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Un des symboles suivants apparaTtra sur la dernlAre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbols — ► signlfie "A 8UIVRE", le symbols ▼ signlfie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmAs A des taux de rAduction diff Arents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seui cilchA, 11 est flimA A partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche A drolte, et de haut en bas, an prenant le nombre d'images nAcessalre. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 4 S 6 aNADA NATIONAL LIBRARY BIBLIOTHEQUE NATIONALE i I ! Gift of Offcrt par Miss Mae Burriss I ■■■■Pi t wi l l p n < i nm ii M m i *m m i W r MwM iii w w C^^h^^ ^^^j-J^ AiX-ccCa^ Ci-p'iStyAc'i) ^$iht% itzm i\t -I hope as no unwelcome guest At your warm fireside, when the lamps are Ughted, To have my ylace reserved among the rest, Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited. LONGFBLIOW. lontwal: PBINTED BY JOHN LOVELL, ST. NICHOLAS STEEET. 1862. -m: /s^a 100123 0« tlye rea4*ra ot tM CHw^rver who Ibav© pexaonal i^MdlectiibBaa o| Misij Annie L. Walker, autl&lotf otf the well known lby«an, "W-drit fior the Nilfbt is OotmiiMg." I laave heard that Miss : Walker at one tiane tattg>hit school cear Sarnia. A vwHuoMr of her pOems entitled "Leaves from tiie Back- wood»." was pwblifiiiied anonymously in 1861, and ran into a second edition U ema(& reader o« your paper can gire toe ajiy information ooncerntog Mias WalJker, I MbiaU take U -as a cpreat la vor, ' Yours' truly, -^,^ B. S. OA&WEIil* 245, Marklbam "sitreet, TiOrontby Jan- uany Iltfli* 1902-( ^, wf^i»i>«ii n iia> w ii ij upn n nn n iii , ti » tt9 < fmm0m M m rr t*-»aH>iu!tt^f\i\tt f i \ f i m w rn mii im w l( •l ^ / CONTENTS. Page. A Ballad »6 "Abide with uB.'y 161 A Forest Legend, 87 A Happy New Tear,>^ 14 Alma, 109 A Peep at. the Fairies,k. 132 ASammerNight,^... ,.. 143 Autumn 49 AWarSong, 107 Boscobel 80 Ohristmas Garol, 63 Ohristmaa Midnight Ohimes, ^ 7 Ohristmas Song, 62 Clarissa Harlowe, 117 Dead, 46 Echo Song, 142 England, 146 Evening, W. 127 Evening Hymn at Sea,'*^^?'. 18 Evening Time 39 "Ever with Thee," 163 Flowers,.. 32 Genius, 137 Home, 83 lanthe, 67 " I believe in the Oommnnion of Saints," 168 Imogen, 104 Italy, 3 136 Joanof Arc, 66 Life's Pilgrims, 166 Lines to a Friend, Ill May Blossoms, 16 Morning, ...-«. 37 Night, 38 Night Musings, .y 16S Itt I M i iy CONTENTS- Oq some Violets, 124 Penelope, * * 100 Precious Hours, 47 Betrospection, 141 Seeking, 20 Song 130 Song, 134 Spring n Spring and Autumn, 40 Summer Hymn, 21 The Ballad Singer, 114 The Bracelet^ 122 Tiie Bridal,)? 36 The Day-Dawn, 162 The Death of the Righteous, 156 The Dying Summer, X 43 The Evening Walk, .)^< 27 The Hearer of Prayer, 160 The Islander's Song of Home, 116 The Lamb is the Light thereof, 162 The Land of Rest, , 33 The last Ray of Sunlight,. . . . .'1 48 The Meadow, 138 " The Night Cometh," , , 42 The Old Wife, X 129 The Prince's Welcome, .V 120 The Renegade, 119 The River, .')(. 23 The Roses;yi 19 The Second Advent 60 The Siege, 102 The Sixteenth Psalm, 164 The Sleigh Rid^ 13 The Song of the Sea, ^ 30 The Star of the Magi, 11 The Vigil of the Shepherds, 9 To an Oriole, 25 " Touched with the feeling of our infirmities," 154 Visions, 35 Women's Rights 106 f . PART I. Efie Wft^v* And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks ; Sermons in stones, and good in everything. As YOU LIKE IT. '^ '/ ^ t.litM.L.u]W rf f 11 1 Ut'u $iea^i5!gi tmm t|e !lailS2Pi^iil!g< f^^s^V^^^^^^^^^^^^t^^^^^^^'^^ CHRIS'. MAS MIDNIGHT CHIMES. Bing out, ring out, ye joyous bells, and make the hills resound, Cast forth upon the waters dark, your glad exulting sound ; Tell the good tidings far and wide, let all the people know Christmas is come, the time of joy, of rest from care and woe. ^1 /| Send loud your notes, where, round the hearth, the scattered children meet, And wait as in the olden days, your earliest chime to greet ; Re-echo through the brightened room, blend with each loving tone. Wake in each heart a joy as great, as pure as childhood's ow n. T CHRISTMAS MIDNIGHT CHIMES. ', I With softened distance-mellowed tone, fall on the listening ear Of him, whoii! rolling seas divide from all he holds most dear ; Let the loved voices of his home, come mingled with your peal, Kind wishes for the Christmas time, prayers oflfered for his weal. Float romid the suffojrer's bed with yet a softer, holier swell ; Repeat the tale of Love Divine, a Saviour's advent tell ; Bid him remember, Who was bom, that he might be forgiven, Bid him look up from earthly pain, to peace and rest in heaven. Oh bells, for me ye have a tone, an echo of the past. Yet brerithe it not to other hearts, a shade o'er them to cast How softly, musically sad ! how silver sweet and low ! A sigh from the departing year, that sorroweth to go. i'.'f c ' \ THE VIGIL OF THE SHEPHERDS. O'er Judah's quiet hills, from height to height Drooped slowly down, the curtains of the night, In matchless beautj, gemmed with stars of light. Seated beneath the shadow of the rocks, Their shelter from the heat or tempest's shocks, A band of shepherds watched their slumb'ring flocks. Deep stillness hung above them, such as reigns In those cahn hours, when night in silence wanes. And men in deepest sleep lose joys and pains. Till, turning to the glory of that sky. Of Israel's royal bard the numbers high, Broke from theu* lips at once in melody. Then, loud and clear, they sang with glad acclaim, " The heavens, Lord ! on high declare Thy fame, The firmament extols Thy glorious name ! Day speaketh of Thee to the coming day. And night, whose countless orbs Thy word obey, Doth to the following night Thy praise display." 9 THE ViaiL OF THE SHEPHERDS. Thus ceased the song, and echo scarce was still, When broke a sudden light upon the hiU, And fear shook every heart with trembling thrill. Silent as thought — ^unheralded — alone, An angel stood, a glory round him shone ; He spoke, and heavenly love inspired his tone. " Fear not," he said, " let Earth rejoice and sing ; To you and aH mankind glad news I bring ; To-day, at length, is bom your promised Kmg. *^ Go, and in Bethlehem, in a manger laid, Find Him, by whom both heaven and earth were made, Emanuel, Prince of Peace, in flesh arrayed." Then, with a flood of light, and burst of sound, A thousand angel-forms were seen around. Angels, with beauty clad, with glory crowned. " Glory to God on high !" aloud they sung, Till heaven's blue arches with the anthem rung. And, " Peace on earth !" re-echoed every tongue. Lovelier than sunset hues on lake and hill. Music and light grew fainter, lovelier, till The stars shone out again, and all was btill. m THB STAR OF THE MAGI. Then each to each the shepherds, turning slow From that bright vision, spake in accents low, « What thing is this ? To Bethlehem let us go." THE STAR OF THE MAGI. In those blue skies afar, I see a single solitary star, Its radiant light So far from earth, so calmly, purely bright. And even so, I dream. Fell on the wise men's eyes that mystic beam. Which, from their home. Led tbem, through Judah's destiuv i land to roam. Oft, as they journeyed on. Their glance was raised to where serenely shone That silent star. Leading their steps so surely, though so fai. What thoughts, unknown before, StiiTcd in those minds, so rich in earth's deep lore ! What did they seek ? A King's new-risen pomp? an mfant Saviour meek ! 11 u^.. THE STAR OF THE MAGI. And when the city spread Its silent streets before them, in the dead, « Calm hush of night. Above what palace roof shone that celestial light ? Soon had the star its rest ; Still beamed its glittering orb on heaven's pure breast, But all its rays Fell on a lowly spot, dim in that shadowy place. They passed the humble door They bent undoubting, gladly to adore, The Virgin's Son ; They knew the King they sought, they knew their journey done. Thou Star of Heavenly birth. So gmde us, wandeiing through the dark of earth, Until we rest Before Thy changeless throne, God for ever blest ! .1 12 1 1 1 1 THE SLEIGH RIDE. O'er the smooth and glittering snow, Merrily, merrily off we go — ' Nature sleeps and not a somid, Breaks the stillness all around, While the horses* feet keep time To the sleigh bell's tuneful chime. Now we pass the village street. Where the varying pathways meet ; Now across the fields we fly. Where the. wild flowers buried lie ; Buried, in their shroud of snow, Till the summer breezes blow. Now we gain the frozen stream. Where the icy atoms gleam ; Say, could they have brighter been Were they gems to deck a queen ? Who would dream that down below Still the rapid waters flow ? 18 ! A HAPPY NEW TEAR. Here, the rocks rise tall and black, Casting shadows o'er our track ; There, the golden sunbeams rest On the mount£un's sparkling breast ; While above us, meets the eye, Clear and deep, the azure sky. Now we take the homeward way. Warned by the departing day ; From the windows, )'er the snow. See the bright fires' ruddy glow ; Their mute welcome seems akui To the faces bright within. A HAPPY NEW YEAR. A glad good morrow ! neighbour mine, A good new year to thee ! A year of life and health and hope, I pray that it may be. Last year we held each other's hand, The self-same wish had we. And has it not been well fulfilled ? Thaiik God ! it has to me. 14 K i , * " A HAPPY NEW YEAE. We did not wish that we might have A summer all the year, That winter's storms and autumn's blasts Might never hover near. And though they came— the rainy days, Fierce storms, and bitter wind — They passed, and left our sky, perhaps, More brightly blue behind. So wo will hope the opening year, Whose morning is so bright. May have a smiling dawn to ^ve, For every stormy night. And should Life's evening shadows close. And Death's dark night draw near, It shall but be the harbmger Of Heaven's unclouded year. F. ■■*fr' 16 . » , MAY BLOSSOMS. What gift shall we bring thee, sweet Queen of the May, What flower from the field, shall we ofier to-day ? Shall we seek for the violet, new sprinkled with dew ? Thy blue eyes will rival its loveliest hue. Shall we steal from its spray the first rose that has given Its delicate breath to the breezes of heaven ? Those sun-tinted petals thy breast may enshrine, Its bloom and its beauty are emblems of thine. From grassrcovered banks, where each breeze softly sighs, We'll bring thee the harebell, that mirrors the skies, So fragile and fair — yet the tempest sweeps o'er. And though it may bend, it will smile as before. And under green shadows, deep hid from the sun, Where, hushed into silence, the streams softly run, We'll seek the pure liUies, whose blossoms will shine More lovely than pearls on those tresses of thine. But, meadovv and grove ! though ye yield from your store Grace, beauty, and fragrance, ye cannot do more ; They are fading, and autumn will bear them away, But hers are the charms that can never decay. I 1 5fc II' SPRING. I thought thou couldst not fail to wake. Sweet Spring, an answering chord in me; I thought Hw<*s but my harp to take, And I could wm a song from thee. Alas ! unworthy of thy smile, Unworthy must the minstrel be, Whom even thou canst not beguile. To whom thou bring'st no melody. Yet I have loved thee. — Can it be, Game's ruthless hand has robbed my heart Of aQ the warmth that welcomed thee, Of all the joy thou couldst impart ? No ! but my thoughts so long have dwelt On daily lifers most sordid things, That half thine influence is unfelt, My harp is robbed of half its strings. But bring, musio-breathmg air, One strain I bved m days gone by. My sleeping muse shall wake more ilur, Bfesponcdve to its hallowed edgjii. 4i EVENING HYMN AT SEA. Oh, be Thou near us ! on the ocean's breast The ship lies tranquil, as a child at rest : If Thou a watch above our slumbers keep, On the calm sea we may as calmly sleep. Oh, be Thou near us ! if the storm should rise. And dreadful lightnings fire the angry skies, 'Mid tempest's rage, if Thou art near us stiU, Our steadfast hearts shall fear no threatening ill. Oh, be Thou near us ! if this silent wave For one of us should be th' appomted grave. To Thee alone the partmg soul may cry, And if Thou answer, who would fear to die ? Oh, be Thou near us ! then whatever fate, Fixed by Thy gracious hand, may us await, Secure in Thee, our souls shall find repose. And calm, untroubled sleep our eyelids close. 