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OP THE OUTER TEMPLE. •• Lffe, at the season when the earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and goiaen wing».»» Shelley. T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTEJt ROWj 4ND EDINBURGH. MDCCCLIIL ■ %i) . J mm ^■■■■■■■i i J TO JESSIE ELEANOR, HIS INFANT DAUGHTER, Tlia AUTHOR DEDICATES, VERY AFFECTIONATELY, THIS LITTLE BUNCH OF SPRING WILD FLOWERS, WITH THE HOPE THAT NEITHER MAY BE NIPPED BY THE FROSTS OP AN EARLY WINTER. hfj-' wmi^m^^m^mmmm : ■r . T£"vr '- ra armf : wv -a r ^vttatt. That the following Poems are published with no overweering sense of their importance, may be inferred from the form in which they are issued, though the author does not propose on that acccount to offer them with an apology. With such names as Shakspeare, and Spenser, and Milton, in his thoughts, poets in the ex- clusive sense of that noble title, he might well hesitate to assign the name of poetry to the humble offspring of his fancy. 3ut he believes that poetry has a far wider range, with many degrees of elevation, wherein, while the poet of all times, singing alone, high in its pure zenith, fills the wide expanse with the music of his song ; the lay of the little chorister among the brakens may also be true to nature within its narrower range; — this at least he is conscious of, that whatever lie has written has been the \iil PREFACE. result of spontaneous thought; no task work; still less, what he did not feel ; but rather be- cause, amid many en^ossing occupations, some earnest fancy has prompted him to give it un- premeditated utterance in rhyme. Poetry, to those who have devoted themselves to it, for tlie production of that which * posterity will not willingly let die,* is one of the noblest occupations of genius; nor are they without reward, * haply not unhearing of that divine and nightly whispering voice, which speaks to mighty minds of predestinated garlands, starry and unwithering *.* But with the author it has only been a serious plaything ; not irreverently handled, but in which earnest thoughts have often found utterance that had otherwise re- mained unspoken. The longest, if not the most important piece in the volume, is wiitten'in a peculiar, and, as far as he is aware, a novel measure, intended to unite many of the characteristics of blank verse with its distant rhymes ; and thereby to adapt it to the character of a subject, combining the incidents of a domestic tale with serious his- tory. To a casual reader the peculiarity may escape observation, as the rhymes are puri)osely arranged at such intervals as to secure to it the general character of blank verse, while still he * Oolerldga. PUEFAGE. ix may be conscious of a sense of musical har- mony, resulting from this unnoticed source ; — the extent of his success, however, he leaves to the decision of others. A long poem has at all times a certain for- midable look, which renders it unattractive to a numerous class of readers, and requires some introduction to give it the chance of a hearing ; of the remaining pieces, one or two have already appeared elsewhere: and the whole are suffi- ciently brief and miscellaneous to be left to the reader's taste. Eni.fBUROH, Jan. 29th, 1845. w ^onttntsi* A Garland of Wild Roses Edward. The Introduction Parti. The Monk The Lovers . . The Annunciation The Search .. The Bridal .. Parts. Parts. Part 4. Parts. Notes The Death of the Year A Yi3i.o 1 own, yet this may have itJ force. They took my fancy ; weeds not grown In vain, I think, or Nature had not thrown So many o'er her course. All are bound up together With one little sprig of forget-me-not : Alas I bright flowers so speedily wither. And griefs so inconstant, one knows not whether It is not selfishness after all Makes us so keenly regret their fall Ere the wintry weather. EDWARD. A TALE <5F the REFORMATION. A siBfPLE tale of an old man's faith ; And a maid found faithful in love, to death, By such trials as Holy Church sanctioneth : 'Tis an old tale hath been told before, God grant our times have not things in store Shall give us the like to tell once more. Yet thanks to €k)d that such things have been, Since in martyr's faithfulness I ween Faith's precursor of liberty is seen. ARGUMENT. PART I. The introduction of the Poem, indicates the period of the Tale, depicting the uncertainty of men's minds in the transi- tion state that precedeth change. The past unrolling before the Chronicler, he dcscribeth the scene. An aged monk ear- nest in chase of truth, having sought vain solace in the legends and traditions of the Church, when satiated with the pleasures of the world, and Jaded by conscience to the acknowledgment of virtue, while forsaking her allegiance ; tumeth his pursuit into the paths of science, and again abandoneth the earnest chase insatiate as before. In his vague search the old Monk stumbleth on the Scriptures, and flndeth in the despised and forgotten manuscript, the treasure so long sought In vain ; but striving to share it with others, he flndeth his miHsion un- honoured, and the treasure, sought in long pain, and proved, in gladness of heart, deemed but a vain illusion ; yet are there a few whom the world liath not satisfied, and one, an Orphan Maid, twice desolate by death and separation, the yearnings of whose heart find their tuW solace in the boundless treasury of Truth. EDWARD. PART I. THE MONK. A TALE of th* Olden Time, when mighty thonghts, Struggling in fever-dreams of Liberty, Awoke to war for right inalienate, Freedom to worship God : leagured by doubts, When faith with night grappled fearfully, And the young dawn, wrapt in dim mists, o*er- sate. When conscience echoed in her inmost caves. Not with the shrill accusing note she flings, Startling th' affrighted soul, noon-slumbering, — But muttered voices, as when a summer eve Darkens to stoim, or ere the welkin rings With the thimder's laugh, or pales *neath its wing I Immured in gloomy cell an old Monk sate, Pouring with studious eye upon a missal. With saintly portraiture emblazoned quaint. Himself a picture, as through the naiTOw grate Stole a ray, the niggard offspring of th' espousal Of light and gloom, — such scene as Rembrandt a 18 EDWABD. Caught by his pencil's wondrous Alchemy, Had made a gem that crowns might wrangle for ; — ^Yet other far his studies, — he from youth To this hoar age, within the boundary Of Benedictine rule, hath sieved her store Of legendary rubbish, seeking truth I Pent stage, whereon th* emasculated soul Drags through unfruitful years its weary length, Unsunned by sympathy's dear charities, Yet, even thence, a History will unroll Of the same soul awaking in its strength, And, armed with God's most glorious verities, WaiTing against Hell's principalities, Leagued to uphold night's undivided empire And bar her gates against besieging day, Fanaticism's fierce realities Thick musteiing, too, her flag, the martyr's pyre God-owned, and streaming far into the night. A noble soul it was, though long pent up In superstition's gordian subtleties, And life's lamp far gone down in the dubious round Of unravelling error's skene, ere he could grope Up to dim twilight of mom-promised skies, And wade through learned sloughs to vantage ground ; for; gtli, les. e pyre It. lOUS •ope tage PART I. THE MONK. 19 With energies untried — a shimbering mine Which yet a tiny spark may heave on high Witli devastation dire, — his youth wore on : No sun arose t, ith influence benign To woo the pregii^nt seeds to fructify, And heavenward lure the soul, descending prone ;; Cast on an evil age, when the Church saw Man's God-resemblance to brute-night succumb. Yet saw uncaring, save to lend a hand To urge him down the steep ; the unwritten law All voiceless as the dead, and conscience numb. While the waked passions sway the wide com- mand. He, all impetuous, blindly flung his dower Of giant intellect adown the stream. Gathered its harvest in, — then conscience woke, And, armed to reassert her slighted power, Startled him shuddering from his guilty dream To shelter in despair, against her stroke I Where shall he flee ? — The mercy freely given, Blood-bought by that Great Shepherd of the sheep, By papal bull, the Church her own declares. Self-chartered, sole monopolist of Heaven ; With purpose doubtless to retail it cheap. And clear the market of the devil's wares t 20 EDWAHD. Nay, more, the incarnate veil, in which he bled Who bore our sins upon the accursed tree, And, once for all, God's justice satisfied, By her communicable grace re-made, Sells in her shambles for adulterous fee, A sacrifice to quick and dead applied ; iTor conscience scared, nor seared will she deny Her ready lance or salve, alike onlained The thunderbolts to forge, or grace dispense Fresh stamped from mint of Heaven's treasury, And furnishing with licenses to vend, The ghostly lords of God's inheritance ! Lured by her specious phrased emolients, Heart conscience-struck, yet unregenerate. He donned the cowl, and feaiiessly assailed With meretricious works. Heaven's battlements, With fasts and prayers 'gainst wrath importu- nate. While penances for purchase fee availed. Vain strife, for victory ah'cady won. The free redemption of Hell's Conqueror spumed. And, counting all as an unholy thing The atoning covenant blood of God's dear Son, Peace came not, — and despairingly he turned His search to learning's shrine, close com- muning PART I. THE MONK. 21 With the immoi-tal dead, whose buried gems, Like orient pearls, the cloistered walls retain, The shells that in ignoble vassalage Hide what should glow on kingly diadems ; For him the galaxy relumes again, The mighty dead revive, — poet and sage, Historian, sophist, and philosopher : Science unfolds her sacred mysteries, And Art her powers, and Nature's self, — coy maid — . Won by the worship that he offers her. Her mask withdi'aws, and to his dazzled eyes Unveils the primal beauties that it hid ; By her seductive charms, the Alchymist In error wanders while in search of truth. Still missing it in chase of higher good. Life's niggard taper running all to waste. And glimmering in the socket, nothing loath. While dreaming of elixir to renew't. So the old monk, enshrouded in his learning. Nature's false scantling shutting out her God, And Truth herself, for airy phantoms slighted, Down to the grave had passed, all undiscem- ing— Till lost — the mazes of the devious road. And his large, hungering soul all undelighted 22 EDWARD. By the glad rays commissioned to illume The murky shallows of eternity, And light the pass to immoi-tality, Life's lamp and lantern, in the darkling womb Of night, alike engulphed, fatuity Bartering for di'eams the groat reality t Life's God-wove mystery held a dream of fate, A rainbow-tissued brittle firmament Hung o'er eternity by cords aye loosening, Until death-shivered and annihilate : When rose the Sun of Righteousness, and lent A light that scattered healing from its wing O'er his wrapt soul. As, all uncared, the vision Of bulled loves re-haunt us in our dreams As evei-y day familiars, — he had thrown 'Mong theologic rubbish, in derision, A diamond from him, all its lustrous beams Hid in the cumbering settings of tradition ; But now soul-fired, its lustre is revealing Treasures the slave of science never knew ; New birth into the glorious liberty Of the sons of God ; the clouds of error, veiling The mystery of redemption, in love's dew Dissolved, in love, the light of Deity I No field for spiritual knight-errantry, No meretricious gewgaws, pride's invention ; No garish garniture whence the duplicity PART I. THE MONK. 23 Of the deceitful heart may busk a warrantry For a half saviour, and seif-won redemption, — But the strong arch of Faith's simplicity ; Faith, all the sinner's righteousness and shield, Faith, all his armoury against surprise Of Hell's assaults, his ladder, up to light Lending the heaven- ward way ; till, all revealed, Hope in her realized realities, And perfect faith, are swallowed up in sight. Buried within his studious solitude The old monk cheated the benevolence Of his large heart, with blessings his discoveries Should yet enrich the woild with ; but, endued With Mercy's nobler largess to dispense, He bums to circulate its blessedness. To share with all the God-bought liberty, To break Hell's chains, to bid her bondage cease. And freemen of the Cross to welcome them: •' Drink of life's streams," he cries : " why will ye die In arms 'gainst mercy welcoming to peace, And God himself descending to redeem ?' )»» But vain the mission, welcomed by resistance That spumed God's mercy, laughed at Tmth's realities. Gloried in sin, and ai oied for its possession 24 EDWABO. The sensual hive, that droned away existence In Superstition's stale formalities, Buzzing all hum and sting against the aggres- sion, Hurling anathemas *gainst heresy, And marshalling the ghostly thunders lent By Councils, Fathers, with the learned Jargon Invincible, of stolid orthodoxy. To face the Bible-bannered armament. Led by their Captain, God's Incarnate Son 1 Tet found he list*ners too, and willing sharers, That owned her power, and bowed in glad sub- mission [ness To Mercy's welcome terms ; but none whose sad- Yielded to such a joyousness as hers. The gentle maid, whose sorrow first had won His sympathy to share with ler his gladness. An orphan was she, to the love entrusted Of noble relatives, — as some rare flower Transplanted, drooping for its summer home ; An uncle she had found, — who, rough encrusted With crabbed whims of age, and wayward, sour. And petulant by turns, yet gave love's welcome : A youthful cousin too, and noble hearted. Who grew up by her, like some lordly oak Proud in the embraces of the clustering vine. l_SL, PART I. THB MONK. 25 But, orphan tears twice shedding, as death- parted From the hoar si: e, ere long a crueler stroke Rent the last home-links that her heart entwine. And reft her from the unconscious nurturing Of love's young dream ; proudly her heart re- coiled From mercenary minions' disregard Of her young lover's charge, and, torturing With the chill touch of charity, till wild Throhbed the lone heart of Lowden's Orphan Ward. But now, nor longer proudly spuming them, Nor sorrowing, she adores his wondrous love, That, sinless, bowed beneath the sinner's loiid ; Till, kindling with the Gospel's burning theme. Her rapt soul, winging to its rest above, Reposes on the Fatherhood of God. mm4 AKGUMEJN'T. TAUT 11. The Chronicler looking back from the scene before him, tell- eth of others witnessed there, when a youthful pair, the Orphan Maid and her noble cousin, slumbered in the blessedness of unconscious love; but now, after long absence, the maiden waiteth his return,— unchanged in affection, yet in doubt, yearning for sympathy in new-found hopes ; she dwelleth on the memories of past love, till startled from their vividness to doubt the reality of reunion, ere she silently yieldeth to its de- light. Her lovertelleth of knowledge and beauty received into his soul ; she listeneth delighted, and, for a time, doubt marreth not her blis8,<— she qoestioneth of highest hopes, and sink- eth with the discovery that he retumeth no sympathy to that wherein she tindeth peace. Yet love surviving disappointir.ent, forbiddeth the banishment of hope. The conHciousness of obstacles increaseth its intensity, and she wins his admiration by eloquence that fails to convince, llie mysteries of God's providence demand our wondering admiration ; he who tra- velled far in search of Truth, retumeth sf-U unsatisfied, while the untravelled maid hath in her loneliness found out God. EDWARD. PART II. THE LOVERS. Tears have overflown, though still, amid the tracery Of oriel richly dight with quaint device Of herald's pageanti*y, the liveried light Stole into Lowden Hall, since guilelessly Gazing into the depths o' the other's oyes, As they would read love's destinies aright, Edward and Hellen sat; no words they ut- tered, Nor peaiiy fringhig tear bespoke or giief Or overmastering gladness ; 'twas the love Of novices, that yet were all untutored In cunning torturings of disbelief. Or what self-slaved precisians disapprove ; Unconscious were they c? love's rosy chains, Rosy in thoi-ns as sweets, entwining them, Or all that lurks in its enfolded core. What thrilling joyousness, and eke what pains ; Still in the maze of that delicious dream That, once awakened from, returns no more. 28 EDWARD. As sister had she loved, and he as brother, And then perchance they'd deemed it keenest sorrow — Though passion strove for stronger utterance, To find such tie concentred in another ; 'Tis the brood of fear and faithlessness that borrow Precocity's love-blinding eagle glance I But they had parted ; — ^he, the noble scion Of Lowden's lordly race, to trim the mind-lamp And seek fresh oil, amid wide Europe's stores Far wandering, while the orphan, sho, alone 'Mong youth's familiars, deepening the stamp Of influences mutual of yore I Years had elapsed, I said, her heart is throbbing, For Edward now returns ; perchance that hour Again they'U meet 1 whence now the unbidden tear, And the cheek flushed, and now the roses rob- bing [power Prom their frail throne? alas I knows she the Of love's passionate di'eam? has she awoke to fear? Why should she fear ? the oriel, that before Skreened young love sleeping, masquerades light still, [her The lawn's still dai'iy-clad, its herds bound past L PART II. THE LOVERS. 29 To the woods waked to music, as of yore, When he with her, there wandering, drank his fill Of melody : nor miss they now a master To give the adagio to their wood notes wild Or list their welcoming ; there too the monastVy Whence steals along the vale the vesper bell Pleading that man with God be reconciled ; Or bears it such a mission to the weary Sin-laden soul? — to her it seems the knell That summons to fierce warfare ; for Beligion Is now no fond enthusiast's dream insipid, Tickling the fancy with a ghostly fable, But prize 'gainst flesh and blood that must be won When spiritual wickedness is vanquished, And faith, deep mining for foundation stable. Smiles at the shallow grave I — But now I wander, While she, absorbed in thoughts set to the pealing Of that sweet chime, is tracing up time's stream, Fancy's barque current-borne, until it land her In that quaint oriel's niche, and love is sealing His parting infant vows ! Hark I does she dream f " My Hellen I" Is this knight of noble bearing. With these deep lines of thought upon his brow, The home-bred boy, her Edward? love ne'er questions. r 30 EDWARD. And yet an onlooker might doubt their caring, No wild embrace I no words of fevered glow I Each th* other named, then as fond recollections Crowded like storm-scared billows on each other, They gazed unquailing each in the other's eye. And drank love's fill, and knew no more of fear ; And then joy's sudden current welling smoother. Yields the quick crowding question and reply, Self-lost in sympathy of hearts sincere. He has drank deep at Europe's scattered foun- tains. Has slaked his ear, his eye, his thirsting soul. Knelt for the self-styled God-vicegerent's bless- ing, On his se\v3:i-hilled thi'one, and 'mid the Switzer's mountains [roll. Heard God's own voice through their far vistas As though dread warnincr to the universe ad- dressing ; Had seen the Heaven-lit Raphael's soul out- pouring. Till, rapt in inspiration, he expired As the canvas burned with the transfigured God, Promethean-winged Buonarotti soaring O'er the amorphous marble, till soul fired It woke and shook beneath the Sinai-missioned's load ; PART II. THE I OVERS. 31 > Pondering, had travelled o'er that dome, un- wearied, Of the Slstine shrine, whereon his seers and sybils As o'er that dread assize of God preside I And held communion with the mighty spirit, That darkling brooded over Heirs abyss. And, gloom-enrapt, woo'd Misery for his bride ; And what had she ? — as one entranced she listens! Yet still as hungering for something more. Something that was not ! while he opens out His wealth of thought, her eloquent eye glistens Untiring, all his treasures to explore. But with the pause, returns her haunting doubt, Tlie wish to question, an o'ermastering terror As his who trembles at the judgment bar, With doom or freedom hanging on a word. He has been gazing in the world's broad mirror And gathering its jewels strewed afar. While she, by concience' still small voice inpour'd The while hath slaked her longings at that spring That whoso drinketh of shall thirst no mere : And heard you not, she asks with eager trem- bling, — Bright tales have won e*en here on rumour's wing. Of the new Faith ?^— heard 1 yea the hellish roar Of the Heresy hath made wide Europe ring ! 