V THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES \A POEMS. TO MISS MITPOED, WHOgE FRIENDSHIP HE PRIZES AS MUCH AS HE ADMIRES HER GENIUS, Cflls Folumc IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, BY W. C. BENNETT. Cboom's Hill Grove, Greenwich, October, 1850. 807161 CONTENTS. PAGE SKETCHES FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO. A TALE OF TO-DAY 1 A DIRGE. A CONCLUSION TO " SKETCHES FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO " 7 BABY MAY 11 THE SEASONS 14 SONG 16 THE EXECUTION, AND HOW IT EDIFIED THE BEHOLDERS 17 THE TRIUMPH FOR SALAMIS 23 A CRY FOR NATIONAL EDUCATION . . . .47 THE SEMPSTRESS TO HER MIGNONETTE . . . . 51 A WINTER SONG 54 TODDLING MAY 57 HER JESSAMINE 60 A SUMMER THOUGHT 74 viii CONTENTS. PAGE "ERNST 1ST DAS LEBEN " 76 THE CRY OF THE LAWFUL LANTERNS 83 THE SMILE 87 FAREWELL ! 89 THE cavalier's WHISPER 93 A IIAY-UAY SONG 94 SONNET. TO MART RUSSELL MITFORD .... 97 TO KEATS 98 THE WRECKED HOPE 99 THE PORTRAIT 101 AN AUTUMN SONG 103 MART ! MART ! A LAMENT 105 ON A MINIATURE OF MT WIFE 108 THOUGHTS AND FANCIES 109 TO A SKTLARK Ill TO A LOCKET 114 SONG 117 EPITAPHS FOB INFANTS . 119 A LAMENT 123 A LEAF FROM MT SKETCH-BOOK 125 TO A GRASSHOPPER 128 CONTENTS. ix PAGE A wife's song 129 THE DBESS-MAKER'S THEUSH 130 TO MY BABY KATE. A REVERIE 133 A THOUGHT 137 THE SHADOW-HUNTED 138 SONNET. TO MARY HOWITT 142 A VALENTINE 143 A SONG OF SUNDRY QUAINT CONCEITS, WRITTEN IN PENSHURST PARK 145 LOVE IN THE NORTH 148 THE WISH 150 THE PRAYERS. A DREAM 153 SONNET. TO LEIGH HUNT 156 TO LEIGH HUNT 157 THANK HEAVEN, I 'M STILL A BOY .... 158 ALC^US TO SAPPHO 159 FOR MUSIC 160 A SPRING SONG 162 THE REPLY 164 LINES WlUri'EN IN MISS MITFORD'S GARDEN . . . 165 A DIRGE 166 X COXTEJTTS, PAGE SONG 167 A VILLAGE TALE 169 THOUGHTS AXD FANCIES 174 SONNET. A RECOLLECTION OF THE PERFORMANCE OF ION .177 O WEART THOUGHTS BE STILL . . . . . . 178 A MAT-DAT SONG 182 AN AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GREENWICH PARK . . . 185 THE wife's appeal 190 CHORUSES FROM AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY ON THE FALL OF MESSENIA 193 THE LIME BEFORE MY WINDOW ..... 202 TO A CRICKET 205 CHILD, PURSUE THY BUTTERFLY 206 SONG 208 WON AND LOST. A GLIMPSE OF FEUDALISM . . . 210 SONNET. WRITTEN IN MACAULAY's LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 211 THE SONG OF DEATH . 212 SONG 214 TO THE CHRYSANTHEMUM . ' 215 CONTENTS. XI PAGE ulian's epitaph 217 SONG .......... 218 SONG 220 BONNET. TO ALFRED TENNYSON 221 death's LESSON 222 TO FIELD-PATHS 224 SPRING SONGS 226 A VALENTINE 2-31 GOD IS LOVE 233 SONNET 234 THE FORSAKEN 235 THE CRT OF THE DOUBTER 2-36 DEATH NOT LOVE 238 STILL GOD TALKS TO MAN 239 WHAT 'S -UlTHIN THIS GLASS OF MINE . . . . 240 HENCE, FELL WINE 241 SONG -243 THE SICK man's PRATER 245 SONG 247 THE RECONCILIATION 249 SONG 250 xii CONTENTS. PAGE NO WAR ! NO WAR ! . . . ... 252 SONG 253 SONG 254 AN OLD MAN"S SONG 255 A SONG OF HOPE 257 THE VAIN DREAM 259 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A TOWN SKETCH . . . 260 THE HOMEWARD WATCH 262 ERRATUM. Page 182, line 1, for "Come out. come from cities," read "Come out. come out from cities." POEMS. SKETCHES FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO. A TALE OF TO-DAT. A BEOAD sti'eam, smooth with deep-grassed fields, Through rushy tui'mugs winding slow ; A dam where stirless waters sleep Till shot on the mossed wheel below ; A dusty mill whose shadows fall On the stayed waters, white o'er all. A ATne-cliinbed cottage, redly-tiled, Deep-nooked within an orchard's green, Past which a white road winds away, That hedgerow elms from summer screen ; A busy wheel's near sound that tells Within, the thriving miller dweUs. SKETCHES EEOM A PAINTEE S STUDIO. A cottage parlour, neatly gay, "With Httle comforts brightened round, AVliere simple ornaments that speak Of more than country taste abound. Where bookcase and piano well Of more than village polish tell. A bluff blunt miller, well to do ; Of broad loud laugh — not hard to please ; A kindly housewife, keen and sage — And busy as her very bees ; A bright-eyed daughter — mirth and health. Their pride — their wealth above all wealth. A tripping fail' light-hearted girl Not yet the ripened woman qiiite, Whose cheerful mirth and thoughtful love Light up the cottage with delight And with a thousand gentle ways With pleasure brim her parents' days. A titled slip of lordly blood, A few weeks' lounger at the Hall, To gaiu new zest for palled delights SKETCHES EEOM A PAINTER S STUDIO. And squandered waste of healtli recall ; An angler in the milldam's water ; A chatter with the miller's daughter. A meeting 'neath a summer's night ; Soft smiles — low words — impassioned sighs ; The trembling clasp of meeting hands ; The hot gaze met with downcast eyes ; Foul perjiu-ies that pollute the air, With burning hopes and doubts heard there. A thin pale face, where Autumn sees No more the smiles that lit the Spring ; A foot less light upon the stair ; A low voice heard no more to siiig ; One now that lost to all things sits, Now starts to overmii'th by fits. Dear tongues that ask a gasping girl Of what to utter were to kill ; Looks that she feels upon her fixed ; Eyes that with tears pursue her still ; Care in the old accustomed place Of mirth, upon her father's face. 4 SKETCHES TEOM A PAINTER' S STUDIO. A dark small whitely-ciirtained room ; A form flung on tlie unopened bed ; Quick sobs that quiver through the gloom ; Tears rained from hot eyes swoln and red, And words that through their wild despair Still strive to shape themselves to prayer. A winter midiiiglit's starry gloom ; A pausing tread so light that steals Across the landing — down the stairs. That scarce a creak a step reveals ; A stifled sob — a bolt luidrawii ; A form — low words — a daughter gone. A fresh-turfed narrow hoop-bound grave. Heaping a country churchyard's green, On whose white headstone, newly carved, The mill's old master's name is seen, The wayside mill's that bears no more The well-known name so Ions it bore. ^to A stooping woman scarcely old, Yet with the feeble walk of age. The didl faint sense of whose blank mind SKETCHES FROM A PAINTEe's STUDIO. No thing around her can engage, Yet who, when into speech beguiled. Will mutter of some absent child. A costly-furnished west-end room, Whose mirrors — pictures — all things show A stintless and abounding wealth, An easeful luxury few can know A flaimtuig thing its glare within ; A thing of shame, remorse and sin. A noise of quarrel ; keen reproach, Fronted with taunt, loud oath and curse, Heaped out Avith such vile store of scorn That hate in vain might seek for worse ; Meek pleadings, stricken to a close With, shame to manhood ! brutal blows. A thing that once was woman ; white, Thin — haggard — hoUow-eyed and wan ; A horror that the shuddering eye Starts back aghast from resting on, Whose only joy now left is drink Whose fire bm-ns out the power to think. SKETCHES FROM A PAINTEB'S STUDIO, A bridge all winter ; lieen with gusts ; On whose cold pathways lies the night ; Stony and desolate and dark, Save round the gaslamps' flickering light, And swept by drifts of icy sleet That niunb each houseless wretch they meet. A wintry river broad and black That through dark arches slides along. Ringed where the gaslights on it play With coiling eddies swirling strong, That far below the dizzy height Of the dark bridge swim through the night. A crouching form that through the gloom Paces its stones a hundred times. That pausing — glancing keenly round. The dark high balustrade upclimbs ; A plunge — a shriek ; from all its woes A weary soul hath calm repose. A long bright suite of stately rooms, AVhere to soft music's changefid swell, Keeps time the beat of falling feet. A DIRaE. And all tilings but of pleasure tell, Where partner gay of noblest bands, The suicide's seducer stands. A DIRGE. A CONCLUSION TO "sketches FROM A PAINTEE'S STUDIO." « Heee let never wild -winds rave ; "Winter hovrl not o'er her tomb ; Only come anigh this grave, Summer shade and gentle gloom, And roimd it ever soft low winds keep moan, And sobs flow by, And faint airs sigh, Sad murmurs of the fading year alone ; Low we laid her, cold and pale, Whiter than her folding shroud, With a grief not told aloud, Sudden sob and smothered wail ; Withered violets tell her tale, A DIEGE. Tender blooms, the gleam swift lost, The fleeting breath Of early Spring tempts forth to blighting frost And icy death. TJnoped lihes o'er her tomb Strew — Primroses — the purple bloom Of hyacinths and faint perfume Of every frailest star that peeps the April through ; Fair she was and sweet as they, With azure laugh Ayithin her eyes That tears and sadness gleamed away, A thing we said immade for sighs, TiU, woe, love came ; Oh, tears, that love, life's best of worth. Love, joy of the rejoicing earth. Her days should claim Prom girlhood's mirths and careless sports and gay Light-hearted laughs and low-breathed prayers away. For gaze-drooped shame. For sobs and death — ^the cold, still tomb's decay, An unbreathed name. Yet ever in our thought she lies A memory all reproof above, A DIRGE. y On whom reproach turns not its eyes, But only love, Love with a misty gaze of gathering tears, That no accusing word of chiding memory hears. But unto HIM Comes she not in the watches of the night, The chamber's gloom, Thronging the dim And spectral room With wan, felt presence, that the shuddering sight Aches out upon through the dim taper's light. Till cold damps start On his dank forehead and through his keen ears Throng palpable the utterings of his fears. And, ghastly fright Scourging his spotted soul, again he hears In the old tones that the remembered years Thrilled with delight. The grave-closed sorrow oflieislale of tears ; Such wages win The accursed sin. The serpent sin that on her pureness stole. Sliming its track across her spotless soul, Poisoning to ill the lioly peace \vithin ; 10 A BIEGE. Yet there is rest for all, Sleep for the weariest eyes : In peace she quiet lies Where chequered shadows fall Across her low-heaped grave, Where the wild winds in grief forget to rave, And ever the loud gusts of winter blow In moaniugs low. Wailing for her our sorrow might not save. The hueless rose, The pallid lily plant upon her tomb, So shall their vestal glory light its gloom, Its shadowing gloom, with the pure gleam of snows. And their white beauty shall the summer show Our weeping love for her who sleeps below. BABY MAY. Cheeks as soft as Jiilv peaches ; Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness ; roimd large eyes Ever great with new surprise ; Minutes filled with shadeless gladness ; INIinutes just as brimmed with sadness ; Happy smiles and wailing cries ; Crows and laughs and tearful eyes ; Lights and shadows, swifter bom Than on windswept Autumn com ; Ever some new tiny notion, Making every limb all motion ; Catchings up of legs and arms ; Throwiags back and small alarms ; Clutching fingers ; straightening jerks ; Twining feet whose each toe works ; Kickings up and straining risings : 12 BABY MAT. Mother's ever new surprisiugs ; Hands all wants and looks aU wonder At aU things the heavens under ; Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings ; Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness that Ave prize such sinning ; Breakings dire of plates and glasses ; Graspings small at aU that passes ; PiOliugs off of aU that's able To be caught from tray or table ; SHences — small meditations Deep as thoughts of cares for nations ; Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches ; All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be wooed to light by guessing ; Sliunbers— such sweet angel-seemings That we'd ever have such dreamings ; Tin from sleep we see thee breaking, And we'd always have thee waking ; Wealth for which we know no measure ; Pleasure high above all pleasure ; G-ladness brimming over gladness ; BABY MAT. Ui Joy in care ; delight in sadness ; Loveliness beyond completeness ; Sweetness distancing all sweetness ; Beauty aU that beauty may be ; — That's May Bennett ; that's my baby. THE SEASONS. A BLUE-ETED child that sits amid the noon, O'erhung with a laburnum's drooping sprays, Singing her little songs, while softly round Along the grass the chequered sunshine plays. AU beauty that is throned in womanhood, Pacing a sujnmer garden's fountained walks, That stoops to smooth a glossy spaniel down, To hide her flushing cheek from one who talks. A happy mother with her fair-faced girls, In whose sweet Spring again her youth she sees, With shout and dance and laugh and bound and song, Stripping an autmuu orchard's laden trees. THE SEASONS. 15 An aged woman in a wintry room ; Frost on the pane, — without, the whirling snow ; Eeading old letters of her far-off youth, Of pleasures past and griefs of long ago. SONG. Ope, folded rose ; Longs for thy beaufcy the expectant air ; Lougs every silken breeze that round thee blows ; The watching summer longs to vaimt thee fair ; Ope, folded rose. Ope, folded rose ; The memory of thy glory lit the gloom, The dull gray gloom of winter and its snows ; Oh, dream of summer in the fire-lit room, Ope, folded rose. Ope, folded rose ; The thrush hath stilled the rusthng elm with song ; The cuckoo's call through shadowy woodlands goes ; May is the morn ; why hngerest thou so long ? Ope, folded rose. THE EXECUTION, AND HOW IT EDIFIED THE BEHOLDERS. a SfeEfCi). ♦ — He staggered on upon tlie drop ; ot, wlio that saw his look Can forget it, as his place beneath the gallows first he took, Can forget the deadly sliivering that shook him when his eye First rested on the heaving crowd agape to see him die, On the mass of upturned faces that had waited hours below And cursed the sluggish jail clock whose miniltes crept so slow. Though brutal jokes and laughter were bandied fast about To serve to pass the time away imtil he was brought out, Tet spite of slang and merriment and choice St. Giles's wit, c 18 THE EXECTJTIOK. Of guesses liow the dead man's clothes the haugman's form would fit ; Though tlu-ough the crowd from time to time the roar of laughter ran As pirns upon the dangling rope were tossed from man to man ; Though stni fresh soTirce of pleasure high for ever new was found In the murderer's words and doings that from mouth to mouth went roimd, And still, with offered bets and oaths, his best admirers stuck To their calm reliance on him that he 'd die with honom' — pluck ; Though now and then some minutes yet more joUily were spent In laughing do\\-n some milksop fool who hoped he would repent ; Though Turpin's rides and Sheppard's feats, rehearsed with pride and glee, Taught young aspirers to their fame how great they yet might be ; Though now a pocket picked — a row — a women's fight, ! or so. THE EXECUTIOIS^. 19 Served to keep the croTvd iii humour, still the time was damned as slow, And when before their straining eyes the dead man staggered there. With shouts and yells of gladness they tore the shuddering air ; A thousand tongues took up the roar — a thousand roUed it wide ; Ten times it sank and rose again flung back from side to side ; Then silence fell upon the crowd — a hush as of the dead ; Tou might hear the platform creaking beneath the hangman's tread ; Tou might hear the paper's rustle where the painter's hand woidd try To seize a fine convulsion — a striking agony ; Tou might catch the poet's mutter of his rhymes in murmurs faint As he strove in taking measure the wretch's fear to paint ; Of one reporter's pencil a scratch you might not lose, As smiling he his tablets gave a cro\\Tisworth good of news ; c2 20 THE ErECUTION. Still on the glaring mnltitude luibroken stillness lay Till with a shriek for mercy the felon tried to pray, Then suddenly from out the crowd burst up a scoffing yeu, Their scorn of this, his utter lack of manly pluck to teU, Nor ceased it when the quivering wretch first felt the hangman's touch And swooned from out his agony, for nature's strength too much, But fiercer rose the mingling roar of curse and yell bestowed Upon the craven dastard who so poor a spirit showed. And gin-sliop pals and jail-birds who had looked with pleasant pride To see how to the very last the law he still defied, Who'd boasted how with bow polite the cheering crowd he'd greet. And how his friend, the haugman, with jeer and jest he'd meet, That high in gallows' annals would live his honoured name, A spur to all who'd tread his steps, like him, to finish — game. THE EXECUTION. 21 Now cursing deep liis agony and mocking Ms despair The fiercest yelled — the thickest filled with howls the reefing air ; Nor many a damn and many an oath, to roar were hundreds slow 'G-ainst him whose chickenheartedness stole from them half the show, Ay, hundreds swore 'twas cursed hard that out of half the fun They'd waited there five hours for, at last they should be done ; And women who 'd for A^indows paid, were sure 'twas never right They should turn the man off" fainting and spoil their paid-for sight ; But through the ghastly hell of sound — of curse and howl and yell. The hangman lifts the senseless wretch fi'om where he fainting fell. And down the clammy forehead — and down the ashen face, The cap is drawn, the tightened noose is settled in its place ; 22 THE ErECrTI03f. Now God have mercy upon Inm upon wliom men have none ! A swinging form- — a quivering corpse — a stillness — all is done ; A minute more, the sunshine is merrj'^ once again With the buzz of talk and laughino: of those who still remain, With the settling by noisy knots of idlers through the street, Of which shaU be the gin-shop to finish off the treat ; Some, deep in plans of crimes to do, are lounging ofl to find Fresh gaUows' food, to virtue, to awe the public mind, And lovers of the good old times and gibbet walk off loud In praises of the moral good the hanging 's done the crowd. THE TRIUMPH FOR SALAMIS. The Seashore of Attica opposite Salamiji Two Choruses, one of Athenian Youths, the other of Athenian Virgins, circling the trophy. BOTH CHORUSES. Jot, Athene — let tliv hymns, Tempest-voiced, exulting rise, Virgia choirs and bounding youths Shout thy triumphs to the skies ; Good is of the mighty Grods ; Mortals it beeometh weU All their joy and thankful praise Thus in holy songs to teU. Shout we then a song of gladness Unto earth and sky and sea ; ^ To the eternal ones our praises H}inu we — red from victory. 24 THE TRIUMPH FOE SALAMIS. CHORUS OF YOUTHS. Hark — the measured tramp Of armed feet I Lear ; Comes the billowy toss of crests, The gleam of many a spear. Hark! Through the gorges of Taurus The countless hosts pour ; Lo, Sardis hath feasted And roUed on the war ; Over Helle's bridged billows The horror accurst, Over Thrace's fierce borders The tempest hath burst ; Through wild Macedonia The deluge hath swept, And trampled Pieria Its ravage hath wept ; Base terror Boeotia And Argolis know ; Thessalia is swelling The hosts of the foe ; THE TRIUMPH FOB SALAMIS. 