18 ""'5^ THE ROSES. Take these Roses ; they are fair, And glittering yet with morning dew ; They'll bloom unchanged through noonday's g' ire, Nor lose their scent or hue. They may lose the sparkling dew, May want the freshness of the mom. Yet, all the sunny hours through. Thy breast they will adorn* But, ere evening shadows close. Cast those worthless flowers away ; While the bloom is on the rose, Ere sinks the god of day. Here's another simpler flower — When mght shall reign with alent sway, This blossom, cherished till that hour, Shall well thy care repay. like these flowers, the hearts that throng Round thee m thy fair young day. Some will share thy sunsWne long. At nightfall drop away. 19 SEEEINa. Some there are whose modest worth, Scarcely known in daylight's glare, Shall brighten all the darkemng earth In hours of pain and care. SEEKING. Why ii this BtnpendotiB intelligence bo retired and silent, while present in all the scenes of the earth, and in all the paths and abodes of men 7 FOBTBR. Where dost Thou dweD, Unknown, unseen, yet knowing, seeing all ? We find Thee not in hermit's lonely cell, Nor lofly palace hall. No more at eve Thy form is with us on the dusty road ; The dead sleep on, liiough loving hearts may grieve ; The suffering bear their lo^. Night closes round — In the green forest aisles no leaf is sfeed ; So hushed, as if heaven's distant musio-soond Mght even here be heard. auaiMIR HTMH. Through allwesee^ Up to the asure roof with stars mwroa^t, Through aU Earth's temple, do we look for Thee ; Alas! wd find Thee not. Yet, Thou art near ; Father I forgive our weak and iaLing sight ; For^ve, and make our darkness noonday char With Thy celestial light. Thy love has given Faith's telescope, wherewith to gaze on Thee ; Aid us, that through it looking unto Heavon, Thy glory we may see. SUMMER HYMN. Hark! Earth begins her matm hymn; The wide expanse of hUl and plam, The river, and the mountain breeze, Unitmg, swell the glad refrain ; Day, throned upon the eastern heights. From herb and flower bids incense rise To mingle in the azure heaven. With Nature's wordless harmonies. ^ SUMMER HTMN. All things — the insect world around, The squirrels peeping from the shade, The birds that warble on the boughs. The herds amid the sunshme laid ; All living things, and all beside, Thy works, whatever their form may be. Varied by Thy creating hand, Are one, God, m praising Thee. Nor, Father ! let thy latest bom, The chosen object of thy care. Contemn the universal hymn That nature raises everywhere. For blessings of the opening year. For spring and summer's sunny days, And for the harvest's promised store Accept, Lord, our grateful praise. 22 THE EIVER. I stand upon the river*s side, And at my feet the rapid tide Goes wandering onward ceaselessly ; So clear, so bright its waters gleam, That, mirrored in the crystal stream, I see each neighbouring object lie. Ton cottage, with its mantling vine And roses that around it twine, Has its bright copy in the wave ; Those trees, that by the margin grow, Oaat each its shadow down below. As, bending o'er, their boughs they lave. And yet the current hurries on ; Not here, it knows its journey done. Though fair and sweet the scene may be. Though darkling forests lie before, And channelled rocks, and chasms hoar ; Its rest is only in the sea. m (til''- THE BIVEB. But many another grassy mead Shall greet it, in its onward speed, And there the grateful stream shall pay, With added freshness, every leaf, Even, as here, its sojourn brief Sheds brighter, fresher bloom to-day. i So mortals, by life's current strong, Perchance unwilling, borne along, May hear the river's wordless speech: " Sunshine and summer days are thine, They cheer thy way, but why repine When storms their sterner lessons teach ? And when, awhile, thy path may lead Through soft and tranquil paths, take heed The grateful stream is type of thee ; The gifts to thee so freely given, As freely render back to Heaven, In works of love and charity." 94 TO AN ORIOLE. SEEN m MAT. 1881. Why from thy southern home, Why dost thou roam so far ? Thou art too bright to come Thus, like a wandering star, To these cold shores of ours. Oh, qmckly spread thy wing, linger no longer here. Haste, ere the night shall bring Chill that thou couldst not bear, , Back to thy land of flowers ! Haste ! though the charmM eye, Rests on thy glowing plume. Haste ! let me see thee fly ; Seek'st thou a living tomb ? This is no place for thee ! 25 '!ra:?t^unaHi!BTTi€-^?« gMM 'lamFHrnssm m^^m M.iiii.iiuiimiM TO AN ORIOLE, Lured by that splendour rare, Soon may some thoughtless heart Doom thee, bright bu'd, to bear The prisoner*s hopeless part — Fly, whilst thou yet are free ! Back on thine airy way, Vision of beauty ! go, TiU thy tired pinions stay. Where thine own summers glow ! There thou mayst fearless rest. Bright visitanbj farewell ! Far in thy native bowers. Thou mayst thy comrades tell, Sad are the exile's hours ; Home, home alone is blest I 26 THE EVENING WALK. Here, let us rest awliile ; — this moss-grown trunk Makes a luxurious seat, a throne, if e'er Thrones are so free from care as we may be In this our rustic palace ; high overhead The arching boughs, that hold our roof of leaves. Mock man's laborious tracery, and show A mightier Architect ; no windows throw. Though stamed with loveliest hues, a light so pure, So cool, so chaste, as, through the fluttering screen. Steals down upon the flowers, and lends them grace ; Down in yon hollow, hidden by the fern. The noisy brook goes rushing on its way ; The bee, unwearied by his day of toil. Comes home rejoicing, with his fragrant load ; The woodpecker sends echoes through the wood. And timid squirrels, with their shining eyes. Peep at us from among the withered leaves ; The bolder chitmonk sits upon a bough And eyes us steadily — ^his small, shrill bark Startling the birds upon their lofty perch. 21 I THE EVENING WALK. Look at these flowers ; — our English flowers are fair, And their familiar faces stir our hearts, But these are different ; — see, this one has leaves Like the white water-lily, fragile, pure. And shattered by a touch; — a crimson stain Is on each pDcal, as some wounded heart Had shed its lifeblood o'er the snowy cup. And dyed it thus for ever. Heiij is onQ Alike in shape, but of a purple hue ; And this might be a lily of the vale Gro\vn to gigantic size— the shining leaves Have lost in width, what they have gained in height, But the flowers keep their semblance. I have seen This plant before — ^last year we found the roots. But it was later, and the bloom was gone ; Where the bells had been, scarlet berries hung, Warm, glowing, in the shadows of the wood. Here, are some yellow violets — not like those We used to love ; these have no sweet perfume. And their pale hue looks strange, unnatural ; And here, are white and blue, but aU ali^.e Strange to our eyes, and speechless to our hearts. 8t THE BVENINa WALK. I like this lilac-tinted flower that creeps Close to the ground — Titania might have wreathed Its tiny blossoms in her hair ; and sweet, Though faint, the odour that betrajs its nook. The only scented wild-flower we have found. Here, are more fairy blossoms, white as snow. Gleaming like stars, that, tempted by the flowers. Wandering from yon blue heaven above us spread. Were caught among the leaves. — ^How exquisite The form and veinmg of each ffllvery gem 1 How softly fades the twilight ! But the night, Though lovely, must not find us lingering here. The moon will gild the tree-tops, and the stars Shine on the dewy flowers, and on our seat. While we turn homeward with our gathered wealth. Our gleaming wealth of jewels richly wrought. Gems eloquent to speak the Graver's praise. ■^:- THE SONG OF THE SEA. List to their music, Mournfully swelling — What is the tale That those waters are telling ? Thou, who hast heard them, By mght and by day. Answer — ^those waves. Canst thou tell what they say ? » Yes ! I will teach thee The song that they sing To the ship on the sea. To the bu:d on the wmg ; Oft have I heard it * Mid darkness and storm, Or caught its low voice On the breath of the mom. / 30 '-"-U^.] THE SONG OF THE SEA. Short is their lesson And easy to say, This all they utter, "Passmgaway!" Each wave, as it rises And dies on the shore, Still repeats only These words evermore. Heed thou the wammg, Young though thou be, The sun of to-morrow May ne'er rise for thee ; And, though thou shouldst linger For many a day. Yet hopes, joys, affections. Are passmg away. 31 ^ . FLOWERS- Oh, bring me, bring me flowers, from my own dear laud again ; I feel as if their well-known scents would charm away my pain ; Their forms would bring me back the dreams of childhood's happy days, Like visions of the night, lit up by fancy's sparkling rays. Oh, let me feel the perfume of the violet in the air, And clasp within my weary hand the primrose pale and fair. The may-iiower's gorgeous leaves of gold, that decked our youthful queen. The sorrel's snowy petals, hid among its leaves of green. Bring me the dark blue hyacinth, that studded all the grass. Where we, beneath the elm trees' shade, the joyous hours would pass ; The roses, that around our bower their thousand blossoms shed, Or mingled with the stately boughs that arched it overhead. Oh, let me wreathe once more the flowers I ever loved the best, The gay and fragrant hawthorn, in its springtide beauty drest ; The brilliant pan&ies — ^flowers of thought — ^like thoughts that ^ quickly die, The fra^e harebell, rin^g forth its faiiy melody. sa THE LAND OP REST. My eyes grow dim with unshed tears, the tears of yain regret ; Oh, flowers of home, in many a dream, your bright forma haunt me yet, But never, never more amid your beauties may I stand, Or lay ye on my heart again, gems of my fatherland ! THE LAND OF REST. Where art thou, land of rest ? Oft, amid evening skies. Rich outlines, as of dwellings blest, Before my vision rise ; But ah ! they fade as night draws oa; They fade, they pale, as smks the sun. When morning beams are bright. The distant mountain slopes, All bathed in soft and tender light. Seem fair as youth's fond hopes ; But noon must steal their brave array, And leave them cold, and stem, and gray. 33 • BH wm THE LAND OP REST. '■ Oh distant, yet beloved ; Art thou, that seem'st so fair, Nought but a poet's fancy vam, A phantom of the air ? Never to bless the lon^ng sight, With all thy fulness of delight ? What though in passing dream, The weary tread thy shore, Bathe in thy river's tranquil stream, And learn thy sacred lore, Day calls them back, to meet agam Their daily toil, their daily pain. 34 VISIONS. I have dreamt of a home in a changeless clime, Where nought that we loved was the spoil of Time ! Where the summer breezes' gentle win<^s Brought to our dwelling all lovely things ; And life was bliss on that happy shore I've dreamt ;— but I see the bright vision no more. I dream no more of a golden age, I have learned a lesson from life's dark page ; Flowers may bud, and bloom, and die ; Storms may darken the summer sky ; But not in skies, or in withering flowers. Is the saddest change ;— for that change is ours. Day by day, as our life gUdes past, Something must leave us that graced the last; Some rose of hope, from its stem is shed ; Some bud of fancy, falls pale and dead ; Till nought is left, but the scentless bloom That memory plants by affection's tomb. 35 III THE BRIDAL. Weave the garlands bright and gay, For the bride, to-morrow ; Haise the festal arches high, For the bride, to-morrow ; Deck the church with laurel boughs, Seek the myrtle where it grows, Lilies, for the sunny brows Round the bride, to-morrow. ^ See ! they fade, the flowers ye bring, For the bride, to-morrow ; Little fragrance they shall fling. Round the bride, to-morrow ; Cast them forth, and bring, instead. Yew, that moumeth for the dead, Twine dark ivy overhead. For the bride, to-morrow. Useless all your care shall be. For the bride, to-morrow ; He, the bridegroom that hath wooed, Stays not for to-morrow ; 86 MORNING. *Neath his kiss, ^.or lips grow pale, And her fluttering pulsos fail, Loud and deep shall be the wail, Round her grave, to-morrow. MORNING. Morning ! whose earliest, purest ray Sheds beauty on the distant hills. And whose light winds the treetops sway Above the newly wakened rills. Many a bright floweret opens to thy smile, And thy sweet spells, from sleep, all living things beguile. 1 1 \ i Delightful hour ! the first, the best, The brightest, in glad summer's train. When man, refreshed by peaceful rest. Blithely resumes his toil again ; Hope's angel — smiles through all thy beauties shine, And all her charms, sweet morning hour, are thine. 31 i'^S^ NIGHT. Oh, loveliest hour of all that bless Earth with their passmg loveliness, Calm night ! when sinks in deep repose. Each care, each toil, that dayhght knows ; To me, than summer's noonday glare. More dear thou art, more sweetly fair. Canst thou be all of earth, when, oft Upon the heart, thine influence soft Falls, as, from heaven, a healmg shower, So strangely deep its soothing power ? And must thy beauty pass away, Thy softness yield to lasting day ? Yes ! night, thy reign must soon be o'er ; Thy calm shall soothe the heart no more ; Thy task fulfilled, thy mission done. When Earth its latest course has run ; No need for night, no need for rest. When Heaven's own glory fills the breast. 