32 KO fir AMD. Why trembles she, and sinks, like a firail flower breaking, jjy the tempest snapt ? — all, all but this she'd bear And feert no sacrifice, — but he, the noble True hearted one, on whom her soul is seeking To cling 'gainst all the buffets of life's cai'e, He armed against her ! — There had burst hope's bubble, And all her soul she flung into griefs madness And wildly wept; fierce threatenings had she known, The martyr's crown, the faggot's fiery terrors, Though with them too the glorious gospel's glad- ness, By him led up, whose love her lone heart won. Groping to Heaven's light, thro' blinding errors ; Grief has she known, an orphan's bitter dole, When left in lone dependence among strangers, The agonizing strife, when faith with fear Struggles for mastery in the awakened soul, And wins no peace ; still 'mid sore griefs and dangers [wear. One holy form her prayers and hopes would She heard of Eome's corruptions, of the assump- tion Of apostolic gifts by each mitred minion ; Of the Most High's prerogative now vended mm ri PART II. THE lOVERS. 33 By priestly mountebanks ; the dear redemption In Ood o*ermastered anguish hardly won, Now sealed, — and not of grace, but sale extended, And the Bome-gosx>ers God a usurer t All this she heard, and with it coupling Yague lines of his transmuted in love's folly. In saddest hours this hope would reassure her, He, too, the new-born light is welcoming, [tality 1 He, too, joint-heir with her, of life and immor- Housed in Hope's Ark she has out-braved worst dangers, But at his breath the fragile raft's gone down ; Like cloud-built home, piled on the vapour's crest, That cheats the mountaineer, afar 'mong stran- gers. Till wi'eck'd by envious winds, even so his frown Has whelmed her refuge in the eddying yeast. Yet if she wept, 'twas on his breast, while tight- ening [severance ; Love's bonds by the very danger threatening While he, with soothing reassurance, wonders Whence spring such sorrows; soon her eye is brightening. Now veiled to utterances of holy reverence. Now flashing scorn against the ghostly thunders i 34 EDWJJIU. Raised by a timid maid ! she speaks of sin, A broken law, and an avenging God ; Of penance, alms, and priestly intercessions. Vain purchase-fee of conscience, peace to win ; Then of our glorious Surety, and the load Hg bore upon the cross for our transgi'cs- sions ; Of purgatorial fii*es, the mediation . Of the Virgin Mother, and the saintly host ; Cumbrous deceits to hide the Gospel plan I Of the blood-pm'chased reconciliation, The quickening presence of the Holy Ghost, God's pardoning free gift to rebellious man ! She paints the lowly Jesus in the manger, God veiled in self-assumed humility. Whose power and majesty the heavens fill ; For them rejecting him, against the avenger Pleader and shield ; for them the bitter cry, Bowing in agony to the Father's will ; The broken bread in each believer's hand. Simple memorial of that dying hour ; Thus picturing I — behold the other side I See his ambassador all proudly stand. Faggot and sword the emblems of his power, And Heaven's gates, that justice opened wide. i^ Sim PART II. TUK LOVERS. 85 Barred, and the priestly usurer within Selling tlie pass, that gapes to adulterous crowds, Yet closes 'gainst the humbly contrite soul I The visible church, traditionally lain On the apostolic rock, with hellish shouts 'Gainst the Lamb's bride her blazing thunders roll; Th' invisible, the bride, a fugitive Fleeing to shelter in the wilderness I Say, is not this the voice was heard to cry — ■ Come out of her my people that believe, God hath remembered her iniquities, And wakes to retribution righteously ! Charmed, while amazed, to her burning words he listens, Nature's heart eloquence, though strange per- haps As the fiist welcome to a lover's ear I Charmed I could he other, while her clear eye glistens. Flashing back love for love, — from such long lapse What would not been a happiness to hear I Yet seemed it foolishness ; the spoils of Greece, The Romans' eloquence and poetiy. Historian, philosopher, and sage — 36 EDWARD. All were as household words ; what then were those But childish fables ? *iis the spiritual eye Alone can comprehend the wondious page I How strange God's ways I while he in search of knowledge Has compassed sea and land, unheeding danger, So he from every source soul-light receive ; The orphan maid, to learning's cloistered college And travel's liberal stores alike a stranger, Has found the noblest truth — believe and live I Has learned to know herself, with faith elate To soar beyond earth's transitory scene And hold communion with the Deity, Led down by Christ, with joy to anticipate The grave, as to a tranquil slumber lain, The vestibule that ushers to infinity I f i vere h of iger, lege .ivb! bo ARGUMENT. PART III. The Introduction glancetb at the obsequies of Henry the Seventh, passing from the scene, and with him the ancient order of things, now boasting security in the source of dis- solution. Wolsey disappeareth in the past, and in Cranmer is once more exhibited upostolic simplicity, so long divorced from apostolic claims. The Chronicler rebuketh those who, sitting in the Reformers chair, renounce their confession. The tale is resumed during a brief respite, when Henry, Cranmer, and Cromwell, strange triumvirate, unlock the long sealed scrip- tures and list the Pulpit's mighty powers in the cause of Truth. On the morning of a high festival, " The Annunciation of the most blessed Virgin, Mother of God," the cousins, in earnest controversy, pass amid a motley throng to the Abbey Church, to join in the services of the day. Musing on the beauties of the gorgeous temple, the Chronicler contrasteth it with the con- secration of the heart ; while the lovers, pausing at the entrance, review Art's treatment of their theme of discourse. Within, the Arts, uniting with gorgeous ceremonial, force inqniry into the nature of spirHual worship. The service begins, and the still unpui^cd ritual proceeds through invocations to Virgin and Saints, to the still unquestioned sacrifice of the Mast. But now, the old Monk ascends the pulpit, proclaiming tbe glad tidings of that Saviour, the promise of whose birth to the Virgin Mother, erst commemorated in the festival of Annun- ciation, hath merged into worship of herself. He publishetb the Covenant of grace through the death of the Testator ; and, concluding, procluimeth Henry's noble boon of the English Bible. As they leave, groups of earnest listeners are discovered around one reading from the new Bible, chained to a pillar of the Church. The influence of the new doctrines appeareth variously among the retiring audience; with the lovers, it accomplisheth the divinely-predicted sword, whose edge b household strife. IJ EDWARD. PART in. THE ANNUNCIATION. O'er royal dust, through proud Westminster's shrines, The echoes, waked by anthem's ^uneral peal. Wail tiie death-stricken mockery of power. The thing that was a king I God-winged designs Wake not as ours, or error's haughty heel Had trod the neck of England to this hour ! Infallible, in ghostly dogmas mailed. In pious panoply most orthodox, Steps the Eighth Henry to the vacant throne ; Foremost in arms when holy church assailed. The thundera of the Vatican provokes. Daring to hold God's word above her own I Strange clashing, thunders out the pious ire Of holiness and kingship, jointly aiming To stifle truth by apostolic nocks. Yet futile 'gainst a solitary Friar, Defying confutation, while proclaiming Home's treasury of grace a knavish hoax I But time, that antiquates hoar age, and changes Even truth to error, passes on to ope Oblivion's tomb, while yet in regal halls Iter's J, signs I ne; ges PART III. THE ANNUNCIATION. 39 She boasts eternal empire ; light impinges Along her curtained way, and new-born hope Beholds Ood's ichabod upon her walls I Even England, curtained in security Of her long slumber, dreams of storms afar, And stii'S to contemplate the breaking day. Ere yet to rise, in her maturity, Van-leading conqueror in the glorious war That rolls Truth's car on her triumphant way I Her Cardinal bids adieu to all his greatness. Never to rise; and from the Tudor's lust, Like lily forced by stercoraceous ferments. Rises a holy, God-commissioned witness, That, struggling heaven-ward, is yet to thrust Hell's barriers aside, aad rend her cerements, And show the church again a mitre worn Where apostolic grace and meekness centre ; Weaponed with love aye conquering, with the glory Of bloodless laurels haloed ; while, vpbome Through hell's strong legion?, leaguing to pre- vent her, God's consecrated ark rolls on to victory ; And shame for ever on the apostate brood Of faithless sons, while at that alt>ar serving By him, sore travailing, on the bulwai'ks bound iO SDVAAD. Of God's own truth, And sealed there with his blood ; Yet dare disown the work as undeserving Our reverence, God so signally has owned I But lowlier far our tale, while yet depending From lofty deeds ; the victory of truth, The desolate upborae all trustfully, On the untrembling wings of faith ascending In lightward flight, and the unhallowed ruth Of bigotry, athirst all lustfully To slake her burning passions in the blood Of God's elect, pluming herself the while She does Him service I — But a breathing space Hath fallen to the church, and she hath stood. For a brief hour, on vantage ground, to assail Hell's leagured host of listed enemies I For persecution now hath ta'eu its flight. Scared by the champion of soul-liberty Struggling God's revelation to reveal Anew to untutored minds, that with delight Welcome truth's advent, on the darkling eye To pour new light, the ear long stoppea lo unseal. And, through the slumbering nations m her might Wading resistless, till, at her appeal, A glorious host wakes up in God's own cause, I HI PART lU. THE ANNUNCIATION. 41 To wage fierce war against usurping night, And hurl her from light's throne. The old father*s cell And Lowden*s lordly hall, in the first pause, Before the clash of the contending creeds Renew the strife, alike experience An all unwonted calm ; and th' orphan maid Banishing sorrow, while young hope succeeds To its fit vantage gi'ound, basks in the sense Of the pure joys such son-ows supersede I • •••••• From brow of wooded slope to modest dale Resounds afar the cheering peal of bells. Borne on the fitful breezes' lull and rise In gushing swell of sounds most musical, Each lordly hill reechoing to the vales That slumber round, its wakeful melodies t 'Tis the Annunciation, holiday Ordained by Mother Church, and from the dales That wake iu answer to the melody Gather a motley throng, that wend their way To kneel, faith-blended, in yon gorgeous aisles : Vassal, and knight of lordly pedigree, Teoman and noble dame, obey the call ; And 'mong them, deep in loving argument, The cousins ride ; she to his ardour heeding 42 BD^AED. With kindling sympathy ; then 'gainst the thrall Of ghostly domination eloquent, Or gently for a bleeding Saviom* pleading : But now before the Abbey gate they light, A gorgeous temple, consecrate to Him Who dwelleth not in temples made with hands, But there most surely ftxeth His delight Within the contrite heart. Yet whei'efore deem Such shrines a mockery? though he thus de- mands, Before all gifts, the heart with love elate. And, lacking that, rejects the impious measure By pride or fear doled out to purchase Heaven ; Yet, he who owes God all, will dedicate — And with no niggard hand — the God-lent treafi- m'e; Meek piety, ere now, such shrines to God hath given. Yet, seems the gorgeous porch's sculptured story Strange commentai'y, there the Virgin Mother Tending the immortal God-inveiling Child, The marble manger with angelic glory Is haloed round, and P>culpture's honours gather To tell of Deity all self-d&spoiled I A glorious vista bursts upon the view, The marble avenue's far clustering aisle, Now wrapped in solemn gloom, and now bedi^ht mmmmmmm PAUT III. THE ANNUNCIATION. 43 With the impassioned rays, that, struggling thro' The saintly host, high o'er the sacred pile Presiding, coioiir even Heaven's own light I The Grecian Muse, enlisting in the service Of her poetic creed, upheaved meet shrine, When Phidias' chisel woke divinity ; But when to her sublimer mysteries The Christian arts aspire, for meed divine They soar, and mate with her sublimity ! And dull that soul, as withering funeral vTcath, Unthrilled beneath her heaven-symboling pile, As now the light a joyous livery wears, And now subdued, where marble records breathe Mute eloquence o'er hallowed dust, its smile Dwells on the tribute of a country's tears ; While pealing anthems through the lofty span, Now as angelic whispers softly stealing. Now on the organ's gathering swell ai*e hurled ; And sculptured seraphs, from its empyi-ean, Bending, survey the worshippers low kneeling, Like lingering spuits from a brighter world ; Dim, through the fragrant curtaining clouds that rise From golden censers, peers the awe-rapt eye, Where Art's mute drama, on the pencilled canvas, ^ 44 £DWABD. Enacts apocalyptic mystei-ies, Time's doom, or that strange hour of agony When a sin-burdenod God to death must pass I Merging conflicting thoughts, the lovers viewed That shrine, that for the conscience severed twain Alike a consecrated altar rears ; — Since then the owl hath found loved solitude. And the foul bi\t a shelter, in that fane. Where mingled then such differing worshippers ! And where has God pure worship? *mid the swell Of such cathedral rites? in sculptured stall? Or on the lowly bench, beneath the shelter Of modest village church ? or where they kneel Around the cottage altar ? — Even in all His eye discerns the contrite worshipper I But now the service merges in the blaze Of glittering adjuncts, strangely mingled ritual. That now her God implores, and now to saint, Or angel, or the Virgin Mother prays ; While souls, all hungering for spiiitual Communion, whose still agonising plaint Is aye for aid against indwelling sin. Starve on the visionary banquet, looming Through mysiory and deceit ; and to this world PART ri. THE ATtNDNCIATION. 45 The closer bound, liire priests the next to win ; Blind guides, that, in the brightness of Ills coming. Shall to Gehenna's horrid womb be hurled I Slow wanes the church's night, the glimmering east But streaked with promised dawn; to error wed, The mass still celebrates ; strange blasphemy, Christ made her daily sacrifice, a feast In sin-stained hands unblushingly displayed, Foul mystery of Rome's iniquity. But Truth hath now her vantage, from the pul- pit Resounds the burning eloquence of language That wins from soul to soul ; the hoary Father, Ere while in Error's devious toils beset, Now stands Truth's freedman, 'gainst her foes to wage Uncompromising war. The list'ners gather, Some in amazement, some in glad surprise To catch the gospel tiding:; ; wondrous voice For tnat long client shrine, reconsecrate By new annunciation services, Calling a mourning people to rejoice And wake to light, that long in darkness sate! r 46 EDWARD. How throbs the oi'phan maiden's breast while listening By her heart's lord to the enchanting strains That bid earth's wanderers rise, and point the road On to the heavenly rest : her dark eye glis tening As Rome's deceiving errors he arraigns, And tells the waking soul, Behold your God I And now his cheering mission all fulfilled, The Reformation's God-speed to the soul Pining for ransom , free for every eye The Covenant of Grace anew unsealec*.. Its long lost Testaments of love unroll Revealing life and immortality For Henry — erst in conscience-thrall's defence — Dubbed, with the guerdon of the Golden Rose, Defender of the Faith, by papal bull, Now the unconscious tool of Providence, Leagued with triumphant truth against her foes, Proclaims the Word of Gk)d the Church's rule. And lights a lamp in England, yet to blaze O'er distant isles, where'er her wealth ex- plores Benighted climes, or where her navies wing PART III. JTHB ANNUNCIATION. 47 Their conquering way, the Christian's banner raise, Till earth's wide vales, and ocean's farthest shores, With the glad Gospel's hallelujahs ring. Scotland's far mountains catch the beacon flame. And, consecrated erst to hberty. Now in her noblest cause their arms combine ; Soldiers of peace, that in a Saviour's name Lead on God's ransomed hosts to victory. — But finished now the father's grand design, With invocated blessings on their head The assembled crowds disperse, some to airaign His words, but more, enamomed of the theme. To mingle where, to listening groups, one roads Aloud the sacred page, — ^that by rude chain Hangs to the fretted wall ; the church's emblem. Chained to the Eternal Rock, yet free to all ! Silent, the lovers wend their homeward way : A frown is on his brow, and deep disgust In the brief words he answers to each call For his opinions ; while she to the Stay And Father of the orphan turns her trust. Peace and good-will on earth, the angels sung. Announcing God a dweller among men ; But Cliiist himself foretold the bitter sword 48 KDWARXK Borne with it, — agony from true hearts wrung By household foes, and love's own weapons ta*en To pierce the soul faith-fianced to her Lord, And lure her to perdition with foul Juggle Of charity's glossed serpent subtlety. Wriggling into the core to hatch hell's blight. God help the lone one in the fearful struggle Pending 'twixt faith and love's dear fealty ; They only conquer whom He buckles to the fight. t. 9 the [ ARGUMENT. PART IV. Considereth the proofs of a First Cause, rejecting the argu - ments of natural theology, if without the higher evidences from the human mind, with its destinies unaccomplished in this stale of probation. The argument passeth to the general miyesty of Providential Rule, iu whose earnest consideration the student of the past findeth in every age a voice that tellcth of its cha- racter and fruits. What then the voice ot this age ? a period when the unplastic formulas of earlier times, grown antiquated and soulless, are giving place to higher truths, wherein the observer discemeth, beyond the struggle of the moment, the privileges with which it is fraught ; while yet are to be found high intellects unconscious of the promise of their age, deeming the once good ever the best. A change hath passed o'er the scene, liberty of conscienee is withdrawn, and, 'mid many in- consistencies, the Reformation struggleth onward« But, while the old monk and his Orphan disciple exhibit the power of Truth, the Chronicler beholdeth in the young lord of Lowden an earnest soul missing its rest, and wandering after every sem- blance of virtue, destitute of self reliance, with vague credulity doubting all ; till, despairing, he returneth for refuge to the old unsatisfying creed ; and, scheming to lead back his cousin with him to the forsaken fold, he determineth on the banish- ment of the Monk. Soothed by new hopes, the lovers are reconciled ; and, on the eve of final parting, eternal vows are exchanged. 8 n EDWARD. PART IV. THE SEARCH. Man looks without, to the material world, For miracle, and proof of a First Cause ; The indwelling soul regarding as a thing Enfolded, nor, for truth, to be unfurled In time ; strange creed, that blindly overthrows The eternal temple for its scaffolding,— That, seeking light, turns from this time-lent ray Fresh from th' Eternal, and, through devious tracks. Plods darkly down where feeblest sciutillati' i Glimmer upon the soul, — that flings away Faith's evidence of Deity, and walks Blind 'mid its own God>flashing corruscations ! And what the soul then ? An unwritten sheet, A plastic inner world, amorphous, void. For the outer one to fashion into being ? Or an immortal conciousness, create Responsible, and unto God allied, With mightiest destinies upon the wing, A mighty mission, too, to be fulfilled AVhile passing back to God? momentous question! Big with unutterable mysteries FART lY. TUB SEARCH. 51 Within the unopened volumes yet concealed, Of the beyond eternity ; alone A question for the infinite exercise Of its far stretching ken ; a question, too, That, realised in its immensity, Rede by a trustful, earnest, hungering soul. Might penetrate the pregnant-coming through, And make again the voice of prophecy Far folded up futurity unroll. But is the ancient prophet voice all silent f ^ The God-taught seer a thing of sacred story, i With revelation dumb ? God rules the earth / By providence and Judgment still, intent On ultimates commensurate with the glory Of His eternal rule ; from Avhence the bu*th Of time and revolutions ; at whose word A system marshals in the empty space. Or sinks in void a teeming universe ; From the bmled past jt>rophetic words 4^ heard. Nor can Timers sweeping pinions so embrace :- God's ever presence, in their world reversej* Though all unequal to the mighty whole That Deity builds up, the dim mind-eye Can trace a method in the edifice. 