25 Shakes tlie eartli with their tramp ; With their oars foams the sea ; Yet dareth Athene To boast her the free ? CHORUS OF VIRGINS. Woe — woe, Athene, woe ! Crouched for his spring comes stealing on the foe ; Wrath's red right arm is lifted up to slay ; Who save the Gods its threatenrug fall may stay, Who save the gracious Gods may shield thee from the blow ? Woe^woe, Athene, woe ! Hark ! it comes — the storm of war, Clang of mail and clash of spear, Swelling on with deepening roar ; Fear behiud — before it fear ; Lo ! the brazen waves of shields, Surge on surge, along they pour ; Blazing towns and ruined fields Groan the march of Asia's war ; There the chariots' thunder's roUed ; 26 THE TRIUMPH TOR SALAMIS. Crested Media's sj)ears are there ; There the Persians' hehns of gold Throng with dread the trembling air. From the glare of Afric's sands, Far to farthest India's coasts, Swarm the tongues of myriad lands. Mingling in the mighty hosts ; Far from reedy Oxus' tide. Wandering Scythia's tribes have come ; Hosts of Thebes — the Nile's great pride, Swell the unnumbered nations' hum. And he whom all obey, High on yon ivory car Whose gems bum back the fiery glare of day, He comes — the Great King — like to Grods in sway ; WTio — who shall dare his onward road to bar, AVho from his wrath shall shield his destined prey ? Woe — woe, Athene, woe ! CHORUS OF YOUTHS. Yet this imto the -uise is kno\\ai, Who loftiest stand are marked to fall ; THE TEIUMPH FOR SALAMIS. 27 The envious thrones of Heaven for ruin single all Whose mortal state has quafled immhigled good alone. Lo, bloAni with swelling pride, Unknowing aught of HI, Along the current of their life they ride Exultant — blind to what the breakers hide, Till dashed upon the rocks, with awe the wise they fill, TeUing how mortal good -with ill is mingled still. So should the prosperous tread Theii' way with trembling dread Nor with insensate pride Misfortune dare deride, Beyond whose hate are none except the untroubled dead. Shall he then 'scape whom power hath taught. Insane beyond the flight of thought. To hurl his insidts 'gaiust the throned Gods ? O'er him the Thunderer nods Euin, and on his state Shame and destruction wait. And swift he headlong falls, the mock of vengeful fate. 28 THE TEIUMPn FOB SALAMIS. CHORUS OF VIKGINS. Ah, thrice iiuhappy we, Wretches to whom 'twas given To writhe beneath the heaviest doom of fate ! Laud of our birth, to see Thy dwellers from thee driven, Thy pleasant homes in flames — thy cities desolate, Soimding the strangers' tread — prey of the strangers' hate; O miserable day That tore our grief away From the green sun-bathed haunts where we no more might dwell ! O Earth ! — O Heaven ! ye saw, With woe and shuddering awe. Temple and shrine crash down, loved of the Grods so well. Where 's now each miirmuring grove Through whose dim shadowy depths the wood-dove's waU Stole softly clear. Where our young feet so long had loved to rove THE TEIUMPn FOE SALAMIS. 29 What time the plaint of the lorn nightingale Through the hushed night to hear, The floating moon paused 'mid her radiance pale ! In vain — in vain The swallow seeks the well-known nested eaves ; The happy homestead, hid in sheltermg leaves, No foot shall tread again; Where green it stood but ashes heaped remain. Hewn are the fruitful trees ; The bunched \"ine9 uptorn ; In fields that plenty heaped, sits want forlorn. And naught around but desolation sees ; Moiu'n — mourn, Athene, mourn ! CHORUS OP YOUTHS. Hence afar be sadness, Thought of woe and pain ; Thrilled be aU with gladness ; Joy be every strain ; What though, accursed of God, The fell barbarian trod, Unsparing, hill and plain, 30 THE TEIUMPH TOE SALAMIS. Loosed was the fury on his track ; His bloody due he might not lack ; Triumph and vengeance unto us remain. Joy — joy exultant sweUs The laurelled hymn that tells The wonders of our might ; Trumpet-voiced, it bums to shout Vaimting Asia's hideous rout And Salamis' red fight, lo Pseau — on they sweep ; Foams with wrath the angry deep Beneath their flashing oars ; lo Psean — fierce the song Bursts our gallies' ranks along ; Loud lo P?ean, shout the fierce exidtiug shores. Swift, brazen beaks on beaks Dash roariug and with shrieks And wreck and gurghng groans, the war reels to andfro ; By the strong swoop of Tyre, 'Neath fierce Athene's ire, How many a spear-thronged bark is hurled the waves below! Hark — bathed iu slaughter, where Swart Ares fires the air THE TEIVMni FOE SALAMIS. 31 And hungering still to slaj^, grim, thimders through the roar ; And see not human eyes Tour more thau mortal size, Te sprung of ancient Telamon, amid the hurtliug war? Thou sea beueath us spread, Flesh-gorged, with victory red. How burden we your waves with heaps of ghastly slain ! Buckler and hebn of gold, How are they plmiging rolled Adown thy stormy depths, O ever-soimding main ! lo Pfeau — on their prey Loosed are the avengers now. Choking gory gulf and bay With broken oar and shattered prow ; "Wedged within the crowded strait. Crushed, the foe but strive to fly ; Victims bound, their doom they wait ; ']\Iid the slaughtered press they die. Swarthy Egj-pt's courage pales ; Purpled Sidon turns to flight ; With flpng Caria's pii'ate saUs Par the ploughed ^geau's white. Ha — heard we not them say. 32 THE TEIUMPH FOR SALAMIS. Vaunt of their boastfal tales, Hellas' free strength their hands should prostrate lay, Athene should the tyrant's breath obey ? Lo, — soon their purpose faUs. CHORUS OF VIRGINS. Let there be weeping and a sound of woe, Of wailing and despair ; Eending of robes — in dust a crouching low ; A scattering of bright hair. How many in the bloom of youth we saw, In manhood's golden prime. Go forth, whose noble forms we see no more, Death-stricken ere their time ! The ears of those who loved them piue in vaiu To drink their stately tread ; No footfall from them shall be heard again ; Low lies each dear-loved head. The god-hke, where are tliey who bounded by, The shapes whose golden hair. Like young ApoUo's, the soft breeze on high "With joy uplifted ? where ? THE TRIUMPH FOE SALAMIS. 33 They come not back whom m'b had looked to see High o'er the mighty throug, Proud conquerors in the holy games, with glee And triumph borne along. With linked dance and song and flashing torch, The veiled bride we thought For them thi'ough flower-strewn streets — through each white porch With shouting shovdd be brought. Tlie daughters of Athene who sliall tell Of their untimely faU, So \\eU beloved by those they loved so well. For ever lost to all ! How will they rend theii" braided hair with shrieks ! For them no Phrygian flute By Samian virgin touched, of nuptials speaks ; For them the hymn is mute. Tip to the unpitjdng heavens let shrieks ascend, The cry of ceaseless woe ; Beat youi* white breasts — your cherished tresses rend ; Weep — in the dust lie low. No more Ilissus by thy mazy stream. By green Cepliissus' side, 34 THE TRIUMPH FOE SALAMIS. More fair tlian forms that liauoit the maiden's dream, Shall bound Athene's pride ; The liver nymphs in many a sparry grot, In many a dewy cave, Swell their bright streams with tears for their sad lot Whose limbs they loved to lave. Dumb be the voice of love, that voice so sweet ; The tongue of joy be mute ; Let, through the dance, no snowy tinlding feet Bound to the deep-voiced flute. How wearily will life — how sad and slow The drooping hours go by ! Alas — alas — of old they went not so "When those we mourn were nigh ! Oh for the pleasant hours that never more We now again may know ! Oh for the vanished hom^s ! — shrieks wildly poiu', The fondly loved He low ; How through the city's streets the laughing throng, Through the high tower-crowned gate. With jest and whispered word and mingling song, Swept on, unfearing fate ! How in the time of blossoms did we love THE TRIUMPH FOB SALAMIS. 35 Far from her towers to rove, While bent the cloudless sapphire sky above, Through field and shadowy grove ! Then fled the winged hours lightning-sandalled by ; No more, alas, they climb Hymettus' grassy sides or basking lie Where haunts the bee the thyme ; No more their hands the many-tinted flowers In wreaths sweet-scented weave To deck their high-arched brows or garland ours ; Weep ; for the fallen grieve. CHORUS OP YOUTHS. Wherefore mourn the dead ? In glory now they sleep ; Lulled by ocean's tread. They slumber by the deep ; Mourn them not — mourn them not. Fortunate alone Are they who happy live ; Every good they o-wii, AU the Gods can give, d2 36 THE TRIUMPH FOE SALAMIS. The Gods ill ^\Tatli may, eiivious, take and hapless make their lot. Only blest are they AVho tread the eartli no more ; Their last their happiest day ; Their chance of catI o'er ; Beyond misfortune's utmost reach, m life o'ershadow- iug all. But who, oh who as they are blest, The loved of heaven — the band Who smiling sank to endless rest While battling for their land, Eejoicing 'mid the storm of fight in freedom's cause to fall ? Tell me not of life's sweet pleasures. Thrilling love and maddening wine ; "Who such joys with glory measures ? AVho to change them would repine, Nor for all after-coming time, life's few short years ? A\Tiat is life ? a feverish dream ; Pleasures ? shadows fleeting by ; Blest his lot who woidd not deem, Grasping deathless fame, to die resign THE TRIUMPH FOR SALAMIS. 37 And in his country's festal songs to live unendingly ? Life is short and onward fastly Speed earth's dwellers t' wards the tomb ; Lightning feet the hour hath, lastly Seen before we seek the gloom, The night that haunts the nether realms and learn our endless doom. Life is passing ; death comes leaping Towards us, beckoned on by fate ; Why goes up the voice of weeping ? Swift the end comes, soon or late. For numbered are our earthly hours nor far their latest date. Rejoice— we will not mourn the dead ; No tears shall dim our eyes ; Be theirs the fame for which they bled ; Our choral songs shall rise, Our voices swell their god-Hke deeds in triumph to the skies. The hurlers of the beamy spear. The lifters of the shield. How poured with them red flight and fear And slaughter through the field ? 38 THE TEirMPH FOE SALAMIS. 'Who witli their resistless might Through the thickest throng of fight With reeking falchion, storm-like, cleft their gory crimsoned way ? What voices thundered out As theu's, the horrid shout That smote the warring foe with fear — ^witli terror 'mid the fray ? When spear on buckler rmig And the psean from each tongue Leapt, hurling flight and dread dismay our charging ranks before, Who joyed as they, to pour AVith the wintry ocean's roar Upon the fierce embattled foe and plunge amid the war ? Sought we the fallen ? there We surely found them where Was rent by howls of agony the hell of sounds in air ; The short sharp ^-iid death-shriek. The groan told where to seek The lowly -laid whose battle-path was trodden by despair. THE TRIUMPH FOE SALAMTS, 39 BOTH CHORUSES. The migiity Gods are just, The power of those who lust To crush the guiltless and the free, they tumble to the dust ; With awe and gladness raise The hymn of thankful praise To those who proudest kings confoimd with fright and dread amaze. ^gis-bearer — Zeus— to thee, Lowly bending thus the knee, At thy feet we bow ; Let — oh let our praise and prayer Not in vain be poured in air, Thunderer, hear us now. God of Gods, thee, all who dwell Li the dread abyss of heU Or ocean's depths obey ; AH the halls of heaven behold Throned on high in burning gold, Trembling o^vn thy sway. 40 THE TRIUMPH FOE SALAMIS. Zeus — deliverer— tliee before, Earthward bending, we adore For all for Hellas done ; Giver thou of mateliless might In the armour-cleaving fight, "We thank for freedom won. If the odours that uprise, Steaming from the sacrifice, Grratefid be to thee, Grant that aU in HeUas born Life with chains for ever scorn And bear tlie future free. And thou in thine own city's love. Goddess, shrined aU Gods above, Pallas, to thee the many -voiced hymn Grateful we raise. Fond offering of our praise. Telling how in thy honour the white steer, Flushed with wTcathed blooms, the brightest of the year, ShaU quivering faU And the thronged city hold high festival, With incense burned to thee the white air making dim. THE TEIUMPII FOfi SALAMIS. 41 CHORUS OF VIRGINS. Tread we yet a blither measure, Timed to joy, while flute and voice Fliug abroad abouudiiig pleasure. Bidding earth and heaven rejoice. See — upon the raptured sight Bursts a vision of delight ; Grone are war and war's alarms ; Eusting are the soldier's arms ; Laughing valley — jocund hill Song again and gladness fill ; Tasked again, the glad earth yields Plenty to the jocimd fields ; Cot and barn and homestead green Peeping through their leaves are seen ; In the vale the anvil rings ; On the wave the fisher sings ; Morning hears the horn once more Pright to bay the foaming boar ; Through the shadowing olive grove Evening woos the feet of love ; 42 THE TRIUMPH FOE SAL AMIS. Mirth and music fiJl the air Home the blushing bride they bear ; Flowers agaia the sunshine crowd ; Orchards with their fruit are bowed ; Summer smites the clanging brass Lest her swarming bees should pass ; Heaped upon the labouring wain Creaks the harvest home again ; Drunk with sport and wine and song : Eoars the vintage rout along ; Happj hours and happy earth ! All is sunshine — aU. is mirth, IMirth and joys that never cease, AU the bliss that dwells with peace. CHORUS OF YOUTHS. Back the wild rejoicing strain Toss we swift in joy again ; Lo — a vision too I see Of the glory that shall be ; List — the sound is in mine ears Of. the sights of coming years ; THE TRIUMPH FOB SALAMIS. 43 Hark, the crowded quarries hum ; Down, the snoAvy blocks, they come ; Saw and chisel din the air ; Rises slow the temple fair ; On the lofty rock-hewn base Step and ghstening floor they place ; Columns white in stately row, Round about m beauty go ; Architrave and cornice He In their strength ui majesty ; Colours bright as eyes behold Streak them 'mid their shields of gold ; Hush thee, song, nor strive to teU What no mortal hymn may swell. Beauty unimagiaed ; thought Fairer than was ever wrought ; Forms that only heaven have trod, Each an earth-created God ; From the marble's white womb rent, Throng they frieze and pediment ; Over all, the mighty roof Rises, glistening in the sun. Rises, to the thunder proof. And the wondrous woi'k is done, 44 THE TBnrMTH FOR SAlL^MIS. WliCTe for aye, in praise unending. Is tbe holy hynm ascending TTnto her — the arupe-eyed. Joy of Zets — oity's gnide. X : . rhee yW, O h*" :r with fer-seeing eve The _ _ rr all descry ; 31:1??-;' ■ . -t and towered wall : * . _ . _s festival : i _,.>-' s- -ehr rite In the s^.i;^r^^u^ city's aght. While the lauielled victoiy Mightiesr bards with contest l>iy, -' " '"7 Terse are told l>CTra= ■: s — ^woes of old. And ffods and j - > with awe their eves F T lOEUSES. Tiiiie. HcLas, is glory All glory transcending. Tin earth's brightest story. Till rizzie have an ending. THE TEIUMPn FOE SALAMIS. 45 Till dim grow the memory of all, lustre lending The world's mighty being, Till o'er the past flow The future, imseeing The deeds hid below, The glory of Hellas — the shame of her foe. And thou of fair lands That engirdle thee round The fairest — where stands, Over all liigh-renowned, Ionian Athene — through earth sweeps the sound Of thy triiunphs, high swelling, Swift-leaping along ; The nations are telling Thy glory in song. And tongues that thou know'st not thy praises prolong. Enshrined in the wonder Of strangers afar That broad regions sunder, Thy mighty deeds are ; When the gloom of the past shall be round thee, thou star. 46 THE TEIUMPH FOR SALAMIS. The robe of tlieir fame tliou Shalt wear and the light That haloes thy name, thou ShaU flash down the night, Till with awe the earth's dwellers bow down in thy sight. A CRY FOE NATIONAL EDUCATION. Ye perfect flowers ; why not perfect men ? I ASKED tlie purple bloom whose velvet round Orbed tbe ricb sweetness of the o'erripe plum, Where it the glory of its robing found, Whence did the treasures of its sweetness come ? And straight it with reply my questioning met, " My primal germ of beauty, mortal, know, Within the untended sloe did nature set ; Man's art its rare enrichment did bestow." I laid me down in golden summer, where The velvet pansy wantoned in the sun, And questioned it from whence the treasures rare Of its entangling beauty it had won ; And straight this low reply my questioning met, 48 A CET FOE NATIONAL EDUCATION. " Its germ the cunning of man's art did find Hid deep witliin the wayside violet, And gave it glory through the might of mind." I stood beside the swiftness of the horse, And questioned whence it drew its unmatched grace, The -uindy speed that through the shouting course Bore off from all the glory of the race ; Then to my questioning came the like reply, " jN^ot A'amly hath the might of man's wit striven An added grace and swiftness to supply, That ne'er to me by nature's self were given." I asked the stony marvel of a form That in its rare perfection distanced life, " Wliite wonder, with the charmed power to warm My soul to worship, how becam'st thou rife ? " And the fair shape did answer me the same, " My marble flesh the quarried earth bestowed, But from the scidptor's dream, life on me came, And to his shaping hand my beauty 's owed." Then from the face of all, did I depart Into the thoughtfid haimts of solitude. A GET FOR IS'ATIOXAL EDUCATION. 49 Aud there companioned by my pulsing heart, Over their speech in painM thought did brood ; Then said I, " Shall the might of mortal power That gives the fruit a sweetness not its own, Wonder to stone and glory to the flower, Deny perfection unto man alone ?" Ah that the human will 's all mighty force, That with an ahen gracefulness doth gift The lower nature of the unreasoning horse, Would man but to a higher nature lift ! Ah that the shaping care of man would mould To higher grace the marble of the mind. That all the charms we lumger to behold In coming souls, its power woidd bid us find ! For if through all creation's wondrous round With searching eyes thy winged spirit ran. What in its circling journey would be foimd More worth man's cultiu-e than the mind of man ? Oh what an imknown glory then would wear The coming years the future towards us leads, If man to store the unnurtured mind would care With the perfection the soul's culture breeds ! 50 A CET FOE NATIONAL EDUCATION. Then were the terror of the exiling sword From the lost Edeu banished once again, Then bliss within creation's heart were cored, And souls for love no more were made in vain ; Shall not these golden days to man be brought ? Towards this goal do not the ages tend ? Tea, take thou heart ; not idly dreamest thou, thought : Culture shall perfect souls too in the end. THE SEMPSTRESS TO HER MIGNONETTE. I LOVE that box of mignonette ; Though worthless in your eyes, Above your choicest hot-house flowers, My mignonette I prize ; Thank heaven, not yet I 've learned on that A money worth to set ; 'Tis priceless as the thoughts it brings, My box of mignonette. I know my own sweet mignonette Is neither strange nor rare ; Your garden flaimters burn with hues That it may never wear ; Yet on your garden's rarest blooms No eyes were ever set With more delight than mine on yoiu-s, My box of mignonette. E 2 52 THE SEMPSTBESS TO HEE MIGNOXETTE. Wliy do I prize my mignonette That lights my window there ? It adds a pleasure to delight ; It steals a weight from care ; What happy dayhght dreams it brings ! Can I not half forget My long, long hours of weary work, AVith you, my mignonette ! It tells of May, my mignonette, And as I see it bloom, I think the green bright pleasant Spring Comes freshly through my room ; Our narrow court is dark and close, Yet when my eyes you met, AVide fields lay stretching from my sight, My bos of mignonette. What talks of it, my mignonette ? To me it babbles still Of woodland banks of primroses. Of heath and breezy hill ; Through country lanes and daisied fields. Through paths with morning wet. THE SEilPSTEESS TO HEE MIGKONETTE. 