88 I EVENING TIME. " At evening time there shall be light.'* Yes, when old age shall come And night's dark ,'hades obscure the path, Whereon we're travelling home ; When, 'wildered bj the gathering gloom. Appalling fears arise. The first pure gleams of heavenly light. Shall brighten all the skies. *^ ^.t evening time there shall be light." If sorrow's hand should bear Cold on our hearts, and draw her shroud O'er what we hold most dear ; Though sunshine, with each charm it brings. May seem forever fled ; Light, from Heaven'rf own celestial springs, Shall rest upon our head. " At evening time there shall be light." Oh ! promise ever sweet To those who tread an unknown way, With faint a. v.. faltering feet ; 39 mmm SPRING AND AUTUMN. They need not fear the coming hours, When sunset shall be past, Since One, who knows that pathway well, Has promised light at last. SPRING AND AUTUMN. " A little dust to overweep." Mrs. Browning. Utterly, utterly out of our life, Already, each trace of his life is gone ; Only, somethnes, in the quiet eve. We stand, with a sigh, by the sculptured stone, Which tells us the form we used to greet, Dust amid dust, lies low at our feet. Bright came the spring with sun and shower, The wood paths smiled in tl ir vernal green ; To-day we have trodden the emerald grass. And wandered beneath the leafy screen ; — He welcomed the summer^s early bloom, — Now, it can only brighten his tomb. 40 SPRING AND AUTUMN. Sigh, leaves, on your rustling boughs ; Even amid your smilmg, sigh ! Did he not love your changeful charms ? Yet, 'mid them all, he lay down to die. Ye, in beauty, survive to-day, A little while, ere ye pass away. The snow will come, and, with silvery veil, Wrap the earth for its winter's rest ; Before the flowers of the sprmg awake, We, like him, may sleep on its breast. Time will each beauty of spring restore ; Only life's flowers return no more. i I 41 »a;aB»JiU]inuiJiiJi«iiMiMJ« THE NIGHT COMETH. "VV^ork ! for the night is conung ; Work ! through the morning hours '; Work ! while the dew is sparkUng ; Work ! 'mid the springing flowers ; Work ! while the day grows brighter, Under the glowing sun ; Work ! for the night is coming, — Night, when man's work is done. Work ! for the night is coming ; Work ! through the sunny noon ; Fill the bright hours with labour, Rest Cometh sure and soon. Give to each flying minute Something to keep in store ; Work ! for the night is coming, — Night, when man works no more. THE DYING SUMMER. Work ! for the night is coming ; Under the sunset skies, While their bright tints are glowing, Work ! for the daylight flies ; Work ! till the last beam fadeth, Fadeth to shine no more ; Work ! while the night is darkening,- Night, when man's work is o'er. THE DYING SUMMER. I I Gently, sadly the summer is dying Under the shivering, trembling boughs, With a low soft moan, the breeze is flying ; The breeze, thac was once so fresh and sweet, Is passing as swift as Time's hurrying feet, And where the withered roses are lying. The beautiful summer is surely dying. Gently, sadly the waves are sighing. The leaves are mourning that they must fall ; And the plaintive waters keep replying, 43 I I I II THE DYING SUMMER. J I They miss the light that has decked thera long ; They have caught the last bird's farewell song ; And lowly they murmur, from day to day, '' The beautiful summer is passing away." Gently, sadly the moon recUning High on her throne of azure and gold, With wan clear light, o'er the world is shining ; Wherever she turns there are teardrops shed. Such as we give to the cherished dead ; They will gleam till the chilly mom is breaking, And the flowers with their last pale smiles are waking. Wildly, sadly the night wind, swelling. Chants a measure weird and strange ; Hark ! of the coming storm he is telling, And the trembling life, that was almost gone, Flickers and shrinks at the dreaded tone. And scarcely lingers where, lowly lying. The tender and beaatiful summer is dying. 44 DEAD. To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die I Campbell. Dead ? No ! thou'rt living yet — For while fond memory holds thee thus, And love, we give not to the dead, Is thine, thou still art one of us ; Not dead, till we forget. Living, but far away ; Distance divides our hearts from thee — Ent Time shall bring thee here again, And brighter than all dreams shall be That one glad meeting day. I Alas ! not so, thou'rt dead ! For it was sadly dear to me To think thy spirit might be near ; From Earth's restraining bands set free, Yet here, by memory led, 46 i-t 11 mmmsammmma DEAD. " Sweet could our hearts be known Now, by some keener sympathy." Such my first thoughts when thou wert gone ;- But soon the fancy ceased to be ; We felt thy soul was flown. Dead ? No ! thou'rt living yet — Distant, but we shall meet again, And heart be read by faithful heart. When love more closely draws his chain Kound friends forever met. 46 PRECIOUS HOURS. Treasure the hour of joy — Welcome each draught of bliss, each golden dream ; Find, if thou canst, besides life's bitter stream, Pleasures without alloy ; But ever let thy heart's deep homage be, Amid thy gladness, His, who gave it thee. ■■ si Treasure the time of grief — Weep if thou wilt, but in that darker day The humbled spirit sweetly learns to say, " God giveth glad reUef ;" And sorrow dearer far than joy shall be, If it but bring thy God more near to thee. Treasure the hour of prayer — There, seek from God food for thy hungry soul. Full, and rich store ; no scant, penurious dole Shall ever meet thee there. Put by earth's sparkling cup of false delight, And drink from Heaven's own chalice, life and light. A1 I i -i THE LAST RAY OF SUNLIGHT. The last ray of sunlight ! It gleams on the mountain, It gilds the dark pines in the valley below, It blesses the flowers ere they sink to their slumbers, And the crystal brook catches its fugitive glow ; Never more lovely the sun's noontide glory. Never more lovely the first blush of morn. Nor moonbeams, oft honored in song and in story, Nor bright gleaming star in the still midnight born. Hast thou e'er found a flower, whose frail stem has been broken, A fair blossom cast on the cold ground to die. Its petals yet stainless, though life hath departed, Still smiling and bright, though its pride hath gone by ? Oh, like the smile and the perfume that lingers Decking the rude couch, where lowly it lies. Latest defying the work of Time's fingers. Is the last ray of sunshine that brightens the skies. The last ray of sunlight ! It tells of the hours Gone from us forever and joined to the past. And bids us remember the joys and the sorrows, , like sunshine and clouds, o'er our journeyings cast. 48 ATJTUMN. I While in ifcs brightness a promise is given, Hopeful and dear, of a dawning to come, And it beams on the heart, whose strong ties have been riven, Like the welcoming light from the traveller's homo. )ken, ?? AUTUMN. Oh, tell me not of Autumn's charms, The last sad beauties of the year ; Praise not the colouring of the leaf, That is so dead and sere. Give me the sunny hours of Spring, Or Summer's rich, luxuriant store ; The opening bud, the blooming flower That springs to life once more. The stormy winds are whistling shrill Among the branches in the wood. And wrestling with the giant trees That many a storm withstood. They tear the creepers from the wall, They lay our garden treasures low, And bear a thousand lovely things Far from us, as they go, 49 I if THE SECOND ADVENT. I shudder to my inmost heart, To hear the bitter blast sweep by. And think of frail and shivering forms Beneath this wintry sky ; Of childhood and of helpless age, That begs its bread from door to door Anud this Autumn's tempest's rage ; God slueld the homeless poor I * ! i| THE SECOND ADVENT. In the hush of the silent midnight Shall the cry of His coming be ? When the day of the Lord's appearing Shall flash over earth and sea t Shall it be at the mom's awaking, And the beams of the golden sun Grow pale and be quenched for ever, When his journey is just begun? We know not, we guess not, the hour ; But we know that the time must be, When earth, with its clouds and shadows, Will shrink, and tremble , and flee ; 00 THE SECOND ADVENT. Will shrink to its deepest centre, And render before His throne, The jewels the Lord will gather, The gems that He calls his own. Then, bright in Heaven's noonday splendour, And robed like the dazzling snow, The saints to their many mansions, The chosen and blest, shall go. And songs of angelic gladness Be borne on celestial air To welcome the mighty gathering, The throng, that shall enter there. And, oh ! in that awful parting. That day of unchanging doom. When earth shall give up her millions, And empty her every tomb. May we find in the Judge, a Saviour, A friend, whom we know and love, And be bidden by Him to enter The courts of His house above. 51 PBi iii 1 CHRISTMAS SONG. Go, b .1.' j; rue boughs of holly To deck the walls to-night, Choose where the leaves are glossy, And the scarlet berries bright ; And bring the trailing ivy That by the oak doth grow, And a bonny branch of the Christmas Tree, The charmed mistletoe. The holly by the windows Our sentinel shall be. And the changeless ivy symbol Our love and unity ; Nor the flowers we prize be wanting, But high above their glow We'll hang the branch of the magic tree. The charmed mistletoe. We gladly greet the holly. All thorny though it be, And the dark and glossy ivy Will grace our revelry ; But many a bright eye sparkles. And many a cheek doth glow. Beneath the spell of the magic tree, The charmed mistlotoe. CHRISTMAS CAROL. Two children singing in the street With plaintive voices, low and sweet, A simple strain, so soft and clear, That many a passer stayed to hear, And smiled or sighed to note their rhyme In honour of the Chri-^tmas time. " We are wanderers, wanderers ever, No friends, no home have we, We sleep beside the river, Or 'neath the spreading tree ; We have no kindred faces Our winter days to cheer, Yet, we wish you a merry Christmas, And a prosperous New Year ! We see, through many a window, The gleaming firelight shine, Shine on us, poor and friendless. Yet why should we repine ? We know that He who seeth The poor, our cry will hear. So we wish you a merry Christmas, And a prosperous New Year !'* BHBB i f n 1£k PART n. Mi^ullmtmm Putmii *■ Thus while I ape the measure wild Of tales that charmed me, yet a child, Bude though they be, still with the chime Return the thoughts of early time, And^feelings roused in life's first day Glow in the Une and prompt the lay;" Scott. vi r? I i i 'ii i^d^ei^M«mi^jsim(i5 Hisngm^. lANTHE. " lanthe, golden haired ! Bright Hebe, in the glory and the bloom Of her immortal youth, was not more fair Than thou, loveliest ! when the slender boughs Bent o'er thee, with their light leaves to caress Thy long bright tresses — ^when upon the hill Thy song resounded, and the joyous birds Stopped their sweet warblings, but to learn of thee. The river, when thy white and glancing feet Pressed its smooth pebbles, played around thy form In brighter eddies, with a murmuring song, Such as young mothers sing above their babes, 8f !' lANTHE. But now, we miss thee on the mountain slopes, And in the hamlets, and beside the stream ; Fairest and best beloved ! return, return !" So sang they in the valleys where they dwelt, The white-browed daughters of that sunny isle,- And Echo sadly gave the burden back, Echo alone — and sighed, " Return, return !" But never more, beside the forest shade. Or rocky beach, at evening's calmest hour. They hailed thy form, lanthe, brightest maid, Or caught the silvery murmurs of thy song. 'Twas in a year long past, when summer days Had waned in cloudless glory to the prime Of vintage and luxuriant harvest fields. When darkly o'er the heavens swept up the clouds Hiding the sunUght, and, for many days. Shrouding the isle in darkness. All around The great sea-billows raised their foam-white crests And dashed them on the beach with angry roar. While the tall trees, upon the swelling hills. Bent with strange gusts and howling savage winds. 