52 ■BWARD. When striving earnestly to reach its soul ; — See Time aye gathering up the destiny Of mighty empires ; the world wide decrees Of Deity evolved complete ; a nation, With her long line of kings ta'en in his skirt, As he sweeps calmly past ; vassal and peer Sheer blent to oblivion's mausoleum thrown, While the poor dreamers, fancying they avert Dii'e fate, bedaub a crumbling sepulchre I The destinies of the past are for perusal ; Each teeming volume with instruction full, E'en from the narrowest soul ; laden as 'tis With an eternal freight of woe or weal. And piegnant with impulses, in whose stiniggle Life's wave is merged into eternity's I What then this age's voice ? a mighty task Is given't to fulfil, and who is able For its performance ? Time hath come to the birth And fails for strength f The iron mask, Riven from the night of centuries, rocks the stable Foundations of far kingdoms of the earth; And her time-mummisd dead formalities, Reflex of lights gone out, reel to their centre ; Time-honoured virtues^ too, with the old Faith ti PART IV. THE SEARCH. 53 That, faithless now, a hollow mockery lies, A truth grown false ; with the faint truth-light lent her Convulsed, and downward sti*uggling to her death ; Like the elder sons of Time, in lusty youth Pregnant with virtues, that, grown obsolete, Perishing, are to her womb again consigned, The avatar for the birth of higher Truth, While the rapt Seer discerns beyond, elate. The golden age that dreamers seek behind ! Yet he alone ; for there are gifted minds, WVch intellectual powers that promise victory O'er their time^trammels, who yet blindly trav- veiling From little light to less, distorted visions Luring aye further down, until they lie A living, corpse-wed bridegroom, life's cords ravelling ; The living with the dead, unseemly wedlock. Whose offspring in the pangs of birth are stran- gled; A death-in-life refracted chamel glimmer Of funeral torches, blinding with their smoke, That having feebly 'gainst the sun dawn wrangled, Perish with foetid stink and babbling simmer, 54 EDWARD. Who might have shone in the mind firmament As starry maiisions of intelligence ; But not sue' chou, O Moeb I although with thee The light and darkness still were strangely blent, And thou didst valiant death, in the defence Of liberty, in slavery's panoply, While thy dear child immortal beauty gains In the bitter tragedy : nor such the brave True-hearted Fisher, who in the old light's set- ting Stumbled not, but still found a clear soul-guid- ance. Faith's span to bridge across a bloody grave : For Tyranny's fresh phases are begetting A brood more like their sire, as Smithfield's fires Embrace contending martyrd of two faiths Warring their way to heaven; and 'mong re- cluse Hamlets, and modest vales, where truth retires. As in the thronging mart, o'ermastering death's Soul-argument, smites through life's prison- house. The sacred Book for the enlightenment Alike of peasant serf and tonsured thrall, A royal boon, and best e'er king bestowed. PART IV. THE gEARCH. 66 re- Become foul mockery ; and high argument Of things erst held divine, at its tribunal, The liberty of faith's appeal to God Denounced, and their contemners extirpate, Brave morning stars of truth. Yet faith to her Blends strangely with the slaves of pelf and lust, With superstitions ineradicate And mad fanatic zeal, Error's defender, As strong in coafidenee of warfare just. Of cause not true alone, but Truth's sole fealty. As they whose weapons are truth-consecrate; While her owned ehampions, still of night en- slaved. Prove traitors to her cause, and dare deny That liberty of soul inalienate, Themselves the while so hardly have achieved. Our story hath essayed to show the phases Of two far differing minds, beneath the sway Of a purer faith ; the eai'nest loving soul Of the old father, moulded by the graces Of the Christ story, till he cast away, [sal. Night's paramour, new braced for Faith's espou- And the young maid, the same high waifare waging, The cumbering works of darkness cast behind, An'i light's whole armour ta'en for glorious fence 56 EDWARD. In the life-war, where truth's alike assuaging Each hiingering soul, all trustfully resigned Calm on the bosom of Omnipotence. Yet was not he, who stood aloof from them, An all unfei vid soul, or passionless, O'er whom this voiceless mystery of being Swept as the sportive pageant of a dream ; But one deep pondering on the immensities Time shadowe<^ out beyond, and picturing A pure soul-shrine for virtue on the curtain That all impenetrably veiled in gloom Ilie dumb futurity ; he worshipped virtue With loving earnestness, and strove to attain Her aid to rend th' impervious clouds that loom 0*er the light-craving soul ; to catch a view Of the inner sanctuary of happiness, That chase that all pursue through devious windings And many a phantom-guise I Enthusiastic, Impassioned, with a wolfish greediness. Ravening for highest knowledge ; ardom' blind- ing The hungering soul, all inexperienced, plastic. Clutching at shadows, while its large desires Aim at the high and true, the highest, best. The invisible, and the infinite I Ah me, ' ■ j >m IS „ PARI IV. THB SEARCH. 57 Without a pilot, and wild passions' fires Raging within, on life's wide oceau cast Chartless, and freighted for Eternity ! Who is sufficient for this ? who is able To steer across this gulph, that, eddying, surges Between the two Eternities ? He tasks, For evidence of God, the untenable Vain puerilities tradition urges, — And finds a nui*sery tale, that hardly masks The sneer of its retailers, proffering it To the soul's inquiry ; he looks abroad O'er the wide face of nature, soaring high And searching deep, and chafing at each limit Of his material prison, — But no God Speaks to the earnest sceptic, sconifully, And yet with tearful anguish questioning ; For this had he forsook th' ancestral hall And love's dear claims, glad exile to endm'e, So he might learn were he the chance bom thing Of a material creed, for the carousal Of a few dainty worms, or foul manure For some rank grave-yard's herbage, when the sleep [pulses Of the dreamless rest stills life's impassioned And takes down the machine ? or is there verity 58 EDWARD. In an hereafter, in the abysm deep Of mid and nether helPs gi*eat agonies, God*s loving bounty for the soul's temerity — As ghostly teachers thunder — that has striven To reach unto himself? The soul faith-fed By the light of conscience, 'gainst such tale re- belling, Flings from itself in scorn the garish heaven, Antagonist to such a Devil's creed As this, that shavelling huxters are retailing For superstition's doits 1 Poor consolation Found he far wandering ; sceptics manifold. Oft hid in priestly guise, whose sneering laughter Bang through his soul's waste, echoing desola- tion In the deep void. The beauteous earth unrolled God's handy-work, but, who, in searching after The soul's repose in truthful earnestness, E'er found response in nature's vaunted treatise, To fill the aching void? *Tis her o^vn faith, Conscious of giant powers, but, yet all sightless, That, Samson-like, in its blind agonies Drags down a shrieking multitude to death I And what then did he ? with a mind bedight In sceptic mail, that hid blind veneration. Devoutly questioning each phantom seemmg, — L PART IT. THE SEARCH. Qf) No oak ! but a most lovely parasite, A straggling, aimless, wasted desolation, Of what had hung gay summer's blossoming And harvest fruits, if with faith's stedfast piUar To embrace and cluster o'er ; but hurrying guide- less. As by some comet rapt, afar to night, Soul-shuddering at the aU unequal war, Judge not, nor blame him, if he did retrace His fruitless travel to the old glimmering light He had forsook : the only ark then floating On that wide waste, nor a false ark to some Proved e'en that erring church, though now a dreaming And palsied crone, on aacient riddles doating. Worn threadbare : but the soul will have some home. And o'er the waste he saw none other gleaming Than her erased barque — ^With famished eager- ness He flew to it again, embraced its dogmas. Clung to its paiting beams with the tenacity Of a drowning wretch, and blessed God there was grace Within its pale, all tottering though it was : Once faith laid hold on't for veracity. CO EDWARD. No marvel then if the long tempest-tossed, Now harboured, view with dread the threatened strife Involving ruin there, nor care to brave The stormy billows, late so hardly crossed ; His part's determined now, in death or life Consistency's self-bound and facile slave 1 We left the lovers on their homeward travel, Strange seeds of discord gathering from the source Of love and unity, yet he the more To his soul's idol clinging, as they ravel The love-forged chains, and he essays to force Conscience to bend to his mind's garniture I His resolution's ta'en, and persecution, The tyrant Tudor's work, affords fair scope For his designs ; the old Monk shall be exiled ; And he, the fount of heresy, once gone, Its streamlets will exhale ; — in such new hope •Love's tearful discords soon seem reconciled. Exchanged forgiveness and eternal fealty, And as hath oft before, when love is wroth The strife suffices only to reveal The indomitable heart's fidelity, And farewell partings end in plighted troth Of marriage's irrevocable seal I RSI ARGUMENT. PART V. The bridal morn is heralded with mirth, yet the Chronicler looketh bodingly beyond ; his vision is of no holiday masking, but the life warfare in a troublous age ; for the bridegroom, as itseemeth, with aid of holy Church, will free his bnde from evil influence by banishment of the heretic guide. The scene changeth to the old abbey. The bride, knowing no fear, wend- eth to the altar by her lord. Suddenly sLe is bid back, and the promised bridal changeth to bloody contest, as the Church's hierlings seize the doomed maiden. Confusion and maddening tumult give place to silence, as the bride bends over her dying lord ; nor moves, till led forth, unresisting, the bride of the dead. The scene, again changing, findeth her tenant of a dun- geon, thence only to pans to the martyr's stake ; such ham hu- manity and the Church devised. But anou the scene changeth again, the tribunal is in Westminster Hall : arena of strange contrasting sceues ! The old Monk and his youthful disciple are led forth. The pomp of royal state and spiritual power assemble ; and, over all, Henry the Eighth presideth supreme, reported tyrant and the slave of lust, yet, as it seemeth, Dy the Grace of God, Defender of the ^Faith ; in virtue whereof he sitteth to condemn, while the fathers of the Church, tenderly, as becometh their office, commend them to the 6ames ! The old Monk replieth ; he scometh the mediation of saints, as a vain insult to Him whose atonement is already made. His intercession all sufficient and secure. But suddenly the maiden sinketh ; whispering of her faith, he bids her shame it not ; but it is vain, she hath already triumphed in death, and the old father, in tears rejoiceth over the liberated captive. The talc endeth. The martyr's lesson, already known, we need not linger over the victory of Faith, but hail, in the wane of the role of might, the dawn of the supremacy of mind. EDWARD. TART V. THE BRIDAL. Glad revelry through Lowden's halls is pealing, The husy menials, mirth in every eye, Hurrying along ; the youthful pair the while With seemly gravity, hut ill concealing The passion-pulse of love's deep ecstacy — Too deep for utterance — 'neath a modest smile : For now's the bridal morn, when Edward, lead- ing A blushing maiden to the holy altar. Shall thence bring home his bride ; and there- fore sadness Is scared, and hope, e'en eld's fear superseding. Pencils illusive life-dreams ; corld love falter, Counselled alone by the heart's passionate mad- ness, Or deem it an unconsecrated yoke That consummated long heart-plighted vows. And cherished life-hopes ? *Tis a lovely dream, Alas that the delusion should be broke Of young hope's sleep, soon as experience throws O'er the lapped eye-lids her chill morning gleam. PART y. THE BKIDAL. 63 And stem reality proclaims it day I Up and be doing, in earth's mother-breast May the life-weary bid adieu to care ; But here, as soldiers, must ye war your way Probational, or lose the heavenly rest. But, see, the abbey aisles are all astir ; Scenes shall they witness ere the young day close, Other than bridal ; for the Church must root The weed of lieresy, by instigation Of the noble bridegroom, where it rankly blows Within her sacred walls, even by the foot Of her own altar ; so that, left alone, His gentle bride, unconscious, to her pale lletuming back, shall traverse by liis side The good old paths 1 but should the purblind crone With indiscriminating zeal assail The follower as well's the erring guide. Rescuing, e'en 'gainst his will, a faithful son From heresy's insidious pollution, What then ? — Alas, zeal hath ere now o'erleaped Its aim, and innocence in errors's toils Dragging the guilty with it, retribution Swift as the levin's thunder-bolt, hath reaped The plotter in the harvest of his spoils. 64 KDWAHD, But now, with lordliest pomp of holy church, She comes to grace th' espousals, outside show Most blandly meek and apostolical t Yet, might the initiate, 'neath her matron curch. Trace ominously there an ireful glow Dread-worthy wheioioe'er its weight shall fall ; But love aud innocence are void of fear, And towards the altar, with unfaltering step. The orphan maid by her heart's lord moves on. But hark t what bridal welcome I drnw not near, To bring pollution from the weltering deep Of heresy, even to th' incamate's throne I A sudden clash of arms ; and shrieks of women, Are mingling with the battle-shouts of men. Within God's temple ; vain the late endeavour Of yon grim priest to stay the unhallowed din. And bloody carnage, that from him hath ta*en Untimely being, — vain hib ^ower to sever The crush of maidens, shuddering all afright, And ghostly warders armed with cross and beads, And mail-clad men, and knights in silk attire, But resolute of heart, thus called to fight For right of heart and altar : — like the shi'eds Of some sweet Raphael-cartoon all afire, PART V. TUB BRIDAL. ^ 65 And quenched in blood, — as in her bridal robes, Now dabbled all with gore, the orphan kneels Where the relentless steel has drank its fill Of her Edward's heart-blood, and life's waning throbs Suffice but for ono gush of love, as wells That ebb that knows no flow ; and all is still ! All still t — for she nor shuddered then nor shrieked, But gazed, as in a trance, on the all left Of what had been her all ; and, when they led Her forth, she asked not, where f — had they not wreaked Misery's wild worst upon her ? — loye's cords reft. And wed her in her bridal to the dead I On the poor pallet of a prison cell, Th' eye of her bridal mum, for heresy To face their ire, and be espoused to Heaven By martyr's fiery wedlock ! such the hell That stern fanatic zeal can sanctify Within the beast-god man, — all madly driven A wreck athwart time's deep, while toppling down And shivering at his feet, stale formulas And creeds, and social compacts, and such stuff a m BDWARD. As busk the hollow masks, by time o'ergrown With venerable cobwebs ; while what was The soul o' them hath vanished long enough, And comes chief mourner to their obsequies, With just such gi'ief as the young heir at-law, Tailorojd in sables from the miser's hoards, And master of the will 1 yet how much lies Of mortal anguish there, ere time can draw Its life-breath *mid the strife of fratral swords And revolution's natal agonies ; . Here a frail maiden, there a hoary sire, Whirled in the maelstroom of its life-abyss. Its sacrificial waifs ; in such a world, 'Mid such mad clashiags of insensate ire, Faith only holds the key of happiness, The standard of GU)d's providence unfurled? And firm the orphan's faith, now death-divorced From aught of earth ; no stillness of despair, But, self disowned, faith-championed for the fight, And calm on Him, who thrcughthe devil's worst Of floods and fire, hath sworn <* I will be there, And lead my own unconquered up to light I" Though, on her ashy brow, and hectic cheek, Deep graved the strife, when the heart's cords gave way ; And the proud faithfulness of widowed love, PART y. IHE BRIDAL. 67 Hiding the wound, bled inwardly, as, meek In her faith's trust, she gave th« weU-ioved clay One last embrace, and winged her hopes above I Is Bd le 3t 'Tis hoar Westminster's Hall, whose silent waUs Might tell of many a scene of iron lords^ And kings, and steel-clad barons, all unbent O'er gorgeous coronation festivals 1 Of pomp of solemn state, where battle swords Were laid aside for high arbitrement 'Twixt might and right ; here kings in ermine clad Judging and dooming heart-nobility, For noble stand 'gainst will tyrannical ; There of their trappings all despoiled, and made To doff their kingship, and to a nation's eye Assume the man !— And now another call Hath fruitful time found for it ; summoned forth To answer for the doubly damning crime That claims supremacy for God's command, An all unequal pair ; yet, in the worth Of true nobility, of faith sublime — Meet panoply and arms — alike they stsnd : 'Tis Lowden's orphan maid, and the old fiiar, Teacher and taught, alike arraigned to pi ov*>, In passive victory, what fiendlike wrath es EDWARD. The Ctod-made soul of man can belch in ire, To make this earth a hell ; — while throned above, God's vicegerent t defender of the faith I By courtesy, most noble, righteous Judge ! [broom Presides the Eighth Henry, with the deviPs In lustful hands, to purge God's sanctuary — Of what f — of them who, through the dear-bought pledge Of God>hood's sacrifice, can hail the doom That speeds the martyr's chariot on high t Of whom the world's not worthy, yet by whom The world escapes putresence I Shame it were To dwell upon fair justice's mockery, The arraignment, or the smoothly worded doom, With which the Church so meekly yields her share Of th' hangman's work, commending tenderly Her victims to the mercy of the flames ! Nor yet enrol in verse, that priestly gang Impaled upon eternal infamy, The scare-crows of all time, that holds their names [rang In blood that will not out ; though the old hall With a united execrating cry Against their victims, shouting to deny [turned A faith, forsooth, that shamed her saints, and Their church into a cheat ! With dauntless air PART V. THE BRIDAL. 69 They rise, while thus the father makes reply, '* StroDg in His name we stand, whom priest- hood spumed From Judah's throne ; the crucified Redeemer ; Who for us dofifed the eternal majesty, Veiling the Deity in suffering flesh. And walked our world, a Man acquaint with woes; For us, here clothed on with humanity, Quivering within the agonized mesh Of the immaculate flesh ; whoso dying throes Cancelled our chastisement, and by whose wounds Our bleeding ones are healed ; at Pilate's bar Witnessed a good confession, then for us Laid down his life ; there only rest the grounds Of each poor sinner's plea, who stands afar. And, smiting on his breast, for mercy cries ; God hath no daysman in the Anointed's place ; Virgin, or saintly host, to stand between The living and the dead, % ire but to stay Tho wide embrs "e of mercy, limitless As sinner's neec the immaculate hath ta'en Our sins, and bloi 3d all our guilt away ; By His one sacrifice the work is done. Nor needs there daily offerings to be made ; The mockery of your mass, in sight of Him, 70 EDWABO. The Almighty, who so freely gave his Son ; And He on whom the chastisement was laid, Who, conquering death and hell's leagued san- hedrim. Rose to proclaim the Atonement freely made, Then passed within the veil to mediate. High Priest *twixt man and God I" — Why starts the Monk ? He will not fail, nor shrink from all now said On such dear theme ; but sudden she that sate Undaunted by his side, to the floor sunk,— He turns to reassure her, <* Daughter, rise ; Fear not, be strong in faith ; the crown is ours !" Nay, call her if you would ! on that pale brow Death hath his seal; she hath attained the prize. All else forgotten, the old father pours O'er her calm features; and his tears drop now. Tears, not of grief, but joy. Our tale is done. Perchance it were not profitless to have ta'en Light at the martyr's chariot-wheels, that hurried The father up to heaven, but we have won The Maiiiyi-'s lesson ; nor yet on the wane Will we believe its power; though mystics buried n PART V. THE BKIDAL. 