53 Again I trip as when a girl, Through you, my mignonette. Per this I love my mignonette, My window garden small. That country thoughts and scents and sounds Around me loves to call ; For this, though low in rich men's thoughts Toior worth and love be set, I bless you, pleasure of the poor. My own sweet miguonette. A WINTER SONG. Ceackle and blaze ; Crackle and blaze ; I There 's snow on the housetops ; there 's ice on the ways ; But the keener the season, The stronger 's the reason ! Our ceiling should flicker and glow in thy blaze ; So fire — piled fire, Leap, fire, and shout ; Be it warmer within As 'tis colder without, And as curtains we draw and around the hearth ! close. i As we glad us with talk of great frosts and deep ' snows, i As redly thy warmth on the shadowed wall plays, ^ A WrS'TEE SONG. 55 We'll say winter's evenings outmatch summer's days, And a song, jolly roarer, we'll shout in thy praise ; So crackle and blaze ; Crackle and blaze ; While roaring the chorus goes round in thy praise. Crackle and blaze ; Crackle and blaze ; There 's ice on the ponds ; there are leaves on the ways ; But the barer each tree, The more reason have we To joy in the summer that roars in thy blaze ; So fire, piled fire, The lustier shout, The louder the winds shriek And roar by without, And as, red through the curtains, go out with thy light Pleasant thoughts of warm firesides across the dark night, Passers-by, hastening on, shaU be loud in thy praise, 56 A WINTER SOXG. And wliile spark with red spark in thy curling smoke plays, "Within the loud song to thy honour we 'U raise ; So crackle and blaze ; Crackle and blaze ; While roaring the chorus goes round in thy praise. TODDLING MAY. Five pearly teeth and a soft blue eye, A sinless eye of blue That is dim or is bright, it scarce knows why, That baby dear is you ; And parted hair of a pale, pale gold, That is priceless every curl. And a boldness shy and a fear half bold. Ay, that 's my baby girl. A smaU, small frock, as the snowdrop white. That is worn with a tiny pride ; "With a sash of blue, by a little sight With a baby wonder eyed ; And a pattering pair of restless shoes, "Whose feet have a tiny fall. 58 TODDLING MAT. That not for the world's coined wealth we 'd lose, Tliat Baby May, we call. A rocker of doUs with staring eyes That a thought of sleep disdain, That with shouts of tiny lullabies ! Are by'd and bj^'d in vain ; i A drawer of carts -udth baby noise, ; With strainings and pursed up brow ; ] Wliose hopes are cakes and whose dreams are toys, ; Ay, that 's my baby now. 1 ( I A sinking of heart ; a shuddering dread, I Too deep for a word or tear ; Or a joy whose measm-e may not be said, As the future is hope or fear ; i A sumless venture, whose voyage's fate We woidd and yet would not know, I Is she whom we dower with love as great } As is perilled by hearts below. Oh, what as her tiny laugh is dear, } Or our days with gladness girds ! j Or what is the soxmd we love to hear \ TODDLINGt MAT. 59 Like the joy of her baby words ! Ob, pleasure our pain and joys our fears Should be, could the future say, Away with sorrow — time has no tears Tor the eyes of Baby May. HER JESSAMINE. PART I. There 's the jessamiue she loved so ; ah, a curly child she set it When this garden porch from which it trails so greeuly, first was made ; Oh, her joy in its first summers, who that saw it can forget it, How she wondered at its white sweet stars and sliouted in its shade ! Oh, that jessamine — that trellised porch — I never look upon it But up before me aU her little days it seems to bring ; How, broMTi and bare, her little hopes still prattled blossoms on it, HEE JESSAMIIs'E. 61 Still looked for leaves in winter and still watclied for buds in spring. That jessamine — its every spraj to her was a green sister, For, sisterless, her all of unclaimed love on it was spent ; To her its faint sweet odours still were glad fond lips that kissed her, Its min-miu's, living tongues that whispered back the love she lent. That jessamme — oh, how she prized the pleasure of its training ! JS'o hand but hers, its year's new shoots might to' its ti'ellis bind ; 'Twas a sound to gladden any heart — her laugh to see it gaining, May by May, still up the porch's height, along the roof to wind. "We country folks have fancies, friend, and, to oiu- simple seeming, 62 HEK JESSAMINE. 'Twas as though for it her fondness still so more than natural were, That across our eveniug cottage talk, there 'd often ( float a dreaming \ Of a bond beyond the thought of man betwixt that i flower and her. Ton smile ; 'tis but a fancy ; true ; but so they lived together, i That ever with the thought of her, came memory of the flower, And yet I doubt, so strongly still the charm is on us, j whether ' An eye here, without seeing her, looks on it to this ! hour. Ay, sights are 'neath that jessamine that your eyes are not seeing ; Each leaf, but a mere leaf to you, to us is a dear thought ; For us, fonns move within its shade, to you that have no being. And whispers wander to our ears, by yours from it imcaught. J HEE JESSAMINE. G3 'Twas there, in that soft golden shade -svith which June's sunlights fill it, That she with Edwin played and laughed tlu'ougli many a girlish day ; 'Twas there, the girl uo longer now, she heard the flushed air still it To catch the yes that murmured her young heart to him away. And there, when our consent was won, how many a glad still hour, How many a white night star above their lingering partings past, While, sweeter than the sweetness far of every folded flower, Tlirough their low words, murmured up a love througli all their years to last. Her jessamine — her jessamine — a bride before the altar Of our gray old ivied church she stood and yet 'twas vdth her there ; They who heard her low sweet miu-murs there the holy service falter. 64 HEE JESSAMINE. Saw a spray of its piire silver stars Avi'eatLed ia her soft brown hair. Her jessamine — lier jessamine — }ears come and go, estranging Hands from hands and hearts from hearts, but still her love for it 's the same ; Nay, even now a letter scarce can love for love be changing Bet\A'ixt her new and old homes, but 'tis sweetened \nth its name. PART II. 'Tis but a sprig of jessamine, yet, EUen, more I treasure That withered and discoloured spray, than things the most I prize ; 'Tis not alone a memory of some young evening's pleasure, A whisper of some sweet baU of my girlhood there. that lies. HEK JESSAMIKE. 65 All, Ellen, on tliose faded leaves your eyes are calmly faUing, As if no throng of troubled thoughts — no sights were of them born, But, seen by me, those blossoms sere, the long-gone past recalling, Are deep thoughts in the records of the heart's far history worn. I would that here, my own dear chUd, here with your mother only. The page of hfe before us now, by your eyes should be read, So shall that spray of jessamine, when I am gone and lonely You walk the world, be as a voice of warning from the dead. O summers of my childhood ! days so loved of fancy's dreaming ! O Mays that basked in sunshine hardly crossed of lightest shade ! How little to your simple thought, the coming years were seeming 06 HEE JESSAMINE. For griefs iinguessed and weeping and for care and trial made ! O green home of my girlhood ! low your leaves are i rustMng o'er me, _ As in chequered shades and sunbursts 'neath yotu' mossed old trees 1 lie, 1 I "Wliile ever some sweet blossom slow comes wavering down before me, Floating down from your old orchard boughs before ! my half-shut eye. \ J I Tour garden — it 's before me ; the old casements | looking on it ' Through the leafy gold-green sunlight of their thick ; o'er-mantKng vine ; ! Yoiu" gables quaint ; your trellised porch ; the jessa- mine upon it, To watch and train whose sweet growth was a girHsli love of mine ; Was a love that strangely gathered strength with every chaugiug season, HEE JESSAMINE. 67 That strangely grew to weave itself at last through every thouglit, Till fancy seemed to know of bonds beyond the gaze of reason, In tangling meshes of that strange sweet love, un- struggling, caught. Ah, I see myself as then I was, a laughing girl, Hght- hearted, Tossing back a flood of golden cvirls from off my young blue eyes, As with leap and shout and broken song, its tangled shoots I parted, Spring's sweet gifts to my sweet jessamine that so I 'd learned to prize. Ah, I see myself as soon I was, in Idied summers after, Still a girl, but niunbering other years — a knitter, while the sun Poured a mellow slanting splendour tlu"ough that odorous porch, and laughter, Still your father's mocking mine, betrayed our days of love begun. F 2 68 HEE JESSAMINE. O those old remembered evenings ! all their stillness is around me, All the odorous piu'ple twilights of those shadow}' nights of June, When through that green porch's trailing sprays, white- starred, the sweet hours found me. Found us, ann-enwreathed together, watching on the crescent moon. But other — far, far other thoughts that withered spray is bringing, Another face — another voice — a dance of those sweet years. Ere yet, a bride, I left the home whose leafy memory 's clinging To aU my thoughts — whose old sweet sounds are ever in my ears. How fair a young thing then I was ! long — long has gone the beauty That in those happy winters won from aU, the ball- room's gaze ; Long — long — ah, long lias changed the heart that found the paths of duty HEE JESSAMINE. 69 Too narrow for its wa}'^ard steps, allured to foUy's ways. How vain a young thiug then I was ! for triumphs only living ; StiU restless if there reigned not in all eyes, my beauty's sway; Stni grudging unto brightest eyes a phrase of flattery's giving, Each watching gaze another's from my sweetness smiled away. Ah, I hear again those nnu'miu'ed words amid that dance that fluttered The pulses of a young heart as the music swelled and died, That strove against the true thought of the many a vow she 'd uttered Of love for ever unto one — to one and none beside. And is her partner, dance by dance, he who, than any other, Has truest right to claim her hand, his own through allthebaU, 70 HEE JESSAMINE. Or smiles ste, thouglitless of him, to the whisperings of another, Another whom her purity should fitter shun than all ? Has she not startled from his path ? has she not fled his gazing, That, a prophecy of evil, long has crossed lier, day by day r And dares she now the dance with him, her eyes, untrembling, raising To looks from whose bold insult hers have dropped so oft away ? Yes — he was bowed to — noble — of a brow and lip of beauty That had fixed the eyes of woman, had he lacked the pride of birth, Had he lacked the height of station to which reverence seemed a duty, And ancestral wealth that stood him in the place of honest worth. And is the love of all her years for his, a moment slighted ? HER JESSAMINE. 7l The love that with her ripening life to fairest growth had grown, The love so many a summer star had lingered to hear plighted, Forgot for a false passion that were shame and sin alone r Ay, blush for her, my own pure child ; blush for a maiden, daughter, Wlio spurned not his base flatteries back \yiih instant honest scorn : Alas for youth's weak vanity ! the triimiph's pride had caught her, A titled partner for the night from every rival borne. And still, as horn* chased throbbing hour, sank doubt and scruple under The insult of his homage that was never from her side. Till her young ears grew sullied with his flatteries, without wonder That she stooped to listen to them with a joy she scarce would hide. 72 HEE JESSAMINE. The dawn is gray, and in her home, before her glass, un wreathing The spray of her own jessamine from out her hair, she stands ; " You '11 come ?" were they his parting words ? why stills her startled breathing ? What sees she in the drooping wreath that trembles in her hands ? The past — ^the past is with her ; with a rush of recollection Throng before her all the pure hours those sweet stars have dreamed above, All the story of her young heart, dawning into glad affection, All my girlhood' s gentle fondness as it blossomediato love. Self-abased, I faced the vision of the truth that I had plighted. Of the trustiag love that so had gro^ii to live and breathe in mine ; Throbbed my temples vdth a flushing shame, to own such truth I 'd sHghted For a homage, my Ed^\"iii ! worthless, buried love, to thine. HEE JESSAMINE. 73 A moment — all the bonds of shame in which that night had bound me, The pure thoughts of my girlhood and its fair flower have undone ; Wrong might not home amid the di*eams its sweetness summoned round me ; A moment — my sweet jessamine and truth and love had won. Then wonder not, my gentle girl, that withered spray I treasure, That lifted me the tempting of an erring pride above, A pride that fain had lured me on with wildering lights of pleasure. Through ways that wandered into shame, afar from hope and love. A SUMMER THOUGHT. Ik thy circle, painted flower, What a world of -wonder lies ! Yet men pass thee, hour bj houi', With no mai'vel in their eyes ; Dost thou not the beauty know In thy bright-streaked round that 's dwelling? When our tongues thy praises show, Is no pride thy bright robes swelling ? Dost thou feel no joy in living, Wantoniug thus in sun and shower ? Thou canst pleasure still be giving ; Lies no pleasure in the power ? Decked in nature's tiring room By the months, in hues the brightest Flung from off her magic loom. Thou the very air delightest, A STJMMEE THOUGHT. 75 And the very hoiu's to view thee, Ere by death thy glory 's blighted, Ere decay hath crept unto thee. Did they dare, woiild pause delighted ; Ah, that men, with noteless eyes, Thus to pass thee shoidd have power, Marvelling not at all that lies In thy circle, paiated flower ! "ERNST 1ST DAS LEBEN." Oh, leave the world, With irksome bustle and fond foUies filled ! Come where its empty shows ye may despise ; Where the rude clamour of its cries is stilled ; WTiere no loud plainings of its woes arise, But on aU life, the heaven of blissful quiet lies ; Oh, leave the world ! j Oh, leave the world ! j The realm abhorred of drear realities ; Come steal afar from aU its troublous noise ; | Far from mortality's afflicted cries, j Come ye to happiness that never cloys, .^ Where idless ever dreams and gathers golden joys ; | Oh, leave the world ! i 77 Oh, leave the world ! Why should ye burden life with loathed toil ? Why spend on toil the summer of your days ? But empty are the gains for which ye moil ; Swiftly the glory of your youth decays, And in your onward path, cold age its winter lays ; Oh, leave the world ! Oh, leave the world ! Death laughs in mock of drudgery for gold, For which ye lose the years that come no more ; Tor when for it your flower of hfe is sold, A wormy grave he gives for aU your store And flings its hoards to those who never toiled therefore ; Oh, leave the world ! Oh, leave the world ! "V\Tierefore thus cling ye so to carkuig care ? But shadows on the light of time are ye. That for their hour, eternity doth there, Dimmuig its disk with antic mummeries see ; Oh, of what poor account your labours e'er can be ! Oh, leave the world ! 78 " ERNST 1ST DAS LEBEN." Oh, leave the world ! Wliat is the lasting memory of a name But in eternity, a short-lived hour ? And the vaiu glory of the longest fame Swift comes the hmigering future to devour ; For over aU of earth forgetfuLiiess hath power ; Oh, leave the world ! Oh, leave the world ! Why in vain strife for others lose your days ? Evil with life hath ever walked the earth ; Think ye a barrier against woe to raise ? Ever to misery shall the years give birth And strivings for man's good are aye of little worth ; Oh, leave the world ! Oh, leave the world ! So said the haunting whisper and each word Upon my thought stole with a murmurous tone, In whose low sounds was Ivdliag sweetness heard That lapped the soul in music all its own, And ever — evermore was its low speech alone, Oh, leave the world ! " EENST 1ST DAS LEBE>"." 79 Oh, leave the world ! And with the lulling miirmur of its sound, Hiuiger of dreamy rest upon me stole And slumbrous longings 'gan to gird me round, Tni of all stirring impulse, slept the whole, And echoed back my thought — my hardly striving soul. Oh, leave the world ! Oh, leave the world ! But woke agaia my soul with sudden start, And touching thought to life, did counsel take, And in its native strength itself did heart Prom the soft syren's charmed -^Tles to break, And loud her answering back, with cold clear reason spake. Why leave the world ? Why leave the world ? Though, as thou sayest, it were passing sweet Afar from high-strung action to recline, Though Avith soft ease 'twere luxury to retreat And man's appointed task of work resign ; Doth sensuous pleasure mount the height of life's design ? Why leave the world ? 80 " EENST 1ST DAS LEBEN." Why leave the world ? Not for this grew in thee the might of mind, The power to will and act thy wish and thought ; In the delights of sense if thou wouldst find All pleasure, life shaU set thy aims at nought, Till evil thou shalt own, for good thou aye hast sought ; Why leave the world ? Why leave the world ? Though, as thou urgest, waste of life it be The toys of wealth and power and fame to seize. Canst thou not, gazing through existence, see Aims that in their far pitch, earth not with these, But scale high heaven itself and God himself do please? Why leave the world ? Why leave the world ? Not for delight alone was being given ; Else Hfe, as thou assertest, were a dream, And but for seemings all high souls have striven ; But seize the key of this thy mystery ; deem Duty above delight and Life most real shaU seem ; Why leave the world ? 81 "WTiv leave the world ? Believe thy mission, not alone with good The measure of thy days of life to fill ; To heap for others, be it understood. Even from thy portion, is thy duty still ; Through suffering, love thy kind, and rule to love thy will; WTay leave the world ? "UTiy leave the world ? Hath it no misery for thy hands to tend r Hath it no wretchedness thou canst relieve ? No down-trod weakness that thou may'st defend r No poverty thy bounty to receive ? No joy with which to joy — no grief with which to grieve ? "WTiy leave the world ? Why leave the world r Hath it not ignorance that thou may'st unblind r Hath it not iBJiu-ies against which to strive ? Hath it no slaveries, or of limb or mind, That from the light of being thou may'st drive r Needs Earth no martyrs now, or chains or \vrongs to rive? Why leave the world ? ^2 " EENST 1ST DAS LEBEN." Whj leave the world ? Go forth in the resistless strength of love ; Forth, conquering and to conquer, victor, go ; Warrer for right, be thy crest high above The thick of fight against aU wrongs below ; FaUing or victor wreathed, thou near'st God's glory so ; So leave the world. So leave the world ; Doth the flesh its departed empire mourn ? Mourns it the unquestioned rule it holds no more ? Know thou self-sacrifice ; of that is bom A calm abiding bliss, all bliss before. That shall delights more rare than thou resign' st, restore ; So leave the world. So leave the world ; Straight with the words, aU languor fled my frame ; Champing desires rode tamed beneath my will, And high resolves upon me crowding came, Through love, life's loft>- purpose to fulfil. Nor evermore mine ears that low sweet call did fill, Oh, leave the world ! THE CRY OF THE LAWFUL LANTERNS. DEDICATED TO CERTAIN OPPONENTS OF NATIONAL EDrCATION. A PEOPLE dwelt in darkness, In gloom and blinding night, Till some grew tired of candles And dared to long for light, When straight the established lanterns Were stirred witli hate of day, And loud the lawful rushlights Li wrath were heard to say, Oh, have you not your lanterns. Tour little shining lanterns ! WTiat need have you of sunshine ? What do you want with day ? Then loud the people murmured, And vowed it wasn't right For men who could get daylight. To grope about in night ; g2 84 THE CUT OF THE LAWFUL LAKTEE>'S. Why should they lose the gladness, The pleasant sights of day ? But stiU the established lanterns Continued all to say, Oh, have you not your lanterns. Tour nice old glinnnering lanterns ! "VVTiat need have you of sunshine ? What do you want with day r But people loathed the darkness And dared at last to say, You old established rushlights Are good things in your way. But are you candles, sunlight ? You lanterns, are you day ? Still loud the lawfid lanterns Did answer make and say. Oh, be content with lanterns. Your good old-fashioned lanterns ! You really want too much Hght ; Don't ask again for day. At last the crowd's deep murmur Grew, gathering to a roar. THE CEY OF THE LAWFUL LANTEKNS. 