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 HUMOUS RHYMES 
 
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POSTHUMOUS RHYMES. 
 

 
POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 BY JOHN HANNAH. 
 
 SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT?' 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED AT BECCLES, BY READ CRISP 
 
 M.DCCC. LIV. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
1854 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF A MAN 
 
 OF EQUAL INTELLIGENCE AND MODESTY, 
 
 OF GENEROUS HEART AND STERLING UPRIGHTNESS; 
 
 AND TO THOSE BY WHOM 
 HIS CHARACTER WAS APPRECIATED, 
 
 HIS FRIENDSHIP VALUED, 
 AND HIS DEATH LAMENTED. 
 
PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR i 
 
 TO - xvi 
 
 A VISION .1 
 
 TIME 24 
 
 LYRICAL PIECES: 
 
 THE BAIRNIE'S POOL : OR MY GRANNIE'S TALE . 33 
 
 ELLEN AND THE BANKS OF CREE . . . .40 
 
 WILLIE AND MARY 42 
 
 THE HOME OF YOUTH 46 
 
 STANZAS WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF ' HOGG'S 
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE* 47 
 
 THE BARK 49 
 
 SONG 50 
 
 FRESTON TOWER . 51 
 
 THE ORWELL : A SONG 54 
 
 SONNETS : 
 
 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS 56 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. M W ... 57 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND'S CHILD . . .58 
 
 IN A VOLUME OF * AUTOGRAPHICAL MEMORIALS' 59 
 
 RELIGIOUS PIECES: 
 
 THE LONELY STAR 60 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF BABYLON FORETOLD . . 62 
 
 CHARITY .... .... 64 
 
 THE BALM OF LIFE 66 
 
 HYMN 69 
 
 PASSAGES FROM AN ESSAY ON NOVEL READING . 71 
 
3ntmfartnrt| 
 
 AT Creetown near the mouth of the river from which 
 that town derives its name in the county of Kir- 
 kudbright, on the north shore of the inlet called Wigton 
 bay, lived, many years ago, John Hannay, a builder in 
 extensive business. His three sons were all brought up 
 to his own trade. Two of them removed : one to a 
 neighbouring town, the other to Glasgow and afterward 
 to the West Indies. John, the eldest, remained at 
 Creetown, where he saw the waning of the prosperity 
 which had brightened his father's path. He married 
 Janet, third daughter of John Brait, farmer of Chapel- 
 ton ; who died while his children were young, leaving 
 the care of them and of the farm to his widow. 
 
 A whimsical preference to the duplication or rever- 
 sibleness of the letters induced Mr. Hannay to change 
 the form of his name to Hannah. He and his wife 
 Janet had nine children. The eldest, JOHN HANNAH, 
 the subject of this sketch was born at Creetown on 
 
11 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 the 10th of November 1802. Much of his early youth 
 was passed with his mother's relatives at Chapelton. 
 That village is situated a mile from Crectown, between 
 two small rivers, or ' burns,' which meet before they 
 reach the bay, and are both excellent fishing streams. 
 In one of them, called Minnipool, salmon and salmon- 
 trout are caught. There is near Creetown, a high fall 
 in the other river, which the salmon cannot leap ; but it 
 is better than Minnipool for its native burn trout. It 
 is called, from certain cloth mills, near the falls, the 
 "Wauk-mill burn, and also, from places through which 
 it runs, the Ballochanamar or Garrochar burn. For 
 some distance these streams flow through large planta- 
 tions. South of the Wauk-mill bum lies the way to 
 Larg mountain, and hard by are 
 
 ' the braes 
 ' Of lang and bonny Cassencarrie.' 
 
 Other roads, skirting Minnipool or taking a similar 
 direction, lead to Loch Grenoch a favourite resort of 
 the disciples of Isaak "Walton and to the lofty heights 
 of Cairnsmuir. 
 
 The Brait family at Chapelton consisted, at the period 
 to which we allude, of the widowed mother, her sons, 
 who were engaged in the management of her farm, and 
 several daughters remarkable for their personal attrac- 
 tions. The artlessness and industry which prevailed in 
 
OF JOHX HAXXAH. Ill 
 
 the habits of dame Brait's household is sketched at the 
 beginning of the lines intituled ' The Bairnie's Pool. ' * 
 The task of mending the potato basket the ' prato 
 creel' worn by being dragged on the ground when 
 filled by less sturdy gatherers, is assigned to ' Johnny,' 
 the eldest son and the farmer; while the others ply 'ilk 
 anc their task,' and the younger Johnny probably is 
 looking to the condition of his fishing tackle, albeit not 
 unobservant of the group. 
 
 Such were the scenes, and such the simple manners 
 which gave their first impression to the warm heart of 
 John Hannah. His father was a town resident and an 
 artisan: the son was nurtured under the influences of 
 rural life, and amidst employments in which natural 
 objects were always prominent. 
 
 Among his father's friends was the now venerable 
 captain J. M. Dcnniston, a retired officer, then an active 
 sportsman as well as a gentleman of some literary taste. 
 He had occasion for a lad to accompany him in his 
 shooting and fishing expeditions ; and Mr. Hannah 
 offered the services of his son John. No employment 
 could have been more congenial to the boy's disposition. 
 Fearless and fond of adventure, he would ramble many 
 miles over the wildest moors and mountains, sleeping 
 
 * Sec page 33. 
 
IV INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 in some comfortless fishing hut with his gun for his 
 companion and his guard. Frequently taking part in 
 such excursions, he lived several years with captain 
 Denniston. During this period his education was not 
 entirely neglected. It was soon discovered that he had 
 a mind of more than ordinary vigour; and although his 
 studies were but irregularly pursued, his progress, both 
 under private instruction and at the parish school, was 
 rapid and satisfactory. His employer was so much 
 pleased that he offered to give him a classical education ; 
 which his father declined on the common, but for the 
 most part mistaken, ground that it would be useless. 
 
 Besides the presence and power of external nature in 
 its most picturesque forms, there was another circum- 
 stance which tended to foster in John Hannah an incli- 
 nation towards poetry. Captain Denniston had a sister 
 who, not satisfied by an acquaintance with English and 
 Scotch versifiers, determined to read the Italian poets 
 in their own tongue. She had to acquire the language; 
 but, bringing perseverance to the task, soon learned to 
 render the most difficult passages of Dante and Tasso 
 with correctness and fluency. While she read aloud the 
 most striking lines, translating them, commenting on 
 their merits, and inviting her brother to notice beauties 
 he had overlooked, the eye of their young attendant 
 brightened with interest, his ear bent with patient heed 
 and eagerly drank in the enthusiasm of the poet. 
 
OF JOHN HANNAH. V 
 
 Friends who would by no means have discouraged his 
 love of reading and study, nevertheless deemed it right 
 to check an imaginative bias. Even with a view to 
 ordinary or commercial life his education was imperfect ; 
 and his prospects did not warrant a sacrifice of the 
 plain and useful for the elegant and refined. 
 
 Not without regret on the part of his kind patron, 
 young Hannah's school learning and his somewhat 
 romantic pursuits were both brought to a close by the 
 resolution of his father to send him to England. In this 
 affair the son appears to have been actuated by a sense of 
 duty rather than by the inclination to migrate which is 
 said to be a second nature with the Scot. He desired, 
 above all things, to avoid the possibility of becoming bur- 
 densome to his parents. A son of one of their neighbours 
 was residing in the eastern counties ; and thither John 
 Hannah bent his steps. He had arrived at the age of 
 manhood when he settled, as a lodger, at Diss, on the 
 border of Norfolk and Suffolk, and employed himself in 
 perambulating the vicinity on foot, trading from house 
 to house. 
 
 Such a pursuit gained for him few introductions to 
 the reading circle which even a country town can some- 
 times furnish. Its fashions and frivolities he could 
 afford to hold very cheap. In his long and solitary 
 rambles he found resources in books and nature, in 
 
VI INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 quiet thought and pure feeling. History and poetry, 
 Hume and llobertson, Shakspeare, Allan Ramsay and 
 Burns, the Ettrick shepherd, and the then 'great un- 
 known' were his companions. He read, alternately, 
 some favourite author and, with a not less intelligent 
 eye, the simple beauties of the country ; or he mur- 
 mured his own rhymes to the hedgerows, and then 
 beguiled the evening hour by writing them down. 
 
 In person he was, at that time, athletic, but compa- 
 ratively slender. His general aspect was unassuming 
 and grave, with occasional gleams of intelligence and 
 vivacity falling away into that pensive expression which 
 is traceable in the portrait prefixed to this volume. 
 Though retiring, he was not morose ; and if his 
 manners wanted refinement, he never failed in that 
 politeness which consists in habitual deference to the 
 comfort and gratification of others. A society of three 
 or four young men, who met for mutual improvement, 
 elicited proof of his natural talent and of his real 
 modesty. Some of his essays were full of good sense. 
 An extract from one of them is given by way of 
 appendix to his ' Rhymes,' as a specimen of his style 
 and manner of thinking in plain prose. 
 
 It was while he lived at Diss that the greater part of 
 the verses contained in the subjoined pages were written. 
 They relate to scenes and occurrences which passed 
 
OF JOHN H ANN ATT. Vll 
 
 around him, or upon which memory lingered ; to the 
 claims of friendship and sympathy ; and sometimes to 
 themes of higher moment. 
 
 The first and longest of the poems here printed 
 was an expression of his firm faith in the progress of 
 knowledge and improvement, uttered at a period when 
 that faith was not so general as it is now. Steam had 
 not yet been commonly applied to ' iron roads/ Public 
 health was disregarded, or it was partially secured in 
 defiance of arrangements which are now understood to 
 be fatal to its full enjoyment. Many looked with dis- 
 trust upon the spread of education among the poor, lest 
 they should be unduly elevated by those efforts which 
 have been found, alas ! totally inadequate to uphold 
 on the level of civilization the accumulating millions. 
 It may be curious, now that a quarter of the century to 
 which the ' Vision ' attributes so marvellous a change 
 has elapsed, to note how far and in what form the 
 predictions of the seer are fulfilling or fulfilled in the 
 locality to which they refer. Upon the bosom of the 
 ' sluggard Waveney * improvement has not come ; nor 
 have the borders of 'the lake' realized the poet's dream 
 of beauty; neither destruction nor architecture has 
 accomplished literally all that was foretold. 
 