68 lANTHE. The islesmen in wild terror sought the grove Where holiest rites were done, and brought with them Their costliest sacrifice and choicest gifts To win the gods to mercy. All day long The priest stood by the altar offering up (It seemed so) vain prayers ^ vainer sacrifice, Till suddenly at eve, on the fourth day, There fell a blackness o'er the worshippers. Darker than dark, and held them chained with awe ; Then through the cloud a voice, but what it said None, not those nearest to the altar, heard Save the priest only, and he answered low With deep obeisance. Then the horror passed. And light, such as there was before, returned. From close beside the altar spoke the priest — " Friends, seek your homes to-night ; be sure of this, The anger of the gods is not for nought, Yet are they merciful — Even now, behold. The sky grows clearer. At to-morrow's dawn Assemble here once more, — then will I tell Heaven's high behest, and see that ye obey." 59 ( 1 lANTHE. Away into the vallies, sore amazed, Passed the long train of people, and the night Sunk down in calm and stillness, save that yet The angry roaring waters rose and fell, Boiling and surging round the beaten shore. I ; i i I I I Morn came in glory, while the piled up clouds In the far west yet spoke of danger near, Forbidding fear to slumber — and with morn Came to the temple, all the anxious thron?^*, Came with his stately step and flowing robe, The venerable priest. Amid a hush So deep they heard the stirring of the leaves, He spoke to those around — " Friends, countrymen ! Consider what is dearest, what is best, Of all our fair isle's treasures. Ask your hearts. What holds the largest portion of their love ? And seek ye thus a stainless sacrifice. For such the gods demand. Well know we all We have too much forgotten in our wealth The ever gracious givers, and have held Our wives, our children and whatever else 60 lANTHE. We call our own, too much as being such ; Wherefore the gods are angry, and command Ere night return, we cast from yonder rock, Into those fiercest waves, a gift of price No less than is our eyes' most treasured light, Our hopes' best stay, our ages' comforter. Thus only, losing one, the best of all. Can either lives of us and ours be saved, Devoted else and doomed, with this our isle." He ceased, and silence reigned, while glance met glance In speechless questioning, and mothers strained Their infants to their breasts, and fathers turned To look into their fair young daughters' eyes In trembling apprehension what would be Next moment ; but next moment, every eye Was turned on one, who stood there pale and calm, lanthe, daughter of the aged priest, The fairest of the daughters of the isle. Then passed a sudden shudder through the crowd ; " Not thee, not thee, lanthe," from eacu heart Burst with a sudden anguish, but sb<^ stilled. With one mute gesture, all the throng, and spoke ; 61 1 ■ lANTHE. " father ! friends beloved ! if any be Most fit to die in such a cause, 'tis I : Thou knowest, father, I have ever led A simple innocent life, nor once have failed To bring my daily offering to the gods With prayers and due observance, from a child ; Nor need I, friends, with gratitude repeat How ye have ever blessed my glad, short life With wealth of many hearts. I know full well Ye will remember me with gentle thoughts, And, best, will cheer my father's lonely age For his lanthe's sake." She paused, and then Turned to her sire and knelt, and prayed him bless His child's resolve. He, who had meanwhile stood Rigid as marble statue, and as pale. Forced back with eflfort stem the agony That gathered at his heart. He laid his hand Untrembling on the locks of clustered gold That hid his child's sweet face, and said, " 'Tis well : Well, dear lanthe, hast thou said — and now Thy father gives thee, gladly, from his arms, As thou hast given thyself." 62 lANTHE. Then, there arose A sound of bitter weeping, and a wail Of hopeless sorrow from the room till noon, And then a speechless awe. The eve drew on, And sunset, when the dark and troubled sea Must swallow up the jewel of the isle. At last the hour was come. Upon the rock. White robed and crowned with flowers, lanthe stood J Pale, with a glowing lustre in her eyes Undimmed by fear or weeping. By her side, Her father, wholly calm, except that still His longing, loving gaze would follow her, And tell the sickening anguish of his soul ; But yet he faltered not, and, as the sun Went slowly downward to the glittering sea. Glittering at rest far distant, slowly dropped His eyes one moment on the billows near. Then bade the maidens clustered round, commence Their dedicating hymn. The strain arose Softly and tremulous, then sunk again, And rose once more, and would have quickly ceased 63 x lANTIIE. In tears and bursting sobs, but that one voice Rose clear, and full, and sweet, and led them on ; Thine, bright lanthe ! Then the prayer was said, And, 'mid an instant's pause of breathless pain. She sprang, as springs the sea bird, from the height, And the dark waters hid her evermore. *♦ 64 JOAN OP ARC. PART FIRST. A wild hillside beneath the winds of March — With scattered sheep upon the tufted grass. And here and there a tree, grotesque and lone, Strong limbed, but stunted, like a sturdy dwarf Misshapen, leafless. Overhead the clouds TraveUed with varying motion from the east ; Hurried, yet sullen ; lagging on the breeze. *^- Up the rough path, that wound among the furze, Slowly, with serious eyes that looked before, (Her soul not seeing what their vision saw,) With steps that knew the path too well to stray, Moving, as habit, not as thought, ordained. Came, through the chilly eve, a ^I's slight form ; It was not till she gained the rounded brow. Where east and north and south the hill sloped down And showed the winding valley far below, She turned and looked. Down there beneath her feet, And sheltered by the huge arms of the hills, Like a small nest amid the sturdy boughs m JOAN OF ARC. i I I » Whose well-tried strength defies the wildest storm, The pleasant village, with its humble spire, Lay calm and tranquil ; and the little streams. Fed from the sunless caverns of the rocks, Joining their slender threads of silver, ran Through meadows, where a strip of level ground Was bright with springing grass. A lovely scene To stranger eyes, to hers 'twas more, 'twas hon.3 ! There, as she stood and looked, a sudden gust Came right across the vaDey, bitter cold, — She drew her mantle closer round her breast And faced it boldly, while a vivid glow Began to kindle in her soft, dark eye, Giet^ineu like a beacon through a summer night, Lighting her pallid cheek and thoughtful brow. Till, with a sigh of smothered passion, broke. From quivering lips — ^" Would I could die to save, To save thee, my country !^ — but I fear" — So, with drooped eyes, she turned away and went To seek her scattered flock and bring them home. :h »^ k JOAN OP ARC. ^ m Clear from the village belfry rang the bell ; The gathered flocks, from momitain pastures led, Were safely housed, and up the stony street Came the small throng of evenmg worshippers. Among them, with an old man by her side, Came the pale shepherd girl, the dark-eyed Joan, Of whom men said, she saw strange sights, and heard Voices that others hear not. On they passed. Soon rose the music of the evening prayer Artlessly sweet, and floated to the skies With sprinkled incense, on the darkening air. The prayers were ended. Over each bowed head The priest had poured his blessing ; all were gone But Joan, who yet before St. Catherine's shrine Was kneeling, lost in prayer. Her fingers held Her half told rosary, now all forgot. Forgot the oft said words — her eager thoughts Shaped themselves into fervid life and knocked At heaven's high gate for entrance. By and by, Her cheeks aglow, her frame with ardour thrilled. «-j 67 If=^ JOAN OF ARC. She saw a dawiung light break from the crown That boun(? the samt's fair brow, and down it stole, Enveloping the figure in a haze Of golden splendour, while the sweet face wore A heavenly smile, and from the carved lips A soft voice uttered, '^ Joan, be strong of heart, Take courage to fulfil thy own deep wish, For thine it is to save thy native land." ' i f Faded the smile, while yet the gazer bent Her tear sufiusdd eyes upon its beam — Slowly the light died out, and nought was left But her enraptured fancy echoing yet, "Joan, it is thine to save thy native land." Listemng to this dear echo, long she knelt, Till, through her dazzlmg dream, she faintly heard A step upon the creaking belfry stair. And the first note of curfew broke the spell. i JOAN OP ARC. Beneath the shadow of her father's roof Joan passed and laid her down, but hours flew by Ere sleep's sofb pinions fanned her heated bram, And when, at length, she slept, sweet dreams again Repeated the sweet vision of the eve — But not for long her slumber or her bliss. When after midnight, scarce two hours were flown Wild through the silence rang a fearful cry. Then, swiftly following, shrieks, and oaths, and screams, The tramp of horses, and the trumpet's blast. While women shrieked, " They come ! the spoilers come !" And fled with wailing babes out through the night. Happy were they who saved in that dread hour Their lives and those they loved, although they stood With Joan aijd that small household oii he hill. And watched the wreathing flames extend their arms Till every dwelling shared the fell embrace, A fearful sight — the sky glowed overhead, And tenfold darker seemed th' abyss of night Around those blazmg walls, those ruined homes. 69 I JOAN OF ARC. Darkly amid the glare, the old church tower Showed the sad people that the house of God Stood scathless 'mid the wreck, but, oh ! the cry With which they marked the first red flame that twined Aboii'i tho carving of the sacred door, And, quickly spreading, mounted to the roof. Kneeling upon the turf, with streaming hair, With eyes of horror, and tight clasping hands, Joan watched the burning rafters till they fell And darkened the full glare of lurid light ; Then rose, and turning from the village, flung Her arms about a young tree standing near And hid her face upon them, while her heart Cried out m her, " God, deliver France !" And made an answer to herself, and said, " He will deliver us — a time will come, Js coming quickly, to avenge our wrongs.** ■ i id JOAN OP ARC. PART SECOND. Now many days had passed since that dread' time, When midnight violence disturbed the night To scatter death and ruin all around. Back to their desolated homes again The villagers had wandered from the hills And desert places of their sudden flight. Joan with her father came, and helped to raise Some wretched shelter from the cold and storm, Where they might light their household fires again. Parker and deeper since that awful hour, Through days of misery when her heart was wrung With sights amd sounds of 8u£fering, grew her thoughts. Now ceaselessly she heard a voice that cried, " Go forth, ordained of heaven, to save thy land ! " Strange visions visited her broken sleep. And once, St. Catherine stood beside hei bed Divinely beautiful, in robes of light. With grave, unsmiling brightness in her eyes. Thus spoke she — " Wherefore dost thou linger here ? Yi JOAN OF ARC. Thy country calls for thee, the promised maid, Appointed by high heaven to rescue France. Bise, seek the King, for even now his mind Is sore oppressed with evil. Tell him all — And bid him greet the future as his friend, For thou shalt stand beside him when the crown Circles his brow in peace. Yet, if he need Proof of thy mission, bid him qmckly send To where the holy fane of Firebois lifts • Its hoary head, and in a coffer old, Dusty with age, and half by dust consumed. There they shall find an ancient sword blade, marked With three rude crosses. Let them bring it thee. For by that weapon, and our Lady's help. Thou shalt recover France." So Joan awoke. From thenceforth all her nund was set in her To leave her village and her aged dre, Travelling to seek the King : and weeks passed by Slowly as years, until she found a time. And, after many prayers and vigils kept, Set forth upon her mission from her home. 72 JOAN OF ARC. . « PART THIBD. *Twas a high day in Rheims — the sunlit streets Were flooded full with life, and up and down Rang the gay clangour of the burnished arms. Pennons and scarfs and feathers waved in air, And all of regal, aJl of martial state, That France could muster, glittered round her King ; For, now, the coronation oath was said, And, now, the golden circlet, rich with gems. With hallowing prayers, was placed upon his head. Forth from the crowd uprose a joyous cry, " Long live King Charles the Seventh ! " uprose and swelled, Over the swaying multitude around. Bright through its space the vast cathedral gleamed With arms, with beauty clothed in rich attire — With priests in gorgeous vestments, mixed with men In many a battle scarred — ^but near the King, White robed above her glimmering suit tf mail, Holding a snowy banner in her hand, I 1 n I i- h)i S i m\ JOAN OP Aim, And girded with her still victorious sword, Stood the heroic maid, the prop of France. Could this be she — the simple country ^rl. Who watched her father's flock upon the hill, Or knelt among the village worshippers ? Had not this splendour changed her ? for she stood, Honoured among the nobles of the land, Deliverer of her country in its need. No ! in the mournful paleness of her brow. The strange, sad beauty of her clear brown eyes. And firm, sweet mouth, still looked there forth the soul. Once wrung with anguish for her country's woes. And now, far looking onward to her own. When all the rites were done, she slowly turned. Kneeling before the Kmg, and humbly spoke " My liege, my work is done — ^when first I came From my wild mountain home, and dared to stand, I, a poor village girl, amid your court. And promise boldly (what is now performed) 74 JOAN OP ARC. That this glad day should come, and through my help, I but obeyed a loftier will than mine, Inspired of Heaven to serve my country's need ; But now that need is past — my work is done — Now let me go, back to my father's cot. Back to my brother's dwelling — to mj nomo !" I, "Nay," said the King, "not so, we need thee still ; Thou, who hast led our troops to victory, Shalt lead them yet, we cannot part with thee ; But meet it is, on such a day as this. That we, such honour as a sovereign may. So poor as we are, should bestow on thee. Henceforth we make thee noble through all time ; Thou, and thy brothers, and thy aged sire. And every one descended of thy line— And, when our budding fortunes shall permit Fit revenue to prop thy rank shall be Added to honours. Wilt thou leave us now ? Well, then, if state and wealth can move thee not. Listen, maiden ! to thy country's voice. 