85 And tliat tliey ^YOuld liave dayliglit, In lanterns' spite, tliey swore ; And fear was on all rushlights, And trembling and dismay ; Alas, alas for lanterns ! The people heard them say ; Oh, woe — oh, woe for lanterns ! AVliat will become of lanterns ! Alack, they will have sunshine ! Alas, there will be day ! And as the tempest thickened. Aloud they shrieked in fright. Oh, once let in the sunshine, And what will be oiu* light ! We, shining lights in darkness. Shall nothing be in day ; Oh, don't admit the sunshiae ! Keep out the daylight, pray ! Oh, don't put out your lanterns ! Your own old little lanterns ! Oh, do without the sunshine ! Oh, don't let in the day ! 86 THE CET OF THE LAWFTJL LANTERNS. The day came iu ; but prophets Do say, 'tis certain, quite, That long through coming ages. Will lanterns hate the light, That to our children's children, In sorrow still they'll say, Oh, for the times of darkness, Ere lanterns passed away ! Wliy laid they by us lanterns, Their fine, their good old lanterns ! We 're sure it 's bad, this sunshine, This horrid glare of day. THE SMILE. 'Tis not the marvel of an eye, The wonder of a brow, Within whose snares enmeshed I lie. Eor ever captive, now ; Oh, no — no — no — My heart has learned to know, 'Tis ease, the witchery to defy That snared me long ago. I am not captive to a cheek Or prisoner to a curl ; My snarers now in vain you seek In lip, or tooth of pearl ; Oh, no — no — no — My heart has learned to know Of stronger bonds than those, so weak, That held me long ago. 88 THE SMILE. Say I, lier voice would music teach New spells — that tones as rare As with all sweetness dower her speech, Ne'er tranced the charmed air ? Oh, no— no — no — My tongue has learned to know The praise of charms beyond the reach Of even her voice to show. No need of witcheries such as these My fancy to enthrall, When in her smile my snared heart sees A lure beyond them all ; Ob, no — no — no — To that I 've learned to know. But weakness was the strength of these That snared me long ago. AVill beauty, prithee, weigh with love ? Nay, aU its charms give place To beauty of the heart, above AU charm of outward grace ; Oh, no — no — no — AV'hat lure can beauty show As snaring as the tanghng love That laughs her smile below ! FAEEWELL Paeted, parted, ever parted, — Said and said the words have been, Yet I hear them, broken-hearted, As in wonder what they mean ; To no sense my soul has started Of the all within them seen. Parted, parted, — throbbing through me With a strange, dull, dreamy pain, As of no real import to me. Pulse your accents through my brain — Sound your low, rich, full tones through me, Never heard in love again. How you lured me on in dreaming Tou were evermore my own, Is, fair dissembling seeming ! 90 FAEEWELL ! Well to both our memories known ; Will, with tears through far years streaming, Haunt one thought, though one alone. Still my heart you saw was trembling With the wealth of love it bore ; Judged by mine, mine all resembling. Tour's I thought no masquing wore ; Was like mine, O all dissembling ! Truth through aU its inmost core. Blindly — blindly — all believing, With an utter faith in you, Childlike, did I woo deceiving. Childlike, deem you must be true ; Could I dream your web was weaving Eound a lieart no guile that knew ! Must I calmly, coldly, meet you ! Must no old famihar word, Rushing tlu-ough my lips to greet you. Ever — evermore be heard ! As a very stranger treat you, Who no pulse of mine has stirred ! FAEEWELL ! 91 Ah, that years, alas ! could sever Hearts, in seeming, once so true, So that time could change us ever. Was a thing I little knew ! Surely dreamed I, change could never Tlu-ust itself 'twist me and you. "Would that I could then have known vou As I truly know you now, Ere my sightless trust, to own you, Falseness as you are, knew how. Ere the coming days had shown you, Thing of change, as you are now ! Vain, I know, is all complaining ; "Words, I know, are useless aU, Though in blood my heart were raining AU the tears that from me fall, Eor the love there 's no regaining, For the peace without recaU. Pride was mine — all pride has left me ; Lingering love for you, forsworn, Of the power to hate has reft me, 92 TAEEWELL ! Eeft me of the power to scorn ; "Would that love but pride had left me ! Then with scorn, your scorn I 'd borne. Heavily the gloom of sorrow On my thoughts its sadness lays, Still new hope I yet may borrow. Bounding life for coming days, Lightening me with every morrow, Of the grief that on me weighs. Tet from doting has it turned me. This vain bitter dream that 's o'er, This false, fickle heart that 's spurned me, Spimied a heart such love that bore ; Wisdom I at least have earned me, And I trust no woman more. THE CAVALIER'S WHISPER. 'Tis a cloudless noon of sultry June, And pleasant it is to win The cool tliick shade by the chestnut made In front of the wayside inn ; And a pleasant sight with his feather of white, Is the moimted Cavalier Who stoops for the cup that the maid gives up, "With a word none else can hear. A moment more, from that shady door That horseman rides away, And little, I guess, he thinks — and less, Of the word he bent to say ; But many a noon of many a June Must pass, with many a year. Ere the maiden who heard that whispered word, Forgets that Cavalier. A MAY-DAY SONG. Out from cities haste away ; This is earth's great holiday; "Who can labour whUe the hours In with songs are bringing May, Through the gaze of buds and flowers, Through the golden pomp of day ! Haste, oh, haste ; 'Tis sin to waste In dull work so sweet a time ; Dance and song Of right belong To the hours of Spring's sweet prime ; Golden beams and shadows brown, Where the roofs of knotted trees Fling a pleasant coolness down, Footing it, the young May sees ; A MAT-DAT SO'SG. 95 In their dance, the breezes now Dimple every pond you pass ; Shades of leaves from every bough Leaping, beat the dappled grass ; Birds are noisy — ^bees are humming All because the May' s a coming ; AJl the tongues of uatiu'e shout. Out from to^vns— from cities out ; Out from every busy street ; Out from every darkened court ; Through the field-paths, let your feet Lingering go, in pleasant thought ; Out through dells the violet 's haunting ; Out where golden rivers riui ; Where the wallflower 's gaily flaunting Li the livery of the sun ; Trip it through the shadows hiding Down in hollow winding lanes ; Where through leaves the sunshine gliding, Deep with gold the woodland stains ; Where in all her pomp of weeds. Nature, asking but the thanks Of our pleasure, richly pranlis Painted heaths and wayside banks, 96 A MAT-DAT SONG. Smootli-mown lawns and green deep meads ; Leave tlie noisy bustling town For stiU glade and breezy down ; Haste away To meet the May ; This is earth's great holidaj\ SONNET. TO MART RUSSELL MITFORD. Out have I been this morning — out — away, Far frora the bustling carefulness of towns, Through April gleams and showers — on windy downs, By rushy meadow-streams with willows grey ; In thick-leafed woods have hid me from the day Sultry -with Jime— and where the windmiU crowns The hills' green height, the landscape that renowns Thy own green county, have I, as I lay Crushing the sweetness of the flowering thyme. Tracked through the misty distance. Village greens All shout and cheerfulness in cricket time, Red winter firesides — autiunn cornfield scenes, All have I seen, ere I my chair forsook, Thanks to the magic of thy breezy book. SONNET. TO KEATS. O >'IGHTIXGALE, thou wert for golden Junes, Not for the gusts of Marcli ! Oh, not for strife "With wind and tempest was thy Summer life, Mate of the sultry grasshopper, whose tunes Of ecstasy leap faint up steaming noons, Keen in their gladness as the shrilling fife ; With smiles not sighs thy days should have been rife- A\"ith quiet, calm as sleeps 'neath harvest moons ; Thee, natui-e fashioned like the belted bee, Eoamer of sunshine, fellow of the flowers, Hiving up honied sweets for man, to see No touch of tears in all thy radiant hours ; Alas, sweet singer, that thou might' st not live Sunned in the gladness that thou cam'st to give ! THE WRECKED HOPE. Tjieee's a low soft song in a chamber, Wliere sits, in the darkening room, A yoimg ^vife, lulling lier babe to rest, Scarce seen in the deepening gloom : And her song to her babe is telling How in hope and iii joy she sees The white sails homeward swellinof To the strain of a fayoiiring breeze, The good ship bearing its father home From the far wild Southern seas. There's a dim drear moon careerino- Through the dark grim clouds on high, And a waste of billows tossing: Beneatli the stormy sky, And a wave-washed form upheaving At times to the moon's wan gleams, H 100 THE WEECKED HOPE. Around which the Mvild sea rages And the grey gull wheels and screams, And the form is his, of whose safe return Afar liis yoirng wife dreams. THE POKTRAIT. Tes, there it blooms for ever, That girlish face, so fair TJpon the breathing canvas, And yet not only there ; For, like as is its sweetness, Par fairer is it wrought, In all its gentle beauty, TJpon the painter's thought. Lo, while his pencil drew her, "Within the stately room. Love took his stand beside him, Amid its gorgeous gloom ; And as upon the canvas Each feature stole to sight. Love stamped it in the painter's thought In colours yet more bright. 102 THE rOETRAIT. Nor fleeting were the touches Of that immortal art, Tliey bloom iu lines unfading, Though youth and years depart ; The painter's head is lioary, Her fair face wrinkles fdl, Yet, bright as ■when Love drew it, His thoughts retain it still. AX AUTUMN SOXG. LiiiE — golden lime ! Bright burst thy greenness forth to April's tearful wooing, Thronged of the booming bee in verdurous summer's prime, Ah, sere and shrivelling now the miry way 'tis strewing ; Lime — golden Hme ! Lime — golden Hme ! WTiat though thy parting leaves, the wailing winds are calling ! "Wliat though to sereness all hath changed thv vernal prime ! "Wliy should we mourn that fast thy golden splendour 's falling. Lime — golden lime r 104 AN AnUMN SONG. Lime — golden lime ! Yes — thou in thought shalt come when gloomy gusts are shrilling Along the wan wide snows in winter's hueless time, The chill and pallid day with Autunni glory filling, Lime — golden lime. MARY! MARY! A LAMENT. The grass is long above thy breast ; The clay is o'er thy head ; I 'm lying on thy early grave, Tet cannot think thee dead ; I cannot think that from my love Thou art for ever fled, Mary! Mary! Thou hear'st my sobs — the groans, unchecked, I utter for thy sake ; Alas ! I dream a weary dream, From which I cannot break, A ghastly dream — a fearful dream ; And shall I never wake ? Mary! Mary! 106 MAET ! MAET ! No more ! to hear thy voice no more ! No more thy smile to see ! In groans I 've said it o'er and o'er, Tet cannot think 't\^'ill be. How can I think that thou art gone, For ever gone from me, Mary! Mary! Through Hfe to live without thy love ! To live, and live alone ! Till now, that thou indeed art gone, It was a thought unknown. How could I dream of losing thee, My own — my fond — my o^^-l^ — Mary ! Mary ! AVhy art thou taken from my love r Oh, Heaven ! what sin is mine, That thus, in the fuU flush of hfe. Thou shouldst our lives untwine ! That thus, so early, ere her time, Thou, Heaven ! shouldst make her thine ? Mary! Maiy! mart! mart! 107 My name was ever on tliy lips When life was ebbing fast ; The tlionglit of me was with thee, love, The dearest, and the last. Oh, tell me, in the dark, cold grave From thee it hath not past, Mary! Mary! "Was it for this I left thee, love, For many a weary year. In care, to struggle on to wealth, That biit for thee was dear ; In joy, at last, to seek thee, love, And find thee lying here, Mary! Mary! Hear me, thou hope — thou only joy, Thou one dream of my heart ! Death sunders only to rejoin ; Whate'er, where'er thou art. Hear thou the voice of my despair, Not long — not long we part, Mary! Mary! ON A MINIATURE OF MY WIFE. Tes — there 's the cheek — ^the placid eye, The softly shaded hair, The smile — ^the lip — yet teU me why Seems something wanting there ? Ah, needless question ! wherefore ask ? How can the pencil trace The fond affection, the calm love That sanctifies her face ? Oh, Art is strong from time and death The outward charm to ^"in. But vainly does it strive with life To paint the heart within ! I THOUGHTS AND FANCIES. Tell me, wliirling autumn leaf, Lend'st thou not new tears to grief? Thouglitftil sermons may not sorrow, From thy fall, for mortals borrow, Homilies that tell how near Life and death are dweUing here ? " Mortal, from our fall shall spring Newer, fairer blossoming." "What is glory ! what is fame ! Though it ring through coming yeiars ! Heed not if the future hears Far-off races hymn thy name ; Act the right, unheeding whether Coming tongues thy deeds shall tell ; Act the right, though men together Bid thy name and curses dwell. 110 THOUGHTS A^'D TAXCIES. And the future know tliee not ; Trust thou that when thou'rt forgot, Though thy name be hid in night, Still thy deeds shall live in light ; Live, or known, or not, the same ; "What is glory ! what is fame ! Prithee, what is life to thee, Man of marts alone and trade ? Dost thou think that thou wert made Only such a drudge to be ? Dost thou think the might of thought, High imagination's fire. Feeling's powers were meant for nought But to win thy worthless hire ? Tmist me, thee, the truly wise, Whom thou scomest, may despise ; May, unsighiug, live without All the winnings of thy drudging ; Sparing not a wish to grudging All thou wastest life about ; Poor, thy very scorn may be, And yet weU look down on thee. TO A SKYLARK. QuiVEEEE up the golden air, Nested in a goldeu earth, Mate of hours wheu thrushes pair, Hedges greeu and blooms have birth, Up ! thou very shout of joy ! Gladness wert thou made to flinsf O'er all moods of Earth's annoy ; Up ! through morning, soar and sing. Shade by shade hath gloom decreast ; Westward stars and night have gone ; Up and up the crimsoning east Slowly mounts the golden dawn : Up ! thy radiant life was given Rapture over earth to fling ; Morning hushes ; hushed is heaven. Dumb to hear thee soarins: sins:. 112 TO A SKTLAEK. Up ! tliy utterance, silence, robs Of the ecstasies of Eartli ; Dowering sound with all the throbs Of its madness — of its mirth ; Tranced lies its golden prime, Dumb with utter joj ; oh, fling Listening air the raptured time ! Quivering gladness, soar and sing. Up ! no white star hath the west ; AH is morning — all is day ; Earth in trembling light lies blest ; Heaven is sunshine — up ! away ! U'p ! the primrose lights the lane ; Up ! the boughs with gladness ring ; Bent are bright-belled flowers again, Drooped with bees : oh, soar and sing ! Ah ! at last thou beat'st the sun. Leaving, low, thy nest of love ; Higher, higher, quivering one, Slmll'st thou up and up above ; TO A SKTLAEK. 113 "Wheel on wheel, the white day through, Might I thus with ceaseless wiag, Steep on steep of airy blue Fling me up and soar and sing ! Spurner of the Earth's annoy, Might I thus in Heaven be lost ! Like to thee, in gusty joy. Oh, might I be tempest-tost ! Oh, that the melodious rain Of thy rapture, I might fling Down, till Earth should swoon from pain — Joy — to heao* me soaring sing ! Yet, high wisdom by thee taught, "Were thy mighty rapture mine, "While the highest heaven I sought, Nought of Earth would I resign ; Lost in circling Hght above, Still my love to Earth shoidd fling All its raptures — still to love. Caring but to soar and sing. TO A LOCKET. CASKET of dear fancies, O little case of gold, "What rarest wealth of memories Thy tiny round will hold ! With this first curl of baby's In thy small charge wiU live All thoughts that all her little life To memory can give. Oh, prize its silken softness, "Within its amber round "What worlds of sweet rememberings "WiU stiU by us be found ! The shriU first cry, so blessing The curtained room of pain, "With every since-felt feeling To us 'twill bring again. TO A LOCKET. 115 'Twill mind us of her, lying In rest soft-pillowed deep, WMle, hands the candle shading, We stole upon her sleep ; Of many a blessed moment, Her little rest above, "We hung in marvelling stillness, In ecstasy of love. 'Twill mind ixs, radiant sunshine For all our shadowed days, Of all her baby wonderings ; Of all her little ways ; Of all her tiny shoutings ; Of aU her starts and fears, And sudden mirtlis out-gleaming Through eyes yet hung with tears. There's not a care — a watching, A hope — a laugh — a fear Of all her little bringing But we shall find it here ; I 2 116 TO A LOCKET, Then tiny golden warder, Oh, safely ever hold This glossy silken memory, This little c\irl of gold ! SONG. Prithee, what hath suared thee, heart ? Is it, say, a honied lip, O'er whose coral bloom thy thought, Bee-like hovering, hath been caught, And but loitering there to sip. From its sweetness could not part ? Prithee, what hath snared thee, heart ? What hath caught thee, fancy mine ? Is it, say, a laughing eye, The fair heaven of whose blue Idly thou went'st wandering through. Till thou, siUy butterfly, Couldst not quit its charmed sunshine ? What hath caught thee, fancy mine ? 