 Yet there, as elsewhere, buildings have been re- 
 erected, and streets macadamized; and 'the power of 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 steam* has been introduced in the most efficient manner. 
 Measures have been suggested for abating the injurious 
 effects of a large stagnant pool, and even for construct- 
 ing * public walks entirely around it, which/ it is said, 
 and said officially, ' would probably be unequalled in 
 the country for beauty ! ' * On its * western shore ' 
 has been built, in sober truth, one of the villas 
 
 'such as gaily rise 
 Beneath Italia's genial skies.' 
 
 Better than all, it may be hoped that bigotry of every 
 shape, by a slower but not less sure process, has been 
 wearing away, and a more genuine sympathy intro- 
 duced among individuals of every grade. 
 
 The poem on * Time ' is a meditation in one of its 
 author's walks to Framlingham, the site of the ruined 
 castle of the Bigods, earls of Norfolk. That building 
 was afterwards in the hands, successively, of the Mow- 
 brays and Howards; and finally of Sir Robert Hitcham, 
 who devised it to the Master and Fellows of Pembroke 
 hall, Cambridge, with the ruthless stipulation that the 
 interior should be pulled down and applied to other 
 purposes. It might seem a bitter sarcasm upon such a 
 proceeding, that, in 1 724, a parish workhouse was built 
 in the vacant area. 
 
 * Report to the General Board of Health on an enquiry into the 
 sanitary condition of Diss. By William Lee esq., 1850, p. 28. 
 
OF JOHN HANNAH. IX 
 
 The rest of the verses printed are lyrical or miscella- 
 neous. Except the song intituled ' The Orwell ' and the 
 lines on 'Freston Tower,' it is not probable that any one 
 of the pieces was written with a view to publication. 
 They were the free effusions of a heart full of rich 
 and right feeling. And as they were intended to 
 gratify the eye of friendship they may well serve to 
 foster its memory. 
 
 Nor let it pass unnoticed that, in the full vigour of 
 life, before the deep furrow of care had been traced 
 across his brow, John Hannah sometimes gave a thought 
 to other than earthly themes : while he never yielded 
 to sickly melancholy or was guilty of hypocrisy, he 
 
 ' Could pause an hour to pen a serious rhyme.' 
 
 In April 1829 he was induced to enter upon a com- 
 mercial engagement at Ipswich. The claims of business 
 and, at length, domestic duties and cares gradually 
 diverted his attention, not entirely from intellectual 
 pursuits, but from the rhyming mood. 
 
 The joys and the cares of life came to him, as to all, 
 hand in hand. His hearth was cheered by the smile of 
 conjugal and infantile affection. But sorrow waited 
 before the door, and a leaden cloud at length settled 
 over his prospects. With many a painful thought, but 
 
X INTBODUCTOEY MEMOIE 
 
 with integrity unscathed, he left Ipswich, and went to 
 reside at Burton upon Trent, where he ended his days. 
 
 Coming griefs had 'cast their shadows before.' Other 
 and more bitter calamity awaited him. After a few 
 years, during which his commercial position had been 
 more encouraging, he found himself a widower with 
 four small children. His friends rallied around him 
 with their sympathy, their counsel, and their aid. 
 
 The esteem in which he was held was even more con- 
 spicuous when, towards the close of 1852, a painful and 
 alarming disease attacked his apparently robust frame. 
 The best surgical advice was obtained. There was 
 no hope. He returned home with the full conviction 
 that he had only to resign himself to the will of an 
 all- wise Creator and to prepare for a greater change 
 than had hitherto befallen him. Disabled from active 
 service, he was cheered by exemplary liberality and 
 kindness on the part of his employer and others. But 
 his motherless children were around him. There was 
 one thought which his generous heart could not brook : 
 it seemed probable that he might live to exhaust the 
 slender provision he had made for them, and then leave 
 them in indigence ; and for their sakes he wished to die. 
 
 To DIE. That thought opened a still deeper 
 source of anxiety ; and its flood rushed back upon his 
 
OF JOHN HANNAH. XI 
 
 spirit with overwhelming power. He had been a 
 sincere admirer of Christianity as exhibited in the 
 persons and lives of its true disciples ; but he felt that 
 he had failed to act up to his convictions, or to submit 
 himself unreservedly to its requirements. The heart 
 had too much lingered amid earthly fascinations and 
 had been too closely bound to temporal pursuits. He 
 had not how frequent the case ! thrown himself in 
 wilful and determined rebellion into the ranks of the 
 scoffer and the depraved : he had never neglected alto- 
 gether the claims of the sabbath, the reading of the 
 holy Scriptures, or to offer his petitions at the throne of 
 mercy. But the period had arrived when he needed 
 consolation such as neither the kindness of friends nor 
 the consciousness of moral rectitude and outward pro- 
 priety could yield. 
 
 During his last illness he received many welcome 
 visits from an excellent clergyman in Burton and, by 
 his conversation, was induced to resort with increased 
 eagerness to that best source of hope which is ' a well 
 of water springing up to everlasting life.' As the eternal 
 world drew near he regarded his entrance upon its dread 
 realities with a solemnity unknown to him before. He 
 now placed no reliance upon the fine moral instinct 
 which had seemed to others so beautiful. Those hours 
 of his past life which had been given to grave reflections 
 and religious engagements and companionships now 
 
XIV INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 If they are of too stinted growth to win the notice 
 of a stranger, they possess enough beauty and fragrance 
 to indicate how much is lost when a soil of promise is 
 left to spontaneous productiveness or scanty tillage. 
 Who can estimate the worth to society of a character 
 such as John Hannah would have exhibited if he had 
 been brought under the influence of education, mental, 
 moral, and religious, in its best and most efficient forms, 
 and trained to high purposes and worthy scenes of 
 action ? On the other hand, it is sad to think that, in 
 the absence of such preparation, many a neglected 
 Watt, many a discouraged Howard, many a ' mute 
 inglorious Milton ' may be even now growing up to an 
 unprofitable manhood. Noble faculties and moral great- 
 ness too often fail to yield appropriate fruit, where it is 
 impossible not to believe that the adoption of proper 
 means of culture would have led to a very different 
 result. Men spend life in feeble, unavailing efforts 
 or in 'laboriously doing nothing,' and then pass 
 away and are forgotten who, under more favourable 
 auspices, would have become bright centres of ever 
 extending and multiplying good, and might have 
 justly occupied a far larger ' space in the world's 
 thought.' 
 
 S. W. K. 
 
 Seccles, 
 
 August, 1854. 
 
POSTHUMOUS RHYMES. 
 
TO 
 
 My friend, accept the lay thyself inspired, 
 
 Though all unworthy of the theme and thee : 
 Unblessed by learning, nor hy genius fired, 
 
 Not mine the exalted charms of minstrelsy. 
 Albeit to fame my soul hath not aspired, 
 
 Think me not wholly from ambition free : 
 But it ne'er prompts a wish to be admired 
 
 By thousands ; vain indeed such hope in me ; 
 Enough, and all I ever have desired, 
 
 If in these pages thou perchance may'st see 
 One thought to nature true. Have I required 
 
 A palm of which thou deem'st my poetry 
 Unworthy ? well, the poet shall not grieve, 
 
 If worthy thine esteem the man thou should' st believe. 
 
 J. H. 
 15th July, 1828. 
 
POSTHUMOUS EHYMES. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 THE noontide heat had passed away, 
 
 And gloaming spread its mantle grey; 
 
 And distant objects, half concealed, 
 
 Half through a silvery veil revealed, 
 
 In doubtful guises met the' eye, 
 
 Like visions of futurity. 
 
 I stood upon a gentle hill, 
 
 And all around, above, was still; 
 
 Save when the beetle's heavy drone 
 
 Just struck the ear and then was gone, 
 
 Or Philomela's song of love 
 
 Was wafted from the neighbouring grove, 
 
POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 Soft as the magic carolled stave 
 
 Is heard above Zulcika's grave. 
 
 The noise of men, the hum of bees, 
 
 Had ceased ; and flowers and lofty trees 
 
 "Were motionless almost as death, 
 
 Fanned by the zephyr's gentlest breath, 
 
 Which came o'er bean-fields full in bloom, 
 
 Laden with exquisite perfume; 
 
 And the white mists were floating by 
 
 So smoothly and so tranquilly, 
 
 You might have deemed that vale to be 
 
 An inlet of a summer sea, 
 
 And those aspiring tops of willows 
 
 Ships bosomed on the quiet billows. 
 
 A town beyond the valley stood, 
 Like clouds in a fantastic mood 
 That pile on pile encamping lie 
 Far in the glowing, western sky; 
 Or like that city where the ban 
 Of heaven was laid on guilty man 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 
 
 And if the legend has not lied 
 Each living thing was petrified;* 
 So silent all the noise and strife 
 That mark the busy scenes of life 
 It lay before me : not a light 
 From shop or lattice met the sight. 
 "Nor turned the mind to other thought 
 Than its own musings over-wrought. 
 The cresset moon in majesty 
 Rode midway in the azure sky, 
 And the most brilliant stars were seen 
 In prompt attendance on their queen; 
 The fleecy clouds, disparted wide, 
 Fell gracefully on either side ; 
 And pencilled on each ample fold 
 Were glowing streaks like molten gold. 
 
 Oh, who that scene could contemplate 
 And deem that it could emanate 
 From chance ? or turn a sceptic eye 
 Up to that bright cerulean sky, 
 
 Story of Zobcide, Arabian Nights' Entertainment*. 
 
POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 Studded with all those orbs of fire, 
 And not confess, adore, admire, 
 And bow in humbleness of soul 
 Before the God who made and still supports 
 the whole ? 
 
