in her childhood, Than her gems from many a land. Her dark eye's fringe was glistening With strange, unbidden tears ; And her rapt soul was listening To tales of bygone years. THE BELLE. 203 The " eye bright's" starry flowers, That in ill fancy she knew, Came oftener to her vision Than her sapphires' heavenly blue. Her heart felt more of pleasure, The first Spring buds to greet, Than the gay world's joys could measure. All crowded at her feet. m: "0 for one hour of childhood, That I might tempt once more The laughing Summer wave that swept Far up the sandy shore I To chase the bright -winged butterfly Through flax-field's deep blue flowers, And hide from noontide's dazzling beams. In scented woodbine bowers ! " To know it was no hollow word That breathed of fervent love ; That friendship was more than a name. And rose the world above ! 'Tis past I— I urge no vain regret ; Our joys are all untrue : They dim the past — 'tis strange ; and yet They mar the future too. 204 RETROSPECTION. RETROSPECTION. I'm looking at the gloomy past, Whilst, floating down hfe's stream, Each joy seemed brighter than the last ; But now 'tis all a dream. And Memory strikes her golden chord, And wakes the lyre in vain ; For, oh ! it fails to reproduce Its first and sweetest strain I The world its chequered veil has thrown, Of sorrow and regret, O'er every Idol I have known, Where memory lingers yet. . * The world's breath robb'd them of their scent- The flowers I loved before ; And sunlight, stream— all — all are changed Since those happy days of yore. Repining mortal ! hush ! — be still I Here let thy murmurings end, And bow submissive to His will, Thy Father and thy Friend. "alone at the bendezvous." 205 Thy God is He who guides the stars Who heeds the ravens' cry ; Strong to uphold— mighty to save — Still merciful — still nigh. "ALONE AT THE RENDEZVOUS." A PAINTING. Pensively waiteth a maiden, ,.' Alone at the rendezvous, Her dog and whip beside her ; How long is the lingerer due ] Her horse seems half-impatient, But no shade's on the lady's brow : Where are her hat and veil gone, That she wears not either now ? Who is she waiting for there — Father, brother, or lover 1 So tranquil her mien and air, 'Twould take a seer to discover. I see a horseman coming ; I'll wait, if he's not too long, > ;;£■ To see if he is her lover, And tell it in my song, i? p :... 206 TO MABY, ON A CABBAGE B08E FBOM HOME. TO MARY, ON RECEIVING A CABBAGE ROSE FROM HOME. Beautiful Rose ! I've seen thee bending 'Neath a glistening show'r of dew- Caught thy fragrant breath ascending — "Watched thy softened, glowing hue ; Laughed with rapturous joy to see In Spring, a show'r of buds on thee. I loved thee more than any flower That blossomed in our garden bower j For the friends I prized, I chose From thy stem a half-blown rose ; I mouTjed each flower's untimely doom. By worm or storm cut off in bloom ; And, ever when the Autumn swept Thy withering leaves, I could have wept. 'Tis past ! My childhood's dreams are gone ; I've left those scenes, but not alone : Our household band united are. From our childhood's home afar. Parent of good ! thou knowest best, And thy word should be obeyed ; " Remember, this is not your rest:" TO MABY, ON A CABBAGE BOSE FBOM HOME. 207 IE jone; Seek a home where flowers ne'er fade. " Mary, time has dealt with thee," I said, almost unpityingly ; " For all the friends thou lovest most Are by death, or distance lost; And my heart goes forth with thee, In thy lone walks by lake or sea. Yet thou hast chosen a better part — A home where friends divide no more: Stricken by afiiictions dart. Thou hast turned to Canaan's shore." Faded flower ! thou hast brought back All my childhood's bygone track — Its joys and sorrows, smiles and tears, Rainbow hopes, and shadowy fears ; Something like April's gentle flowers, Blooming in sunshine or in showers. I cannot say I would recal The years gone past— time gilds them all ; Heightens their pleasure, soothes their pain: Could we but view them all again, As at the present hour, 'twould show Their joy unequal to their woe. Mary, I would learn, like thee, Unrepining still to be. r mm immm 208 LINES ON THE SALE OF KNOYDABT. Farewell ! I thank thee for the rose ; Though withered, still it breathes perfume; And teaches, though no more it glows, The Just's remembered in the tomb. . . LINES ON THE SALE OF KNOYDART, THE LAST OF THE LANDS BELONOINO TO THE CLAN OV OLENOABBY. Silence and sadness 1— the Clan of Glengarry Holds lordship no longer o'er mountain and dell ; *' The rock and the raven" no longer will carry Their shout of defiance o'er moorland and fell. Perished their clanship ; the halls of their fathers, Where visored and gauntletted warriors trod, Now echoes no sound save the storm while it gathers, And sighs its wild dirge o'er the desolate sod. Vanished their tartan and claymore for ever ; Their war-cry no more in the lowland is known ; And their language, so wild and impassioned, shall never Be spoken or sung, save by some minstrel lone. LINES ON THE BALE OF KNOYDART. 209 LT, ^N or shall They are passing away ! their homes owned by the stranger, Who will heedlessly tread where the proud chieftains lie ; And the sons who were foremost in peril or danger Are gone o'er the billow, in far lands to die. 'Tis centuries now since thy banner, Glengarry, First swept like a whirlwind along in its wrath ; Since thy war-cry first swell'd to the eagle's high eyrie. And startled the deer in its wild mountain path. When was thy pibroch mute ?— when didst thou ever Shrink till the fued or the battle was o'er 1 - Line of heroes undaunted, who dreamed there could never Come a day when thy clan should be chieftained no more. * Has thy country no bard who its harp-strings will waken. And chaunt one wild coronach over thy line — One sad, deep lament for the old land forsaken. With its stem, heath -clad mountains and forests of pine? Glorious old land ! where the lake, crag, and river Bepose in the sunshine, in loveliest form ; 210 THINGS FOR AN ALBUM. Who could not sing of theo 1 When wild tempests shiver The forest's tall stems, thou art grandest in storm. / Oh! hallowed for ever, in lowland or highland, Be thy memory. Glengarry, though thy clan be no more: As long as the sunbeam gilds mountain and island, May they name thee in love where thou ruledst of yore I May no action ignoble — no deed that is craven — Stain their names who have left thee at duty's behest, Their children to teach, " the rock and the raven" In their new peaceful homes in the Land of the West ! THINGS FOR AN ALBUM. Paintings of old familiar haunts, To memory ever green ; A broken fence — a mouldering tower — Or a little, calm wood scene, That might, perchance, to strangers' eyes, Tame and unlovely be ; But beautiful as Fancy's dream Is ever unto thee. THINGS FOR AN ALBUM. 211 A scentless, hueless, withered flower, Though dead to all save thee, Instinct with life and love comes back, Dew-gemm'd most daintily. Beloved with all thy childhood's love, Memento of farewell, Gives faithfully a river side, A mountain, or a dell. A golden lock from childhood's brow. That never might grow old ; A silvery tress, from friend beloved, Whose last tale hath been told ; A prayer for thee, in tenderest words. Penned with a trembling hand. That softly strikes a golden harp Now, in a Better Land. Perchance a token of the love That watched thine infancy — Perchance a trifle from a friend Long since estranged from thee. These, and a thousand other things. Of which I may not tell : Oh ! treasure them with hallowing love- They suit an Album welL ■p . i j i ...,nwa«n.: i«iii!ii