118 SOXG. What hath witched thee, sober thought ? Say, was it a diamond wit. That as thou wast straying near, With its spells so took thine ear That thou couldst not fly from it, All in strange enchantment caught ? What hath witched thee, sober thought r No, though lip and wit, awhile. And the glory of an eye. You, perchance, had captive held ; Soon their charms you back had spelled, Soon their witchery learned to fly. Prisoners to her smile ye be ; What from that shall set you free ? EPITAPHS FOR INFANTS T. Here Spring's tenderest nurslings set, Windflowers and the violet ; Her© tlie wliite-drooped snowdrop frail And the lily of the vale ; AU of sweetness passing soon, Withering ere the year be noon ; For the little rester here, Like these infants of the year. Was, oh grief! as fair as they, And as quickly fled away. II. Here the gxists of wild March blow But in miu'murs faint and low ; Ever here, when Spring is green, Be the brightest verdure seen ; 120 EPITAPHS FOB INFANTS. And when June 's in field and glade, Here be ever freshest shade ; Here hued Autumn latest stay, Latest caU the flowers away ; And when Winter 's shrilling by, Here its snows the warmest lie ; For a little life is here. Hid ia earth, for ever dear ; And this grassy heap above, Sorrow broods and weeping love. III. On this little grassy momid Never be the darnel fo\md ; Ne'er be venomed nettle seen On tliis little heap of green ; For the little lost one here Was too sweet for aught of fear. Aught of harm to harbour nigh Tliis green spot where she must He ; So be nought but sweetness found On this little grassy mound. EPITAPHS FOE INFANTS. 121 IT. Hebe, iii gentle pity, Spring, Let thy sweetest voices sing ; Nightingale, be here thy song Charmed by grief to Hnger long; Here the thrush with longest stay Pipe its pleasant song to-day, And the blackbird warble shriU All its passion, latest still ; StiU the old gray tower above Her small rest, the swaUow love, And through all June's honied hours, Booming bees hum in its flowers, And when comes the eve's cold grey. Murmuring gnats, imresting play "Weave, while round the beetle's flight Drones across the shadowing night ; For the sweetness dreaming here, "Was a gladness to the year. And the sad months all should bring Dirges o'er her sleep to sing. 122 EPITAPHS FOR INFATfTS. V. Haunter of the opening year, Ever be the primrose here ; Whitest daisies deck the spot, Pansies and forget-me-not ; Fairest things that earliest fly, Sweetness blooming but to die ; For this blossom, o'er whose fall Sorrow sighs, was fair as all ; But, alas, as frail as they, All as quickly fled away. A LAMENT. O PEIMAL bloom ! O bursting May ! radiance of my youth, That with the passion of thy prime 1 served the living truth ! O for the full pulse of thy time, When, in high purpose strong, Life poured to battle for the good And smote to flight the wrong ! glory gone ! golden past ! Such life alone was thine ; It may not sigh its spring-time back, This withered heart of mine. Farewell, farewell, thou golden prime. Thou sunbiu-st of my youth ; 1 may not glorify my age With thy full thirst for truth ; 124 A LAMENT. O radiant time, thou com'st not back From out the vanished years, When love on wrong m thunders burst, And pity flashed in tears ! Alas, thy olden fires, O life, May not again be thine ! In vain it sighs its spring-time back, This withered heart of mine. A LEAF FROM MY SKETCH-BOOK. 'Tis a pleasant spot of greenness, Worth a poet's best of praises ; "Well tlie sunlight loves to linger In that grassy haunt of daisies. Well I mind its trembling poplars, Well the white road that, anigh it, Winding upward from the landscape, Led my wandering footsteps by it. In the grey and stony city. Oft before me fancy raises. Soft in golden mists of morning, Yet again that home of daisies. 126 A LEAF FROM MT SKETCH-BOOK. Up, its cottage smoke goes curling, 'Gainst tlie green still elms around it. Where, across its white-tliom hedges, Once again my eye has found it. Up the wood that leafs the hill-side, Yet again my fancy gazes, "Wanders over all the far view Stretched beneath that haunt of daisies. Over pastiu'e, field, and river. City towers and viUage spires. Travels on my eye, delighted, With a joy that never tires. But with pleasure, aU sui'passiug, SmUe and jest and kiadly plu'ases, Do I pass, as on that morning. By that grassy haunt of daisies. Leaning o'er the stUe, I see her As she met my passing greeting, Fresh and flush' d as the hedge-roses Round the green spot of our meeting. A LEAF FROM MY SKETCH-BOOK. 127 With a laugh we met and parted ; Ah ! those few sweet country phrases, Oh ! how often do I hear them, Lingering past that haunt of daisies ! TO A GRASSHOPPER. Voice of Summer, keen and shrill, Heard by travellers as they pass, Leaping from the bladed grass, Song of June, I love thee still ; Haunter of the daisied fields, For the sharp rejoicing tone Of thy sultry song alone, And the pleasure that it yields. Do I love thee not, but still Firelit curtained rooms thou'rt bringing, Winter sights and sounds, when shrill On the hearth the cricket 's singing ; And for this I love thee still. Song of Summer, keen and slirill. A WIFE'S SONG. On, well I love the Spring, When the sweet, sweet hawthorn blows ; And well I love the Summer, And the coming of the rose : But dearer are the changiaig leaf, And the year upon the wane, For, oh, thev bring the blessed time That brings him home again November may be dreary ; December's days may be As full of gloom to others As once they were to me : But, oh, to hear the tempest Beat loud against the pane ! For the roaring wind, and the blessed time That brings him home again ! K THE DRESS-MAKER'S THRUSH. Oh, 'tis tlie brightest morning, Out in the laughing street, That ever the round earth flashed into. The joy of May to meet ! Floods of more gleaming sunshine Never the eye saw rolled Over pavement and chimney and cold grey spire That tui-ns in the light to gold ; And yet as she wearily stitches, She hears her caged thrush sing, Oil, would it never were May, green May, It never were bright, bright Spring ! Lisht of the new-born verdure ! Glory of jocund May! What gladness is out in leafy lanes ! Wliat joy in the fields to-day ! THE DRESS -maker's THRUSH. 131 What sunbursts are in the woodlands ! What blossoms the orchards throng ! The meadows are snowed with daisy stars, And the winds are thrilled with song : And yet as ever she stitches, She hears her caged thrush sing. Oh, would it never were May, green May, It never were bright, bright Spring ! Close is the court and darkened On which her bare room looks, Whose only wealth is its wall's one print, And its mantel's few old books. Her spare cold bed in the corner. Her single worn, worn chair, And the grate that looks so rusty and dull As never a fire were there ; And there as she stitches and stitches, She hears her caged thrush sing, Oh, would it never were May, green May, It never were bright, bright Spring ! Out is the gleaming sunshine, Out is the golden air, K 2 132 THE deess-maker's theusij. In, scarce a gleam of tlie brigM May sun Can dulled and dim reacli there ; In darkness close and foul to be breathed That blanches her cheek to white, Her roimded features sharpen and thin, And didls her once keen sight ; And there as she stitches and stitches. She and her caged thrush siug, Oh, would it never were May, green May, It never were bright, bright Spring ! Days that are clouded and dull, Winter — though Whiter bring Cold keen frost to her fii-eless room, Ai-e dearer to her than Spring ; For then on her weary sewing Less often her worst thoughts come Of the pleasant lanes and the country air And the field-paths trod by some ; And so as she Avearily stitches. She and her caged thrush sing. Oh, would it never were May, green May, It never were bright, bright Spring ! TO MY BABY KATE. A REVERIE. Marvel, baby, 'tis to me, Wliat tby little thoughts can be — What the meanings small that reach Hearing in thy mites of speech, iSayings that no language know More than coo and cry and crow. Would-be words that hide away All that they themselves woidd say, Tiny fancies, courtuig sight, jVIasked from all in sln'oudingf night : Fain its secret I 'd beguile From the mystery of thy smile ; Fain woidd fathom all that lies In thy pleasure and surprise, 111 the fancies flittino; through Those two eyes of wondering blue, 134 TO MT BABY KATE. lu thy starts aud tiny fears, Grleams of joy aud fleeting tears ; Ah, in vain I seek to win Way to the small life ^\-ithiii ! Cmions thought no clue can find To that wondrous world thy mind, That its Httle sights hath shown Unto fancy's gaze alone ; Therefore do I converse hold Oft with fancy, to imfold All the marvels of its seeing. Wordless mysteries of thy being ; Then of all seen thmgs it tells, Unto thee high miracles ; How thy baby fancy lingers Wondering minu.tes o'er thy fingers. Or, still marvelling more and more, Eyes thy pinked feet o'er aud o'er ; How the world and all things seem Airy shadows of a dream, Unsubstantial — forms unreal. Out to which thy graspings feel. Wavering stretchings, marvellmg much At the mystery^ of a touch ; TO MT BABY KATE. 135 How wdth little shout tliou 'dst pass To thy likeness in the glass, Or thy little talks are told Unto all thou dost behold ; Gruessed-at griefs and baby joys Crowed to busy sister's toys, Or in niurmurings low rehearsed To the kitten for thee nursed. So, with fancy, do I dream. Baby mine, until I seem All the little thoughts to know All thy little acts below, TiU thought comes and bids me own That T dream and dream alone ; Yet one suret}' lies above Reason's doubtiugs — thine is love — Love abimdant, leaping out In thy lighted look and shout, In thy joy that sorrow dumbs, In thy bubbling laugh that comes Ever still with glad surprise When thy mother meets thine eyes ; Love is in thy eager watch Ever strained her form to catch, 136 TO MY BABY KATE. In thy glance that, place to place, Tracks the gladness of her face, In thy hush of joy that charms Cries to stillness in her arms ; Calms of rapture, blessing — blest- Eosy nesthngs in her breast, Dreaming eyes for ever raising Raptured gazes to her gazing, Gaze so blessed, siu'e we deem, Heaven is in thy happy dream ; So our love would have it be Ever, little Kate, with thee ; Treasure, treasures aU above, Ever, baby, thine be love, Love that doubly mirrored lives In the smiles it wins and gives, Love that gives to life its worth. Lending glory to the Earth. A THOUGHT. " God wills but ill," the doubter said, " Lo, time doth evil only bear ; Give nie a sign His love to prove — His vaunted jjooduess to declare ?" &"■ The poet paused by where a flower, A simple daisy, starred the sod. And answered, " Proof of love and power Behold — behold a smile of God !" THE SHADOW-HUNTED. '• Which highest mortal in this inane existence had I not found a shadow-hunter or shadow-hunted." — Saetor Resartus. Abtist, hold yon shapes but shadows, Hovering round thy mounting way, Tempting from thy track forechosen On through other paths to stray ; Bums thy young aim, upward climbing, High before, a guiding star ; Onward — onward, earnest-hearted ; Lo, but wildeiTug lights they are. Lo, the shows of wealth, far glistening, Luring pomps, before thee burn ; rilmless eyes are thine, look through them ; Faiiy gold, to dust they turn ; THE SHADOW-HUNTED. 139 Sensuous ease — world-worshipped station, To tliiiie eye what seem they, when With high acts thy future weighs them, Acts that aye shall fashion men? Ah, who comes with unbound tresses Heaping gold on golden day. Subtle passion in her laughter, Passion in her soft eyes' play ? Through a light of love she s^immeth. Zoned with utterless desire, Ajid the air of her swift coming Through thy hot veins pulseth fire. Lo, thou tremblest — quivering through thee ThriU the arrows of her eyes ; Half, thy pulse forgets its calmness — Half, resolve within thee dies ; Swift she darkens — ah, thou shield' st thee In the faith that life was given Not to work thy senses' bidding, But through good to toil to Heaven. 140 THE SHADOW-HTJKTED. Ah, the sun of whose bright presence. Through the waning of Delight, From thy Godward path to lure thee, Eiseth gleaming on thy sight ? Upward still on high she turneth The globed wonder of her eyes. Lit with fixed desire that bio-neth For the life that never dies. Hark — the throbbing air doth hush it In delight that swoons to pain, As come wandering through the silence Her low accents to thy brain ; Hark — " On man's eternal wonder Will I throne thy name subhme ; Lo, the ages bow before thee As they circle into time." " AVnt thou, with the beast that grazeth, Clasp, content, a common doom, When the radiance of thy glory Might the coming years illume ? THE SHADOW-HUKTED. 141 Lo, the starry crown I reach tliee ; Lo, the orb — the sceptre — see, O'er the world's far memory, empu*e, Endless sway, I proffer thee." Ah, thy keen desire panteth That low voice's tones to track, Yet the high resolves of reason All unerring win thee back ; Victor o'er thy senses' wiling — O'er the lures of glory — lo. Clear thy life's path lies before thee ; On, true worker, Godward go. SONNET. TO MARY HOWITT. So should a life be Hved that genius lifts To higher duties than life asks from all ; So art in blessed influences shoiild fall Upon aU hearts, using its mighty gifts, Man's thoughts and common acts to purify ; Breeding a loftier life and nobler aims, A faith that liveth not in forms and names But in the deeds that fit a soul to die ; And weU thy blessed influence may we prize, Mo\ing about our paths in deeds of love, In gentle words and household charities ; Wen therefore may our reverence, above The glare of useless fames, thy memory raise, Throning thee in our love as high as in our praise. A VALENTINE. Gentle quiet of her eye, To mj asking deign reply ; By the impassioned day made bold, Be thy hoarded secret told ; Or by trusting glance or fell Of thy fluttering look from mine. Dower my thought with hopes divine, Hopes no coldness may recall ; Sweet betrayer, bid me see If not in thy depths there be Love thy coyness keeps from me. Stained whiteness of her cheek Quit thy fear and prithee speak, AU to-day should bid thee teU, AH that thou hast hid so well ; Through the day-dawn of a flush, 144 A VALENTINE. Dimpling ripple of a smile, Oh, let watcliiug love beguile Thy sweet secret from its husli ! Give me, this sweet day, to know If, thy rosy calm below, Love lurk not, thou wilt not show. Oh, thou music of her speech, Leave thou meaner things and teach Listening love the all he 'd learn ! Give the enamoured air to burn With thy simdess burdens ; round, Words half silence — many a tone Caught by love's hushed ear alone, Thoughts that tremble into sound, Breathe ! — Oh, utterance all divine. Bid me know she would be mine — That I am her valentine ! A SONG OF SUNDRY QUAINT CONCEITS, WRITTEN IN PENSHURST PARK. Bring, I pray tliee, wanton Spring, Prithee, all thy treasures bring ; Bring me eveiy flower that stains G-rassy mead, or woodland deU ; All that nod in sunlit lanes ; All on wayside banks that dwell ; For I 'd choose Fancies sweet ; Thoughts most meet Now I 'd use ; Such alone her praise should sing ; Such, I prithee, bring me. Spring. Bring, sweet wanton, bring, I pray, Songs, the sweetest heard by May ; All the melodies that still Gush around us everywhere, 146 SONG. Wander ■with thee where we "ttdll, Haunting earth and filling air. She is sweet ; Songs should be Sweet as she, Her to greet ; For the music of my song Should not do her praises wrong ! Hither, Summer, prithee, bring All the sunshine thou dost fling On the great earth everywhere, Eipening grain and flushing flowers ; Gilding aU the fields of air ; Making shades and gladness ours ; Lend its fire •'' To me, so I may show My desire. My warm love is hotter far Than the noons of Summer are. Lend me, binder of the sheaves, Alchemist that tiun'st the leaves SOJTG. 147 All to mighty stores of gold, All the voices of thy sorrow, That thou may'st no more behold, Dainty Summer ; I would borrow Saddest moans ; So I 'd plain Her disdain. In such tones As to pity might her move, For my sorrow — for my love. Bring me, sheeted Winter, all That makes men, thee, ruthless call All that stays the streamlet's flow ; All that mocks the snows of May ; All that hardens earth below ; An that turns to night, sweet day ; All things bare, An things bleak. Best may speak Love's despair ; Pranks her, Spring, for me in vain. Wintered in her cold disdain. l2 LOVE IN THE NORTH. A Ball-room— England. Does she love me ? listen ; As I come tkrough tlie door, Mark how her eyes mil glisten, DuU the moment before ; Glance on glance she 's darted ; Ever the door they 've sought ; Never till now she started ; Never my eye she caught ; Love may mask and pride it None its presence can guess ; Ah, what mask can hide it ! Does she love me ? yes. Does she love me ? glancing, Look how her eye glides round ; Ah, the spot where I 'm dancing, Poiat of her search, is found ; LOYE IN THE NOBTH. 149 Turn I quickly, and turning, Surely her gaze I meet ; Sinks her hot cheek burning ; Drops her glance to her feet ; Love is dumb ? who say it ? Would you his sweet thought guess ? Wordless, he 'U betray it ; Does she love me ? yes. Yes, though she scorn to love me, Ay, though her haughty Avill Others would rank above me, Yes, she loves me still ; Pride would strive with passion ; Nurture would nature tame ; Hearts are not made by fashion ; Love, it is more than name. Hope, I hear her singing, Time the gladdener bless, Years all radiance bringing, Yes, she loves thee ; yes. THE WISH. Mt boy — my boy — wbat would I have Thy future lot should be, "Were that sweet fay, so kind of old, To leave the choice with me ; Were she to say, " My fairy power To grant all blessings, use ; Grive what thou wilt to this young life, And what thou wilt, refuse." Her diamond wand, my little one, Above thee, would I raise ; " Be health," I 'd say, " be beauty thine, My boy, through all thy days ; The perfect powers that give thee strength Thy work in time to do ; The perfect form that shows the soul's Own beauty shining through. THE WISH. 151 " Be plenty tliiue, that, wealtliy, tliou May'st independent live ; That, rich, to thee it may be given Abundantly to give ; That heaven, through means of that thou hast, To thee may be made sure ; In life — in death, that thou may'st have The blessings of the poor. " Be thine a warm and open heart ; Be thine mniumbered friends ; A life held precious while it lasts And wept for when it ends ; And, heaven on earth, be thine a home Where children round thee grow ; Where one with all thy mother's love, Makes blest thy days below. " Harold, be thine that better Hfe That higher still aspires, Supreme in sovereign sway above The senses' low desires ; And thine the fame that, told of, men Of holy deeds shaU hear, 152 THE -UISH. A glory unto good men's thoughts And lowly memories dear. " Walk thou a jDoet among men, A prophet sent of God, That hallowed grow the common ways Of earth which thou hast trod ; That truth in thy eternal words Sit throned in might sublime, And love and mercy from thy tongue For ever preach to time. " All hiunan wishes most desire, AH last they would resign, All fondest love can long to give, My little one, be thine ; The purest good that man can know To thee, my boy, be given. And be thy every act on earth A deed to win thee heaven." THE PRAYERS. A DREAM. A SOUND of supplication "Went trembliug up the air ; Up to the Giver of all good Arose the sound of prayer ; " Grant me a sense for all delight, No pleasure, Lord, can cloy ; Through youth — through age — from birth to death, Oh, give me to enjoy." Again I heard a murmiu' low Of prayer ascend on high ; Again soft supplicating tones "Went trembling up the sky ; 154 THE PBATEES. " Wisdom above all eartUy good, Oh, Lord, on me bestow ; Thou who art thought and fate and love, Oh, give me. Lord, to know." And yet again with humblest tones The throbbing air was stirred ; Again the low deep voice of prayer. Ascending heaven was heard ; " Grant me, thou that grantest all, AU blessings else above, A heart to feel ^ith all that breathe ; Oh, give me, Lord, to love." Then silence was in earth and heaven, And in the stillness, stole, With awe and mighty dread, a voice L'pon my trembling soul ; " Which choosest thou ?" then said I, " Lord, If one thou giv'st to choose. Bliss, wisdom. Lord, deny, but love Oh, do not thou refuse." THE PEATEfiS. 