 The tranquil beauty of the scene, 
 The loneness of that solemn spot 
 
 For near me rose the hillock green 
 O'er many once beloved, whose lot 
 Is now forgetfulness spread through 
 My breast a feeling sweet and new. 
 ' Twas joyous, but it was not gladness, 
 'Twas pensive, but it was not sadness; 
 A feeling where all feelings blended, 
 Yet all external sense seemed ended; 
 As if the soul had burst away 
 From its frail barrier of clay 
 And ranged, exulting to be free 
 Prom shackles of mortality, 
 And all that bounds the narrow ken 
 Of knowledge to the sons of men 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 
 
 Within the horizon of a taper 
 
 Had vanished like a morning vapour. 
 
 The veil that hides from human pride 
 
 Futurity, was drawn aside; 
 
 And myriads of coming years, 
 
 "With all their virtues, crimes, hopes, fears, 
 
 Shadowed in characters suhlime, 
 
 Stood ready, at the call of time, 
 
 In forms more tangible to start, 
 
 As figures by the painter's art. 
 
 So have I strayed where mountains high 
 Reared their bald foreheads to the sky, 
 And dark fogs covered all below ; 
 When the sea-breeze began to blow, 
 Have seen the mists back rolled away 
 And the fair landscape smiling gay. 
 And widening on either hand, 
 As still the vapours dank expand, 
 New objects brightening one by one, 
 Fall the enraptured eye upon. 
 
POSTHUMOUS BHi'MES 
 
 And while the temporary night 
 
 Flees from the fast advancing light, 
 
 Wider and wider grows the view ; 
 
 And yet more eager I pursue 
 
 Over the hills and shaggy fells, 
 
 All purpled gay with heather bells, 
 
 And where the gow-cock whirring flies, 
 
 And where the plaintive plover cries ; 
 
 And now, below, I look far down 
 
 Upon the farm, the tower, the town, 
 
 And upon yonder fertile plain, 
 
 Where richly waves the yellow grain, 
 
 And all along the flowery mead 
 
 The lowing kine repose and feed. 
 
 But lo ! old ocean now appears, 
 
 And proud his sparkling crest he rears, 
 
 And now before the favouring gale 
 
 Many a vessel spreads the sail : 
 
 Some court the breeze and leave the land 
 
 For a far distant foreign strand; 
 
 While others gladly near the shore, 
 
 Escaped the tempest's rage once more ; 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 
 
 And tiny barks, in creek and bay, 
 Unfold their pinions white and gay. 
 Now, where the mists of late surrounded, 
 
 Nought intercepts the eye's swift glance; 
 By its own weakness only bounded, 
 
 Or the horizon's wide expanse. 
 
 Thus backward rolled the awful gloom 
 That shrouds futurity the womb 
 Of ages yet unborn, that lie 
 Enveloped in obscurity. 
 Thus traced I on, from year to year, 
 "What revolutions shall appear, 
 "What creeds shall rise and what shall fall, 
 Or moral, or political. 
 I saw the arts, from stage to stage, 
 Progressive rise from youth to age, 
 And many to perfection brought 
 "Which now lie buried in the thought 
 Of man, till they by chance are found 
 Like treasures, hidden underground, 
 
POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 Near some old ruined tower or cell, 
 Brought up when peasants dig a well. 
 
 I saw but vainly would I sing 
 What wonders did that vision bring 
 To light: as vainly would you count 
 The innumerably vast amount 
 Of stars at midnight that display 
 Their glories in the milky way; 
 Or number, when the rising breeze 
 Shakes to and fro yon forest trees, 
 The leaves that deck those trembling boughs, 
 Or strew the ground, when autumn blows. 
 I saw whatever man shall see, 
 I saw whatever man shall be; 
 More saw I then than tongue may tell 
 Strange and incomprehensible! 
 
 Amid the mysteries of that hour, 
 When, by some strange and unknown power, 
 Things which to mortal eyes are sealed 
 Were clearly to my mind revealed, 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 9 
 
 And passed before it, one and all, 
 
 Like magic figures on a wall, 
 
 I saw a town of small dimensions, 
 
 Which yet to wealth made some pretensions, 
 
 And all within it had an air 
 
 That told of comfort reigning there. 
 
 I knew it not at first, but knew 
 
 It was no stranger to my view; 
 
 For time and circumstances bring 
 
 Changes o'er each created thing. 
 
 And they who live when to the past 
 
 A hundred fleeting years are cast, 
 
 Such changes as I saw shall see 
 
 Have taken place, and it may be, 
 
 E'en as it then appeared to me. 
 
 Far as the eye could reach were seen, 
 With daisy-covered lawns between, 
 Each after each, in bright succession, 
 Of happiness the glad possession, 
 Sweet villas, such as gaily rise 
 Beneath Italia's genial skies. 
 
10 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 Around them grew a rich profusion, 
 Trees, shrubs, and flowers, in fair confusion; 
 The vines aloft their tendrils flung, 
 And fondly round each object clung, 
 And bore a rich luxuriant hoard 
 To deck and cheer the festive board. 
 Glowing beneath their leaves of green, 
 The peach and nectarine were seen; 
 And every fruit that charms the eye, 
 Courts or allays satiety; 
 And roses red and lilies white, 
 Entwining gay and sweet and bright, 
 And plants for scent or beauty rare, 
 Or curious leaf or petal fair, 
 Sprung up in rich abundance there. 
 
 No more does summer's scorching beam 
 Dry up old Waveney's sluggard stream, 
 And leave the hapless fish to lie 
 Gasping for water, till it die. 
 No more it creeps ingloriously 
 Through weeds and sedges to the sea; 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 11 
 
 For lo, its waters, broad and deep, 
 Far down the winding valley sweep ; 
 And many a bark is seen to glide 
 Along in triumph and in pride, 
 With streamer floating fair and gay. 
 Some bounded on their watery way, 
 While lightly curling round their prows 
 The cloven waters gurgling rose ; 
 In pleasure's track they skimmed along, 
 And left behind the voice of song. 
 Others, with deeply sunken side, 
 And heavy motion through the tide, 
 Poured forth on high an eddying stream 
 Of smoke : they owned the power of steam. 
 Others upon the lake's smooth breast 
 Lay floating tranquilly at rest; 
 While round and round a spacious quay 
 Was built for their conveniency; 
 And all the aids which art and care 
 Had given to commerce all were there. 
 
 But who may paint in language meet 
 The scene, with beauty so replete, 
 
12 POSTHUMOUS RHFMES 
 
 I saw yon western shore disclose ; 
 
 "Where gardens, gay and fair as those 
 
 That decked the banks of Bendemeer 
 
 Or verdant vale of famed Cashmere, 
 
 Spread forth their charms of shrub and flower, 
 
 Of sunny walk and shaded bower ? 
 
 It was a scene on which the eye 
 
 Dwells with such deep intensity, 
 
 As quite absorbs all other sense, 
 
 It draws such draughts of pleasure thence ; 
 
 A scene which all, or more or less, 
 
 May feel; but few can e'er express 
 
 Their notion of its loveliness. 
 
 When on the western ocean's bed 
 The sun lay down his glowing head, 
 And twilight reigned delightful hour ! 
 And owned enchantment's 'witching power, 
 And flung a joy around the heart 
 Which gaudy noon can ne'er impart, 
 Mortals forsook the busy town, 
 "With many an anxious thought bowed down, 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 13 
 
 And bade adieu awhile to care, 
 And came to breathe a purer air, 
 And felt the fevered pulse and brain 
 Resume their wonted tone again, 
 And owned how exquisite the bliss 
 Of scene and hour so sweet as this. 
 
 And you might hear such light free laugh 
 As bursts from youthful hearts, who quaff 
 The stream of pleasure as they glide, 
 Nor fear that the translucent tide 
 Will ever run less pure, or they 
 Have less occasion to be gay. 
 Now o'er the velvet-covered lawn 
 Trip they as sportive as the fawn; 
 Now, 'midst entwining shrub and bower, 
 In secret gleesomely they cower; 
 Then, darting from their coverts, rise 
 Before their playmates in surprise ; 
 While the loud scream that meets the ear 
 Expresses both their mirth and fear. 
 
1 4 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 Or in some sheltered sweet retreat, 
 
 Hid from detraction's jaundiced view, 
 See, at this hour, young lovers meet, 
 
 And breathe their vows of love anew, 
 And gaze upon the western sky 
 Where massive clouds in splendour lie 
 Pile upon pile, stupendous rolled, 
 Like giant rocks of virgin gold ; 
 While high upon yon poplar tall 
 The latest sunbeams trembling fall; 
 And clear, mellifluous, and strong, 
 The blackbird trills his evening song ; 
 And bees forsake the honied flower, 
 Save a few stragglers round their bower, 
 Which, humming, sip the suckles sweet 
 That twine around the sheltered seat; 
 And flowers are shutting up their gay 
 Bright petals till another day, 
 Yet yield a more delicious breath 
 Like virtue's memory after death 
 Than when, expanded full and wide, 
 They bloomed in beauty and in pride. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 15 
 
 And there, reviewing life's short day, 
 The moralist infirm and grey, 
 "With tottering step and movement slow, 
 Looking around, above, below, 
 Half wishing that his soul could rise 
 And soar at once beyond the skies, 
 And throw aside the load of years, 
 And lose his pain and lose his fears, 
 Ponders the thoughtless youth around; 
 And then the flower-enamelled ground; 
 And feels how like that fragile flower 
 Is man, his beauty and his power; 
 And weeps to think those cheeks of bloom 
 Must wither soon within the tomb; 
 Or age among that glossy hair 
 "Will show its footstep here and there, 
 And dim those eyes; or early tears 
 May do the work of lingering years; 
 How all their schemes of earthly bliss, 
 Their morning dreams of happiness, 
 Shall melt, like snow upon the river, 
 "Which now is seen, then lost for ever. 
 