71 In English cloisters, tairying unawares. Have flung shrill bodings on the twilight mom ; But we can wait for morning ; light is breaking Shall scare such phantoms to their sepulchres f And, with them too, low laid in pomp of scorn, The intolerant creed of Toleration ; shrieking Around the federation of the worlii, That the long lapse of life shall wondering eye, Before such bastard brood of tyranny Back to Gehenna's entrails could be hurled ; That Faith assert her soul-supremacy, And Mind o*er man assume eternal sway. NOTES. Page 30, Une 16. ** The Heaven-lit Raphntil." Of the sixteenth century it may truly be said, There were Giants in those days I The same age witnessed Raphael, Mi- ch:^! Angelo, Celinif the Medici, and Luther, with a host of other noble intellects, that by their eminent works, in Litera- ture and Arts, heralded the Reformation. Raphael Sanzio, the greatest of oiodem painters, died in 1530, at the age of thirty-seven, when just completing his masterpiece, the Trans- figuration. It was suspended over his corpse for public ho- mage, while the last traces of his master-band were yet visible upon the canvas. Page 30, line 19. *' Promethean-winged Buonaroti.'* The Moses, the noblest work of Michael Angelo Buonaroti, was part of the projected mausoleum of Julius IL, unfinished portions of which are scattered over Europe, among the most valued works of the sixteenth century. When this statue was finished, he is said to have gazed at it for some moments, and then striking it sportively with his chisel, to have ex- claimed,—** Parla dunque, tu sai,"—" Speak now; thou canst." Memes, in his life of Canova, thus speaks of it : — ** Amid the creations of genius, the Moses of Michael Angelo rises a solitary and matchless monument. The prophet seated on the fragment of a rock, his right arm resting on the tablet of the law, is represented at the moment when descending from the mount, the first distant prospect of the idolatrous camp han MOTES. 73 opeued on hU view ; ■ ■- > character of intellectual and stern grandeur, of moral fierceness, of hauglity and unrelenting in- dependence, breathes — lives in the marble, and almost over- powers the senses. The eye, traversing vacancy, and bent on distance, seems to imply Ihat the objects of resentment are still remote ; yet the expression has annihilated both time and space.— >Who shall dare to abide that storm of indigestion, of scorn, of wrath, which darkens in the frown, which is bursting from the lips, and lightening in the eyes ? * Now curse,' the spectator is ready to exclaim, ' for malediction hangs upon thy tongue, and thou canst speak !' " Page 31, line 1. ** Pondering, had travelled o'er that dome," &c. The roof of the Sistiue Chapel, in the Vatican, is adorned with alternate prophets and sybils, the work of Michael An- gelo's pencil, overlookmg that wonderful production of his genius, ** The Last Judgment," the largest, the most asto- nishing, and by many admirers held as the greatest effort of Pictorial Art. Page 31, line 4. " Held communion with the mighty Spirit." Although Dante belongs to an earlier period, when Cimabue and Giotto were urging on the dawn that led to the mighty results of the sixteenth century, yet " The Divina Comedia" was not collected, nor published as a whole till after his death ; nor was its full influence experieneed till the following cen- tury. The '* Last Judgment" of Michael Angelo is only a translation of part of the great poem into the expressive lan- guage of another art. Page 38, line 16. " Solitary Friar." I cannot discover where I have met with the well known line that speaks of Luther as» * The solitary monk that shook the world. L 74 EDWAIU). > ith the God-embracing light, Through each degree : On still expanding light ascending ; Unknov senses, unconceived dehghj Hope-left in light's infinity." ' /! THE DEATH OP THE YEAR. 95 And the goblin's marish sheen. Hid in Hope's light : Hung again its sickly skreen On the gloom-bound night r While thus the doom-sprites resume again The year's death-rite, — " Join our triumphant roundelay ; Hope's beams shorn : At the dying hour of day, . Another mom is born As darkly to pass away : Mortals forloni, to mourn O'er the unburied clay Keft of life's ray! Come to the rest of the cradled day ; Come I come away r* Then in wild snatches their fitful song, As the goblin sprites lawlessly flit along ; They thus each ghostly guest invite To the doom-orgies of the night. — ** The cold wan moon Will greet our meeting soon ; *Tis changing and fickle ; Come, come with death's sickle ; *Tis our fittest light The pale, cold, bright Fickle rays of the waning moon r» 90 THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. Consumption's train reply " Tarry not I tarry not I While the winds sigh, Autumn's leaves wither And rotting lie I Then speed we, nor tarry. Vain, vain life's hours; The young may go marry. Their fairest are ours I" Then in sad voiced murmurfngs, She that the yew-wreath wore,— " Twine ye amid life's strings, Coil in its core : Dry one by one its springs, Still slow but sure ; Then, when the spark's nigh gone ; Wheii the victory's almost won, Light false hope's rush : Dash tJ^rough the throbbing veins. Tug till life's frail web strains, Give the fatal crush, And 'tis done I" TLiis to her solemn strain Respond her train , While in sudden rushing, gasping cry. The gobUns a/iswer it mirthfully L 9; THE DEATH OP THE YEAR, CoNsuMPnoN's Traiw "We have joined the d outweighs the influence of a nation's laws. Then reverently they spake of elder bards Whose hands had grace to strike the impas- sioned wire. y 110 A VISION OF THE •COTTISK MAKAR8. As each with fervid eloquence awards The muse's honours to some favourite sire, Who won sweet numbers from the heavenly lyre, ^ nd handed down through the prophetic line The glorious meed of song, the minstrel art divine. And Drummond spake of rare old Ben, his frere, The while Buchanan dwelt on classic times ; And James sang proudly " of his maisteris dear, Gower, and Chaucer," while with loud acclaims They each some minstrel's honoured name pro- claims. The Bard of Avon's dwelt on every tongue. The poet of all times, the master-spirit of the depths of song I And there was one that spoke of Poesie, A bastard hind, that pandered to vile lust. And dragged the heaven>bom Muse adown to lie. Grovelling in shameless prurience, in the dust ; Of names shall rankle in eternal rust. The vulture scavengers, whose piercing vision Serves but to elevate their Muse to infamous derision. With that, with arms across, and hand to hand. They rose and looking up invoked high heaven ; But ere my willing ear could understand The solemn adjuration they had given, A VISION OF THE SCOTTISH M AKAR8. Ill Me seemed athwart the gloriou.s vision driven A misty vale, that crumbled as it ^i^rew And all the living scene to shapeless phantasy indrew. In hoar Linlithgow's royal hostelry Within its festal hall distent I lay, But crumbling walls alone I could descry, Unroofed, save by the noon sun's canopy, Tminstrelled by the mavis' roundelay. That charmed the answering echoes with the tune Heard oft of yore among the sylvan shades of Erceldoun. NOTE. To avoid bnrying a brief poem under a multitnde of notes, it may be sufilcieut to refer to Cbalmer's Poetic Remains of the Scottish Kings, where not only Queen Mary, but Daraley, James I., and ChaSes I., are included among the royal poets of the Stuut line ; and to Dunbar's Poems, pairticularly his '* Lament for the Makiirs ;" as well as to the vAaable Notes appended to the beautiful edition of his Poenu edited by J). Laing, Esq. Linlithgow Palace is well known as the favounte residence of James Y., and the birth-place of Queen Mary 112 BURNS. [ * * * * Nature's own beloved bard. Who to tbe Illustrious of his native land So properly did look for patronage, Ghost of MecflBnns ! hide thy blushing face ! They snatched him from the sickle and the plough To gauge ale firkins ! * * * On a bleak rock mid-way th' Aonian mount. There stands a lone and melancholy tree, Whose aged branches to the midnight blast Make solemn music : pluck its darkest bough Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be inhaled, / nd weeping, wreath it round thy poet's tomb ! Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow, VhV the rank henbane, and the dusky flowen Of nigbt-shade, or its red and tempting fruit ; Tbaue, with stopped nostrils and glove-guarded hand. Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine The illustrious brow of Scotch nobility ! COl.KUIMOU, O I FOR the lightning^s fire To make the muse*s lyi-e resound, By no angelic paean vibi ating ; But every tlirilling wire Quivering with remorse profound, Uttering a sin-repentant nation's offering I BURNS. 113 ( Wild mountain home of song, That wrote, in teai's of blood, the name Of Bums, thy proudly-gifted peasant son ; And rear'st, thy hills among, The tardy shrine to his undying fame, To tell, too late, thou found'st his worth, — when gone. Mourn, guilty Scotland, mourn I Bow to the dust in widowed shame. Hide thee in sackcloth, with dishevelled hair ; But wreath around his urn No mournful yew, — the laughing thorn, his claim. Twined with hair-bell and daisy, let him wear. J Tet, why should England boast ? Thy sons have wept away the shame. That doomed his genius to ignoble toil ; Yet, ere we knew him, lost, Say, had not England's chief denied his claim, And spumed him back to till thy stubborn soil I Gk), sons of England, seek The Temple, where, your royal dead among, Nature's nobility, with nobles rest ; Bid ages* silence break, Speak noble lyrist of " th' adventurous song" And tell your recompence, at her behest ! u 114 BURNS. Unveil your Spenser's tomb, He rests, wrapped in each gorgeoui fold Of his immortal fairie garniture ; Greenly his laurels bloom, Yet history blushes when his tala is told, And vainly hides the cypress wreath he wore. Strike Dryden*s Lyre again. Whence that deep dirge-no^.e from its chords ? Repair its broken strings, that we may hear His unsung fairie strain r — Responsive come no mv.sic-bardened words, But echo's dying moari wails on the ear. Tread yon Cathedral aisle. View sculpture's tribute to your god-like sires, And boast the glorious birthright of your land ; But cast your i^houghts the while. Where the God-bom a temple scene inspires, Then, guiltloss, — cast thQ stone, your stigma's brardi Wake from your glorious rest Ye mighty spirits who bestride the past And hind it on into futurity ; Spea): to the world you've blest Witli voice shall scare to justice' moid at last, An.t hail a generous posterity. 1 BURNS. 115 O who would strike the lyre, Charm the world's listless ear to ecstacy, For guerdon of ingratitude and slight ? Who would not court its fire To soar aloft to immortality, l^y distant ages owned, the soul of their delight f Sleep many-tombed immortal I Inumed within the hearts of worshippers That bow with genius* kindred piety: Thy song has tongues for all. Thy ministry the patriot flame inspu-es— Nature's anointed priest of melody. 116 EVENING MUSINGS. * * * "I have felt A presence that disturht me with the joy Of elevated thoughts, a sense inhlime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns." WORDSWORTH. Tintem Abbey. Empress who wield'st thy sceptred sway, Tracking the path of the parting day ; Roiling along in thy shadowy car By the herald light of the evening star ; Soft as the gentle breath of spring, Noiseless as spuits revelling, [burn And hushed and deep, are the thoughts that In the soul that welcomes thy glad return I Night I how I love to watch on high, As the setting sun illumes the sky, Each coming star on the silvery track Where thy chaiiot rolls thee to empire back, Till the pale beams of Cynthia, crowning the night. Bathe the robes of the sky in her silvery light. This is the hour when the soul is free, And feels her the breath of Deity ; EVKlfINO MUSIMOS. 11> Springing from earth slie vrings her way Through brighter paths than the track day, To scenes more dear thai the sun can show, And fairer realms than she finds below. Thy silent hours are dear to me, I court their star-gem*d brilliancy Before the gaudy day ; When 'scaping from the toils that bound me, I see thy dome expand around me, And in its glittering gallaxy Trace the same beautiful array That smiled in happiest days gone by, When, in a loved one's company, I wandered by thy twinkling ray Nor wished for the return of day. of Mysterious field of rolling suns That o'er this ever- varying scene Each in his course for ever runs Unchanging, while here intervene Perpetual as the restless sea, The rising wave and ebbing tide ; Gloriously bright ye seem to be, Ever the same, though clouds may hide Tour brightness from our face and give Another change to the stormy sea Where we travel on to futurity : There oft'ner sombrest colours weave 118 EVENING MUSINGS. Than starry dies ; revisiting, As by thy light I often do, A. home to which affections cling, And closer now, that I forgo All of it save its memory ; A distant wanderer from that home. When gazing on the midnight sky, There only, in its glittering dome. Seems ought familiar to my eye Ought linked with happiest infancy ; And watching on the brow of night The same bright diadem, That used to gem The azure vault that lured our sight, "When, not alone, I used to stray Through the paths of childhood at closing day ; When we traced upon the evening sky The Angers of the Deity, My brother I oh how oft with t'iee I've watched the spangled host on high Marshalled upon the midnight sky ; And now thou'rt slumbering silently Beneath the hallowed stone. And o*er thy grave these stars now smile Brightly as when on both, ere while. Their heavenly lustre shone. Thy poetry demands no aid, It needs not science' borrowed wing; I KTENINO MUSINGS. 119 Beyond its ken are the treasures laid Of thy worshippers chosen revelling ; Their souls to lovelier scenes aspire When they snatch a flame from thy sacred fire, And 'neath thy gem*d pavilion The soul's imaginings enthrone, And with their teemings spread The azure vault with a brighter train Than the queen of night, in her silent reign, Through her si>angled track hath led ; Then o'er the emancipated soul The calm of twilight seems to roll, Till, wrapt in testacy of thought, The visions of the past are brought Back on the soul, to choose from thenco The brightest for its dalliance. Who that survey:^ the chequered past. Where darkest shadows oft o'er-cast The tortuous path tlu'ough which wo wend Incessant to our journey's end ; Shaded by clouds of deepest griefs By woes unconscious of relief, False friends, fierce foes, and, worse than all. Parting at death's incessant call From fondest hopes, from deai^st tie, From all that love can sanctify, And starting, in youth's brighte3t years, A pilgrim in the vale of tears, 120 EVENING MUSINGS. Who, tracing such a dark display, Af memory shows on his chequered way, Would, were he offered the lot again. Retrace his voyage on the stormy main ? Drain to its bitter dregs, once more, Each cup of sorrow he quaffed before, Though snatching with them hours of bliss Remembered amid their agonies. Like a martyr's visions of Paradise ? But stiU. as the brightest with soitow blends, So Joy to the darkest its blessing lends ; And, oh ! if the anguish of moments brings Such indelible grief on its raven wings. There are brighter hours to the saddest given, That seem as though snatched from the bliss of heaven. These are the hours whose return we hail When Fancy stretches her airy sail. When Memory as pilot sits to guide Our barque through the swift returning tide. Till we quit the past, for a brigLcer day, As Hope takes the helm and Desire the sway ; When we fan the flame of Ambition's spark To illume the prow of our gallant barque. And bounding o'er the swelling main. We snatch each prize we long to gain. Till all we've won to the past is thrown. As each hope seems attained, e&ch desire our own. r EYENIIfa MUSINQS. 121 But what is the gorgeous fairy work Created by Fancy's wand, To the music of the soaring lark, When heard in my native land, "Where heaven's bird mounts to meet the sun Ere it kisses the mountain's brow^ And hails his mate to behold its dawn Par in the vale below. The heart leaps fondly to that land Where the cottage homes of childhood stand, Though humble may be each hearth, And pledges its weal in a manly tear. When on foreign strands there meets the ear, A song from his land of birth ; — But what are his raptures, tho' deep and wild, To the home-sick love of a mountain child ? The scenes of England are beautiful. Her stately rivers majestic roll Through cultured plains, whose hamlets tell Of homes where love and contentment dwell ; From her gently swelling hills you spy Each ivied turret greet the sky, And her palaces on every hand Speak of a great and happy land ; — But our northern livers foam and chafe, And thunder along o'er rock and cliif. And bound and dash from the mountain's brew Till they mirror its form m thie wave below. 122 EVENINQ MUSINGS. And the joyous shout of the rushing flood Is hushed in the lake's vast solitude. The southern hills, like a summer tfde, Swell in rich verdure on every side, But Scotland's mountains seem fit to be The judgment-throne of Deity I The mountain storm's re-echoing noise Repeats the terrors of Sinai's voice, As the thunder rolls from vale to sky And answering echo shouts reply, Till far the cathedral anthem swells, While the solemn organs deep tone peals And reverberates through the lofty aisles Of these temples, the world's Creator's hand Hath reared to himself in that glorious land. 'Tis there, 'mid the everlasting hills, At these altars the simple peasant kneels, And worships his father's God ; Then rising, looks from his mountain cot, On the land-marks that far in the azure float. The towers of his native sod ; And boasts a domain more fair and free Than the acres of titled nobility "Where sunnier cumes are trod ; 'Tis liberty's cradle I 'tis history's pride ! For their homes and altars its sons have died, And left for our birth-ight as proud a name As nobles trace In the rolls of fame. ' EVENING MUSINGS. 123 Or monarchs in their line ; A name her sons shall still retain While each peasant's cot is a Christian fane, And each towering cliff of her wide domain A consecrated shrine ! How soft the sounds of evening seem ! As though Nature, stirred by a pleasing dream, Breathed forth upon the silent air. Low as an infant's lisping prayer ; Whispering through grove and vale and tree A vesper hymn to Deity ; While, faint as the memory of parting day, The Sun smiles back a farewell ray ; The Moon, like a maid to the altar led. Comes forth in her bridal robes arrayed ; No gaudy track, like the sun's, from far Heralds the path of her silver car. But she steps at once, ere his light is gone. With queen-like grace, to her starry throne ; While every flower in the bright parterre. That has stood unmoved through the sun's fierce glare. Gracefully )ends, at her sovereign tread, In obeisance low, each lovely head ; And thd butterfly calmly sleeps within While silence and dreams their reign begin. As we tread the maze of the forest glade The moonlight alone seems awake in the shade, liMAiaiWiilta I 124 BVEXING MUSINGS. Flickenng and dancing amid the trees, As each slumbering leaf is stirred by the breeze ; And there floats a sound through the solemn scene, Like the gentle murmurs that intervene, [lave When the calm blue sea, o'er the bright sands Each rising ripple of its restless wave ; Yet soft and low, as though silence then [train, Swept through the scene with her noiseless And awoke the dream of sounds that dwell Sealed in the caverns of memory's cell. But see where the god of day went down, More bright as he stepped from his dazzling throne, Where the curtained clouds are richly drawn Around the monarch's pavUion, The evening star beams faint on the eye. Like memory's voices of infancy. The infant soul, and the vault of night. Start into being unsulliedly bright, Alike in the light of the planet's ray, And the early dawn of the infant day ; But the sky and soul are changed too soon From the glorious visions we gazed upon, Not stars alone to the night are given. But clouds enshroud the face of heaven ; And sullied by storms is the infant day. As its bright dawn swiftly 8i>eeds away : EVENING UVSINGS. 