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 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
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 THE REV. W. ROUTLEDGE, M. A. 
 
 hixie Curate of Itminster .and Isle Abbots, Somerset, 
 
 Enntron : 
 
 ORR & SMITH, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 1834.
 
 THO.MS, PRINTER, 1*2, WARWICK SQUARE.
 
 5^^1 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 TO SIR AUBREY de VERE, 
 
 BARONET. 
 
 Sir, 
 I HAVE been induced to inscribe (by per- 
 mission) these little productions with 
 your name, as well from an admiration 
 of your many virtues and distinguished 
 talents, as in consideration of the very 
 friendly interest and attention you were 
 pleased to bestow upon me, when first 
 engaging in such attempts. 
 
 765?58
 
 iv DEDICATION. 
 
 I was at that time a stranger (though 
 vour hospitality and kind offices did not 
 long allow me to feel myself such) in a 
 land where every thing was strange to 
 me, and experienced not a little of that 
 depression and loneliness which such cir- 
 cumstances are apt to produce. A situa- 
 tion and frame of mind like this is just 
 what Plato has selected as most con- 
 genial to poetry. In my case it certainly 
 appeared so. To the cultivation of that 
 delightful art I devoted most of my so- 
 litary hours, and in it I found a sovereign 
 antidote to the gloom of my despondence. 
 One of my rude attempts had the fortune 
 to fall under your eye : you condescended 
 to speak of it in terms of commendation
 
 DEDICATION. V 
 
 and encouragement. Such language from 
 a person of your known taste and dis- 
 cernment was what (though sufficiently 
 visionary) I had nfever once dreamt of. 
 It fell like balm upon my youthful spirit : 
 and, though nothing that I have since 
 produced has in any respect realized the 
 hope it inspired in me, it is even yet 
 one of the pleasures of m}'- life to call to 
 mind the soothing sensation of compla- 
 cency it at the time occasioned. 
 
 In dwelling thus upon myself, I may 
 seem, I fear, to have forgotten my sub- 
 ject. Such, however, is far from being 
 the case. It is while recollections like 
 the above are passing through ray breast, 
 that I feel the image of your friendship
 
 VI DEDICATION, 
 
 most vividly and agreeably present with 
 me ; — those are the associations which, 
 amid numerous other obligations, most 
 sensibly bind me to you, and under the 
 influence of which I experience at this 
 moment the proudest satisfaction in sub- 
 scribing myself, honoured Sir, with sin- 
 cere gratitude and esteem. 
 
 Your very obedient. 
 Humble servant, 
 
 William Routledge. 
 Liverpool, Nov. 1, 1833.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 To my Lyre . . .1 
 
 Written in an Album . . 3 
 Prologue for Burns's Birth-day, 1828 5 
 
 Written in an Album . . 6 
 
 Earthquake during the Battle of 
 
 Thrasymenus . . -9 
 To Sir Aubrey and Lady de Vere . 19 
 
 Lines written at Sea . . 23 
 
 Burns . . . .25 
 
 Written in an Album . . 26 
 
 To a Swallow . . .28 
 
 Written in an Album . . 30 
 
 Epistle to a Friend . . 32 
 
 To Letitia . . . .39 
 
 Parthenon at Athens . .42 
 
 Lines written in a Music-Book . 43 
 
 St. John xix. 25—30. . . 45 
 
 To Henrietta . . .4/ 
 
 Written in an Album . .49
 
 Prologue for Burns's Birth-day, 1829 o3 
 Stanzas . . .57 
 
 Spring and Autumn . . 59 
 
 Written in an Album .85 
 
 Written in a moment of Despondence 87 
 Stanzas . . .88 
 
 Written at the request of a Lady . 90 
 To Anna . . .91 
 
 Written in an Album . . 92 
 
 To Henrietta Louisa . . 94 
 
 To Knowledge . . .96 
 
 To Miss E. C. on her Birth-day . 99 
 On the Death of a young Lady . 100 
 To Henrietta Louisa . . 102 
 
 On the late Mrs. Howard, of Corby 
 
 Castle, Cumberland . . 104 
 
 On the Death of an Infant Son . 105 
 Prayer . . . .107 
 
 To my Lyre . .145
 
 TRIFLES IN VERSE. 
 
 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 My dearest lyre, when first I found thee, 
 A cypress branch was twined around thee ; 
 And, when I swept thy virgin strings. 
 
 No gladdening sounds of joy they gave. 
 But 'twas as when the mermaid sings 
 
 A requiem o'er her lover's grave : 
 A strain so soft, so sad, and holy. 
 Makes hearts in love with melancholy. 
 
 But soon I tore the plant away 
 
 That tuned thy first-born song to sad- 
 ness. 
 
 And wreathed thee with a sparkling bay. 
 To swell thy voice to joy and gladness.
 
 That thou, my lyre, might'st ever be 
 A lyre of hope and mirth to me. 
 And many an hour of grief and pain. 
 
 Bereft of all but heaven and thee. 
 My dearest lyre, thy happy strain 
 
 Hath waked to bliss and ecstacy. 
 
 Yet even upon thy merriest mood 
 A plaintive note would oft intrude. 
 To tell that though the joy of youth 
 
 Had round thy frame a bay-branch set. 
 Thy spirit, in unchanging truth. 
 
 Had not forgot the cypress yet : — 
 Happy, my lyre, if all would prove 
 As faithful to their first, best love ! 
 
 But ah ! the world is full of friends 
 Who fawn upon us for a day. 
 
 And when they ' ve gained their private ends 
 Spread out their wings and fly away. 
 
 Leaving the heart they smiled upon. 
 
 To weep its hapless fate alone.
 
 But thou, my lyre, in good or ill. 
 
 Hast never parted from my side ; 
 Thy faithful voice is ready still 
 
 To soothe my soul, whate'er betide : 
 And, whether joy or grief be mine. 
 An answering tone declares it thine. 
 Let Fortune take her gifts again ; 
 
 Let youth depart, and cares molest ; 
 Yet, dearest lyre, if thou remain, 
 
 I shall not, cannot be unblest. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 CoMELiA, when in time to come 
 Thine eye shall fall upon this page. 
 
 Oh, think whate'er may be thy doom — 
 My friendship cannot change with age. 
 B 2
 
 'Tis written, and the seal once set. 
 
 While my fond heart confirms it true. 
 Though years have flown since thus we 
 met, 
 'Twill stand the same as when 'twas 
 new. 
 
 Limbs may grow old, and looks turn cold. 
 Yet, while these characters remain. 
 
 The eye that reads will still be told 
 I love thee— and more words were 
 vain.
 
 Prologue for the anniversary of 
 BURNS'S BIRTHDAY, 
 
 Celebrated by the Cumberland Gentlemen resident 
 in London, Jan 25, 1§38. 
 
 Far as we wander from our mountain 
 
 home. 
 Where forests darken and where torrents 
 
 foam. 
 Where cliff on cliff, in wild confusion cast. 
 Frowns at the fury of the winter blast. 
 Where hill and mead in various beauty vie. 
 And lakes reflect each colour of the sky, — 
 Sad as we languish, severed wide apart 
 From every kindred eye and friendly 
 
 heart, — 
 One joy is ours, one hope for him that 
 
 mourns 
 In cheerless loneliness — the song of Burns . 
 B 3
 
 Dear as the shrine to weary pilgrim's eye. 
 Sweet as the loved-one's first consenting 
 
 sigh. 
 The song of Burns revives our boyish 
 
 hours. 
 When life was all one sunny path of 
 
 flowers ; 
 Recals each native haunt, each well- 
 known trace 
 Of rustic artlessness and simple grace ; 
 And brings anew the sports, the loves, 
 
 and pains 
 Of peaceful shepherds and untravelled 
 
 swains. [stand 
 
 The northern stranger seems again to 
 Amid the scenes of his deserted land. 
 Sees the dear fields before his eyes extend. 
 Where every tree and stream appeared a 
 
 friend ; 
 Lives o'er in thought the happy days of 
 
 home. 
 And almost fancies he has ceased to roam.
 
 Oh ! breathes there one to whom awakes 
 
 in vain 
 The magic music of that simple strain? 
 Who feels no tender recollections float 
 Across his heart, at the familiar note ? 
 Not thee the sordid wretch rejects, sweet 
 
 Burns ! 
 His country's land, his father's hearth, 
 
 he spurns. 
 
 Ye, then , who love the Poet's touching lay. 
 Approach his shrine, on this auspicious 
 
 day ; 
 And, as your souls soft pleasure oft hath 
 
 seized. 
 Oh ! think of him who gave you to be 
 
 pleased : 
 Letyour charmed lips his matchless praise 
 
 prolong. 
 Let your glad voices celebrate his song ; 
 Till every faculty, and sense, and thought 
 With the full spirit of the Bard be fraught.
 
 And every heart beneath his influence 
 
 melt ; — 
 For Burns is honoured where his power 
 
 is felt. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Thine eye is bright, thy brow is clear. 
 Thy cheeks unsullied by a tear ; 
 But days will come when hope and love 
 Will move no more as now they move. 
 