16 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 But other changes most momentous 
 A hundred rolling years had sent us. 
 I saw the streets all clean and wide, 
 With footpaths broad on either side, 
 By tender toes how highly prized ! 
 The centre too macadamized, 
 And terminating in a square 
 Of buildings regular and fair. 
 Butchers' and barbers' shops and blocks, 
 And terror of the rogue ! the stocks ; 
 And pot-houses, from whence a squall 
 Of song not over musical 
 Oft burst upon the ear of night, 
 And woke the neighbours in affright; 
 
 And *s dispensary, who stitches 
 
 Your constitution or your ; 
 
 Whose manual proves he far surpasses 
 In skill the most elaborate asses, 
 Who learn, at colleges and schools, 
 Sufficient just to make them fools ! 
 All these were swept away, I ween, 
 As if such things had never been ; 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 17 
 
 And in the area rose a chaste 
 
 Fair specimen of Grecian taste, 
 
 A temple light and elegant 
 
 As poets sing or artists paint; 
 
 To which I saw, of high and low, 
 
 A numerous throng pass to and fro. 
 
 I stood astonished, marvelling 
 
 What sight could thus together bring 
 
 Those of such different rank and age, 
 
 The rich and poor, the young and sage ; 
 
 And thought perchance the place might be 
 
 A play-house or menagerie; 
 
 But soon I found, from what they bore, 
 
 That here had knowledge her rich store 
 
 A public institution, where 
 
 All ranks, conditions, might repair, 
 
 And cull from wisdom's fairest pages 
 
 The lore of else forgotten ages; 
 
 Nor deemed they then, as many deem 
 
 It all unworthy their esteem, 
 
 And only meant, so let it be, 
 
 For vulgar folk of low degree. 
 
1 8 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 I saw a building ruined lie, 
 A temple once of the Most high. 
 Why was it ruined thus? In sooth, 
 They said 'twas in the cause of truth. 
 The worshippers, it seems, had all 
 In doctrines grown quite critical; 
 And you might see those sages stand, 
 "With finger raised and outspread hand, 
 Scanning each point of every creed, 
 To practice paying little heed 
 And proving, clear as clear could be, 
 Their own infallibility! 
 True, notwithstanding their discerning, 
 They no pretensions had to learning, 
 But just distinguished ' orthodox ' 
 By scent as hounds find out a fox. 
 Sometimes things did not quite alike 
 Their faculties or senses strike; 
 And truth at length became a stone 
 Of stumbling to their feet, a bone 
 O'er which they stood and growled and snarled, 
 Until, like other curs, they quarrelled, 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 19 
 
 And, in their eagerness, forgot 
 
 Or, what was worse, they heeded not 
 
 This truth, how simple yet how grand ! 
 
 'A house divided cannot stand.' 
 
 It stood not stands not now; each prop 
 
 That long had held the fabric up 
 
 Had mouldered dropped away, and none 
 
 Supplied the place when they were gone; 
 
 But thorns and briars and nettles tall 
 
 Sprung up within the ruined wall. 
 
 Alas, what trivial things divide 
 Friends, kindred, from each others' side; 
 A minor point of creed, a name, 
 "Will kindle wild dissension's flame, 
 And rend asunder every tie 
 That binds in love society, 
 And jealousy and hate instil, 
 And poison all the heart, and kill 
 Each social feeling, and control 
 The best affections of the soul. 
 But men begin to burst the chain 
 By bigots forged to bind how vain ! 
 
20 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 The aspirations of the mind, 
 Whose wondrous range is undefined; 
 And, from ten thousand points ascending, 
 The rays harmoniously blending 
 Their light, are darting gloriously 
 From every heart and every eye, 
 On ignorance, that fiend how fell ! 
 That poisons earth and peoples hell. 
 So birds obscene, that love the night, 
 Flee screaming fast before the light; 
 So noxious damps the earth beneath 
 Their every respiration death 
 Disperse and soon dissolve away, 
 When opened to the light of day; 
 And hellish imps, as grandams tell, 
 Flee to their caves with horrid yell, 
 When the cock's clarion, loud and shrill, 
 Proclaims day breaking on the hill. 
 
 In vain you sneer, and scoff, and boast; 
 The rocky band that guards the coast 
 Shall fall before the dashing sea 
 That 'gainst it roars incessantly, 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 21 
 
 Ere knowledge fall before the surge 
 That tyrants 'gainst her bulwarks urge; 
 The fires, that deeply hidden, pent 
 In Hecla's bosom, shall have vent 
 No surer than the human soul 
 Shall burst from bigotry's control. 
 
 And men had burst its bonds; and hence 
 In friendship and in confidence, 
 No more by hate or fear divided, 
 For name or creed no more derided, 
 I saw them mingle lovingly, 
 As brothers of one family ; 
 Envy and self no more combined 
 To steel the heart and taint the mind; 
 The channels of their charity 
 And love were unconfined and free, 
 Reaching to all of human birth, 
 Ev'n to the boundaries of the earth. 
 
 Hark! through the breathless air the bell, 
 From yon time-fretted tower, 
 
22 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 Proclaims with melancholy knell 
 
 The solemn midnight hour, 
 When spirits of the unhappy dead 
 Forsake their narrow restless bed, 
 To hold, beneath some blasted tree, 
 Their horror-breathing revelry. 
 I started with instinctive dread, 
 And swift as thought the vision fled ! 
 Ev'n as the clouds of yesterday, 
 Which left no trace of where they lay, 
 So passed it; but it left behind 
 Its deep impression on the mind. 
 And long I strove but strove in vain, 
 To keep or call it back again. 
 I looked around : the landscape still 
 Lay calm beneath that gentle hill; 
 And, high above, the silver moon 
 Rode lovely in nocturnal noon. 
 
 A momentary tremor came 
 Across my soul and o'er my frame, 
 As the night-hawk, the silence breaking, 
 Passed swiftly near me, wildly shrieking; 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 23 
 
 And glaring moon-beams coldly fell 
 
 On the few monuments that tell 
 
 The tale of those who lie beneath, 
 
 Who lived, and loved, and sleep in death 
 
 These stones, to point the loved one's grave, 
 
 Gushing affection weeping gave. 
 
 My blood was chilled with standing there ; 
 The night dews hung upon my hair; 
 And, pondering much if it might be 
 A fancy or reality, 
 
 I sought my home: methought some rest 
 Might chase the vision from my breast. 
 But it would not be driven thence, 
 Or came again with force intense; 
 And best it seemed, in humble guise, 
 To tell what passed before my eyes. 
 
 July, 1828. 
 
TIME. 
 
 Spirit of Time ! who lov'st, when night dews fall, 
 By ruined porch or ivy-covered wall, 
 Or 'neath some mouldering buttress' friendly shade, 
 To muse upon the wreck thy hand hath made, 
 "While fitfully, through roofless galleries, 
 The chilling night-breeze melancholy sighs, 
 And sings her dulsome note the bird of night, 
 And sportive bats wheel round in mazy flight, 
 Pain would I trace, if human eye may scan, 
 Thy wasting march to where it first began, 
 And snatch from cold oblivion's gloomy night 
 Some scattered trophies of thine ancient might. 
 
 But ah ! what mortal vision shall explore, 
 What mortal tongue can tell thy triumphs o'er? 
 
POSTHUMOUS RHYMES. 25 
 
 Alas ! not mine the magic power to bring 
 A sound responsive from each trembling string, 
 Enchanting notes, beyond the power of art, 
 To soothe, refine, arouse, subdue the heart ; 
 Nor mine to tread where science loves to stray, 
 Where knowledge lingers and the graces play, 
 The path of learning to the favoured few 
 Wide open thrown, but hidden from my view. 
 Shall he to whom art, nature hath not given 
 Wisdom or genius choicest gifts of heaven, 
 Shall he attempt thy footsteps, Time ! to trace ? 
 Alas, in vain : as when the orb-dimmed face 
 Turns to yon spangled sky to search afar, 
 'Midst crowding myriads, for some favourite star. 
 
 When out of chaos and the realms of night 
 God formed the world, and said ' Let there be light,' 
 And the first morn arose and saw it lie 
 All good and fair beneath its Maker's eye ; 
 'Twas then thy reign began ; nor yet thy breath 
 Was tainted with decay, or grief, or death. 
 So in the tripping footsteps of young May 
 Spring health and beauty. But thy gentle sway 
 
26 POSTHTJMOTJS RHYMES 
 
 Lasted not long; for man became estranged 
 From God, and all the bent of nature changed. 
 Then, as on moorland heights the shepherd's fire 
 Sweeps the dry heath away, in sudden ire 
 Thy course destructive overwhelmed the world, 
 And man and all his toys to ruin hurled. 
 
 Age hath not damped thy fury ; nor can stay 
 A thousand worlds thine appetite for prey. 
 But still thou marchest on with rapid stride, 
 "Wild devastation spreading far and wide; 
 Or by the gnawing worm of slow disease, 
 Or by the raging tempest, the wild seas, 
 The earthquake, the volcano, famine, war, 
 Pestilence every evil that afar 
 Hides on the tainted breeze and arms with death 
 The fogs of Nile, or Afric's burning breath. 
 These are thine agents, these and thousands more 
 Are still purveying for thy greedy store; 
 Sparing nor age, nor sex, nor tongue, nor clime, 
 Nor work of man, nor nature more sublime : 
 The gorgeous palace and the humbler cot, 
 All are, or shall become, as they were not. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 27 
 
 As from some Alpine mountain's lofty brow 
 The avalanche, thundering, seeks the plain below, 
 Bearing, as with a strong, resistless tide, 
 At once the lofty pine that decks its side 
 And lowly shrub, that blossoms all unseen 
 And spreads amidst the crag its leaflets green. 
 
 "Where now the men that erst were wont to sway 
 The world's wide empire? Where departed they 
 Whose eloquence could rouse a nation's rage, 
 Or, having roused, its frenzy could assuage? 
 Mute is the silvery tongue; the powerful hand 
 Moulders, unnerved, beside the harmless brand; 
 And in the field where men were wont to reap 
 Their bloody harvest, feeds the timid sheep ; 
 While on the hearths of once imperial halls 
 The jackall slumbers, and the turtle crawls; 
 And they have yielded, mighty Time ! to thee 
 Their boasted claim to immortality. 
 Or if, far down the darksome vale of years, 
 Like a faint star, some mighty mind appears, 
 A dubious name is all that now survives. 
 So he who sang Achilles' wrath still lives, 
 
28 POSTHUMOUS EHTMES 
 
 But what his race, his real identity, 
 
 Where born or taught, where he doth lowly lie, 
 
 No human tongue can tell ; nor mind can trace 
 
 His life, his features, or his dwelling-place : 
 
 All save a name are to oblivion flung, 
 
 And that left doubtful as the Troy he sung. 
 
 Such are thy triumphs, all-destroying Time ! 
 
 Through every age and country, tongue and clime; 
 
 Races and empires have their short-lived day - 
 
 Spring up, are founded, flourish, and decay. 
 
 Here, while I wander, 'mongst these dewy fields, 
 Rich with the plenty bounteous nature yields, 
 My eyes survey yon venerable towers, 
 Where monarchs oft found refuge; when the powers 
 Of Denmark swept o'er Anglia's fertile plains, 
 And spread red ruin through her fair domains. 
 Hither they came; as to the nearest rock 
 The seaman flies, when the o'erwhelming shock 
 Of the wild winds and the tumultuous waves 
 Shatters his bark into a thousand staves. 
 And whither fled thy princely glories now 
 Fair Framlingham ? What hand hath shorn thy brow 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 29 
 
 Of all its splendour? Where the pompous throng, 
 
 Children of war, wine, wassail, dance, and song 
 
 That made thy halls resound with mirth? all fled, 
 
 To seek a common refuge with the dead; 
 
 And in thy courts, where kings and princes strode, 
 
 The pauper makes his cheerless, mean abode. 
 
 Yet 'mong the ruined walls I love to trace 
 
 Thine ancient grandeur: as upon the face 
 
 Of aged matrons lingering traits are seen 
 
 Which tell of beauty that there once hath been ; 
 
 Thus 'midst the ravages of time, the eye 
 
 Is still attracted by thy bearing high ; 
 
 Fondly surveys each buttress, gate, and tower, 
 
 That tells in former days how great thy power. 
 
 Across these piers, where weeds and ivy grow, 
 
 The draw-bridge safely spanned the moat below, 
 
 While from yon ruined porch, at peep of day, 
 
 Forth issued lord and knight and lady gay, 
 
 To wake the deer with merry hound and horn, 
 
 Their faces fresh and radiant as the morn; 
 
 Or the bold baron led his long array 
 
 Of steel-clad warriors to more deadly fray, 
 
30 POSTHUMOUS KHTMES 
 
 While echoed court and tower the trumpet's sound, 
 And steeds, impatient, neighing, pawed the ground. 
 And where the wall-flowers on yon turret wave, 
 Like a gay banner on a warrior's grave, 
 Hath trod the sentinel's firm step and slow, 
 His keen eye watchful of the coming foe. 
 
 And when at eve, from chase or war returned 
 Warrior and dame : and bright the faggot burned 
 Upon the ample hearth, while circled round 
 The inspiring bowl with sparkling plenty crowned; 
 These walls, now shattered, desolate, and grey, 
 Have oft re-echoed to the minstrel's lay. 
 He sings of princess fair in magic bower, 
 Of gallant knight who broke the enchantment's power; 
 Or bolder strains, of those who fought and fell, 
 With English Eichard 'gainst the infidel; 
 And the grey bard, soon with the subject fired, 
 Feels his own soul with sudden rage inspired, 
 Pours forth such torrents of heroic song 
 As steal the senses of the listening throng ; 
 And, quite transported by the minstrel's wrath, 
 They dream of sudden strife and fields of death, 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 31 
 
 And grasp the sword, and knit the teeth and hrow, 
 And guard, and strike, and overcome the foe ; 
 Till ebbs their fury as the powerful lay, 
 Softening to notes harmonic, dies away. 
 
 Thus while I ponder, in the evening hour 
 When Phoobus' lengthen'd march hath spent his power, 
 And cooling breezes, as they softly pass, 
 Breathe sweetest odour of the new-mown grass ; 
 Thus while I ponder, fancy's powerful aid 
 Restores each breach Time's ruthless hand hath made, 
 Calls back to being ruined court and wall, 
 And arms the tower and mans the rampart tull ; 
 And issuing forth I see the feudal train 
 "Wheel, charge, encounter, triumph on the plain. 
 
 But hark ! soft stealing through the calm profound 
 Comes music, other than the trumpet's sound, 
 Other than roused our warlike sires of old 
 To acts of blood and enterprises bold, 
 When superstition led her stalwart band 
 To deeds unholy in the Holy Land. 
 
32 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 Simple not less acceptable on high 
 
 The peasant's strain for its simplicity : 
 
 Yea, as of old the shepherd's sacrifice 
 
 "With sweetest savour towering sought the skies, 
 
 So, all unvarnished with the gloss of art, 
 
 The grateful offering of the peasant's heart. 
 
 So is his hope, if faith inspire the strain, 
 
 Borne on her wing beyond the reach of pain, 
 
 To dwell for ever in that blissful clime, 
 
 In mansions free from the decay of Time. 
 
 April, 1828. 
 
THE BAIRNIE'S POOL 
 
 OR, MY GRANNIE'S TALE. 
 
 November winds wi' eerie sough 
 
 Cam' rifting down the neighbouring glen, 
 
 The wearied lads had left the plough, 
 
 The dinner o'er the wheels brought ben. 
 
 The ingle bleezed fu' high and clear, 
 And shed around its genial heat; 
 
 The ploughman mended Bawsie's gear, 
 The shepherd darn'd his stocking feet. 
 
 The lasses lilted as they spun ; 
 
 My grannie sat the yarn to reel; 
 While uncle Willie cleans his gun, 
 
 And Johnnie mends the prato creel. 
 
34 POSTHUMOUS HHYMES 
 
 As thus wi' eydent hand they plied 
 Ilk ane their task, baith lad and lass, 
 
 'An awfu' night ! ' my grannie cried, 
 'Hear how the rain beats on the glass; 
 
 'And hark ! wi' what a fearfu' roar 
 The burn is dashing o'er the linn : 
 
 I dinna min' a night before 
 Sae dreadful saving only ane. 
 
 Tho* three score years and ten, I ween, 
 Sin' then hae pass'd out o'er this pow, 
 Tnrn* that night as well's yestreen, 
 An' think I hear that storm e'en now : 
 
 ' Sae shot the lightning 'cross the lift, 
 Sae loud and lang the thunder roared, 
 
 Sae came the win' wi' sudden rift, 
 Sae doon the rain in torrents poured. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 35 
 
 * My faither sat ayont the fire, 
 And pitied them wha had to dree 
 
 The ragin' tempest's vengefu' ire ; 
 For aye a pitying heart had he. 
 
 'Heaven gie us thankfu' hearts, he cried, 
 For a' the blessings we possess; 
 
 For hame, for fire, for food, and hed, 
 In sic a dreary night as this; 
 
 '"While mony a weary wanderer's head 
 Maun bide the pelting of the blast, 
 
 Perchance without a bit of bread, 
 To break his long unbroken fast; 
 
 'Hopeless and worn, nae comfort near, 
 Nor more his feeble limbs can strain, 
 
 But drooping, like the leaflet sear, 
 He sinks on the unshelter'd plain! 
 
36 POSTHUMOT7S BHTMES 
 
 'His heart was fu' he could na mair 
 His tale of fancied wae pursue ; 
 
 But aye the thunders louder rair, 
 And fiercer yet the tempest blew. 
 
 'And oft was borne upon the gale 
 A wild and mournfu' scream of grief, 
 
 Mair wild an' mournfu' than the wail 
 Of clansmen o'er their fallen chief! 
 
 ' My faither said it was the win' 
 That skirled aroun' the auld him tap ; 
 
 But strong emotion showed within 
 He sairly dreed some sad mishap. 
 
 earthly blast, fu' weel he wot, 
 Was ever half so wild an' eerie ; 
 Naught but the water-kelpie's note 
 
 Could strike the heart sae sad and dreary. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 37 
 
 'Twa bairns had left their hame that day, 
 On errands to the neighbouring town, 
 
 But coming hame they tint their way, 
 An' wandered till the spaits came down. 
 
 'Attracted by its sullen roar 
 
 They found the ford aboon the linn; 
 An' tho' the banks were brimming o'er, 
 
 Yet hand in hand they ventured in. 
 
 ' Poor things ! how could their feeble limbs 
 Against that current's rage prevail ? 
 
 The stoutest herd the hill that climbs 
 Durst na' that night that stream assail. 
 
 ' 'Tis vain that they its strength oppose ; 
 
 In vain for help they spend their breath, 
 The waters soon aboon them close, 
 
 Their feeble cries are lost in death. 
 
38 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 'And ah! in vain, ye parents dear, 
 Your childrens' absence sair ye mourn 
 
 Ye call their names they canna hear ; 
 Ye look, but they will ne'er return. 
 
 'Deep, deep in Garoch's rocky bed 
 
 Your bonny bairns fu' soun' are sleeping, 
 
 Unmindfu' though aroun' their head 
 Its angry waters wild are sweeping. 
 
 ' Neist day their lifeless forms they foun' ; 
 
 In ither's arms fV sweet they lay, 
 In yon deep pool so dark and lown, 
 
 That bears their name this very day. 
 
 ' 'Twas there that doited Davy Caa, 
 Ae night as he came dandering hame, 
 
 Saw something white like driven snaw 
 Bob 'cross the pool as light as faem. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 39 
 
 'An' yearly on that dreary night 
 
 Is heard a cry of wae and dool, 
 An' seen the dead fire's glimmering light 
 
 To hover o'er The Bairnie's Pool.' 
 
 December 2nd, 1826. 
 
ELLEN AND THE BANKS OF CREE, 
 
 Young Edwin's gone to Ellen's bower, 
 His lip has felt the parting kiss; 
 
 Soft sorrow on his brow did lower, 
 And tear-drops mingled with the bliss 
 
 'JFarewell! I go, perchance, to see 
 
 "No more my Ellen, nor the Cree.' 
 
 Young Edwin felt the sacred glow 
 Of honour all his soul inflame, 
 
 And burned to meet the ruthless foe 
 And earn a wreath of martial fame ; 
 
 To fight for home and liberty, 
 
 His Ellen and the banks of Cree. 
 
POSTHUMOUS BHYMES. 41 
 
 For these he left his Ellen's arms 
 And crossed the foaming billows o'er, 
 
 And rushed amid war's rude alarms, 
 The sabre's flash and cannon's roar; 
 
 For honour, love, and liberty, 
 
 His Ellen and the banks of Cree. 
 
 And still, when loudest pealed the gun, 
 And fiercest rose the battle's yell, 
 
 Where densest rolled the war-cloud dun, 
 And the most heroes fought and fell, 
 
 He stood and shouted 'Liberty! 
 
 < For Ellen, and the banks of Cree ! ' 
 
 Alas, upon thy fatal shore, 
 
 Corunna, Edwin died at last ; 
 He fell beside the gallant Moore ; 
 
 And as to heaven a look he cast, 
 He faintly breathed a prayer for thee, 
 His Ellen, and the banks of Cree. 
 
 1827. 
 
WILLIE AND MARY. 
 
 Farewell, my love; but think not thou, 
 When far from thee I stray the while, 
 
 My heart shall e'er forget its vow, 
 
 Or harbour treacherous thought of guile. 
 
 Come, banish sorrow from thy brow, 
 And smile as thou wert wont to smile, 
 
 When life was young, and blithsomely 
 
 We strayed along the banks of Cree. 
 
 Ha ! dost thou weep to think that we 
 May never wander there again? 
 
 That ere the buds are on the tree, 
 Or gowans stud with white the plain, 
 
POSTHTTMOTJS BHYMES. 48 
 
 Far from my native land and thec, 
 Beyond the darkly heaving main, 
 A weary exile I shall be, 
 Perchance no more to see the Cree ? 
 
 Oh, chase away those idle fears, 
 
 Chase from thy mind those vain alarms; 
 
 At longest but a few short years 
 And I shall quit the trade of arms, 
 
 And kiss for aye away those tears, 
 And clasp, no more to yield, those charms 
 
 Return, no more to part from thee, 
 
 My Mary, nor the banks of Cree. 
 
 The ship is riding in the bay; 
 
 The boats are manned, the sails are spread ; 
 The bugles call away, away ! 
 
 Young Willie tore him from the maid, 
 And joined the banner floating gay 
 
 O'er gallant troops in arms arrayed, 
 And sought the foe courageously, 
 Far from his Mary and the Cree. 
 
44 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 Days, months, and seasons came and passed; 
 
 The wintry winds aroused the deep, 
 And Mary oft would walk aghast, 
 
 Along the promontory steep; 
 Or on her pillow list the blast ; 
 
 Or, if she closed her eyes in sleep, 
 'Twas but to dream unceasingly 
 Of Willie and the banks of Cree. 
 
 And when the spring bedecked the braes 
 
 Of lang and bonny Carsencary, 
 And birdies sung love's joys and waes, 
 
 !N"or bird nor flower had charms for Mary. 
 She wandered there : it was to gaze, 
 
 Until her aching eyes were weary, 
 Upon the distant rolling sea, 
 And think of him far from the Cree. 
 
 And when in beauty and in bloom 
 The summer clad the wood and wild, 
 
 And richly waved the yellow broom, 
 If chance she strayed at gloaming mild, 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 45 
 
 'Twas not to breathe the rich perfume : 
 Oh ! she was sad, though nature smiled ; 
 Her every thought was turned to thee, 
 Her "Willie, far from bonnie Cree. 
 
 And autumn came: the harvest moon 
 
 Shone fair o'er corn fields waving strong; 
 
 But dim to her was evening's noon, 
 She loved not now the reaper's song. 
 
 Oft she would turn her eyes aboon 
 And sigh 'My "Willie tarries long, 
 
 Too long, alas, from love and me, 
 
 His Mary and the banks of Cree.' 
 
 At length the news came o'er the sea 
 Of battles won and cities ta'en 
 
 Oft triumph has a tearful e'e, 
 The cup of joy is mixed with pain 
 
 And Britain shouted ' Victory ! ' 
 But wept o'er many a hero slain : 
 
 Aboukir ! Willie sleeps on thee, 
 
 His Mary on the banks of Cree! 
 1827. 
 
THE HOME OF YOUTH. 
 
 How sweet 'tis to wander alone in the gloaming, 
 When the air is perfumed by the newly mown hay; 
 
 And listen while thus you are carelessly roaming, 
 The blackbird and thrush blithly sing from the spray. 
 
 And sweet 'tis to stand on the brow of yon mountain, 
 And gaze on the ocean, the woodland and plain ; 
 
 And sweet in the desert the clear sparkling fountain 
 To the long parching lip of the African swain. 
 
 And sweet to the mind is the dream of the morning, 
 When the regions of fancy are open to view ; 
 
 Sweet the hope of our youth, in bright colours adorning 
 Each scene of our life too, too sweet to be true. 
 
 And oh, it is sweet to behold the young blossom 
 Of childhood expand to the dawning of truth : 
 
 But sweeter than all, to the wanderer's bosom 
 
 Is his far-distant home, the dear home of his youth ! 
 
 1827. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE FLY LEAF OF HOGG'S ' QUEEN'S WAKE.' 
 
 Oh shepherd, take thy harp again, 
 
 Nor let it longer silent lie 
 Neglected in the braken glen : 
 
 Awake anew its minstrelsy ! 
 
 Now softly as on zephyr's wings 
 Comes Philomela's evening strain, 
 
 "Wake the sweet magic of its strings, 
 And thrill the raptured soul again. 
 
 Now wild and mournful as the breeze 
 Which, when November's tempests sweep, 
 
 Comes moaning through the leafless trees 
 And stirs the horrors of the deep, 
 
48 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 Pour forth the strange, romantic story, 
 Of chilling power on every heart, 
 
 Till shrouded spectres, ghastly, gory, 
 Before the heated fancy start. 
 
 Or bear us to some lonely dell, 
 Near Ettrick's braes or Yarrow's stream; 
 
 Where, hid beneath the heather bell, 
 Or riding on the moon's pale beam, 
 
 The tiny, wanton fairies sport, 
 And dance and frolic on the green, 
 
 Or fawning, flattering, make their court, 
 Like other courtiers, to their queen. 
 
 But be it tale of fairy lore, 
 
 Or woman's love, or deeds of glory 
 
 Achieved by gallant knights of yore, 
 Or horror-breathing spectre story, 
 
 Awake the wild harp's notes again ! 
 
 Nor, shepherd, let it longer lie 
 Neglected in the braken glen; 
 
 But wake, wake its minstrelsy ! 
 1828. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 49 
 
 THE BARK. 
 
 The sun brightly shines on the ocean, 
 
 And the billows so tranquilly lie, 
 They seem to be scarcely in motion, 
 
 Or but kiss the white pebbles and die. 
 
 There's a bark o'er the silvery waves dancing, 
 With pinions wide spreading and gay; 
 
 In the day-beam its gilt prow is glancing, 
 As it bounds o'er the waters away. 
 
 There's a cloud gathering black in the heaven; 
 
 There's a dark ruffled speck on the deep ; 
 Lo ! the sky with red lightning is riven, 
 
 And the strong pinioned winds fiercely sweep. 
 
 Where now is the bark that so gaily 
 Danced along on the calm sunny sea? 
 
 It has perished as mortals do daily 
 
 In the midst of their pride and their glee. 
 
 May, 1828. 
 
50 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Philosophers vainly have striven to find 
 
 The secret of turning each substance to gold, 
 And the precious elixir by -which they designed 
 
 To revive all the vigour of youth in the old. 
 For, alas! the poor dotards just waked from their 
 dreams 
 
 To find all their gold was converted to dross, 
 And so eagerly searched for long life that, it seems, 
 
 Death only came sooner their projects to cross. 
 
 But potent, beyond all the alchymist's art, 
 
 Is this bumper come pledge me ! you'll find 
 
 it is true; 
 It will shed a bright halo of joy round the heart, 
 
 And bury old troubles, past pleasures renew. 
 And what signify riches, if care cloud the brow ? 
 Or life long extended, if wretched the while ? 
 We more than those sages e'er dreamed of 
 
 have now 
 In the full flowing bumper and heart-beaming 
 
 smile ! 
 1831. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 51 
 
 FRESTON TOWER. 
 
 These lines were inserted, with a view of the picturesque building to which 
 they refer, in Clarke's ' History and Description of Ipswich, 1 published by 
 S. Piper in 1830. 
 
 Who can o'er thy summer tide, 
 Winding Orwell, ever glide, 
 Nor with raptured eye confess 
 Many scenes of loveliness 
 Spreading fair thy banks along, 
 Subjects meet for poet's song? 
 But the scene I love the best 
 Here is faithfully expressed 
 By the artist's skilful hand 
 Mightier than wizard's wand. 
 
 Yes! old Freston, stern and gray, 
 Looking o'er the watery way, 
 Hath, to me, more charms than all 
 Wooded park, or lordly hall. 
 0! methinks 'twere sweet to lie, 
 When the sun is riding high, 
 
52 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 'Neath the shadow of these trees, 
 
 On the daisied turf, at ease, 
 
 Listening to the sheep-bells round, 
 
 Tinkling with a silvery sound; 
 
 Or, adown the vista bright, 
 
 "Watch the bark so trim and light; 
 
 Or, upon yon turret high 
 
 Turn a fixed and musing eye, 
 
 Till the visions of the past 
 
 O'er the mind come crowding fast; 
 
 And, by fancy touched, ideal 
 
 Things become as true as real, 
 
 And unto the mind supply 
 
 Pages lost to history. 
 