125 But tended around by her starry zone, The Queen of Heaven resumes her throna, And, touched by her scepti'e's silvery ray, The gathering mists are chased away, As she ploughs her path in stately pride Like a vessel breasting the foaming tide, Till her empire's unsullied splendour shows Cloudless as when it first aldose. But not from the infant soul Can these storms of passion roll And leave it, as he whence life is given Will say of such are the sons of Heaven. Evening, mild sister of the rosy day. And Night thine ebon twin ; along whose vmy Are scattered heaven's jewels ; yet so chaste Thou wear'st hei' diamond zone around thy waist, And thy gem'd coronet ; thou seem'st, dark maid. As of thy charms all bashfully afraid. As though while sparkling loveliest to the sight, Suffused with blushes ; when the northern light, Like warm blood mantling on a maiden's cheek. With silver flush, along each quivering streak Pulses in life-like ebb and flow : its gleams Cheating the gazer into waking dreams Of fanciful conceit. Sweet sister twain. Elder and younger, welcome here again, Together, yet apart, as hand in hand, With tears of odorous dew ye seem to stand 126 EVEMIIfQ MUSIIIGS. WeeX'Xng a forced farewell, till Solitude OwiiJ che dark sister, Queen. How art thou wooed, How welcomed, by the lone heart-broken maid That feels as of the bold, bright day afraid And weeps till thy return! How longed for thou By the dull watcher, from whose fevered brow Sweet sleep hath fled I who yet, when thou art there. Chides that the dawn so tardily draws near ; Spuming, like faithless lover, from his sight The slighted maid ; or he whose brow of brass Hath been the seat of crime and shame, till laws Long laughed to scorn, or Iiuman or divine, Have beckoned on remorse to intertwine Her s jaky folds around ; with cunning art Darting her curdling fangs into the heart. To him thy solitude, that serves to hide His presence from all else, art yet decried While refuge from himself is still denied. Dread solitude ! the lyre hath hymned thy praise. Within thy ken, night's glorious orbits blaze, As hath their Maker, in approachless light. Chosen his throne, and made thee his delight, In majesty unknown to mortal eye, Dwelling alone from all eternity. But poets* flattering numbers have not told How the inbrooding spirit doth unfold EVSNINO MU8INOS. X27 The canker rust., the mastery of care, Until it has unveiled, in stony stare, The fiendish machinations of Despair ; Forth to remorseless conquest doth he ride, Scorning the impotence of human pride : Memory alike his chaiiot too, Fancy the glass where he shows us through, And howls, ^ith hideous joy, to view Distorted images deride Hope's tangled clue. But, why such thoughts on this glorious night. Intruding where all around is bright. Burdening the soul with their gloomy load, Like Satan among the sons of God ? Away I let the calm of this lovely hour 0*er me its soothing influence pour. Come, lot thy spirit move above The troubled soul, like a brooding dove Soothing its cares with a song of love ; Till the lost ones, that find a hidden place In the depths of thy silent loneliness. The loved, the mourned, the depai*ted, come From thy spirit-land's mysterious home. And we commune again with those whom death In his sanctuary shadoweth ; Thy holy shrine, where the heart retu*es To relume again its earth -quenched fires, And learn,— alas that heavenly treasures [sures. Should ere be tried by eartli,'s shallow mea- 128 ETEirilfO MUSINGS. How pure, and lovely in light, are they Whom we yearned to behold through covering clay, TVTien the fleshly garment is rent away. Alas that the fountain of love should be So tainted iivlth earth's impurity, That we vainly sound for the deep recess Whence it welleth up in holiness ; Nor dream of the clear unfathomed deeptf Wherein the yearning spirit sleeps, Till death the dream of love is breaking, And we weep in vain to behold them taking To a sleep too deep to know awaking. Yet why would we mourn, who long to join Our loved ones there, where the daisies twine Their roots with the grey moss and eglantine. Where the rank weeds seem to find a pleasure, Like dragons in guard of a golden treasure ; And even the noisome nettles sting The coarse hand., profanely gathering From the odorous garland spring doth shed In annual wreaths o'er death's coverlet. k O night I thou Mottest out the colouring Whei 3with the golden day is picturing A boundless range of changing loveliness, And yet thy colouring doth no less express An infinite beauty ;; in thy ebon pall Wherewith, as in a shroud, thou wmppest all, L i XTKXnia MD8IN08. 129 Gems sparkle, that beseem one led Royally to the nuptial bed t Oh raise our thoughts and teach us to discern What peifect beauty springeth from the stem And loathsome grave; oh bid thy stars sliine out Like hope, above the dead, tilf not a doubt Mar the deep beauty of their memory ; Till in each buried dear one, love descry A harvest treasure, ripening for the sky ; A seedling flower th' All-loving purposeth To garner in the grave, until he perfecteth Bright life-buds, by the ministry of Death, O Earth t Earth I for as busy as thou art At pleasure's shrine, or in the crowded mart, And for as beautiful, with thy blue sky Shedding dews for the flowers so lovingly ; And for as firm, the everlasting hills Weeping their very tears in hurrying rills, That change themselves to rivers, and rush on From the grey east to the declining sun, And seek their slumber only in the motion Upon the bosom of the restless ocean I O Mother Earth t for all thou seem'st so stable, Me seems, of all thy children, none are able To find a rQst, save only those are hiding Safe under cover, in the grave abiding. I'll build me rather where the clouds are dip- ping 3 130 KTBirnro Mcsmos. Their fringes in the west ; the snn, though sleep- ing, [mansion, Smiles on them there ; Til build me there my Where thought shall dwell, and know no appre- hension Of tears, save su^h as rainbow clcrids shall weep, Nor sighs, save of the zephyrs as they sweep Sweetly adown the west, into the bowers Soul-consecrated for her holy hours Of meditation ; where the Evening pale Lists to the love-song of the nightingale, Till the thoughts, ravished with the melody, Wander unconscious from the minstrelsy To lose themselves in holier reverie. Thus from the starry empyrean, down To Heirs abysm deep, the soul Lath flown On thought's still wing ; thus have your starry wheels — Whose silver chime in winning measure steals 0*er the enraptured soul, until it leaves Earth and the things of time, and swiftly cleaves The ethereal waves c; that far, silent sea, Wherein ye wander cnrough infinity : — Borne it, in dreamy musings revelling, Down to the shadowy realms of gloom, whose wing In raven plumage broods above the deep. Whose calm, unchanging terrors never sleep. BTBHIirO MUSIlfOS. 131 sep- lion, my ?re- Bep, rry s se Unquenched, nnquencbing suns that blaze on high, Dwells there among the planetary train [sky, That track your footsteps through the midnight Another such as ours ; where crime and pain, Self-introduced, have made the God of Love The dread avenger of his broken law f [grove Or walks he there, through peaceful bower and Familiar, as of old with man below f Say, do ye look from sinless purity On this illumined atom in the sky, And ask in wonder — " Arms he not for war f Is not the Almighty's dread right hand laid bare ?" Or watch ye, in this planet hung in space, A type of mercy, with its rebel race. To show — while wondering worlds adoring prove, The mighty mystery of redeeming love ? All vainly the exacting soul desires To light her little taper at their fires, And with the stars of Heaven find fellowship ; Struggling *gainst fate, with curious eye to dip Into the gloom beyond, and feast her eye On the sealed volumes of her destiny ; — Night's azure folds by fancy's vision ta'en As wrappages of time to curtain in Her petty span of being ; and her stars Nought save the mystic, written characters 132 EVENINQ MUSINGS. Of the eternal pen ; there fixed to trace The unborn secrets of time's dwelling place I In you, ye infinite realms of mystery And beauty and perfection, may the eye Bead other lessons, find a different tongue, A power, and mighty melody of song. Hymning of G^od*s perfections, of ^\a love. And of tae calm, bright destinies that move High o'er the petty waves that time upthrows, On-leading to perfection as its close. Bid the lost Pleiad your bright circle leave. Ye lovely sisterhood, that we should grieve But over some air castle toppled down By man's ambition ? — Or for worlds o'erthrown, /.nd from the eternal eye of Gtod outdriven In yoor far-distant battle-field of heaven f The prophet, wrapt in ecstacy sublime. Saw, while in Heaven was silence for a time ; But the wrapt eye oeholds a world destroyed, And gazes in the heavens on a void. Annihilation's reign begun, where stood A field of sentient beings once called good, O mystery of mysteries ! a blot On the pure sky ; a world by God forgot, A sun that once had being, and is not 1 Thus be the soul's communion with each star, Catching in awful vision from afar, EVENING MUSINGS* 133 n. J As on their rolling cars she ridea, A glimpse of the vale of light that hides The Deity. The comet sweeping by Hurrying her far into infinity, Or, bound within his narrower rule, may run Through the far-stretching empire of the sun ; With Jupiter outspeed his swiftest spheres, Or slowly pass the term of fourscore years In traversing the limits where extends The solar rule, where Georginm Sidus stands As out^rard sentinel in this bright tent ; Ono in the gorgeous field, whose vast extent Glitters through all its lines with countless such ; Or spuming, while yet further off she snatch Glimpses of glory far transcending these, Speed where the Polense." " Oh Poet, hath thy fancy's play "So greater aim for thy ambition. Than wailing o'er a life-doomed mission. Urged to a goal of such perdition. Thy miserere ? ;i THE SOUL) TO THB POST* 137 •* Hast thou this gift divine Only to pierce the church-yard sod, And see beneath, a loathsome clod ; This life-idefacing work of God, The goal of Time. " The poet had a sense Of his prophetic mission, in old time A dim foreboding of a power to climb, And use, as wing for upward flight sublime. His influence. " The old homeric spirit Bowed in braye lowliness before the shrine Of Virtue deified, and could assign Elysian Iionours, by a right divine. To suffering merit. " The spirit of thy time Crucifies suffering on the anointed rood Of holy sacrifice ; and, Truth withstood, — Deifies Pleasure as the highest good Towards which to climb." " Nay soul, thou dost me wrong. The burden of my saddest wail Tells Life her search for happiness must fail. And bids her aim at the Unsearchable On pinion strong. 138 THB SOUL, TO THE POST. " Have not I sung before, — ' As an expiring taper is life's breath, That for its scanty oil a brief hour chaseth Spasmodic wise, around the socket death, And is no more V ** Have I not made each string Quiver to the insi'^ructive measure. Life is no theatre for pleasure, 'Tis but the gamer of a treasure. Death's pilfering? ** Nay soul I with sense most keen Of mutability, my lyre hath striven To catch the soul, from every life-hold driven. And lift its longings after life to heaven. The life diviner <' Thou hast ! and in this wise Hast made me but a mockery of beinr;. Me gifting thee with boundless vision, seeing Life only given for the eternal dreeing Of the death guise I <* Oh Poet, hath the holiness Of thy prophetic mission lost its power. That thou should'st fling aside God's dower Of infinite vision, scanning but this hour Of lowliness ? THE SOUL, TO THE POET. 139 " That thou should'st chato me Down to the wormy dust, thou seest full Of life's once sentient vestibule, Striving from the eternal beautiful Thus to detain me ! ** That thou, the many-stringed, The many^toned poetic lyre, Would'st 'minish to one shrill monotonous wire, Quenching in melancholy dirge heaven's fire, So lambent winged. " Wouldst thou thyself but try All reverently to sound the deepest note Of my strung chords, such m^esty would float On thy still ear, as the earth dreameth not In minstrelsy. " Enowest thou whence I am ? €N>d made a thing of fearful mystery ; Thy wondrous body the eternal eye Beheld, called good, and thence from Deity, Himself breath came. " Look thou but tlurough me. Thou lookest on the thing that looks on God ; His footsteps are around thee, yet abroad Thou wanderest blind ; Him rightly understood Thyself shalt see. 140 THR SOUL, 10 THE POET. " What is thy mission here f Hath not GU)d reared a temple choir in me, Enshrining there the beautiful to be The object of thy heart's idolatry, Holy in fear. <• And if this time-Ufe be An emanation from the Eternal One, It cannot be, when its far goal is won, A pilgrimage so wan and woe>begone As thou would'st see. " Yet in that do'st thou well, Warning against the chase, whose hope bereft her, Shall see her goal expire in hollow laughter.; A happiness that hath not an hereafter Of which to tell. " Is happiness thy aim f Then wherefore sigh, though thee it visit not f Theirs an unenviable weal I wot Who call this bubble breath of time their lot. This empty name t ** Is fame thy vainer prize f [wither, Complainest thou that thy soul's flower doth Breathing, unheeded by the world, such treasure As doth transcend its meed in infinite measure Of sacrifice? L ..-^ I f, il 141 THB SOUL, TO THE I*OET« " Or that thou dost delight A dull ear, with a tale of deepest beauty, Yet pinest for reward for thy proud duty, Sharing with charlatans,--strange incongruity. Popular slight? " O Poet ! doth the teacher Ask for infantile reckoning of merit ? Doth he complain that they should disinherit Prom the applauding voice, the heiring spirit Of Beauty's preacher ? " And if they should not even Strew unavailing wreaths on thy turf heap, Will a hi gh judging God less measure keep ? Or will the lowly daisy fail to worship Where thy rests given? " O spuit that doth dwell A mystery within the poet's soul, [roll, O'er whom great thoughts from the Almighty Broad-sighted visions of the whole, The ineffable I " Hast not, in thee, a sense Of an enduring power that reigneth there ? An infinite will to bear and to forbear ? A wide, unbounded, still increasing sphere Of sufferance ? 142 THE SOUL, TO THB POBT. ** Knowledge thou seekest here, All knowledge coyetest, in every mood ; The Infinite by the finite understood, — Gould it be,— cairst thou this thy highest good With men to share t " What, if thou know not God f ' Him as he is revealed, a God above The dreadful majesty of heathen Jove, Transcendant in the majesty of Love ? Him understood, <* Then shalt thou reverence Death ; Nor teach, that God's anointed minister Over life's harvest-home of being, here. Doth only shadow in a just despair The voice it hath. ** Such did not he, who came A minister of infinite light to us. Of infinite truth, of infinite holiness, Yet only won an infinite perfectness. Suffering shame t ** Needs must it be that he. On whom the weight of the world's guilt was laid. Should be the Captain of Salvation, made Perfect through suffering ; no shade On heaven's purity I yi yl THE SOUL, TO THE POET. 143 " Wipe away from thine eyes These films of the world's dross, that hover o*er Heaven's lamhent flame, strike away from the shore Into the deep, thon shalt be conqueror By thy self-sacrifice. " Self — self thou knowest not ; Expand until thou fill thy world-wide sphere ; Of Gtod thou art ; knoweth He here or there f Love infinite aboundeth every where. Self all forgot ! '* Is it not high reward If thou art chosen for the sacred one^ Who, as for lesser natures to atone, Shall tread the path of suffering alone, As thine accord ? " Lowly bend down and drink. Drink deeply of that cup, though it be bitter, Wonld'st thou not willingly be found a sitter Patiently at Truth's fount until it glitter, Kissing the brink ; " Until its calm depths stir At thy enduring, long spent tarrying. And, rising, wrap thee in its covering. Baptising thee for holy minist'nng. Truth's utterer 1 144 TUB 80UL, TO THE POBT. " Then shall that body be A holy te^nple consecrate to me, Me consecrate to thee, and me and thee One conduit whence the infinite purity Shall well out free I " Then shalt thou understand This sacred garment of thy fleshlyness, Then shalt thou find its chrysaline hopes express A mystic beauty in the loathsomeness That thou didst brand. ** Then shalt thou see in all The works of the dear God, a purifying Through suffering up to strength, aye signifying This the path for the spirit's dignifying, For the immortal. •* What though thy longing eye Witnesses through me far elf lights, that shino Luring thee with a beauty ail divine, After which thou dost here so vainly pine Desiringly. " What tho* thy sealed lyre Hath found alone a maimed voice to utter ; Thy work is not against the bars to flutter, And leave thy song in inexpressive mutter To expire. '! TUB SOUL, TO THB POST. 145 -I '* Life's a progressive thing, Life finite, and life infinite ; see thou That to the utmost reach of thy sealed vow Thou aim'st up through the check'd scale given thee now Proudly to sing ; ** And from the place Uiou win'st At the hour when thy finite Lyi*e is broken, — So there be found no truth by thee unspoken, I Nor ono withheld of which thou hadst the token, As thou upspring'st ; — " Even from that upward shrine, On which thy throbbing wing is folded over, While the last earth-note on thy Lyre shall hover, Even from that height, shalt thou beyond dis- cover One more divine. ** One God for thee ati^ined, For thee, through Him, found worthy; there thy voice Shall knc^w no passionate struggle in its choice Of theme, but on untiring wing's up-poise Thy aim hath gained. 3 146 THE SOUL, TO THE POET. ** But here be it thy meed Aye to behold the Deity express Beauty self-perfecting in lowliness, And wear thy wreath with a proud cheerfulness And eyeu tread ; «* Tin thou the goal hath won, When thou far soaring on the limitless swdep Of tlie soul's wing, hath through the infinite deep Tr:.yorsing, found all lapt in beauty's sleep. Press on I press on I*' 1 147 WITHERED WILD FLOWERS, Wander, ye memories of the past, thought's shreds, [unions, Stark with the ghosts ye freight of dreamt re- To make vain restitution to the dead I Like wilted flowers, adrift with quickening life For other lives, though lifeless for their own ; And odorous breath, more exquisite than life. Speak in the sighing of your carrier winds, Yet very softly, as to baby ears :— Hast heard no whisper, in thy weary travel, Of any dawn f O flowers, if Winter be As passionate as ye say, and bitter keen ; Be sure he hears the footsteps of the Spring t WITHERING FLOWERS. No more 1 O never more Shall ye scent the air With your fragrant breath, Tour sunny life is o*er. And your winding-sheet so fair, Wintet spreads o'er the green turf, where, Withenng, ye sweetly lie, in the arms of Death ! 148 WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. No more ! ) never more Shall tlie lark, his quiyering wing Stoop, till he sip your dew, Or the bee for his store To your fragrant chalice cling, Distilling sweets for his winter's revelling ; Death shall alone alight, your lea\^ to strew. No more 1 O never more Shall the sister band Of the petard rose. Join in a group to cluster o'er And bend with the breeze, all hand in hand, As each blushing cheek by the breeze is fanned, Wide scattered ye lie for your last repose. No more ! O never more Shall the early friends — Life's bloom in spring — return. They upon whom warm hearts set store, They on whom silent memory tends And o'er their tomb with affection bends. Their bloom is all withered, their leaves death- tom. "What would we? What would ye hero. Dear yearning hearts And withering flowers f WITHERED WILD FLOWERIT. 149 Ye tell us of an eternal sphere, A land where the chill frost never smarts, "Where love, from the loved one never parts ; "Whose flowers ever bloom in unfading bowers. THE ROSE-BUD. How vividly bright at times appears The long lost scenes of early years, As though memory were embodied then, And sought a home in the soul again I One happy scene of Infancy I now remember vividly, When I stood, on a lovely autumn eve. With a young and merry company Around our mother's knee ; A sabbath eve, — and our thoughts were led To Him who, victor from the ^ead. Arose to-day ; then taught to weave Our artless words in lisping prayer ; A rich deep flow of love was there, Intensely tender, no austerity Taught the young heart hypocrisy ; No bigot zeal infused its poison there, To make the God of Love a source of fear ; But gentle as that hour, and as her love. Tender and yet profound, — so was each thought, I 150 WrrHEBED WILD FLOWERS. ** Father of all, who dwelFst in heaven above!" Such was the G06. our infant minds were taught : And, proud since then as thoughts and hopes have been, Gladly I would exchange the proudest now, For the pure simple feelings of that scene I Would that we could erase these furrowed lines, Passions and sorrow's signs, Deep graven on the brow. And be again that which we once have been I Fearless then we weaved Each childish thought, Led by her cheering glance To give our simple fancies utterance, A speedy answer sought : And confidently looked from her, at once, Beady solution ; whom we then believed Possessed all knowledge, and in whom our trust Was as implicit, as succeeding years Have proved thro* all the hateful jealous fears That time corrodes us with, its source was just t Well I remember some thoughts of gloom, As I marked a rose's fading bloom ; " Mother did I not hear you say That no flowers would in Eden fade away? But the rose-buds dear Mother, I love to see Which you said, I remember, resembled me; ^ummmmmwm WITHEREO WILD FLOWKBS. 