 Dear Marianne, thy joyous mind 
 Will then by sad experience find 
 That leaves drop off from fairy bowers. 
 And earth has thorns as well as flowers.
 
 Oh ! then should I no more be near. 
 With friendly voice thy heart to cheer. 
 And should the world with altered eye 
 Look on, and coldly pass thee by, — 
 This book will all thy griefs assuage. 
 And show a friend in every page. 
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE 
 
 DURING THE BATTLE OF ThRASYMENUS 
 
 'Tis morning, and all nature seems 
 Balmy as youthful poet's dreams. 
 There's not a sound in that calm air. 
 No, not a lingering murmur there.
 
 10 
 
 To tell that any living thing 
 
 Beholds the sweetness of the morn ; 
 But all is still, unwhispering. 
 Even as before mankind was born. 
 When all the sun yet looked upon 
 Was earth and his own heaven alone. 
 There's not a cloud in that pure sky 
 To spoil the blue tranquillity : 
 Earth, air, is silent — not a breath 
 
 Calls forth a slumbering echo thence ; 
 Tis stillness all, yet not of death, 
 
 But of reposing innocence. 
 The spirit is afraid to breathe, 
 Amid such calm, above, beneath. 
 Lest the least sigh of consciousness. 
 
 From heart of living creature stealing. 
 Should mar the silence of a peace 
 
 Almost too delicate for feeling. 
 
 Yet there are breasts, of human frame. 
 Not even an hour like this can tame,
 
 11 
 
 Beings to whom in vain is given 
 The silent earth and tranquil heaven. 
 Who gaze upon the cloudless sky 
 And know no kindred purity. 
 Who breathe the morning's gentle airs 
 And feel no calm within like theirs. 
 Who taste the stilly evening's mildness. 
 Nor lose their angr}^ spirit's wildness. 
 
 Yes ; even now, while all around 
 Is still and bright as fairy ground. 
 One sound disturbs the breathless spell 
 
 That holds so sweetly earth and air. 
 One cloud is brooding o'er that dell. 
 
 As if to veil the madness there- 
 Even by that lake of Thrasymene, 
 Where all beside is one serene, 
 "Mars brandisheth his fatal shield" 
 Over the bloody battle-field ; 
 And tribes and nations round are lying. 
 Beneath the angry war-god dying.
 
 12 
 
 Who could have thought when morning 
 
 shone 
 So gaily on that waveless water. 
 Before another hour was gone. 
 Its clearness would be stained with 
 
 slaughter ? 
 But hate and wrath their watch were 
 
 keeping. 
 While all the peaceful world was sleep- 
 ing. 
 And Punic spear, and Roman dart. 
 Have pierced through many a noble heart, 
 Round which a thousand bonds were 
 tied 
 Of kindred, home, and child, and wife. 
 Which, having braved each shock beside. 
 Are parted now in parting life. 
 
 The lake and vale is now one flood 
 Of crimsoned wave, and reeking blood ; 
 And bodies piled on bodies lie. 
 
 In mountain mockerv, on the ground.
 
 13 
 
 Rearing their ghastly forms on high, 
 
 Meet isles for that red sea around : 
 Yet Carnage hath not drunk her fill ; 
 Vengeance is half unsated still. 
 Thick, thick as ever, flies the lance. 
 
 And helm is cleft and shield asunder ; 
 And sword and shooting javelin glance 
 
 With death, amid that martial thunder; 
 As if they scorned inglorious rest, 
 
 \Miile yet a single hand was left 
 To wing them on, or yet a breast 
 
 Of living foeman to be cleft. — 
 But, hark ! — that sound ! — was it in air ? 
 No, not a breath is waking there ; 
 But wherefore ask ye of alarms 
 Amid such deafening din of arms ? — 
 Another comes ! — and yet the heaven 
 Is clear — again ! — the earth is riven 
 To the very centre, and the sound 
 Of bursting chasms is lumbering round. 
 Deep, long, slow, unreverberate. 
 As if a voice so desolate 
 
 c
 
 14 
 
 Might find no echo ; and a lone 
 Dark silence tells that land and main 
 Are all to chaos turned again, 
 Without a spirit to move thereon. 
 The sea-birds quit their native wave. 
 
 And fly to land with trembling pinion ; 
 But, ah ! no place is there to save 
 
 From stern Destruction's wide do- 
 minion : 
 Hill, valley, stream, are all in motion. 
 Like their own wildly- warring ocean. 
 The cattle shudder as they feel 
 The mountains in their horror reel ; 
 And madly gaze into the air 
 For help ; alas ! no help is there ; 
 Only a cloud, thick, dark, and dun. 
 Is gathering round the sullen sun. 
 And men — if be there, whom the 
 
 strife 
 Of elements has left in life — 
 Are hurrying idly to and fro 
 In all the idiocv of woe ;
 
 15 
 
 Or wildly clinging to the rocks 
 For safety in those staggering shocks ; 
 Or seeking on the uncertain tide 
 A ground of rest — on earth denied. 
 
 But where are they, the furious foes 
 That marred with strife the world's re- 
 pose. 
 While all in heaven was bright and gay, 
 And all at rest on earth, but they ? 
 Where are they now? — this hour of 
 
 fate 
 May surely quell their deadly hate ; 
 And teach the proud and wrathful one. 
 Vengeance belongs to God alone. 
 But, no ; there's not a spirit there. 
 
 For quaking ground, or lowering sky. 
 Has one brief moment's thought to 
 spare. 
 From arms, and death, and victor cry. 
 A burst of elemental madness 
 Is heard amid the general gladness ; 
 c 2
 
 16 
 
 And men stop short, and gaze around 
 To learn from whence proceeds the 
 
 sound : 
 But these fight on, unheeding still. 
 In wrath untamed, untameable. — 
 Another shock ! and rocks are rent 
 From their eternal settlement : 
 And rivers, in the mighty wrack 
 Of nature, leave their ancient track : 
 Yet the loud clash of spear and shield 
 Abates not in that bloody field ; 
 But river's rush, and mountain's fall. 
 Are answered by the warrior's call ; 
 And the wild roar of battle tide 
 Drowns every living sound beside. 
 
 Earth reels again ! and cities rock 
 Beneath the universal shock. 
 And pass away : — a lurid cloud 
 Hangs o'er them, like a funeral shroud. 
 To mark the place where once they stood. 
 And wrap the spiritless solitude.
 
 17 
 
 Silence again is in the sky. 
 
 And flowery fields, of Italy — 
 
 Silence as when the sun began 
 
 This morn to smile on slumbering man. 
 
 And every eye and every breast 
 
 Was happy in the bowers of rest. 
 
 But who can tell when they shall rise — 
 Those peaceful breasts, and sleeping 
 
 eyes ? — 
 For many a heart that slumbered deep 
 
 In silent bliss, when day was breaking. 
 Now sleeps the long unconscious sleep. 
 Which knows, alas ! no earthly wak- 
 ing. 
 
 The arching heavens of blue, that furled 
 A curtain round the dreaming world. 
 The cheerful sun, the breathless sky. 
 Gave promise of felicity : 
 But, ah ! the hopes that smile the sweetest 
 Are oft the falsest and the fleetest ; 
 c 3
 
 18 
 
 And this glad raorn of loveliest ray 
 In wreck and ruin has passed away ; 
 And a cold monumental stillness 
 Falls on the heart with freezing chillness ; 
 For all those joyous scenes so late 
 Are silent now and desolate. 
 
 Yes, all is silent, save the field 
 
 \Yhere " Mars is brandishing his 
 
 SHIELD." 
 
 No need of elemental aid 
 
 To forv\-ard desolation there ; 
 The javelin, and the reeking blade. 
 
 Spread far and wide the massacre. 
 And man falls, in the blood-red van 
 Of battle, by the hand of man. 
 While all beside, where peace united 
 
 Each hand and heart in mutual ties. 
 By shocks of struggling nature blighted. 
 
 The sky-loved land of Phoebus lies : 
 As if to those alone t'were given 
 \Miom heaven has loved, to die bv heaven.
 
 19 
 
 The fatal hour upon them pressed. 
 While slumbering in their innocent rest ; 
 And the same shock announced their 
 
 doom. 
 And wrapped them in the shroudless 
 
 tomb. 
 
 No funeral dirge sounds through the air. 
 
 No banner of mourning o'er them 
 
 waves ; 
 
 But the flag and shout of war are there, 
 
 And foemen fight for a land of graves. 
 
 TO SIR AUBREY AND LADY 
 de VERE. 
 
 Lone was his soul ; no raptures hung 
 In festive joyance on his tongue : 
 His home, his heart, was far awa}^ 
 And no one recked the wanderer's la}' ;
 
 20 
 
 He sang of grief, but no ear listened ; 
 He sang of hope, and no eye glistened : 
 Seemed it to him his harp had lost 
 
 The fairy sweetness of its tone ; 
 Or some congealing spell had crossed 
 
 All melting bosoms but his own ; 
 How could his harp, or trembling hand. 
 Awake the song in a stranger's land ; 
 When his own mountains were not nigh. 
 To catch the notes in floating by. 
 And echo back a wild reply ? 
 No mutual spirit whispered peace. 
 