 Here, perhaps, when winds were loud, 
 
 And the seaman's guiding star 
 Hid her face behind a cloud 
 
 "Weeping o'er the drowning tar 
 Sat some young and lovely dame, 
 Feeding well the beacon-flame, 
 Striving vainly to discover, 
 Through the gloom, her ocean rover. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 53 
 
 Or, perchance, some hoary sage, 
 Dread and wonder of the age, 
 Here, at midnight calm, profound, 
 Watched the planets in their round. 
 Or the zealous devotee 
 Here would bend repentant knee; 
 Deeming fleshly penance can 
 Cleanse the soul mistaken man ! 
 Or the merry hunter here 
 Spent the night with hearty cheer; 
 Till the cry of hound and horn 
 Woke the chase at peep of morn. 
 
 Thoughts like these my mind engage, 
 Poring o'er this pictured page. 
 Pen of mine may not reveal 
 What the exile lone shall feel, 
 When, beneath far distant skies, 
 ' Freston Tower ' shall greet his eyes 
 He will own, with swelling heart, 
 The power the magic power of ART. 
 
54 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 THE ORWELL 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 These lines were set to music and published by the late well known composer 
 of ballads, Nathan Sporle. 
 
 Oh, dear is the wood-skirted Orwell to me, 
 "With its rich rising upland and green sloping 
 
 lawn; 
 
 Where the lambkins in summer sport over the lea, 
 And the daisy scarce bends 'neath the light 
 
 bounding fawn. 
 And I love by its brink, in the calm hour of 
 
 gloaming, 
 
 To muse while the zephyr comes stealing along, 
 Or to catch, as it dies, in its soft modulation, 
 The echo's reply to the boatmen's blithe song 
 
 As cheerily down the yielding tide 
 They speed with hearts so gay, 
 
 Still singing, as they onward glide, 
 Some merry roundelay ! 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 55 
 
 'Tis not that its banks are the scene of my childhood, 
 
 In memory still cherished though lost to the eye: 
 
 Here is not the stern grandeur of crag and of 
 
 wild-wood, 
 
 Or the mist-crested mountain that pierces the sky. 
 
 Yet gratitude, love, binds my heart to the Orwell, 
 
 For the home of the friends of my bosom is 
 
 near; 
 
 And my soul must be dead to each manly emotion 
 "When its banks cannot charm, or they cease to 
 be dear. 
 
 So cheerily down the Orwell's tide 
 We'll speed with hearts so gay, 
 
 Still singing, as we onward glide, 
 Some merry roundelay ! 
 
 1831. 
 
56 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 SONNET: 
 
 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 Years had flown on: in quick succession passed 
 The changing seasons, rolling each on each, 
 As the wild waves upon the lone sea beach ; 
 
 But nor the summer's sun, nor winter's blast, 
 Nor spring, whose gentle breath dissolves the 
 
 streams 
 And wakens nature from her ice-bound dreams, 
 
 To her brought liberty ; but her high soul 
 
 Disdained the hand that barred its house of clay; 
 And, as the imprisoned eagle strives for day, 
 
 So it, impatient of the dust's control, 
 
 Was eager for release. What if the key 
 Which bids it from its thraldom to be free 
 
 Should be the blood-dyed axe, and the glad knell 
 
 That welcomes its escape, her passing bell ! 
 
 1827. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 57 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. M W 
 
 Can wealth or honour bribe the hand of death, 
 
 Or gild the gloomy mansion of the grave ? 
 
 Can earthly power stretch forth its hand and save ? 
 Or bind the pinions of our fleeting breath? 
 No ; but the keen, the eagle eye of faith 
 Can gaze undazzled on a world to come, 
 
 And penetrate, beyond the drear abyss, 
 
 Into the region of eternal bliss : 
 Faith hears, unmoved, the voice that summons home. 
 Such faith supported thee, departed saint! 
 
 Through all the trials of this thorny way; 
 Still cheered thee when life's lamp burned dim 
 and faint, 
 
 And calmly sunk its last reflected ray 
 In the dull shades of night, to emerge in endless 
 day! 
 
 1827. 
 
58 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND'S CHILD. 
 
 Thou wert a lovely and a patient child ; 
 
 Thy mild blue eyes were never dimmed with tears 
 Of sullen discontent, but softly smiled 
 
 With an expressiveness beyond thy years : 
 
 How didst thou differ from thy young compeers I 
 Calm in thy sorrow, gentle in thy mirth, 
 
 The neighbours marked thee, and expressed their 
 fears, 
 
 And sighed, and sadly smiled to think a thing 
 So beautiful must soon return to earth. 
 
 Doth not the flower that soonest greets the spring, 
 The purest, fairest, swiftest pass away, 
 Nor stay to wither in the summer ray? 
 And heaven, in mercy, made a thing of light 
 Of thee, ere sin could mar or folly's glare could 
 blight. 
 
 1827. 
 
SY JOHN HANNAH. 59 
 
 SONNET 
 
 WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF 'AUTOGRAPHICAL MEMORIALS.' 
 
 Men are the sport of circumstances; they 
 
 Can form no lasting friendships here below : 
 Death, sickness, change of fortune, or of place, 
 Time, envy, jealousy, these can decay 
 
 Impressions the most strong; yet we forego 
 Unwillingly such joys; and they disgrace 
 Our human nature who can turn away 
 
 From those they love without a pang of woe, 
 Or cast them careless from the mind's embrace. 
 
 I would not thus forget, nor be forgot. 
 Since of the past and absent we retrace 
 In simple things the memory, let this book, 
 When through its pages you excursive look, 
 
 Thus speak for me 'My friend, FOKGET ME NOT.' 
 
 1829. 
 
60 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 THE LONELY STAR. 
 
 I strayed all alone, when the day was o'er, 
 Where the billows dashed on the foaming shore, 
 And sullen and dark was the earth ; in the sky 
 I saw but one star, burning tremulously. 
 
 I saw, by its faint and gentle ray, 
 That a bark o'er the ocean pursued its way ; 
 And above the roar of the angry wave 
 "Was wafted the mariner's cheerful stave. 
 
 ' Thou star of the north' ! such the mariner's 
 
 theme 
 
 ' Thou fairest of stars, by whose radiant beam, 
 "When the wild waves rave and the tempests sweep, 
 We fearlessly range o'er the midnight deep ! 
 
 ' The wanderer turns with a wistful eye 
 To his home and the friends of his infancy; 
 And the bridegroom gay to his blushing bride 
 Who sits, in her beauty, by his side. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 61 
 
 'And the young fond mother delights to gaze 
 On her slumbering infant's angel face ; 
 But the upturned eye of the venturous tar 
 Rejoices in thee, lovely northern star! 
 
 ' Unwavering orb ! may thy heavenly ray 
 Still light us along on our lonely way: 
 0, still, when the waves and the tempests sweep, 
 Be our guardian over the midnight deep!' 
 
 Here ceased the song ; and the vessel was gone ; 
 But that star still in heaven's deep azure shone ; 
 And methought that it burned with increasing 
 
 light 
 As dark and more darkly came on the night. 
 
 Emblem, I cried, of the Christian's stay, 
 Of Him who illumines life's perilous way ; 
 As thou to the mariner, so to them 
 Is the star, the bright star, of Bethlehem ! 
 
 October, 1826. 
 
62 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF BABYLON 
 FORETOLD. 
 
 O Babylon, thy might and thy beauty shall fade, 
 And the pride of the Chaldees in ruins be laid ; 
 The bow shall be bent and unsheathed be the 
 
 sword 
 To smite thee, as Sodom was smote by the Lord. 
 
 JS"o more in thy streets shall the timbrel be heard, 
 The song of the maid or the harp of the bard; 
 Mute, mute shall each voice be, and withered 
 
 each hand : 
 There wild desolation for ages shall stand. 
 
 And the wandering Arab shall shun thee, and roam 
 Far, far in the wilderness seeking a home ; 
 Nor the shepherd his flock to the pasture shall lead 
 By the brink of thy waters to gambol and feed. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 63 
 
 But the owl shall inhabit thy palaces fair 
 And fill, with her doleful complainings, the air ; 
 And the dragon and satyr and beasts of the isles 
 Like spectres shall glide 'mong the crumbling piles. 
 
 For thy dark cloud of sins hath ascended to 
 
 heaven, 
 
 As the sand of the desert by hurricanes driven ; 
 And the vengeance of God will come down on 
 
 thy head : 
 Nor long shall the day of his wrath be delayed. 
 
 January, 1827. 
 
64 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF 
 A BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 
 
 Hail, Christian charity! by heaven 
 Designed to cheer life's rugged road ; 
 
 To whom the blissful task is given 
 Of easing misery's heavy load, 
 
 Of drying up her tearful eye, 
 
 And chasing from her breast the sigh. 
 
 'Tis thine, when numerous ills impend 
 Around the sick, infirm, and old, 
 
 From gnawing hunger to defend, 
 
 And shield them from the wintry cold ; 
 
 To blunt the pointed darts that fly 
 
 From sorrow and adversity. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 65 
 
 And when that awful hour draws near 
 "Which feeble nature dreads the most, 
 
 When hope is fled, and guilt and fear 
 Come in with memory's dreary host, 
 
 And the sad soul is hovering nigh 
 
 The brink of dread eternity, 
 
 Thou seek'st the restless, lowly bed, 
 And point' st to Him who can control 
 
 Of punishment for sin the dread, 
 And gild the darkness of the soul : 
 
 Can change to joy the wild despair, 
 
 And tune the heart to praise and prayer. 
 
 Such deeds as these ennoble more 
 
 The Christian, than his wealth or fame; 
 
 They breathe of Him who calmly bore 
 The depth of misery and shame, 
 
 Who spent his life in ' doing good,' 
 
 And shed, in Chanty, his blood. 
 