151 Would the lovely rose-buds, do you suppose. Each spread its leaves to a full blown rose ; For Vm. sure I would not love to see A garden where no pretty buds would be t** Kindly she pressed my infant brow. What was her answer I know not now. But love surpasses oblivion's spell, And that look of love I remember well ! And where is that happy circle now f Has sorrow dimmed each bright young browf Alas I the tears of some have mingled 0*er the grave of others death has singled. One sod now wraps the dust of three Of that gay and joyous company ; The long grass sadly waves above, But their ransomed spirits the lesson prove. That the God of Ueaven is a God of love I m. THE FLOWER UNBLOWN, Lay her all gently in the mould, O wherefore mourn her gone f How could so fair a flower unfold In the soil Death trod upon ? Why o*er the daisied hillock weep ? Dreamless and sweet is our baby's sleep. 152 WITHERED WILD VL0WER8. O fragrant as the south wind's breath, That dreams in the leafy trees, With the violet's kisses, all faint to death — Are her storied memories. [hence. Dear Lord, thou hast beckoned our darling Teach us therein love's recompense. TV. THE HOLLY. ON SEEING A TOMB DECKED WTTH HOIXT IN WESTMINSTER ABBBT — CHRISTBCAS, 1838. Wb wreath the holly and twine the bay, Again to welcome that sacred day. When, to Bethlem's shepherds, the angels sung, And with loud hosannahs the heavens rung ; When the angelic choir Struck each celestial lyre. And sounded o'er Judea's plain The advent of our Saviour's reign. But see where each pillar and fretted wall Proclaims the Christmas Festival, The holly mingles its verdant bloom With the marble cypress that decks yon tomb ; As though the silent dead In Christ our living head Rejoiced, and in our cheerful lay, Hailed their Redeemer's natal day. •^mmmmmmmm 56} ng iig> lb; '' WITHBRBD WILD FLOWBBB. 153 And Join not they, when the vaults prolong The notes of onr triumphant song 9 'Tis the worthiest wreath for a Christian fiwe, It tells us, as we sing, of a louder strain Sung to the Lamb who bled And suffered in our stead ; When the glorious host of saints on high Adore the incarnate Deity. Loud as the angelic anthems rise. They join the chorus of the skies ; And high o'er aU His triumphs swell, Who crushed the power of Death and HeU : Let then around the urn The festive bows be worn. The slumberers here in Christ shall rise And Join the chorus of the skies. T. THE mr. TO C- HarkI 'tis her funeral knell I Another guest Gone to the bridal feast, Obedient to her dear Redeemer's call I Undismayed by the awful gloom. Entering the portals of the tomb, 154: WITDBRED WILD FLOWERl. y^ose solemn earnest of eternal rest Ushers her to the mansions of the blest. And bids us, o'er this stormy waste. Look for swift reunion, When following those now gone On through the grave. Fearless we wade in the threatening wave, Leaning on him who brake its power. And strengthened her soul in that awful hour. Thus Time and Life make note, Time throws his shadow o'er life's dial stile. With deep cut scar that may not be forgot He graves the hour, pointing to it the while, And sternly whispers, in each passing breath, The only certainty in Life is — ^Death i VL THE SNOW DROP. TO Br- Frail flower of earth, in purity Spring's earliest snow-drop emblems thee; Transient and lovely, a fragile thing, jdut bom for the hour of withering. WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. 155 The hectic rose on thy fair young cheek, Lovely as the setting sun That smiles despi^ on the sinking wreck Where hope is already gone ; That fearful blush that seems to tell Of a jubilee 'mong the hungering worms, To feast on one of earth's loveliest forms ; That gentle flush that speaks hope's knell. And tells — ^this fair flower for a moment given To earth, must bloom in its native heaven. vn. THE BUD UNBLOWN. Mt Babe, wert thou entranced Amid the burning row of Seraphim That sing the songs of Heaven ? — That thou but glanced An all too lovely dream, Bright as the flaming levin. Lovely as bright t then swift returned To take thy station near the throne ! Words cannot tell, my child I My gentle lamb I how my heart burned. To clasp again my beautiful, my own t Oh an thou couldst have smiled. But one — one last farewell 1 156 WITHBRBD WILD FL0WBR8. That image of thy dull and sunken eye, The icy chillness of that final kiss I — Indeed, indeed, thor. wert not then, my Anne I Nor this world mine, nor I myself to be Ever what I had been ; the dream of bliss Broke bitterly, and I arose a man, Thy memory in my soul I I speak not of thee, yet art thou with me In thoughts too deep for tears, The everlasting star of memory's goal ! — I would I could, for she Who bore my babe, oft peers As fathoming my thoughts of thee, And thou art with us then. My blessed one ; thought falters The tongue, yet silently The tears of love combine ; — Tears thou might'st shai ; within thy happy home; For memory, faithful aye To the dear pledge, hath left no bitterness To dash such thoughts with gloom : A star in the deep blue of memory That shineth clear, and ever in its place t 4WIM yiiiii ««ni«iPmpiiipiii!P le! lappy WITHKRKD WELD FLOWERS. 157 * vm. DEATH'S BRIDAL WREATH. Flowers fade, friends fail, As mightiest empires fall, Around the cradle is the wail Of mourners ;- and the pall Jostles the marriage throng ; The corpse in its vestal liveiy dressed, Alone assumes an unchanging vest ; The bridegroom Death, by sovereign right Claiming as his the bridal white : Robed in their shrouds, as each is called. He holds enthralled The hoary patriarch, the fair, the young. The vast, the countless generations gone ; Life holds, and feebly holds but one. IX. A LILT CROPPED. THE CHRIS iAN's DEATH-BED. Enter not lightly I Know ye not the place Where ye would tread upon is holy ground I Angels attend, the messengers of Grace, Minist'ring to a dying Christian there; 168 WITHBRBD WILD FL0WBR8* A soul is hoveling on Eternity ; And in that little shrine events unfold Angels in highest heaven with Joy hehold. And for which God assumed humanity ; A Monarch, too, is there, with terror crowned ; And yet that frail girl calmly looks around, Breathes undismayed her faint low voice in prayer, Exulting hails that solemn hour draw near ; Welcome, O Death I My dear Redeemer, come And bear from earth my longing spirit home. THE LILY OP THE VALE. It rains t and thou dost sleep my babe this night Under the turf; — I t uld it had been bright ; The wind is rising too, but let it rave. Thou heedest not ; within thy little grave Thou sleepest among friends ; — a blessed sleep ; Then wherefore sorrow ? thou wilt never weep I Though the wild winter rains above thee beat. They cannot reach thee in that calm retreat Where thou dost shelter ; nor the bitterness Of the world's wilder storms e'er dim thine eye With tears, wrung forth in the unequal strife Of this stem warfare I yet thy little life WITHBR8D WILD FLOWERS. 159 Hath lightened many cares thou knewest not ; Nor though adversity forsakes my lot. And all the bitterness of giief-wrung tears, Fade in a brighter course of prosperous years, Oan the dear memory of thy prattling tongue Grow dim, the bltterr-ss beguiled to song,— The hopeless agony thy infant play From my prone soul had power to chase away. XL THE WITHERED FLOWER. I The flowers o* the simmer time, A' in brown-leaf shrouds are lying ; The nor* wind is swirling the driven snaw, An' tossing the white flakes or e'er they fa'. To hide wbsre a' lay a dying ; — But my flower is withered an' winna re-bloom ! The birks in the erie glen Their leafless bows a' wide are tossing ; The sough frae the upland forest seems As in wild faem a thousand mountain streams Frae rock to den were crossing ; — An' my flower is withered and winna re-bloom. 160 WrrUBRBD WILD FLOWERS. The spring maun return again. Opening the fresh buds o' ilka flower, Drappin* the gowans o'er stiuith an* lea ; Buskin' wi' blossom ilk buss an' tree, Blessing a' nature wi' walth o' dower ; — But my flower is withered an' yuana. re-bloom. Till ance this waefu* warld Its last flowers a* withered, its ways a* toom, An nought for a lap to the lanescme dying, But the graves whar death's latest plenish is lying, Steerin' to wake at the trump o* doom ; — Then my flowor though withered shall again re- bloom '; XIL THE ASTER. " Thoughts from tbe visions of the night, wh«n d«ep sleep JkUetti on jam. Job iv. IS. A TRANCE as of gristly death came fast Across my throbbing brain. Heseemed as the shuddeiing spirit cast A longing look far adown the past. Wherein all life's time was ta'en, Then paas'd away in pain, — 'mmmmm WITHERBD WILD FLOWEHS. 161 In agoixy I— for the soul did clutch At its clayey tabernacle ; Peering beyond, where the gloom was mich That annihilation seemed to toneh The soul, ft'om each fleshly shackle Shivered at the call ; And then methonght the spiiit seemed In its loneliness to bum For sympathy, in the waste where gleamed No brother, but all horrible teemed With gibing leer, tha.t meseemed to spurn, Then back to void return x An atmosphere of amorphous life, An agony of gloom ; As if annihilation's strife Had peopled her horrid shades, all rif© With souls, that a Yital sneer consmn®. Dreeing their doom I Methought then a ritshing whirlwind lashed The doom -sea, whereon I tosi^d ; Swirling up througlti the gloom I ds&lied, 'Mid shrieking spasoms, a^ though It crashed Through sensate billows, a waiUng hosfe Of spiiits lost I 162 WITHERED WILD FLOWEHS. Then shivering into empty void, Where Death himself seemed dead ; Is the very God not here f I cried, As annihilation seemed to stride On with me, in its dread All silent tread. Oh God, it was a blessedness The angels cannot know ; My spirit swept on through the spiritless ; It waded upward, till 'mid the press Of the blessed ones, who their crowns all low Before thee throw! The happy ones of heaven seemed moved, Methought their anthems dumb ; A dweller in flesh, and all unproved, Into the land of love, unloved By yon throned One, from his home Of earth had come. Who wert thou, lovely one, that came From out that startled host t And named to me the holy name The blessed ones give the Incarnate Lamb ; Till fear in my soul, all terror tossed. Was in adoration lost f WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. 163 How My Anne I my child I it was a dream of bUss ; Bright angel thou art there I In dreams might I foretaste such blessedness, Again all vainly struggle to express What ye blest spii-its share ; Silent is my despair. My babe, beloved one, didst thou come down From inconceivable realities ; Wert thou permitted— with my young life strown With thorns, — and thou, so sweet arose un- blown, The bittere:.t thorn ; my dosed eyes To ope on Paradise f Away these tears then I life is but the winding Of the unreturning road ; Weeds tangle it, and pitfalls, thy reminding. My biossed one, me m-ges to the finding Of resignatii , till I leave this load, If nd , with thee, wake with God. 164 WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. XUL LOVE'S WITHERED WREATH. Stretched all his length upon a sunny bank, A youth lay plucking at the flowers around, The which he flung about in childish prank Until half buried in the flowery mound. Whose odorous blossoms littered all the ground ; And then in wayward mirth he strove amain, All laughingly, the leaves to gather up again. Then sitting down with staid and serious face, He set himself to twine a rosy wreath ; Tet still inconstantly would join the chase If chanced a butterfly to cross the heath ; Yet back would laughing come, all out of breath. And set himself to task, with serious air, His wreathed coronal of flowers to weave and wear. And so time wended with the meny boy, All through the changes of a summer's day ; Yet seemed the lonely revel not to cloy, But still by fits he laughed and fell to play, Then gravely platted at the flowers away. WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. 165 Until, alternate daisy, brier, and heath, He knit into a band, and crowned himself there- with. Whereat he rose, and looked about him then, Spying the lengthening shadows of the eve, And seemed as one unconsciously o'erta'en, And gathering up a bow and arrow-sheaf, That lay half-buried beneath flower and leaf. He turned him toward the sun's declining light, And spread, in haste, his wings, prepared for homeward flight. Then fii^st, all steiii and stark, there met his eye, An aged man, that had been looking on. At sight of whom he gazed full tristfuUy, And snatched it off, and strove to hide his crown. Whereat Death sternly claimed it for his own, * Earth's flowers are mine I' he said, * even Love's own wreath Fades to a royal gai-land for the brow of Death V Upon whose touch, the flowers, as struck by blight, Dropped from his hand, all withered to the ground. . .) 166 WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. Which Love picked up, and, weeping at the sight, He smoothed the shriveled leaves, and waved it round, Then clasped it to his breast, and, with a bound. Sprung from the earth, and, soaring, heaven- ward flew, While the dead leaves distilled such fragrant dew. That all the air was filled with odours they out> threw. i XIV. WILD WEEDS. The storm is raving wild ; Tlii3 snort of his charger's breath Booms along ; the flashing sheath Of the lightning by his side he beareth, Whose sheen through the low murk appeareth As though it grimly smiled! The trailing clouds on the horizon Open, as though clenched teeth were shown, Then clash, and, ha ! the monster laughs, Rattling down hail and dashing rain t Hark, the welkin growls amain. Re-laughing his laughter back again t e d I- at t- WITH6RED WILD FLOWERS. 167 The ocean he lasheth to yeasty foam ; Winding the navies in her wave, And dandling them above the tomb Where millions find an uncrowded grave t He strippeth the trees of the yellow leaf, And dasheth through the skeletons, Tossing and smashing till their groans Wail like tormented souls^ whose gi ief Seeks, in complaining, vain relief. The silly cattle are fleeing fast, Cowering beneath the brawny oak That invites the shivering lightning's shock ; The plough-boy from under his horny hand Peereth along the scene, aghast ; Then urgeth his team o'er the furrowed land ; And, plunging through the raving brook, Longeth for the ingle nook Where the old white-haired villager, With the timid youngsters cowering neafi Pauseth, at every flash, in his tale Of the wilder storms he hath known When he yoked the team, and plied the flail, In the young days long gone ; — The wee birds cower among the trees, And misery's homeless child, Shiv^ng in tatters on the wild, Sin's bitter heritage — 168 WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. Wild youth's bequest to age — Perchance e'en now, all friendless, di*ees :— And thou, my babe, that slept So warmly sheltered on thy mother's breast, My gentle one, so fondly kept Within a mother's arms, in rest, Guarded by love ; — Dost thou more stilly sleep With the cold sheet of earth above, In thy cradle so narrow and deep ? Alas I alas I the ploughboy will return And whistle o'er the furrows with his team ; The drumly torrents of the roaring bum Change to a brawling, silver stream ; Blight things return with spring, But thou, my bright, my lovely one ; Of thee, what doth it bring. But a new blossom to the weed hath grown Above thy grave, unsown I -•J WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. IQQ XV. THE LAUREL. J. M. R. 9th APRIL, 1844. " God be with thee" I did say, But he gently answered, " Rather I would be with God my Father ; Bleakly dawns earth's brightest day, Oh, I long to win my manumission, and to be away. I " From this earth to be away. How my weary spirit panteth I Fleshly tenure spirit daunteth ; Soul to dust doth answer, nay I [clay I" Oh, to be unclothed from this clammy robe of " But thy battle field's before thee, Thou art only yet in training ; Armed now go forth for gaining In some fan- field victory ; Lauiels thou shalt win and wear triumphantly I" On the wreath he turned to gaze ; Passed a finger o'er each leaf. Then said " Its losing costs small grief; 170 WITHERED WILD FLOWERS. The ai^nai'anth, methinks, its worth outweighs ; It feoleth me but cold, this earthly meed of pndse I ** Besides, it seemeth me scarce meet, Each soldier wrangling for some crown ; Sufficeth it, one Captain of renown. Treading oui' foemen beneath conquering feet, Hath won for us the wi'eath, and for ouiselvcs doth wait. " It were indeed a noble minintration Of such a Conqueror to sing. Whose glory consecrated suffering. Whose conquest is our ev 3st of salvation, Whose suffering was itself a world- won conse- cration. " But here I vainly seek to sing, Methinks there doth beseem to me Needed an atmosphere of puiity Whereto no breath of earthliness shall cling ; Wherin the spirit can endure for ever on the wing,'* Aye, too-late valued friend I Even then seen, like a sun, Dimly, thiough impui o mists that run Upon the course, that to pure noon doth tend ; Thou, toward a cloudless day, on willing wing didst wend. WTTIIBREO WILD FLOWERS. 171 Yet not all mute he went ; Some broken strains were given. Prelude to the unbroken ones, in Heaven He singeth now —pure, heaven significant ; Ah, how surpasbing now his song of adoration Jubilant. This done, he turned and eyed The spread Ceast of world-blandishment, Then said," To go from thee I'm well content, Time's things perchance may charm when pu- rified." And so, in smiling sweet farewells to all, he died. Quitting earth's hopes to be. As was his better choice, the rather With God ; and so found grace to weather Bravely time's shallow shoals ; into tl e sea Of his God's infinite love, sweepmg triumph- antly. NOTE. The small piece called " The Asttr," as well as the abov -, have been suggested by an exquisite Poem, which I hope yet to see published, entitled " The Trance," the work of a very dear friend, who dieti at the early age of twenty -one, too early for fulfil' iug the promise he already gave of the rarest qualities of true genius; though the writings he has left stand in no need of the apology of their author's years. 172 TIIE WRAITH BRIDAL. A BALLAD. Part I. " LioHT down, liglit down, Lord Edward, I pray ; And let our pai'ting be done ; For what would proud Lady Mai^garet say To her vassal wedded son ? " Now. light ye down frae your bonny steed. And let this our parting be ; For bluidy I trow is the Roslyn bed For a maiden o' low degree.*' " Na, get ye up, my bonny bonny Maye, Nor fear for my mother's frown ; An* ye*s be a gallant Earl's ladye Or e'er the sun gae down. I •* An* ye'll be decked wi' gowd sae brave, To tread in Roslyn ha ; An* shine my bride, out o'er the lave. The fairest o' them a'.'* THE WRAITH BRIDAL. 173 " But lippon still, my lord Edward dear, — ** " I'll lippen to nought enow, My steed's maist swift, an' my Uaye maist fair In braid Scotland, I 'trow. " The priest he bydes at St. Mary's Kirk, That sail buckle my ain sweet Maye ; Say ride ye now ; an', afore it's mirk, Te'r my ladye for ance an' aye.' »i " Stay, Edward, Lord Edward ; my heart is sair. An' winna be bidden gay ; For I dreamt yestreen that we met ance mair, But only to part for aye. ** I dreamt when we met, ye'r bright blue cen Looked siccar and kind as now. But e'er we parted, their light was gane, An' the flesh frae ye'r chapless mou'." " Hout tout, hout tout, my Maye sae dear, Let the wise woman rede ye'r saye :" '* Na, na. Lord Edward ; the woman I fear Is ye'r mother, that proud Ladye I ** An* aye as I dream o' ye'r bonny steed, An' my lover, wi' look sae glad ; Its milk-white sides are a' smeared wi' bluid An' its rider in shroud yclad ; 174 THE WRAITH BRIDAL. " Sae this night, alane maun my ain dear ride, An' I'll hyde a maiden still ; For wae wer't if ano sae warned to byde, Would nae fend her ain lover frae ill.** " Mount up wi' speed, an* let's quickly ride, Or the gloainin' maun eke our flight I An* fear na Maye, that Lord Edward's bride Will dream sic anither night." ** Oh bid na me ride this night at least, For my heart is dool an* wae ; An* again our Ladye I'll pray to bless't, An' the morrow I'll surely ga«.'* " Sair, sair am I loath to leave my bride, But the morrow it e'n maun be ; Sae byde ye for what the mom betyde, That sail make ye my gay ladye.'* " Now blessings gae wi' my ain Edward, An' light be his heart an' ha' ; But muckle I dread, the kirk-yard sward Is the docl that will befa.* " An* what were a ladye without her iord, Though in silk an* gowd a* clad. Or waefu' bride wi* her lover cauld In the mouls o' the kirk-yard laid.'* z de, THO WRAITH BRIDAL. 