75 JOAN OF ARC. Still do the rude invaders tread her plains, Still many a cruel deed of hideous war Lays her fair dwellings waste. Return not yet ! She cries to thee, and Heaven will aid thee still. He ceased. Before her sad and troubled eyes What varying visions floated ! but at last She said — " I will not go,** and sealed her doom. PART FOURTH. Another city, and another scene — An ancient city, o*er whose pointed roofs And many towers, perchance, the heavens were dai With angry clouds and storms — ^perchance, the sun Smiled in his brightness — what was it to her ? She only knew it was her day to die ! Through the barred windows, when the earliest dawn Crept to her prison chamber, she was there Kneeling before her little crucifix Praying, until the murmured prayer was lost In a wild rush of memory. Back they came Her peaceful days of childhood — ^floated back Her village home, the hillside, and the breeze, 76 1. \ ! JOAN OP ABO. And, strangely clear, the ringing of the bell. Then, she was kneeling at St. Catherine's shrine, Hearing again the silver tones that said, " To thee is ^ven to save thy native land." And fancy bore her on from field to field, From day to day of glory, till the last, That highest hour of triumph, when she stood Beside, while hoary prelates crowned the King. Thence onward still, and still through victory, But now no more she foremost— others came And entered on her labours and her place. And worse than all — the voices that had cheered — The fearless faith in Heaven's high guidance — ^failed. Doubts clustered round her, doubts of her own self Tracking her footsteps darkly, till the night Of blackest mis'ry when she knew Iierself A prisoner, and deserted. " Woe to those," She cried aloud in bitterness, " who place Their trust in princes ! Was there not a knight In all the noble army of the King Could lift his arm for me, who saved the crown ?" Then weeping passionate tears, began again M i h* JOAN OF ARC. Iler broken prayers. So wore the early hours, Till, by and by, her cruel jailors came, And yet more cruel priests, who, with Christ's name Upon their impious lips, could torture her. That wretched woman, in her agony ; For LOW, no more sustained by lofty hopes, Her spin*; turned in anguish on itself, Making wild conflict in her troubled breast, Till at the last, when they had wrought their will, And she, to save herself, with trembling hand Had signed t' dread confession of her crime, Branding her i^emory with the double guilt Of witchcraft, and denial of her faith, They left her for a while, and in that hour Peace came upon her soul and she was calm, Looking.for death as for a welcome guest. » ( -. ■ I ]j At length they led her forth. Amid a crowd Of thousands, as in other days, she moved ; Then, all was acclamation where she came. Now, a dread silence reigned. The stake was reared Amidst the open square, that all might see ; JOAN OF ARC. And many another goodly sight was thoro : Princes and priests, rich-robed and gay with gems, Knights in bright armour, and no lack of men, Such as seemed human, come to look on her. They bound her fast — she, scarce alive to thought, Seeing them heap the faggots round her form, Seeing the cruel faces of the throng. No pity anywhere — grew cold as ice, And shivered while she looked, not knowing why ; So, in a trance of horror wrapped, she stood, They deeming that she listened, while a monk Told all her grievous sins aloud, and showed In the great audience of the people there, Her guilt and her confession. When he ceased The fire was brought, and soon the kindled pile Flaming around her, with rude shock called back Each power of suffering. Then she wildly shrieked, And, holding up her cherished crucifix. Called upon Him, whose sacred form it bore, Her last, sole refuge, for His pity then. So the flame swept above her guiltless head, And, with His name upon her Ups, she died. 78 i m BOSCOBEL. Half hidden in the circle of thy woods Thou standest yet, unchanged and beautiful, Thrice honoured relic of a famous time ! On History's page thou livest, but far more In hearts that ha^Jig loved thee, love thee still, And keep thy smile in memory. On thy sward The every varying shadows dance and play, And on thy grassy mound the daisies spring New yearly, yet the same — the very flowers Are blooming in thy quaint parterres that bloomed Two hundred years ago. I scarce can think It was not yesterday the wanderer came — That homeless wanderer— that uncrowned King — Who, in his perilous and desperate plight, Swayed England's loyal hearts with deeper power Than when he held the sceptre— that he came Seekmg thy shades for safety. Then, all day. The ceaseless summer rain that drenched thy boughs 80 BOSCOBEL. Seemed weeping for the kingdom's downfall — He, Meanwhile, must make his royal couch and throne Beneath thy dripping leaves. Weary, oppressed, Heartsick, and sad, by disappointment chilled More than by wet or hunger, he must watch The long hours through, nor dare to venture forth Lest death be lingering near. Yet was he not Deserted — there were noble hearts and true Watching and labouring for their outcast King, And, not the least among those honoured men, Thy faithful band of brothers — still their name Shall be the synonym of gallant truth, Unsullied honour, stainless loyalty. Alas ! that he to whom such faith was given Proved so unworthy ! that the promise bright. He gave in danger and distress, should be Like the white hoar frost on the morning grass. And, when the sun of happier fortune rose. Vanished in air. But that is nought to thee ; Thou, in thy leafy covert art a shrine \ I 81 ■ !] BOSCOBEL. Sacred to noblest virtues. Be thou still, Time honoured spot, as sweet and fair as now ; No sacrilegious hand be ever raised To mar with modem change thy ancient grace. But be thou stUl, in tranquil beauty calm, An ark of quiet 'mid life's changing scene ; And still, to generations yet unborn. Repeat, in music, thy romantic tale. Such scenes as thine, on England's ^srdant plains. Make up her greatest charm, and dower her with Matchless associations — for in her, And m her hallowed shrines of bygone days, We need not say, " Alas ! for liberty !" But liberty still lives, and, while we bless With reverent love the good men of the past. We proudly add, " Their spirit fires their sons, And England's virtues, like her sturdy oaks. Unhurt by age or storm, perennial spring.' i) 82 HOME. Oh, but one hour of solitude, to trace Each well-known path, each childish hiding place ! Oh, but once more to see thee, and to know Full liberty for farewell tears to flow ! What stranger faces gather round thy board ? What infant voices sound where Ours were heard ? The flowers we planted, are they living yet ? Or passed their fragrance ere we could forget ? Some altered things in thee, I know full well, But others, who that loved thee less, could tell ? Changes but sUght, yet growing day by day That steal insidiously thy charniS away. So years, that pass o'er some belovM face, The looks we loved, the smiles, may all efface, May leave the outline as it -"vas before. Yet bid the lovehness return no more. Oh, is it thus with thee ? the trees are felled. The trees, where twittering birds their counsels held. But is the grass, where flickering shadows lay, StiU with the old familiar blossoms gay ? 83 rl i ■ r, if 1 1 1 K3 B = rsgi a i'mw mn i ^ HOME. n i . 1 Ah ! in the dreams of thee, that stir my heart, In vain I seek to see thee as thou art ; In memory's dwelling thou art painted fair, And not a single change can enter there. Thy diflferent aspects, worn in many years. All dear, all sanctified by smiles or tears, Embalmed and treasured when their life was fled — Immutable, as actions of the dead. Dwell with me still, unalterably mme. And fill, with incense of pure thoughts, their shrine. 'Tis strange, how in this arduous race of life, Howe'er engrossing be the toil and strife, Howe'er uncertain, wearisome and long. Whatever rivals round our pathway throng, Or when the goal approaches, and our eyes Greet, bright, and almost won, the wished-for prize, Still, half regretful, turn our thoughts again To homes we left that glittering prize to gain, Fondly recalling fireside pleasures fled. And joys, o'er which long years a glory shed. HOME. And if past days lock bright when fortune smiles Or proud ambition spreaus her tempting wiles, How fair they seem, when, baffled and distressed. All that we ask is quietness and rest. The traveller, journeying from the setting sun, Turns to look back ere yet his toil is done. And sees the hills, so steep and hard to climb, All bathed in floods of rosy glory shme ; He sees the grassy slope, the sunny hue, While distance hides the rocky path from view ; Forgets each dangerous step, each fatal snare, And dreams that peace, alone, holds empire there. So, could capricious wishes sway our life, How oft from scenes with many a trouble rife, Should we return to childhood's bygone hours. To find the roses vanished from the bowers ! To find that fancy, memory, love had given One half the charms thai docked our ideal hea/en ; To find that childhood hath its cares and fears. Sad at the time, as those of after years ; . il . I i HOME. And learn, too late, that all man's hours below, Alike are chequered by the shades of woe. Yet may we draw from nature's copious store Of beauty, one similitude the more — As the lone traveller when day is done. And glowing clouds no more reflect the sun. Sees from the distant ether o'er his head One lovely star its silvery brightness shed, And by and by the night that round him drew So dark a veil is lit with splendours new, That to his softened eyes seem scarce less fair Than are the charms that daylight's wont to wear. So o'er the quiet days when life no more Yields joy or pain so keen as those of yore, A gentler light floats down upon our way From stars unseen amid the beams of day. If 86 A FOREST LEGEND. Pleasant it was, when woods were green And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene. Where the long arching boughs between, Shadows soft, and sunlight sheen, Alternate come and go. Longfellow. It was a summer morning, When dew lay on the flowers, And birds sent up their joyous hymns From all the sylvan bowers, I sat beneath an aged oak Whose spreading boughs the sunbeams broke And cast them at my feet In shattered fragments, bright and sheen. That glittered on the mossy green. Like splendid tints in prisms seen, Where transient glories meet. A FOREST LEGEND. Clear mirror of the sky's deep blue, A stream went murmuring by, And, where the grass luxuriant grew, It trickled dreamily ; And while its waters seemed to rest On the wide mead's enamelled breast. The voices of the wood Brought elfin music to my ears ; They seemed to sing of bygone years. And ^ant trees, that stood Unaltered by the march of Time, Through surly Winter's frost and rime. And Summer's gentlest mood. Joined their deep notes to swell the strain. And waved their branches o'er the plain. The words they sang I cannot tell, The fitful measure rose and fell. Each fall and cadence, tone and swell, Mysteriously sweet. m A FOREST LEGEND. Until the sun crept up unseen, And noon beams fell upon the green That spread around my seat ; Then, sleep came o'er me, like a cloud, And wrapped me in her silver shroud ; When, to my slumbering ear, A soft low voic . the stillness broke, And, as some finer sense awoke, Sleeping, I heard each word it spoke, All measured, sweet and clear : ^' A thousand times the sun has called The young leaves from the tree ; A thousand times at winter's touch I've watched their verdure flee ; A thousand shoots to life have sprung, A thousand birds their carols sung And filled the woods with sound ; Succeeding years roll slowly by. The bright flowers blossom, fade and die, Change is on all things, yet am I In changeless durance bound. 