 But the same heart that poured the 
 strain 
 Of grief, was left in loneliness. 
 
 To thrill response to it again. — 
 Lorn, sooth, his lot, yet not all dim 
 
 His fire ; his harp once more he tried. 
 As if it still could speak to him. 
 
 Though mute to all the world beside. 
 Long was the strain, and sad, and slow. 
 It told a tale of war and woe ;
 
 21 
 
 How the fierce strife that mortals wage 
 
 For empire's mace, or glory's palm. 
 Is not subdued by Nature's rage. 
 
 Is softened not in Nature's calm. 
 It met the ears of a gentle pair, 
 A minstrel sweet, and a lady fair : 
 Oh ! minstrels' souls are soft and mild 
 As their own warbling " wood-notes 
 
 wild ;" 
 And ladies' smiles are sweeter far 
 Than the sweet light of evening star : — 
 They cheered the wanderer on his way. 
 And listened to his humble lay. 
 How did his conscious bosom swell. 
 When deigned they speak his rude harp 
 
 well. 
 And bade, its timid notes to raise. 
 And hope a meed of loftier praise ! 
 Again, I ween, he tuned his lay. 
 His heart no more was far away ; 
 Brightened his brow with former glee. 
 He thought not of the stranger's land ;
 
 22 
 
 And his eye regained its witchery. 
 And he struck the strings with hap- 
 pier hand. 
 Blest, ever blest, be they that smiled 
 Upon the Muse's lonely child : 
 May gentle spirits ever keep 
 Glad vigil o'er them, as they sleep. 
 And fairy harps, when morn is nigh. 
 Awake them with their minstrelsy : 
 Oh ! may they dwell in blissful bowers 
 Woven by love with loveliest flowers : 
 And dancing fays in sportive ring 
 Wild wreaths of roses round them fling. 
 And thus in airy numbers sing : — 
 " Dear to the Muse are they that cast 
 
 A smile upon her wanderer ; 
 For, since they cheered the least and last 
 
 Of all her sons, they cherished her : 
 Then ever blest be they that smiled 
 Upon the Muse's lonely child."
 
 23 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT SEA. 
 
 Not a cloud is seen in the clear blue 
 heaven ; 
 No whispering breeze sings the sun 
 asleep. 
 As he lays his head on the lap of even. 
 And gems with his rays the far zone 
 of the deep. 
 
 Our ship lies lifeless along the ocean, 
 Unrepelled by tide, unadvanced by 
 wind ; 
 Her head towards England, her hull, 
 without motion. 
 Still lingering with those we have left 
 behind. 
 
 And there is a calm on all around — 
 A lonely feeling, unknown save at sea ;
 
 24 
 
 Where nought is heard but our footsteps' 
 sound. 
 Nought seen, between sky and wave, 
 but we. 
 
 Yet our thoughts oft wander beyond the 
 zone 
 Where the circle of all that is visible 
 ends. 
 And tell of a world beside this our own ; 
 Where our hearts may repose with 
 you, dear friends.
 
 25 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 " Dare I trouble you to let me know pri- 
 vately before the day of interment, that I may 
 cross the country, and steal among the crowd, to 
 pay a tear to the last sight of my ever-revered 
 benefactor." — Burns'' Letters. 
 
 Poor Burns ! — he weeps no feigned tear ; 
 
 There's that within which " passeth 
 show" — 
 The grief that lives through many a year. 
 
 The poignance, not the pomp, of woe : 
 The pleasing, painful throb we owe 
 
 To father, mother, brother gone. 
 He felt, and hastened to bestow 
 
 On him who had been all in one. 
 
 'Mid clamorous crowds, unheard, alone. 
 Behold the humble mourner glide ; 
 
 D
 
 26 
 
 His bosom cherishing its own 
 Sorrow, apart from all beside. — 
 
 The solemn pageantr}^ and pride 
 Of gorgeous grief, and sable woe. 
 
 Ah ! do they not too often hide 
 
 The' unfeeling heart that lurks below ? 
 
 Sorrow like his but ill can brook 
 
 To blazon forth its misery : 
 'Tis not the downcast lip or look. 
 
 The decent tear, or passing sigh ; 
 'Tis the heart sickening secretly. 
 
 Which nothing outward can express ; 
 It mourneth slowly, witheringly. 
 
 And cannot — will not — mourn the less. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 How often is the bosom stirred, 
 Bv the first token, look, or word.
 
 27 
 
 Its full regard at once to set 
 
 On those we ne'er before had met ! 
 
 Some secret power, some nameless cause. 
 
 We understand not how nor where. 
 The sympathizing spirit draws 
 
 To fix its firm election there ; 
 And one brief hour binds heart to heart. 
 In ties which only death can part. 
 
 And there are those, whose form or face. 
 
 But now and then upon us beams. 
 Who yet possess a constant place 
 
 In all our thoughts and all our dreams. 
 Each little act, each token kind. 
 
 Each sound we loved to dwell upon. 
 Recorded in the faithful mind. 
 
 Remains with us, when they are gone. 
 And every circumstance of life 
 Is with their imaged presence rife. 
 D2
 
 28 
 
 TO A SWALLOW, 
 
 WHICH I FOUND FLUTTERING ABOUT MY 
 CHAMBER ONE MORNING IN AUGUST. 
 
 Go, little fluttering, trembling dear, 
 I cannot pain thy gentle breast : 
 
 The sky is bright, thy mates are near. 
 Go, flee away, and be at rest. 
 
 Thou sought'st, all weary and forlorn, 
 A place to ease thy foot with me ; 
 
 But found'st, alas ! at dawn of morn. 
 Restraint and bondage there for thee. 
 
 And thou didst flap thy little wings. 
 And dash thy head against the glass. 
 
 When thou beheld'st, in airy rings. 
 Thy happy mates before thee pass.
 
 Full well thou knew'st, or might'st have 
 known. 
 To save the helpless and distrest, 
 Man's mercy is but seldom shown. 
 Or thou and thine had been more 
 blest. 
 
 And, therefore, little timid dear. 
 Thy heart beat fast and fearfully. 
 
 When thy deliverer drew near 
 To give thee back to liberty. 
 
 Thy fear was vain ; for should he mar 
 One sweet bird's plume, or spoil its 
 song. 
 
 His breast would be more wretched far 
 Than that which felt the cruel wrong. 
 
 He loves ye ; and when thou hast gone 
 To happier climes beyond the sea. 
 
 And left thy hapless friend alone. 
 He'll often wish to be with thee. 
 D 3
 
 30 
 
 Oh ! would'st thou here take up thy seat, 
 I'd nurse thee well and tenderly ; 
 
 Arid thou should'st eat of mine own meat. 
 And drink from the same cup with me. 
 
 But, ah ! no summer suns would shine. 
 To brighten and to bless thy stay ; 
 
 And thy sad heart would lonely pine. 
 When all thy mates were far away. 
 
 Then go — I cannot keep thee here ; 
 
 It would but pain thy gentle breast. 
 The sky is bright, thy mates are near. 
 
 Go, flee away and be at rest. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Lady, this heart no more is gay. 
 Nor shines my eye as once it shone.
 
 31 
 
 Then wherefore ask the gladdening lay ? 
 Why look for flowers when spring is 
 gone ? 
 
 The glen, the lake, the hills beloved. 
 Where first my rude harp found a voice; 
 
 All these are now full far removed. 
 Oh, how then shall that harp rejoice? 
 
 My spirit has no gust for mirth ; 
 
 No thrill within vain laughter stirs ; 
 Grief threw her shade upon my birth. 
 
 And my life's joys have all been hers. 
 
 Deem it not strange then that the song 
 Denies to me its cheering swell. 
 
 Or that my verse I not prolong 
 
 To one who loves the Muse so well : 
 
 I would not dim that eye of thine. 
 
 Nor make thy bosom sad like mine.
 
 32 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 "Pol, me occidistis, amici, 
 Non servastis, ait, cui sic extorta roluptas, 
 Cui demptus per vim mentis gratissimus error." 
 
 Horace. 
 
 That my best hopes should fall — by thee 
 
 should fall ! 
 " Oh ! 'twas the most unkindest cut of 
 
 all." 
 Deep in my heart from childhood I had 
 
 nursed 
 The hidden love — my dearest, and my 
 
 first ; 
 And if my little mates surpassed me far 
 In the redoubted feats of school-boy war. 
 If to a younger rival was decreed 
 The prize of strength, the palm of sleight 
 
 or speed.
 
 33 
 
 1 heeded not the sneering gibe and jest — 
 A nobler passion occupied my breast : 
 I felt a hope that Poesy's sweet lyre 
 Might deign to me some portion of its 
 
 fire ; 
 And that my name (the boyish dream 
 
 forgive), [live. 
 
 Endeared by this, beyond mere life might 
 
 Still as I grew, this sweet hope strength- 
 ened still. 
 
 Enhanced each good, and tempered every 
 ill ; [dart. 
 