155 " AVell hast tliou chosen." Yet again In fear vipon me came ; " Oh, wisest they in all the earth, AVhose choice in time 's the same ; Lo, choosing one, thou choosest all, For, mortal, know thou, love Is highest msdom, and its joy Is joy, all joy above." SONNET. TO LEIGH HUNT. " Speing flowers— spring flowers " — all April ' s in the cry; Not the dim April of the dull grey street, But she of showers and sunhursts whom we meet On dewy fieldpaths, ere the daisy 's dry, And breezy hillsides when the morning 's high. " Spring flowers — spring flowers, " — the very cry is sweet With violets and the airs that stay the feet The showery fragrance of the sweetbriar nigh ; Yet all and more than in that cry is found, Eises before us with thy pleasant name, Leigh Hu>'t ; with the dear gladness of the sound, Into my close room, aU the country came ; Deep lanes and meadow-streams rose with the word, And through the hush of woods, the cuckoo 's caU I heard. SONNET. TO LEIGH HUNT. How sumless is the debt to him we owe, Little, perchance, unto oiirselves is known ; Little, perchance, how thickly he hath sown Our paths through time with pleasantness, we know ; His genial nature hath not pulsed below The loving teachings of his works alone ; A thousand deeds of good in others, own His thoughts and words their angel prompters ; so. Unrecognised, before our very eyes His gentleness in that of others lives, And many a kindly look and tone we prize, And many a smile that to our firesides gives The charm the most endearing them, have caught Their power to bless us, from his gentle thought. THANK HEAVEN, I'M STILL A BOY! Thet smile at me ; they laughing say, "When -will you be a man ? The parting year leaves you the boy You were when it began ; Ajid I, in love Avitli the disgrace, Their smiles and jests enjoy, And thank kind Heaven that, old in years, Li heart I 'm still a boy. What is it, this they 'd have me win, This gain from which I start ? A keener calculating head — Ah loss ! — a colder heart ; "Well manhood's sense or boyhood's warmth. But one if I enjoy, Leave, leave the heart and keep the head, I still wiU be a boy. ALC^US TO SAPPHO. What could be more interesting than the relaiion between Alca;u3 and Sappho— the poet with the poetess ? ...... • • • It is evident that poetry was not a mere pastime or exercise of skill to Alcaeus, but a means of pouring out the inmost feelings of his soul.— That which characterised the ^Eolic L>Tic Poetry was its expression of vehement passion. K. O. Hvller's Uislory of the Literature of Ancient Greece. Chvp. xiii. Oh, were she mine ! oli, were slie mine ! I would not envy kings ; I would not ask another joy That time, existence, brings ; Thou maddening dream ! 1 tin-ill — I burn, Drunk with a bliss divine ; Oh, what an utter blank were aD, AU else, were she but mine ! Out, dusty thoughts ; out, aims that gray The pulsing life of youth ; Fools — fools — to fling the years away In doting search for truth ; A chnging Hp — a dewy eye — A palm that throbs to thine, Tliese — these are love ; these — these are life ; Oh, were she — were she mine ! A SPRING SONG. Swallow, swallow, hither wing ; Hither, swallow, briuging spring ; From the lake hath gone the teal ; Fled the widgeon from the stream ; Now no more our bursting woods Hear the swooping merlin's scream ; Come, thou dawn of summer, come, Hither leaves and shadows bringing, Bladed furrows — nested eaves, Sweetest songs the South is singing ; Bringing violets, bringing spring, Hither, swallow, hither wing. Swallow, swallow, hither wing. Dearest playmate of the spring ; Come, — the celandine no more Dreads the gusty wrath of March ; A SPRING SONG. 163 Golden tasselled is the bircli ; Emerald j&iiiges hatli tlie larcli ; Come, thou news of summer, come, Trills and hedge-row twitterings bringing, Quivering mountings of the lark. Shrillest songs the ousel 's singing ; Snowing orchards, flight of spring. Hither, swallow, hither wing. m2 I A SPRING SONG. Swallow, swallow, hitlier wing ; Hither, swallow, bringing spring ; From the lake hath gone the teal ; Fled the widgeon from the stream ; Now no more our biu'stiug woods Hear the swooping merlin's scream ; Come, thou dawn of summer, come, Hither leaves and shadows bringing, Bladed farrows — nested eaves, Sweetest songs the South is singing ; Bringing violets, bringing spring, Hither, swallow, hither wing. Swallow, swallow, hither wing. Dearest playmate of the spring ; Qojne, — the celandine no more Dreads the gusty wrath of March ; A SPETNG SONG. 163 Golden tasselled is the bircli ; Emerald fringes liatli the larch ; Come, thou news of summer, come, Trills and hedge-row twitterings bringing, Quivering mountings of the lark, Shrillest songs the ousel's singing ; Snowing orchards, flight of spring. Hither, swallow, hither wing. m2 THE REPLY. Oh, look not in thy mirror, sweet, For, if thou, love, but see The glory of thy beauty, love. Wilt thou not turn from me ? "Wilt thou not proudly spurn me off And keep those charms of thine For a wealthier state — a prouder birth, A lordlier name than mine ? I '11 look into my mirror, love, I 'U look in hope to see A face as sweet — a form as fair As may be worthy thee ; I '11 woo my shining mirror, love. To show me charms are mine That shall not be scorned acceptance By that true, true heart of thiae. LINES. WBITTEN IN MISS MITFORD's GARDEN. GLOMES of the emerald spring, Be here your first uiifoldiBg ! Your sweetest sights, O, hither bring, Te months, for her beholding ! Eouud — hither, romid her dwelHng throng, Her honoured steps attending ; So shall ye bloom in tale and song, In beauty never-ending. O, songs of the rejoicing year. Bring hither all your gladness ! Well may ye make her mirth more gay; "Well may ye sooth her sadness ; Tor when your pleasant joy no more Shall set the copses ringing, Sweet voices, stiU in tale and song, Shall ye be ever singing. A DIRGE. Hence afar, fond mirth, mad folly ; Here dwells only melancholy ; Hence are banished smiles and gladness Here we sit us down with sadness ; Here we converse hold of death. Pale decay and parting breath ; Here will each to each recall Mouldering graves, the end of all, Shrouds and kneUs, the common doom. Worms, the cofiin and the tomb ; Hence afar, fond mii'th, mad folly ; Here dwells ever melancholy. SONG. — ♦- — Soft eyes of blue ! sweet eyes of blue ! Tbey haunt me mom and night ; Whate'er I do, they thrill me through ; They 're ever in my sight ; It was not so a May ago ; Uncaged my fancy flew ; Ah, quiet thought ! by love uncaught, And those sweet eyes of blue. Adieu — adieu — ^my books, on you I never more may pore ; From every page those fair eyes gaze ; I read — I read no more ; No — sweetest tongue hath never sung Aught I may now dream through ; My thought they trance with haunting glance, Those gentle eyes of blue. 168 SOKG. O love ! O change ! how cold and strange To aU old thoughts I 've grown ! Hope 's learned to piize those soft fail' eyes, Those mild sweet eyes alone ; ' Tis so — ' tis so ; all — aU, they go, The hopes I used to woo ; My haunted thought can harbour nought Save those fair eyes of blue. A VILLAGE TALE. The rooks are cawing in the elms, As on the very daj, That sunny morning, mother clear. When Lucy went away ; And April's pleasant gleams have come, And April's gentle rain ; Eresh leaves are on the vine, but when Will Lucy come again ! The spring is as it used to be, And all must be the same ; And yet I miss the feeling now That always with it came ; It seems as if to me she made The sweetness of the year ; As if I coidd be glad no more, Now Lucy is not here. 170 A VILLAaE TALE. A year — it seems but yesterday, Wlien in this very door You stood ; and she came running back, To say good-bye once more ; I hear your sob — ^your parting kiss. The last fond words you said ; Ah ! little did we think — one year, And Lucy would be dead ! How aU comes back — the happy times, Before our father died. When, blessed with him, we knew no want, Scarce knew a wish denied ; His loss, and all our struggles on, And that worst dread, to know, From home, too poor to shelter all. That one at last must go. How often do I blame myself! How often do I think. How wrong I was to shrinlt from that Prom which she did not shrink ! A VILLAGE TALE. 171 And when I wish that I had gone, And know the wish is Tain, And say, she might have lived, I think, How can I smile again ! I dread to be alone, for then, Before my swimming eyes, Her parting face, her waving hand, Distinct before me rise ; Slow rolls the waggon down the road ; I watch it disappear ; Her last "dear sister," faint "good-bye," Still lingering in my ear. Oh, mother, had but father lived, It would not have been thus ; Or, if God still had taken her. She would have died with us ; She woidd have had kind looks, fond words. Around her dying bed. Our hands to press her dying hands. To raise her dying head. 172 A VILLAGE TALE. I 'm always tliiiikiDg, mother, now, Of what she must have thought, Poor girl ! as day on day went by, And neither of us, brought ; Of how she must have yearned, one face, That was not strange, to see ; Have longed one moment to have set One look on you and me. Sometimes I dream a happy dream ; I think that she is laid Beside our own old village church, "Where we so often played ; And I can sit upon her grave, And with her we shall lie. Afar from where the city's noise. And thronging feet go by. Jiay, mother, mother, weep not so ; God judges for the best ; And from a world of pain and woe. He took her to his rest : A VILLAGE TALE. 173 Why should we wisli her back again ? Oh, freed from sin and care, Let us tlie rather pray Grod's love. Ere long to join her there. THOUGHTS AND FANCIES. AVhat is glor)^ ! what is fame ! Homer's being now we doubt ; Souls as great hath time shut out From the memory of a name. Say what matters it to thee, Mortal, that thy name goes down. Though the coming years should be Echoes of thy far renown ? Care not thou for glory then ; Act thy part, or known or not. That when even thy name's forgot Still thy acts may live in men ; Live in act and not in name. What is glory ! what is fame ! THOUGHTS AND FANCIES. 175 Hate brings hate as love brings love. Ponder, mortals, ponder this, Nor, through passion, blindly miss Happiness, all else above ; Hard it is the best to greet With love, meeting no returning ; But with kindly love to meet Hate that all affection's spurning. Is all hard things else above. Hate brings hate as love brings love. Soul, what would' st thou ? toilless leisin'e ? Ease imtroubled ? endless pleasure ? Wouldst thou not, I prithee, then Throne thee in the praise of men ? Nay, to what still dost thou, higher. Mounting soul of mine, aspu'e ? Thine what wouldst thou rather call ? Power, through work, to better all. 176 THOUGHTS AKD FANCIES. Peithee, what's tliy boast of birth ? Pride of folly ; wisdom 's mirth ; That from which the wise may borrow Smiles iu care and jests in sorrow ; Por our mocking is it meant, Boaster, this thy long descent ? I and aU from Adam came ; Prithee, didst thou not the same ? SONNET. A RECOLLECTION OF THE PERFORMANCE OF ION. Yes, I have sat before it ; I have heard, Heard with the plaudits of delightful tears, The heart's real praises of sweet hopes and fears, Life give a breathing utterance to each word, Each phrase that in the hush of thought has stirred My pulse so often ; still to fancy's ears "Wander low tones, in which again it hears The gentle thoughts that have so oft recurred ; Oh, dream of sorrow, ever be thy name, Ion, a tender glory unto him Wlio gave thy sweetness to the world's charmed ears, Grave thee, a thought to haunt the tongue of fame, A sad sweet memory human eyes to dim, A gentle moan of music wed to tears. O WEARY THOUGHTS BE STILL ! O WEAET, weary tliouglits be still ! O life ! why should life be A thiBg for only vaia regrets And bitterness to me ! Eor, love to give or to withhold, Is all our power above ; O fate, why did, we ever meet, Wliy ever did we love ! If love were sin, to sin or not Was all beyond our wiU ; Alas, why should my life be grief ! O weary thoughts be still ! A hard, hard lot I know is mine, Of work and want and scoi'u, And yet with what a gladness all "With him I could have borne ! With him, what fate had I not sliared, Content, that life liad given ! O WEAET THOUGHTS BE STILL ! 179 With him, with what of paiu and waut Had I not tearless striven ! Oh, why should love, so blessing some, My days with misery fill ! Alas, why shoidd I long to die ! O weary thoughts be still ! Who say, not all the wealth of earth Can happiness impart ? Alas, how little do they know How want can break a heart ! How want has stood 'twixt sundered lives. Lives parted through the shame, That station, wedding poverty, Had linked unto its name ; O God, what diflerent life were mine. If it had been thy will My lot with his had equal been ! weary thoughts be still ! Another with his love is blessed ; 1 am another's now ; Between us yawns for evermore A double holy vow ; K 2 180 O WEAET THOUGHTS BE STILL ! But years must deeper cliauges bring Than change of state or name, Ere, early love and thoughts forgot, Our hearts are not the same ; Alas, the feelings of the past Our lives must ever fill ! Oh, would, oh, would I coidd forget ! O weary thoughts be still ! I know, I know, to think of him As once I thought, is sin ; But all in vain I strive, my mind From its old thoughts to vdn ; His treasured words, his low fond tones. My eyes with tears will dim ; My thoughts by day, my di*eams by night, "Will fill themselves with him ; And what we were, and what we are, Comes back, do all I will ; - Alas, why did I ever live ! O weary thoughts be still ! There's love within my husband's looks That I with joy should see ; O WEAET THOUGHTS BE STILL ! 181 Alas, it brings anotlier face That once looked love on me ! And tears will even dim my gaze Upon my baby's face, As not a look I see it wear Tbat tbere I 'd thought to trace ; Oh, why should thus the joys of life With grief mine only fiE ! Alas, why did I ever live ! O weary thoughts be still ! O men ! O men ! Grod never ■v^dlled That lives, that nature meant To bless each other's days, by j^ou Asunder should be rent ; A deadly sin he surely holds The worldly thoughts that part, For chance of birth or chance of wealth, A heart from any heart ; World ! world ! thou Grossest God, his eartli With broken hearts to fill ; Alas, how blest might ours have been ! O weary thoughts be still ! A MA\'-DAY SONG. Come out, come from cities ; -For once yoiir di'udgiiig stay ; With work 'twere tliousand pities To wrong this honoured day ; Your fathers met the May With laughter, dance and tabor ; Come, be as wise as they ; Come, steal to-day from labour. Is this the proof we 're wiser Than all who 'ye gone before, That Nature, less we prize her Than those who lived of yore ? Their May-day sacrifice Shall we not hold a duty, .^d pay with hearts and eyes Due honour to her beauty ? A MAT-DAT SONG. 183 Talk not of want of leisure ; Believe me, lite was made Tor laughter, mirth and pleasure, Par more than toil and trade ; And little short I hold That social state from madness, For daily bread where 's sold Man's natiiral right to glacbiess. Then out from lane and alley, From court and busy street, Through glade and grassy valley, With songs the May to meet ; For, jests and laughter, care From all things could but borrow ; The earth, the very air Are death to thoughts of sorrow. Come, hear the silver i^rattle Of brooks that babbling run Through pastures green, where cattle Lie happy in the sun ; 184 A MAT-DAT SO]S'G. Where violets' liidden eyes Are watching May's sweet coming, Aud gnats and burnished flies Its welcome loud are humming. In song the spring comes welling To-day from out the grass ; Aud not a hedge but 's teUing Earth's gladness as you pass ; Par up the bright blue sky The quiveriug lark is singing ; The thrush in copses nigh Shouts out the joy it 's bringing. Then leave your weary moihng, Yoiu" desks and shops to-day ; 'Tis sin to waste in toiling This jubilee of May. Come, stretch you where the light Through golden lunes is streaming. And spend, rare delight ! An hour in summer dreaming. AN AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GREENWICH PARK. Sad wind, why moan The sere leaf's fall! Goes it alone, Or with all nobler things, alas ! but shares the fate ofaU! Sad sobber through September, Perchance thou dost remember The bursting of that rustling leaf in April's tearful time. With what a gladness first Its downy cell it burst, And gazed on aU the sweet Spring sees when near its leafy prime ; 186 AX AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GEEENAVICH PARK. With what a glad sxirprise It oped its infant eyes, And first, with mingled joy and awe, peered out on all around ; From all that met its sight Took ever new delight, Dumb wonder from each common sight — dumb wonder from each sound ; Sad sigher through the sky, Perchance, too, thou wert nigh, AVhat time its quiet rest it took amongst the light of June; Oft saw'st it slumbering, where, Soft couched on golden air. Out-tired with play and merriment, it nestled 'mid the noon; Or when thy gentle song Was heard the boughs along, How from its dreaming noontide rest, you saw it quivering break ; Saw to thy singing, how Upon the brown-barked bo\igh, AYith many a mate in glossy green, the dance and song 'twould wake : AK AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GREENWICH PARK. 187 Yet thou forgettest not Percliance, sad waller, wliat Unuttercd loveliness was its, when summer skies were blue ; In what a dazzling green Its veined form was seen, When sparkling through the morning air, bejewelled all with dew ; How in the suns of June, It ghstened thi'ough the noon, AVhile footing it upon the boughs to thy low melody. While wanderers through the wood, Checking their footsteps, stood, Aiid seldom AAdthout pleasant note coidd pass its beaut}^ by. Thy wmgs were winnowing there The paUid autumn air, Wliat time with darkening days, alas ! the Summer's self grew old ; Thou saw'st its green that made The forest lovely, fade. Yet deepen into gorgeous hues that sliamed the simshiue's gold ; 188 AN AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GBEENWICH PARK. How, even in decay, Did beauty lingering stay About the aged form, so well it loved to deck when young ! Thou saw'st it still below A golden glory throw The shadowed trunks, the mossy roots, and tangled weeds among. Perchance too, day by day, Thou saw'st it wear away, Fast shrivelling in the early frosts, and withering to its grave ; Perchance, if thou couldst teU, Within thy sight it fell. Whilst thou couldst only moan and sob, aU impotent to save. It may be, now there throng Thy memory along, Sad thoughts of aU its spring's sweet youth, of aU its summer's time ; Well may'st thou for its fall Now wail, remembering aU The beauty of its first yoimg days, the glory of its prime ! AN AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GEEENWICH PAEK. 189 And yet why moan The sere leafs faH ! Goes it alone, Or -with aU nobler things, alas ! but shares the fate ofaU! THE WIFE'S APPEAL. Oh, don't go in to-niglit, Jolin ! Xow, husband, don't go in ! To spend our only sliilliiig, John, Would be a cruel sin. There 's not a loaf at home, John ; There 's not a coal, you know ; Though witli himger I am faint, John, And cold comes down the snow : Then don't go in to-night ! Ah, John, you must remember, And, John, I can't forget, When never foot of yours, John, Was in the alehouse set. Ah, those were happy times, John; THE wife's appeal. 