89 • A FOREST LEGEND. When first I woke, as from a dream How balmy seemed the air ! Forest and greensward, sky and stream, How exquisitely fair ! I loved the spot, the fragile stem, Entrusted to my care, I tended it with loving hand, I watched each infant bud expand, Each tender leaf appear, And still, as day by day it grew, I gathered morning's choicest dew. And wooed the freshest breeze that blew To scatter perfume here. So time passed on, the slender stem Became a stately tree, Whose branches, vigorous and green. Looked far o'er dale and lea ; Yon idle brook that creeps along. Flowed then, a current wide and strong, Oft in whose shining face •0 |{ i A FOREST LEGEND. The boar's fierce eyes reflected glowed, Or antlered deer his beauty showed, Bent o'er the waters as it flowed In still unconscious grace. { No human voice had e'er disturbed The calm that reigned around, The shyest birds forgot to fear On this untrodden ground ; The squirrel leaped from tree to tree, The fieldmouse ran, the labouring bee Here garnered up his store ; The doves cooed softly to their young. The nightingale her ditty sung, The firefly's gleams all night were flung Trees, flowers, and streamlet o'er. One day, strange sounds were in the wood, Strange sounds unheard till now. The tread of horses, joyous tones. And laughter, clear and low; 91 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 1.25 U|21 125 i«- Sjfei ^:%^: <^' »v .»»■ y HiotograiM; Sdmces Corporation •N? 23 WBT IMAIN STRUT WltlTm,K.Y. 145M (7U)I73'4S09 ^^^ ^5> ^ ^ 6^ 1 A FOREST LEGEND. A group emer^g from the shade Passed lightly down the open glade, And paused beside the stream, While nodding plumes waved in the air, And sunbeams glanced on jewels fair. Or on bright locks of wavmg hair Cast many a golden gleam. Brave steeds with goodly trappings gay, And men of gallant mien. And dames, whose mettled palfreys moved Obt;dient to the rein ; It was a lovely sight to see, And pleasant were the sounds of glee That floated on the air ; They lingered here till dewy eve, And e'en departing, seemed to grieve A spot so beautiful to leave. Where all things were so fair. 92 /. A FOBEST LEGEND. Silence, again, and loneliness Stole o'er the shadowy wood, The shy deer's footsteps pressed the sward, Where those bright dames had stood. Oh, were the hush unbroken still ! ' . Unknowing then, of pain or ill My life had passed away ; Then, racking care, unbidden guest, Had never filled my hapless breast. Unknown had been tUs sad unrest, That mocks me day by day. ,i lit i 'CI How did the seasons pass ? I kn^w Their changes oft went by. I see them like the fleecy clouds In morning skies that lie ; A while, before the sun appears To dry the golden may-flower*s tears, All glorious they shine ; But soon, before his glowing light. They pale and vanish from the sight. Or robed, as erst, in tintless white. Lose all their hues divine. A FOREST LEOEND. I i 9 Enough — they passed, — a sudden change Came with one budding spring ; A bright, undreamed of, glowing life Bathed every senseless thing ; Brightened the sunlight, and more fair Painted each blossom, filled the air With many a varying strain ; Woodsongs the quivering leaves that thrill, Chords that the hush of midnight fill, Tones from the falling of the rill, The dropping of the rain. Those summer days ! those summer nights ! Not like the years before ; As long as thought and Ufe remains, I'll dream them o'er and o'er. Too soon, the autumn breeze swept by And darkened all my sunny sky ; Too soon, that transient light Passed, like those northern gleams that throw, When all the hills are white with snow, O'er earth and sky their rainbow glow, Yet fade and leave it night. 84 A FOREST LEGEND. No more — ^within my narrow bounds, As I have dwelt, I dwell ; No change comes o*er the dreary Hfe That once I loved so well. Awake, sleeper ! for I hear, From yonder covert, sweet and clear. The nightingale's first lay ; Go ! and all spirits fair and bright Keep thee in peace by day and night ; As thou dost tell the tale aright Which thou hast heard to-day. ; ;if] I , A BALLAD. . t >» " Mother ! open the door, The wind blows chilly and bleak ; Mother ! open the door, For I'm growing faint and weak. Up she rose from the fire, Rose up from her lonely watch. Quickly she went to the door. And quickly lifted the latch. Out she looked on the night. The wind blew bitter and shrill, But nothing there could she see. And the voice she had heard was still ; Back, with a heavy sigh, She went to her fireside seat. But the voice was there once more. And the sound of childish feet. 96 A BALLAD. She leaned her over the bed, Her lips T7ere parched and blue, The eyes of the dymg were open wide And she saw that he heard it too. His eyes were open wide With a ghastly look of dread, And, when she had watched him a moment's space. She turned away from the dead! She opened the door again And looked out through the tempest wild, And she thought she saw, at the forest side. The form of a little child. With a cry of anguish and fear. She rushed to where it stood. But its garments were gleaming farther on In the darkness of the wood. Still, she followed it fast. And still, it flitted before. Until she thought her weary limbs Would bear her on no more ; A BALLAD. ! Still, as the night wore on, She followed the flying shade, Till she came to an old stone carved cross, And there knelt down and prayed. There, with a breaking heart. She prayed to be cleansed within ; That her mind might be freed from its deadly chain, And her soul be washed from sin. She prayed till the light was faint In the east, when a slumber stole Over her weary senses. Soothing her guilty soul. "^ The trees were dripping above her. The skies were stormy and wild, But she saw nought in her slumber, Save the form of a little child. The child stood close beside her, And spoke in accents low. Not like the tones of terror, That haunted her, hours ago. 98 A BALLAD. " Mother, here m the forest You left me to starve and die, And here where my hones are bleaching, Tour lifeless corpse must lie ; But now, the gates of Heaven May open to let you m, For true and hearty repentance . Has washed away your sin." Up rose the sun in his glory And hghted the forest glade. And shone on the old stone cross. Where the woman's form was laid ; The grass grew high around her Heavy with dew and rain. But she lay wrapped m a slumber That never knew waking again. PENELOPE. The palace halls we^*) bushed, where late the voice Of boisterous feastiBg through their columns rung. Silence, without, her viewless wing did poise, And Night on high her starry banner hung ; Upon the meadow slopes the waves were flung With slumberous murmur, as they rose and fell ; And drowsily, from shadowy groves among. Came now and then, to mingle with their swell, Faint sounds, that seemed of neighboring flocks and herds to tell. . One chamber there, with kindly step and slow, Sleep entered not through all tibe l I ym IMOGEN. Vajn fancy ! yet I need but sleep And straight behold theo in my dream, Pictured on mem'ry's mirror deep, Clear as the heavens on Severn's stream. KB. For when cold Reason yields her reign. And outward sense lies dead and still, Love opes the portals of the brain. And ushers in the guest ho will. Good night, dear love, thou too mayst hail The breathing of these zephyrs light ; Oh, fly to greet him, gentle gale. And whisper low, Good night—good mght ! 106 I' * m WOMEN'S RIGHTS. You cannot rob us of the rights we cherish, Nor turn our thoughts away From the bright picture of a " Woman's Mission " Our hearts pourtray. We claim to dwell, in quiet and seclusion, Beneath the household roof, — From the great world's harsh strife, and jarring voices. To stand aloof; — Not in a dreamy and inane abstraction To sleep our life away. But, gathering up the brightness of home sunshine, To deck our way. As humble plants by country hedgerows growing. That treasure up the rain. And yield in odours, ere the day's declining, The gift again ; ^ So let us, unobtrusive and unnoticed, But happy none the less, « Be privileged to fill the air around us With happmess ; 106 '^ A WAR SONa. To live, unknown beyond the cherished circle Which we can bless and aid ; To die, and not a heart that does not love us Know where we're laid. A WAR SONG. Loud peals the trumpet through the land, o'er city and o'er plam. And wakes each echo of the hills again, and yet again ! A thousand dauntless hearts arise, a thousand voices blend From far and near with one accord, a glad response to send. " We come, as erst our fathers came, and He whose mighty power Was with them, shall protect our arms in battle's fearful hour ; The stainless honour they bequeathed unsullied shall remain, And in His might, the cause of Right, our good swords shall maintain." - Arise ! Lord of Hosts, arise ! our strength and helper be ; Go forth before our armies and give tbem victory ; So shall they to theur native land return with glory crowned, And through old England's borders fair Thy praises shall resound. lot I lii II A WAR SONS. Alas ! a darker shadow falls upon our spirits now ; Grief swells in many a heart to-day and sits on many a brow ; The mother, by her l 1 I it :' ii "!• l! 123 ON SOME VIOLETS. The woman checked her busy wheel, And ceased her murmured song, To glance a moment out to seaj The rolling waves along, '' Until the jewel caught her eye ; She raised it from the ground, And softly rose her song again Above the treasure found : " Oh, thus the busy world goes round, Or joy or sorrow brining : And those it raises up to-day. To-morrow, downward flin^g." ON SOME VIOLETS. RECEIVED FROM ENGLAND. MARCH 1865. The sunny hours of summer More brilKant flowers may bring. Their many colored blossoms O'er all the land may spring ; The pure and stately lily. The bright imperial rose, May bloom, yet pass unheeded by. Ere winter's storm-wind blows ; 124 ON SOME VIOLETS. But ye, fair faded flowers, Your day of beauty o*er. Shall still be prized and cherished, As dearly as before. A thousand pleasant memories, A thousand thoughts of home. From hidden corners of the heart. At your sweet summons come ; And, 'mid smiles and tears fast rising, We speak of days long past. The season when we gathered Old England's spring-flowers last. The maiden snowdrop, guarded By spear-like leaves around. The starlike, golden crocus. That glitters on the ground ; We loved them well, and prized them. The first-bom of the year. But the early perfumed violets We ever held most dear ; 125 ON SOME VIOLETS. Nestling in sheltered places, When the snow-wreaths melt away, With dewy smiles receiving. The warm sun's welcome ray. Bright Hope and sunny Pleasure, Lurked in each tiny flower. And still these withered hlossoms, Ketain their heartfelt power. They tell of kind remembrance. Of love, unchanged and true. Of friendship, dearer to our hearts, Than rarest scent or huo. I 126 EVENING. Hushed is the thunder, The storm has passed by, Floats not a raincloud Across the clear sky ; In the west lingers The glory of day, Gleams on the mountains Its last golden ray. In the dark forest The breeze is at rest, Not a -wave ruffles .The lake's silver breast ; Gently the flowers Have sunk to repose. Softly among them The rivulet flows. 4 •:. One fair star beaming In radiance above, Sheds o'er then: slumbers The pure light of love ; 12T EVENING. I Calm, serene, tender, The aspect she wears, Her smile celestial. Shining through tears. i i n All the wide landscape Lies silent and still. No sound in the valley, No voice on the hill ; Slowly the bright tints Fade from the sky ; Bisen in splendour The moon floats on high. i, Night in her beauty. Descends on the land ; Dewdrops are scattered Like pearls from her hand; 0*er bird, tree, and flower. Her pure gifts she throws ; To man, worn and weary ; She ^veth repose. 