 Blunt was the point of sorrow's keenest 
 
 While this fond vision floated round my 
 heart : 
 
 Friends might deceive, youth's fairy 
 promise flee — 
 
 Tlie INIuse remained,and she was all to me. 
 
 She o'er my soul a blest illusion threw. 
 
 And gave each thought her own ethereal 
 hue,
 
 34 
 
 Taught me to seek in Fancy's festive reign 
 Joys I had sought in life, and sought in 
 
 vain. 
 To range through realms untrodden as 
 
 the air. 
 And conjure up a new creation there. 
 Where Pity still might soothe affliction's 
 
 sigh. 
 And Love wipe every tear from ever}' eye ; 
 Where all the year might see the happy 
 
 bowers 
 Girt with green plants and never-fading 
 
 flowers. 
 And birds, untrembling, fill the peaceful 
 
 groves [loves. 
 
 With the soft song of their successful 
 
 Oh, I forgot, in that delightful sphere. 
 The woes my weary spirit suffered here ; 
 And, lost in rapturous trances of the mind, 
 Each passion, sense, and thought to song 
 resigned :
 
 35 
 
 Then flowed my charmed hours in an 
 
 easy stream. 
 And life was all a happy, happy dream. 
 
 And could'st thou, frigid as thou art, 
 
 destroy 
 That trance — my youth's most cherished 
 
 hope and joy ? 
 Dispel the scenes by Fancy's pencil traced. 
 And leave my dreary heart a blank — a 
 
 waste ? 
 " Oh, 't^vas a cruel deed I" yet patiently 
 I could submit, had it not come from 
 
 thee — 
 Thee, whom my soul elected for her own. 
 Since first she learnt to make comparison. 
 Ah ! my heart leaned on thee, and loved 
 
 to twine 
 Around itself the loves and hates of thine. 
 Strove with intensest zeal, strove less 
 
 to be 
 Great, good, or wise, than similar to thee.
 
 36 
 
 And when I looked that thou should'st 
 
 take a part 
 In each desire and passion of my heart, — 
 With all its raptures still in concert burn. 
 In all its sorrows sigh for sigh return. 
 My every wish and care with thine 
 
 should'st blend. 
 And prove thyself by sympathy a 
 
 friend, — 
 My bosom's purest, dearest, first delight 
 Thou reck'dst not with inhuman scoffs 
 
 to blight. 
 Ah ! little knew'st thou, little could'st 
 
 thou know 
 How fair a promise thou wast laying 
 
 low: 
 " Away !" thou criedst, "away, fantastic 
 
 toys. 
 Poetic raptures^ visionary joys ! 
 Wisdom for men, the jingling arts of song 
 To love-sick maids and moon-struck 
 
 wits belong."
 
 37 
 
 Yet was I happy : and could'st thou give 
 
 more. 
 With all thy grey-beard mathematic lore ? 
 Thou might'st at least have suffered me 
 
 to seem 
 Blest to myself, although 'twas but a 
 
 dream, — 
 To clasp, like him of old, the form of air. 
 Although, alas ! the goddess was not 
 
 there : [bliss 
 
 More sweet to me that world of fairy 
 Than all the cold reality of this. 
 
 But souls there are, so earthly and so 
 
 dense. 
 Their whole ideas rest in things of sense; 
 All is but vanity, they wisely w^een. 
 Except what can be tasted, touched, or 
 
 seen. 
 Dull souls ! they never felt the healing 
 
 power 
 Of heavenly music in affliction's hour ;
 
 38 
 
 Ne'er knew the art, whose all subduing 
 
 charms 
 Wolves, bears, and tigers, of their rage 
 
 disarms ; 
 In vain for them glows Shakspeare's 
 
 magic strain, 
 Ophelia loves and languishes in vain : 
 Their heart too firm, their common-sense 
 
 too keen. 
 To be deluded by a fancied scene. 
 
 *'Thou art the man" — read this sad page, 
 
 and see 
 Thyself pourtrayed in full identity ; 
 Then ask thy heart to spare a tear to 
 
 grace 
 The ^^Tetched ruin of thy kind embrace. 
 
 I cannot hate thee ; though thou hast 
 
 destroyed 
 My life's best hopes, and left a dreary 
 
 void;
 
 39 
 
 Be still my friend : thou hadst not 
 
 wounded rae, 
 Hadst thou possessed more sensibility ; 
 Nor should I thus beneath thy censure 
 
 pine. 
 Had I been gifted with a soul like thine. 
 Be still my friend, — at least in things of 
 
 sense. 
 Within the scope of thy intelligence : 
 The more ethereal portion of my heart 
 Thou can'st not share ; for, ah ! thou hast 
 
 no counterpart. 
 
 TO LETITIA. 
 
 This busy world, with all its strife, 
 
 How dull and dreary 'tis to me. 
 Whose whole concern, and love, and life. 
 Repose in thee ! 
 E 2
 
 40 
 
 The thirst of praise, the generous 
 love 
 Of hope and fame, are all forgot ; 
 Even music fails of power to move. 
 Where thou art not. 
 
 Cold is the song, and passionless 
 
 The " frenzy " of my raptured eye ; 
 My spirit languisheth, unless 
 
 Thy form be nigh. 
 
 Where'er my devious footsteps rove. 
 
 Whatever changing visions fill 
 My heart ; thou, like the heavens 
 above. 
 
 Art present still. 
 
 Oh ! how I sicken at the gay 
 
 Delights of rout and revelry. 
 Where mirth and clamour turn away 
 
 My thoughts from thee I
 
 41 
 
 " One hour with thee," sweet maid, is 
 more 
 Than country, kindred, fame, to me ; 
 My heart writes on its dearest core — 
 *' One hour with thee." 
 
 Mine eye meets thine, and turns away ; 
 
 And seeks again another dart 
 Of consciousness, and cannot stay. 
 And will not part. 
 
 When thou art near, my spirit beams 
 Of hope and heaven ; when thou art 
 gone. 
 It dwells on thee, — thinks, muses, dreams. 
 On thee alone. 
 
 If thus to hide thee in my soul 
 
 Like praise on earth, or joy above, — 
 If this be love, roll, seasons, roll ! 
 I still will love. 
 
 e3
 
 42 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 
 
 TO ILLUSTRATE A DRAWING OF THE 
 PARTHENON, AT ATHENS. 
 
 See what it is, and think what once it was. 
 Its graceful columns swelled in massive 
 
 might 
 Beneath a pictured front, where Phidias 
 Had poured his soul into the stone ; the 
 
 light 
 Of Wisdom's power and presence streamed 
 
 all bright 
 Within; and Groecia's sages worshipped 
 
 there. 
 Till they became immortal. Can Time's 
 
 flight 
 Touch things like these ? — look on those 
 
 fragments bare ! 
 Where are the worshippers? — the shrine? 
 
 — the oddess where •
 
 43 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A MUSIC 
 BOOK. 
 
 There is a balm of healing here. 
 
 When those who loved thee once have 
 flown. 
 And left thee, like the stricken deer. 
 
 To nurse thy wounds alone : 
 When memory conjures up in vain 
 Hours that can ne'er return again. 
 And hearts are sad, and hopes are sere. 
 There is a balm of healing here. 
 
 There is a spell when kindred meet. 
 And draw the magic circle round. 
 
 Where all the fascinations sweet 
 Of love and peace are found : 
 
 United in this mystic ring. 
 
 Whatever unblest, unhallowed thing.
 
 44 
 
 With envious purpose hovers near. 
 They have a charm to quell it here. 
 
 There is a rapture for the breast 
 
 Which seeks to pour its breathings 
 forth 
 
 In praise of Him, the Greatest, Best — 
 The Lord of heaven and earth : 
 
 Oh ! when the spirit pants to rise 
 
 In rapt devotion to the skies. 
 
 And lose all worldly hope and fear. 
 
 There is an inspiration here. 
 
 There is a thrill for those who sigh 
 
 To meet, and sicken to depart. 
 Who speed the glance from eye to eye. 
 
 The flame from heart to heart- 
 When thoughts arise no words will spell, 
 And feelings burn no tongue can tell. 
 Oh ! let them tremblingly draw near. 
 And learn those thoughts and feelings 
 here.
 
 45 
 ST. JOHN XIX. 25—30. 
 
 The nails were in his hands. 
 His feet were red with blood ; 
 
 The vengeance-sated bands 
 Around in silence stood. 
 
 The bitter cup was drained. 
 The ransomed world was free ; 
 
 But one last act remained — 
 Not yet his soul must flee. 
 
 Fierce foes had shed his blood — 
 He raised his eyes to heaven 
 
 And prayed (as yet he could) 
 Their sins might be forgiven. 
 
 There stood, to watch his end. 
 The two his heart knew best — 
 
 His mother, and the friend 
 Who leaned upon his breast.
 
 46 
 
 His sinews all lay bare. 
 
 Sharp grief his soul pierced through' 
 For this he had no care. 
 
 His thoughts were on those two. 
 
 On them his last look shone. 
 
 He bade them happy be — 
 " ^Mother, behold thy son ! 
 