191 No quarrels then we knew, And none were happier in our lane Than I, dear John, and you : Then don't go in to-night ! You. will not go ! Johu, John, I mind, When we were courting, few Had arm as strong, or step as firm, Or cheek as red as vou : But drink has stolen your strength, John, And paled your cheek to white, Has tottering made your once firm tread. And bowed your manly height. You '11 not go iu to-night ! You 'U not go in ? think on the day That made me, John, your wife ; What pleasant talk that day we had Of all our future life ! Of how your steady earnings, John, No wasting should consume. But weekly some new comfort bring To deck our happy room : Then don't go iu to-night ! 3^92 THE wife's appeal. To see us, Joka, as then we dressed, So tidy, clean, and neat. Brought ovit all eyes to foUow us As we went down the street. Ah, little thought our neighbours then, And we as little thought. That ever, John, to rags like these By drink we should be brought ! Ton won't go in to-night ! And will you go ? If not for me, Yet for your baby stay ; You know, John, not a taste of food Has passed my lips to-day ; And teU your father, little one, 'Tis mine your life hangs on. You Avill not spend the shilling, John ? You '11 give it him ? Come, John, Come home with us to-night ! CHORUSES FROM AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY ON THE FALL OF MESSENIA. CHORUS OF ACH^AN SLAVES. ; Epode 1. O SHAME ! O fear and pain ! ye make life weary, A burden liard to bear ; The way of death at times seems not more dreary Than ours through dark despair. "What is our lot ? Toil ; toil that knows no ceasing ; Toil wrung by those we hate ; Our conquerors' heaped-up stores of wealth increasing, Our hands upbuild their state. Strophe 1. Fair land unto our chaioless fathers giving The wealth they freely gave To every stranger, who in thee are living ? The Dorian and the slave. 194 CHOllUSES FEOM AJf IT Jf FINISHED TBAGEDY. The mighty race that, in old days departed, Gave kiuga to thee alone, For strangers till thy vaUies, broken-hearted, Thy fields no more their own. Antislroplie 1. Clear broad Pamissus ! stiU, with many a winding. Through vale, by viue-clad hill, Go, wandering on, thy sunny waters, finding All green and lovely still ; StiU on thy banks the bright wild-flowers are growing ; They gaze from out thy waves ; But now the grassy banks that watch thee flowing, Give back the tread of slaves. Bpode 2. And thou, strong-walled Andania ! heaven-founded, Our heroes' dwelling-place, ^o more within thee, as of old, surrounded By glory, rule our race. Within thy stony haUs, at ease reclining, Their feast the strangers hold ; CUOE.USES FROM AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY. 195 For them our maidens' hands are garlands twining, The wTeaths we wore of old ; Our old ancestral goblets, high o'erbubbling With wine we may not taste, For them they crown, while thoughts, old thoughts are doubling Their shame, with trembling haste. Strophe 2, Our race no more the brazen hebn are clasping ; The shield no more they raise ; No more their hands the freeman's sword are gi-asping. As once, in bygone days. No ; we whose sires, the slaughtered foeman spoiling. Away the rich arms tore. Or hew the wood or at the cornmill toUing, Of glory dream no more. Antistrophe 2, O life ! load too heavy for our bearing ! We faia would lay thee by : o 2 19G CHOEUSES PEOM AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY, Alas ! alas ! bereft of hope — despairing, At times 'twere sweet to die ! And why then live ? The \io])e of vengeance, swelling Within us, lights onr lot : Oh ! might our tongues but of their woes be telling, Our own were then foi'got. CHORUS OF ACHAEAN SLAVES. Epoch 1. Many a kingly hall hath heard, Poured iu many a burning word, Our deeds in other days ; IMany a bounding choir hath sung, While the golden lyre hath rung, Achaia's heroes' praise. Strophe 1. "Who like them for glory burned ? Ease inglorious from them spurned, Or joyed, with deep-mouthed hoimd And woodland spear, at break of dawn, CHOEUSES FEOM AN UNFINISHED TEAGEDY. 197 To rouse with jociind shout the morn, While echo laughed around ? Bounding on, Taygetus, who rieetHer thy untrodden dew "With flying footsteps beat ? "Woody glen and rocky height Saw outstripped the stag's hot flight By their pursuing feet. AntUtrophe 1. "\^ainly fled the panting hare ; Vainly, glaring in his lair, At bay the gaunt wolf stood "Whetted tusk and foamy jaw, iSTaught availed the bristly boar, The monster of the wood. Eushed they on, unknowing fear ; Needed their devouring spear No second thrust to deal ; On the mountain's shaggy side, Bed, of old, Achaia dyed In blood the beamiurr steel. -^o 198 CHORUSES FEOil AN UNFI>'ISHED TKAGEDT. Eiwde 2. Hurler of the thunder, thou, Zeus, to whom the nations bow, Whom trembhng gods obey ; Thou dost all our triumphs know, Won ere yet our race lay low, Our glory past away. AATiere the groves of Altis rise. Oft our fathers won the prize That life, in worth exceeds ; Oft assembled Hellas there Saw, from all, our heroes tear The meed of mightiest deeds. Strophe 2. Wliere Alpheus windmg flows. Whelmed beneath their crashing blows, The csestus-wielders fell ; Over hallowed Pisa's plain StroTe the swift of foot iu vain Our heroes' hopes to quell ; Oft the pride of Hellas hung O'er the rushuis: ear and flun2: CIIOBirSES TEOM AN UNFINISHED TEAGEDY. 199 Unheeded vows iu air, Toiling towards the goal, behind, While, before, our steeds of wind The victory gathered there. Antistrophe 2, Many a brawny wrestler there Poured in vain to heaven the prayer To foil our might of yore ; Writhing in our strangling clasp, Hurled from out our deadly grasp, They fell to strive no more. Oft the spear by others thrown Sought, while, quivering, found alone The prize the one we hurled ; Oft the ponderous iron, flung O'er thy plain, Olympia, sung From us the farthest whirled. Epode 3. Many a mighty bard hath told How, when throvigh the battle rolled 200 CHORUSES FEOM AN TJXFIXISHED TRAGEDY. The thunder of their shout, God-sprung heroes, smote "with dread, Trembling stood, or, turning, led The pale and shrieking rout. Battling from the whirling car, Burst they through the ranks of war ; Who durst their onset stay ? Sank the iron wall of shields ; Fled the dread of fighting fields Before their onward way. Strophe 3. Gods, they cleft the stormy fight ; Backwards rolled tlie battle ; flight The herald of their path. On, where danced their sable plimie, In their brazen bucklers' gloom. Marched devouring wrath. There the howl of slaughter rang ; There, of faUing ai*ms the clang, Achaia's vengeance told ; Glory there with foot of wind Tracked by heaps of slain, behind, Oiu' battle-path of old. CHORUSES mOM AN UNFIJTISHED TRAGEDY. 201 Antistropke 3. Xought might helm or shield avail, Nought the strength of iron mail, When fled their thirsting spear ; Death the quivering javeHn strode ; Fell the cliief who battling rode ; Fell the charioteer. Grraspers of the golden hilt. Who like them the keen sword gilt In darkly rushing gore ? Vaunted arms of proof were vain ; Prone through helm and bone and brain Its way their blue steel tore. THE LTME BEFORE MY WINDOW Pleasant is its siglit to me ; Pleasant will it ever be ; Often shall I long to see That lime before my window. Green it rustles in my thought ; Ah, what memories has it brought ! Pictures fair that rose unsought ! That lime before my window. Waking in the moms of spiiag, Pirst does memory love to bring Leaves that rustle, birds that sing, Tliat lime before my window. THE LIME BErOEE MT WINDOW. 203 As I pass adown the stair, Greeting me with welcome rare, Stands its greenness, radiant there. That lime before my window. And when slumbrous noons are come, Only summer sound not dumb, Well I love thy murmuring hum, Thou lime before my wiudoAV. Freshly steals the elm to sight ; Bright the chestnut opes to light ; Thine is gi'eenness yet more bright. Thou Hme before my window. Flame the woodlands, dim and cold ; Glorious are they, nor behold Glory brighter than thy gold, Thou lime before mv window. Keen with frosts are earth and aii- ; Leafless art thou standing there ; And art thou to me less fair, Thou lime before my window ? 204 THE LIME BEFOEE MY WTNDOW. No, uiito an inner eye, All thy beauty tliat could die, All thy glory still is nigh, Thou lime before my wiudow. Hue, and leaf, decay, consume, Tet, triumphant o'er thy doom, Sunlit there, I see thee bloom. Thou lime before my -SN-indow. In a moment, even now, Verdurous Springs thy branches bow Autumns bum on every bough. Thou lime before my window. Ah, might every year of mine Some sweet store of beauty shrine In the thoughts of men, like thine, Thou lime before my window ! TO A CRICKET. YoiCE of Summer, keen and shrill, Chirping round my winter fire, Of thy song I never tire, Weary others as they vriR ; Por thy song with summer 's filled ; Filled with sunshine ; filled with Jime ; Fire-light echo of that, noon Hears in fields when aU is stilled In the golden light of May ; Bringing scents of new-mown hay, — Bees and birds and flowers away, Prithee, haunt my fireside still, Voice of Summer, keen and shrill ! CHILD, PURSUE THY BUTTERFLY! Child, pursue thy butterfly, Hot of foot and keen of eye, But to learn, poor fool, when caught, It, so wildly, hotly sought, AVas but aU unworth thy thought, All unworth a smile or sigh ; Child, pursue thy butterfly ! Thou, the hunter of a name, Chaser of the flight of fame, On, Ixion-lilce, above. Mount, to clasp but cloud, and prove Thou art but the cheat of Jove, Mock and laughter of the sky ; Child, pui-sue thy butterfly ! CHILD, PURSUE THY BUTTEEFLY ! 207 Midas, thou that in the strife But for riches, wastest life. Win thy wish, and winning, leani All that thou hast toded to earn, Is what wisdom well may spurn. Bought with all thou wion'st it by ; Child, pursue thy butterfly ! Bee, that knowest but the power. Sweets to suck from every hour ; Thou, whose wasted days have known Pleasures of the sense alone, On, amid thy joys to owti, Won, they waken but the sigh ; Chdd, pui'sue thy butterfly ! Shadow-hunter, too, art thou, WTio to good, thy tod dost voav ? No ; the golden gleams that woo Thy swift hopes, O soul ! pxirsue ; Won or not, thou track' st the true ; Ever to thine heaven more nigh ; Thine no fleeting butterfly ! SONG. Peithee, tell me where love dwells ? 'NeatH a forehead, wluter far Than the whitest lilies are ; 'Neath a droopiag lash of sUk, Blacker far than carven jet, Drooping from a Hd of milk, Yeined deep with violet ; Find me these, and each one tells Where the wildering urchin dwells. Yet stni ask you where he 's dwelling ? Where a brow is, purer than The white bosom of the swan ; Eovmded with a night more rare Than was ever hung on high. Sleeping round ia braided hair. Brooding o'er a raven eye, O'er an eye, all eyes excelling ; rind me these, and there he 's dwelling. SONG. 209 If one steal upon him there, Tell me, tell me, shall I seize Love, the troubler of mine ease ? Questioner, naj, I say not so. And his will I read aright ; There his presence ne'er thou 'It know ; Never there he 'U glad thy sight ; For but yesternight he sware Only I shoidd find him there. WON AND LOST. A GLIMPSE OF FEUDALISM. In his bannered liall sits Sir Guy de Ford, ] Bearded and grim, at the festal board, With baron and lady gay ; I And his health he gives, who with lance and sword, | The lands and the hand of Maud, his ward, j Has won in the lists to-day. \ In his lonely tent, deep-gashed and pale, ; Gory his hebn and cleft his mail. And glazing his knightly eyes. Lies he who, couching his lance for the love j Of her who is shrieking his wounds above, \ Lost life and the tournay's prize. SONNET. WRITTEN IN MACAULAT's LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. The plunge of standards, reeling to and fro. Barks winter-tost upon a howling sea — Eome's bucklers' conquering glare, I, battliag, see, Her swoop of death upon the warriug foe ; The thrust, the grapple, and the yell below The gloom of dust ; cries, now that on, now flee ; Fierce trumpets blaring aye tempestuously, That thunder to the stormy battle blow ; And now the rushing roar of flight I hear, Loading with awe the pulses of the wind ; Before — the shriek of death — the yell of fear ; The slaughtering shout of victory behind. O wondrous art ! so giving one to look On Rome's fierce life I O marvel of a book ! p '.i THE SONG OF DEATH. Time said to Pride, Eobe thee in rich array ; Fair Lowliness deride That walks beside thy way ; But ever grim Death kept singing, Awful and low its tone, "Wisest are they who, born in time, Tet live not for time alone. Earth spake to Lust, Bar not, O Lust, thy will ; Delights ftdl rare hath sense ; Of all take thou thy fill ; But ever grim Death kept singing, Piercing and calm its tone, "Wisest are they, the sons of time, "Who live not for time alone. THE S0:N'G of DEA.TH. 213 Known be thy name, Vanity heard Life say, Breathe thou the breath of fame That shall not pass away ; But ever grim Death kept singing, Solemn and clear its tone, "Wisest are they who, toiling in tLiue, Yet toil not for time alone. SONG. Pass, falling rose ! XoT now the glory of the spring is round thee ; Not now the air of summer round thee blows ; Pallid and chill, the autumn's mists have fomid thee ; Pass, falling rose ! Pass, falling rose ! AVhere are the songs that wooed thy glad xmfolding ? Only the south the wood-dove's soft wail knows ; Far southern eaves the swallow's nest are holding ; Pass, falling rose ! Pass, falling rose ! Linger the blooms, to birth thy glory wooing ? Linger the hues that lured thee to unclose ? Long, long, their leaves the dark earth have been strewing ; Pass, falling rose ! TO THE CHRYSANTHEMUM. "Wan brightener of tbe fading year, Chry santliemum , Eougli teller of the winter near, Chrysanthemum ; Grey low-hung skies and woodlands sere, "Wet leaf-strewn ways with thee appear, Yet well I love to see thee here, Chrysanthemum, Tes, well I love to see thee here. Chrysanthemum . Thou comest when the rose is dead. Chrysanthemum ; When piak and Hly both have fled, Chrysanthemiun. 216 TO THE CHE.TSANTHEMUM. Wlien hollyhocks droop low the head, And dahlias litter path and bed, Thou bloomest bright in all their stead, Chrysanthemum ; And back recall' st their beauty fled, Chrysanthemum. loved not for thy sake alone, Chrysanthemum ; Not for a beauty all thine own. Chrysanthemum ; For fair blooms to the spring-time known, For bright hues to the summer shown, For memories dear of flowerets flown, Chrysanthemum, 1 love thee, blossomer alone, Chrysanthemum. LILIAN'S EPITAPH. Thou hast been and tliou liast fled, Eose, sweet rose ; Budded, flushed, and, ah ! art dead, Eose, sweet rose ; Tet oblivion may not kill Dreams of thee, our thoughts that fill, And for us thou 'rt blooming stiU, Eose, sweet rose. Breathing rose, nor might' st thou stay, Eose, sweet rose ; Thou too, woe ! hast passed away, Eose, sweet rose ; Yet though death had heart to sever Life and thee, thou 'rt from us never ; No, in thought tliou 'rt with us ever, Eose, sweet rose. SONG. — • — Not with tlie empty homage of an eye, Not with a flattering tongue's low-breathed deceit, Not with a false fair smile, love, do I The sumless bounty of thy passion meet ; Tlie winged life of every moment sees Falsehood come masked like truth in shows like these. But with a love that all it inly feels, Even from the hidden questioning of thine eye. Prisoned within its secret heart conceals. Where none but trusting faith its truth can spy. Or if a sudden sigh its tale hath told, 'Twas what the passionate heart no more could hold. SONG. 219 Then ask not, lady, that in vavinting show My passion's truth should live before thine eye ; Let it content thee that thou well dost know How cored within my heart thy love doth he ; An acted love let others, lady, boast, The love that 's woi-dless, trust me, speaks the most. SONG. — ♦ — Come sing ; come sing ; Eor what is tlie tiling That gladdens tlie lieart like song ! Leave siglis and sorrow And tears for tlie morrow, And may ttey be strangers long ! True, some may say, Wine makes us as gay, But, trust me, friends, they 're wrong ; To nothing has Earth, I swear, given birth That gladdens the heart like song. SONNET. TO ALFRED TENNYSON. woNDEous cycle of material might ! Lo, man hath spoken, and the listening hours Harken the clang and clash of mighty powers Ministering to life. Forth from primeval night, Lo, mortal thought hath summoned into sight Speed, whose hot breath space shrivels and devours : Speed, at whose iron feet, time crouching cowers. Life, served by nature, thi'ones it in the light And shouts exultant. Nor hath the charmed soul Less potent servitors ; hark ! loftiest thought. White love, that in its circle rounds the whole Of perfect wisdom, whose rapt tongues have caught The very airs that hush high heaven, are near. Lo, the age stiUs it Tennyson to hear. DEATH'S LESSON. AVaijing — waning — ever waning, Life's full glory pales away ; Fast the youth there 's no regaining, Darkens down in swift decay ; Hopes — despairing — smiles and sorrows "Wander past without recal ; Days hut rise to bring their morrows ; Blossoms flush them but to fall ; All life's prizing, death still borrows ; Slirouds and graves are waiting all. Preaching — preaching — ever preaching, Change and death and swift decay Still mortality are teaching How existence ebbs away ; death's lesson. 223 Life be thou not therefore deeming But a thing for moans and sighs : Be thou sure its deed 's redeeming Every moment as it flies, So shall that, scarce living seeming, Breathe a life that never dies. TO FIELD-PATHS. Paths of the fields, O pleasant paths that stray Through the deep wind-trod pastures of the Spring, Through all the glory and the blossoming That Summer yields, Companioned of the golden buttercup. Up heaven's far cloud-flecked sapphire gazing — up. Piercing to heights that see the skylark sing. From the world's weariness — from hope's decay, Lead me, oh, lead me, pleasant paths away. Paths of the fields ! Who knows not hoiu's, Hours when life longs to cease Its endless questioning of the mystery Of sorrow ! when the eternal ill we see All hope o'erpowers ! TO FIELD-PATHS. 225 Oh, iu such houi's of darkness and of fear, In joy and quietude, oh, be ye near, Near in deep tranquilness and gladness be ; Tkrougb nature's placid calm — tbi^ougli sweet release From doubt — from tears, oh, lead me, paths of peace? Paths of the fields ! SPRING SONGS. I. Now do tawny bees along, Plundering sweets from blossoms, bum ; 'Now do showers of joyous song Down from larks up-mounting, come ; Every-tbing Now dotb sing. Welcome gladness, welcome Spring. Now above and aU around Songs are thronging earth and air ; Joy is loud in every sound, Every sound is mocking care. Every-tbing Now dotb sing, Welcome gladness, welcome Spring. SPEING SOIfGS. 