128 THE OLD WIFE. Yes, she is old — she must be old, For I remember long ago Her tresses gleamed like living gold> That now are white as drifted snow, And the pure oval of her face, The fair round cheek and gunny brow. The pliant form's unrivalled grace Have lost their early freshness now. Old — ^yet believe it as you will. The tender beauty fair and bright, That sturs me in remembrance now, As when I first beheld its light. Was not, nor could be, half so dear, As are the looks I meet to-day. Where Time has given with every year. More charms than e'er he stole away. For in her face I love to read The records of her faithful love, My solace in each hour of need. My anchor that no storm could move ; For me each day of care she bore. For me and mme the tears she sh^d ; Bememb'ring all, I can but pour A thousand blessmgs on her head. 139 s VN' ! SONG. BBSPIOTFULLT DEDICATED TO THE "WOMEN'S RIGHTS" CONVENTION. Our husbands they may scold or snore, Or bake, or fry, or stew ; While we this man-spoiled world restore, And make it good as new. • •»»••• No husband's mission own we noWj To bully or to bore ; " Obedience " of the marriage vow. Shall form a part no more. Punch. - Maid of France ! whose annM hand Saved of old thy native land ; Lady! on thy castle wall Aiding, cheering, leading all ; Ye, and hundred names beside Shining through war's crimson tide, Show that we can rule the fight, — Show, command is Woman's Bight ! 130 ^ BONO. Wit, her fern le votaries claims, Learning guards their honoured names ; Art and Poetry have found Women to their service bound ; History's voice aloud declares Choicest gifts were ever theirs ; Why should we then wear the chtun? Let us have our Bights again ! Home affections ! peaceful hours ! Fireside joys, that once were ours ; Vain delusions ! meant to keep Women's souls from loftier sweep, We have cast you all away. Husbands, children, what are they ? Ours no more each household task. Injured Women's Bights we ask ! I'l ^'tj 131 A PEEP AT THE FAIRIES. Come out, come out of the stifling rooms, Come out m the summer air ; The cool night winds blow over the fields, The fragrant sweethrlar its perfume yields, And the skies are bright and fair. And see, oh see, o'er the smooth mown grass The flickering lights that play ; Are they the firefly's lamps that gleam ? No ! by the brightness of every beam, The fairies keep holiday. Now, for the roof of their festal hall, A sweetbriar spray is bent ; And for curtains of tissue, silvery white, Studded with wonderful pearls of light, A spider his web has lent. Yonder, two elves with all their might Come drag^g a mighty stone ; A pure white pebble, smooth and fair- Now they have placed it, with heed and care^ 'Tis surely meant for a throne I 132 ,1 I A PEEP AT THE FAIRIES. What will they do for a canopy ? Ingenious elves are they See ! they have hung a roseleaf sweet Floating over the royal seat, Under the sweetbriar spray. A large, smooth leaf from a laurel bough Some friendly wind has rent. This shall their festal table be Loaded with spoils of flower and bee, Laid 'neath the cobweb tent. Hark ! I hear from the thicket side The sound of a fairy horn. Soft, as the dewdrops on the grass. The trickling rills of music pass, On flitting breezes borne. c f if' I ".n And now they come, in martial state Surrounding their tiny Queen ; Gentles and Dames, a courtly trtun — And, marching in time to the minstrel strain, Come archers in garb of green. l?3 m SONG. All lit by the fairy torchlight^s gleam They wind o'er the dewy sod : And the green blades spring from the pressure light, And the uncrushed daisies glimmer white, Where an instant past they trod. No more must we gaze, — some hurtful spell Still follows the curious eye ; And evil befalls the luckless wight. Who dares in the starry summer night Intrude on their revelry. ■ SONG. Written for the Air entitled "Mary Astore." Not when the summer days Glide softly by ; Not when the lark's sweet lays Float from the sky ; Not when bird, flower, and bee Fill earth with melody, Let one sad thought of me Waken thy sigh. 184 SONG. And when the winter fire Sheds its clear light ; Just ere the year expire That rose so bright ; When Irughter's silver sound And the glad song goes round Be no dark memory found Haunting the night. But when the silent hour Of man's deep rest, Bids memory's sleepless power Reign in thy breast, Then, let the thought of me Float through the air to thee. And in thy visions be A welcome guest. 135 u I ill ITALY. Phoenix of Nations ! from the smouldering heap Of ashes, whence thou spread*st thy radiant wing, How have we watched and joyed to see thee spring In vigorous life, as one refreshed by sleep ! Now, smiles illume the eyes, that wont to weep. And blessings, from afar, are o'er thee shed. While Freedom's children greet thy crowned head. We, from her island seat, amid the deep. We, who have sorrowed for thy hour of pain. Now bid thee, on thy brightening way, '* God speed !" May He, whose Spirit can alone make free, Whose word hath called thee into life again. Preserve thee evermore m every need. And twine the olive wreath of peace for thee. 186 GENIUS. Envy not, thought of mine, those whose rich dower Is genius, heaven's most dazzling gift to men ; Admire, but envy not ; for oh ! to them, Great is the peril wedded to the power. Blest, trebly blest, if in each dangerous hour Religion guides them with her ray divine ; Then, on then: kind, like Spring's sweet days they shine With vivifying ^fls of sun and shower ; But awful is the might, and dread the doom, Of genius unennobled and unblest, Whose gleam is but the lightning's baleful ray, Flashing with fatal splendour through the gloom, Death-fraught and dying : let me rather rest Where on my sheltered path may beam the day. M m vm THE MEADOW. And must this parting be our very last ? No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past ! Campbell " The summer sun shone bright and clear upon the champaign fair, And mcense of a thousand flowers perfumed the golden ah* ; The clover blooms bent down their heads beneath the laboring bee, And mother-birds, on tmy nests, peeped forth from bush and tree. The meadow land sloped gently down around the shining pool ; Tall were the rushes on its bank, its waters deep and cool ; There the gay foxglove reared her head in queenly pomp and pride. And sheltered, with her friendly leaves, the violets by her side. Gems from Aurora's tresses flung, the diamond 'sparks of dew Still glittered where the hedgerow trees their partial shadows threw; Beyond, the wood anemones their slender stems upbore, And golden cowslips on the turf outspread their fragrant store, 138 ' I I THB MEADOW. Along the path a wanderer came with weary steps and slow, But, as she paused and looked around, her dim eyes seemed to glow. And once she bent to pluck the flowers that bloomed about her feet, Then, with a sudden pang, drew back, nor touched the blos- soms sweet. "'No, not for me !" she inly sighed, " not for such hands as nunc, Ye lovely. meadow flowers, it is your gentle charms to twine Ye are for childhood's happy hours, that know no touch of care. And innocent and loving hearts beat lightly where ye are. " Why should a moment's sudden thought, a flash of memory, bring At once before my heart and eyes my childhood's vanished spring ? Methought the flowers I gathered here, yes here, were bloom- ing still, And I could hear the busy hum of yon long silent mill. 139 THE MBADOW. , V WHpr 1 could it be tliat I imght feel again «How Bweet! how bitter coUd i ^^ Tl,e cbild-beart beating in my breafit, tlie cMd P ''^"^ * -ah of the thought that forced my touch No I the sharp anguish of the tnougu '''''^ flowers would still be near to haunt me night From those pure flowers wcaia and day. T Between &e days that I Wt now recall » I go, I go.-Between m , ^ ^a ih. a., present w^*^U^«^«^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ These hands themselves have dug a gmi "°'°^* T ^ntnass to breathe the peace of old. Too weU I know I inay not pass to ore = 1 There are hours when e'en such "Farewell, sweet blossoms! There are hearts as nrine ••„«„»■ shall stay, charms But I ^P^»* ?»""*"**' ''™'' away. A aV,A hent with tender graxse, A>>o-«'e«f^:S2rH"fa.sleeph.gf^e_ ^^henamother^^^^-^^; ^ ^^„,,,, A mnte caress without a touott Went like a shadow dark and sad, and slowly pas uo again 6 life touch e night I brail, e deptlis I of old. e'en such le; lO thought or charms >r grace, ping face — ;ummer day ised away. 31ETR0SPECTI0N. *Tis not well to forget — ^it is good to recall As we bask in the sunshine, the storms that have been. When the joy of the present shmes bright over all, To remember a moment the darkness we've seen; For there was not a day when some light did not break Like an angel ifrom heaven thro' the tempest's dark shroud, And Hope with fresh smiles from her slumber awake, As the fair bow of promise shone bright on the cloud. 'Tis not well to forget, — ^in the night of the soul 'Tis well that our visions should be of the past ; Thus assured that the shadows asunder will roU, And leave us a morning as bright 83 the last ; For the Hand that has guided, is guiding us still ; By the way that He led us, He leadeth us yet, And sorrow's dark terrors, or pleasure's keen thrill, May whisper alike " 'Es not well to forget." It ui )'• ECHO SONG. It . 1 1 Ye Echoes of this lovely lake, Oh tell me if, returning never, I shall again your answers wake ; Say must my absence be forever ? Echo: Forever! Ye trees, that here in beauly grow And look o'er vale and field and river, Ye see me grieve that I must go; But tell me will it be forever ? Echo: Forever! Here dwell the early friends of youth. From whom no change my heart can sever ; Oh tell me, will they keep their truth. And do I leave them now forever ? i Echo: Forever! Then lovely scene, a long farewell! Again I tread thy mar^ never. Too well my fate thine echoes tell. But I'll remember thee forever. Echo: Forever. 142 A SUMMER NIGHT. Oh, how welcome breathes the strain ! Wakening thoughts that long have slept, Lighting formei" smiles again In faded eyes that long have wept. MoOBE. She sat by her chamber window, The night was calm and fair, And sweet perfumes from the garden Were borne on the quiet air. Weeping, ceaselessly weeping, As the silent hours went by. Till her dim eyes saw no longer One star m the tranquil sky. There came through night's breathless stillness A chime from the old church tower ; She never heard it, nor heeded The lapse of the midnight hour. 143 A SUMMER NIGHT. Till boftly, softly, and distant, A faint sound stole to her ear ; But she sighed, ^* It was only the whi Of a breeze that wandered near !'* She sighed, ^* It was but the mght-wind," Yet still she waited to hear, And agam the sweet sound floated More sweet to her listening ear. Nearer and nearer coming. Yet still like some fairy strain, Now in the distance dying, Now breathing to life again. Nearer, and ever nearer. The sweet sounds come and go, TiHl she heard the wheels of a carriage Boll over the road below. Until, in the bright dear starlight. She saw it pass her by, And the horn still softly breatilung Its strain to the midnight sky. A SUMMER NIQHT. But the tender spell of the music, The strain she had loved to hear In the distant home of her childhood, Had scattered her musings drea^ ; For it seemed, in the land of strangers, The voice of a cherished friend. And brighter thoughts of the future Began with its notes to blend ; And a whisper, soft as the falling Of rose leaves in summer's prime. That told her of One great presence Unaltered by space or time. The window was closed, but already One upward glance she had given. And seen that the same sweet message Shone down from the stars of heaven. MS :. ( ; ENGLAND. -■•••.•> ■ ' , Oh ma patrie, La plus ch^rie, Qui a nourri ma jeune enfanoe ! Maby Qubek of Scots. I cannot close my cherished task, Or turn to other thoughts away ; Fond memory will not cease to ask For thee one eahiest, heartfelt lay. Oh, for a tongue of poet-fire To sing thee, as thou shouldst be sung! Then, ere its grateful notes expire. About thine altars should be flung One wreath of melody divine, Kt ofiering for a hallowed shrine. But thou, whose smile serenely bright Blent with the sunrise of my days, Wilt not disdain the tiibute sUght That I can render to thy praise. A child amid thy fair domain I learned the story of thy past, Wlule, at each page, the patriot chain Its golden fetters o'er me cast ; 146 ,. K:m ENQLiND. I Strong, as the life with which they twine, -These fetters made, and keep me, thine! It is not that I cannot see In other lands the brave and good. Nor that I hold aU right to he En^ by thy surrounding flood ; Let other lands be great and fair, And other skies more clear than ihixne, Yet, not for all of rich or rare, Would I exchange the rays that shine Bright with the favouring smile of God Upon thy throne, thy church, thy sod. Heart cherished home ! no length of years Divorces that sweet name from thee ; One changeless love my bosom bears, — Star of the Ocean ! 