 And thou thy mother see." 
 
 The blessing, and the pra^^er 
 
 Were breathed, they soared above ; 
 
 Tlie one was INIercy's share. 
 And one was given to Love. 
 
 " 'Tis finished," now he said. 
 
 Nor further could he say ; 
 The Sufferer bowed his head. 
 
 His spirit passed away.
 
 47 
 
 TO HENRIETTA 
 
 Far, far from home my footsteps strayed, 
 And, from each long accustomed glade. 
 My weary eye would wistful range 
 
 For something it could call its own : 
 But no, each face and form was strange, 
 
 And even in crowds I seemed alone : 
 I missed the wilds where erst I roved. 
 The dell which from a boy I loved. 
 The green where oft in childish play 
 I laughed the summer suns away : 
 AH these were absent, yet my breast 
 Had still one balmy spot of rest. 
 In exile and in loneliness. 
 Thou, love, wertnear, mine hours to bless.
 
 48 
 
 But now, from even- solace torn, 
 I doubly feel my heart forlorn ; 
 My woes remain, my wants, my grief. 
 But vanished is the sweet relief; 
 For country still and home I pine. 
 Nor beam thy eyes, as late, on mine. 
 
 But let my country, if fate will. 
 
 Be absent from my wishes still. 
 
 Let home and home's sweet joys no more 
 
 Refresh my spirit as before ; 
 
 But let me not (wijrse fortune !) be 
 
 Bereaved, my dearest love, of thee : 
 
 With thee to feast mine eye upon. 
 
 No lot were hard, no land were lone ; 
 
 Where'er thy presence beamed around 
 
 Should be to me as native ground ; 
 
 And, even in exile, on thy breast 
 
 Mv heart would find a home of rest.
 
 49 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 
 
 Fain would I some soft measure seize. 
 Which sweetly through thine ear might 
 thrill. 
 
 But ah ! when most I long to please, 
 I find my numbers feeblest still. 
 
 My lyre forsakes me at thy call — 
 That lyre which erst was full of glee. 
 
 Yet I could wish 'twere mute to all. 
 If but its voice were true to thee. 
 
 The liquid notes indeed remain. 
 But ah ! the spirit is not there ; — 
 
 My hand is faithful to the strain. 
 My heart is — ask thy bosom where.
 
 50 
 
 Hand may not write, tho' heart can feel. 
 What pleasure, and what pride is mine. 
 
 When thus I set the changeless seal, 
 ^^llich pledges me a friend of thine. 
 
 And yet what need of pen or tongue 
 To tell that ties of friendship bind ; 
 
 Since all that melting bards have sung. 
 Declares we have a fellow mind. 
 
 If plaintive Burns hath touched thy soul., 
 Or pious Cowper bid thee glow ; 
 
 O'er me a kindred flame hath stole. 
 To burn with zeal, or melt at woe, 
 
 I loved the ^Nluse in earliest days ; 
 
 Each lay of hers was joy to me ; 
 But when thy lips confessed her praise 
 
 I loved her more, because of thee. 
 
 And I have marked another trait 
 Wherein I fain would boast a part :
 
 It is — I surely need not say — 
 Thy sensibilit}' of heart. 
 
 That tenderness which keenly feels 
 Or others' or its own distress. 
 
 Which softens at the grief it heals. 
 And " would not, if it could, " feel 
 less ; — 
 
 That genuine spirit, still inclined 
 
 To brighten with surrounding good; — 
 
 O, I have loved them in tliy mind ; 
 O, 1 have cherished, all I could. 
 
 If I reveal what thou would'st hide 
 In these my musings rudely free : — 
 
 Forgive, I cannot check the pride 
 To tell how I resemble thee. 
 
 My sweetly-pleasing task is done ; 
 And yet I linger on the strain ; 
 f2
 
 52 
 
 Still o'er the chords my hand will run. 
 And strike the latest note again. 
 
 Away, all apprehensions keen ; — 
 Breasts thus by sympathy allied, 
 
 Though realms and ages come between. 
 Time cannot part, nor space divide. 
 
 Mary, while song has power to move. 
 So long shalt thou be dear to me ; 
 
 And when the Muse I cease to love 
 I shall be all unworthy thee. 
 
 Then, oh ! believe, though heart can feel. 
 Hand may not write, what pride is mine. 
 When thus I set the changeless seal. 
 Which pledges me a friend of thine.
 
 53 
 
 Prologue for the anniversary of 
 BuRNs's Birthday. Jan 25, 1829. 
 
 When friends assemble round the social 
 
 bowl. 
 To *' speed the intercourse from soul to 
 
 soul," 
 When wit and wine in all their witchery- 
 Glow on each face, and sparkle in each 
 
 eye ; — 
 Then peals the song — the Muse's voice is 
 
 heard — 
 And hearts, long frozen, to the core are 
 
 stirred. 
 As valour, love, or friendship's praise goes 
 
 round. 
 Each bosom's pulse accompanies the 
 
 sound, 
 
 F 3
 
 54 
 
 At " Bruce's " war-note heaves with angry 
 
 surge. 
 Beats soft and slow at " Highland Mary's" 
 
 dirge. 
 Or, touched in all its sympathies divine. 
 With generous rapture thrills at "Auld 
 
 lang syne. " 
 So potent is the heaven-taught poet's skill 
 To move the captive passions at his wull ! 
 
 Though annals fail, and storied page 
 
 decay ; 
 Though Scotland's simple manners pass 
 
 away ; 
 Thy country, Burns, with grateful eye 
 
 will see 
 Their valued records all preserved by 
 
 thee ; 
 Read how her " Cotters " lived in days of 
 
 yore. 
 Fearless yet honest, and content though 
 
 poor;
 
 55 
 
 And learn — when right had ceased, and 
 
 freedom failed. 
 How Wallace fought, how Royal Bruce 
 
 prevailed. 
 
 Let knowledge quench that wondrous 
 
 power of sight 
 Which in each brake or valley views a 
 
 sprite ; 
 Holds commerce to corporeal eye unseen. 
 With fairies sporting or the moon-lit 
 
 green; 
 And hears by vivid phantasy of mind 
 Dire goblins shriek in every mountain 
 
 wind ; 
 Let Science with her frigid rules explore. 
 And turn to scorn this rude romantic 
 
 lore ; 
 Yet, while the living lays of Burns remain. 
 These shadowy forms will hold their an- 
 cient reign.
 
 56 
 
 Goblins will ride on every stormy breeze. 
 Grim sprites will awe, and fairies' gambols 
 please. 
 
 For me, who sojourn in a land un- 
 known. 
 
 My debt, sweet Bard ! to thee how shall 
 I own ? — 
 
 Full oft, oppressed with lonely sense of 
 grief, 
 
 My weary soul hath sought, nor found 
 relief; 
 
 Then gloom has ceased, when thy home- 
 breathing lays 
 
 Have brought back distant scenes, de- 
 parted days. 
 
 Twine, then, your brows, with choicest 
 
 chaplets twine ! 
 And pay your homage at the festive 
 
 shrine :
 
 57 
 
 This night, which gave our glorious poet 
 
 birth. 
 Devote to Music, and to social mirth ; 
 And think, while thus his praises you 
 
 prolong. 
 You honour Genius, Patriotism, and 
 
 Song. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 There are hours that move 
 
 In light arrayed. 
 Like the spirits above. 
 
 Which cast no shade ; 
 When each object wears 
 
 A hue of bliss. 
 And the bosom shares 
 
 No thought but this ; —
 
 58 
 
 When the eye, as it wanders, 
 
 Still glovrs anew, 
 And the heart inly ponders. 
 
 Dear friends, on you. 
 
 There are honors when scowl 
 
 The skies the saddest. 
 Yet the tranquil soul 
 
 Is gayest, gladdest. 
 In the tempest's din. 
 
 And wind's career. 
 All happy within 
 
 It cannot fear ; 
 Though grief's sable stain 
 
 The air imbue, 
 \Mio thinks on pain. 
 
 Possessed of you ? 
 
 There are hours when the breast. 
 
 In cheerful flow. 
 Finds every thing blest. 
 
 Or makes it so :
 
 59 
 
 Each form surprises 
 
 With grace unknown. 
 And music arises 
 
 From every tone : 
 Thus pleased is mine ear. 
 
 Thus glad my view. 
 When I linger here. 
 
 Smiling with you. 
 
 SPRING AND AUTUMN. 
 
 Ax eve it was (I well remember it) 
 The merry hinds had sung their harvest 
 
 home ; 
 And woods and pasture lands began to 
 
 feel 
 The touch of Autumn, w^hen two village 
 
 maids — 
 Sylvia and fair lanthe — hied them forth
 
 60 
 
 To quaff the freshness of the healthful 
 
 breeze. 
 In various converse (while they walked 
 
 along) 
 Each spoke to each the motions of her 
 
 mind. 
 Unchecked, as var^'ing scenes still rose 
 
 to view. 
 At length upon the margin of a hill. 
 Whence the glad eye might freely range 
 
 around 
 O'er forest, mead, and stream, they made 
 
 a stand ; 
 When fair lanthe thus the strain re- 
 newed : — 
 
 How sweet this spot ! these woody up- 
 lands still 
 
 My feet spontaneous seek : there is a 
 charm 
 
 About such places, which in vain I strive 
 
 To find in anv other : here the soul
 
 61 
 
 Breathes freely, and surveying, wide and 
 
 far. 
 The beauties of the earth, enjoys at once 
 Their gladdening power, and feels her- 
 self above them. 
 
