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This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqu^ ci-dessous. 10X l .'■Jr*^ 1AMR8 M. CKEIGHTON, PRINTER, BROCK STREET. 1853. 'Ai BY A SOLDIER. CA\y, And midst thy mighty grandeur taught the proud, O'erbearing Frenchman, that his conquering day Was gone forever, and that Fate's decree IJad been—to Britain shalt thou bend the knee. 8 TItR KNAPSACK. Then " Nive" and " Oiihos' " hlood-ensanguined plainc, Boar noble witness to thy high cnipriae, And still aro lioM most snoi-oil to the manes Of those who foil, hut (alliiii^, snatched the prize Of victory from tlieir foes roluctant hands; And read again the lo s(^ii, that the might Of Gallia's hold and well ti iod veteran hands Were now no longer victors in the fight, But that, 'gainst Bi itish hearts of fire and truth, Their arms and armour were but spiders woof. And "Peninsula!" what a goodly Btream Of glory springs around thee at the thought Of all those actions — oft the stirring theme Of poet's lays — in which so well j'ou fought; In which with courage niisu})dued and bold, Your path was ever under Victory's shield, Till British arms and colours proudly roll'd Triumphant o'er the land, for they were steel'd With honour's gem — a sufleiing country's cause — And saved that country's freedom, fame, and laws. And vet again the lambent scroll unfolds Another ray, which brightly on thee gleams. And shows in le ters l)iiriiished bright in gold, Another f»)untaiii whence thy glory streams ; TIIH KNAPSACK. At "Waterloo," that field of liigh renown, That greatly glorious world peace-giving fight- Where (Jailia'ti nickering, fading star sank down, In darkest gloom, in everlasting night— Thy batniers were unfurled, thy charging shout Lent speed to panic— terror to tho rout. Then ours the task, to cherish well the trust Our forebears left us, when within our hands They placed the colours of the Sevem'y Fiust, And bade us guard them from opi)osing bands. Be ours the task, should war's stern spirit bring Again the battle's din, tho cannon's roar. Around these honoured ensigns, aye to spring O'erwhelming ou the foe, and with our gore Proclaim aloud, that yet within us reigns, The conqu'ring spirit of our ancient plains. WOAFAN'S LOVE. Man lives upon the workl— the world's applause- Determines every purpose ; every thought Is good or bad — each ai'tion and its cause, Must stand or fall — when to the issue brought Of worldly wisdom. Man, who loudly boasts An independent nature, tamely bows Before the mandate of gay fashion's hosts. And at their bidding makes or mars his vows. It raatters not how noble, good, and pure, The voiceless visions of the inward mind, impelling man to actions which secure Joy to himself, and blessings to his kind; He may not venture openly and bold. To act as virtue prompts : before him stands, The world's opinion, calculating — cold — Vlfhiph chills and chains at once his heart and hands. tHB KNAPSACK. li The finest feelings of his soul descends To meet the standard given by the crowd, And Woman's Love is sought for just as tends Her beauty's charms to make hiui pleased and proud. The approbation of the admiiing throng— The servile homage of the heartless rake — Stamps worth upon that band of heart hopes strong, Which should be valued for its own dear sake. But is it so with Woman — can a nod Direct the flowings of her fervent heart — Or regulate her feelings by a mode — And make her play, like Man, the puppet's No— no, not it!— she may her fairy ^bm Deck out obedient to the fashion's sway, fcut 'twere as vain to strive to quell the storm. As try to turn dear Woman's heart astray; rtf When Woman loves, the woild to her is naught; Its smile or frown unheeded pass her by ; It claims no kindred with her heart's deep thought- Nor shares her secret sorrow, nor her joy. Fond Woman's world is centred but in him Whose image reigns within her inmost soul. Wrapt with a beauty which no art may limn, King of her bosom with supreme control. 12 THE KNArSACK. Is ho a Prilice? 'Tis not t'le outward show — The gaudy trappings of his high estate — The thousand glilteiiMg nothings wliich must glow In pride and pomp around the noldy great — Which slic i in Woman's eyes o'er liim she loves A brighter lustre. No! 'tis he alone Who gives a grace to potnp — 'tis he who proves Himself the sun whence all the glory shone. Is he of lowly birth, and does he pass From youth to a'j:e unnoticed and unknown, Receiving, not the inreiise of the mass, But of a heart whose springs are all his o\vn ? How she laments and pities that the blind. Uidieeding woild should niver see the bright, Resplendent glories of a heart and mind, Which unto her alone pour forth their light. A mind whi(di seems to her of wondrous birth, Because its as|)i!';itions soar so high — Because with hers it leaves the grovelling earth, And points to regions far beyond the sky. Where, when life's bitter euj) has passed away, 5 passe rne jri Sweet Woman's many long borne griefs are o'er — Where endless bliss and love without decay, Refills her heart, and Lids her grieve no more. THE KNAPSACK. 13 Should he by some transcendant deed, or skUl, Force admiration from her fickle tV 3, And make her bow beneath the mighi^ will Of an all conquering genius , till she own, That placed beside the soul enkindled flame. Which burns within the unenthralled soul. How base and servile— pitiful and tame— The deeds— the thoughts — which worldly men control ! How faint her plaudits, feeble all her praise, Compared with Woman's pure and soul-felt love For such a being. With what deep amaze, What timid fondness,— like a trembling dove— When clasp'd within his arms, fond Woman's eyes Look into his, and looking speak so loud. Of boundless adoration of the prize She has in him— 'tis he that makes her proud! The admiration which the world may shower Around his head finds vent in worldly speech- Lauds his creations— wonders at the power Which drew them forth, and placed them in the reach Of common minds— .vhich rendered free to all The mighty workings of enlightened mind— Wliich tore from ignorance its shelt'ring pall- Gave light to darkness— vision to the blind ! B 14 THE KNAPSACK. But Woman's love, and that comprises all Of admiration, all of high esteem. Speaks not in words ; her tongue in vain may call For language meet to shadow forth the beam, Which plays in lambent glory o'er her heart, Reflecting light upon the brow of him Before whose matchless mind — whose wondrous art— To her all else of earth born glories dim. Lips may not speak her thoughts, but from her eyes A language springs, embodying in each glance A world of joy and triumph ; thoughts which rise Like beauteous cherubs fi-om a slumbering trance. And throw around her bounding bosom's lord, A prouder glory and a purer fame, Than all the trophies which the world afford. Its crowning laurels, or its deathless name. Aye ! just as strong and conquering flame ascends Some stately tree, leaping from bough to bough. From branch to branch, until at last it blends With trunk and stem, with bough and branch, its glow Wrapping the tall tree in its warm embrace. Until it stands — pre-eminent and bright — A burning pillar where there is no trace Of aught, save strong and overpowering light. THK KNAPSACK. 'Tis so with Woman's love ; it mantles round Her heart's enthraller, clothing all his form With light and glory ! Oh ! it has no bound- Endless— confiding— trusting— uniform — It soars along— the verge and end of time Confine it not— but onwards, upwards, will It range away, in spirit most sublime — Beyond the sky, loving, unchanging still. 15 Has he in some dark mood, some evil hour, Listen'd unto temptation's syren voice. And, underneath its guidance and its power. Forfeited all that makes the heart rejoice : Committed deeds which in the eye of man, Cast everlasting darkness o'er his fame,— Cast shame and bitter scorn, and all that can Dishonour and destroy, upon his name? Contemned and hooted— hated and despised By all the world— he lives, a blot— a blank— A canker spot, within whose bounds comprised. Like some vast lazzeretto, dark and dank- Are all the impure germs of shame and sin, Waiting an impulse but to give them birth. And launch them forth, scattering without, within, Their festering poisons o'er the blooming earth. 16 THB KNAPSACK. Shuim'd and detested — pointed at by all — Held up before the young and rising race As a memento of the fearful fall Which sternly waits on those, who lacking grace To fly from evil, sink within the dark, And dismal gulf, which vice so covers o'er With glittering wiles, that there remains no mark To warn the wanderer from its fatal shore. Oh ! surely, surely, life to him is dead, And listless, lonely, wends he on his way, Since all that makes life sweet is past and fled, And since for him there comes no blighter day. Oh! is there none who that dark outcast cheers, — Who strives to chase the dismal gloom away, Which hangs around him, — strives to calm his fears, — And strives to teach him to repent and pray? Yes ! — yes there is — there still remains one hopt Besides that hope which stretches past the grave — And that, is Woman's love — the only prop On which his heart may lean — love which will brave The harsh and hissing scorn which round him dwell — Love which will cherish in her secret breast That doomed, degraded outcast, deep and well, And on his bosom seek, and find, her rest. THE KNAPSACK. Aye! when the outward world presents to him Naught but a vast impenetrable gloom— A mighty mass, chaotic, dark, and dim, Without one ray its darkness to illume — Then— then, will Woman's love around him shine, And shed a halo o'er each darkened spot, And shall with soul felt effort yet combme To cast its brightness o'er his dreary lot. 17 Yes! when life's sky is troubled and o*ercast, With low'ring clouds portending storm and strife— When all around seems hopeless— cheerless— lost- Then comes the hour in which^he trusting wife. With unremitting love breaks through the mist, Scatt'ring as with the brightness of a sun The gathering omens— sheltering with the blest Safeguard of love, him who her heart had won. Should he in prison pine— and mourn the bland And calming influence of the free survey, Of beauty bright which an Almighty hand Has spread o'er earth to cheer life's weary way- Pine for the brilliant sunshine, and the showers— The sweeping storm, or sweetly murmuring breeze- The undulating fields, the glittering flowers— The rush of rivers, and the roar of seas. B* 18 THE KSAPSACK. There!— even there! — within that noisome den,. Will Woman cheer him wit'i undying love — There ! — even there — will Woman's bosom yearn In unison with his — will ever prove To him a pleasing, and a sheltering bower — Will spread around him love's most jwtent spell — Will give him smiles for sunshine — tears for showers — The music of her voice for ocean's swell. W\ — ^all aiound him seems to other men, A vast, illimitable deseit drear. Without one green oasis in his ken The tired, and tiring, traveller to cheer — Without one solitary cooling spring To quench the fever of his burning brain — Without one soft refreshing breeze to bring A calm unto his boiling blood again. Oh ! they are wrong — there Woman's love attends Converts the desert to the verdant green, And mingl'd flowers and fragrance sweetly blends, Declaring love triumphant o'er the scene — There Woman's love pours forth a rushing stream Of cool refreshing water pure and deep, Whose singing murmur, and whose passing g'eam. Sooth down the wanderer's brain and blood to sleeps TUB KNAPSACK. 10 When sickness seizes on the manly forai, And casts him heli)less on a restless bed, Wlien mind with body sinks till, sad, forlorn, A moody melancholy round is shed; When tortur'd with some ceaseless, gnawing pain, The temper sours, and naught can please, naught quell The inward tumult, nor restore again Peace to the aching bosom's anguish'd swell. Oh ! then will Woman hover round, and near, And watch with eager eye his every move. Anticipate each wish, and strive to cheer His sinking heart with her sustaining love. Oh! she will press her hands, so snowy white, Upon that fever'd brow— and to her breast Will clasp the aching forehead, till a quiet Refreshing slumber lulls its pain to rest. And when decaying nature spreads before His dim and wand'ring eye, the trackless gloom— The misty shadows of that dreaded shore — Which opes upon him, through its gate— the tomb. Oh! who will lead his fluttering soul to soar Through those dark shadows, to a realm of light- Will te^ch him humbly, lowly, to adore His great Creator's wondrous power and might! 90 THE KNAPSACK. Oh ! Woman will, her strong, undying love — Her pure, unfalt'ring faith will cheor him on — Will guide his soul's immortal flight above To join the choir around the heavenly throne. And when beneath the cold and clammy sod. The once lov'd form corrupts and fades away, Then Woman's heart bo\vs only to her God, And lauds his power for ever and for aye. GOD IN ALL THINGS, ADDRESSED TO THOSE WHO SAY'. "THERE IS NO GOD." CoME,scoffer— Atheist— come with me and gaze around our sphere ; Then look into your inmost heart, and say, "chance brought it here ;" Come, gaze upon it, high and low, with reverential awe — Come and confess the unseen power— the all pervading law. Which in its wisdom shines through all the human eye can scan ; And with mysterious majesty proclaims aloud to man. The vast— unbounded— matchless power, whose dwell- ing is on high, And yet pervades earth's lowliest things— it's oceans, air and sky. 22 Tin KNAPSACK. Oh! who could dr^nbt—one moment doubt, that an Almiglih ow Sust&intt a» nnd • i\ ^ ^rthly hoirfid, and marks the pasiMii^ hour, Tlio da; , the year, that flits away, but to return again, And loudur still pi oclaim to man the glory of His reign ; The all-sufllc i«ent wondrous art which from a dark void mass. Brought Light, and Heat, and Life, and Power — tall tree and lowly grass ; Which peopled Ocean's unseen depths ; and spread the azure plain. Where hosts of radiant twinkling stars His unknown power proclaim. Comt orth and look upon the Light! and think upon the might Of him who said " Light be ;" and lo ! pervading with a bright And golden glory all our earth, it came, and proved to man A glorious element whose powers his wisdom may not span. Come now beneath the glorious sun ! and mark his brighteniiig ray. Diffusing life to man and beast — and clothing in such gay THE KNAFBACK. 23 And gorgeous colours earth's fair flowers, and ripening her grain — And raising Life from Death— and say, " Chance did it all," again. Come here beneath this silver moon — beneath this cloudless sky, And mark the myriads of stars ^vhoso bright light strikes the eya And mind of man with trembling awe, and makes him feel that He Who made them is, and ever was, a dread Infinity ; Who with a skill and power so great, and infinitely vast, Supports and guides them as they roll through ether's trackless waste: And through that power, supreme o'er all, fulfilling as their own. His hidden purpose, great and good, although to us unknown. Come! look upon old Ocean's might, gaze o'er it's vast expanse. And say that it's primeval birth was but another chance ; Sav if the mysteries of the deep can give no brighter thou'ht ;„.; some most dread Creative power, who all its waters brought 24 THE KNAi'SACK. Together where they are, and where, obedient to will, They fret and fume, and, at His word, again are calm and still: Yes, scoffer! here our God is seen— the vasty depths proclaim, In storm and tempest, calm and rest, His everlasting name. '^ ;ii if jK'.-i If 1ft ,,, ^ . ii Glance o'er the earth— survey it's stores, and trembling bend the knee, And humbly own the power of Him who made them all for thee ; That thou niigh'st feel that unto Him thanks always should be given, For all thou hast upon the earth— for all thy hopes of heaven. Think upon this ; let no false dreams impose upon thy mind. That when the breath of life is ilod there's nothing left behind But useless clay, whose day is o'er — whose power is gone and past — Which will not start to life again at Judgment's fearful blast : That man's existence will not cease, although his body | Dissolve- ,. I Where w dies, f THE KNAPSACK. 25 And mingling with it's elements, from earth for ever flies — We must believe from feeling, thought — from Christian Truth revealed. In word and deed by Him who died and man's redemption sealed ; We do not perish when this frame dissolves and melts away ; Our soul survives it's earthly home, and never can decay. But in another form and place, shall live, and move, and feel — A place whose everlasting joys Death only can reveal. Come then, believer, come with me, and let us humbly jom In adoration of that Power which rules your fate and mine ; Which keeps our planet in it's course, and guides its mystic way Through boundless space, and watches o'er it's action ni^ht and day — Whose Providence surrounds us now, has done, and ever will, Until His mandate dread shall make our rolling Globe stand still — Dissolve—and pass away once more into a purer frame, Where we through all Eternity shall praise his Holy name. HOME. " Home of my childhood" — where art thou,- Where all the beauty bright, Which shed a sweet ray o'er thy hearth, Of pure and holy light ? There peace and joy together dwelt ; There care had never been ; There discord wild, stern passion's child, Was never felt or seen. Gone ! — gone for aye. The polisli'd glass Of youth so bright and clear, Has suffered many a shivering shock, Been dimm'd by many a tear ; Across its surface many a chanire Has swept, and grief and pain, Have prov'd that earth, ne'er gives a birth To joy like youth's again. THE KNAPSACK. And yet 'tis sweet to think of home When we are far away ; And from those scenes we lov'd so well Call up a bright array, Of thoughts and feelings— sweet tho' sad- Of pleasures past and gone ; When life and wo, were young and free, And sottows we had none. 27 When father — mother — children — all With heartfelt jocund glee, Crown'd times grey head with budding flowers, And biu^e him faster flee. A.h ! little reck'd they that his flight Would break that dream so sweet ; Would some fond heart in sorrow part, No more on earth to meet. When happy voices to the heart Sent home their silver tone. Which sank within it, and which yet Are not forever gone. No ! in the heart the voices sweet Of childhood's happy days, :Ring forth at times, with merry chimes^ And cheer us with their lays. THE KXAPSACK. Alas! that home is altered now — Those joyous days are fled — And erring, wayward deeds of mine,. Have sorrow round it shed. Misfortune too athwart its roof, Has cast her withering shade ; Death has been there — and grief and car* Have there a dwelling made. My father!— where is he! — alas! My call is all in vain, His voice has ceased to answer now, Nor ever will again. No ! never more that father's smile. Shall clieer my longing sight — Shall banish care, with kindness rare. Imparting pure delight. No more his accents, good and wise>. Shall drop upon my ear. Like balm upon a troubled mind, Dispelling doubt and fear; No more his love shall fondly shower. Kind blessings on my head. His heart's warm thrill, is cold and stifi, Amid the silent dead. THB KNAPSACK. He died — / was not near his bed Of suffering and grief— / wip*d no death-sweat from his brow, Nor strove to give relief; For I had left hirn — ^yet his heart At life's fast ebbing tide. With father's love, prayed God above, His erring child to guide. 29 Where now my mother's happy smile — Where now her singing voice — Which thro' that happy, happy home, Bade every heart rejoice? That smile was bright— that voice was sweet— But tell me where are they ? That mother's breast, can answer best. Its ties are rent away. Where is that mother's rosy cheek,— And where the sparkling eye, — And where the smiling ruby lip, Where love cntranc'd did lie ; Until some heart-felt thought would wake The sleeper from his dream, \nd then his ray, strong, bright as day, O'er all her face would beam. 0* 30 THE KNAPSACK^ I think 1 see her now— how changed— How pale and wan her check — The merry lustre uf her eye, Is now subdued and meek; No happy smile dwells on her lip — No joy upon her face — There sorrow's hand, with iron brand. Has left its withering trace. Oh I how I wish I were at home. To comfort and to cheer ; And from that mother's sorrowing eye. To wipe away the tear. To talk with her of bygone days, . Of pleasures yet in store ; And how at last, earth's troubles past, Friends meet to part no more. Home— home and childhood — happiness Lives in your very sound, A happiness which flits away, And ne'er again is found. What are the joys of other years, Compared bright youth with thine. But withered flowers, and faded bowers, Beside a budding vine. THE KNAPSACK. 31 Oh yes! *tiK very sweet, tho' sad, For those who range and roam, From memory's spring, bright thought to bring, Of childhood's happy Home. THE ORPHAN BOY. A BALLAD. Oh! tis good for the soul to feed the poor, And to shield them from Winter's sky, And the wandering orphan's footsteps to guide, And I'll tell you the reason why. 'Twas a cold, bitter cold, and stormy night, And keen, keen, was the biting blast, And old Winter's power in it's sternest mood. Drove wildly and ruthlessly past. * Suggested by reading an anecdote of tke Hon. Mr. Stephens, of Georgia. THE KNAPSACK. 33 Snow clad was the earth, and bare were the trees; There was naught to cheer the mind, And the voice of the river was hushed and bound. By the chain of that wintry wind. 'Twas a famous night for the rich and proud. To assemble around the fire, And with well spread board and generous wine. Bid defiance to Winter's ire. And to laugh in scorn at his baffled face, As he rattled against each pane — As shrieking he strove a cranny to find, Through which he an entrance might gain. ! I 'Twas all in vain, for the stove and the fire. And the warm double windows too. Resisted every attempt which he made. So away in a rage he flew. And he said to himself, as he swept along, There are some who can feel me well — There's the hungry and poor, so cold and bar*. Oh ! they cannot resist my spell. H THE KNAPSACK. For the poor, nor food, nor clothes, nor a fire, Nor a homo for their heads liave got; So I'll pierce them through with my chillivig cold, Till they wish that death were their lot. And if some, perchance, a siielter may have, I will get me a passage rare, Through the broken panes, and the yawning crackB, Ha! no double windows are there. Not a fire, not a stove, to check my power, Nothintr there but tlie naked wall : Oh! the wintry wind in the poor man's house. Is the sovereiyrn lord of ail. They must bow and bend *neath his iron rule, With shivering and trembling limb: And with l)roken heart and with bloodless lips, They must render homage to him. ^Ht' ■fi- 1 ^^^■-r. i So saying, stern Winter pass'd, till he came, To the door of a mansion gay. Where the blazing fire, and the candles bright ; Bade good bye to departing day. THC KNAPSACK. \s nearer he drew, ho saw by that door, A young boy, so pale and so wan, Whoso every gesture, and every look, vSpoke of misery's withering ban. 35 i No Father, no mother, had ho to watch, O'er hia welfare with holy joy ; Alone, and without one friend in the world, He wander'd a poor Orphan Boy. And oh ' how he gaz*d c. the good warm fire, And -wished ho was near to its heat ; For his clothes were ragged, tattor'd and torn, And no shoes had he on his feet. Soho ! says old Winter, here will 1 stop, While that boy is gazing at tliosc Enjoying the fire so warm and so snug, ril freeze up the blood of his toes. But Winter was doomed to suffer again Disappointment's most angry sting, For the mansion door has been open'd wide Vnd they've let in that cheerless thing. I I 36 THK KNAPSACK. Oh ! he has sat down by that roaring fire, And beside him a woU-fiUed plate, And hunger and cold have been chased away Far, far from that friendly gate. He had To he Had dou Andh Oh! that mansion's lord had a kindly heart, And he lodg'd and he clothed the boy He gave him his blessing and sent Inm forth, WiUi his young heart bounding with joy. Cut oh! That I And to g They 1 And the joy he felt bore his spirit up And gave to him courage anew, To battle with life's many dangerous ills Till a prosperous man ho grew. But the V Who V And told And ba Years roird along, and at last he stood 'Mid the high mid the learned of the land, Yet he never forgot that cold, cold night Nor his kind host's fostering hand. .\nd that And ho And his v Till eai * So time still sped and the kind friend died And his widow mourned for him sore. For his voice and his glance were dear to her heart And she'd dream of them ever more. {•So he gaii Was d( Vnd the h Ne'er b TBS KNAPSACK. He had been rich, and had left his wealth To her who through woo and weal, Had doubled the bliss of his hours of joy, And had striven his sorrow to heal. 87 But oh ! in the world there are cormorants That proy on the substance of man, \nd to gain the widow's glittering gold, Thoy had laid full quickly a plan. But the widow sent for a counsel keen, Who well knew our country's laws; And told him her talo in honour and truth, And bade liim defend her cause. \iid that counsel arose before the judge. And ho pled with a mighty will; And his words flowed on with resistless force. Till each heart in that court stood still. »So he gained the cause ; and the widow's gold Was declared to be hers alone ; \nd the hearers said, that the counael's words Ne'er before with such splendour shone. 38 THE KNAPSACK. Oh! they did not know, that his heart was full Of a feeling which ne'er could die- That his thoughts and his words ol burning truth, Were bom of a gratitude high. Oh! they did not know that 'twas he who onoe. On a cold and bitter night, Had been fed and clothed by the lady's lord, And blessed with his blessing bright. Yes!— he who had gain'd the widow's cause— Who had filled her heart with joy ; Stood forth, revealed before them then— For he was that Orphan Boy. THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM. Written a few hours after the scene took place, which it faintly attempts to depict. Delirium Tremens ! Most appropriate name. Come hither drunkard, come along with me, And I, in very tinith, will shew thee what May be thy end — may bo thy destiny — May be thy dark and deeply bitter lot ; Come, and together wo will mark the power, The withering, scorching, soul-destroying sign, Which o'er the drunkard's path piust ever lower, Telling of ruin, fearful and condign ; Crying aloud with trumpet-voice to all, Thus drunkard's perish— thus do drunkard's fall. 40 THE KNAPSACK. Oh come ! and let the awful scene be felt Within the deep recesses of thy heart, Until it cause each itubborn vice to melt, And bid them thence for evermore depart. Oh ! let it grave its lesson on thy mind, In burning feelings time will ne'er efface. In soul-felt promptings, that you yet may find The will and power your errors to retrace ; To cast away for ever and for aye The tempter's power to lead your steps astray. Look here ! stretched out upon his dying bed, Lies God's fair image, shatter'd and defaced; Strength, power, and reason, utterly are fled. And all man's noble attributes debased. All, all are gone, the casket there is left. But all its jewels have been torn away ; And whose the daring hand which thus has reft Man of his strength, and Reason of her sway ? 'Tis drink, strong drink, which thus has iaid him low. Which ruins soul and body at a blow. And mark the hideous smile, the grizzly grin, Which flits across the raving maniac's face ; And say, are those the smiles which kind hearts win. Which sweep away stern sorrow's bitter trace ? # THE KNAPSACK. And mark again the glaz'd and wandering eye, The tell-tale index of the mighty fire Which burns within, destroying all the high God-given thoughts which teach us to aspire ; And say, are those the glances which impart Relief unto the watcher's troubled heart ? 41 But see! returning reason fills the eye With retrospection's bitter, scalding tear ; And as the world seems from his grasp to fly. Strong is his terror, desperate his fear. And fast a-down his sad and furrow'd face, Tear rolls on tear, proclaiming that the mind Feels want of comfort — ^want of saving grace, — Feels that they are, yet knows not how to find Their consolations, and, with words of pain, He speaks the sorrows which within him reign. " Cold, I feel very cold, Darkness is coming fast, And strange and fearful things Their shadows round me cast. A stormy ek ment appears To sweep around me now; A fire of fearful strength Seems burning on my brow. D* 42 THE KNAPSACK. A weight, a mighty weight, Seems lying on my heart— 1 wish it were away, I wish it would depart. And surely I am blind, For now I cannot see, Oh! what is this which thus So heavy falls on me ? My mouth is parched and dry, My lips seem hard and tight, My tongue is swelling up, All, all is dark as night. I scarce can speak a word, I scarce can draw a breath . And now I feel that this Can nothing be but— Death? And death is terrible When coming thus to me, So full of vice, and sin, And woful misery! Oh! now I feel the sting Which dwells within the cup. Which gnaws away the heart And eats the vitals up! Which preys upon the flesh, Which steals away the soul, Which glories in the wish To drive away the whole THE KNAPSACK. Of blest Religion's props, The sinner's only stay, In such a time as this — His last, his dying day !'* 48 He ceased ; and 'mid the silence rose fi voice— The voice of one commissioned forth to show To erring mortals that they should rejoice, Since God alone can pardon all below ; And even that in life's last, darkest hour, As shown unto the thief upon the cross. Repentant sinners may invoke His power To save their souls from everlasting loss ; May claim the mercy offered unto all Who sue for mercy, who for mercy call. And pure and fervent were the words which came From God's own minister by that bedside ; Pure as a crystal, fervent as a flame. Raising up hope, and crushing worldly pride. And long and earnestly did he beseech, With voice of prayer, the Holy Onq in heaven, That rest and peace might that poor wand'rer reach ; That all his mountain sins might be forgiven, That when from earth his soul would wing its flight, It might be clad with Christ's redeeming light 44 THE KNAPSACK. And as the breathing weaker, fainter grew, He bent his head and whispered in the ear Of him whose living moments were so few, Words which would help him thro' deaths portals drear. Told him, that tho' his tongue might still refuse To speak the language which his bosom felt. To lift his heart with humbleness profuse, And join with him, as lowly there he knelt, In his petition to the Throne of Grace, That he might see with joy his Father's face. " My God! my God!" in low and wailing tone, Came from that bed ; and he who late so proud, So full of health and vigour stately shone, Amid earth's gay and many-passion'd crowd. Is cold and still — a senseless, soulless thing — A gree n leaf shaken from its parent bough, While yet around it bloomed the power of spring. And all seemed clad in nature's brightest glow, Until drink's upas-poison nipped its bloom. And sent it to a dark untimely tomb. Think, drunkard, think, and turn thee from the way Which leads to consumation such as this; Turn, and determine, oh! resolve and pray To be delivered from the dark abyss THE KNAPSACK. 45 Which yawns before thee, threatening to enclose Within its awful gulf thy life's best props, And give thee in return devouring woes— Heart-scalding torments — blasted, wither'd hopes— And all the dreary panoply of grief, Which seeks, yet finds not, resting nor relief. LINES ON THE DEATH OF SERJEANT THOS. ROSE Oh! 'twas a sad and solemn scone That dying comrade's bed, Where faithful friends around him hung, Or moved with silent tread. — And there he lay: his manly frame How wasted, weak, and worn — A shadow pointing to the grave — Of all its glory shorn. How shortly since in healthful glow, In manly beauty's piide, He moved with gay and laughing eye. And youth's elastic stride. — TBi: KlfAFSACK. 47 Now listless, languid, rolls that eye, That haughty step is gone ; The merry thought- - the careless glance- Are now forever flown. Oh ! kind and gentle was his heart ; And manly were his ways ; And many deeds, in secret done. Might claim our loudest praise : Yet he had sinn'd like other men, Had trod temptation's path, Had deeply drank sin's seeming BWeets, And felt sin's biting wrath. And oh ! how sweet to think that he Left life and all behind. And quit this changing troubled world With calm and happy mind: For with siacere and earnest prayer, He long had firmly striven, To cast away all earthly thoughts — To think alone of heaven. And who that saw that closing scene, So full of peace and rest. 48 THB KKAPBAOK. But saw Religion's power supreme In radiance bright confest ; And who that heard his words of hope, Of thankfulness and praise, But wished that they, with faith like his Might calmly end their days. Then fare -thee- well my well lov'd friend- Farewell my comrade dear — Nor mine alone the sigh of grief, Nor yet the parting tear ; For all thy comrade's tears of love, Shall wet thy grave's green sod, Yet still draw comfort from the thought- Thy soul dwells with its God. THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 'F i ff Martial music cam© Upon the breeze with melancholy wail ; No longer stirring up within the heart, That burning ardour which inspires the charge Of Britiiin's hosts, when, on the embattled plain. They pour upon the foe their mighty strength. Shattering the well-formed squiire, the long.drawnline) Or heavy column with overpowering force— A force which lives not in numeric strength — ^ The force of love of country, love of home-— Which has its dwelling with the well-tried sons Of Britain's wave washed isle— *lurks in each breast, And gives to weakly hands o'erwhelming strength- Makes men of children— girds with bracing bands The toil worn soldier's sinking frame— and 'midst The roaring battle's rage, incites to deeds- Of dangerous daring, worthy high renown : I This is the force which makes them what they are, Their foemen's dread and terror. 50 TBB KNAPSACK* Those Bugle's tones are now so soft and slow. And sweetly sad it seems as if their voice Had never breathed but sorrow's saddest strains. And why this change, from shrill and piercing clang. To griefs low voice, and sorrow's dismal moan ? Why ! — now they chant a soldier's requiem sad, And give his " death song" to the passing winds, That they may bear it to his far off home, And leave its echoes lingering o'er the spot Which saw his birth — his own, his native land. Where he h ad hoped his ashes might repose- Vain hope for him ! — no kindred soil provides His long, last restuig place — no well known nook. Within the village churchyard shields his dust, Where sorrowing friends might trim the lowly sod-- Might rear sweet flowers as monuments of love, Watering the plants with sorrow's ripening rain, Affections tears — no! — no such place for him — His comrade soldiers bear his last remains With slow and stately steps — a mournful train With sorrow's mark stamp'd on each manly brow, — To lay their comrade in the stranger's grave—. Within the cold breast of a foreign soil — Unmarked, unmourned, save by themselves alone — And soon forgotten. — And not a thought pervades the gaping crowd. Attracted to the death scene by the sound Of that soft music— by the glittering show Of military pomp — they come to see THK KNAF8ACS. A soldier buried ; and to mark as strange His comrade's last farewell, the volley loud, Proclaiming far and near, that Death had claimed, Perhaps in manhood's budding pride and prime, One of those thousands who but live to die. 51 They do not think That he — who thus amid tho thundering noise Of that rude volley, had been placed within The dark and silent grave— has claims on them For sorrow, or for pity — No! — not they ! Thoy do not think, thai, to protect the rights They loudly boast of, he had left his home — His fatJier's roof — ^his mothei^'s tender care— His sisters', brothers', all enduring love— His young heart's treasure — whispering in her ear. That he will soon return, and claim again The plighted troth, sealed with the burning: 1 I have hiish'd in the grave so cold and low, And laid her to sleep, aye ! side by side, With her well-lov'd child—with her heart's high pride : And yet, and always, with frantic glee, I have claim'd the Drunkard as prey for me. I have stricken the rising youth a blow, Which hath laid ambition and hope full low— I have pour'd in his ear my fearful name. And over his heart my burning iiame— And his heart hath withered and wasted away. And I still swept along, for p-ey — more prey ! In the squalid den, in the sumptous hall I have spread my dark funereal pall, And yet, aixd always, with frantic glee I have claim'd the Drunkard as prey for me. And manhood's power I have smitten down, With my blasting, withering, scorching frown,- What were his plans and his schemes to me His thoughts of gain, and his rivalry ? I swept him away, and for more, still more, I have pass'd in wrath from shore to shore— And in every land, and in every clime Where the poison cup did its slaves entwine, I have felt and sworn with frantic glee. That the Drunkard was lawful prey for me. •! 60 THE KNAPSACK. And even the old and the helpless man, Hath felt my power and my tearful ban, I have stricken liini down without a sigh, As 1 swept in strength that old man bye. And away on the wings of the mighty wind, I have sailed and left the cast behind, And here, amid regions of frost and snow, I will cool my forehead's burning glow — And here, as there, with frantic glee I will claim the drunkard as prey for me. This was the song of the Cholera sprite, As it sped its course on the wings of night-— Unheeded, unmarked, till its strong hand fell On the human race ,with a withering spell ; True were the words, they were traced in death, In many a drunkard's parting breath. For the fiery liquid meets and blends With the sprite's dread power, and the vessel rends, Then turn thee drunkard — turn thee away. Or the Cholera sprite will have thee as prey. rind, TO D. W lit— fell 11; n death, }ssel rends, •ev. Aye Wylie! Winter's cauld has fled, An' Spring has come again ; But yet it canna pour a balm Ower never deein' pain. The river's streams rin fast an' free, Yet canna sweep awa' The canker at the blighted heart, Nor ease its grief ava. Spring deeds again the fields wi' flow'rs, Sae gallant an' sae braw ; But shatter'd hopes, an' broken vows. Spring never can reca'. Spring heals the sick, its ba'rny breeze Sen's health thro' ilka vein; But yet it canna cheer the heart Wha's hopes an' joys are gane. F 62 THE XNAPSACIC. Na ! Spring has mony, mony charmSi For mony, mony a heart ; But flowers an' fields, and wimplin' streama Tae me nae joy impart. My heart nae langer joins wi* yours In gazin* ower the main, — Nae langer echoes back the wish That I war hame again. Hame ! — whar's the hame o' broken hearts,— The hame o' cheerless woe — The hame o' cherish'd hopes an' joys. For ever noo laid lo w ? Whar s'ould it be ? A foreign stran' Wash'd by d foreign wave — Unkenn'd — unnoticed — hid frae a' — ■ Its name — the wand'rer's grave. Death's chill abode gies rest at last, There disappointment's pang Is felt nae mair — there envy's tongue Has lost its pois'ning fang. The grave, tho' dark, an' shuttin' out This warl', its grief an' joy, Opes up a vista bricht an' clear, O* Peace without alloy ; THE KWAPgACK. OpeB wldd the gate o' that abode, Whar grief, an' woe, an' pain ' Nae entrance fin'— whar endless love An' glory only reign — Whar everlastin' peace bin's up The heart the warl' has riven Whar everlastin* joy is fan' An' fan' alane—in Heaven. 08 TO THE SAME. Na, na! my kin', my irili/ freen, Ye needna bid me sing, Whan fresh an' gushin' frne your heart Sao mony bricht thochts spring. Sae, gin yo want a sang o' Hame, Jist sing yin o' your ain ; I'll ne'er compete for numbers sweet, Wi ano liite you again. Wh.an wily Scotchmen tread life's road. They fin' a wull an' way, Wi thochts o' things lang past an' gano, Tao cheer it's darkest day ; An' blytlie am I, my freen, tae think Your sorrow nae sae deep, But that a gleam, tho' in a dream, O' Hame can mak' it sleep. THE KNAPSACK. ^Vhen (Iroam awa*, I wanna break The sweet enchantin' chain, Which links the wanderer's heart wi harae, An' drags him back again, Wi ony darksome thochts o' mine, Which rise unbidden whiles. An' lang's they last a shadow cast Ovver joy, an' mirth, and smilei. 65 Ye dinna think that joy is fled, Nor yet your hopes o' fame; Then, hence the greenin at the 'ieaift— The wish that ye war hame. Wha flings the glamour ower you' /«su- The witchcraft ower your heart ? But cheerin' Hope, man's dearest prop, The last an* warst tae part ;<- For while within the wand*rer*s breast, Hope has a dwellln' got. Imagination pictures hame A bricht aFi' bonnie spot. But whan wi heart- destroyin* power. That prop is rent in twa. The picture's grace ye canna trace, Wi' Hojjc its fled a wa. 66 THE KNAPSACK, But Hope, my freen, I weel can tell, Has been fu' douce an' sure. An* ta'en a lang lease o' a heart, Wha's thochts are guid an* pure ; An' had she socht baith far an* near. She cou'dna got a better Than your's, whar youth, combined wi' truth, Mang glitt'rin' gems has set her. Lang may she reign in power supreme!— In an' aroun' that heart ; Nor ever lea' it unprepared For sorrow's stingiu' dart. Oh! Hope can niak' ye fin' a hame, Whan hopeless men despair, — Hope shines sae proud, thro' grief's dark cloud, Maist boj-'utifu' an' fair. Wi' beatiu' heart an' boundin' breast, I grasp the freenly ban', A stranger tae a stranger gics Within a foreign Ian' ; For, oh! its grup gaes roun' my heart. An' lichts again a flame I thocht wad ne'er hae bnm'd sae clear, Sae far away (rae hame. TO THE SAME. Tutsf cheer ye— cheer ye up my freer*. Ye ken life's but a span. Which stretches ower a troubled stream 0' grief an' woes tae man. And as we cross this "bridge of sighs/' We meet wi' inony a turn O' fortune's wheel,— wi' mony a caus& Tae mak' us grieve an' mourn. Aye! mony a strange an' fearful sight. We see as on we toil; An' mony a bitin' sneer we feel, Which mak's our heart's blood boil j An' mony a grief we never tell, Works sternly at tiie heart; And oh! wi' mony a chorish'd joy Ueluctantly we part. n 68 THE KNAPSACK. Aye ! life's broad path has mony lures, An' traps which sune beguile The heedless traveller aff his road, An' ruin as they smile : An' mony a high an' happy youth, — Ower cdnfident an' brave, — ' Has sunk, o'erwhelm'd wi' vice's snares In shame's dishonored grave. Aye ! mony a sight o' woe an' want, An' misery we see: An' mony a sample o' the ills That virtue has tae dree : And weary, weary is our road — Lang, lang our shortest day ; An' dull at times the brichtest sun That shines upon our way. hi ^Ul, - ^ But cheer ye — cheer ye up my freen ! Let's turn the picture o'er, May be some brichter ray may tell O' peace an' joy in store. For gin your cares press unco hard— Gin grief vere heart has riven — Remember llim wha bore an' bled, That ye micht bo forgiven. THE KNAPSACK. 601 An* gin the mony wilderin' lichts, That guide us on tae sin, Should ever flit across your path, An* strive your heart tae win ; Remember then that Faith's bricht lamp Alane burns clear an' pure, An* safe conducts thro* storm an* strife- A* them that weel endure. The outward warld has altered nane— It still remains unchanged, — But sune as youth*s bricht bubble bursts. Our warld is a' deranged. An* then we fin* that proniises Are broken as they're given— That a* the glitterin* dreams o* youth Far — far awa are driven. Then since we twa are pilgrims here, E'en let's jog on thegither, Contented, happy, when we can, Despite life's roughest weather; For gin the " small still voice" withins Our breasts has kindly thriven. Be shure we'll fin' a place o* rest—. A port 0* hope in Heaven. m STANZAS ON LEAVING SCOTLAND. Adieu ! adieu ! my bonnie Jean, Adieu! adieu to Scotia's isle, rm gauii awa' noo ance for a' All' ne'er again I'll see thee smile. It is my fate that bids me gang, An' I maun follow at the ca', Tae ithcr lan's across the sea — Tae ither regions far awa.' m mmi; An' yet my Jean, whate'er my fate- Let fortune smile or frown on me— I'll ne'er forget the happy hours, I've spent at hame alang wi' thee. U' T«B KNAPSAClC. 71 I Canna weel forget those hours, For they were hours o' sparklin* bliss, Which seldom constant cheer the way, O' wanderers in a warl' like this. I canna weel forget those joys — Joys which 1 thocht would last for aye, Joys, Jeanie ! which a word o' thine Has blasted in a single day. Why did ye let me bask sae lang Within the sunshine o' your smile. Which kindled love, and dinna tell That love would meet wi' nocht but guile ? Why did ye let me look upon A face as radiant as the day. And dinna tell its beauty's pride. Was but to lure and then betray. Twas cruel Jeanie, thus in sport, Tae spread love's never failing wiles. An' then tae break the trustin' heart That cam' within their fatal toil&. ? I :-k 72 THE KXAPSACK. 'Twae crael, Jeanie, thus to crush, Beneath thy beau!;y's high disdain, A i. iri who's pulse beat high wi' thine— Wha's hopes and thochts were a' thine ain. Adieu! adieu! my bonnie Jean, May ilka happiness be thine; An' may ye never feel m pain Like that which racks this heart o* mine. "'^^HMIMIWWWMIiin nrrniiminiiiii'rnrniini oiminiiiwwiHifciiii .ii:^-,. in, thine— i' thine ain. o mine. EPISTLE TO J K )N HIS JOINING A TEETOTAL SOCIETY. Dear* Jock, Fm unco glad tae hear That tae the preacher } e'vo gi'en ear- That Rum an' Whiskey, Gin an' Beer Ye hae forsworn ; An' that ye mean, devoid o' fear Tae drap your "horn." Fu' weel ye ken that I myseP, Hae aften prov'd the fearfu' spell, That lies in Whiskey's deep draw-well. Yet ne'er wad stap ; But aye, despite Auld Nick himseP Wad hae a drap. a 74 THE KNAPSACK. 1 > m '\ ■i 4 Fu* weel ye ken that Whiskey aft, Wi' a* its wild deceitfu' craft, In earnest faith has turn'd me daft, — Mair times than ane— An' ower me cam' wi's sowther saft, Like ony wean. An' aft it has amang the snaw, Ta'en a' my wee hue sense awa,* An' row'd me, — like anither ba,'— Up hill an' doon ; Syne sent me hame wi' mony a fa', An' wanting shoon. An* mony a time, whan rous'd wi' " scab Jist soakit lilie anither swab — An' lookin' like — a drucken drab — I've staucher'd hame, An* threaten'd syne tae kill or stab Some — stick or stane. ff An* weel ye ken — 'tween you an* me — Hoo aft I've sworn nae mair tae preo. An' turn'd the leaf — turn'd volumes three Frae en' tae en' — But back the unco drouth wad flee ; I couldna' men'. THE KNAPSACK. 75 An' gin for twa-three days I drapt it, My life — for ony dog's I'd swapt it — Was like a tub — toom, dry, an* warpit, — Or gizzcn'd backet. That sma'est push in staves wad drapt it, Wi' fearfu' racket. An' in this het an' thirsty weather. Since flesh is clay, tao keep't thegither, I e'en maun wat it, spite a swither. Or else my men', I'll la' tae dust like clay my brither, An' blin' folks een. An' sae dear Jock, I'll hae a dram Whane'er I like — whene'er I can, An' care na bye what ony man May say or sweer; For me tae drap it's buff an' bam: I'll hae my beer. But yet, altho' I canna speel The temp'rance hill, I like fu' weel Tae see my freen's baith true an' leal, Like you my billie, Gae prosperin' on, sae fare ye weel Says Scabbie Willie. STANZAS ON THE DEPARTURE OF LIEUT.-COLONEL DENNY, TO TAKE COMMAND OF THE 1st BATTALION 71st REGIMENT. When from the high and gifted ones^ That dwell within the land, A shower of praise and plaudit comes. Shed with unsparing hand ; When from the g* od and gr at of earth, The lordly, and the proud. Thy merit claims. ; rig!', of bii i, Applause prolonged and loud; We know that 'mid the voir > of all, the noble, good and wise, The humble Soldier's votive mite, thy Ii- .irt will not . despise. THE KNAPSACK. 77 We know, that we, within thy heart, A dwelling place have got ; We know, that tho' from us you part, We shall not be forgot ; Wo know, that though the older tree, Requires thy fostering hand, Tl'y thoughts will oft-times cross the sea, To Canada's fair land — Will dwell upon the sickly plant you nourished well and true. And left it, grown a stately tree, most beautiful to view. Thy hand received us, rude, untaL^jht— Li ulearned in warlike lore, — A mingled i lass with trouble fraught. With work enough in store ; I'hy skill — thy patience — thy kind heart, O'ci ame ^he tubborn soil. And rich tho produce of thy art— The of pring of thy toil. For now, we caro no.' Hen jr where, nor whom before we stand, Wo are, through thee, united now, » firm, determined band. We owe to thee the child's deep lev. For all thy ^ender care, G* ^f' I « 78 THE KNAPSACK. Tliou did'st to ns a father prove, In kindness passing rare. Amongst us there be many a mind Which fain would speak its thought ; And fain would tell of actions kind, Which on the lieart have wrought ; And though no outward trace might tell tlie strong, deep feeling felt ; Within those hearts, tho' lowly they, thy kindness ever dwelt. '?-^ > Long as the sun holds on his course, And o'er us sheds his ray, — Long as we feel some guiding force Control us day by day, We prize it not, but when its light Is fled, and darkness lowers, Then, then we miss its radiance bright — Its strong protecting powers; So will we miss, when thou art gone, thy rule so firm, yet kind, Which quelled so many wayward hearts with truly master mind. Then fare thee -well! — but with thee take, A prayer sincere and true, A prayer which many an echo wakes. In hearts aye true to you ; *ji-s iil THE KNAPSACK, 79 May He who reigns o'er flood and field Protect both thee and thine : May Peace and Love forever yield To thee their fruit sublime I And oft will wo, in winter's nights, with tales of thee combine, To keep alive thy fame and name, and memories of " Lang Syne." 1 *: ■♦ SPRING. All hail! sweet Spring! thy genial sun, Thy earth-refreshing showers, Tell welcome tales of coming joy, Green fields and lovely flowers. I love thy beauty dearly, Spring, And very sweet to me, The balmy fragrance of thy breath. And all that speaks of thee. Oh ! how I love to mark thy power Spread o'er all Nature's face, A new-born charm of loveliness. Of Beauty — Joy — and Grace. J»f! / THE KNAPSACK. / 1 love to see thee spreading out Thy carpeting of green, A cushion meet for woman's feet- For Nature's darling Queen. I love to see thee stretching out Thy hand upon the trees, And bidding Ijud and leaf spring forth. Rejoicing in thy breeze ; And decking all their gaunt, bare forms. So desolate and wild, With beauty's brightest hues, as doth A mother deck her child. 81 :3 A I love to see thee struggling with Old Winter's cherished snow. And throwing o'er its cold, item power. Thy spirit's soft'ning flow. % n I love to see thy magic wand Break Winter's icy chain, — Which bound our rivers and our rills,— And set them free again. 82 THE KNAPSACK. I love to hear those sweeping streams Go rushing past in glee, Leaping— rejoicing— praising Spring- That they again are free. 1 love to hear all Nature's voice Throughont Creation sing, With joyous shouts, proclaiming, Thou Art come again, sweet Spring. I love to see thee, gentle Spring, Pour blessings on the soil, And bidding plenty smile upon The hardy sons of toil. I love thy soothing influence. Which lilts the heart on high, And bids us praise the Pow'r which sent Thy blessing from ihe sky. LINES. Passing through one of the streets of the village, (Sorel,) some time ago, I observed the, to me, strange appearance of a small piece of crape fluttering at the door of the residence of a young medi- cal man, who had died very suddenly. I v/as much struck \ii ith the effect produced, and on my return home, penned the fol- lowmg lines. *Twas at a lowly mansion's door Beam's black insignia hung : And o'er all things wathin its sphere A sombre sadness flung. Clear was tbe morning's frosty air, And brightly shone the sun, — And yet his rays fell dully there, Where Death his work had done. And wbo are they, that seek the door Which others seem to shun, Despite the cold Death-sign which streams So strangely in the sun ? SPf Si 11 i WjSm ^n I WkM \\ 84 THE KNAPSACK. 1'.'.* 4 'I Health blooms upon their rosy cheeks, And sparkles in their eyes, What want they then 'mid grief and death- 'Mid sorrow, tears, and sighs ? Ah ! they are Women coine to share The sorrow of a wife, — From whom, so young. Death's ruthless hand Snatch'd all her joy in life. They come to pour affection's tide Of comfort on the ear. Of her who listless — nerveless droops, Beside a husband's bier. Oh Woman! when grief fills the heart, V'hen sickness frets the mind, Tlien art thou found a comforter, — So quiet, yet so kind. i.i»; mm And when life's silver thread has snapped, Amid Love's strong despair, Then Woman's lips sweet words of hope, ire softly murmuring there. LINES ON THE DEATH OF MY DAUGHTER. My child — my child! — my heart grows sad To watch thy vacant eye ; To mark the fever's deepening flush, Across thy young face fly. Thy plaintive v/ail of anguishM pain, I cannot bear to hear, Its tones with leaden weight of woe. Sink deeply in mine ear. And through the ear they strike the heart, So heavy and so chill, It seems as e*en if Hope's sweet tongue For ever more was still. ^^ 86 THE KNAPSACK, i.l) t if Thy restless tossing to and fro, I cannot bear to see : It tells my stricken heart that there Is little rest for thee. The burning brow — the parched lip- Thy ^earful suffering tell, In language which a Father's heart Can understand full well. 