227 Now is every hawthorn bough Burdened with its wealth of May ; Glistening runs each streamlet now, GamboUng through the golden day. Fount and spring, Hark ! they sing, Welcome sunshine, welcome Spring. Now do golden lizards He, Suiming them on wayside banks ; Now with flowers of many a dye Spring the woods and meadows pranks. "What say they ? This they say, Welcome gladness, welcome May. Now do those, in joy that walk Shadowed wood and chequered lane, Stay their steps and hush their talk, TUl the cuckoo call again ; Till anew. Hush — cuckoo, Hark ! it comes the wood-depths tlu-ough. 228 sPEiNa SONGS. Now the woods are starred with eyes ; Now their weeds and mosses tkrougli, Peep the white anemonies, Daisies pied and violets blue. Flowers, they spriag, Birds, they siag, AU to swell the pomp of Spring. Now in poets' songs 'tis told How, in vales of Arcady, Once men knew an age of gold, Once the earth seemed heaven to be ; Hark ! they sing. Tears, ye bring Grolden times again with Spring. II. Now the fields are full of flowers ; Now in every coimtry lane, Making mirth and gladness ours, Wdd-flowers nod and blush again ; Now they stain Heath and lane, Longed-for lost ones come again. SPEING SOKGS. 229 Now the mower, on his scythe Leaning, wipes his furrowed brow, IVIany a song the milkmaid blithe Carols through the morning now ; Clear and strong Goes her song With the clanking pail along. Blithely lusty Eoger now Through the furrows plods along. Singing to the creaking ploiigh Many a quaint old country song : Morning rings, As he sings, With the praise of other Springs. Children now in every school Wish away the weary hours ; Doubly now they feel the rnle Barring them from buds and flowers ; How they sliout. Bounding out. Lanes and fields to race about. 230 SPRING SONGS. Now with shrill and wondering shout, As some new-found prize they pull, Prattlers range the iields about, Till their laps with flowers are full ; Seated round On the ground. Now they sort the wonders found. Now do those in cities pent, Laboui-ing life away, confess, Spite of all, that hfe was meant One to be with happiness ; Hark ! they sing, Pleasant Spring Joy to all was meant to bring. Poets now in sunshine dream ; Now their eyes such visions see That the golden ages seem Times that yet again might be. Hark ! they sing, Years shall bring Golden ages— endless Spring. A VALENTINE. PfiiTHEE, said I, heart of mine, ^S^\lo shall be my valentine ? And my heart it made reply, With a start and with a sigh, Eor the matter care not I ; Nay, in sooth, the choice be thine. Who shall be thy valentine. Nay, thy secret, prithee, tell ; Trnst me, heart, I know it well ; By thy current's qviick retreat, Breatliless pause and fluttermg beat, By the flushes quick to meet Her sweet comuig, know I well AH and more than thou canst tell. 232 A VALENTINE. Said I, silly heart, reveal What thou canst no more conceal ; And my heart, that fomid no use Further 'twas to urge excuse, Gave its curbed passion loose; Emma, would that thou wert mine, Mine — for aye my valentine ! GOD IS LOVE. Methoitght I saw a prattling child That on beside its father walked, And awe was on its lifted face, And of a loving God they talked. And " God will love me 't " said the child ; And then the father's voice I heard, " On yon blue heavens his promise read, In yon sweet flower behold his word." SONNET. " It is painful to be obliged to state that Motherwell's grave cannot be discovered without the assistance of a guide, not being marked by even a headstone."— M"Conechy'8 Memoir of Jlotherwell. A MEMOET writ in tide-swept sands ; a name Graven on running waters, was the doom That, from the dusky portals of the tomb, Thou sawest, Motherwell, await thy fame ; And who thy dark imaginings dare blame ? Upon thy nameless grave the wild-flowers bloom ; Nature, the resting-place of him by whom, T7nto the city where he dwelt, there came A glory and a sanctity, alone Hath decked with beauty. Oh, to Glasgow shame. That to her poet hath not given a stone, Graving her proudest honour in her claim To him whose memory hath a life sublime, Enlinked unto the sweetest tears of time. THE FORSAKEN. It 's there that she loves to sit, By the cool sea-breezes fanned, With her babe, 'neath the bending pahns That shadow that island strand. Her dusky brow has a cabn Too deep for a face so yonng ; And too wildly, sadly sweet Are the songs to her infant sung. And there through the weary day, She keeps from that lonely shore Her watch o'er the distant sea. For a saU that wiU come no more. THE CRY OF THE DOUBTER. I AvouLD believe ; O Grod ! have I not striven, Wrestling doubt down ! — is it not known to tbee With what a grief from out my soul was driven The faith love taught me at my mother's knee ! Oh, that my soul might yet again receive Its childhood's calm! — Lord! that I might believe! O Lord ! from out this wilderness of doubt That the worn spirit wandering might find way, Some track thou will'st, through wliich it might be brought With trusting steps, into thy perfect day. In whose clear radiance it all calmly still Assured might walk, working in peace thy will ! THE CRT OF THE DOUBTER. 237 Lord ! Lord ! upon the mystery that lies A darkness upon life, my soul hath pored, Waiting a day that comes not ; to its eyes. Lights by which others walk, no help afford, Tried and foiuid wanting, though the struggling will Fain would believe their darkness radiance still. ANGEL VOICES. Forward ! fear not, wildered mortal ; On thy night shall rise a day ; To assurance, doubt's the portal ; Lies, through doubt, to faith the way ; He who dreads to doubt, unbHnded, Faith for him in fear shall end : Seek thou boldly, single-minded; God, his light, thy steps shall lend ; "Work is worship ; work for others ; Toil in love and doubt shall cease : On, for good, for men, thy brothers ; Self-abjurement brings thee peace. DEATH NOT LOVE. Ada, say ' twas but a dream ! Wandering, lo, with sudden awe, One, like Love, methought I saw, Angling in life's fleeting stream ; Straight my question answer brought What his wily labour sought ; " For a true heart do I throw Treacherous snare the wave below ; And, a fair false face my bait, Guileful eye and false sweet breath, Here my mortal prey await, Euthless wait, for I am Death." STILL GOD TALKS TO MAN. I HEAR Him from tlie forest's green, From tlie swift light of stars above ; From all tlie mmumbered forms of time His word is loud of power and love. Tea, unto all \\'ith open ears By wliom the circling earth is trod, The Eternal talketh as of old, And aU things are the tongues of Grod. WHAT ' S WITHIN THIS GLASS OF MINE ? What 's \ntlmi this glass of mine ? Eadiant thoughts and fancies fine, Dreams that make the hours diA'ine, Wine, bright wine. Drink ; within its bubbling gold Lie delights no tongue hath told ; Tar obli^don of all sorrow ; Rest from care and rest from pain ; Joy that knows not of a morrow ; Youth that makes thee young again. Wit and love, the height of bliss, Wovddst thou these to-night be tlune ? Grasp the life of gods in this, This, the sunshine that the vine Stored, to flash tlu-ough nights of mine Summer's glow and svunmer's shine, That I breathe a life divine, Life ethereal — hfe all thine, Wine, bnght wine. HENCE, FELL WINE ! Hence, fell wine ! Off, thou duller of the brain. Tracked bj every racking pain. After whom the hellish throne Of all miseries troop along ; Hence, fell -wine ! Wearer of the snaky vine, Bacchus, all miscalled divine. Hot for madness, brawl and wrong, Xot to chaplet locks of thine. This, the garland of my song Of fresh buds of fancies wrought. Blossoms new of measured thought. Slow by reason nurtiu-ed long, Not for thee, this song of mine, Dionusus, will I twine ; Hence, feU wine ! 242 HEKCE, FELL WINE ! Come, bright health ! Thou of sober temperance born, Mate of mortals all unworn By the frenzies of excess, Thou who rudest lots dost bless ; Come, bright health ! Come with eyes of dazzling light That the bumpers, that the night Swift and swifter circles round. Ne'er have dulled ; whose flashing sight Wine hath not in dimness bound ; Come with cheeks upon whose red Pale excess hath never fed, Thought no draughts have made unsound, Form that keeps its stately height. Tread of temperance, firm and Hght ; Come, bright health I I SONG. ♦ Oh, grant me, Heaven, a quiet room "Where I, 'mid books, may lose All thought of all that others seek ! AH else my days refuse ! So prayed I once ; but. Heaven, no more Such prayer I now prefer : Cold thought I leave to poorer souls ; I only Hve for her. I said, ere ripened into man, Oh, more than all, I prize A form to fix the gaze of all Of beauty's myriad eyes ; Now, would I that my face or form One other pulse should stir ? No — ^what care I for others now ? I only live for her. r2 244 soKG. At times I 've panted to be ricli ; At others sighed for power ; A name I 've chased, to mock at time, Through many a studious hour ; But, wiser grown, nor power nor wealth Nor fame one wish can stir ; What are they all ? I love ; I love ; I only live for her. For her, for her alone I live ; Without her, what were earth ! AVhat were this game of shadows, life ? A nothing, nothing worth ; Adieu, fond hopes that moved me once ; Ye are not what ye were ; Awaked by love I dream no more ; I only live for her. THE SICK MAN'S PRAYER. Come, soft sleep ! Bid thy balm my hot eyes meet ; Of the long night's heavy stillness, Of the loud clock's ceaseless beat, Of the weary thought of illness, Of the chamber's airless heat, Steep me in oblivion deep, That my weary, weary brain, May have rest from out its pain ; Come, O blessedness, again ! Come, soft sleep ! Come, soft sleep ! Let this weary tossing end ; Bid my anguished watch know ceasing ; Yet no dreams thy steps attend. When thou bring' st from pain releasing. Fancies wild, to rest may lend 246 THE SICK man's peatee. Sense of waking misery deep ; Calm as death, oh, on me sink, That my brain but quiet drink, And I neither know nor think. Come, soft sleep ! SONG. — « — I LOTE no more ! I love no more ! The reason would you have me tell ? Of all love told as treasures o'er, Cold judgment's learned the worth too well ; IS^o after time the young year's dream, My waking fancy can restore ; White winter scorns what green spriag prized ; I love no more ! I love no more ! You ask me if the tangling charms That snared me once are charms no more ; ]^o — still the same, there lives no grace Thiiie, lady, does not queen it o'er ; Lip — cheek — the lustre of thine eyes, AU wear the every charm they wore ; My thought alone a change has known ; I love no more ! I love no more ! 248 SONG. Ay, iu a breath the reason's told ; Mere form voung love may snare awhile ; But love, to hold, needs stronger charms Than face or form — than glance or smile ; A thought all meekness — temper mild, A speech no sting that ever bore, These are the heart's abiding chains ; I love no more ! I love no more ! THE RECONCILIATION. ToiJE hand, your hand ; friend, friend, not so, BeUeve me, that we 'U part ; A moment's difference blots not out Long records of the heart ; The friendship of a score of years A moment's heat shaU stand ; A true heart 's easier lost than won ; Old friend, your hand, your hand ! Ay, like yourself, a throbbing heart Within, a warm true clasp ; I knew you never could put back Tour old friend's offered grasp. That pride has sturdier root than ours, That 'twixt us two shall stand, That long shah thrust us heart from heart, Or friendly hand from hand ! soxa. — « — A TINTED cheek — the flash of eyes That others far outshine, — Lips arched to girlhood's very dream, These, lady, are not mine ; If but with unmatched grace in these. Your love alone can live, Farewell to happy hopes and you ; I 've but a heart to give. A haughty blood whose founts were kings,- A name to history known, — Broad lands — ancestral haUs, of these Not one I call my own ; If girt with shadows such as these. Tour love alone can live, Alas, farewell to hope and you ; I 've but a heart to give. SONG. 251 A mind tliat in its strife with mind Has wortliiest homage won, — A hfe whose hopes, to change no more, Have cored them into one, — A passionate thu-st of love for love. True as with life can live, If such content you, these are mine, AU these my heart can give. Hold not my passion's offerings poor ; Trust me, a true heart 's worth, Ay, more than aU the tinsel shows That dazzle the dull Earth ; A life's love — higher gift than mine Can proffer none that Hve, Though rich alone in sumless love, I 've but a heart to give. NO WAR! NO WAR! No war ! uo war ! what mutter ye, ye nations ? ^Hiat, are the old mad words upon your tongues once more? Oh, let the ghastly past, whose years were desolations, Shriek peace into your souls, for which ye groaned of yore! So shall your cry go up, as when with lamentations. And moans and prostrate prayers, ye shrieked, no war ! no war ! Peace ! peace ! oh, peace ! oh, sum ye up the treasiires The warless years heap up — the blessed years increase ; Knowledge — rights for all; for all, new hopes, new plea- sures ; Hark! the far years whisper, woe from earth shall cease; Golden times to man a bloodless future measures ; Tearless spin the laughing earth ; peace ! peace ! oh, peace ! SONG. — ♦ — Aloxg beneath laburnum blooms Again may sing tbe stream ; Again the vine may laugh in leaves, Grrey skies be but a dream ; But the heart too has its winter ; And what again may bring To the pulse that waxes cold and slow The bounding life of spring ? Again may gardens paint the earth, All radiance, scents and hues ; Again through golden mornings, swarm To purple skies, the dews ; But life too has its winter, And what, the heart, may bring Again the fire — the golden dreams. The glory of its spring ! SONG. — • — No — no — iny loye is no rose That only in sunshine buds and grows, And but to blue skies will its blooms unclose, That -^-itbers away In an autumn day, And dies in a di-eam of drifting snows ; ■^o — no — my love is no rose. ■^Q — ^no — my love is no rose ; My love is the lioUy that ever is green "WTietber breezes are balmy or blasts are keen, The same that is stiE In days sullen and chill As when snowed with blossoms the orchards are seen ; ■^Q — BO — my love is no rose. AN OLD MAN'S SONG. OuE heads are grey, but not our hearts, Though, friend, we two have seen The woods of threescore winters Put on the summer's green. Though, year by year, by age we 've watched Form after form unstrung ; And wriukles gather, day by day, On foreheads once so yoimg ; Tet though from face and form, old friend, AH grace and strength depart. Thank Heaven ! in laugh we yet are boys, We still are young in heart ! The bounding step of youth, 'tis true, Our old tread knows no more; And bowed and totteruig are our forms, Like very pines of yore ; 256 AN OLD mak's song. And age the old strengtli's wasted long, That lived in every limb ; And cooled the pulse along our veins, And made our old eyes dim ; But, friend, the lapse of years no chill Across our mirth has flung ; Thank Heaven ! in laugh we yet are boys, In heart we stiU are young. A SONG OF HOPE. LoKG bas been the winter ; Long, long, in vain We 've souglit the bud upon tbe bougb, Tbe primrose in tbe lane ; Long bave skies been dull and grey ; Nipping 's been tbe blast ; But sing, Summer 's coming ; Tbe bee 's out at last ; Sing, Winter 's flying ; Summer 's coming fast ; Humming joy and spring-time, Tbe bee 's out at last. Loud sbouts tbe cuckoo ; Tbe nested elm round, Wlieels tbe rook, cawing ; Tbere are shadows on the ground ; 258 A soNa OF hope. "Warm comes the breeze and soft ; Freezing days are past ; Sing, Svimmer 's coming ; The bee's out at last; Sing, "Winter 's fljing ; Summer 's coming fast ; Hunnning hope and spring-time, The bee 's out at last. THE VAIN DREAM. The scholar, he sits in his lonely room In the heart of the noisy town, But little he marks its bustle and din As he pens his quick thoughts down ; He flings him back and he lives the time When, at last to the people known, His book shall make, with its toil of years, A home and a name his own. The scholar, he lies in his lonely room, On the bare cold floor he lies, "With the horror upon his upturned face With which the self-slaiu dies ; On the table his work, refused, returned. Completed, yet known to none ; And where are the fame and the laughing home That the scholar in hope had won ! s2 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A TOWN SKETCH. A LITTLE back from out the street, As if in truth it shunned yoiu* sight, Untenanted, it silent stands, A gloom amid the cheerful light ; The ragged grass-plots in its front "With unchecked weeds are tangled o'er. And on the green and mossy path The frog leaps up before the door ; Uncleansed it stands, befouled and dimmed By summer's dusts, and winter's rains ; The weather-stains of countless years Thick on its darkening window-panes ; The very knocker on its door "Would waken up a ghastly sound, And with a strange mysterious awe, Would startle out the dwellers round ; THE HAUNTED HOUSE. It looks as if a sound of life Witliin its walls had ne'er been heard, As if no moving human thing Its prisoned air had ever stirred ; Amid the noisy bustle round, Its daylight hush, so grim and still. With something of a nameless dread Has power the passer-by to fill ; And if you ask why thus it stands, Unsought by life from year to year, A scarce-remembered tale of blood. Of midnight murder foiil you hear ; Men tell of grey-haired sleepers waked To strive and shriek for life in vain. Of flying forms, and chnging hands. Of shattered skull, and spattered brain ; So, even in the hght of day, The grim house by, in awe, men walk, And by the winter fireside shun To name it in their evening talk ; And years must pass, and man must strive To call that tale to mind in vain. Ere hand imclose, or foot shall dare To tread that haunted house again. 261 THE HOMEWARD WATCH. The sailor the deck is pacing, And lie hums a rough old song, Bearing north fi'om its southern whaUng As the good ship drives along ; And his thoughts with hope are swelling, For his watch it well may cheer, To know that at last he speeds to her He has left for many a year. And she — in the darkened chamber, Where day is turned to night, By the candle dimly lighted, She lies in her shroud of white ; Closed eye, and cold, cold cheek, The slumber of death sleeps she, Of meeting with whom he 's dreaming In his homeward watch at sea. POEMS PUBLISHED BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. ♦ s. (1. BROWNING'S POETICAL WORKS. New Edition, revised. Two Vols. Fcap. cloth 16 BROWNING'S CHRISTMAS-EVE AND EASTER-DAY. Fcap. cloth 6 MRS. • BROWNING'S POETICAL WORKS (Late Miss Baeeett.) New Edition, revised. Two Vols. Fcap. cloth 16 HON. MRS. NORTON'S CHILD OF THE ISLANDS. Second Edition. Post 8vo, cloth 12 DANTE'S DIVINE COMEDY.— THE INFERNO. A literal Prose Translation, with the Text of the Original. By J. A. Caelyle, M.D. Post 8vo 14 POEMS BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. Fcap. cloth ..86 AMBARVALIA. — Poems by Thomas Buebidge and Arthur Hugh C lough. Fcap. cloth 4 6 LOVER'S SONGS AND BALLADS. Fcap. cloth . ..50 POEMS BY THOMAS MILLER. Fcap. cloth . . ..50 ONE HUNDRED SONGS OF BERANGER. With Trans- lations on the opposite page. By William Young. 18mo, cloth 5 LITTLE POEMS FOR LITTLE PEOPLE. Illustrated. ISmo, cloth .... 30 LONDON: IsilADBUBI AND BV».\S, PBINTHB6, WUITEFBIABS. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. OVi^' N?^ ^'^ lOM-1 1-50 (2^5) 470 REMI^4BTDN RAND INC. 20 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY %j AA 000 380 319 4 PR k099 Bii39A17 m