 Lovely indeed, lanthe ! — yet sad thoughts 
 Of change are mingled with the joy it 
 
 yields. 
 I cannot look upon these various hues 
 Without reflecting that the hand of Death 
 Has pencilled them : — this is a sombre 
 
 season — 
 / love the Spring. 
 
 Oh yes ! the Spring is full 
 Of gaiety and hope : it is the theme 
 Of fancy-favoured poets, the delight 
 Of bright-eyed youth, and nature's jubi- 
 lee : — 
 Yet know I not wherein it can compare 
 With this which now we view. 
 
 Thy mind, I w6t, 
 
 G
 
 62 
 
 Is of a pensive cast, and rather loves 
 
 To contemplate the shades, than lights of 
 things : 
 
 Yet who can hear the gladsome voice of 
 spring, 
 
 ^Vhen earth's long icy silence starts to 
 life 
 
 In a full gush of liquid melody. 
 
 And every bush and brake resounds afar 
 
 "With many-toned, yet joy-consenting 
 song,~ 
 
 ^Yho can behold the smiling fields ar- 
 rayed 
 
 In all that glory, which the heavenly 
 King 
 
 Preferred to Solomon's most rich attire ; 
 
 Blade, leaf, and flower, in bright pro- 
 fusion mixed. 
 
 Beneath, above, around, of every tint 
 
 And dye that Nature boasts most beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 Or fitted most to charm the sparkling eye.
 
 63 
 
 Sweet rose, soft green, white, saffron, 
 
 red, and blue, — 
 Oh ! who can quaff the exhilarating airs. 
 Attempered by the sunny influence 
 (Gentle and genial as, that hour, it beams) 
 And charged with incense from the 
 
 mingled breath 
 Of thousand censer-flowers, — nor feel 
 
 his heart 
 Beat with a brisker and more cheerful 
 
 pulse ? 
 Perverse of soul indeed he needs must 
 
 be. 
 And framed of most unkindly elements. 
 Who senselessly can cast his eyes around. 
 And unrejoicing see creation's joy. 
 
 Happy the Spring, in sooth ; — at no 
 
 time else 
 Wears earth so glad a lustre in her eye : 
 How often have I w^atched the guileless 
 
 lambs, 
 
 G 2
 
 64 
 
 In many a frolic chase, and start, and 
 bound. 
 
 Circling the meadow, till I wished myself 
 
 As light of heart, and free from care, as 
 they ! 
 
 As moons advance, their innocence re- 
 mains. 
 
 But never more is seen the blithsome 
 glee 
 
 Of these first days ; their gambols 
 dwindle down 
 
 To quiet gravit\% and sober ease. 
 
 And so in all : — to every animate tribe 
 
 That treads the earth, glides through the 
 liquid wave. 
 
 Or sports exulting in the fields of air. 
 
 Spring is the hour of birth or resur- 
 rection : 
 
 Life then is new, and freshly through the 
 veins 
 
 The dancing spirits play ; therefore the 
 world.
 
 65 
 
 Opening before them in its loveliest 
 
 guise. 
 Is as a paradise of sweets, unrifled, 
 Wliere every pleasure thrives, and every 
 
 sense. 
 Fresh yet and new, is eager to be pleased. 
 Fair meadows, sparkling in the tender 
 
 sheen 
 Of recent verdure, smile on all sides 
 
 round. 
 Like heaven's sweet light succeeding 
 
 blackest gloom : 
 On many a tree, storm-stripped, and 
 
 desolate. 
 Thick-clustering buds unfold the virgin 
 
 hope 
 Of summer bloom, half blushing, half- 
 concealed. 
 And so the lovelier ; flowers unnumbered 
 
 peep 
 From out their modest eye-lids, just to 
 
 tell 
 
 G 3
 
 66 
 
 What matchless beauties glow beneath 
 
 unseen. 
 Meanwhile a thousand swarms of insect 
 
 life- 
 Sons of the hour — luxuriate on the wing. 
 Fast-twinkling, as if mirth to them and 
 
 motion 
 Were sole existence, and repose were 
 
 death. 
 Ceaseless upon the breeze the mingled 
 
 sounds 
 Of bleating flocks, and lowing herds, 
 
 arise. 
 Varied with other notes, of softer power. 
 From humming bees intent upon their 
 
 task — 
 Their task at once and joy — and sweetest 
 
 birds 
 Blending wild lays of every mood and 
 
 tone. 
 What wonder if, in such enlivening 
 
 scenes.
 
 67 
 
 The heart should shake off all its load, 
 and feel, 
 
 Within, the influence of that general 
 gladness 
 
 With which the senses outwardly con- 
 verse ! 
 
 Oh, Sylvia ! sure the mind, chameleon- 
 like. 
 
 Borrows complexion from surrounding 
 things ; 
 
 And spring, wherein all nature breathes 
 of youth. 
 
 Awakens youthful consciousness, and all 
 
 The bliss of sanguine boyhood, in the 
 breast. 
 
 For ever thus, dear maid ! — mine ear 
 
 hath hung 
 Upon thy glowing words, as it could 
 
 ne'er 
 Delight enough ; I knew the warm 
 
 lanthe
 
 68 
 
 Could not but own the rapture-moving 
 
 power 
 Of nature's sweetest season ! — O, I knew 
 She needs must love the matchless joys 
 
 of spring. 
 
 The matchless joys of spring I ever 
 
 loved ; 
 Cold should I be indeed, did not my eye 
 Glisten, and freshlier mantle o'er ray 
 
 cheek 
 The blood, amid such glories ; yet not 
 
 mirth. 
 Not festive gladness, nor the sparkling 
 
 glow 
 Of beauty lavished in all forms and hues. 
 Yields the tieart's deepest, most sincere 
 
 delight. 
 There is a chastened feeling which per- 
 vades 
 The soul, when soberer scenes around us 
 
 rise —
 
 69 
 
 Oh ! sweeter far : why shrink I to con- 
 fess 
 
 I have more pleasure in the year's de- 
 cline ! 
 
 Good heaven ! 1 thank thee thou hast 
 
 not ordained 
 My breast poetical ; 'tis ever thus 
 With you romancing maids ; you love to 
 
 cherish 
 Likings and fancies other than the rest : 
 But now your spirit kindled in the praise 
 Of Spring, and straight outpoured a lofty 
 
 strain. 
 Loftier beyond compare than I, its most 
 Devoted lover, e'er can hope to reach : 
 The mood is past ; and next pale Autumn 
 
 takes 
 The upper ground ; while all that went 
 
 before 
 Is vanished quite, as though it ne'er had 
 
 been.
 
 70 
 
 Nay, gentle Sylvia, be not so severe 
 Upon the Muse's progeny : thine eye 
 Is conscious to soft pity, M^hen thou 
 
 view'st 
 The moon-struck " lunatic," or doting 
 
 " lover ;" 
 Why is the no less hapless race of song 
 Denied compassion ? — let their weakness 
 
 win 
 Forbearance ; ill beseems the rich in wit. 
 The sage, and wise, to glory o'er the 
 
 simple. 
 Thy favourite season (leave me thus 
 
 much praise) 
 Tuneful and flowery, warm with life and 
 
 hope. 
 Provokes my admiration, and what 
 
 thoughts 
 Of gaiety and joy my heart may know : 
 But as there are whom Nature so has 
 
 framed. 
 Of such untoward temper, that nor mirth.
 
 71 
 
 Nor dazzling splendour, yields them 
 
 much content ; 
 I must again (.though with submission 
 
 due) 
 Confess that Autumn has more charms 
 
 for me. 
 
 Would it were blotted from the calendar! 
 What is, or can there be, in that dull 
 
 time. 
 To raise one other feeling in the breast 
 Than care, despondence, sadness, pain, 
 
 regret ? 
 