175 He haa lighted down frae bis milk-white steed An' gripped her lUy hand ; An' a bonnier couple, I trow, to meet, Ye would seek for in braid Scotland. They hao parted as only lovers part, An' swiftly he's sped awa' ; But sair's the forboding that wrings her heait, An' bitter the tears that fa'. Pari It She has been sin' the sun, frae the lift sae heigh, Has wan to the gloamin grey ; She has watched untU the moon, frae laigh, On the crown o' the pme-taps lay. An' salr I trow was her leal, true heart, An' aft, wi' a tear she'd ^ay, " Oh, Edward, dear I did we yestreen part To be parted for ever an' aye ?" Yet she byded still, till the mirk midnight, Though the moon o'er the trees gaed down ; An' aye as she listened, she'd try to light Her heart wi' some gleesome croon. 176 THE WRAITH BRIDAL. But just as the mirk night's noon was come, She kent her ain lover's tread, An' eftsoon she spied through the murky gloom The glint o' his milk-white steed. " Now mount ye, mount ye, my Maye," he said, But wow, he was pale an' wan ; " Oh tell me what waefu gate ye gaed. An' what diuesome wierd's befa'n ?" But, " mount ye ! mount ye I" was a' he said, An' she's mounted an' aff they flee ; But caulder aye, as they onward rade, Did her lover seem to be. " An' whar ride ye sae swift, Edward ? An' wh> so late at e'en ?" But never another word she heard. But " Whar ye s'ould yestreen.* »» An' on they rade, and still rade on. Till they cam' to St. Mary's Quire ; But I trow the kirk through the mirk night shone As though it had been afire I " Now light ye down, my Maye," he said, " For her? maun our bridal be, But ye'll match na sicken a bridal bed, I trow, in Christendie !' f»» ^ Li THE WRAITd BRIDAL. 177 He's ta'en her aflf his milk-white steed, An' into braw Roslyn's aisle ; But waesome an' wild is the shriek sho gied. An her bonny cheek deadly pale. For weel she saw 'twas nae earthly light That shon frae each fretted wa' O'er weel she kent, frae what met'her sight, St. Clair's proud heir lay low. A bluidy, smeared in his leal heart's bluid Whar his bride s'ould been yestreen ; ' An' a' bluidless, beside the weel-lo'ed dead Was fand the fair Maye lain. ' Ladye Margaret had sworn th.- souldna meet, An bluidy's the byde she's ta'en ; But true to the tryst his Maye had set, His Wraith to its keeping's gaen. Tliey've laid thegither in holy Roslyn, A :; they fand, the dead-wed pair, But still when a chief o' St. Clair is gane, In Roslyn is seen that glare. 178 AMBITION. WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. ** Thou hast a charmed cup, O, Fame I A draught that mantles high. And seems to lift this earth-born frame Above mortality ! Away — ••" UBMANS. ** Thy brother Death came and cried Would'st thou me ! And I replied. No I not thee !" SIIKM.KT. Fame tossed a bauble of glittering glass 'Moiig a set of enthusiast fools ; With sanguine hopes, we join the chase, And lose uncared, in the mad'ning race, Health and life, while the passion rules ; But sickness and suffering's sharp embrace The glowing ardour cools. Oh God 1 it is a fearful thing To feel the touch of Death's chill fingers, As his clammy clutch at the heart-strings lingers. Li iM:J AMBITION. 179 Sternly aroused from dreaming, And, as hope's visions fade in waking. To feel the hideous phantom's breaking The chords where life is vibrating, And the soul, though lingering, From her fond delusions spring And struggle to take wing. Hence, horrible phantom 1 flee I Life's flame burns strong within me, I feel its tide flow full and free, I want not to hie, with thee, To the silent halls where mortality Beholds the unveiled Deity, And comprehends this fearful mystery. I ask but a little while Ere I quit this scene of toil, I would not willingly resign This work to other hands than mine ; Or that stranger hand should run O'er what bright hopes begun ; Let but this work be done. And I will gladly follow thee, And in thy eternal cells, Where silence dwells, Smile that I am free. ters. 180 MODERN FASHIONS. IMPROMPTU TO A LADY. Lifers a bubble Death is breaking ; Earth's a nut that Time will ci'ack ; He is his siesta taking On the whiilwind's fleeting wrack ; But, believe me, lady fair. Though the breath its breezes wear Seems so bland, old Time is there ; Rested, he'll be swiftly back. Death, most courteously discarding Black-sweat, plague, and such old hacks ; His quietus is awarding With the skill of modem quacks ; March -of- intellect made wise, Time his curricle supplies With steam-engines tandem ways, — All the closer at our backs I APRIL FOOLING. When old Father Time, one April day, As all the world knows, fell a napping, Fun and Frolic by chance found him out as he lay. And on his bald head, for a capping, 1^ J he ,J APRIL FOOLIira. 181 Whipt a fooPs-cap and bells, that in jingling awoke The busy old soul from dreaming He had given Methuselah's jaws a poke, And his first rotten tooth was claiming : But the sober wight Now in merry plight, Resolved for once on a frolicking ; Took his glass from it!) stand, Then shook from it the sand. And as quick in its stead put some froth in. But when Fun caught a few Of the bubbles he blow, She tossed them, and set the world after. And the poking and racing. The knocking and chasing, Since have served her and Frolick for laughter. Of all the bubbles that he blew *Twere tedious the narration, But, just to single out a few. There's the bubble Reputation I They crowd pell mell Up Fame's steep hill. And scramble each for station. Gulping the bubbles from its rill, Then sputter with vexation. The froth another babbit' blew From old Time's soj^rim. f~~-N. 182 APRIL FOOLING. In whose pursuit a motley crew In choTOs raised the view-hallo, The bubble Criticism I Still as they chase the crowd increases, A rare assortment of odd faces ; The purchaser of musty missal, In wild pursuit now seems to pass all ; While hard behind, with nimble long limb, See Van Daub's patron gaining on him ; Nor lags the genuine Antiquary, When once its worth awoke to, Who, oh rare gem ! from Lethe's quarry Has rescued Noah's cork-screw I Tlie owner likewise of Eve's glass, Hairs from the tail of Balaam's Ass, A primer that King King David's was. And Solomon's school-book too I ** But, mark I" cries Fun to Frolick, " yonder. Just as the bubble turns the corner, A hero, ai ined with quill for lance. And fitly mounted for the nonce, Spurs on liis goose to join the fray. And bears the glittering prize away I' i» But, not to wear your patience out, 'Tis said that Love's a bell too, Thrown up by Fun to raise the rout That in pursuit then fell to ; APRIL FOOLING. But this an error is no doubt, The ring's shape may have given out, Arising from its roundness ; For once within, 'tis soon found out Its emptiness was groundless t But since its shape is round no doubt, An egg it rather must be ; And howsoe'er the white turn out ; When dropt, ere scarce the mouth's about. The YOKE proves oft times musty I Besides all these, were found among The drowsy carle's last bubbles, A long array, at random strung. To fit the gay with troubles ; The busy idler, now content. May prove himself most wretched ; Nor fancied trouble need invent. When Fun is by to fetch it ; Then from her gilded bubbles choose The gaudiest you can borrow. But this, my rhyme Must tell, that Time Sobered awoke the morrow ; Reiilled his glass ; resumed his watch ; And made, for those his bubbles catch, A double tide of sorrow I 183 S ui»i» . 184 ANE LOVER'S ADRESS TO CUPID I Most worshipftil Dan Cupid, posture-master ; Prime dancer in the jig of life's third stage ; Physician ; curer, without salve or plaster, Of shattered hearts ; and cooper of them faster llian quacks' quintescent pufferies engage ; When swain's vile cobbling botches his disaster, Thou art the rage I Then, most unworshipful, Jack-ketching slaugh- terer ; Heart-splitting pickpocket of mortals' wits ; Fixing vain victim's soul on some Eve's-daughter, or Fair Jezebel ; that jilts, and makes him waterer Of lawn or silk, in fatal blubbering fits ; Vowing swift end in steel, or bowl, or halter, or Like gift to Fates 1 Thou coiner of mad rhymes for madder rhymer, Ycleped sonnets to some mistress' eyebrow ; * Rainbow divine !' so long iis such beau reign her Puissant ladyship's heart's sole retainer ; [bow * Most high and mighty arch,* until some sly Most archly dropt, a new bowstring to gain her ; Then down as low I ANB LOYER S ADBESS TO CUPID. 185 Malicious Harlequin; curst roguish fellow In motley suit ; some pity spare for once, For weary wight, in weeds beneath the willow, For lack of poesie*s sweet flowers to fill,— -oh Pray grin not at me ; but now on the nonce Just hit a sonnet off to Bella's eyebrow, Shall win her glance ! She squints you know, — most hideously *tis certain ; Most beuuteously, I rather meant to say : Her shoulder's humph to some might seem di- verting ; But she has virtues, such slight things converting To charms, — she*s ninety, — ^may not live a day. So pray now bid her, — (there is gold to gain :) Just squint this way ? Why so disdainful, heart's love-heat diviner ? Would'st leave sad suppliant in despair to die ? Thou could'st, wouldst thou but favourably in- cline her To squint sweet smile upon her hopeless piij jr : What sayst? — thou'rt love's, not fortune's deity? What other is my suit, but Cupid's serving, or Cupid- ity? mrnrnn ^%. ^. rv V ^ 1^^' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) y ^ o V #^^ ^^.% i.O I.I Hi KS 2.2 14.0 L25 i 1.4 2.0 1.6 /^ At Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 33 WiST MAIN STRHT WIBSTER.N.Y. -•45M (716) •72-4503 ^ qv ^ • '<>. ■SJ <^ ^'. ^^\ r<# «^ ^^<^ w % [ ''9IBB 186 IMPROMPTU. TO A YOUNG LADY, ON TELLING A SECRET. Miss Bess, in haste to sing thy praiso I point my pen anew, And "write in laudatory lays, A judgment; good a? true. Imprimis then, like curling ^moke, You're blown by every wind I Or rather like the weatiier-cock, To every whiff resigned I Trust you with secret, — safe and sure You vow silence profound ; Like water in a sieve, secure— At least to reach the grouadt You keep the secret, sure enough, So long as you meet no one ; But when you do, it comes out puff, You prove a Perfect Woman ! .. 9 < ' 1 187 PREFACE TO A MS. VOLUME OF RHYMES. A Pfepacb I pray now be entreated, Most gentle readers, to be seated, And be not such impatients ; You've seen the Title Page, have you ? Well, having asked, " How do you do?" I should proceed to give a view And summary of Contents. But stay I what does a Preface mean ? *Tis something sure, that comes between You and the sight you ask ; And, as a covering for the face. Save when of thin transparent lace. Was fitly called in Juliet's days, So called we it — a mask 1 For obvious is it, that some books Give larger promise by their looks. To those who read the RefiferencOj Or Contents, as is named, a list That occupies a page at least, And half a dozen, at the best. The book distilled to essence I 188 PREFACE. I Just SO the Cockney's wondering eye, At Greenwich Fair, or Bartlemy, Stares at the pictured Giant, Enclosed within a caravan That seems scarce bigger than his span, And wondering, pays to see the man So huge, and yet so pliant t Shagrined to find the monster tall, Is nothing wondrous after all ; This Gulliver so green, To Lilliput now goes, and enters Where, pictured small, his wonder centres, For, — such the modesty of painters I The Dwarf can scarce be seen ! He pays, then sits and stares around him Till Pigmy's entrance more confounds him, For now that he has seen 'em, He finds a different cause of wonder ; " I see," at length says he, " my blunder, " I looked to find their size asunder, " They've halved the odds between *em 1" Just so, let me entreat you reason, When in my Caravan you seize on Some Giant, rather small ; Just take whatee'r you've fancied monstrous. Then change my minus into plus. And add it without further fuss ; Why now, he's over tall 1 CONSEQUENCES. IQQ This understood preliminary, Just round the leaf you'll find the entry. Hark how the Lions thunder I But should you think them liker Dormice ; And Dwarfs and Giants equal Pigmies, My worthy friends, why bless your bright eyes, 'Tis therein lies the wonder I CONSEQUENCES OP AN DNSUrCESSPUL ATIEMPT AT VERSES, FOR A FLOWER WREATH IN A LADY*8 ALBUM. First Consequence I 1 WOULD wreath thee a garland, fair lady, but say, Shall I twine it of Holly or deck it with May ? Shall the brown tints of Autumn, or the glad ones of Spring Be first in the offering of flowers that I bring ? Shalt the Yew overshadow the Rose in its bloom. With the Cypress, that silo tly t«lls of the tomb ? Or shall nought but is youthful and lovely com- bine Their charms in the chaplet ..... I twine ? .1 190 CONSEQUENCES. Shall iUo Lily unite with the Violet to speak How lovely . : . . the meek ? Or the gaudy beau Sun Flower, the . , . Fleur- de-lis, Perk up here their vulgar impertinence ? Eh ? Shall the Bachelor's buttons ... a hem 1 . . . With GarUck and Rue ? To prefer a Blue Bell to a Belle that is blue ! bahl Ill Second Consequence 1 1 Flowers I confound the flowers I Here have I for hours Cudgelled my bari'en brain In vain ; Hoses rhymes with posies! Of course it does, and noses, And twenty other doses Of sentimental stuff; But, enough I I'll quit the Muses ; I leave whoever chooses To court the Nine, And caP divine Such vixenish old shrews ; They'll help just when they choose ; CONSEQUFNCES. You need not try to hoa:^ them, And just as little coax 'em Here's a lady's invitation, And she'll take no denial, But I must try all I can at a narration ; And so produce some sweet and pretty, And very flowery little ditty, And moreover, not over .... witty I But will the vixens aid me ? Hang them ! no I they've played me Nothing but paradoxes. Say Jews will rhyme with Foxes, And noses with snuff-boxes I They've blurred my paper, twitted my rhymes, And baulked my measure a score of times ; But I'U have my revenge, a right good dose, Though to gain it I tweak Urania's nose. And take out the change in sober prose I 191 Final Consequence 1 1 1 ALBUMS. Most classic reader, well you know Album in Latin's wnriE ; A term therefore most apropos For that with which young ladies go An angling for a bi';e I J 192 C OKSEQUENCES. Wliite-bait the term is meant to be, As all but gudgeons plainly see ; And therefore, pa the word's superfluous, The owners wisely let it pass, Wliile with his goose-quill, many an Ass Records as well's he's able ; With aid of pencil, brush and crayon, The bites of sundry prizes they won, With many a glorious nibble 1 All hail I of Arts the patronesses, Of Taste's proud temple the priestesses, Upon your altars, to the Graces And Nine, you oft have slaughtered Yonr victims to appease their manes ; The sacrifice of course your gain is. And greater, too, the more his pain is ; But of this have you ought heard, — So far from e'er their wrath appeasing, Are you while in your leaves your squeezing Attempts wrung forth, by art of teasing To anglers sly and able, known ; The Muses mourn their stolen treasure, Filched, to procure for halting measm'e, Crutches and props to hobble on I Nay, worse than that, your not contented To pi*op the mole-hills thus invented, ag „ . i COKSKQUKNCES. You make the Musos referees Taking the farthing change of wit No matter though »t be counterfeit And pawn their jewels to novices A gemmed pig's snout, for empty lout, To light him to seek wisdom out ; And like enough it is no doubt Such wits should chance to find her cut I "But stay," says one, whose fishing ta<;kle Shows she despises minnows, mackaid And all such tiny small fry, * " 'Tis whales and sharks to iatch I study And if your wit's at best but muddy. Why we must try to clarify I But you're. Sir, though so valiant turned As good at theft as we are ; Yourself among the jewels you've wormed. Our pledges unredeemed have stormed. And then to hide the plot you've formed, Dissolved the theft in vinegar I" ^m 194 PUCK. Hark, away I Wouldst fly with me ? Tread raid the maze of our nether halls, Where the ruby's ray And the blazing gaze of the diamond's eye On the fairy revel falls ? Mortals! mortals I That may not bo ! The raftered roofs of the old oak halls Rung, till each sculptured nook With eldritch laughter shook, When our airy train to the dais took. And the feast was spread by our grammarie, And the Baron repaid for our glee By the old oak hall's festivity. But not with me mortals, Mortals not now with me ; Oberon still rules our halls below ; But, nor child of mid-earth now heeds our call. Nor Christian Knight in our courts we see ; [glow, Nor our train, where the star-eyed dew gems Tread the wild maze of the Morris through ; I have lurked where the bat flitted stealthily Bound th<) erie haunts of the olden time, L PUCK. 195 ;all, llow, [ems But I met, of our train not one, But still when aloft on the deep night sky The stoim, wrapped in murky robes, would climb, Then I haunt the waste alone : Still, hither and thither I glance my light To the wandering wight, who seeks the waste, Till I hear his groan. When the flash is gone, and the murky night Blots out the star's last glint in haste, Then rare is my mirth ; such sport, I ween. As is rarely seen on the dull mid earth. But I*ve sought in vain, where the Oak boughs' shade Our pavilion made in the forest fane ; Though the flashing brook still muimured on, The hair-bell shook and the glow-worm shone, And the wood's wild music around was heard As the zephyr's breath through the foliage crept. And kissed each trembling spray Till the folds of its rich gi-oen mantle stirred. And awoke the soul of sounds that slept. As it swept through the glade away, And each whispered note was a voice that told Where the fairies of old their revels sought ; I listened in vain for their bridles ringing, I heard not ought but the wood flowers springing. And the tender grass, as it drank the dew, Sigh as the soft night-breeze stole through. 190 PUCK. The Daisy opened its ciimson cup, And the Night-Stock breathed its rich fragrance up In modest plaint of the sun's fierce glare, Whose impassioned stare made her sweet voice faint. But they greeted nought but the coy maid mom That, methought, as she sought so curiously Within each shady nook to pry, — Seemed sadly to ask, " are the fays all gone ?" But she saw not ought but the dreaming bee. Or the dragon-fly slumbering stealthily. Or the butterfly lapped, where the fox-giove bell Hung a rich tent for its nightly cell. The sheep-dog's baying was far on the hill, E'en the nightingale seemed to have sung her fill, And but carolled a brief song, and then was still ; The glow-worm had slunk to the perfumed shade That the clustered leaves of the violet made ; And e'en in the dreamer's enchanted scene There was less of the wild grotesque, I ween, Than Mab's el!-sprites should of old have seen. Sc I dived again to the Diamond halls, Where the ruby's glow And the emerald's ray still gaily falls To light, to light Our eldritch mirth below ; And dull be the sprite tliat seeks for delight In ought the wan moon can show. 197 EPISTLE TO A LADY. Mine ExcEMF.Nr Friend, And right good correspondent, A hint Fvo Just got of no anower thus long sent To a letter, my memory I think thus records, — Its value transcendant, its length some ten words ; But though fingers of ladies may ache to indite All the fancies that struggle just ready for flight From their well practised goose-quill, as prompt now to wander, As tho* still in pursuit of some gallant young gan- der. Yet remember, I pray you, the day has gone by When we dare on the fancies of goose-quill to fly ; For though ladies' kind hearts, and still kinder intentions May discard the steel knib, worst of modem inventions. As so stiff, harsh and cutting, but fit for love bolt. For some clerk, or poor, starched, pedagogical dolt; Too coarse and unyielding, too feelingless, fashionless. Too pointed and sharp, yet too blunt and too passionless ; 198 £PI8TLE TO A LADY. Yet we masculine bipeds, unfeathered I mean, Lest so titled, the gander must needs be ta'en in ; We bipeds, I say, can so steadily amble On a steel-knib, unfearful of fall, race or gambol, That we dare not, believe me, take quill for our bay, From the terror that wit- us 'twill gallop away. Ah Ladies I kind Ladies I did you only know All the cheek-blushing pangs bashful wights un^ dergo, When a sheet must be scrawled in reply to some witty Fair Lady's epistle, then doubtless you'd pity ; Did you see how we hook for conceits in the bottle. How despairingly S'jm up the whole scanty total. How, poor soulsj we discover, like the fly ^sop tells of, Though much ink's thrown, with mighty fracas, by ourselves off, Yet the clouas of conceit we've been busily i-aising. Though fancied so wondrously worthy of praising, Are mere ink after all, nought but scribbling and blotting, [ting I Goose gauib&ls at best eked by scoring and dot- Then, le^. charity plead while you sift each pre- tension, And supply for scrawl-metre its kindest inven- tion ; EPISTLE TO A LADY. 199 Let me hint, for example, a simple proposal *, "Whoso use I shall leave at your future disposal If my letters should prove (oh I most rai'e case of error) Unbecomingly sprightly, not marked by due fear, or Fitting, humble respect, then conclude, with kind charity [warily That the writer from ignorance mounted un- And was dragged up thus far on presumption's steep mole-hill, [quill, On the back of a hot-blooded, runaway goose- If the opposite error again you discover The air of a sneak or a culprit or lover, [over ; The last for a hang-dog look famed the world Then conclude, my dear friend, with the kind- ness you've fame of, complain of ; T'was a Pullet's wing furnished the faults you If attempts to look wise,, like a monk from his cowl, [Owl ; Then be sure 'twas produced by the quill of an If vanity glare from the page in high season. With great self conceit, and a sad lack of reason, 'Twas but the mishap of the writer then, mark ye. To have borrowed his pau from the Peacock or Turkey ; And to follow the hint, if its trifling, why then 'Tis plainly produced from the quill of a Wren ; * Bee '« The Doctor." 