 1827. 
 
66 POSTHUMOUS EHYMES 
 
 THE BALM OF LIFE. 
 
 Mortal, as you onward stray 
 
 O'er life's rough and devious path, 
 
 What shall cheer you on your way? 
 "What can nerve your soul in death ? 
 
 Can the stores that hidden lie 
 Deep in India's golden mines ? 
 
 Richest rohe of purest dye ? 
 
 Or the brightest gem that shines? 
 
 Can the wreath that binds the brow 
 Of the pampered child of fame? 
 
 Or the proudest name below? 
 Or the monarch's diadem? 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 67 
 
 Ah, how impotent are these 
 
 In the hour of racking pain, 
 When the giant of disease 
 
 Binds the strong in fiery chain! 
 
 How unable to support 
 
 Trembling wretches when they lie 
 Of their guilty fears the sport, 
 
 Or to cheer them when they die ! 
 
 Vain are all : God's holy word 
 Can alone bring true relief, 
 
 When affliction's vial's poured 
 On the head in floods of grief. 
 
 This alone can yield the soul 
 
 Healing streams of heavenly balm, 
 
 Every rising fear control, 
 
 Hush the conscience to a calm. 
 
68 POSTHUMOUS EHTMES 
 
 Let us then, while here below, 
 Or in sickness or in health, 
 
 Or in happiness or woe, 
 Or in poverty or wealth, 
 
 Study well the sacred page, 
 
 That from thence we may derive 
 
 Strength in youth, support in age, 
 Be prepared to die or live. 
 
 1829. 
 
BY JOHN HANNAH. 69 
 
 HYMN 
 
 FOB A MEETING OF SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHEKS. 
 
 Lord ! let our evening sacrifice 
 
 With grateful savour rise to Thee : 
 
 Oh, Father ! canst thou e'er despise 
 The offering of sincerity? 
 
 The aid we need, great God, bestow, 
 Scatter our ignorance, and shine 
 
 Through every heart with sacred glow; 
 Touch every lip with truth divine. 
 
 So will we teach our youthful band 
 Thy pure commandments to obey, 
 
 Thy hidden things to understand, 
 
 Point them to heaven, and lead the way. 
 
70 POSTHUMOUS RHYMES. 
 
 Lord ! let our evening sacrifice 
 Ascend acceptable to Thee; 
 
 Oh, Father ! thou wilt not despise 
 The offering of sincerity ! 
 
 1829. 
 
|tengrs frnm an f ssnij mi llnwl-rtniing 
 
 BY JOHX HANNAH. 
 
 . . . The increased desire of information has not only augmented 
 the diligence but the number of authors. The bold and enter- 
 prising have travelled into countries almost if not altogether 
 unknown to the natives of Europe, and have opened new sources 
 of information, while the less adventurous have been labouring to 
 bring to light the hidden treasures of our own. Others, who in 
 their youth lived a life of danger and vicissitude, or what to them 
 seemed such, deeming their story too important to be forgotten 
 with themselves or their hope of advantage from its publication too 
 necessary or too alluring to be resisted, deal themselves out to * an 
 indulgent and generous public' in the shape of reminiscences, 
 travels, journals, or adventures. While from these and other 
 sources literature has received many valuable additions, it is not to 
 be supposed that the fertile fields of Utopia have been forgotten or 
 neglected. No such thing. The arrivals from that country have 
 been both numerous and various. Her emissaries, no longer con- 
 tented with making a story the vehicle of instruction or ' surpris- 
 ing levity into knowledge with a show of entertainment ' have 
 extended her pretensions to the regions of history, political 
 economy, and divinity. In short, their enchanting wand but 
 
72 PASSAGES FROM AN ESSAY 
 
 touches the most sterile regions, and lo ! they teem with interest 
 and incident. Every thing is turned into a novel, and a novel into 
 everything. Whether hy thus extending their sphere of action 
 novel writers have done much to forward the general interests of 
 literature is very questionable. The enchanting prospects which 
 they lay open to the imagination charm many into the path of 
 knowledge who would otherwise have been strangers to it ; but 
 they are too apt, when there, to listen to the songs of birds and 
 the gushing of the streams over pebbled beds, or to linger in 
 bowers of eglantine and roses and indulge in dreams of fancy, 
 while the night is fast approaching ' in which no man can work.' 
 Their appetite for novels becomes so great that they have no relish 
 for any other books ; and in their eagerness for this kind of 
 reading they neglect the more substantial and useful sources of 
 information. 
 
 The new ground that novel writers have, of late, trodden is often 
 a specious plea for dalliance in their enchantments by many who 
 value themselves on having tastes more sound and wholesome than 
 those of lovesick girls and neglected gentlewomen. Hundreds who 
 would condemn the wit of Fielding, the humour of Smollett, the 
 mystery of Mrs. Eadcliffe, the horrors of Lewis, or the satire of 
 Cervantes would, nevertheless, with great complacency spend their 
 evenings over the pages of an historical novel containing a picture 
 of the characters, the governments, the intrigues of the Louises, 
 Elizabeths, Jameses, and Charleses, with all their foibles, crimes, 
 persecutions, and enormities. 
 
 It is true, they tell us the pages of these historical reposi- 
 tories are embellished by certain narratives which savour much of 
 the fantastical vanities, the loves, and the jealousies of more 
 
ON NOVEL HEADING. 73 
 
 frivolous productions; but then it was not these that attracted 
 their attention. They read for information : if they stoop to 
 pluck a primrose or a daisy, they but breathe its perfume for a 
 moment and then throw it away ; while they gather and lay up the 
 more substantial fruits in the storehouse of memory. Under 
 these circumstances many march onward in the pursuit of know- 
 ledge. They firmly believe, all the while, they are pursuing sub- 
 stantial and useful information, when the truth is they are only 
 seeking what they find entertainment. 
 
 But allowing that the reader does not seek chiefly for amuse- 
 ment but for information and that the main facts are historical, 
 is a novel such authority as one would quote in confirmation 
 of any argument or assertion relative to particular characters or 
 events recorded in history ? If asked a question respecting any 
 event in the history of England or Scotland, should we answer on 
 the authority of Hume, Smollett, or Robertson, or upon that of 
 Shakspeare or Sir Walter Scott ? The great Marlborough is said 
 to have hazarded an opinion upon an historical point on the autho- 
 rity of Shakspeare ; but the circumstance is more complimentary 
 to the genius of the poet than to the historic attainments of the 
 hero of Blenheim. Few men who have any other resource will 
 follow the great captain in this route, however high the name that 
 has led the way. It is true that the works of Shakspeare and Sir 
 Walter Scott contain many historical truths ; but then they are so 
 interwoven with fictions, so disjointed and misplaced, that it is 
 almost impossible to unravel the one from the other, or to arrange 
 them so as to make them very consistent and uniform. Those who 
 wish to extract the truths and leave the fictions behind are puzzled 
 to determine which is which ; and if they wish to set their minds 
 at rest upon the subject, are, after all, obliged to refer to history as 
 an umpire. This, it is true, is precisely the point to which this 
 
74 PASSAGES FROM AN ESSAY 
 
 kind of reading, to be useful, should conduct us. But does it usually 
 lead to this result ? An honest Scotsman, it is said, having heard 
 that a certain kind of seamews were excellent whets, resolved to 
 make the experiment. But, to his great surprise, after he had eaten 
 half a dozen of them he was not a bit more hungry than when he 
 began ! Now it is to be feared that hundreds who have devoured 
 with avidity the historical novels of the author of "Waverley have 
 not improved their taste for history by so doing one whit more 
 than the canny Scot increased his appetite for dinner by eating 
 seamews ; but have, on the contrary, considered this a sufficient 
 apology for altogether neglecting more authentic sources of 
 information. 
 
 . . "WTiether novel-writers I mean such as write with this in- 
 tention do usually take the best method of teaching morals, is 
 questionable. There is generally, too little connection between the 
 means and the end. It is something like dragging a seventy-four 
 with a pack-thread. The sudden transitions from the depth of misery 
 and the very abyss of wretchedness to the summit of felicity and 
 honour depicted in these works, even where the characters of those 
 who are supposed to be the subjects of this good fortune are repre- 
 sented to be virtuous, rather militate against than support the 
 cause they thus ostensibly advocate. The reward of virtue, to be 
 effectual, should be such as all who act up to her dictates may rea- 
 sonably hope to obtain. For it becomes nugatory if placed out of 
 their reach. And what person of common sense would expect from 
 the exercise of the most conscientious virtue such rewards as the 
 sentimentalists so lavishly bestow upon their heroes and heroines ? 
 
 Every day's experience proves to us that in the political as well 
 as in the natural world, the virtuous enjoy and suffer in common 
 with others, without receiving any other rewards than such as are 
 
ON NOVEL HEADING. 75 
 
 peculiarly their own, the approbation of their Maker and their 
 fellow creatures and the testimony of a good conscience, rewards 
 of no mean magnitude, but very different from those which such 
 works exhibit, and which their perusal leads us to expect. To 
 those, therefore, who have too much common sense to be deluded 
 into the expectation of receiving such a recompense for supposed or 
 real merit, they hold out no inducements to virtuous conduct; 
 because these persons do not believe in the existence of such 
 uncommon self denial, or if they do, that it is paid by such good 
 fortune. But if such characters are in no danger of being deluded, 
 they are too apt to be disgusted and to suppose that virtue itself is 
 as chimerical as its reward. On the other hand those who are mad 
 enough to pursue a phantom that lures but to deceive may be com- 
 pared to a man who, standing on the top of a mountain, supposes 
 he can transport himself to the summit of another without having 
 to perform the painful and fatiguing task of scrambling through 
 the deep glen that divides them ; or, to the farmer who, because he 
 is promised a 'seed-time and harvest', expects his garner will be 
 filled with corn though he neither sows nor reaps. 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED BY HEAD CIUSP, BECCLES.