'tis for thee. Tfill Fate my destined thread has spun, i Till hopes and fears for me are o'er, OT Life's last trickling sand has i-un. Although I tread thy fields no more. While from afar I see thee shine. My heart's devotion shall be tlunet til PAETHI. Mit^t% fmm fht WB^^^Qfti I i .. To Thee I consecrate my lays, To whom my powers belong ; These gifts upon Thine altars thrown, O God, accept— accept Thine own. M0»I00H£BY. , -i-]TH W gf?T7g, gWI>** !&ii«iSj)g^ ^wn tM Mi«^^4ti^. " ABIDE WITH US." Abide with us— the hours of day are waning, And gloomy skies proclaim th' approach of mght ; Leave us not yet, but, with us still abiding. Cheer us until the morning's welcome light. Abide with us— before Thy gentle teaching The clouds of grief that wrapped our spirits fly. And to our inmost souls thine influence reaching Lays all our unbeUef and terror by. Abide with u&— oh ! when our hearts were failing. How did Thy words revive our dying faith, The ludden prophecies of old unveiling. Showing the mysteries of Messiah's death. Abide with us— so prayed they, though unknowmg Him who had cheered them with His words divine ; So, Lord, with us abide. Thy peace bestowing, . Till every heart become thy living shrme. ' 151 y THE BAY DAWN. As when the heavy shades of night Be^ to yield before the dawn, And fifet a grey and misty light Creeps slowly over grove and lawn, Until above the purpled hills Long level rays their glory pour, And light the whole wide circle fills, And life, where all seemed dead before. I : So slowly bright'ning o'er the soul Until the shadows flee away. While night's dark clouds asunder roll And fade amid the perfect day. Dost Thou, Sun and Light Divine, In growing splendour clearly rise. And bid the heavenly landscape shine Refulgent on our wondering eyes. 152 EVER WITH THEE. No more in darkness, trials, and temptations, No more a waif on trouble's billowy sea, How sweet will be the day of my abiding Ever with Thee ! Bright after darkness shmes the summer morning, bright is the sunshme when the tempests flee. But brighter far the home where dwell Thy chosen Ever with Thee. Dear are the hours when those we love are near us. Dear, but how transient must their brightness be ! That one glad day wiU know no sadder morrow Ever with Thee. Love will be there— methinks all other glories Nothmg to those enraptured souls will be. Filled with the transport of that one assurance. Ever with Thee. But long may be the way that we must travel, And many a dark'nmg storm we yet may see. Dread sorrows may o'erwhehn us ere we're sheltered Ever with Thee. 1^ "TOUCHED WITH THE rE^'.LINa OE OUR INHRMITIBS." Not so: Thy hand, extended through the darkness Leadeth us on the way we cannot see, And, clafiping that, e'en here we walk m safety Ever with Thee. ^ « TOUCHED WITH THE FEELING OF OUR INFIRMITIES." Thou givest the morning's early dew. The day's awakening light. The noontide beam, the cool of eve. The stillness of the night ; Thou daily dost our strength renew. And, when our labours close. Thou watchest by the silent couch And guardest our repose. Is there a thought within our brain, A fancy unexpressed. That will not clothe itself in words To mortal ears addressed ? m "TOUCHED WITH THE FBELINO OF OUR INFIRMITIES.*' Yet Thou hast seen it from its rise And read'st, whatever it be, And even the visions of our sleep Are known, Lord ! to Thee. Have we a grief in silence bore No human eye can see, Blooms there a joy within our hearts We breathe not e'en to Thee ? Thou seest, thou feel'st, and giv*st us back, Alike in joy or woe, A thrill of finer sympathy Than earth can e'er bestow. Oh ! tins, beyond the richest store Of outward ^fts divine. This proves to many a grateful soul That boundless love of Thine ; A love that guards through childhood's years, That cheers life's dc /ious way. And bears from Death's victoricas dart The venomed sting away. 15S THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. " The end of that man is peace." His end is peace — ^no more distrest By cares that harassed him before, The sunshine of the land of rest Steals brightly through its open door, And e*en upon his dying bed That glorious Ught is softly shed. Ah ! happy he who early ^ves To God the o£fering of his heart, For, stayed on him, in peace he lives. And hails the summons to depart. And, journeying to so bright a bourne. For him we cannot, dare not mourn. The rich man's pomp, the poor man's fare. Alike are tending to decay ; All earthly pride, all earthly care. At death's dark hour must pass away ; But happy those, when all is past. Who win the peace of Heaven at last. .166 THE DEATH OP THE RIGHTEOUS. The perfect man, whose soul, refined By long communion with the sky, Haa lefb the aims of earth behind And placed his wealth and hopes on high, How glorious is his parting hour. When sin and death have lost their power! When Jesus, crucified for men. Was han^g on that dreadful tree, He blessed the dying thief who then Pleaded, " Lord, remember me !" The Saviour bid his sorrows ceaae. And even his last breath was peace. 16» i i 1 1 «I BELIEVE IN THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS." What is it? Hast thou ever been *inong those who roam afar, Whose unforgotten household fires gleam on them like a star, A guiding star, that glitters still to show a haven blest, Where the wanderer yet may moor his bark, the weary yet may rest ? ■J- Hast thou marked them when they spoke of home, and seen the flushing brow. The eyes that soften now with tears, and now with pleasure glow? The voice whose earnest tones grow sweet with music of the soul. As mighty tides of love and hope across the bosom roU ? « Oh, I have seen the happy smiles that childhood used to wear, Come back to brighten for a while the man's pale brow of care, As thought's bright magic pencil wro'ight a picture half divine. Of home, and all the thousand joys round childhood's home that twine. " I BEUBVE IN THE COBIMUNION OF SAINTS." And not less dear the Christian's home, that blessed land, should be To him who hopes its golden streets, its living streams, to see ; The breathings of its summer air should reach him even now. And light the smile upon his lip, the gladness on his brow. Then, when the travellers to that land should hold commu- nion here. How blest, how glad, those hours would be ! how sacred and how dear ! Nor weariness nor cold restraint to cloud their brightness come. Forgotten, while the full heart holds no thought but that of home, « 168 •"•.r-r'V?'rrrrrr--rrr \l THE HEARER OF PRAYER. i I ! » I t Of all the names beneath the heaven, Which is the fittest to be given To Him who ru'es on Ifi^h. ? What words that mortal lips can frame Are least unworthy of Thy fame, Great Lord of earth and sky ? In vadn we seek to shadow forth Thy power, Thy truth, Thy matchless worth, Thy love. Thy ceaseless carq ; To inspiration's page we turn And there the words in glory bum, . " Thou that hearest prayer ? " f I)ot all the eloquence sublime That graced each sage of earlier time Such words could e'er devise, Mighty to bind with viewless chain Man's spirit to his God again To draw hun to the skies. THE HEABER OF PBATER. Poor waiid'rers on life's darkling way, Uncertain still, and apt to stray, Unsafe, whatever our care. It is a blessed thought indeed. That Thou art near us in our need. That Thou dost hear our prayer. The angel hosts that round Thee fly Exalt Thy praise above the sky And fill the heavenly air ; But sweeter notes shaU swell the hymn When saints redeemed shall worship Him Through whom Thou hearest prayer. 161 THE LAMB IS THE LIGHT THEREOF. The fairest light that ever shone In summer skies, The purest rays that ever flashed On mortal eyes, Shall be but as the uead of night To that eternal, glorious light That shall be given To those who, for a little space. Have bravely run the Christian race And entered Heav'n. Sometimes a gleam of that pure light Is found below In humble hearts that on their way With patience go. It makes those hearts with rapture bound ;; And, though the scene be dark around, It cheers them on. Augments and brightens day by day, And still emits a purer ray. Till life is done. THE LAMB IS THE LIGHT THEREOF. That spotless sun, which ever lights Heaven's peaceful clime, Which no mutation knows, nor shade Of night or time, Is but the reflex of His love Who, slain for us, now reigns above, Our Saviour-God : And, while on h^gh His glory 's shed. He guides the pilgrim feet that tread Where once he trod. 163 >» THE SIXTEENTH PSALM. Preserve me, Lord, for in Thy strength My trust shall ever be ; My soul with childlike faith and trust, Shall still repose on The'^ Thy saiats are dear unto my heart, And those that love Thy way ; But from the dangerous paths of sin I'll turn my eyes away. Thou, Lord, Thyself, shalt be my lot, And, while Thy love is mine, I'm owner of a fair domain A heritage divine. For this my heart shall still rejoice. For this my songs shall rise. Nor death shall chill the certain hope That points to yonder skies. Thy power can break his icy chains, Can set his prisoners free. And raise the souls that Thou hast made To dwell in Heaven with Thee. NIGHT MUSINGS. Now Night has closed around us, And Sleep her wings has spread O'er many a silent pillow O'er many a weary head, And thousand changeful visions Through Fancy's mazes stray, Where mingle forms of Faery With those of yesterday. No dreams can weave their network Around my hrain to-night, No fancied forms are treading That path of silver Ught ; The moon of Thy ordaining. The stars that own Thy word. Look through my window, tellmg The goodness of the Lord. Nor they alone are speaking Tlieir mighty Maker's praise, While each .eventful moment Thy fixed decree obeys ; 165 life's pilgrims. The breathing of the sleepers, The stillness of the hour, The calm that reigns about us, Attest Thy Love and Power. I ^ M LIFE'S PILGRIMS. Pilgrim ! that passest by this narrow road, Dost thou go silent, sorrowing all the day ? Consider 'twas wot singing that did stay Thy feet, that so more swiftly might have trod. Lift up thy heart in thankful praise to God ! For He, who placed thee in a rugged way. Hath given thee strength and guidance, and the ray Of Heaven's pure light to cheer thee, and hath showed The golden crown that waits thee at the end. Rejoice ! it is thy heritage — rejoice ! Go ever with thanksgiving in thy heart, So ihall thy worship to His throne ascend. So shall thy heart grow purer, and thy voice Learn in the angels' songs to bear its part. THE END. 166 LIST OF SUBSCEIBBBS LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Adams, J., Esq. Ainge, Mrs., England, 2 copies. 'Anderson, Mr., United States. ^Anderson, Rev. D., M.A. Armour, Mr. Armstrong, Rev. D., 2 copies. ! Bwrd, Mrs., 2 copies. ^Baird, Rev. R. G., 3 copies. Barr, Miss, United States, 2 copies. Becher, H. C. R., Esq., 2 copies. Birrell, Mr. D., United States, 2 copies. Black, Mr. Boone, Mr., United States, 2 copies. Bowen, Rev. S., England, 5 copies. Breakey, Mr. W. Bridges, C. J., Esq., 2 copies. ^Bucke,Dr. * . Buoke, Mr. Julius P. Burke, J. W.,Esq., P.L.S., 2 copies. " ■;^ LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. « Cameron, Hon. M., 2 copies. Campbell, J. D., Esq., 2 copies. Carman, Mr. Caw, Rev. D. I Clark, Mr. W. B. iClarke, Duncan, Esq., 2 copiee. Corser, Mrs., England, 2 copies. Cox, Mr. W., United States, 2 copies. /Crawford, Mr., 2 copies. 2, Crawford, Mrs. W., United States. Dartmouth, the Earl of, 4 copies. Davenport, Mrs. J., England. ' Davie, Miss. j Davie, Mrs. IDavis, Miss. ^ Davis, Miss L. C, 6 copies. Dougall, Mrs. F., United States. Durham, Miss. Elliot, Mr., 10 copies. Ellis, Mrs. Esden, Mrs., 2 copies. ^Evans, Mr. P. C, England. ^Evans, Rev. W. B. Farrell, Mrs. S. W. . 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Shoebotham, Dr., 2 copies. Siddens, Miss, England. Sloan, Mr., United States. Smith, J., Esq., England, 20 copies. Speary, Mrs., England. Stephens, W; C, Esq., 2 copies. Stewart, Mrs., United States. Stokes, Mrs., 2 copies. . Sullivan, Mrs. Symington, Mr. Talfourd, F., Esq. . LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Thorneycrofb, Mrs. T., England, 2 oopies.] Thornton, Mr. Thorp, Rev. W., England. Toogood, Miss, England. Townley, Rev. A., D.D. Trubshaw, Mr. J., United States, 2 copies. Turnbull, Mrs. Vidal, Mrs. Walsh, Rev. W., England. Ward, Mr. G. Warren, Mr., United States. Watson, Mrs. E. P. Wheelock, Mr., United States, 2 copies. Whichcote, Greneral, England, 8 copies. Williams, Mr. Woodall, Mr. W., England, 40 copies. Wright, Miss. / Young, Mr. A. *f •2. Young. Mr. H. ■SSSMKHBUKSiCw