200 EPISTLB TO A LADY. If crowing, the Cock's ; and the Pigeon's, if coo- ing; ing; If croaking, the Rook's ; and the Turtle's, if woo- If ambitions, the Eagle's ; if foppish the Jackdaw ; And the Mocking-bird's, probably, if je-ne-sais- quoi: For what more might be named, to yourself I shall leave 'em, ['em ; Just as samples for all, let me beg you receive Yet stay, there's one more I would still wish to mention, A receipt to whose use I may claim some preten- sion, As I might, but for modesty to the invention : — Whereas lately you've fancied my answer was tardy, 'Twas but fancy : — against such mistake let me guard ye ; The answer, — for answer you certainly got, — With a quill from the Bat's wing, I long since have wrote With Invisible Ink, on to-morrow's blank book. As you'll certainly find, if you cai'efully look, 'Mong intentions right good all secured in a parcel By the tape of fair-promise, and indolence broad seal, [tion The wrapped over all, for more sure preserva- Wi' a plentiful folding of procrastination I tn EPISTLE TO A LAUY. 201 But one word, my good friend, ere you open the bundle, There's surely some comer of it must be crammed full Of letters you've purposed, nay, penn'd in your fancy, But as yet undelivered as far as I can see : For all such invisible letters and so forth, Kind thoughts, good resolves, and choice gifts of the like worth, I record here perception in full of their beauty With my quill ('tis a goose's I take for the duty). And beg — ^with most grateful returns fo** the trea- sui'e. To have credit from you, for such deeds in like measure I But now with John Gilpin's wild steed in my mind. With Phaeton and sundry more Squires of like kind, I bethink me 'tis time to alight while I can, As I fear I might fall, if my Pegasus ran ; So hopeing for larger epistolar favours, With duty and love I subscribe myself here yours Without more ado. Most faithful and true. Bachelor's Hall, Smoakville, Of our Miiklen Queen, year third. 202 SONNETS. I. Mesbemb, a form of beauty all divino, Radiant with Heaven's own light, angelical, Calls me, with voice most sweetly musical And winning ; wooing to the chase, as fain To have me willing follower at her call, And clasp me to that bosom, where doth shine, As with the light for which I vainly pine. The holy, radiant in the beautifuL Dull soul, abandon the illusive chase ; Dost hope that purity with the impm*e Will willingly unite, like kindred race ? Thy too ambitious aim is premature. Strive thou, yet hope not that it shall be given, Beauty divine shall be attained in Heaven. L I STOOD upo the world's thronged thoroughfai-e And saw her crowds pass by in eager chase Of Bubbles, glistening in the morning rays, While, overhead, methought God's angels were With golden crowns, of which all unawaie They heedless crowded on in folly's race ; But yet methought a few were given grace, With heavenward gaze, to aspiie for treasmes there, AU trustfully, as an expectant heir ; Through whom the soul shone, as the body were But as a veU, wherein it did abide. Waiting till God's own hand shaU it uncover • Oh God I that such a prize, in vain, should hover O er souls in nature to Thyself allied I 204 EONNSTS, III. Great things were ne'er begotten in an hour, Ephemerons in birth, are such in life, And be who dareth, in the noble strife Of intellects, to cope for real power, Such as God giveth as his rarest dower Of mastery, to the few with greatness rife ; Must, ere the momiug mists have ceased to lower Till the long shadows of the night arrive, Stand in the arena ; laurels that are won. Plucked from green boughs, soon wither ; those that last Are gathered patiently, when sultry noon And summer's fiery glare, in vain, are past : Life is the houi* of labour ; on earth's breast Serene and undisturbed shall be thy rest. SONNETS. 205 IV. Poet, that wak'st an echo in the soul That hides in clay, meseems thy mission here Is not a solitary ptiit to bear, And weave thyself a wreath, as tho' the whole Of Ihy clear melody did thence unroll From out thy quivering heart, till it appear Like heaven's own sunlight, to this lower sphere A God-like largess, unrequited dole. Thou'rather art the consecrated herald, Through whom the voices of thy time speak out ; Great inarticulate thoughts, all unparalleled. Deep struggling in dumb souls, until unsought Tiiou cioth'st the spiritual in visible sense. And scattcrest to all times thought's mighty influence. 206 80NKET8. V. Earth, thou did'st wed the noblest of all time When thou embosomed his immortal dust, From, hands unconscious of the awful trupt, Rendering thee Milton, with the hope sublime That waiteth on the exit of the just ; O render back the gift ; ambition's lust Bulls the Poetic Lyre's responsive chime. Else hath the pregnant Age a power that must Wake its soul, inert as the marble block Tarrying its life-breath from the Sculptor's stroke, That doth concealed divinity uncover ; Snch keen expectancy the times o'erhover, As waiting but the touch of Gtenius' Lyi-e To wake its dumbness into living fire. Of an attainable success is won • W,th the bnght past, in their enduring flight So won their passage towards the Infinite, ' A distant glory dazzling to the sight. In which all hope of mastery is o'erthrown. No height of daring is so high, but higher The earnest soul may yet find gn«:e to climb ; Tru h springeth out of ti-uth ; the loftiest flyer. Truth mflnite as God toward which to press. 208 SONNETS. VII. Life's brief working day at mom is done, Calm thou sleepest, dreaming of no wronger ; Thou hadst wings, but that the flesh was stronger, And baulked the soul's aspirings to be gone Into thought's boundless deep; thy soul no longer Teameth, all bodiless to soar alone, Counting earth's love too shallow to atone, — Its bounds too naiTOW, for the spirit's hunger. Now thy body, like a faithful maiden, Bideth in its narrow bed, content, Till God's angels, for its waking sent. Come with bridal benedictions laden, And the marriage of the soul shall see Flesh alike assume an infinite purity. •ONNBTS. 209 vrii. W.th the coaise trafficking for sordid meed So It Ue open but to sun and .hower. ' And love no less, with an unstinted hand Heart-a ho^ of golden 6„a„. showered down in affluent meajsure. 9 210 SONIfRT*. IX. True liberty is still the birtii of time, And springoth up, for all that tyrants whet Their pitiful ingenuity, to fret The bTid upshooting through the frosty rime ; That, for their pruning, doth the higher climb, Spreading a leafy bower, wherein, elate. The world shall yet rejoice, as consecrate To virtues flourishing therein sublime. Quit ye as men, be true then, who would fight In this so holy cause ; think ye a soul Weighed down by beggarly lusts, can have a right To urge God's ark of freedom to its goal f They must be holy who're ordained to be The high priests of a people's liberty. I L I SONNETS. 211 X. A PENSIVE wanderer along life's way, Pausing, irresolute which side to turn, Was beckoned by a maiden to delay, And with her lute to charm away the day In pleasant dalliance, where a murmuring burn Aimless, meandering, kissed the overhanging spray, And lured, through flowering bank and mead, astray Far from life's road beset with rock and thorn. But as he turned to follow, sorro'ving Love In passing, softly whispered in his ear. Nor looked behind ; whereat he 'gan to move As with redoubled speed, nor paused lo hear The charmer's lute, but with a resolute will He bent hia eager steps to climb the thorny hill 212 eONNETS. XI. A aLooMY cloud begirt me all around, Wherein, "when I had sought to pene2;rate, Methought were steps ascending from the ground, Whereon the cloud lashed with monotonous sound; Rude iron seemed they, where my feet did grate Harsh discord as I clomb the steps, inwound By that murk pall, that as with ponderous weight Opened on rusty hinge its sullen gate ; Whereon, in gloom enthroned, a spirit sate, Presiding over mercenary toil ; Myriads of willing slaves around did wait On his stern eye, as trading for a smile ; Tet at his feet, when I had gazed awhile, Methought love sate, well pleased to consecrate their guile. SOifWKTS. 213 n Farewell fond Lyre, to win thy mastery I have not dared aspire, thee rather ta»en In wayward moods, to soothe a passing pain ; Beep, incommunicable thoughts, in sigh Across thy strings breathing wild minstrelsy; A melody, as uncontrouled and vain As when the wind seolian chords would try In random sweep,— but how melodiously I Bearing a gush of music as intense As the deep blue it hides in, into night ; With as deep fervour,— would with, as keen sense Of thy sweet voice,— I see thee quit my sight ; ^^ T.yre, because world's care is taking me m a hold, art thou forsaking mef So ■HVBS 214 SONNETS. xm. Once more, and then forever to be free From thy proud servitude, O Lyre divine ! From the ennobling path thou dost assign, As earnest to thy lowliest votary, Treading, all reverently, the path where be. The foot-prints — nay the soul-prints of the free I Ah, henceforth from thy soothing must I flee, Nor at the bitter orphanage repine. Come world's care, since Love be thy harbinger, I'll give thee all the allegiance I do owe To Love's dear maste'y, thou shalt henceforth know No heait-divided service ; I shall wear Thy livery, nor deem that badge a shame, Home consecrates by Love's own holy name. sonhbts. 7] 215 XIV. But yet forgive if tearfully I say,— Break thou fond Lyre, as thus I dash along The strings that erst have lisped my heart's low song; Where oft my spirit held unconscious play. Until care's haunting brood would glide awq-y Beguiled of cruelty, thy chords among ; Break thou, and with thee many a passion strong Whose liberty within thy sufferance lay; The donjon wherein slumbering, earnest thought Hath lain imprisoned, waiting till the token Of thy responsive echos should be caught,— Is locked, and thou the master key now broken Hath made thereof their sepulchre ; Oh spell I Oh mystery of song ; I bid thee sad farewell I 216 PARTING INTRODUCTION. " He WM not one of those persona who complacently sup- pose everytbbig to be nonsense which they do not perfectly comprehendi or flatter themselves they do.' OOCTOK. Life plies her busy pen ; unceasing fills Her yaried page with rich emblazonment, Her softest pencilings she invigorates With boldest touch, then dashes o'er the whole, And blots the leaves with pencil dipt in gloom ; Oft she begins a chapter, then, ere scarce The heading has been writ, it is erased ; Her page invites the student to peruse, Then changes while his interest's at its height. Nor e*er retuiTis ; the motley interweaves Its rac) est, with grave and saddest thoughts ; Smiles oft relax to tears ; and deepest grief, The anguish of unutterable woe, Jostles with laughter ; till the noisy mirth Is drowned again in weeping : thus she plies Her busy pen, and ever and anon She drops her scattered leaves unwittingly, PARTING INTRODUCTION. 217 Which Death picks up, and binds into a book, Then seals, and writes his superscription there. But where her title-page ? It stands not there, Upon the brow of infant innocence ; It offers not in gay and joyous youth, Maturer manhood, or the waning eld ; The stone, that tells of virtues never known. O'er which the sculptured tears of sorrow fall. And mock the ashes, save by them unwept ; Keeps not a sterner silence as to crimes, Than dawning life of that which is to come : Gould the fond mother, for her infant boy, Trace out the index of his future years, Unwise they might be, uncongenial to The just designs of his Creator's wiU ; But, oh t how many a chapter would be changed, How many a varied incident erased And superseded by the golden tints Of fond desire. Life's title-page is writ In the revolving year, the changing sky. The ever-varying forest, and the flood ; All tell of change, a never-resting change, Alas, too oft they speak in notes of woe ; A spring alternating in smiles and tears Ushers the summer in, its brief bright hours Wane into autumn, and its changing hues Perish in winter's sterile cheerless blasts. And where Life's contents t seek them in the grave; 218 PARTING INTRODDCTION. Life bas been striving for six thousand years, And what has she produced ? still as she sows The grisly monster stands with sickle bye, He reaps and gathers in ; and mouldering heaps, The silent dust, the kindred eaith we tread Tells more of life, by infinite account, Than living man ; yet still the joyous sounds Of revelry and mirth are heai*d betimes ; We've viewed our fathers* sepulchres so long. We sport around them, heedless of the sight. And thoughtless youth finds mirth in ridicule Even of the halt decrepitude of eld, To be himself again, ere long the butt For others' jests. But you admonish me. Most gentle reader, nor in truth untimcd, My task should be to make ml»xe own the theme, And not the chequered volume life has penned ; To introduce the pages you peruse. In courtly phrase, not lecture you the while ; 'Tis pertinent ; and yet, in sooth, good friend, Pardon the writer if he must confess His aim has been his pleasure, more than yours , Life in his owii experience hath proved No masque for pleasure keeping holiday, But earnest warfare, with keen weapons waged ; And if he hath beguiled it of a care. The weight of thy displeasure may be borne To please all readers was as little wished z±l PARTliNO INTRODUCTION. 219 As hoped ; some with a kind and friendly gaze At its contents, will close the book and smile, Not at the author's wit, but at himself ; While others opening it, with careless glanco May read with interest, and return again To seek new pleasure in the motley page. Even as the postman's varied budget brings Pleasui'e to many, hope defeiTed to some, And deepest anguish at some time to all * ; We take the folded sheet, and eye the seal. Turning it every way in hope to find Clue to the author there ; then baffled turn And view again the supercription traced In no remembered hand, till having thus Puzzled and wondered, hoped and feared in vain. We break the seal, and find, what had been found As easily at first, and what perchance May seem but dearly purchased by the toil. Even so, these pages may excite desire To open and peruse the mixed contents The volume yields ; till gratified, they deem The labour lost. But, reader, you perchance Would hint the Introduction's somewhat long ; Tet I would fain havo far too high esteem For any reader of a work of mine Meant but for friends, than think that they would hold Communion, save by introduction meet ; * See *' Task/' book W. Hne 14. 220 PARTING INTRODUCnOIf. ' True you may gain good company without ; The Arch-Fiend went to Paradise incog., Nor needed introduction there, to spoil The truest bliss by man or angel known : Yet Satan haply fared not aye so well As holy legend tells. St Dominic, The patron saint of Inquisitions, sat Conning the pages of some holy tome, Unless his thoughts still saintlier themes en- gaged. Devising tortures for arch-heretics : When straight appeared the fiend before his eye. Not wrap'd in sulphurous flames, but in disguise Of humblest Flua, he skipped across the page, Doubtless, with dev'lish malice to arrest The father's most benevolent designs ; But well he recognised, through strange disguise, Nor failed to punish the intruding fiend. From page to page, throughout the ponderous tome. The holy father, — Cleave nor asked nor given, — Used this Arch-Flea to note, as he progressed, Each pause : when holy meditation fixed His upturned eye, straight the unwilling fiend Stood where he left, nor moved, until again Progressive meditation dragged him on ; The ponderous volume closed, transfixed he lay In atmosphere abhorrent, till at length St Dominic, his studies having done, I PARTING INTRODUCTION. 221 Unbound, and let repentant Satan flee. His fate demands your thought, this lesson gives,— Eschew, unintroduced, the worthiest page ; Worth comes not always with the fairest show ; Nor Beelzebub alone, hath glanced upon An open page, with swift intent to leave, Yet lingered on, enchained, until the close. Or should some witty reader rather think The Flea himself best emblem of my ryhmes, — Doubtless I — and yet the saintly record hints Huge mischief, as perchance some little good, May find full compass in the pettiest form. It happened, when the world was in its prime, Young Truth, then deemed a fair and comely boy,~ - Although the prescience of our wiser times Dub him Plain Truth, a starched old gentleman, Somewhat precise and sour, if all be told, Nor complaisant, though with some sterling parts To those who care to court his company ! This same young Truth, enamoured of a maid Called Beauty, wooed and won her for his bride ; Whence sprang a babe uniting cither's charms, Who grew up, lovely in immortal youth, And still is. known as Poesie Divine ; A protean youth, of infinite desire. 222 PARTING INTRODUCTION. A soul of passionate purity and love, And beauty flashing out through every guise ; Now robed in tragic weeds ; veiled loveliness Telling of woe that asks in vain for tears ; Anon exchanged for innocence of mirth. Here treading stately measure to th^ swell Of the deep organ's voice. There, to the Bound Of the soft lute, breathing a lover's plaint Unto his mistress' ear — or with a song Of mirthfulness fore fending rheumy care ; Till the dull world, so long despising him, Begins to find some virtue in the boy : The which no sooner known, some prater comes, Tricked out in gaudy tinsel cap and bells, Jangling discordant measure as he halts At every turn ; announcing to the world Some brat of his the twin of Poesio, Himself forsooth the foster sire of both : Until the age, grown sick of charlatans, Turns a deaf ear to Poesie's own song. Yet doth he own a many voiced lute Of varying power, as Beauty's self — ^no less : Hath not the organ, that awakes a voice In the cathedral's far receding aisles, A lowlier note, to breathe the holy psalm Responsive to untutored village choir? While Painting younger, of the Heavenly maid:}. Owns as her own. Van Huysum or Ostade, No less than Raphael, wrapt in theme divine ; i PARTING IlfTRODUCTIOX. 223 And nature's self among her costlier charms, The daisy and the blue forget-me-not, Oft echoed sweetly in the muse's ear :— So have I dared to hope, that Poesie, — Weighing huge folios, 'gainst some homely song, And scornfully disowning many a cheat That apes the passions, strangers to his soul. May condescend to own my lowly rhymes. If earnest aspirations after good. The passionate worship of an ardent soul Striving to win the Beautiful and True, Could give the claim to take the lowliest rank Among * the God-like race' — then were it mine ; And this, my verse, a heaven-inspired song. Exacting audience from a listless world. But vain my song, poor echo to the sense Of heavenly loveliness, that still eludes, Charming me onward, in delusive chase. Attracted by a beauty all divine, I see, and own, and worship, and would sing. But that power fails me, and my shamed lyre Yields but a mockery of the lofty theme. Tet hath it high reward ; though it may seem Worthless to thee, to me it had a charm That soothed the writer oft in saddest mood. And added pleasure to some gayer hours ; A pleasure critics cannot take away. Nay ! fear not ! play the critic an thou list, ^ 224 PABTni<» IWTRODU0TIO5. I care not how thy merriment's produced, Bo that, in aU true frfendshlp thou art pleased : Perchance the gayest move thee not to smile, Why then the graver may I But if thy vein Is rather, with a sharp and venomous tooth, To find thy pleasure, torturing my poor verse, Until it onswer as thou list,— I ween Thou hast full leave to breaJL the Butterfly Upon thy ponderous wheel ; as I now break, With a stem sense of duty, this weak Lyre, And give life's morrow to the fate she wills ttmmm mm d: