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The following diagrama illuatrate the method: Lea cartea. planchea. tabieeux. etc., peuvent Atre fiim^s A dea taux de rMuction diffArents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atra reproduit en un seui cliche, il est f iimA A partir de i'angfe supirieur gauche, de gauche A droite. et de haut en bee, en prenant le nombre d'imagea n^aaaaire. Lea diagrammes suivanta illuatrent la mAthode. Dy errata ed to mt ine pelure. Btfon A 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 pf^M-^titt. ^• i THE WILD BRIER: OR LAYS BY AN UNTAUGHT MINSTREL MRS. E. N. LOCKEEBY-BACON. The Foot in a golden clime was bom, With golden slurs above ; Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, Tlie love of love. Dark-browed sophitit, come notnncar; All the place is holy ground ; Hollow smile and frozen sneer, Come not here. —Tennyson. FOURTH EDITION. CIIAELOTTETOWN, P. E. I.: GEO. BnEMXKR, " KXri:i.:-!inR PRINTING OFFICE.'^ naM'l-. STKKKT. 180(1. INDIANAPOLIS, IND.: CAP.LON & HOLLKNBKCK, PRINTERS AND BINDERS. 1883. . ••■ »'. CX)PYRIGHT SECURED IN BOSTON LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ALBERTA J^ CONTENTS. Dedication v Preface vii 1 The Wild Brier George and .^ mnndu. Amandii'r! Lament 62 Tliey are Gone : Departure of Rev. J. Geddie 64 On tlie Death of Janie and Mary Sophia Geddie... 66 On the Death of Mr. Joiinson, and Mr. and Mrs. Maiheson 68 On tlie Domh of Mr. and Mrs. Gordon 71 Tl)e"Day«pring" 74 On tlie Departure of the " D;iyspring " 76 Lines addressed to Rev. .T. Geddie and Lady 78 Lines addressed to Rev. J. Cameron 80 Lines addressed to Rev. Isaac Murray 85 An Echo 86 T. . My Juvenile Friends 95 The New Jerusalem 103 To My Brother 108 Lines on Witnessing the Rite <>i Baptism 110 The Supper 113 The Burial Ground 114 To Miss M— 115 840844 iV CONTENTS. To n False Friend ; 118 To a True Friend 125 To Rozana 126 A Happy New Year 128 Farewell 131 Autumn 133 Florence 135 To Mrs. W. W. Irving , 160 The Union Picnic 166 On the Death of Captain Haydcn and His Two Chil- dren 169 Do Right 170 A Touching Incident 182 Stanzas 184 To Antoinette 187 Little Heber 188 Welcome, Prince of Wales 190 A Eecitation 192 A Continuation 195 DEDICATION. TO MRS. DUNDAS. Madam : It is with f-^^^lings of the deepest gratitude that, bj your kind permission, I dedicate to you this little volume— my first essay in the great world of letters. I tlmnk you sincerely for the liberal patronage which you have so generously extended to me; and feel assured that the noble spirit of benevolence which has ever characterized you in the occupation of your present exalted position will induce you to dwell more upon any passages in the work which may meet your approbation than upon such as may prove to be less in accordance with your taste. I humbly beg leave to congratulate you and llis Excellency upon your safe return to our beautiful island, again to exercise over us your gentle sway as the faithful representatives of v! DEDICATTON llor Moat Gracious Majesty, Qncon Victoria.. May it bo your province, for years to come, happily to vvatcli over our temporal interests; and, when the onerous duties and responsibil- ities of life are over, may deatli, to you, bo robbed of all his terrors; and may your eyes gently close in peaceful slumber, to open upon the refulgent splendor of that celestial palace, the radiant center of which is the throne of God. I have the honor to be, madam, with the most sincere gratitude and the highest respect, your bumble and faithful servant, E. N. L. PKI-FACE. In presenting tliis little volume to the [tub- lie, I feel in duty bound to say a tow words to my numerous friends and patrons. In tiio first place, I would tender my sincere thanks for the liberal patronage I have received; and towards the citizens of Halifax especially, 1 must ever cherish feelings of the warmest gratitude for the very courteous, and, in many instances, cordial recciition which they have given me. In the second place,, it is due to myself to observe that the contents of "Tin: AVild Bkikk" were not written with a view to pub- lication, but simply to gratify an inherent love of poesy, and because, in my devotion to it, my spirit, ofttiraes burdened with heavier tasks, ever found a soothing and invigorating relief. To my esteemed friends, the critics, I would VII I ' Ylll PREFACE. remark, tbat these writinp^s are but the thoughts of an inexperienced country girl, who, at the time the book was written, had never seen a mountain, or any more sublime scenery than the corn-fields of Prince Edward Island and the rolling billows of "the blue St. Lawrence" that surround them. I may also state tliat only through the ur- gent solicitations of many personal friends have I been induced to appear before the pub- lic in print. I, therefore, cast this little col- lection of scattered tliongbts on the stream of time, with a very fai'it ard humble hope that it may be doomed by at least some of those in whose hands it may be placed as not en- tirely the fruits of misspent leisure. And if one sad heart beat the lighter for it, or one lone hour be beguiled by its perusal, or one kindred spirit, drinking at the same fountain with its author, bid her "God speed," I will be satisfied, and feel thnt the feeble effort is amply repaid. But should one little lamb of the fold be strenofthencd or encouraoied in well doing, it will enjoy the blessed assurance that PREFACE. IX 'ray "labor has not been in vain in the Lord." The lines written for Mrs. Hayden were, by her special request, descriptive of the scene which brought us into contact, and were in- tended by her to be a little memento by which lier two children should remember their visit to Nova Scotia. But, alas ! how uncertain is life! The lines were written accordingly, but, before they were sent to their destination, the warm, tender, enthusiastic heart of that esti- mable woman was torn by the deepest an- guish. The stern hand of death was placed on her youngest child, and in a few hours he was free from mortal strife. The blow fell heavily on both parents ; but the remains of the beloved boy were scarcely committed to the grave, when the fatal malady seized on the tender frame of his little sister, and speedily carried her gentle form into the silent land of dreamless slumber. This second bereavement proved too much for the devoted father; con- gestion of tho brain immediately followed, and after a brief period of intense agony, the heart that, for love of his children, had so VI PREFACE. often cheerfully met the rude tempest and en- countered the wild shock of the hurricane, on being called to lay them with the dead, ceased to beat; and the lone wife, bereft of husband and children at one blow, was left a lonely inmate of the ship, on a foreign shore, a prey to the most heart-rending sorrow! I trust that the reverend gentlemen whose names I have, without consulting them, taken the liberty of publishing, will pardcn me; as I have done so with a feeling that I must, to the close of my life, look back ^\ ith delight upon their memories. One will ever occupy a pleasant place in my recollection on account of the impression made on my mind, at a very early age, by the touching and earnest address spoken by him to a band of little children in their school room, twenty years ago. Another I shall ever venerate for the noble example ot self-sacriticing missionary enterprise which he has set before the world; and to a third I shall ever feel grateful for one of the most soothing and beautiful discourses to Avhich it has ever been my privilege to listen. E. N. L. THE WILD BRIER, .- J -..-^ ;»-».■»• — The fragrant blushing brier, A modest wildling, grows IJcside the glassy river. Where sunbeams seek repose, V And gives its grateful fragrance To every passer by, Its beauteous tints unfolding To glad the weary eye. So may this little casket Of crude, untutor'd thought, I.ikc wild flower on the wayside. By weary pilgrim sought, Refresh the way-worn spirit Along life's thorny road; And point each youthful trav'ler To virtue's sweet abode. Tllii WILD BRIEll. GEORGE AND AMANDA. ^ Shettlj from real liff. Ye who have never drunk of sorrow's cup, Nor felt the sting that disappointment brini,'3, Nor bovv'd in meek submission to the voice That bade you lay your lov'd ones in the dust, Nor uttered the loud wail as ye consigned Them to the cold, dark, mouldering clay from wlicDce They came ; we ask you now to come around Us, and, a listening circle, sit, and hear A tale of fair Prince Edward Isle ; a tale By one who dwelt hard by its sea-beat strand. And watched its ceaseless waters rippling glide, And play, and dance beneath the early beams, Meridian heat, and soft declining rays Of heaven's all glorious orb ; and rise in bright And curling little eddies up, and leap Upon the sparkling pebbles as they lay All interspersed with pearls, ruby, amber. And divers colored stones, and curious shells, And seaweeds most minutely delicate ; Or chase each other up the golden beach, Then back receding, liuny down, and rush In gurgling haste to mingle once again In ocean's placid depths. OEORGK AND AMANDA. But ab, I fear if only ye who ne'er Have known pale grief, nor once in heart Pierced by the thousand poisoned stings of caro, Anxiety, remorse, or drear suspense, Or fear, or blighted hope, or faitlilcss friend, Or rankling foe, have known what suffering is— I greatly fear our audience circle needs Must be but small ; for who are they, ah who Of Adam's fallen race who long have dwelt On this terrestrial sphere and felt no pain ? Then come ye, too, who by hard trials pressed On all sides round, found no escape, but yet Resigned have raised your streaming eyes to heaven. And said it was a Father's hand that dealt The blow, — and kissed the rod, and said that it Was good to be afflicted thus; and felt The heart made better by it. And come yo, too, ye who have been bereaved, Have agonized, and writhed beneath the blow, And asked, why am I thus severely dealt By ? What have I done to call down this blow ? And felt the swollen heart beat hard against The heaving breast, and clenched the quivering hand. And stamped the proud rebellious foot, and cried, " I will not be resigned ! I cannot give Them up!" THE WILD BKIER. All come, and sit ye gently down upon The fresh green earth, among the cool young leaves, lltnieath their quiet shade, and listen to Their wispering voices as they niuruiur, " Peace, Be still." And let us pour the oil and wine Of consolation on your smarting wounds. And soothe your aching, bursting hearts ; For lo ! in Gilead there is balm — a balm For evei'y wound, and a Thysician there, Mighty to save, waiting to heal j'ou, and Impart a peace of which the cold, false world Knoweth not. Then lend a sympathizing ear, and for A moment brief forget your own dark hours, And listen to a wail for others' woe. Close by the margin of the breezy coast, Where sometimes breezes grow to gales, and gales To howling, dcvi>stating tempests turn — There dwelt a youth of bearing bold and high. Of aspect noble, and whose countenance Bespoke high aspiration, lofty thought. And purpose resolute. The home of George was by the Sea, and well He loved its roar; and his delight, while yet A lad, was, like the youth'\il Byron, on Its breait to be. This all-inspiring thought GEORGE AND AMANDA. strengthened Grew with his growth and strength, And of his nature seemed a part. And friends Advised, persuaded, counseled, and anon Suggested other .plans, but all in vain. And when the conscious dignity of manhood Graced his brow, a captain bold was he, Of dauntless heart, and noble step and mien. Not many leagues adown the gravelled coast. By shivering aspens half concealed from view, A snow-white cottage stood. Without, and all Around it lay a landscape calm and bright. And peaceful as the heart could wish, withal So sweetly quiet that the charmed eye Scarce from it had the power to turn away. Within, were all the comforts of a sweet Sequestered home, and all the neat and well Arranged diversity of ornament Which taste refined suggests, adopts, and keeps In nicest order. And this secluded seaside home was one In Avhich the social virtues reigned ; and the Chief care of those who dwelt beneath its roof Was to enhance each other's joys, and make Life's burden lighter. with his H f5 I I 9 THE AVILD BRIEB. And there was one who graced that household band, A maiden bright and fair, whose soul drank deep Of nature's purest swocts, of heaven's own chjar Celestial streams. And thither oft the vouth Repaired, and they sweet counsel took, and oft Communed about the spirit-land — about The stars that light the firmament on high, And all the mystic wonders of the great World of scientific lore ; and oft indulged In speculations about things of deep And dark mysteriousness. And thus their spirits sympathized, and to Each other clung, and, in communion close. At the same fountain drank. Thus passed away their youthful days ; and wlicn Stern duty called him from his native shore, To dare the dangers of the boisterous deep, A heart unspotted from the world, unstained By crime, and true in its devotion deep, He rendered up "to her, and poured into Her willing ear a tale of his heartfelt, Untarnished and unchanging truth. And as he cast one lingering 'ok on that Fair form, and gazed on all around, and felt That look might be his last, and then in haat« On board his gooJly bark lepairccl, his heart GEORGE AND AMANDA. To strains of tenderest passion moved, and tbus He sang,— , ^ '• I go to the deep, but my spirit shall keep Each night a lone vigil by thee ; And 'twill hallow my sleep on the billowy deep To know thou art thinking of me. A soul from its birth by the dross of the earth Unalloyed and untarnished is thine ; And the praises called forth by thy genuine worth Have made thee seem almost divine. And a rapture untold, that I would not control Docs thy spirit, Amanda, inspire, As it comes from its goal, and steals over my soul, And wakes the sweet chords of my lyre. Then rest thou in peace, and my spirit shall coaso Like the sparrow alone td^complain, . Until fair winds release my proud bark from the seas And I haste to thy cottage again." And o'er the sea his bounding bark rode on, And well contending with the winds and waves A prosperous voyage made ; for skilfully Her noble muster ruled. And soon secure, I THE WILD BRIEU. And safely moored within the haven he Desired, his good ship lay. And when in port Though business pressed, and merchants talked about Their goods, and beauteous maidens smiled And glided in and out, with fairy steps, No power had they his heart to charm from his Affianced ; for his thoughts were all of home, And her who like a guardian angel seemed; AVho, when temptation's blandishments were spread, "Would like a seraph stand with meek white hand To heaven raised, and seem to say, — " This is The way, walk thou in it." And she by sighing pines and wailing brooks Oft strayed, and of the wild flag and the fern And velvet moss companions made, and in Her heart thus spoke to him, — ** I've wandered oft through sylvan bowers, Where nature'# flowerets blossom, But oh their sweetness only brought A sadness to my bosom. And I have stood beneath the moon Where show- white roses grew; And while I plucked the dewy flowers I sadly thought cf you. OEOROK AND AMANDA.. But when we sailed in summer's prim* Adown the rolling river, Euch leaflet wore a charm for me— A purer joy was never. A beauty o'er the scene was cast That stole my heart away ; And lightly did our little boat Leap o'er the brine that day. And calm and bright were Sol's glad beams On wave and wood reposing, On hill and dale, on marsh and vale, Their quiet tints disclosing. Tou told me there was none on earth You could compare with me ; And I my word of honor passed That I your bride would be. If your swee*^^ home should e'er be mine« And you bo on the waters, No heart mory true will e'er be found 'Mong earth's devoted daughters. I '■i : f 10 THE WILD BRIER. I Seclusion sweet would then lie mine, Far from the world's frown ; My life, ray all I'd spend for thee, Nor call my life my own. To soothe your cares would bo my joy, To scatter flowers around you ; I'd plant the rose beside your door, No thorn should ever wound you. And well I know where'er thou art, Upon the treacherous sea, Thy noble heart its faith will keep. And still remember me. And nought on earth shall e'er divide The golden chain asunder, The chain that binds two constant hcarti With ties so warm and tender. l! And when by duty called away Far o'er the boundless sea. My anxious prayer should rise to heaven Till you return to me. QEOBOK AND AMANDA. A smile would bid tliee welcome home, With joy would I address thee ; And most of all would soothing be, Sliould care or sorrow press thee. I'xit oh if thou sliould'st ne'er return, What heart ha's felt the pain ? M.v soul would sink 'neath sorrow's wave, And never vise again. The earth would be my resting place, The clods a welcome pillow; Then 1 my ov n true love would find Beyond the raging billow. But heaven restrain the rii^ing seas, And guide thee safely then : For if thy smile were not for me, I ne'er could smile again " 11 And in due time, by favoring gales brought back, The stately ship at anchor rode, and George Once more his native home revisited. And pleasant were his tales of foreign lands, And round him gathered the companions of flis youth, and hearty welcome gave; and much 12 THE WILD BBIER. il Admired his specimens of coral bright, And shells most rare ; and many questions aslcod; And with deep interest curious facts discussed. And rites and customs strange of lands remote Talked over. And to all who heard him he A pleasing interest had ; but most of all Amanda with him sympathized. She in His joy rejoiced, in his prosperity Was glad, and in his presence blest. But short his intercourse with friends : and soon Again upon the mighty deep, with all Her snow-white canvas spread to catch the gal 9 The " Sea-gull" sped amain, and like a thing Of life, at morn, swept o'er the dimpled tide. At noon in glassy whiteness lay the sea, And like a still xmbroken mirror seemed. Each sail was on its bosom shadowed, and A stillness most profound pervaded all. And round the Island coast were interspersed Full many a hundred sail of tall and well Constucted crafts, that, day by day, with hook And line, the treasures of the deep drew forth ; And many a goodly freight they brought from thence, To southern markets, and thereby themselves Enriched. GliORGK AND AMANDA. 18 e. At morn a light auJ gentle breeze, tliat just Ilad power to waft them from their havens out Upon tlie unruffled deep, their ample sails la softly breathing zephyrs caught ; and soon Adown the broad St. Lawrence, scattered far And wide, a splendid fleet beneath the sun In gorgeous whiteness lay. And many hands Tn eager haste the lines drew up, and shoals Of glistening natives of the element In which they sported, gamboled round ; and 'twas Pronounced by all a very prosperous day. And as the sun declined no breath came o'er The crystal sea. The glorious western sky No sign betrayed of ought save placid calm. Nor moved the fleet, but as the orb of day The still horizon nearod, their work, in haste Pursued. Scarce had he dipped behind the sea When o'er its glassy surface broad, a swell Began to rise. An awful stillness hung O'er all around : no leaflet stirred : no sound Was uttered save the sea-bird's wailing scream^ While to her covert in the rocks she fled. And as the aim and darkening shades of night Closed in, the swell, like to an army fast Advancing on the foe, rolled o'er the deep. And roused it from its calm serenity. • li I, u THE WILD BBIEB. And soon a pall of blackness overspread The sky, and the faint star that glimmered In the east, extinguished like a lamp, exchanged Its feeble light for a thick canopy of Densest cloud. Appalled, the stricken mariner The awful change beheld. And all were in Commotion now, and preparation made To run into the nearest port whene'er The wind arose. Not long this stillness reigned, For o'er the dismal gulf the black squall came, And struck, with sudden crash, the noble fleet. And higher, higher, higher still arose The howling blast, and raging, lashed to foam The angry surges of the furious deep. The seaman, pale with consternation, heard The gale shriek through the cordage of his bark That reeling o'er the billowing waters ran, And saw her canvas flit to ribbons on The blast. And all night long the dashing rain In torrents poured, and gave the scene a still More dismal aspect. Some boldly stood to sea, and vainly hoped To leave the dreadful storm behind, but found That it more fiercely broke on all sides round, — And creaking, crashing, foundered far at sea. Some sought to gain the sheltering ports, but failed, GEORGE AND AMANDA. 15 And on tlie rocks were driven, and there, with all Their complement of men, to death went down ! Some gained the harbors, and were stranded there — Some in the surging deep east anchor, but Not long survived; soon o'er their hapless heads The fierce devouring element arose, And with redoubled fux*y broke above Their watery grave. And some, more fortunate. With well tried skill, in safety passed the North And West Capes round, and on the southern shore Securely moored their damaged crafts. But those The fewest number were. And ushered in by howling winds, and rain That drenching fell, the morning came, And on the beach disclosed, in hopeless plight, A schooner by the waves dashed on the sand. While up the bank the foaming breakers roared. The crew, five Frenchmen, unassisted left The wreck, and scrambled up the slippery bank, And at a cottage humbly knocked, and asked For shelter from the storm, and by its inmates AVere received and entertained like friends.— And all that day the tempest still with Unabated fury raged, and night came on, Dismal and dark, and sure destruction Threatened to the hapless bark that still survived 16 THE WILD >JRIER. < 1 ) ii I The sad disasters of the previous night. But far beyond it was the second night. what an awful night was that ! 3Iuse ! Sad Muse ! instruct me how to paint aright The horrors of that dreadful scene ! Some crowp All work abandoned, and in mute despair Around their cabins sat, their fate awaiting, And by terror chilled. In silence some, and some In prayer, that never prayed before that night. For mercy plead, while others wailed with avoc. And, as a last, i,^-^ refuge, some with chains And ropes their shivering bodies lashed to masts And shrouds, while o'er them swept the maddened sea. And from their persons dragged the clothes that wrapped Them from the cold, till masts and rigging from Their places torn, came crashing down ; and some By heavy blows met instant death, and some, Entangled in the ropes, washed overboard And perished, hanging there. And morn — the Sabbath morn — 'mid storm, and death, And havoc dawned. Adowu the northern coast The wrecks were strown, and o'er the breakers still Came drifting in. Not like the accustomed day Of rest this Srbbath seemed, when Christians rise GEORGK AND. AMANDA. 17 With mind serene, and offer praise and prayer, And in the sanctuary Avait. But now, With hearts dismayed and faces pale, they liasten To the strand with wi'ling heart to render aid. And, on the fiir horizon, they descried A speck that sometimes disnppearcd from view, But nearer came, and, with an interest Intense, they watched its progress o'er the deep ; And soon a stately vessel, shoreward pointing. O'er the billows rode. And, on the reefs, the white Waves, foaming, raised their curling heads on high And thundered to the shore. And, as she nearer came, and o'er the huge White breakers pitched, with naked poles, the crowd, That, on the bank, had gathered, in intense Excitement, by a little sand beach stood, And to her beckoned. And. on her deck. Stood fourteen men who all that storm Had braved, nor tasted food since first it rose. And, by that haiid which doeth all things well, Directed, they in safety passed the reefs, And, in a little cove, between two points Of shelving rock both steep and high, their bark. Scarce injured, ran aground. Two casks made fast, To ropes, were from her in the water cast. And by the surf soon dashed to land, and, in I 18 THE WILD BHIER. A moment, caught and made secure by those Who on the bank in safety stood, and thus A bridge constructed that, the crew might giiin The solid land; and, on this slender rope, Clinging with hands and feet, some three or four Of these poor famished, weary, fainting men , Came struggling from the wreck, and panting, gained The land. Then came another awful surge That, with tremendous force, her hull upraised And hove quite to the bank ; and all the men Sprang from her, and came scrambling up the steep; And, from above, the women, kneeling, caught Their hands and drew them up, and led them to Their homes, and gave them food and drink. Not many leagues from Uostou wore their homos, Where cheerful mothers, wives, and sisters dwelt. And, free from all alarm, awaited their Return; and, with the busy care, which well befits The matron kind, made ready to receive Them as the dictates* of the heart inspired. No tempest there disturbed the calm of mind Or atmosphere; but prattling children played. And maidens smiled, and wild birds warbled In the trees, and joyous sunbeams glanced, and Mellow zephyrs, o'er the dusky woodland hills. Wafted the breathings of the still October nioia. OEOBOE AND AMANDA. 19 But worse fared others of their countrymen. A few short paces farther on there lay A wreck, on which no living soul was found ; But thirteen mangled bodies, sorely bruised. Of covering divested, in the torn And tangled rigging hung, while o'er them lashed The raging waves. 'twas a sight on which No human eye could gaze unmoved. Not far from this, another hull containing Ten dead men, the cr-bin seated round. And it with water filled, was shoreward driven. But, as the day advanced, the storm decreased, The wind lulled down, the sea abated, for Its awful work of retribution was Completed; vengeance was appeased, and Sabbath profanation fearfully Chastised ; for that proud fleet no Sabbath knew. But, on the day of sacred rest, pursued Their daily round of toil, and hasted to Be rich: and thus temptation and a snare Beset, and swift destruction smote them down. Another morn — and all was calm and bright, And placid as before. And, on the beach, "Were corpses found, with bruised and broken limbs, And fractured skulls laid bare, and sadly marred And mutilated visages: and these 20 THE WILD BRIKR. J' I In Were by the christian people taken up And decently interred. And, from Tho broken wrecks these poor, crushed forms "Were gently disengaged, and in tho quiet Churchyard laid. And, on the sand, like seaweed washed ashore, And by the tide thrown up in rows, were found The torn and tattered garments of tho poor Unhappy men, who, by a sudden stroke, Were summoned to appear, and stand bcf /re The judgment seat, to answer for their deeds. And, all along the coast, were to' be seen Mementoes sad of this disastrous gale. Boots, garments, boxes, blended were with crashed And broken fragments of all kinds of ware. But how fared George, our noble friend, on these Tempestuous nights ? How stood his gallant bark The raving storm ? And who consoled his fair Amanda through those dreadful hours ? Heartsick with horror and alarm, she heard The wind, with thundering sound, roar on their roof And threaten hard to lay the fabric low. She wept and wailed, and, with an humble and A stricken heart, implored of " Him who rules The boisterous deep," to look in mercy on Her friend. She like a phantom moved, and to OEOROE AND AMANDA. 21 The comforts of tho sliipwreckod mariners Attendetl. She, like a spirit sent to minister To their necessities, about them waited, And a sister's place supplied. And they, On her benignant head, poured blessings down. But ever, as she gently moved, before ' Her eyes appeared a manly form, far down, Full many fathoms deep — and o'er it rolled The gurgling wave. She saw his dark and Glossy hair keep moving to and fro, by lifting Waters stirr'd, and his deep mournful eyes Seemed ever gazing on her. She tried To hope — she tried to bear — she tried to be Resigned — she strove to still her grief — But oh 'twas havd: — 'twas hard to say farewell To hope, to joy, to life's endearments, to A happy home, soon to be hers, had George Once more returned. Day after day passed on, And still no tidings of the "Sea-gull" came. And hope within her bosom died ; and down Her hueless cheeks ran bitter, bitter tears. As to her heart came home, with crushing weight, The heavy thought that she would see his face No more. At eve, beneath the quivering aspen, She her soul's impassioned grief indulged. And her deep sorrow fully realized. H 22 XIIK WILD DIUEB. ; I The captain of a stranded ship, with warm And generous heart, her 8(>rro\v marked; nor asked Her why those tears, but well the cause divined ; And, on her silken head, he laid his hand, And bade her cease to weep. And she Obeyed his voice, and dried her tears, and with . Ilini talked about the probiibilities Of any craft's outliving such a storm. And there was something in the stranger's voice That soothed her grief, and bade her hope. And, to her fevered brain, that night, was given A sweet refreshing sleep, the calm repose That comes but to the innocent. Another morn, — and down the silver coast Five Captains came, in search of brothers lost. From Boston, Providence, New York, Chelsea, And Portland, were those Captains five; and tlioy Were honest, noble men : but heavy hearts And saddened looks were theirs; for they of dear And loving brothers were bereaved. And, iu Amanda's shaded cottage, they at noon Reclined, and talked about the storm ; and of A vessel spoke that had at first among The missing reckoned been, but now reported Safe. Her name enquired; " The 'Sea-gull,' " they Replied. "And is she safe! and all the crew OEOROK AND AMA.NDA. 33 Alive?" Amanda cried. "Yes, all the crew And captain too, are hasting to their homes In health and safety," answer'd they, "And, would To heaven, we, of our lost friends, could say The same." Amanda's feelings, need we tell ? or of Fler thoughts make mention now ; for they. Who know her grief, her joy may also know? And gratitude to Him who holds the wind? In his right hand, and to their havens brings The men "who go to sea in ships, and who God's works and his great wonders see" — her mind Engaged, — and thus she sang : *' Lord that men to thee would give Praise for thy goodness then, And for thy works of wonder, done Unto the sons of men ! " (i For fctem who put their trust in thee, And kept thy holy day, Thou hast, Lord, preserved alive In thy good time and way. But them who dared thy power defy. And took thy name in vain, f4 THE WILD BRIEU. \ ill f II Thou hast engulfed and overwhelmed Beneath the raging main. sanctify this juilginont sore, Through all the land abroad, That many hearts may turn to thee, Thou just and righteous Ood. And ! sustain those souls, berca By this avenging blow, linf ♦Viw amnnt mnvnv T.n laved By this avenging blow. That thy sweet mercy. Lord, and grace, Their aching hearts may know. We thank thee now that thou hast stilled The tumult of thy waves ; And peacefully thy wati rs roll Above their nameless graves. Another morn, — and, in her aspen bower, Now rent, and denudated by the storm, Amanda sat, and with her heart communed, And thought how many homes had, by the blasi, Unsparing in its wrath, been — ^like her bower, Now stripped of all its pride, and torn and bare- Laid waste, and robbed of all that gave them grace, And peace and gladness. Up the winding path That to the highway led, her eyes were turned; — OEOROK AMD AMANDA. 25 And down tlio hill came Ooorge, with well known form. With smiling face, and bland and cheerful air. A youth whom ho hud loved in boyhood's day, And as a brother dceniod, was by his side. She rose — they met — and with a joy untold,— Because no words were adequate, — in silence Clasped each other's hands ; and then to the Moss grown seat repaired, and long conversed In happiness complete. And like the face Of beaming angel bright did George's seem ; Like one that, from the grave arisen, came back From death's dark portals to unfold to veiw The secrets of the unseen world. And all Their struggle, through that night of storm, he told, And how they ran before the wind, and lost Their gear, and almost lost their ship and lives, But finally succeeded, by the exercise Of all their skill and fortitude, to round The dangerous cape, where breakers rose on high And bellowed o'er the reefs with deafening sound; And thus they managed to escape the worst. But all the praise and glory gave To him who was, and is, and is to come, Who sits upon the eternal throne, and holds The keys of life and death. fi' ) ( 26 THE WILD BKIEB. But let 119 for a moment turn towards Those homes in Massachusetts, Maine, New York, For now the dreadful news arrives, and spreads Deep consternation over every heart, And horror, grief, and tears, throughout the land, Send forth their wailings up to heaven. And many weeping Rachels, sore distressed, All rest and comfort now refuse, and Tfill Not be consoled, because, alas ! their sons Are not. Now is their mirth to sadness turned, Their laughter into sobs and cries, their songs To lamentations loud, and bitterness Of heart. And little children in the streets Forsake their play, with faces pale, and round Their weeping mothers gather, asking why They weep ; and, shrieking, they reply in tones Of wild dispair — "0 child ! your brothers all Are dead! Alldrown'd! All lost! lost, lost at sea!" "And, Mother, will they not come home again ?" In childhood's simple, earnest tones they ask. Then from their bursting hearts those frenzied words Heart-rending echo back — "No! never! never! Never more will they come back! my children dear ! Where are your bodies ? Where ? Oh ! where ^ " — and Shrieking, swoon away, to wake but to the sad Reality of all their unfeign'd woe. GEOKGE AND AM.\>J)A. 27 The children then take up the wail, and in The universal lamentation join ; And on their little couches lay them down And cry themselves to sleep. One family, of whom, more than the others, I shall mention make, your tender sympathy Calls forth. Four noble sons, in manhood's Hoom And vigor strong, on board their handsome cruic Their lines hard plied the summer long, but now Had to an awful death gone down. And they Among the number were, who, on the wreck On that eventful movn, were found, their cold And lifeless bodies hanging in the shrouds, Of covering bereft; some dragging in The water, by the chains attached, and some Lay mangled on the deck. 'twas a scene O'er which the hardest, most inhuman heart Might well be found to weep ! sea ! Devouring sea! among thy many spoils Who e'er hath seen, of all thy victims, aught Like this ? poor, frail, fleeting, mortal life ! crushed and l6st and blasted human hopes ! Weeping wailing voices of dispair ! hearts so brave, so true, so loving, now Forever stilled in death ! This is indeed The deepest grief, this is a sorrow real 28 THE WILD BRIER. And unfeigned, to which alleviation Comes not soon. And now the poor heart-broken father, of His sons bereft, prepares to take his lonely way In search of their loved dust. He had been told That, on Prince Edward Isle, their broken craft In ruins lay ; and hoped to find their bodies there. And on the spot arrived, beside a cottage door, Upon thel^aling, he espied the clothing Of his sons, and recognized it, and a p,aug Of agony pierced through his quivering heart. The people, sympathizing, told him all The mournful tale, how they had taken from The wreck, the bodies, and, within the still And sacred churchyard ground, had laid Them down to rest. The old man, weeping, heard The tale, and said that he must take them home, And lay them in the family burying place. Beside his sires, the spot where he himself. Ere long, should be enton)bed; that their loved friends Might once more look on their cold faces, ere Thej^ mouldered down to dust. And to the place Of graves they next repaired, where, at the farther Side, a long row of new made mounds told Where they lay. They raised the fresh sod, then the Mould, and soon the coffin came in view. OEOBGE AND AMANDA. u I] I They laid it gently on the grass, the lid Ilemoved, and the still features of the dead Uncovered. The father, agonizing, Gazed for a moment on the chill pale face Of his loved child, so calm in death's last sleep, Then, with a frantic burst of grief, he cast Himself convulsively upon th^ earth. Three times he rose to look on his dead son. And three times prostrate fell to earth agaia. what an hour was that to him ! Much lilie The grief of David when he gazed on his Slain Absalom, and felt that he for him Could willingly have died. Another grav« They opened, and the coffin, as before, Laid on the sward, and the pale sleeper's Countenance disclosed. The old man gazed — 'Twas not his son, but yet a face with which He was familiar. A neighbour's child. His mother's loved and only son, and she A widow was. And she had made request Of him that, if her darling Henry's loved Remains were to be found, to bring them home; That she her grief might all exhaust by daily Weeping o'er his grave. And he was one In form and face most beautiful : and when They brought him from the wreck, that morn. il ;*l 80 TIIK WILIJ lililKK. The rosy tint was on his cheek, the pure Blood had not left the surface, and as fair He seemed as when alive. His golden hair, In wavy folds that clustered round his brow, Appeared so much like life. he was " Beautiful in death ! " At last, the four dead brothers taken from The graves, and this fair youth, the old man mada Arrangements to convey them speedily To his sad home. In an adjacent port A vessel lay equipped, for Boston bound, Awaiting wind. On board of her, in a Strong case secured, the coffins five he placed. And took for home, himself, another route. The captain of this craft was one who feared Not God, nor yet regarded man, but cursed The storm — the wreck it made — and, in profane And awful language, to Ilis face defied Almighty power; and said no storm could ever Injure Mm. And with loud blasphemies upon His lips, set sail, with fair, propitious wind. The aged man safe home arrived, and worn And weary with his mournful task, sank down Exhausted, by his weeping wife, and pale, Sad little daughter GEORGE AND AMANDA. 8] He said their coffined sons were on the way And they would soon bo tliere. Friends gathered in to'licar the talc of their Most melancholy late, and Avith them they Their tears commingled. And the lone ,ndow, For her beauteous boy, made bitter moan ; But clung to the poor hope forlorn, that she, Yet once again, would see his face, and lay Him by his father's side. And day by day they looked, and waited for That bark's return, until the dread suspense Became unbearable : and long they hoped, And watched, and sighed, and wept, ncr could believe It possible that she would never come. But time, that great revealer, told the tale ; And they the unwelcome truth were forced to own That, to the depths, a second time they had Gone down. strange, mysterious fate was theirs ! destiny severe, and most inscrutable ! No resting-place for them on earth was found ; But in the surging deep their bones must roll. Until the restless sea gives up her dead. That wretchod craft was never seen nor heard Of more, nor ever one on board came back To tell her fate. Some Island men, for Boston Bound, set out on board of her, but ne'er ::-| !|: 32 THE WILD BRIER. 1 i J: 1 ■■ ; 1 . 1 i To their loved homes returned ; and for them fair Young widows wore the weeds of woe. Not much on land was GcQrge: and when those sad Calamities were past, his bark was on The sea, and all Amanda's thoughts went with Him, and her constant prayer was, for his safe And prosperous goings, wafted up to heaven. And. when a sighing breeze arose, and with Its fluttering pinions ruffled up the deep. Her heart beat quicker, and her color came And went, and in her ear she seemed to hear The thundering of the doubled sea; and up Before her eyes a vision cam nf all The storm had wrought. And m her heart A strange anxiety prevailed — a kind ol" dark Presentiment of ill. A something seemed To tell her, in a tone of ominous Foreboding, that with George all was not well. And as she sat alone, her thoughts ran thus : — "Away in the mist, on the wide trackless ocean, Where foam-crested billows in majesty sweep, Methinks I behold thee, when wild winds are rising, Stand proudly and gaze on dark rolling deep. had I the wings of the wild soaring sea-bird, Tho' darkness and tempest around me should roll, m OEOPGE AND AMAXOA. 88 With the heart uf the dove, and the wings of the eagle, How soon would I meet the beloved of my soul. For thee would I brave every peril of the ocean. And fearlessly meet the loud burst of the wave, To behold thee once more in thy changeless devotion, Heaven grant me but this ere thou find me a grave. Oh, haste thee, oh, haste thy broad sails to unfurl, And spread them aloft to the high swelling gale ; There's a heart in this bosom concerned for thy sat'ety, That sighs to behold on the waters thy sail. Oh come ! for the tempest is rising around thee ; I hear the loud winds as they dolefully moan ; On the shore there is safety and rest for the weary, And kind loving hearts wait to welcome thee home." Another heart there was by passion touched — Another youth who saw and loved, with deep llegard, the fair Amanda. He had moved In higher walks of life than those which George In early youth had graced ; and in the ni'^e Refinements of polite society well versed. The many charms which education gives The man, in him were centred, and combined With nature's higher gifts. And he had sought li 34 THE WILD l.IMLB. Amanda For the choice conipanion of Hi3 life; had offered her his wealth — iii.s nll-^ Position, influence, rank and style — in slu»rt A sumptuous city home. Her heart he asked— But she had none to give ; 'twas far away; — 'Twas on the silver sea; 'twas on the deep Of storm and hurricane and wreck ! And in the honour of her true and frank And noble ivommi's heart, she told him so, And gracefully declined his suit ; and he, With generous soul, and upright mind, His suit withdrew; and wished her well; — wished all The happiness this life can give — wished all The untold joys he hoped for in a realm Of purer bliss, might be on her bestowed. And, bidding her a kind adieu, he went His way. For he, a man, a christian, and A gentleman in every action proved. But there was one with envy moved againsi Amanda, who, with jealous eye, beheld Her happiness ; and with relentless hate Resolved to do her wrong. And, in the guise Of friendship veiled, she often came, and with Her sat, and talked in smooth and pleasing tones, While rankling in her heart were secret ire, Malicious spleen, and lurking guile. I ( GEORGE AND AMANDA. 85 She to that certain class belonged, who nil Things hiow, or rarely happen not to know Their neighbours' most minute concerns : and oft It seems a marvel to us all how they Their knowledge gain. Yet so it is; and from Them nothing can be hid. She knew the day On which the friends of George expected his Return. She knew (of course) Amanda's choice Was George, and she was his ; she also knew That, in his absence, she a suitor had, And deemed it quite her duti/ to inform Him of the fact. Nor yet would this suffice, — But to her mind her confidential friend. The father of all lies, suggests a plan To set the mischief well afloat, and make It rightly work, that all the belles might laugh, And "'Miss Amanda yet come short." So sitting gravely down, she went to work And all her project planned. Amanda's father was a man of sound Unwavering jndgment, and possessed a large Proportion of the goodly gift of common sense : A man of stern reserve, of dignified And grave demeanour. They who knew him well (And George was one) knew also that his will In all pertaining to his house must be i^i H I 86 THE WILD BRIKR. Obeyed. * If to his children he said, " Go," They went — or, " Do," they »U'k, back to the region it once loved so well, To the fc "lY it enshrined, and believed almost sinleea. Put now bit's forever and ever farewell ! I Another morn — and from his father's house, With mournful air, he turned away, and soon. Upon th« golden sand, his foot-prints pressed. He viewed the main, he scanned the wind, he gave Command, up ran the sails, and, "all on board," The " Seagull," once again, in all her tall Distinguished dignity, walked on the waves That swell the bosom of the blue St Lawrence. And as the Island less and lesser grew. And, from his vision, dimly disappeared, OEOBQE AKD AMAKDA. 41 The weiglit that pressed the Captain's heart more heavy Grew, and, with a throbbing pain, seemed rushing on His brain . And when the brilliant glories of The morning, kindling, fired the eastern sky, The burning fever fired his aching brain. And long he lay unconscious of the hand That ministered, or aught around. And ere he took his old accustomed post, And gave command, the " Seagull," far from hia Native Isle, the current stemmed. Amazed, Amanda heard it told that he Had visited his home — and now was- gone — Gone without word, or token of a change ! Gone without seeing or speaking to her ! Could it be possible ? Was it indeed The truth? It was; and the conviction Of it brought a pointed sting, that pierced Her heart. Could she but know the reason why, Could she but understand the circumstance That could induce her friend to treat her so! But no ; 'twas all in vain ; vain were her thoughts, And all her queries vain ; they mjist remain Unanswered. And now she wept as bitterly as when She thought him dead, or more so ; 'twas ^ I 42 THE WILD BBIEB. A diflferent feeling — worse — ^because a blame Existed somewhere; some wrong, ftilse dealing. Some injustice done ; or else her judgment Greatly erred ; but he was gone — perhaps Would ne'er return, or if he did, would shun Her presence, and select another friend To proudly fill her place. Were these thoughts to Her mind consoling? these reflections well Calculated to inspire her soul with aught Like happiness ? What think ye ? Did she Step as lightly as before, or sing as gaily. Or as nimbly perform her wonted round Of household duties ? Ah no ! methinks I see Her now, with pallid lip and absent mind. Eyes fixed on space— and hear her say — ** he is cruel ! cruel ! this suspense Is insupportable ! *' And thus the di-oary Winter months stole by, and brought no calm To poor Amanda's mind, but storms increased. *Tis said no trial ever comes alone, And this, Amanda's sad experience proved. She knew that she had secret enemies ; She knew that now they did rejoice in her Unhappiness, and wished it had been worse ; And busily about her talked, and laughed ; And, sneering, told how she had been by Georg* GEOKGE AND AMANDA. 43 Deserted. Ilerc slamlcr found an open door, And forward stalked, rosolvdl to do her worst. And now lier grief was frenzy at its height, Though meekly she had borne it all, till now, Resolved, with spirit firm, to brave the worst ; But tliis, oh, this was more than she could bear ! And in the very house where prayer was wont To be performed, she saw malicious eyes Intently on her fixed, and read their thoughts, And marked their sneers, and rightly guessed the cause Of George's strange, abrupt departure from The circle of her tried and faithful friends. Sometimes she with herself had reasoned, and Philosophized, and soared in thought, above AH 'sublunary things; and looking down On life and all its bickering strifes and feuds, Had laughed at petty sorrows and complaints: But not so now ; she had no power given her To rise above the heavy atmosphere That now surrounded her, and kept her vexed Spirit cloggtd and prostrate on the earth. When George was home, or when away, she knew Not now, nor saw his friends ; they from her all Withdrew, — she knew not why, — nor could divine What had gone wrong. And she would sometimes say, " 0, f it were not for cruel slander, 44 THE WILD BRltll. ( ?s I could cear-e to grieve: for George, I conUl have Banished fnui my thoughts, and livf ; In peace ; but tJds is dreadful to survive ! " At other times exclaim, — " ! if he had But clung to me through all this storm, by vile Defamers raised, without a cause, and hurled Against me, I could have despised them rH, And kept above it. But, defamed, deserted, and Distressed, my spirit bows beneath its load ; ' For who can stand before the face of envy ? — Sure, jealousy is cruel as the grave ! — The coals thereof are coals of flaming fire — And love — as strong as death ! many waters Cannot quench it, nor the floods destroy,' Nor busy, babbling tongues remove, though ofl; . They much may harass, and bring bitter woe To hearts more innocent and pure, by far, Than ever were their own. Yet there is one Rich boon of which, thank heaven, they cannot rob Me, and 'tis all that now from madness saves Me; Of virtue, — innocence; — the conciousnoss Of this supports me; — that they cannot take. If, to my griefs, were added no"v the keen Sharp dagger of remorse, the scourge of an Accusing conscience, or the stain of guilt, How could I live? And, as it is, my life m GEUBGR AND AMANDA. 45 Is loathsome to me, and the light of day Is hateful, the human face offensive, The world more gloo"iy. than a charnel hong©, And my own soul in llackncss seeks to hide Itself." Thus talked Amanda, and thus, for A time, her mind its balance held. But constant dropping wears the stone away ; And constant thought, and sleepless nights, and Injured pride, their work can do ; and ere the sweet Refreshing spring returned, with balmy air. Restoring nature, she had all endured Her mind could bear; and reason tottered on Her throne, and memory fled, and she forgot The event of yesterday; nor thought, nor cared For aught around her ; and the face of friend And foe alike avoided ; and unceasingly Talked to herself; and nothing saw or felt But one dark recollection of the past. She knew she once was happy, once had friends, Once loved society, — but now, a sense Of bitter loathing of them all had on Her spirit seized, and all her soul possessed ; And now the torture keen and exquisite, Known oaly to the maniac, was hers ; As yet she had not to the world betrayed Hjt leelings ; and they cnij saw the jpale 46 XIIi: WIM) llltlliK 'I i f <•', Clicek, tlie liollow eye, the drooping form, The lack of energy and interest, she "Was wont to show in every day concerns, ^Vith heavy hearts, her parents saw the chiinge; Her sisters marked the symptoms of a mind Diseased, and fondly strove to charm her from Her mekncholy mood; and brothers tried In vain their powers to please. At last the mystery was unravelled, and The secret plots of enemies disclosed, And all their env}', malice, slander, stood Unveiled. And, when the knowledge to hor came, How she had been belied, and George had been Deceived, an honest indifrnation filled Her soul. Her reason rallied, and she hoped To see the day when she would tell him all Their schemes, and disabuse his mind of the Deception. And the swoct spring blossoms now Enticed her forth, and from her still seclusiuu Winning her, regaled her weary spirit AVitL the scented sweets, by flowerets Hung upon T'le moi;4ened air. She sat beneath the tree Ju.:-t budding forth, and listened to the wild 3>ird calling to his mate ; and as the soft V/inds lulling came, and fanned her tinted check A'ul soothed her spirit back to reason, she GEORGK AND AMANDA. 47 Thif" p1;mtive strain indulged : — Ah ! tell nae, thou for whom I wonld die, Has the once kind heart grown cold? Has it ceased to think of tlie fading one, Whose sorrows are all untold ? Long and sadly, thou much loved one, I have waited and watched in vain, Till my heart has sickened with " hope deferred " — Wilt thou never return again ? Say, is thy bosom now chilled with scorn ? Is affection's current dried ? An I the love thou hast offered in spotless truth, Has it perished long since, and died ? Where now are the eyes that have beamed on mo. With a radiance all their own ? That jocund smile, can I ne'er meet more, As once, when care was uaknown ? And oft in ihe dusl^y night, full oft In the lone and silent hour, Sad thoughts arise, sad memories come, With a heart enthralling power, ; i 48 THE WILD BRIER. Till sleep, sweet balm to the wounded heart» With a tardy flight comes down ; And bids the tear that is stealing away Be dried ere the night be gone. And morn, with her waking glories spread, Calls, " Man, to thy labour go " — Calls rest again from my weary head — Bids the tear again to flow. Wilt thou still disregard me ? Oh, say what Could have changed a heart like thine ? What turned thee away from thy first love, say, Has the fault been wholly mine ? Ah, no ! ah no ! for this bursting heart Which has lived but for thee alone, Though aching, was true, and will ever bo so, Until death's dread summons come. I never will call thee false ; no ! Forgive me the thought that would Aspire to blame thee once, when I knovr Thou art far too noble and far too good. I know they have pained thy generous heart— I know how my own has bled — OEOBOE AND AMANDA. 49 Yet say not the wound can never be healed, Nor tell me my last hope is fled. If in thought or in word, when my heart was op- pressed, I have wronged thee or doubted thy love, I only implore thy forgiveness to me, As thou seekest thine own from above. For Jander was busy, and treachery rife, And deep were the plots they had laid; For their aim was to separate two loving hearts By the tissue of falsehood they made. Although for a time they embitter our lives, Yet their malice must come to an end ; And surely 'twere folly in anger to part When we know the true worth of a friend. And summer days grew long, bees hummed, birds sang, Flowers blossomed, winds caressed, and evening dews Distilled, until the scented grass cut down, And then the golden grain, and gathered in, Proclaimed the end of sunmier's joyous reign. The autumn fruits were safely garnered up, And all things made secure against the approach 50 THK WILD UllIUB. ilt Of winter's chilling blast. And wintrr, gvim And hojiry, came and went, — and tlun, onco more, With chastened hearts, still fettered by the cord. That no adversity could sever, or undo, George and Amanda met : and in that Meeting all they had endured seemed like A flitting dream that with the gloomy hour Of midnght passed away; seemed like a cloud That for a moment had obscured the sun As he arose, but soon, chased by his beams Back to the shades of dusky night, had left In unveiled glory all the cloudless sky. And they their vows renewed, and said that nought But death should e'er divide them more. Such hours as these seem like a green oasis In the wide and sandy desert of this life. We leave your quick imaginations to Suggest how spent, with them, those hours ; And haste toward the sequel of this tale of woo. . A strong desire to view Columbia's land. The waving prairies d" the west, the tall And goodly forests of Iowa, seized On George's mind. And, on the greenest spot The west could boast, his purpose was to Imild His home, and thither bear away his bride. She would have shared with him the toils OIOKOK .VXD AMANDA. 