'Tis pitiful to stand and see The strong man fetter' d down. On siokness' bed— his boasted strength- His high, proud bearing flown. Yet he can call lor cold, cold ice, To cool his burning brow — Can call for water — water clear, To quench his thirst's fierce g\om^ But oh! it crushes down the heart The fevec'd child to see, — To mark the many untold wants It fain would *«11 to thee. « THE KNAPSACK. 87 And thou can*st only glance thine eye So vacantly and wild — Thy little tongue no thought can speak, My own — my darling child. The few — few words thou speakest now, Art not the words of old, For thou wert blythe and happy then. And pleasure round thee roU'd. The ringing of thy merry voice, Was music sweet to ihe ; The flashing of thy dark blue eye, Spoke loud of childhood's glee. Changed — changed is no^^' ^hat merry tone, For pain's most bitter cry ; And now, e'en tears which give relief, Come not unto thine eye. - i €h! would that I could bear thy pairi— Could ease thy load of woe- Could but transfer the withering pow'r Which sits upon tiiy brow. i^M.-.. ^11! 88 THE KNAFSACE. 1 :• . And oh ! how gladly would its pangs: Be felt — be borne — by me, So that a little resting space, Could given be to thee. But He who reigns supreme o*er all. Dread arbiter of fate, Marks all thy suffering, sent by Him In mercy good and great. ■if r i. m Let me not then a\ idi vain complaint. Thus murmur at His will. But wait His pleasure with my child,^ Obedient — humble still. *Tis come ! — a change has swept across Thy lineaments of love ; And anguish'd pain is now replaced By peace sent from above. Is A feeble smile plays round thy lips — A faint light in thine oye — And "Mother! Mother!" gushes forth. In life's last, lowly cry. ' "telk.. iiiiAfc I tMU\ WS- THE KNAPSACK. 89 ITiy little fingers, clasped in mine, Cling closer— closer still— The film spreads slowly o'er thine eyes— And Death has had his will. Aye ! there thou art, serene and calm, Beyond earth's paining power— And of the garden of ray heart, Another wither'd flower. I know I should wot pine, nor weep, Since thou art snatched away,— So sinless, from a sinful world — I should not weep, but pray. The plant is only withered here, To spring a stately tree, Before the throne of Him who said, " Let children come to me." ii STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF HELEN MASON, \\n\ r WHO DIED A FEW DAYS Al'TETl MY DAUGIITEB, AND WUO WAS HER FAVOKITE COMPANION. ••K I I Again I gaze upon thy power Stern, unrelenting Death : How true it is that Life is but A dream — a passing breath. Yet here thou hast no ghastly look. No terrors diiik ia>d wild — Nor aught to s*; uo (bud love away- Tliy victim wu^ a child. A child was she of beauty bright — A child of sweetness rare — A child to gain a stranger's heart — And ket'p possession there. Oh! beautiful is she in death, And pure as unstain'd snow; And o'er her face a heavenly beam, Its halo seems to throw. THB KNAPSACK. So olm — so chenrfal — sho appears, In this, her long, la- jst, Iler very features tell that she Lives now— among c blest. Twas but tlie other day iliat death. Her young compuaion took; Her friend at home, or in the field — • At play, or r t her book. And often would she .si ailing say, « To Jessie's house I'll run And ^)lay with hor" — nor would she leavo Until the day w done. And now, alas! — 1 ) Jessie's house — That house the grave so deep — Must Helen go, beside her friend, In Death's cold arms to sleep. And wo have laid them, side by side. Within the church ynrd green ; Two sweeter, fairer flowers were ne'er Laid there before I ween. Together now they dwell for aye — One house recoives the twain — The heavenly mansions of their God, *Mid love's eternal reign. 01 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 7 // '^ {./ /.^ %^ . m^ U0 /j 1.0 I.I 1.25 |50 '"^ M 1.8 U 11.6 e W /#/ ^l /A ^.x^' 'i'" 'en .-^■ o 7 Photographic Sciences Coiporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 LINES ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. **Few were thy days and full of woe," My dearly loved boy, No bright, nor happy hours had*st thou, Nor aught of earthly joy. Thy short, alloted span was but One draught of bitter soitow ; Not even Hope's reflected smile Shone on thy coming morrow : Thy life but struggled on with Death ; Thy sun arose in pain. And set 'mid agonizing throes Which rent my heart in twain. THE KNAPSACK. 93 But He whose great decree had doomed Thy short tho' suffering part, Has banished all thy grief and paia By Death's unerring dart; And now for all the withering pains. Which He had wisely given, A world of joy surrounds thy soul— The joy which dwells in heaven. And if below thou suffered much, Thy bliss who now can tell. When praises to the heavenly Gqc^ Alone thy bosom swell . LINES ON RECEIVING INTELLIGENCE OF THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. How strong upon the wanderer's mind, Death's stern cold tidings fall! And in a iiioment wraps the heart With sorrow's darkest pall. To think that with the fond lov'd one. My thoughts of joys to come Must sink into the grave of Time, Unknowing and unknown — To think on day-dreams of the pride With which I would return, And round the home-hearth tell the tales, Of toils and trials home. TMB EXAPSACK. 95 And, as some narrow 'scape was told^ Would mark the beaming eye, Gaze on us with a look ol love, Whish told of heart-felt joy. And in our grief wbuld grieve with tis, Reciprocate our smile. Join in our laughter with a heart So simple, free from guile. But gone are all those dreams of blissy Which cheer the wanderer's way; The throbbings of the heart I lov*d Are silent now for aye. ' I could not watch arotind the bed, Nor still pain's aching swell — Nor smooth the pillow for the head Of her I lov'd so well. I could not by my fondness cheer The spirit's parting flight. Nor waft a farewell as it swept Aloft to realms of light. 06 THfi KNAPSACK. No ! even to the charnel house, I could not follow en, To lay the lov'd head in the earth, Or raise the sculptur'd stone. I could not trim the velvet turf, Nor plant the modest ilovver, To shed its fragrance o'er the spot Which marks Death's iron power. Tis bitter thus far off from home. To know that Death's sharp dart Has pierc'd a parent once so prized, Even to that filial heart — I- To feei those cherished hopes and joys Which dazzled the mind's eye, Departing, as a phantom gaunt : Thus deep'ning sorrow's sigh. AN ADDRESS \ OF AN OLD SEVENTY-FIRST MAN, TO A RECRUIT, ON HIS PROCEEDING TO JOIN THAT REGIMENT. Go! — join that band of gallant men. Whose forbears live in story ; Whose number bears a deathless name, Crowned with a living glory, Earn'd in the hard and well-fought fields, Where British power and might. Triumphant rose o'er Gallia's pride. And quelFd her eagle's flight: For had its course sped freely on. How many happy lands. Rejoicing now in freedom gain'd, H. d felt her iron bands. mm 98 THfi K!iAtBA6t.i How many bright cheeks would have pal^dy How many hearts would then, Have burst with anguish as the tread Of hosts of armed men, Came, echoing through their peaceful vales. And spreading wide and far. The desolation — death — and doom. Which track grim-visag'd war ; And spreading o'er home-scenes of love. So sweet, so calm and mild. Despair and grief, and broken hearts, To mother, maid, and child. But British hearts, and British steel. Put forth their power to save. And planted Freedom's peerless flag Deep in Oppression's grave ; Aye! — from their charge the steel- clad hosts Of France roll'd back and reel'd. And left them in their right and might, Proud masters of the field. Go youngster ! — join their gallant ranks. And when the battle's tide, Rolls round you, then remember how Old Seventy-First men died. E'en now the genius of those fields. Is hov'ring by my side, "'asiir; THB KNAPSACK. 99 And stirring visions of the past, O'er memory's surface glide. Once more I join the wild hurrah, When, on Vittoria's field, Our onward path no power could stem, But all must die or yield. On — on we sweep — how terrible Are strong men in their might — Our foes are scattered far and wide, And victory crowns the fight! Go! — join their ranks my gallant boy, Your hour of pride may come, To prove the sternness of the race RearM in our mountain home; To prove tho' young, the soldier's heart, Is with the old corps still, For in the battle's din and strife Each Scotchman's heart will fill; And, as they charge, their shout will be- A shout ne'er heard in vain — Down — down upon them Seventy- First, Vittoria again! WHAT MY WIFE MUST BE. Written on hearing a friend say he would not have a wife unless lio got one that could sing. There's some who for a partner thro' this life, Would choose a short one — some would have a tall- There's some want wealth and beauty in a wife — And some who would not have a wife at all. There's some who want— I always think they will too- A strange perfection, ever sought in vain, Which we can ne'er poor human nature drill to — Which but exists in some poor lover's brain. That I must marry, something whispers me, So 1 will tell you what my wife must be. I want some beauty, would not have too much, But just enough to « pass in any crowd," — A well-made form, would not shrink at a touch — A steady temper, neither mean nor proud — THE KNAPSACK. 101 rd wish, you know, to make life*8 wheels run smooth. And would, if I could manage, handle cash. But, if I could not get it, why forsooth, — As Tve no craving wish to cut a dash — I'd do without — but mild and modest she Must speak and feel, who my dear wife would be. But there is yet the all pervading clause, — The inward craving after something more — The want — the wish — which has, nor bounds, nor laws, I think I spoke about this wish before — And as I hope to please, and to be pleas'd. And help all those who wish my heart to try. And hoping not to tease, or to be teas'd, I'll tell in what my secret want does lie ; 'Tis this then, ladies, if you'd claim a ring From me, I tell you, my dear wife must — sing. And here, perhaps, some fair one cries — 'twere better, His wife could wash and bake — could mend and make — > Could read correctly — write a pretty letter — And all the duties of a household take! I cry for mercy, those are things which I Have always taken as premises granted, And therefore did not wish to bawl and cry That things which should be had by all, were wanted. 