 Much — look around and see ; can the 
 
 poor skill 
 Of mimic limner shadow aught to vie 
 In rich variety and depth of hue 
 W^ith this resplendent picture? — look 
 
 around 
 Till thine eye tire with feasting on such 
 
 beautv.
 
 n 
 
 And then return to gaze ; thy weary sense 
 Will sooner lack conceit, than this, new- 
 charms . 
 'Tis not the meagre, unaffecting scene 
 Of deftly-pencilled canvass, where the 
 
 grace 
 Or truth of form, and native glow of 
 
 tint 
 Except, ail else is blank ; but a wide 
 
 stretch 
 Of living landscape, where the wood or 
 
 lawn 
 Hath the substantial dignity of space 
 Fully dilated, or high-towering bulk ; 
 And ever\^ object, warm with real life. 
 Beyond the outward semblance and re- 
 spect. 
 Speaks to the heart its several chronicle : 
 " That croft in childhood oft was my re- 
 sort, 
 " To chace the butterfly, or gather cow- 
 slips ;
 
 73 
 
 "Yon willow -tree my memory traces 
 
 back 
 " To a mere shrub ; full many a summer 
 
 sun 
 " And wintry-wind have since passed 
 
 over it 
 " In turn, and both of us have suffered 
 
 change. 
 " This little stream, holding its constant 
 
 way 
 " Unheard, and scarcely known but by 
 
 the freshness 
 " Of its green banks, how well it doth 
 
 resemble 
 "The virtuous man in low obscurity, 
 " Whose course is tracked, not by report 
 
 of fame, 
 "But by the good works he has left be- 
 hind him ! " 
 Such is the chain of thought by which 
 
 these scenes — 
 Each for itself — arrest our sympathy, 
 
 H
 
 74 
 
 And closely twiiie themselves around the 
 heart. 
 
 Enough of sentiment I — m foIlo^vmg 
 
 flowers 
 Of vagrant fancy, you forget the theme. 
 
 The theme is not forgot — it lies before 
 rae. 
 
 Oh I who that hath or eye to see, or soul 
 
 To think and feel, can gaze on such a 
 sight 
 
 With coldness or neglect r the chequered 
 park ; 
 
 The mead in sober livery of eld ; 
 
 The hedge-row ash, or elm, or thick- 
 leaved beech. 
 
 Touched each with diverse tinge ; the 
 scattered group 
 
 Of spreading oaks, with coronal of bronze ; 
 
 The upland, crowned with pines in all the 
 bright
 
 75 
 
 Luxuriance of summer ; in the vale 
 The paly hawthorn, shorn of half its 
 
 shade ; 
 The verdant elder, and the dark-green 
 
 holly. 
 Mingled with various fruits — the hip, 
 
 the haw. 
 The coal-black sloe, the berry sparkling 
 
 red ; — 
 These meet ray raptured view. Seems it 
 
 as if 
 The year, assembling round it all the 
 
 beauties 
 Which its rich treasures lavishly have 
 
 poured 
 Through every season since its march 
 
 began. 
 Would signalise its finishing display 
 With pomp beyond the former, and ex- 
 pire 
 With all its glories blushing thick upon 
 
 it. 
 
 H 2
 
 1e 
 
 That Autumn has its charms, and those 
 nor few. 
 
 Nor faintly coloured, deem me fully con- 
 scious : 
 
 Yet my heart misses the enlivening 
 
 joy. 
 
 The lightsome gaiet\% of happy Spring. 
 
 'Tis not, in truth, the hour for smiles ; 
 
 'tis not 
 The time to dally with sweet birds and 
 
 bees. 
 Or sport it featly round the flower- clad 
 
 May-pole ; 
 But other and far nobler cares employ 
 The musing mind : there is a soft and 
 
 mild 
 Influence upon us, which (would not the 
 
 term 
 Offend) might melancholy well be named; 
 But which not, like the feeling you so 
 
 much
 
 11 
 
 Dread all approach to, leads to dark 
 
 despondence. 
 But to reflection, pleasing thought, re- 
 pose. 
 In Spring the buoyant atmosphere, the 
 
 song. 
 The scent, the show, diffuse a cheering 
 
 sense 
 Of gladness through the frame ; but 
 
 deeper far 
 The conscious working of the' autumnal 
 
 hour : 
 Not eye, or ear, or pulse, but heart and 
 
 soul 
 Are with emotion touched, and feel the 
 
 spirit 
 That rules the time : — Tis eve, the 
 
 gusty wind 
 Pauses and howls by fits ; I seek the 
 
 shade 
 Of hidden copse, or tangled brake, or 
 
 most 
 
 H 3
 
 78 
 
 Of hill ^vell-^YOoded ; there I lonely 
 
 stray. 
 Pleased by the freshening impulse of the 
 
 breeze. 
 And amorous of its song : the trooping 
 
 clouds 
 Flit o'er the sky with swift and wild ca- 
 reer ; 
 The forest moans, as with the rushing 
 
 sound 
 Of floods continuous, broken at times, 
 
 and vexed 
 Into an angrier roar, and then anon 
 Sinking to calm ; the " sere and yellow" 
 
 leaves 
 Quiver upon the spray, or rustling fall 
 In copious showers around me ; in the 
 
 heavens. 
 Through air, and on the earth, a dark 
 
 gloom frowns 
 (Congenial to the temper of the hour) ; 
 Which sheds a wild sublimity o'er all. —
 
 79 
 
 This is the scene in which my soul de- 
 lights ; 
 
 Here would I wander from declining 
 noon 
 
 To eve, from eve to starry night ; such 
 cheer. 
 
 Such peace, and heavenly musing, doth 
 it bring. 
 
 In short, you love, most eloquent lanthe, 
 A sylvan walk, beneath a tragic sky. 
 In a tumultuous gale ; — but these are 
 
 not 
 Sole property of Autumn ; hath not 
 
 Spring 
 Alike such charms to gladden you withal ? 
 
 Forests it hath, black clouds, and stormy 
 
 wunds 
 In store abundant ; but their influence 
 Not cheers, but chills the heart : the 
 
 lowering sky.
 
 80 
 
 Amid such garniture of blooming fields. 
 Scowls harsh and out of season ; in the 
 
 veins 
 The genial current freezes with the 
 
 blast ; 
 And new-blown buds and flowers, in 
 
 early prime 
 Shrivelled, and strewn in wreck unlovely, 
 
 show 
 Like joy to mourning turned, or mirth 
 
 to pain. — 
 In Autumn all is mild, mature, and timed 
 In just accordance ; sullen sky, sere 
 
 earth. 
 Wild wind, and withering forest, well 
 
 consent ; 
 And well with them consents the mind 
 
 of man. 
 Prepared by change successive for the 
 
 last 
 Sad scene, where all change ends. At 
 
 such a time,
 
 81 
 
 Memory — quaint chronicler of yore — 
 awakes 
 
 And tells her tale ; while pleased Re- 
 flection notes 
 
 Each pregnant passage, and runs out on 
 each 
 
 To high discourse and useful argument. 
 
 Meanwhile fast-falling leaves and droop- 
 ing flowers 
 
 Recal the spirit from its thoughtful 
 trance ; 
 
 And then amid decay we fondly linger. 
 
 Gazing upon the sweet but sad remains 
 
 Of what in bloom we loved, but now 
 much more. 
 
 Such secret pleasure pensive Autumn 
 gives. 
 
 Cold, joyless cheer, to think the time at 
 
 hand 
 When every leaf shall drop from every 
 
 tree ;
 
 82 
 
 When comeliness, and health, and living 
 
 bloom 
 Pass quite from Nature's face, and leave 
 
 behind 
 A blank unsightly image of dull death. 
 
 They who have strength of feeling to 
 
 enjoy 
 The present, spare to look beyond : the 
 
 thoughts 
 Which Autumn wakes in those who 
 
 know her right [sad 
 
 Are other than despondence — presage 
 Of coming horror; through the bosom 
 
 steals 
 A mournful yet most balmy tenderness. 
 Which shuts out barren gloom. The 
 
 leafless stalk 
 We turn away from ; but the ivithering 
 
 flower. 
 Which time has touched, not rifled, 
 
 draws forth all
 
 83 
 
 The heart's best sympathies ; we hang 
 
 upon 
 Its hallowed beauties with a melting 
 
 fondness. 
 Which holds the W'hole soul captive. 
 
 Sweet to hail 
 Bright beauty's rising ; sweet to con- 
 template. 
 Freely and oft, her rich and palmy 
 
 pride. 
 But, oh, her farew^ell hour ! — sure never 
 
 else 
 Looks loveliness so lovely ; — never else 
 Gazes the eye so passionately upon it : 
 Then first we fully seem to know its 
 
 charms. 
 Then feel how dear we hold them : the 
 
 sad thought 
 Of parting starts us, and our heart 
 
 awakes 
 To its concealed attachment, and our 
 
 love.
 
 84 
 
 Long checked within its secret source, 
 o'erflows. — 
 
 Thus they in friendly interchange reveal 
 Their several motions, striving each to 
 
 win 
 The other to her part ; but find no end. 
 The more at variance as advanced the 
 
 more : 
 For minds are mixed of different ele- 
 ments. 
 And each has its own character : yet 
 
 still 
 Though numerous as the starry host of 
 
 heaven. 
 And as distinct as those, nature has 
 
 charms 
 (So rich and manifold her glorious works) 
 To suit, in turn, and satisfy them all. — 
 
 The sun had sunk ; the shades of night 
 drew on
 
 85 
 
 Apace ; when, each in separate musing 
 wrapped 
 
 Of what had chanced to' engage in 
 speech or scene. 
 
 The mutual pair their footsteps home- 
 ward turned. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Fair is the summer sky at night. 
 
 When o'er its arch of blue 
 Is shed so calm so soft a light. 
 
 That heaven seems glistening through 
 But clouds of wrath soon gather there. 
 And all is dim where all was fair. 
 