01 Of this exploring,' tour; but lio, in kind Cousiderution uf her slcudcr form, Cast in a mould so delicate, thought best To find a home first, and, when all conijileto In every comfort his large heart could plan. And every luxury good taste devise. Would hasten back to consummate their jctys. And so they parted; and, with hope and Happiness reanimated, they forgot The past, and all their enemies forgave. And ranging over mountain, plain, and vale, He, of this great and highly favoured land, A survey took. And scanning all, and all Admiring, scarce could choose ; there were so many Lovely spots, he could not fail in pleasing His beloved Amanda; and he hasted back. Well pleased to tell her all the tale of his Adventures. And on the. borders of the groat Republic, near the spot where grand Niagara Pours her dashing flood, he lingered, and Beheld, entranced, the foaming cataract Rush o'er the heights with thunder tone. And there was in its voice a music wild And dread, that o'er him bound a spell of strange And nameless fascination. And long He gazed upon this most magnificent 52 THE WILD mil EH. Of spcotaclps Ills sonl-1 1 oyos lunl ever l^ooked upon. Hut he was rlcstiucil never more To trend tlie soil of liis loved native lale. A fell contagion seized liis frame and laid Ilini low. In vain were all the reniedie.s That skilled physicians could devise; his hour Had come; and ho must say farewell to all Beneath the sun. No gentle mother's hand WhS there to smooth his pillow, or impart The cooling draught ; no sister's voice to cheer Ilis fainting heart, or bid him cling, in his Last mortal struggle with the ruthless King Of Terrors, to the mighty arm that carried All our griefs, deprived the grave of victory, ' And took the sting from death. Yet he "Was strong in faith and love, and willingly Responded to the call that bade him leave All he held dear on earth. A nobler crown Than earthly monarch wears was his ; and Joyfully his free unfettered spirit Soared to realms of light and purity, >Vhere sorrow, sin, and death can never come. His kind physician, his last accents caught And treasured well. 'Twas of his mother he Would speak ; and, as his heaving breath came quick And short, he murmured, " Tell her not to grieve — , OKOROR AND AMANDA. 53 ik To-day — I'll be in paradlso — with Jesus — ** And witliin his hand a little lockot placed, Saying, " 'Tis AmandaH, — pray tell her — that in Death her name — was dear to me — she'll meet Mo soon at Illft right hand — Farewell — I — go — glorious sight! — the angels come! — yes — I — go— KarowcU!" — Then, the last conflict over, and The clay composed to rest, a stranger's hand All kindly offices performed ; and, to His friends, who waited his return, addressed A full account of his lasL hours. And from Ilis noble head they clipped a glossy curl, And enclosed ; — 'twas all their eyes should ever rest Upon of his beloved remaiuc 'Twas winter When the tidings came, and doubly winter then To poor Amanda: but tlio thought that he Died true to her, that he breathed her name, Then rose on seraph wings aloft to God, To dwell for evermore in pure and full Felicity, her grief consoled ; and the Fond hope that she would one day meet him There, her spirit calmed and soothed. And all her thoughts were of the better land ; And meekly she could bow before her lot, And ask for strength to suffer all it pleased Her righteous Father to inflict. And now 1 54 THE WILD BRI£B. ¥l : t She felt that nought of earth had power to draw Her love. Her idol was removed — the idol She had worshipped — the creature she had more Adored than the Creator. She, in these AfHictions, clearly could discern the hand By which a loving Father led her to Himself. When foes assailed, and friends withdrew, Her heart was hard as stone ; she could not pray, Nor quietly submit: the sting of pride — Severely wounded pride — distracted her. But this was a sufficient blow to quell " And conquer all rebellious feelings. And, Laying down all earthly cares and thoughts, she now Betook herself to make her peace with God ; To do His will on earth, and ask for grace To fit her soul for spending an eternity Above the sky And, with a mind more firm And rational than many who regale ■ Themselves in fortune's smiles, and bask in light Beneath the sun of bright prosperity, She treasured up, within her heart, the sad Event, and in these words recorded it: — He has laid him down in a dreamless sleep, With the damp cold earth around him ; For death's dark seal on his brow was set. And the grave's chill fetters bound him. OEOBOE AND AMANDA. 55 paw more ithdrew, pray, she now u ight He has gone to rest in a stranger's land. All around him are strangers sleeping; He has closed his eyes far away from the home Where his kindred and friends are weeping. But his spirit has risen, with a glorious flight, And soared to the land of seraphs, To join with the band, in celestial white, Of ransomed and sinless spirits. Yet the heart looks back with a bitter pain, And grieves that the clay has perished ; And fain would recall, from the grave's domain, The form it so dearly cherished. But, alas ! how vain is the longing wish Of the bursting heart to see him ; For death cannot chain his spirit to earth, And we from the grave cannot free him. I am weeping to think how that noble youth From the stage of life was hurried ; But not by the grave I weep, where all My heart's fond hopes are buried. Methinks it would soothe this aching heart, Though the tears might still be flowing, :f n] ^i * -^ \\l ^ 1 . 9 %\ 56 TU£ WILD BBIEB. ,To know the spot where he lies at rest — Where the wild rank weeds are growing. But Heaven denies what love would ask — To plant by his grave a willow — The decree had gone forth, and away in the west Was prepared his lonely pillow. I saw him last, on a summer day, His brow was fair and unclouded ; No shadow of gloom passed over his way, In darkness or care to enshroud it. • And 0, the majestic, the noble look That sat on his princely features, Seemed more like a lofty angel of light Than aught of earth's fading creatures. His was a broad and a matchless brow- Locks that were dark and shining — Eyes that were solemn, and large, and clear* Goodness and truth combining. His was a form of a stately mould, A face of surpassing beauty ; His was a heart that scorned deceit, But scorned not the path of duty. OEOBOE AKD AMAKDA. 5 His was a heart where afPectlon dwelt, Where friendship held large dominion, Where mild generosity reigned ; — and hope Before him was spreading her pinion. I saw him no more : — ere another bright sun Had decked out the glowing horizon, Alone he was pacing the vessel's long deck. That carried him o'er the wide ocean. Oh ! my heart was sad when I knew he was gone. Oh ! the hours seemed vacant and lonely : But one cherished hope to my bosom still clung,- One thought, — 'twas of him, and him only. Full many a wide spreading plain he traversed, Full many a green plantation ; Yet fouiid no spot where his spirit might rest,— No fountain of sweet consolation. And time rolled on with a rapid flight, While the youth was widely roaming, Till his heart grew weary with wandering far. And dim eyes watched for his coming. He longed to inhale the sweet fresh air Of his own dear native climate ; vl I '' ''' ' :v : 1 08 /HE WILD BBIEB. He longed for his own familiar friends, For hifl home and the hearts that entwined it. So he bade farewell to the pleasant vales Away in the green Wisconsin ; And hastening back on a homeward track, Sought his home with a heart rejoicing. 'Twas a happy iihought to the anxious minds Thinking of him so kindly; 'Twas a rapturous thought to this passionate heart, Doating on him so blindly. And pleasing memories thronged my sight, Scenes that had passed like visions Came with, a living freshness back. Clear as the star-lit heavens. But long and vainly we looked for him, Long did we marvel why he tarried ; And thought that his bark o'er the heaving main To some distant land had been carried. But hope at length began to give way To dismal and dark foiebotlings ; We longed to know, yet we feared each day To our home might bring heavy tidings. t I GEO£G£ AND AMANDA. 59 The winter snows were falling fast, And the days seemed dark and dreary ; But darker, far, was the cloud that came O'er our hearts so chill and weary. 'Twas true, too true, the sad, sad news That came in that death sealed letter ; 'Twas a blow that was heavy and hard to bear, 'Twas a pang that was keen and bitter. For he, whom we longed to behold once more, Whom we loved with such deep devotion. Had died, and was buried by strangers' hands, Far over the restless ocwan. Where now are the hopes once so dear to our heart* Filling each hour with gladness ? Perished and blighted and fled from us now, Or changed into heav est sadness. But 0, there's a land where death cannot come, Where sorrow and pain cannot enter ; A rest and a mansion prepared for the saints Who have finished their glorious wartiare. Then let us look up, with a holier trust, From the scenes of this world's tribulation, 60 THE WILD BRIEB. To that home where the happy are parted no more And death cannot sever affection. And now that the sting may be taken away. For the sake of thy well beloved son ; And thy creature, thongh feeble, enabled to say, ' ^ly father in heaven, thy will be done.' Is the prayer that the lonely heart-broken Amanda Would offer, kind Father, to thee ; Till she rest where the wicked from troubling cease And the weary from weeping are free. One more sad scene, and then the curtain drops. Amanda visited that saddened home, And there, with weeping mother, sisters, friends, Poured out her sympathetic tears : and, oh ! To breathe one word of consolation to Those breaking hearts, o'erwhclmed in grief, How utterly inadequate she seemed. No word was spoken ; but, in silence ranged Around thosf old familiar walls, they sat, The stillness only broken by the sob, Or heavy moan. That was an hour in which The heart, well knowing its own bitterness, / * OEOKGE AND AMANDA. 61 No words desired ; they only seemed to mock The soul's deep agony, and pierce anew The deadly wound. But, as they parted, long The stricken mother held Amanda's hand, And, faltering, poured out her last blessing on Her drooping head. They met no more ; but soon, In death's dark cerements shrouded, to the cold And silent grave they bore that aged form ; Not long her strength endured, for heavy woe Had bowed her frame ; and with her kindred dust Her thin grey hairs were soon in sorrow laid. And who shall tell what glowing scenes of joy Those two freed spirits, now in bliss, behold. And, calm and grave, Amanda walks amid The smiles, the sighs, the vanities of time; The strifes, the animosities, the loves. The hatreds, the untruths, the friendships of This fickle life, unheeding of them all. She sees as though she saw not, hears as though She heard not, for she feels the time is short ; The fashion of this world is passing swift Away ; and this, oh ! this is not her rest. I # .^l 11 if 'I 63 THE WILD BRIEX. AMANDA'S LAMENT. 2vi'— "#Ih iolh at Dome." Far, far away the brave lies sleeping, Cold in the tomb ; Those that he left behind are weeping Over his early doom. All my fond hopes are gone and perished ; Joy is unknown. shall I see him never? Never! No ! no ! my idt»l is gone. ! my heart is surely breaking, I am all alone. O yes ! my heart is sorely aching, Aching for him that's gone. Once, I was happy, happy, happy ; Blithe as the day; But, when my heart was light an'l merry, Death stole my love away ! then my heart was sad and heavy ! Cold as the clay; 0, if I had but wings wide spreading, Fain would I fly away ! i Amanda's lament. ■k 68 i ! my heart is surely breaking, I am all alone ; yes ! my heart is sorely aching, Aching for him that's gone. Far, far away the brave lies buried, — Wide rolls the wave, — Dark is the shade that round me gather^,-^ Lone is the stranger's gravel No one to plant a weeping willow Close by his head! No one to raise a stone there, telling Where his loved form is laid! ! my heart is surely breaking ; I am all alone; yes ! my heart is sorely aching, Aching for him that's gone. Take me away across the billow, For I would go ; There's but one Spot in this wide world Where I can rest from my woe. There, where his faithful heart must moulder, Grive me a tomb ; There let me lay me down and slumber. There make my long last home. li.: 64 THE WILD BRIEB. ! my heart is surely breaking ; I am all alone; yes ! my heart is sorely aching, Aching for him that's gone. J THEY ARE GONE. TO THE HEMBEBS OF THE POLYNKSIAN MISSIOX, THB FOLLOWING SEVEN PIECES ARE RESPECT- FULLY DEDICATED. To the friends of the Polynesian Mission, the following lines may possess some interest. They were written on the departure of the Rev. J. Geddie and family from the scene of his first laboz-s in the great work of winning souls. JS^ever shall 1 forget the grief with which I re- ceived the parting kiss from the lovely little Jane and Mary Sophia, so soon to be consigned to the narrow house appointed for all living, and left to slumber beneath the green sward of laeir fatherland. 1 had then no ade- quate idea of the glorious work of the Missionary, but felt the deepest regret at parting with my beloved little playmates. They have bid us adieu ! we behold them no more ! And our bosoms are filled with a tender emotion ; They are rocked to repose on the breast of the wave, Afar in the midst of the wide stormy ocean. •■! THEY ABU GONE. 65 Their home is pi-cpared in a far distant land; From the home of their youth they have parted for- ever ; Their friends have all bid them a final fftvewell. And their hearts, once so fond, have been joined but to sever. Far o'er the blue waves of the wide rolling sea, They've chosen to sojourn 'mongst heathen and strangers. Away from their home and their loved native land, And surrounded by trials, and troubles, and dangers. Ah, little I dreamt, when together we strayed, — With our young hearts untroubled, in life's happy morning, — When richly the last golden rays of the sun Were the gay blooming meadows and wild woods adorning ; When through the deep forest we roamed with delight. And gathered Spring's sweet scented buds and gay blossoms. Ah ! little I thought that, ere long, we must part, And many a sigh fill our sorrowful bosoms. 66 TUK WILD BRIEH. Oh fate ! cruel fate ! with thy cold iron hand Full many a true-hearted friend thou hast parted ; Yes ! blighted full many a tender young flower, And left them all desolate, lone, and deserted ! But, waken ye zephyrs, and waft them along. Roll gently beneath them, ye white tossing billows : May happiness dwell in their far distant home. And sweet be their slumbers, and soft be their pillows. THEY ARE GONE. The following lines weie written with reference to the death of little Jaiiie and Maiy Sophia Qeddle. They are gone, in their innocent loveliness gone ! In their beauty and purity, gone from the earth ! They have passed, in their seraph-like sweetness, away From the region where smiled the loved home of their birth. Though no willow may weep where their ashes repose. Nor the pure lily blossom around the lone spot ; Though the wildings of nature entwine their dank leaves, Yet the mound where Uiey slumber will ne'er be forgot. THEY ARE GONB. 67 Can a father forget the low grave of his child, Though his table be furnished in climes far awaj ? dan a mother each night slumber on and not think Of the sacred abode where her steps may not stray } Ah no ! for the memories that hallow the spot Where the babe, in its beauty and sweetness, is laid, Forbid that its cherub-like form should depart From the heart that enshrined the first accent it said. Ye have laid your loved treasures to rest with the dead ; Jhough your hearts have been heavily, bitterly grieved. Ye have bowed to the messenger, calm and resigned. As he dealt the stern blow that your spirits bereaved. Ye have nobly replied to the summons to ** Go," — Ye have left the loved land where your ancestors sleep : Ye have taken your cross, — ^ye have willingly braved, For the sake of your Master, the billowy deep. Ye have sacrificed all the endearments of home, All the comforts of Christian and civilized life, Hi i 68 THE WILD BRIEB. Exchanged the communion of spirits refined, For the warfare, the struggle, the storm, and the strife, il 'i I I For the toil and the sickness, the terror and grief, For the blow of the smiter, the wound of the spear, For the shout of the savage that seeks for vour lives : ! truly your rest, your reward is not here. But the treasures ye bear o'er the wild rushing wave, Like the gems that concealed 'ueath the deep wat- ers be, Shall one day flash forth from the darkness that wraps, In a mantle of blackness, the Isles of the Sea. I'' if i THEY ARE GONE. ON THE DEATH OF ME. JOHNSON, AND MR. AND MRS. IfATHESON, OF THE NEW HEBRIDES MISSION. The Lord of the harvest his reapers hath called, He hath gathered them home from the field. He hath bid them in quietude sink to their rest ;-— They have answered the summons. — their eyelids are sealed. • THEY ABK OONE. 69 gladly to Jesus th'^y came in their youth, And he sent them not empty away, But gave of his spirit to strengthen and help, To comfort and light them in sorrow's dark day, And forth to the combat they went at his word, UnafTrighted, untroubled, and calm ; For they drank of the cup a kind Father supplied ; They tasted the sweetness of Gilead's balm. And strong in the strength of the God whom they loved. Amid perils by sea and by land. They shrank not to meet the dark cannibal's gaze, They fled not the touch of the savage's hand ; But toiled, with unceasing devotion and love, The horrors of heathendom dark to dispel. The standard of Zion to plant in the Isles Where iniquity's iD^nifold mysteries dwell. bravely they stood at their perilous post — bravely they su£fered, and languished, and died ; No murmur escaped them, as, calm and resigned. They encountered the swellings of Jordan's dark tide. 70 THE WILD iJKIEIt. precious indeed in the sight of the Lord Is the death of His noble and dearly loved saint ! holy the spot that entombs his remains, Though our footsteps may never that region fre- quent ! 11 ; And who shall come up to the help of our King, Against the strong hosts that invade, With a bitter, a deadly, a murderous hate , The land that shall yet our Redeemer's be made ? Shall the sons of our love, for the sake of bright gold, Meet the dangers of climates unknotvn ? Shall the youth of our country in warfare engage, For the sake of a perishing earthly renown ? And the ranks of Immanuel be scattered afar. Or His laborers cease from their toil ; Or the soldier of Jesus grow faint, and look back, And in fearfulness shrink from the weary turmoil ? Ah no ! for the love that we bear our best Friend Forbids that we list not the call To come from our pleasures, and fill up the ranks. And readily enter, and willingly fall, THET A BR QnXR. For the sake of the perishing heathen, if so Should our blessed Redeemer require ; But to tell them of Jesus, of heaven, of hope, Let this be our first and most earnest desire. 71 THEY ARE GONE. ON THE DEATH OF MR. AND MES. GORDON, '* THR XAST MARTYRS OF EROMANGA." Not by the glow of the social hearth, Not by the lamp's mild ray, Not from the downy couch of rest, Did their spirits pass away. Not by the gentle loving arm Were their throbbing bosoms stayed ; Not by the voice of faithful friend Were their dying throes allayed. But a sudden, deadly stroke was dealt ]Jy a ruthless, savage arm ; And the sound that broke on her acntlo ear Was the murderer's wild alarm 72 THE WILD BBIEB. ^^^ Loud on the air the cry rang out, And the lady turned to see, And " What," she enquired, in anxious tone, " 0, what may that outcry be ? " Atut the savage lied in his black deceit, And he coolly made reply, ** The boys are at play, and they shout with glee To the sun in the cloudless sky." Scarce had her gentle footsteps turned To the door of her loved abode, When the club of the hardened monster fell. And the blood of the raartyr flowed. She knew not the lif"; " ^er best beloved Had fallen, a saorifio'V Till his glorified spirit in joy met hers, In a region of cloudless skies. Together they labored, together they fell, Together they slumber in peace, Together they sing to the golden lyre, And joy in their spirits' release. No longer shall sorrow or weariness press The hearts that, so true to their trust, <«5rf^^" THEY ABE GONB. 73 Fulfilled the kind mission their Master assigned, Ere they laid them to moulder in dust. And oh ! that the darkness, enshrouding in gloom That Island of liorror and death, May be speedily scattered, that light may illume, With its sunbeams, the murderer's path ! Then come to the rescue, ye heralds of life ! Ye soldiers of Jesus ! repair To lands where the blackness of darkness prevails, And the words of salvation declare. Awake ! !ind your strength shall be daily renewed ; Awake ! and new faith shall inspire ; Awake 1 and fresh courage your hearts shall revive, Your bosoms shall glow with new fire. give of your substance, ye lords of the land, Whose coffers with treasures are filled give of your goods as your Q-od hath bestowed* Your silver, cheerfully yield 1 For the day is approaching when Jesus shall rule, Triumphant o'er city and plain ; When the isles of the ocean, in love shall bow down» And exult it Immanuel's reign. I I I n THE WIM) liUlKTl. With courage undaunted then hold on your way. Though events may at times appear dark, Expecthig the sunbeam to break from the cloud, And the billows grow calm 'ucath your bark. I And dedicate body and spirit anew, To the service and honor of Him, Before whom the kings of the earth are as worms, And the lustre of gold appears dim. f? THE "DAYSPRINa." "Go ye int^» jjl the world and picacli the gosiiel to every oreatiue." Luke 16: 15. "And lol I am witli you ahvaj', even anfo the end of tlie world." Mute. 28: 20. ii^i I T^ The following lines were composod on the morning of the depaiture of the " Daj'fpring " from Iliilifax. aaU presented to one of the Jlissioiuiries on board. 'xM ! with T)eople's blessing on thee, go ! A gr ater love no human heart can know; Fcr t\i':.f^,, a people's fervent prayers ascend ;— May T'T'ob's God thy precious life defend ! e^. THE 'DAYSPKINO.* 75 Although for thee our p .ting tears may fall — For love, as strong as doatli, can conquer all — Although soft sympathy her empire holds, Bright hope's broad pennon floats in waving folds, And songs of praise to Zion's God arise, Sweet strains that ring, triumphant to the skies. The " Dayspring," well equipped for service, comes,, And faithful hearts go forth from Christian homes, To bear the word of life to darkened souls, Where cloudy blackness round the region rolls. Go ! tell the gospel story; raise thy voice ; And heathen lands shall yet in light rejoice ! Oo ! plant the glorious standard of the cross, And cheer the souls that sit in darkness gross : Go ! build the temple of the Lord ]Most High, And snatch, from woe, thy brother, doomed to die. Farewell ! ye noble, firm, and trusting band ; For Christ ye leave your loved, your native land ; Be His strong arm your guide, your shield aud stay, And safely keep your souls wheu far away ! i 'I 76 THB WII.U UUIIift. I ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE "PW SPRING" PROM HAUPAX. ti r n •I •i y \ ! >< Solemn and deep were the tones that arose, — Sweetly they broke on the moistened air, With a plaintive sound, from the lips of those Who met in that cabin for parting prayer. The story of Paul and his sorrowing friends Was told, in a faltering tone, by one Who well sympathized- in the sorrow that IoikIs A shade to the hour when sister and sou Bid a final adieu to the land of their bn-th. And, readily taking their lives in their hands, With a message of love to the dark ones of earth. Make haste to unbind from the .laptive his bands, ! ; In the region where smiles not the Christian abode ; Where the tale of the eross is unuttered, and they, Who seek but to scatter rich blessings abroad, Oft mingle full soon with the clods and the clay. k DEPARTUIti; OF ' DAYSPRINO.' 77 1 Yet they shrink not to moot the white crest of the wave, They fear not the tempest, — the storm may not harm; But, trusting in Jesus, their spirits, so brave, Are free from all terror and restless alarm. The prayers of the faithful ascend for her weal ; To God they devoutly commend the loved band, As they step from her deck, nor attempt to conceal The tear of regret, as they drop the dear hand That may never again be encircled in theirs With the granp of affection and brotherly love ; But the hearts of their country, in faith's fervent prayers, Go with them, and bear them to mansions above. Yet we joy to behold the trim bark on the tide. That the Iambs of the fold, with their mites, have procured, As gaily she flits o'er the ocean so wide, And her burden becomes to the waters inured Three brides have gone forth in that well freighted ship; And may joy unalloyed ever shine on their lot ; ' •! PI , 'I n 'I I :: V t« I !* \\ 78 Tin; wii.i) liuiiij. May no blast of ndvt'rsitv nu'cl iIumm, to nip Tlio swoot Mos.^onis that Mimv romid llio far di.siant spot, Whoro llioy roav llioir new liouics in tlio isles of the soa, Wiioro thi\y laluir tor Josus, with hearts unilisniay'd, AVhoro the eaptive, now foltcn'd, (>ro lonii;, shall go free, And rejoiec. in (he robes of (he Chrisdan arrav'd. Then welcome! ve luM-alds of cladness and li!j;li(, To those regions of horror, of deatli, and des])air; ]\ray the gloom bo dispersed, atid the foe put (o (light By the tale that ye tell, and the name that ye bear! LINES ADDKKSSED TO THE REV. J GKnDIE AND LADY, OW THEItt REVISITING THEIR NATIVE COUMllV, AFTER A SOJOURN OF SIXTEEN YEARS ON THE ISLAND OF ANIETUEM. "Welcome ! Thrice welcome to your own loved lands': A thousand hearts rejoice to clasp your hands ! I ^ nt 10 d. 'i'> lit r! )W 3>. TO IIKV. J. (ii;i)I)IK AND I-AI)T. 79 Ih I twice ton thousand voicos vIho in songs Of pvniHo to (jod, to wlioin all praiao belongs | III darkness, doubt, and fear your work began, \m yo unfolded frei^ salvation's plan, And held, witli love, before the Havage eye, Tlio glorious (ruth, that sinners nniy not die,— That the free, deathl(>ss spirit Ood has given. May lind itn final reisting plaeo in heaven, And calm itself, in peace, bcf(n*c His throne, When this terrestrial scene is passed, and gone! 8ay, will your rest, in bliss, be aught less sweet, That Polynesia's daii<.'hters round you meet, And ask of you, to point to realms above, Where ransomed souls rejoice in Jesus' love ; Where tyrants cannot come, nor slavery's chains ; Where sweet repose forever more remains? Ah no, for, sure, the great reward is thine, Our blessed Lord vouchsafes, in love divine,— Give one weak saint a cup of water, cold, And thy reward transcends the brightest gold ! The Prince of Peace, in mercy, opes the door, And bids the sad rejoice forevermore! Soon shall the wilds, where tiiorns and thistles grow, Be changed to verdant fields, where roses blow ; The feeble one, become an army, strong ; And richest spoils of earth, to God belong 1 i ?■■( IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■^ liiii III 2.2 1.8 ^ IIIIIM s e. /; Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SS0 (716) 872-4S03 I i/ji ! I 80 THE WILD BRIER. •|! Again ye go ! Then keep your watch-tower, still. And sound the gospel trump, o'er plain and hill, Till slumbering nations hear the joyous peal, And wake to light, and life, with glowing zeal ; And still prolong the earnest, pleading tone, Till idol worship shall no more be known, And heathen rites, (forever cast away,) Give place to the Messiah's glorious day. Then, fare ye well ! till, blest, in realms above. We meet to talk of Christ's Eternal Love ; To wave the victor's palm, and strike the lyre. To notes of joy, that shall no more expire ! Charlottetown, August 21, 1865. LINES AlyDBESSED TO THE REV. 3. CAMEROX. " Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt And it aftet many days." Eccles. 9:1. Yes ! twenty years have on this dreamy head Their cloudy mists and glancing sunbeams shed, Now, dimmed with tears, and now, in smiles arrayed, Have cast alternate folds of light and shade, TO REV. J. CAMEKON. 81 Since I, a little, shrinking, ghost-like child, On whom no well-pleased pedagogue e'er smiled. Beheld thy pale, serene, and thoughtful face Our portal cross, and light illume the place. 'Twas on our little Island's wooded shore. Where wild winds sport at will, and breakers roar ; 'Twas where a youthful throng thy interest drew, And childhood's guileless features met thy view; 'Twas where a member of that toiling race Who occupy an all-important place. Whose work is planting learning's cai'ly root. And " teaching young ideas how to shoot " A care-worn pilgrim taught the village school . (Where oft the youthful sago is termed a fool). 'Twas his to cheok the wlii.spcred thought of guile, And truth reward with genial word and smile ; 'Twas his to point the wavering youthful mind To virtue's sweet reward, with accents kind. But he was one of scarce a charm possessed, And by the grace of charity unblest ; Whose eye was quick each trivial fault to scan, And sought in youth what scarce is found in man ; A being nature never had designed To parley with the young immortal mind ; But, by some sad mischance, his footing missed, And gained a spot where he could scarce subsist. ^■!' ■i I'M fl'.li I" 11 ■ !>■ 82 THE WILD BRIEB. Much to be mourned indeed the sad mistakes In placing men, that, sometimes, fortune makes^ 'Twas strangly sad, yet true as it was strange. He often soared above the little range Of his confused ideas, and sublime His lucidations grew from time to time, Discoursing themes as clearly understood By roving Indian in the tangled wood. And heavy were the tasks he oft imposed. And deep the philosophic truths disclosed. But wondrous strange it seems to you and me. And ever must a cause of marvel be, That planets of such magnitude and power Should scarce emit one ray, from hour to hour. To light the darkness of the untutored mind, Or charm the soul from wishes unrefined. His vain pretence was to disclose to view The light his own dark vision never knew. And weary grew our spirits, day by day. And tardily the moments crept away, Till you, blest man of God, one morn, pppearod,. And all our little round of sorrows cheered. And wide were opened large and curious eyes. That on the stranger gazed with glad surprise. And gentle, tender, earnest words he spoke: But they had power to sever Satan's yoke. i TO RET. J. CAMEBOir. 8S He told us life had pain, and toil, and care ; And bade us for its wintry days prepare. He told us youth was thoughtless, glad, and free; But hours would come when thus it would not be, When sad experience, oft too dearly bought, Her stern, but salutary, lessons taught ; When we would mourn, as treasures lost and gone, These misspent moments, then forever flown ; Our bosoms filled with cankering, vain regret. The wretched past forbidding to forget ; Then would we wish, with thoughts of bitter pain. And vainly wish we were but young again ! And clearly see we had been worse than mad, To slight the early day of grace we had. He asked us, one and r^l. to ^ook on high To Him who rules the earth and starry sky, And He would send His angels, pure and good. To walk with us through life's lone solitude. And now, thoi gl. twenty years have passed away,. It seems but as the morn of yesterday When, all my youthful heart within me stirred, I gazed in silence, and Jrank in the word. And ne'er since then that warning could forgetj But, like a voice from Cod, I hear it yet ; And see that graceful form, and earnest face, And feel a hallowed presence fill the place. I I X'i ^1 H THE WILD BBIKR. For, like the solemn sounding of the sea, That voice possessed a thrilling tone for me, That breathed a rapture o'er my inmost soul, And through Its secret chambers sweetly stole ; That fostered love and hope, — that banished feai, That hushed the sigh, and dried the falling tear; That sealed the firm resolve to nobly fight Against all wrong, and well defend the right. An aim — an end — a purpose then, in life. Before me fixed, I boldly waged the strife Against all error — and, as daily food. From out the evil strove to cull the good. And never yet had cause to cease, or rue The doing what he nobly bade us do. Yes ! saintly man, of spiritual mind. Could I but hear, once more, those accents kind, I'd clasp thy hand, and tell thee how the bread, Thy faithful hand upon the waters shed Full twenty year? ago, has now been found, And flourishes upon productive ground. And brings forth fruit, full many hundred fold, More precious, far, than rubies, gems, or gold. Then ne'er forget to feed the little lamb, — Peculiar treasure of the great I AM, — And angel eyes will, beaming, look on thee. And thy reward, in heaven, most precious be. TO REV. ISAAC MUBBAY. 85 LINES ADDBESSED TO THE KEV. ISAAC MURRAY, In remembrance of a discourse delivered at Cavendisli. May 19, 1850, from Matt. 5 : 4. C faithful shepherd of a gentle flock, Who weekly gather roimd thee, and, enchained By thy loved voice, hear Israel's consolation poured Forth from thy gracious lips, and see truth's bright And peerless diamond well disclosed ! Pause but a moment, for a faint echo Of thy sweet consoling strain comes stealing o'er The unruffled deep, and seeks thy listening ear. The hush of night is on the water now ; The white moon rides forth gloriously, and pours A flood of silver light across its burnished breast ; And the dark foliage of the silent wood Hangs motionless, as though the least flutter Would disturb the still beauty of the scene. An eye that oft has met thy keenest glance, — An ear that has full oft been bowed to catch Thy most persuasive tone, now gazes on This rapturous scene, — now hears, though waves divide. That ever cherished voice pro&raim, in strains ^ i i!; if,' • II li 86 THE WILD BRIEB. .V. ^ i f H ,! That waft the soul on wings of faith to heaven,— " Ye who have steeped your souls in sorrow's cap, — Ye shall be comforted ' " Yes ! when the night was dark, and lone, and chill, And the poor, tired feet stumbled from the way, And the arch Tempter came, and sought to blind The light of truth divine, and make it change To grossest darkness ; when the sad heart kaew No cheering ray, and racking thought oppressed The brain, thy words were, then, the soothing balm ; Thou didst the cheering cordial pour, in sweet Libations on the weary, wounded heart. Then were the dark and dismal clouds dispersed, And a glad spirit sprang to life, and soared, On joyous wing, rbove the heavy mist That darkened all the land. And who shall stay Vs flight in time, or bid it cease to sing ? Shall he, who poured itito the thirsty soul The healing draught of Gilead's sweetest balm, Forbid its grateful song of praise to rise ? No ! not the voice that gave it light and life. And bade it ever, evermore rejoice 1 Bedford Basin, August 23, 1S63. I Hi AN ECHO. 87 AN KCHO. "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall bs comforted."' Matt. 5, 1. promise ?weet to poor and feeble man, Whoso life, at best, is but a little span, Made up Oi' sorrows, wishes, partings, tears. That cast their gloonx o'er all his earthly yp&TS ! His frail breath like a fleeting vapour flies. He lives — ^he weeps — he hopes — he strives — he dies ! His brief career seems lately but begun When he beholds, surprised, life's sands quite run ;. And, putting off his armour, with a sigh. That he so soon must lay him down to die, He cries, " Alas ! how little have I done : H*^ " little learned of aught beneath the sun ! '* Ar,.d all his human nature sadly mourns, As earth to earth, and dust to dust returns. Poor, creeping vorm ! Yet fired by passion's rage,. ^rora petted chi'Jhood, up to doating age, Subjected to innumerable toils, — Fireside disputes, and jarring party broils ; His strifes begin in boyhood's heedless day. And cease not, till hi.s breath has passed away ;. Begin with marbles, tops, and kites, at school. Where play and warfare oft, alternate, rule. -11 J m I i Hi ■ - l' J.f , ■ > * I I N 88 THK WILD BRIEB. U'i 1 Some evil quiukly learn ; some choose the good ; Some, craft, and guile ; some, intellectual food. A little world, in miniature, are they. Each, striving for tlie mastery, in his way ; Each little foot, to tread his fellow down, Upraised, with menace, wrath, and frown ; Each little hand to strike the ready blow : And, thus, from youth to riper age, they go ; None asking who gave him the special right To wound, quell, conquer, kill, or fight. Some mount the pulpit ; some the stage ; — some mix In deadly feuds ; and some in politics : All hope to gain, on earth, a bright renown. And all expect to wear, in heaven, a crown; Forgetting that the deeds, which, here, they do, Must seal their fate, — and God is true. That the hereafter, here, is but begun. Nor who lives well, in dying, is undone, But simply to perfection passes on, To where full light, and brighter glories dawn. Death only purifies and quite refines The metal that in life but dimly shines. Death is the pickaxe that must pierce the stone, Where only baser metals outward shone, But held, within its close and firm embrace, A gem, well worthy of a nobler place ; AN ECHO. 89 A gem that destined is to glance and shine Upon the coronet of love divine. A gem that claims, on earth, His tender care, The universal Monarch deigns to wear! Though once a poor inhabitant of clay, Vexed with the toils of life's all-troubled day, And fretted with a thousand nameless woes That end in nature's last expiring throes. Such is the little drama of our lii ) ; Such the experience of husband, wife. Child, father, mother, brother, sister, friend ; — All the long catalogue of ties must end In this that stills the heart, and stops the breath, — This dread, inexplicable thing, called death ! Nor insect, elephant, thyself, nor I, From this all-potent spell, have power to fly; We wait the hour that bids the mandate go, That, with the crawling worm shall lay us low ! But 0, thrice happy is our favored lot. Though, by the much loved voice of fame, forgot, If, when the awful day of reckoning comes, — And kind humanity must rear our tombs, — Attendant angels, joyous, round us wait. And white winged seraphs ope the crystal gate ; And he, who once, on Calvary's cursed tree, Washed off the stains from rebels such as we. ^f ifi I ; I I I. 1 i ' •90 TIIK WIM) IIUIKH. His once pierced hand, wide opens, and extends, And leads us forth to joy that never ends. He, who forever put the spoiler down, Forever hears the harp, and wears the crown, Forever loves who loved his name below. And laurels gives, that ever brighter grow ; While blood-bought spirits, day and night, €ry " Holy ! holy ! holy ! "—and the siglit, Entranced, enraptured, dwells in endless light. Oh, many things are here to make us mourn, To bring the heavy sigh, the look forlorn ; To crush the youthful spirit, and to shroud The hopeful heart in sorrow's dismal cloud ; . To teaoh the buoyant mind that hope must die. And chase the light from pleasure's beaming eye. Thus, discipline, in disappointment's school, 'Conveys a lesson to each wayward fool, When remedies, more palatable, fail, And thoughtless follies, o'er the mind prevail. Oh, then we drink the bitter draught, and mourn ; And giddy smiles no more the lips adorn, But, sober thought, our chastened bosoms fill, And reason bids the beating heart be still ; 'Then the consoling Comforter comes down. And balmy peace supplants the angry frown. A5 ECHO. 91 We mourn the loss of true, devoted friends, Whose converse, to our hearts, sweet solace lends ; Whoso syiiipatliy and comisel lift tho mind From dreary thoughts, that leave a gloom behind ; Whose high-toned wisdom elevates the soul. And keeps the grosser passions in control. Death comes and quickly snatches them away, And thick clouds darken all our summer day. The clasping vine is from the tall oak torn, And all the goodly trees of Carmel mourn. But, as the gentle spring's reviving dawn Sheds life and beauty o'er the naked lawn, So heavenly comfort from above descends, And fills the heart made void by parting friends. We mourn the hours in wasting sickness spent. And ill repress the rising discontent, Unwillingly endure the racking pain. Too prone, o'er ills, to murmur and complain ; And scarce forbear to boldly question why Such heavy burdens on our shoulders lie. Ah, we may rest asured 'tis for our good, For hearts like ours must wholly be subdued ; Each carnal wish, and every little sin Be quite displaced ere Christ will enter in. 'Tis, therefore, to advance this gracious end Oreat God is pleased these chastisements to send ; f i 11 I I 92 THE AVILI) imiEK. The stubborn heart bows down beneath the rod. Forsakes the thorny path that once it trod, Acknowledges a Father's hand divine, And rays of light celestial round him shine ; The oil of joy for heaviness is given, And garments beautejjjrs as the robes of heaven. We mourn the many ci'''ors of mankind, The heart of prejudice, the judgment blind, The will perverted, and the conscience seared, The mind, by truth's refulgent light, uncheered, The love bestowed on paltry things of earth, The value placed on trifles little worth. The lack of true and fervent Christian zeal, T) e mockery of feigning what we do not feel ; The many wounds our blessed Lord receives Amoig his friends ; — for these our spirit grieves. righteous Father, hear our suppliant cry ; Thy saving grace withhold not, or we die ! loving Saviour, hear our plaintive prayer. Nor cast us from thy tender watchful care ! Kach penitential tear to thee is known. Each sore temptation, too, was once thine own. Thou sce'st our sorrow, see'st our every sin, See'st the dark secrets of the heart within ; Thou know'st we daily, hourly, deeply mourn, And say'st again, " Ye sons of men return ! A AN ECHO. 98 Return from wandering vainly to and fro, — lleturn from everlasting death and woe ; Return from bearing Satan's heiavy yoke ; Return, and cease my spirit to provoke ; Return, and pardon, peace, and life are yours ; Return, while yet long-suffering grace endures ; ]3efore your callous hearts are turned to stone, And, *to your idols joined, are left alone. Then will ve deeply wail, and weep, and mourn — Ye erring spirits, oh ! return, return ! " Thou, gentle Jesus, ne'er didst cast away The trusting soul that dared to humbly pray. ! send, we plead, thy Holy Spirit down, Asunder break those hardened hearts of stone, I'ierce through those souls as with a two edged sword, Till all from idols turn, and servo the Lord ; Till all, who now in Satan's bondage mourn. Re free : and nations in a day be born. We mourn our unbelief, our doubting scorn,; — And bless the day the lowly Babe was born. We mourn our smouldering love, our hateful pride, — And bless the day a dear Redeemer died. We mourn our lack of will to love our foes, And bless the glorious morn a S.aviour rose. Triumphant from the yeilding, bursting tomb ; Behold ! behold a mighty conqueror come I I ;:r Ifi i: ■%, 94 THE WILD BRIEB. ii •' ;; 1 1 f< ' (' Death and the grave no longer captive hold That form divine, by sinners bought and sold ; Rejoice! rejoice! ye wretched ones forlorn; Put on your gorgeous robes, and cease to mourn J Let loud hosannas to high heaven ring; 01 celebrate anew your risen King! Let Zion's weeping daughters catch the strain. And the full, pealing anthem swell amain ! Ye who have hung your harps on willow trees, And breathed your sorrows to the sighing breeze, Whose tears have mingled with the gurgling rills, Whose moa.. ngs sounded through the solemn hills ; Awake at early dawn, arise and sing, In strains of triumph, to your mighty King ! While angels, joyous, clap their golden wings. And every saint in heaven triumphant sings, Shall we, for whom this glorious Being died, Against him raise the puny arm of pride ? Shall we, whom he has saved from death and hell. The wondrous tale of love forget to tell ? Shall we, the creatures by his bounty fed, Forget the hand that all our footsteps led ? Shall we such vile ingratitude display, And scorn our benefactor, day by day? Forbid it heaven ! forbid it filial love ! Forbid it all ye shining throng above I . ' AN ECHO. 95 Forbid it all ye ransomed souls of men ! Forbid ! forbid it ! we repeat again. Ye weeping multitude, that sigh and mourn, Let songs employ your lips, let smiles adorn : Aloud give praise and thanks, for God hath said — And He is truth — " Ye shall be comforted I " ; '» f!* TO MY JUVENILE FRIENDS. " Bemember now thy Cieatoi- in the days of thy youth, while Uie evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou ehalt say, I have no pleasure in them." Eccles. 12: l. ! heedless, hopeful, trusting, buoyant youth, With mind unsullied by the world's untruth. While yet ye bask beneath a parent's smile — While yet those love-tones all your woes beguile — While round your form a noble arm is cast. To shield from want, and sorrow's bitter blast ; list the tale of Jesus' dying love. And turn your youthful thoughts to realms above, Ere stern necessity your time demaitfls, And bids ye ply, for bread, your busy hands ! While yet your hearts are innocent and warm, While yet no cares disturb, or fears alarm. li 11^ i I ' a ■(■ 96 THE WILD BRIER. While yet your souls arc free from sordid thought, Nor worshipped gold, at heavy cost, is bought ; While yet unseared by contact with a world, Where vanity, with banner broad unfurled, Her gaudy robes displays, to catch the eye. And lure the soul to death, that cannot die. Where, deeply steeped in sin's all-poisoned cup, The soul no prayer for mercy, offers up ; But, like the famished one, that droops with thirst, Drinks in iniquity like streams that burst From fountains in a parched and withered land, And grasped, in eager haste, by fevered hand. While yet your yielding hearts have power to bend, ! to the precious Word attention lend. Remember thy Creator now in days of youth. And hear the words of high Eternal Truth. treasure up, as gold, the sacred page. The guide of erring youth, the solace of old age. call to mind thy Father's guardian care — Bow down to dust, and daily thank Him there For all his priceless gifts on thee bestowed Since thy first step on life's eventful road ; Before the darkened days of evil come — The sad presagers of a hopeless tomb ; Before the years of blighting woe draw nigh, — Forerunners of the death the prayerless die, TO MY JUVKNILK FRIENDS, 97 When, from their wasted, shrivelled, crusted hearts, The light of love, and joy, and hope departs ; When, in the sparkling eye, the lustre dies, And groping darkness all its place supplies ; When tears of sorrow cease to case the soul, And lowering clouds, portentous, round it roll ; When feeble, palsied hands, their craft forget; And limbs, once strong, in helpless weakness sit; The voice, that once in tones of music pealed. Be lost and gone ; and lips in silence sealed, That once had power to plead with eloquence, And sway a multitude, in self-defence. When dread alarm shall seize the tortured mind, And terror's victim, comfort cease to find ; And all the dismal road that lies ahead Be one dark waste of horror, fear, and dread. The tiny grasshopper a heavy burden seem. And all desire of earth, a sickly dream. For this poor body to the dust goes down. And weeping mourners tread the burial ground. Before the silver cord of life is loosed, And mercy's latest messenger refused ; Before the golden bowl be broken down,— The feeble frame to kindred ashes gone ; Before the pitcher at the fount be crushed. And laid, in scattered fragments, in the dust ; If f'l t 'U fl If 'W 98 THE WILD BBIEB. ^' i Ti < 'I The ^heel beside the cistern cease to turn. And all the mortal frame to earth return ; And that immortal part, by Godhead given. Be called to stand before the bar of heaven, And hear its sentence, no'cr to be revoked ; And sin and suffering be forever yoked ; — In an indissoluble union joined; All hope shut out from sorrow's darkened mind, A dread eternity of pain and grief, To which the rolling years bring no relief; But ceaseless ages, agonies renew, And still fresh horrors rise upon the view ; The woe-worn spirit fitted to endure The deathless worm whose poison knows no cure. O better had the stubborn neck been bound To granite rock, and in the deep been drowned, Before the hand had power to stretch it forth, Or yet the brain distinguish south from north ; Before the tongue could lisp, or fingers play. Or footsteps roam to regions far away, — better had the innocence of youth. In all its trusting faith and spotless truth, To death's dark charnel house, at morn, gone down, Ere long tried service made it Satan's own ; Than thou, hoary headed, guilty man, — A living blot since first thy walk began, — XO MY JUVENILE FRIENDS. 9a Thine every act an insult to thy God, — Thy speech a pestilence that flies abroad, Infecting all who meet thy poison breath, — Sad victims luring to the realms of death ! Than thou, with deeds of crime, fill up the span. That gracious mercy gave to ftillcn man ! Than thou, to vile and despicable things. Devote the hours that fly with tireless wings; The hours that bear thee to thy last abode. Debar thy wretched soul from h^^pe, and God; To agonize beneath the avenging hand Of justice infinite, whose stern demand Is perfect and complete conformity To all the law — or else — forever die ! This law poor, lost, corrupted, fallen man Has never kept on earth, or ever can ; But glory, praise, and thanks be ever given To Him who sits, a glorious King, in heaven ! Who satisfied for us that broken law, And stooped, our ruined souls from death to draw ; A door of mercy oped, and bade us come To share with him an honored Father's home ; To soar on joyous wings the myriad stars above. And bathe our souls in pure, celestial love. then ye artless, jocunu, youthful throng, Who gaily trip life's sunny slopes along, ; i ! . 100 THE WILD BRIER. HI 1 We ask, beseech, implore you but to pause, And look on death and woe — then ask the cause ; — One little word the question solves, — Sin ; — the agony that word involves The spirit in, that flees nut from its power, And cries to God in sore temptation's hour ! Then bring your tender hearts, with childhood's trust, For little ones like you go down to dust ; And youthful lips like yours can ask and pray ; Then wherefore need you longer turn away From mercy's tender, pleading, warning voice ; why make sin, and death, and woe, your choice ? Your longing hearts seek happiness, as well As they who tales of many years can tell ; Your quivering nerves as conscious are of pain ; Your throbbing hearts as anxious are to gain Some resting place — some antidote for grief, Some soothing balm — some cordial — some relief From weary hours of pain, perhaps of toil, From sorrow's wave, that breaks with wild turmoil. The erring mind, that yet has power to think. Beholds ahead the precipice's brink. O'er which those reckless souls, that heedless stray In sin's wide track — in crime's pernicious , ay — The steep, o'er which the soul must, headlong, rush— • The jagged rock that must to atoms crush. . rt TO MY JUVENILE FRIENDS. 101 Then why go blindfold on toward the steep. And plunge to endless ruin, dark and deep ? Why sacrifice your precious detf^hless souls ? Why to your bosoms take the burning coals Of everlasting torment, lo, while stands, In attitude ot pleading love, with hands Outstretched, with tender tone, and soothing word, Our wounded, suiFering, bleeding, dying Lord ? For theo he wept — he prayed, on Calvary's hill, — For thee he bleeds, he cries, he agonizes still, If, having tasted once the heavenly gift, — If once ye loved, but now that love have left, — Impossible ! — that wdrd your sentence seals ! Impossible ! — the gulph that word reveals ! Impossible, if ye shall fall away, — Your love becoming hatred, day by day, — That lost affection ever to restore ; — Avenging Justice cries for evermore, — Demands the everlasting sacrifice, And soon the soul, engulphed, in ruin lies, of hardened sinners, they the very chief, Who pierce anew the son of God with grief; Who probe afresh his deeply wounded side. And shed, again, his life-blood's gushing tide ; Who heap new insult on his drooping head. And lay his form, once more, among the dead ! 'J t , I ^r 'IS ■J! «1 I; •fl: ' I ■ !l I" f t I i 102 TUB WILD BRIEU. Oh ! youthful friends, beware of Judas' sin : Avoid the fatal gulph he perished in. His sad repentance came, alas ! too late ;— Impelled him to a suicidal fate ; All hope debarring from his stricken mind ; Ahead, dark horror, keen remorse behind, A dismal pall of woe eternal spread, ^ In horrid blackness, round his tortured head. 0, then, ye little straying lambs, draw nigh, And hear kind Mercy's message ere ye die. • Your great Creator bids ye call to mind, — Invites, with gentle tone, and accent kind, — He bids you on your memories bear his love, Before stern years your tenderness remove. Enough, through days of heavy grief or care. The burden of our feeble flesh to bear. Enough, the endless round of pain and toil, The world's unrest, its years of dark turmoil : Enough, the disappointments, woes, and fears. That sadly blend our hopes with bitter tears ; Enough, the many pangs the frame must bear, The many ills each human heart must share ; Though calmed, supported, comforted they be» By Him who seeth not as mortals see. Though in possession of that heavenly peace That lifts the soul to where its sorrows cease ; THE N£>V JERUSALUH' 103 THE NEW JERUSALEM. •'And I heard a great voico out of lioavcn, Baying, Behold, the tabernacle of God Is with men, and lie will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God; And God shall wipe away all tears from tlieir eyes; and there shall bo no more death, neither soitow, nor ciying, neither shall there be any more pain : lor the former things are passed away." Rev. 21 : 34. Amid our strifes and trials, let us • Strive to enter in Through the gate, to streets untrodden By the Man of Sin. There's a noble prize before us We may all inherit; Let us onward press to gain it, With a dauntless spirit. Enough to mar .its rest, — its earthly joy, l<]nough to canker and its love destroy ; The love, that, based on fading, earthly things, No lasting bliss, no solid comfort brings. Enough to bear, without the crushing load The sinner groans beneath, who seeks not God. -;^*.S-«^'^ i'l ' »» 1 1 If ■j ( !i 1 \ 1 ' In ii 104 THE WILD BBIEB. 'Tis a treasure worth posHCSsing ; — Deeked with regal gems, See, in yon celestial city, Brilliant diadonis ! Were those crowns for us provided ? Can we, sinners, dare. With our faces still undaunted. Answer, "Yes, they were?" Lo ' a glorious King is sitting On His royal throne, Hark, He answer^, " Heie are jewels. Sinners, put them on. Here are robes of purest whiteness ; Here are harps of gold; Here are crowns of regal brightness ; Here are joys untold. • Come, ye blessed of my Father, These are all for you: Ye have fought the glorious battle, Faithful, firm, and true. Ye have scorned the world's follies, — Scorned the oppressor's might; — THB MKW JimUIALIM. Oome, then come, for yo are worthy To walk with lue in white. Te are free from all oppression — Worst of all oppression, sin ; Welcome, good and faithful servants ; Joyfully enter in! For I was once a stranget, And pilgrim on the earth, And scornfully rejected, As one of meanest birth. And when a lonely stranger, Upon a world of sin, Without a habitation, Te kindly took me in. And when I wu an hungered, Te also gave me meat ; Te gaye me an abundance Of pleasant food to eat And when my feet were weary, And sandals soiled with dust, My throbKing head was aching, My tongue was parched with thirst; I I 106 THE WILD BRIEB. ? I Ye brought me purest water ; Ye gave ine^wine to drink; And quietly I rested Beside your fountain's brink. And when reduced to nakedness. By poverty severe, Ye gave me goodly raiment, And garments fit to wear. And when 1 lay in prison — Within a dungeon dread — And, languishing in sickness, Had not where to lay my head ; Ye came in kind compassion A stranger there to see, To all my wants ye ministered, A|id gave good gifts to me. And thej who sought to honor, With deeds of love, my name,— Who stooped to feed the hungry, That, to their portals, came ; And comforted the weary, Oppressed by poverty, — II THE N£w JERUSALEM. 107 Their deeds shall be rewarded, As done through mine to me." There the streams of living water Circle round the shore; There the Lamb, in all His glory, Reigns forevermore. There the Lord, the King of Zion, He who dwells in light. Shall banish sin and sighing With his presence bright. And of saints a glorious company Shall come from cast and west, North and south shall yield their numbers To mingle with the blest, To walk in the refulgence Of a full and radiant day, And sorrow, pain, and sadness Shall forever flee away. These are they, his ransomed people, Ransomed by his blood ; Pastures green are their possession, Beyond the rolling flood. \ ' i U ' . J -mrmmuismmfmmHm i 108 THE WILD BRIER. I Where thousands and ten thousands Together shall sit down ; And each shall bless the Saviour Who purchased him a crown. •• * iSil 1«l TO MY BROTHER. " Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind." Luke 14:21. "Go. out into the highways and lieilges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be flllcd." Luke U : 23. G-0 where a thousand glistening eyes meet thinOy With deep and earnest gaze ; Go where a thousand voices swell the hymn — The bursting hymn of praise. Go tell them of a Saviour risen indeed, And, on that glorious theme, Dwell with the pathos or the fervent fir« Of some high prophet's dream. Tell of a living, pleading, advocate, With tender, earnest heart ; TO MY BROTHER. 109 Tell them of Him, with grief acquainted well, Who felt aflBiption's smart. Though stricken, smitten, and afflicted sore, He trod this vale of tears, And spent, below, in grief, and fasting lone, Thrice ten, long, mournful years. But now, at the right hand of Majesty, He sits enthroned on high ; While cherubim and seraphim before him fall, And anthems fill the sky. Go to the highways and the hedges dark — The foulest haunts of sin — And there, with voice of loudest eloquence. Compel them to come in ! Tell them to come, for all things are prepared ; A plenteous table spread ; Tell them to come, and feast their famished souls On true, and living bread. Tell them of Jesus' dying love to men, WhS} died for them and thee. Who poured his life-blood out, and prayed for foes, Expiring on the tree. , f In •i f Hi 1 :; f - 't » •: •St'l M'l ) 1 l.JXJ-.JJJ 110 THE WILD BBIEB. Go where the listless mariner awaits The rising breeze and tide, To bear his heavy hull away, and fill His canvas spreading wide 119 •' i i\ I f Hi I l> il II 111 , ■i' • i Take thou his hardy hand within thine own And catch his upturned eye. And point it meekly, gravely up to heaven, To mansions in the sky. For great reward is truly promised them, To whom the charge is given, To preach the gospel in all ends of earth,— Not here, — but in heaven ! LINES, On witnessing, when eight years of age, the rite of baptism administered by the late Rev. W. M'Gregor. "Go ye, therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them In the name of the Fattier, and of the. Son, anri oi' tlie Holy Ghost" Matt. 2«: 19. One morn — well do I remember — Though I was but a child — INFANT BAPTISM. All wraped in robes of snowy whiteness, A dimpled cherub smil'd. I saw the worthy, pious parent That smiling cherub hold, And claim, before the congregation, For him the Saviour's fold. Then slow the man of God descended, And solemnly 'twas done. And Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, The glorious Three in One, Were named above the guileless infant, And Daniel was his name ; Aud reverently that holy father Aloud pronounced the same. He prayed — and how earnestly— That when that little child To manhood sprung, he well might face A world 80 dark and wild. And, " that he might be a Daniel, In heart, in word, and deed ; And satisfy, from living fountains, The spirit's deepest need." Ill 1 ■ teur ' 1 » i i i k ■M_,liJ. ' . ft.liPU ■ V. ii (■ ;• * ! i *<■ >«i I 112 THE WILD BRIER. And now that aged one, and feeble, Has left the haunts of men, And sleeps beneath a quiet moss-hill, For he was hoary then. But Daniel lives, — and God grant That that baptismal prayer. Poured out so long and fervently O'er that young head so fair. May answered be abundantly ! And may God's own fire. And His own word, and gospel love His heart and soul inspire ; That he may walk this sinful world Without a stain or blot ; And, " that he might be a Daniel I *• That prayer I ne'er forgot. i ■'»^-^^*.-4 .'I : • THE 8UFFKB. 113 THE SUPPER. " This do In remembrance of me." Luke 22 : 19. Is there joy, unalloyed, for one moment allowed us, — One hour of delight, save in heaven above ? yes ! — 'tis that season of heart soothing solace. When Christ, with his banner of peace waving o'er us, Invites us to come to his table of love. then can we cast every sorrow bfthind us. And trample each earth-gotten care ; And deem it our highest, our noblest honor To come to the banquet the King hath provided, And sup with the company there. To gaze on our Lord, as he comes in his glorylH And takes by the table hiL stand ; To hear his sweet accents of heart-melting kindness, Bequeathing us pardon, and peace, and salvation : And take the blest bread from His hand. And beholding the King in his glorious beauty, Who left his bright mansion on high. And came to redeem a lost race from perdition : Who stooped to be born in a lowly condition, And willingly offered to die. .« I i; III; t>4 nt > I ! hi' J 1 M H r* mill r 114 THE WILD BBIEB. That we, through His death, might inherit a kingdom, A crown, and a sceptre of might ; And dwell in Immanuel's palace for ever, In robes of his righteousness, gleaming with pearls, In realms of the purest delight. Then loud let the anthem be swelled in His honor Who spread this rich banquet of wine ; Who prepared, in the wilderness, food for His child- ren ; Who cherished and led them, and soon will translate them To mansions of glory divine ! THE BURIAL GROUND. stranger, step gently, light be thy tread, For here lie, in silence, the slumbering dead ! Here parent and child, sister, friend, and lov'd brother. All cold, and all passionless now. In mute, deep forgetfulness, silently moulder ; Each eyelid fast sealed, and like marble each brow. i! TO MISS U- 115 All voiceless and stil], without breathing or sound, The pale nations rest, that are under the ground. Yes, silent and oalm will the sleepers sleep on, Unmolested by life's troubled wave ; No wailing of sorrow, no sound can disturb The unbroken repose of the grave, Till the last trumpet's sound bid corruption and gloom Spring forth to fresh life from the dust of the tomb. -■'tT-€::::Sj^» , TO A TRUE FHIEND. 125 tnt TO A TRUE FRIEND. I met theo oft, amidst a throng Of smiling youths and maidens ; But no bright smile was there more kind, No voice of softer cadence. And swiftly passed the pleasant hours, That drew our hearts together, Like golden beams, on silver streams. In summer's gladsome weather. But now we part ; and one request I breathe in language tender, — When you and I are severed wide, Remember, remember ! If:: l! i I 'I Though other eyes may on me beam. Though other ties may bind me, Though changing seasons o'er me roll. Unchanging they shall find me. In friendship's true and lasting bonds, No change — no time can sever ; The bonds uniting Christians here Shall bind the heart for ever. MB f »PT ; i ! II i I If '■n 126 THE WILD BRIER. TO ROXANA. The following lines were addressed to a lady unknown to the writer, save by her reported Itindness to an absent brother. Sweet lady ! Thou whose gentle graces Have cast a halo bright Around thy path, to gild each footstep , With calm and heavenly light. lend thy gentle ear, and listen, While, from a fervent heart, 1 pour on thee a sister's blessing ; And feel the tear-drop start, hadst thou e'er a loving brother, To whom thy fond heart clung With all the deep-felt tenderness Of bosoms warm and young ? ^ 1 |- t ! ■ 1 And hast thou seen that noble brother Go from his native land ; And felt the parting grasp grow stronger Of that loved brother's hand ? TO ROXANA. Then thou hast known the darksome oload, And shadows deep like these Have sadly sunk around thy heart, Like frost ou Autumn leaves. And hast thou heard of gentle strangers Who took that brother home, And set him down, in quiet comfort, Within their sacred dome ? 127 f ■i' And quickly guessed his wants and wishes, And giitcefully supplied Whate'er the stranger youth had asked, . And many things beside. And how a mother's gentle kindness Was all on him bestowed ; And how the pleasant hours swept onward, Within that loved abode. I 'l And hast thou longed to see that stranger, And longed to clasp the hand That took thy b'"ither home, and blessed him ' When in a foreign land. Then thou hast seen the sunbeam smile, — Emotions sweet like these I 128 THE WILD BBIEB. ; I - i 1.1 i ! I I' 1 « mi* Have glowed within thy grateful heart, Like beams on summer trees. Charlottetown, March 16, 1862. ■^■-SJU^^ — ^- TO MB. R- A HAPPY NEW YEAR. m , SUrERINTENDENT OF EDUCATION IN NOVA SCOTIA. A happy New Year ! My worthy friend ! I wish you a happy New Year 1 May the year eighteen hundred and sixty and three Bring happiness, health, and good cheer ! Unclouded, the glorious sun in the east. With his brilliancy tinting the sky. As he looks on a world just emerging from sleep, Sheds a wealth of bright beams fi:om his eye. We'll sing a sweet hymn on this bright merry mom ; We'll greet all the friends we hold dear ; And our enemies too — if there be any such — Let us wish them a happy New Year ! A HAl'PY NEW YEAB. 129 Is there work to be done in this opening year ? Is there room Tor activity still ? yes, there is room, there's a sphere for us all. To strive, and to work, if wo will. Then hastily seizing each moment that flies, Let us try to redeem our lost time ; Resolving that henceforth we'll live not in vain, * And waste not the days of our prime Then forward, still forward, we'll march on our way. Still onward and upward arise. Till the spirit no longer shall cleave to the clay. But soar to its home in the skies. > I ■ 4 J' ! I; : 1. Oome, spirit immortal, thine anthem begin, Ere they call thee and bear thee away ; Begin the glad song, in this region below. That shall ring through the portals of day ! :1 For the song that we know thou'lt eternally sing, Perhaps its high theme may inspire Some poor drooping spirit, now fainting and low, And fill with celestial desire. ,11.; 130 THE WILD lililER. ! t ( I' f ^ «. Tor thou know'st not what good from thy quo act maj flow, Extending through agos to come, How that influence still shall be traversing on. When thy race of existence is run. When thy form shall be mouldering low in the dust, And thy lips in death's silence be dumb. Still thy words, and thine actions for ever shall live, And speak with an eloquent tongue. Then, ye stewards, I warn you, beware of your time, For a faithful account ye must give Of each moment so precious, each talent receivel. While your days of probation ye live. And when we look back on the year that is past. Though evil some days may have been, Yet many good gifts we have surely received, — Peace, rest, food, and raiment we've seen. ! j Then let us, with spirits in unison glad, — While seraphs all-joyous give ear, — In concert unite, with harmonious delight, , And, with thanksgiving, hail the New Year! FAKEWELI.. 181 FAREWELL. The folloAvlng lines were addressed to the pupils In attendance at the Provincial 1'ralnlng Seminary, Truro, at the close of the session ending March, 1863. There's a word that comes, with a murmuring tone, From the depths of the quivering heart, As the hour flits by, with a tear^ and a sigh. That bids the loved friend depart. And a pathos deep does that word call forth. That the faltering tongue may not tell ; And wno has not felt on his spirit a weight, As he uttered that word, "Farewell" ? t ' f '• •• But an earnest voice is calling uloud ; And we hear it solemnly say, — " Night comoth apace, when none can work ;— Then work while 'tis called tu-day." Go, fasten your armour securely on ; Courageously march to the field : Let Faith, Salvation, and Kiglitcousness Be your breastplate, helmet, and shield. And boldly attack the strongly built forts Of ignorance, folly, and crime ; And look for reward at the farther side Of the billowy tide of time, Where the victor his armour with joy lays down, In honor for ever to dwell ; And laurels of glory encircle the brow, Undimmed by that word, " Farewell." AUTUMN. 183 AUTUMN. Written at the agu ol' fourteen. O'er the dark waters of tlie troubled deep, The billows tumble to and fro, And o*er its heaving bosom, broad and blue, The waves ia wild confusion flow See how they leap and play around yon rock ; Then bound, the glistoiniig pebbles o'er; Hark, how they roar, with hoarse and hollow sound, And dash upon the rocky shore. Mark yonder noble bark, tossed by the waves, jHow gallantly she dashes on ; Beneath her prow the rushing breakers foam, — She heaves — she rolls — then scudds along. Tempestuous winds are howling in the sky, With mournful, deep, and wailing sound ; The blast sweeps through the yellow trees — they bow- Their withered foliage strews the ground. Yon garden, lately hung with luscious fruits, And decked with gorgeous-tinted flowers, .li^ 134 THE WILD UillEK. (It ::<• t :«'.« !■ y. i I '^0 ■■ „ i'.M Now stands in naked ruins, lone and waste ; Gone are its blossoms, bleak its bowers. No more, at evening, when the twilight dim Draws li>?r grey mantle o'er the sky; Or, when pale Cynthia sheds hor sib-cr light, And murmuring breezes whisper by, — No more we'll wander with delighted eye, When all is silent and serene ; No more enjoy the golden sunset hour. To gaze upon ihe lovely scene. All, all the sweets ^f Summer now are fled ; The vild ^^liwers, blooming in their pride, Are rudely s^ept away b/ piping winds, And, eddying, scatter far and wide. Thus, graceful youth and beauty fade and die, And, shrouded in oblivion, sleep ; As parted fragments of the rifted wreck Are strown and sunken in the deep. Yet joyous Spring's delightful gales shall blow. And bud and blossom deck the bough ; And beauteous forms shall burst the darksome clods That wrap their mouldering ashes now. FLORENCE. 135 FLORENCE. The story of Florence was written at the age oi fifteen. The incidents whicli called it forth were as follow :— The privilege having been granted me of join ir i|> *' He came — and it seems like a beautiful vision, Which still to forgetfulness memory denies ; His smile was like light on the breeze-dimpled waters, When Cynthia walks in the diamond-clad skies. ** Soft were the words that he spoke in low whispers, Long were the warm declarations be made ; But his vows are all broken, his words were but false- hood, And hope's airy castle in ruins is laid ! *• Should we e'er meet again, I would not reproach him; All hushed is the voice of upbraiding within; • FLORENCE. 189 No tear have I shed for the loss of a lover ; — I pitied his meanness ! I wept for his sin ! (( The clouds of the night were roUiug away, The sun in his fiery splendour came, The morning star shone dimly afar, And faded before the dazzling flame. *' And many a sparkling crest of snow Was tipped with crimson and gold, On the glistening plain were the stars again, Like gems on the crystalline mould. ♦• Not a note was heard in +he leafless wood, . Now swept by the winter breeze ; But the icicles hung where the flowers once swung, That wildly bloomed on the forest trees. " The white moon, changed to a ghostly grey, With a pale lustre hung in the west ; Not a cloud passed by in the cold blue sky, And the stormy winds were at rest. " 'Twas Sabbath morn ; and I left my home. And hastened on to the house of prayer. Where the multitudes raise the song of praise, Who, with joy, to the gates of Zion repair. II ) ,;■ ^ il m m uo THE WILD BBIEIt. ^' « r " And many a bright young face I met, That beamed in the rays of hope's bright sun ; Those in the prime of life's noonday time, And the aged and feeble one. " I marked the solemn and thoughtful air Of those who sought for a h6me above ; The placid brow, and the lucid eye, Lit by the beams nf heavenly love. " And the young proud-hearted maiden came, Who thought of her beautiful aelf alone ; Whose haughty smile, and noble mien Would have graced a regal throne. " The meek and the proud, the wise and the gay, Were together assembled there ; And loud and deep was the melting strain, That rose in the house of prayer. " My eye met the gaze of a stranger youtn, Who had joined in the hymn of another band* Who had left his home, o'er the world to roam, Far, far from his native land. " His eye was mild as the evening star ; His brow ^slb pure as the summer sky. TLOSKKOE. Ui ** And the thoughtful air, that sat solemnly there, Seemed lent by a spirit on high. *' That night, as I gazed on the glowing west, My thoughts went back to the varied throng : And his image was stamped on this innocent henrt. Like the beams of the roseate morn. I i il li " Time rolled on, and the summer came, And covered the dewy earth with flowers ; The scented gale played soft in the vale, And blossoms drooped from the leafy bowers. " Chill'd nature had woke from her dreary sleep. And her beauties rejoiced in the sun ; And a crimson glow, when his disc was low, Lit the vale where the streamlet i^un. i 'fi •' The gladdened earth seemed to smile again, And rejoice in the verdure by Flora bequaath'd. Bright tints were abroad o\y the gay green sod, And softly whispering wild winds breathed. " The green wood rang with the merry din Of the warbling birds, as they gaily sung ; And skipping away went the lambs at their play : There was music and gladness on every tongue. m III 142 THE WILD BRIER. ■^ ^ i ;^. f m " And the beautiful stranger came and went, With a smile as sweet as the opening rose ; And he seemed an innocent, guileless jouth, With a mind as pure as the mountain snows. " They called him " Florence," this gay young blade, They said he had crossed the waters blue, And many an eye had fondly gazed On that brow where the purest lilies grew. *'I wandered forth, on a silent eve, Where the wild weeds the willows entwine, To enjoy the repose of the day's still close ; — For care and oppression were mine. ' :i *' The sun had sank amid purple clouds; The stars shone dim in the misty sky ; The cool winds played in the aspen shade, With its dancing foliage, and rustled by. " Not a sound was heard in that lonely hour, Save the sound of some insect's flight ; And the patter of leaves, in the gentle breeze, As they drank the dews of the quiet night. " No longer the hum of the wild bee came. Nor the lowing of flocks, to greet the ear. i i \ r FLORENCE. 143 *• Nor the sea-bird's cry, where the mermaids sigh Through oaverns lone and drear. "Nor the sounding strolte of the woodman's axe ; Nor the heavy crash of the falling tree ; Nor the warrior's steel ; nor the chariot wheel ; Nor the rolling surge of the stormy sea ; " Nor the solemn toll of the sweet church bell; Nor the swelling strains of the martial band ; Nor the mellow horn, on the breezes borne ; Nor the pleasant voice of man. ** I stood all alone where the zephyr came, I gazed on the canopy cloud as it passed ; And it veiled the moon, as she faintly shone, In a luminous mantle of shadowy mist. ** My thoughts went back to the by-gone scenes, Which lingering memory loves to trace ; The smiles and the tears, the hopes and the fears, That light, or becloud youth's eloquent face. ** Though the pleasing visions of youth were mine. And hope whispered joys for to-morrow; Yet I knew that this world was a world of pain. Where the feeling heart is oft chilled by sorrow. li b f- il r i/ %, 5 . "I i ; » . '!;■ I 1^ I ■ » * |i<';';li ".1,0 I i'h.. ( \) ; I n H r h J. il 144 THE WXLD URIKB. " I thought on the suuny hours of joy, Far fled, with childhood's dreams, forever ; And there seemed a void in this lonely heart ; — For all that is joined on earth must sever. " I looked again to the spangled sky, And the cloud was gone in the azure henven ; O'er the fairy scene ca;.ie a smile serene, To light up the brow of oven. " The meek white walla of our village smiled ; The night breeze warbled a soothing strain ; An angel of lovo seemed to come from above ; And peace to return to ray spirit again. " I lingered beneath the blooming spray, With its shining foliage, like drapery o'er m«, And while I sang to the sleeping flowers, A dark shadow passed before me. " I scarce had ceased my low toned lay. When a shrill whistle rang through the air. T lifted my eyes and calmly gazed. And a tall, strange form was there. •' With a soft, bewitching stiiile he approached,^ With a fearless heart I stood, — FLOBENCe. 146 And I heard my name, as he breathed it forth, Like the sigh of the breeze in the mantled wood. •♦ The pale moon smiled on his golden locks, As they flowed in the languid air ; And his lily brow, in the wan light, seemed Like the brow of an angel fair. ** The smile that sat on his chiseled lip Seemed to tell of a generous soul ; That glossy hair, round a brow so fair, More beautiful seemed than gold. ** With a wondering gaze, I beheld the youth Who had crossed my still domain. And broken the lay, unconsciously poured ' On the ear of the night, and her starry train, *• He extended his hand with a brother's warmth •, He smiled with a witching grace ; And I asked his name, as I watched the smile That played on the stranger's face. *• But the eyes that beamed, and the voice that spoke, Once known, could ne'er be forgot; And the tones that had charmed my ear before. Were low on that lonely spot. if yffi m f y id 146 THK WILD imiER. ift I , "I am FLORENCK,' he said, ' and I come this night To seek for the maid I love ; — I oome from a distant land, to bring Repose to the weary dove. '"Away in the bowers of my Fatherland, Where June's bright garlands bloom, Is the path entwined with the bursting flower, And the spot this heart calls home. " ' ! come with me to the calm retreat That awaits us over the sea : No toil shall be yours, but the gladsome hours Bring joy as they onward flee. " ' There the silver springs on the green earth playi And the crystal waters roll ; And the breath of the cinnamon roses bring Delight to the weary soul. " ' For. thee shall the festal board be spread, And the lighted halls proclaim A welcome glad to the honored bride That bears the Florence' name.' *' He told of the hope that inspired his soul,. Of the passion his heart had known, ! i FLOBEMCB. 147 Of the joy that his lonely spirit would feci, Were another, as true, but won. "A bland and a jyontle smile was his, — A resistleoa ^,^ .;or to please ; His words were many, and low, and kind ; And his home was over the seas. " I laughed when I heard him thus declare How his heart was for ever mine, And recked not the tnle which the youth had told, Nor the eyes that seemed divine. " The moon was high in the spangled vault, When the earnest tale was done, And that stately form had bowed good night To the once desponding one. "But the parting words, with a sigh, were said, And the eloquent stranger gone, And balmy sleep, with her noiseless wing, Soon weighed my senses down. " And morn came back, with her gorgeous sun. From behind the placid sea; And his rising beams, on the waters cast, All glorious seemed to me. fe '- II 148 THE WILD BRIER. r*. , "ll " And the wild, enrapturing vision came, With memory, back to my sight ; And it seemed as an angel had come to earth, In the lone and shadowy night. *• And I asked my heart, can it thus be so ? Did a phantom spirit glide ? In the dusky shade, where the light scarce fell. Did viewless beings hide ? " But no, not an angel had left his harp. Nor a spirit his blest abode; But a being of earth — a creature of clay. With stealing footsteps trod. " When the bloom of the summer flowers was gone, And her gladsome reign was o'er, A thousand garlands withering lay. And their leaves were green no more. " And the nodding harvest that whitened the plain, By the hand of Bounty spread. Was homeward brought, with hearts of joy, And the land was filled with bread. **And the Indian summer's smoky sky Was serene and calm as it e'er had been, I1 PLOBENCE. 149 All nature seemed in a still repose, And heaven to smile on the scene. V The forests were clad in their robes of brown x\nd orange, so rich and gay ; And I thought, as I gazed with a pensive mind, They were bright on their funeral day. '* And peace and plenty made pleasant our homes, And our country's heart was glad ; — On our sea-girt Isle, with its sunny plainS, 'Twere a sin to be gloomy or sad. " The season of mirth, of the song and the dano«. Came back with the autumn brown. And the cottagers gathered a jocund group, And circled the hearth around. r<: am, ** I went where the merry band had met. Where the fife and the violin played, And the dance was trod by the bounding feet Of many a rustic maid. *• The scene was bright, and the smiles were gay. Ana the songs were sweetly sung, And my heart beat high as I heard the strains. That, echoing backward, rung. 5S 150 THE WILD BRIER. " But a voice was there that led the song, And a hand that sweetly played, And an eye that beamed more bright than all, And a voice that music made. " 'Twas Florence that graced that smiling scene ; 'Twas Florence that led the song ; 'Twas he that awoke such a melting strain ; That spoke with an angel's tongue. " I joined with the loud melodious choir In the high and bursting peal ; And my soul went forth in raptures wild, • Such as free, unbroken spirits feel. " For my heart was young, and my hopes were high, And I longed for the future day When my hand, released from the laborer's toil, Such heavenly strains might play. " For my mind went out with a longing wish For the harp and the musical choir ; And oh ! to be freed from the cottager's task, Was my heart's long cherished desire 1 " And now could it be that this pleasing youth Of the swelling strain, was mine ? FLORENCF, 151 Would my brightest dreams be fulfilled ere long» 'Neath the sun of another clime ? " I scarce believed that it could be so, That such joy was in store for me ; For his praises were loud upon every tongue, — And another his bride might be. *' But he came to my side with a loving smile, — We walked where the moonlight fell ; And oh ! could the queen of the night but speak, What a melting tale she might tell ! *♦ And now not a doubt, not a darkening thought. Came across my enraptured mind. For I thought he was true, and would ever be so,- That his heart was noble and kind. I! i " We pledged our truth by the powers above, 'Neath a radiant starry sky ; And all in this world of light and love, I beheld in an ecstacy. " For he was a gay and pleasing youth, — Talented, handsome, and rich ; — He offered me wealth in a golden store, And all that my heart cauld wish. m it' 152 THE WILD BBIKS. *• And a happy, happy hour was that— A joyous moment to me, For mine was a young and a trusting heart, And true as a heart could be. " And the future seemed bright, as onward I gazed Through the veil of coming years, -And hope seemed to smile, and beckon me on, Where I saw no space for tears. ^' The spacious hall, and the curtained room. With all their luxuries spread; The harp, and the lute, and a thousand things, Awakened the hopes once dead. ♦» But the one great hope of my early years Exultingly rose tb my view; And my spirits broke forth in a burst of joy, When I thought that the vision was true. *' 'Twas to dip my pen in the poet's font. Inspired by the muse's fire, And to pour my lays from the feeling heart, That longed to strike the lyre. 4< And my soul that had long been chained to earth By the fetters of daily toil, FIOSENCE. 158 1 Would burst from its shackles in ecstasy forth ^ And soar from my native soil. " And oh ! for the artist', softest touch, For the tints of the rainbow's hue, Till my hand, with a magic power, might trace The scenes which rose to my view. ( " But, the music hushed, and the evening spent. He bade me a kind good-night ; And my eyes, as they closed, still seemed to behold The glow of that vision bright. *♦ I saw him again, — by my own hearth-stone, Away from the busy crowd, we met ; But his look was sad, and his voice was low. And his words I can ne'er forget. « " He had come to bid me a long farewell. For i I 154 TTIE WILJ) URIEB. lAii H I » !3 (( With a heavy heart I saw him go, But he whispered low, and smil'd ; And long I wept when tlic youth was gone. And slowly the hours beguil'd. ** And many a gallant suitor came, And sought to win my heart ; But a true, and a plighted heart was mine, Though doomed from him to part. ** And the winter hours, so dull and sad, Moved on with a lingering pace ; And T sighed each day, with a longing heart, To behold that beauteous face. ti-\ *• Not a thought, or a wish, but for him alone, Engaged my anxious breast ; And fain I hoped that his heart, like mine, On one alone might rest. ** Vain hope ! Alas for the trusting heart ! Beguiled, md deluded, so long ! That had placed its affections, in all their depth, A heartless traitor upon ! ** And seaons came rolling round the track Which other seasons had gone ; FI.OEENCE. 155 But he came not back, with his pleasant smile, To talk of his sunny home. •• Need I tell of the long, dark, dismal night, That shadowed my noon-day dreams ; How wholly unheeded, unheard, unseen. Were all sorrounding things. ** How my wasting energies slowly declined, How my cheek grew palid and thin. How my trembling pulse became feeble and weak, How my eye grew unsteady and dim. *' Till a startling whisper seemed breathed in my ear, That rallied, and roused me up; *Twas a noble spirit that seemed to say, Come, soar on the pinions of hope I ** Cast down such dark thoughts from thy soul ; They become not immortal mind : Was thy spirit created to grovel in dust, Unheeding the good of mankind ? " Come, rise superior to earth and its cares ; Contemplate the heavens above ; Mark the stars, as they shine on their glorious path,— Each telli) of a Father of love. i '1 a 156 THE WILD BHIER. " Com'>, gaze on creation's bright, beautiful face; hh,-i'\ ?'o rich, glowing tints of the bow; Ml the lij;htning that flies from the crest of the cloud, On its own fiery pathway to go. " Mark all that thine eyeball can scan in its range From the firmament down to the sod, — They will tell thee to trust not in poor, puny man. But to trust in an all-seeing God. " And my spirit arose from its lethargy up, From the caves of dark sorrow's domain, And, scorning in bitterness longer to weep, I disdained to lament or complain. t ■■> " And, casting away earthly thoughts from my mind. Worldly granduer, and gaudy display, I sought for a home in that blest spirit-land, Where joys ever brighten, and pass not away. " Where their songs shall be new, and their robes shall be white, Ever new, as eternity rolls : Unchanging in radiance, and spotlessly white Are the robes of those purified souls ' 1 TtORENCK. 157 " And I asked for what end were we placed in this world ; To seek our own pleasure, to live as we list ? Ah no ! 'tis a higher, more glorious end, — A nobler purpose than this ! Ij " 'Tis to consecrate all that pertains to us now, Both body, and spirit, and mind, To the glory, and service, while here we soj vu, Of the mighty Creator divine. " And I said in my heart, let me henceforth endeayor To answer this glorious end : And whate'er be my duly, let that be fulfilled, And look up for a guardian and friend. " And a calm like the calm of the still summer morn. And sweet as the sweet summer flowers. Stole over my heart, and subdued its repinings. And won me from solitude's hours. ** And after bright seasons had sped them away, And his memory became like a dream, I heard how his infamous life had been spent ; Which, to sing, were a sorrowful theme. m 158 THE WILD BRIER. ♦' For of crimes a dnrk cntaloguo, snblc as night, Too disniiil and liorrid to tell, Had clieckored his downward and desolate path, And told us what sorrows bgfel." I -4' Thus ended the talo of this maiden so gentle ; I add scarce a word or a line ; But I've silently treasured the words of her warning, And wept as her woes had been mine. Yet I greatly rejoiced, as I afterward pondered, For mine was a merciful day ; My Father in heaven, unscathed, had preserved me, And sent the destroyer away. And I fervently bless'd my Redeemer, most gracious, Who made all my footsteps to go In safety; and shielded my heart from temptation, — My soul from the arrows of Avoe. I prayed that the hearts of my Island's sweet maidens. That oft had in bitterness mourned. From the love of a vain, and a perishing world. Might all, like the w^aters, be turned, And be placed upon somethin£» '^f surer foundation — On something more mighty to save, — I FLORENCE. 169 The One Mediator, the One, even JesuB, Who triumphed o'er death and the grave, And rose to the throne of His Father in glory, Where still, with kind love, he looks down On the faithful, who firm, on the field of the combat, Contend for the sceptre and crown. And when that bridegroom in glory advances, And, triumphing, rides through the air. Arise ye, my maidens, and go forth to meet Him, gather ye joyfully there. And then will the pomps of this trifling world, Like veriest bubbles, appear ; And mountains and isles, like the dust of the balance, Sink back into nothingness drear. And the chosen of God, from the chambers of death, From the clods of the valley set free, Bhall, in ecstasy, lift their glad pinions, and soar Where their eyes shall their Saviour see. And a theme will they find for their souls never-dying, A theme, everlasting and sweet, — The song the redeemed, and the prophets are hymning, Where angels and seraphim meet. I : I h^ ( iW. EIU! m 160 TUB WILD URIKB. TO MRS. W. W. IRVING, From whom It w.is the writer's privilege to receire lustructions in drawing. Hail, noble artist ! brilliant genius Is thy most precious dower ; Mementoes, these,* which bid defiance To time's defacing power. Fair artist ! we would bid thee " onward ; " Pursue thy glorious art, Till thy loved name be deeply graven On every gentle heart. And we are come tonight, sweet lady, And gather round thee now. To wreathe a garland — weave a chaplet, And bind it round thy brow. Then deem us not, dear friend, obtrusive ; But, from a pupil's hand. Accept this humble proffered tribute. By fond affection plann'd. • The " Monk," " Ecce Homo," " Evangeline," and other oele- br»te TUB WILD BRIRR. Then ir,"' :" ri'' r '"'.'' '™'"''' "-«■■<'"• F°'"o.hilt „"',:",",'" *"■""""•""""• Though Jl;l "'," """"'■ ■"'"'■">■"'< And o?her;„^^: :::' ""•"""" ""■^*-"^ «"gge8t, ae a cure, unnexutimt tJon, ion, on, tution, y «luration. mljiiion, on, tioni 'ifederuii&n/ n/