102 THE KNAPSACK. Because, without such gifts, no woman can Bring comfort, as a wife, to any man. Then why— I think I hoar her cry again— 'Bout such a trifle, kick up such a clatter! Trifle, my dear! just wait till I explain. And then you'll see that 'tis no trifling matter ; For I have said and sworn that 1 will not. Have ought to do with one of womankind,. Who this, my ultimatum, has not got— And I've been said to have a stubborn mind— Thevefore, in fact, its quite a settled thing, When I do take a wife, that wife mustsmg And more than that, she must not sing her song, As song& are sometimes sung in modern days, By "skirlin"' shakes and quavers wond'rous long. And marring thus our sweetest, purest lays. Her music teacher Nature's self must be. And she can teach, few would believe how well. Her notes so sweet and pure— so fresh and free. Sweep o'er the heart, and make the bosom swell With throbbing feelings which she can at will. Raise or depress— can kindle up or chill. My wife must sing with sweet and artless note. With gushing feeling, and with heart-felt tone. $ TUE KNAPSACK. 103 Not as if 'twere a thing got oft' by lote, But as the Poet's feelings wore her own ; I'd love her bettor as she sweeter sang, Her mellow voice would genial thoughts impart, And while the lingering echoes sweetly rang, I would, er aptur'd, clasp her to my heart. Oh! Home would be, with such a wife as this, A home of cheerful love, of lasting bliss. And why ? — because the woman who is blest. With Nature's music welling in her heart, Acts, in obedience to her bosom's guest. An ever cheerful, ever pleasing part. There's no sour looks to welcome your return,. Nor are you doom'd to disappointment's sting ; No endless "bickerings" which destroy and burn. Derange the house of which the mistress sings : For "canty" always— " couthie" — "gleg"— and kind, No useless murm'rings e'er disturb her mind. And would it not be pleasant, I would ask. When seated by your fireside, snug and clean. After, perhaps, some toilsome, tiresome task, *Mid biting weather, wintry, cold and keen. So hear your wife, with all a mother's heart, Ringing through every word, through every sound, 104 THE KNAPSACK. Sing some sweet song, some cheering ditty start, Wliich throws a magic influence around— Calms down the struggling infant at her breast, And sooths his little heart to peace and rest When joy would be the subject of her strain, Vd have her sing with hearty, bounding glee ; put when 'twould be in " melancholic vein," I'd wish her tunes so soft and sad to bo, That her sweet music would within my haart, Praise up a mourner for the poet's theme. Which with his grief would claim a kindred part, And mingle tears with his in sorrow's stream. Such strains as these would all my care beguile. Would prove an ample recompense for toil. And when the well spent day had pass'd and gone. Before you court kind sleep's refreshing rest. You solemnly approach the Heavenly throne. And crave in prayer, that you and your's be blest ; Then — then the time, for wife and mother's voice. To pour its music o'er the holy hour, — To join in hymns which make the heart rejoice. And o'er the spirit shed a soft'ning power — Which in melodious murmurs reach the sky, A fitting incense to ascend on high. THB KNAPSACK. 105 With such a wife, no matter what my lot, I think Fd happy and contented be. And, do not let it be at all forgot. That only such a wife will do for me. If I had but the making of the laws, 1 think I'd do mankind a bounteous thing, By putting in a strict and binding clause. That every maid, who*d be a wife, must sing ; And, if they'd say, why sir, I really can't; Why then, my dear, a husband you must want. 9 * m TO LUCY LAWSON. Oh, la! Lucy Lawson! — 'tis just as I thought, (I knew well your sex would not linger,) My verses, 1 see, a fair " screamer" have brought, Who, if she but had me, would give me a " clawt," Because she suspects that some mischief Fve wrought, By upholding the worth of a singer. I think, my dear Lucy, that what you have said. With regard to my rapturous kisses, ♦ Implies that you're labouring under the dread, That such sweets upon you will never be shed, And that you, in fact, are a bitter old maid, Who would fain have, but can't get her such blisses. What matter altho' that you really can't sing, You can still contradict my sweet treasure. And would if jou could, make some poor soul's ears ring, Tat knapsack:. 10^ With a tongue which has got an unmerciful spring, Which will not keep still, but must harp yach thing. Which you think interferes with your p.-asure. If my friend has jested, in earnest you think, That his laws seem e'en now to obtain, Since just at this moment you stand on the brink, Of old maidenhood's chasm, and can't get a blink Of connubial bliss, — no, not even a wink, As he passes, from any young swain. And as to the friend that had chosen a wife, Who could so melodiously sing, Perhaps 'twas himself who had risen the strife. Which served to embitter the stream of his life. By drink and debauchery — such things are rife, — And which every where discord must bring. Why should you expose her ? — was it that the maid Had got herself married before you — Or " put out your eye," with some lad who had laid His vows at your feet, but turn'd renegade Whenever she heard the sweet music she made. And swore he no more would adore you ? i MMMM 108 THB KNAPSACK. Alas ! my dear Lucy, Tin sorry that you Should thus have fo' id fault with my ditty, Since it proves to my mind, you're a bit of a shrew, And only can't get a Petruchio who true To Shakspeare, would make you look awfully blue — That you're not fit to get him's a pity. And think not, my Lucy, your verses I hate, Because I now bid you farewell, For from them Fve learned you can pretty well prate That you will have your word — and that you're not « blate"— That your clack clatters on at a terrible rate, And as loud as the parish church bell. . .:;;!»»»«;■--., I shrew, yblue— irell prate — you're not B, CHILLIANWALLAH. DEDICATED TO THE TWENTY-FOURTH REGIMENT. On far-off India's scorching sands — by Jhellum's swell- ing tide — A vast array of armed men are mustering in their pride; And glittering standards spread their folds all radiant, rich and rare; And martial music peah'ng forth with stern and stirring swell, Glares birth to high chivalric thoughts beneath its potent spell; And man, and charger, champ the curb, impatient for the hour Of murderous conflict—death's dark feast — of war*« triumphant power. I I 3 M^ nJIfHinllit f THE KNAPSACK. i And now the word of fate has pass'd— gone forth the dread commund — On press with eager step and eye that death-devoted band : No weakly foe awaits the shock— no dastards bide the fight- No faint heart rules the Eastern hordes in all their glit- tering might. But darkly lowers each foeman*s brow — fierce gleams each flashing eye, And every movement speaks aloud — "we too can nobly die !" Ha, Jhellum ! soon thy peaceful banks will echo far and near, * The battle field's discordant din— wild shriek and ring- ing cheer. '!■ t ( J ■ And see! — the foremost in the field, first of that ardent throng — . Alone and unsupported, save by hearts with bravery strong, There stands the gallant Twenty-Fourth — there, where the hidden foe Deal from the jungle's tangled depth destruction at each blow : And down, before that withering fire, rank after rank has fell, ' THE KNAPSACK. Ill Yet still the charging cheer ia heard upon the air to swell ; And high, amid the clash of war, brave Pennycuick gives forth The daring order — " charge again ! my gallant Twenty- Fourth !" m There stood the leader and his band, hemm'd in on every side By horse and foot, while through the ranks death fear- fully doth glide ; One-half are weltering in their gore, yet still they hold the Cieldj The British soldier well can die — he knows not how to yield. And mark ! the bugle's blast has call'd that remnant to retire ; But — face to face, and hand to hand, before the sweep- ing fire Of deep -hid batt'ries, charging horse, and galling mus- ketry — They yet contest the bloody field — disdaining still to flee. Then might be seen, high o'er the host, brave Penny- cuick's bright brand. Flashing a meteor cuiding light to that beleagured * band — i^mm i lid THB KNAPSACK. Now 'mid the charging Eastern horse — now *mid the pressing crov/d Of swarthy foot-men gleams his blade — while ringing far and loud, His war cry echoes o'er the field — itself a host in might — " Charge ! — charge them back ! my Twenty-Fourth still keep your honor bright!*' 'Twas bootless all, true to its aim the unerring bullet sped, Down went the gallant Brigadier amid the heaps of dead. Then, as his gallant followers bore his body to the rear, Fierce rose into the vault of heaven, the wild avenging cheer ; , And dashing on the crowding foe with reckless, heed^ less rage. By dealing death they strove in vain death's anguish to assuage : But closer, closer round them still the foeman's circle drew. And terrible, with carnage dark, the fearful battle grew ; Before the foes o'erwhelming rush — his gallant bearers slain — The Brigadiers' scarce breathing form lies on that bloody plain. THB r .PSACK. 113 Then o*er the conflict's crash arose a cry of wild dis- may — Twas heard above the Eastern yell, above the loud hurra — And as it rose a youth sprung forth, alone, but sword in hand, And o*er the prostrate leader's form he waved his gleaming brand. And single-handed strove to stem the torrent which advanced, While from his eye heroic love and pure afiection glanced : It was the son who vainly strove his father's life to shield — To save the well-lov'd sire who taught that son his sword to wield. One moment stood he — beautiful, and brave and daring too. With graceful form and haughty lip, and flashing eye of blue. While o'er his white and polished brow, and girlish tinted cheek, Mingl'd a stern and lofty pride with feelings mild and meek ; Oh! his the form on which might gaze with pride a mother's eye, 114 THB KNAPSACK. And raise within her heart a host of feelings clothed with joy, As she surveyed that darling boy so glorious and bright, So full of fresh and bounding love, and youth's en« trancing light. One moment stood he — and the next his gentle spirit fled; Pierced through the heart, both sire and son are num- ber'd with the dead: Oh! fatal field! Oh! fearful day! how many a mother's pain — How many a widow's anguish'd woe bursts o'er thy sanguine plain — How many a maiden droops her head, whose heart is in the grave Dag deep on Jhellum's far-off banks, for all the lov'd and brave, Who fought and fell that Britain's flag o'er all the Eas- tern World, Might claim its mead ot high renown where'er it was unfurl'd. % THE SLEIGn BELL. A I R — " The Rose op Allandalb." The winds are soft, the air is mild. No snow is on the ground ; Nor are our rivers running wild. With Winter's ice-chain bound. Oh! no, there is no snow-beat road, On which the eye may dwell ; No path upon our rivers broad. To bear the sweet slein:h bell. To bear the sweet sJeigh bell. To bear the sweet sleigh bell ; No path upon our rivers broad, To bear the sweet sleigh bell. mm IIQ TUB KNAPSACK. Shoald all our w. i • /vo like thii, Adieu to ill \Wt ^ gi. ', Adieu to thos*» sweet hom-^ of bliss, Known only in the sleigh ; We may lo aJI its pleasures sweet, For ever hi/1 fu^ 'veil, To turn-out nent — to horses fleet — And to its tinkling bell. And to its tinkling bell, And to its tinkling bell; To turn-out neat — to horses fleet, And to its thikling bell. Fon 1 lovers then may bid adieu, To their sweet ev'ning drive, For in the sleigh, love pure and true, Will bud, and blow, and thrive ; For oh! when seated side by side, With those we love full well, How swift the sleigh does onward glide. How sweet its tinkling bell. How swet^ its tinkling bell, How sweet its tinkling bell; How swift the sleigh does onward glide, Ho;v svvi>et its tinkling belL THB KNAPSACK. The sloigh gives joy, the sleigh gives health, Excitumont filb the mind ; Whon there, for Winter's biting I'rcath, We oast all care behind. Our Hij^htninj; speed high feeling yields— Our hearts with ra|)ture swell, When dashing o'er the frozen fields, Wo hoar our tinkling bell. Wo hear our tinkling bell, We hear our tinkli.ii* bell; When dashing o'er the frozen fields, We hf -ii our tinkling bell. 117 And where the man, and where the heart, Which cannot feel tlie springs Of joy which gush, as off we start- Joy which the sleigh drive brings ? He lives not, or he should not live, Who would us boldly tell, The sleigh drive does no pleasure give — No music from its beU. No music from its bell, No music from its bell; The sleigh drive does no pleasure give. No music from its bell. : . f 118 THE KNAPSACK. But let me see the snow fall fast, And deep upon the ground ; And let our rivers rushing past, In icy chains be bound ; Then — then we'll hear, both far and near, The sleigh's sweet tinkling bell, We'll hail it with a heavy cheer, Nor bid it yet farewell. Nor bid it yet farewell. Nor bid it yet it farewell ; We'll hail it with a hearty cheer. Nor bid it farewell. V NIGHT. i love to sit alone and gaze upon the ocean wide, Asglorious Sol's declining rays athwart its bosom glide. And changing — as each changeful breeze by zephyr fancy roll'd— Its glassy, deep, transparent blue, into a field of gold, Bedecked with myriad mazy gleams of diamond splendour bright — Now sunk in shade, now streaming forth with pure effulgent light : While o*er the sky those parting rays throw many a changing scene. Of ruby deep, and purple bright, of azure, gold, and green. And as he sinks a crimson glow spreads o'er the surface vast, Proclaiming far and near that now another day haa past «as*»~*' 120 THE KNAPSACK. Then comes the Night— the solemn Night— its shadowy fantasy, Its misty, thought-inspiring garb, are precious things to me; For, as the night-winds wing their way across the ocean's breast, A strain of mystic music springs, which lulls the soul to rest; And every wave which rolls along upon that mighty sea. Speaks to the watcher's waking soul of his own far-off country ; And in each murmur starts afresh the voices which had roll'd Their floods of music o'er his heart — the sounds of days of old. Yes ! — 'mid Night's calm and tranquil reign there hovers o'er the head, Sweet thoughts which please — and thoughts which pain — of living and of dead— And thoughts of bright and happy Home — that never tiring theme — The weary wand'rer's waking wish — his midnight's pleasant dream — Which softens with a magic pow'r the stormy strife of day. And wafts us, in night's silent hours, to scenes far, far away. THE KNAPSACK. 121 When thus enrapt in gazing on the beauty of the sceffe, The mind of man is gently fiU'd with soothing so serene, That balmy sleep unconscious steals upon the weari*d frame, And gives to thought's fantastic forms a dwelling and a name. In sleep's blest hour the captive's chain is shiver'd, rent, and he Stands forth once more as what he was, the fearless, and the free — Once moio he treads his native soil, as some bright summer's morn, Shed^ all its beauty o'er the spot where ho was rear'd and born — Once more he hears the sighing breeze, the distant waterfiill. Strike sweetly on his longing ear, as hailing his recall; He hears the bay of village dogs, the fur off cattle's cry, And all the old familiar sounds sweep smoothly, gently bye; He hears the river rushing past with hoarse and changing voice, Amongst whose eddies, and dark nooks, so oft he did rejoice : Until the ear, the eye. the heart, are filled unto the brim ^ With childhood's feelings — oh! how rich those feelings* are to Lim! ii ;2 \i \ 122 THB KNAPSACK. Sleep heals the sick, pours balm and oil upon the aching heart — Sweeps care and sorrow far away, blunts disappoint- ment's dart, — Gives untold wealth to poverty—gives gnawing hunger food — Gives rest to toil-worn, weary forms, yet shrinks from fashion's brood ; Loves more the poor man's lowly cot, than lordly palace hall, Prefers the bed of oaten straw, to rich embroider'd stall- Seeks out the hardy mariner, and 'mid the lightning's flash— The thunder's hollow booming roar— the wild waves warring crash- • Enfolds him in her soothing arms with slumber, sound and deep, As that of cradled infancy, when hush'd by song to sleep. Then hail thee, Night!— and hail thee. Sleep!— what tho' the captive's dreain Be broko by chain, and dungeon dark, without one sunny beam— What the' the sick man wake to pain— the aching heart to woe — THE KNAPSACK. 123 The poor to pinching poverty — the hungry man to throw His dark despairing eye around, in bootless search for bread — The mariner in time to hear the rending crash o'erheadj Of splintering spar, and groaning beam, and tall and stately mast, As lowly sinks their towering pride before the stormy blast — Still will I love the power which spreads, afar, o'er land and sea, Sweets moments, which by those who i ne'er forgotten be. . 1 > AN HOUR. u- An hour!-what is it? But a sweep Of Time's swift pinion passing on, Tinging the mount and valley deep. With light or shadow, and 'tis gone. But doth it leave no mark behind— No monument its course to trace- No stamp on matter or on mind- No joy or sorrow o'er earth's face? Oh, yes! that quickly passing hour Hath kindled love, and deadly hate- Hath lit up beauty's gaudy bower— And stood at misery's iron gate. ,, \ TBB XNAFBACE. Within that hour both death and life; The joyous laugh ; the anguisVd groan ; And blooming peace ; and war's stern strife, Have hand in hand together gone. 125 ' Swift was its passage — short its stay, Yet many a record hath it fill'd. Of thoughts and deeds which ne'er decay, By virtue fram'd, or passion will'd. That hour points out full many a spot-— Which bears stern sorrows dark'ning shade- Where 'mid corruption, worms, and rot. The objects of our love are laid. ^ 11 And yet it hath its cheering gleams Of light, and life, and loveliness. Whose bright reflected rays redeems The darkness of its wilderness. And what are they— those meteor lights— Which sparkle o'er us far and near ? Oh ! they are virtue's heaven born flights, Which vet have left their glory here. 126 THB K'SATSACK, Let U8 be ruled by those bright spots, And keep the hour before us clear ; Let no foul stains, no "scutcheon blot, Upon its fleeting page appear. Let every word, and every thought. Be balanc'd truly, just, and well ; Let every action forth bo brought, Its ruling motive plain to tell. GO So that when Time's relentless power Turns over life's last fading leaf. We may look back on each past hour, Undimm'd by unavailing grief. And ready be both night and day For that tremendous hours appeal. When Death Life's volume shuts for aye. And stamps it with unaltering seal. GOD BLESS THEE, MOTHER. God bless thee, Mother! — ^bless the thoughts Which rise within thy breast, That living well of holy love Whose course none can arrest. But ever flowing — ever full — It pours in strength along, Its murmuring sounds of solace sweet — Its never dying song. God bless thee, Mother !— beautiful And angel like thou art, Thus bending o'er thy sleeping boy — The darling of thy heart, Marking as flits athwart his face The sweet and sinless smile. Which tells thee. Mother, that the babe Reads all thy thoughts the while; * 128 THB KNAPSACK. Which tells thee that thy Mother's love, By angel whisper sped, Stirs now within his inmost soul, While o'er his face is spread, A bright acknowledgment to thee How sweet a thing it is, A youthful Mother's holy love- That that fond love is his. God bless thee, Mother ! — many a day, And many a weary night, And many an agonized hour, Has proved thy love's strong might : When hanging o'er the withering bed Of sickness and of pain, Thou'st watch'd, and prayed returning health Might bless thy boy again. And when the boon was granted thee — How bright thy beaming eye — How full thy heart of gratitude. As lifted up on high. Thy soul poured forth its voiceless thought! Its heartfelt thanks to Him, Who thus again had filled thy cup Of joy unto the brim. THE KNAPSACK. 129 God >)less thep, Mother! — bless the love Which shadows, far or near, With all its holy influence, The child to theo so dear, Which follows his wild wandering steps To every distant shore — Which watches o'er him 'mid the din Of ocean's wildest roar. Which clings around him in the field Where hostile foes are met — Where many r Mother's guiding star Has down in darkness set — Yet shedding o'er his dying hour A vision sweet and mild — A weeping Mother praying by The deathbed, of her child. \i God bless thee, Mother ! — bless the love No power on earth can change- No force control its angel flight — Its wide unbounded range — No dark malignant pestilence A Mother's love can stay — No shadow o'er an honoured name Can scare that love away. i'i|ilr-'"~--'-lin]iirfin-'^^"'"'''^'^""-'*""'^^*^'^*'*--' 130 THB KNAPSACK. No poverly — no fearful crime- Can quench that living flame Which bums witliin the Mother's breast, Forever and tlie same. I feel that love, my Mother dear, E'en watching o'er mo now, Tho' de 'th's stern hand is on thy heart— His d st upon thy brow. CONTENTS. Tho Seventy First, Woman's Love, - - God in all things, Homo, . - . - The Orphan Boy, • - The Drunkard's Doom,- On the Death of Sergeant Rose, The Soldier's Funeral, • Auld Willie Hogg, The Warning, or Cholera's Voice, To D W ., - FAOB 5 10 21 26 82 39 46 49 54 58 61 i 132 CONTENTS. To the same, To the same Stanzas on leaving Scotland, • Epistle to J" K ., On the departnre ol Lieut.-Colonel Denny, Spring, Lines, • ' ' * On the Death of my Daughter, On the Death of Helen Mason, On the Death of an Infant, - On the Death of my Mother, An old Seventy-First Man to a Recruit, What my Wife must he. To Lucy Lawson, Chillianwallah, The Sleigh Bell, Night, An Hour, God hless thee, Mother, PA6B 64 67 70 73 76 80 83 85 80 92 94 97 100 106 109 115 119 124 127 " ■ nmi- m 6tm 'w PA6B 64 07 70 73 76 80 ' 83 85 90 92 94 97 100 106 109 115 119 124 127 # i i