 Sweet is the early cuckoo's voice 
 After long months of gloom. 
 
 Which bids the flocks and herds rejoice. 
 The woods and meadows bloom -.
 
 86 
 
 But, ah ! its sweetness may not last — 
 It sounds, it cheers, and then 'tis past. 
 
 Lovely the face of Nature mild. 
 Where, blent in one rich maze. 
 
 The grand, the gay, the stern, and mild 
 Arrest the raptured gaze : 
 
 Yet, though her charms our transport 
 move. 
 She cannot answer love for love. 
 
 But woman ! lovely, sweet, and fair. 
 
 Outvies them all, alone ; 
 There's beauty in her face and air. 
 
 Soft music in her tone ; 
 And, oh, while thus she wins all hearts, 
 She feels the passion she imparts.
 
 87 
 
 WRITTEN IN A MOMENT OF 
 DESPONDENCE. 
 
 Av/AY ! — away ! each gladsome strain. 
 My harp shall never joy again : 
 The hope that cheered my life is gone. 
 And I must darkly wither on. 
 Without one ray to chase the gloom 
 Which veils my blighted spirit's bloom. 
 
 Away ! — away ! the song of love. 
 
 No more such notes my heart may 
 
 move : 
 Time was they were a sovereign spell 
 Each grief to soothe, each care to quell : 
 Time was I joyed in them ; — but now 
 They pain my breast and cloud my 
 
 brow. 
 
 Away ! away ! ye meads and streams. 
 The scenes of Fancy's raptured dreams ; 
 I 2
 
 88 
 
 Ye woods, that shed sweet silence o'er 
 
 me, 
 While fairy visions glanced before me ; 
 Away ! — I knew they could not last — 
 Youth, hope, and love with me are pasf: 
 
 Away ! — away ! my dear, dear lute. 
 Thy vocal strings must now be mute ; 
 Long years I've clasped thee to my 
 
 heart — 
 We part at length, for ever part : 
 Best joy ! I tear thee last away — 
 Now welcome sorrow, care, decay. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Fierce fire within the mount may blaze. 
 Eating its caverned heart away ; 
 
 And yet, the while, to outward gaze. 
 Its brow be calm, its sides look gay.
 
 What is, not always seems : even here 
 Far " more is meant than meets the ear." 
 
 The rose smiles on in youthful pride. 
 Bright as its blushing sisterhood ; 
 
 Nor canker at the core is spied 
 
 'Till the head sinks, and droops each 
 bud. 
 
 The inside " passeth show ;" — so here 
 
 Much "more is meant than meets the 
 
 And may not passion's deepest force 
 A cold, unmeaning semblance wear. 
 
 No trace revealing of its course. 
 No sign where it has fixed its lair ? 
 
 Oh ! yes, and idle words, as here. 
 
 May mean far "more than meets the ear." 
 
 I 3
 
 90 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF 
 A LADY. 
 
 Farewell ! our hours of joy are past. 
 
 And now is come the parting day : 
 I see your brows with gloom o'ercast. 
 
 And mine perchance is not more gay : 
 Yet, oh ! I cannot, must not stay, 
 
 Howe'er these bitter throbs rebel : 
 Fate wills that I should hence away. 
 
 Then dearest friends, farewell, farewell ! 
 
 Farewell ! — how many a scene gone by 
 
 Starts up anew at that sad word ! 
 How many a fond, reluctant sigh. 
 
 Within the pensive breast is stirred ! 
 We run through memory's treasured store 
 
 Of acts endeared — on each we dwell ; 
 Then comes the thought that all is o'er. 
 
 And bitterly we crv — Farewell !
 
 91 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! thou spot beloved 
 
 (Since bliss must still have its alloy). 
 Where first in happiest home I proved 
 
 A husband's love, a mother's joy. 
 
 Farewell, dear friends ! this pain to part. 
 
 This grief which words want power to 
 tell. 
 Declares how deep within my heart 
 
 Your imaare lives — farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 TO ANNA 
 
 How sad and hopeless is the heart 
 That pines beneath a secret smart. 
 Which, while it may not be revealed. 
 Still grieves the more, the more concealed! 
 
 The dove which carries in her breast 
 The fatal shaft, can find no rest.
 
 92 
 
 And presses closer to her side 
 Her wings, in hopes the wound to hide 
 Poor fool ! she folds in her embrace 
 That which is draining life apace. 
 
 Ah, lady ! if thy bosom know 
 The pang w^hich throbs at others' woe. 
 In pity grant one soothing sigh — 
 That heart is mine, that dove am I. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 There are, of soul so formed to please. 
 We hail them from the first as friends. 
 
 Nor wait till time, by slow degrees. 
 Our heart with theirs in concert blends. 
 
 The mystic bond at once is tied — 
 Even bv a look, a word, a token —
 
 93 
 
 Which years of life can scarce divide. 
 Which oft by death alone is broken : 
 
 When first we greet, our breasts they 
 move. 
 And once to see is still to love. 
 
 In the world's crowd, we talk and smile 
 
 With herds familiar day by day ; 
 And yet our bosoms all the while 
 
 Share not in aught we do or say. 
 Not so with these — the briefest space 
 
 Of converse each to each reveals ; 
 The tone — the look — all — bears the trace 
 
 Of what the spirit inly feels : 
 Till ive become, communing thus, 
 
 A part of them, and theij of us. 
 
 Let Fortune with malignant aim 
 Rend each from other far away ; 
 
 Our fellowship remains the same — 
 It knows no change, nor pause, nor 
 stay.
 
 94 
 
 The conscious eyes no longei meet ; 
 
 Hand presses thrilling hand no more ; 
 Yet memory, thought, affection sweet. 
 
 Hold mutual commerce as before ; 
 And not a waking hour fleets by 
 
 But sees us muse on them — and sigh. 
 
 TO HENRIETTA LOUISA. 
 
 OxE home at length is ours, one heart ; 
 We now are joined no more to part ; 
 And thou shalt e'er be by my side. 
 My own, my loving, much-loved bride. 
 
 Henceforth through life's brief, changeful 
 
 day, 
 Together we shall tend our way ; 
 And, whether bliss or woe betide. 
 It still shall find us side bv side.
 
 95 
 
 And thou shalt all my care beguile 
 With soothing speech and tender smile ; 
 Each joy my heart shall doubly cheer. 
 And pain not grieve, while thou art near. 
 
 And I shall shield thee in my arms 
 From fear or danger's worst alarms ; 
 Shall clasp thee closely to my breast. 
 And lull each troubled thought to rest. 
 
 In this cold world, sad grief or scorn 
 May pierce with many a biting thorn. 
 But each in each shall find a joy 
 The world nor gives, nor can destroy. 
 
 And when, long years of trial past. 
 Our parting hour shall come at last. 
 May then (each sin through grace forgiven) 
 Our earthly love be perfected in heaven.
 
 96 
 TO KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 O KNOWLEDGE, gifted With the fatal art 
 To lure the eye, but not to bless the 
 
 heart ! 
 For thee, when life is new, and hopes are 
 
 gay. 
 
 From friends and sports we tear ourselves 
 
 away ; 
 Dash from our brow the smile of joyous 
 
 youth. 
 And banish happiness — to seek for truth. 
 
 Wasteful of health, for thee in riper age. 
 We pore, abstracted, o'er the midnight 
 
 P-ge, 
 And lose those hours in barren loneliness 
 Which friendship claims, and mirth was 
 
 given to bless.
 
 97 
 
 Yor thee with headlong enterprise we 
 
 run 
 To other climes beneath another sun ; 
 Dare all the monsters of the gulfy sea. 
 And tread the blasted wilderness for 
 
 thee. 
 
 And yet what art thou ? or what real joy 
 Hath the wise sage, above the shepherd 
 
 boy ? 
 Is it more sweet to glean from toilsome 
 
 books 
 That art of life which shines in " trees 
 
 and brooks r" 
 To scan the source of things with curious 
 
 eye. 
 And puzzle out the laws of earth and 
 
 sky? 
 Then, after all these grave researches 
 
 past. 
 To find that man can nothing know at 
 
 last?— 
 
 K
 
 98 
 
 Is this more sweet than in the simple 
 
 cot 
 To share the unperverted rustic's lot^ — 
 Whose bosom, conscious of no other lore 
 Than nature taught, enjoys her gifts the 
 
 more, — 
 Whose thoughts domestic never learned 
 
 to stray 
 Beyond the present place, or passing day. 
 But, with their sphere accordant, smile 
 
 or pine 
 As seasons sadden and as seasons shine ? 
 
 But man, from high to higher soaring 
 
 still. 
 Would be a god in knowing good and ill. 
 And spurn the joys of his allotted state 
 To search the universal acts of fate : 
 Ah ! many a paradise, beside the first. 
 Has been the forfeit of that lawless thirst.
 
 TO MISS E. C, ON HER BIRTH- 
 DAY. 
 
 When friends and kindred round thee 
 pour. 
 
 With fond memorials of their love. 
 And kinder, dearer lips implore 
 
 Rich blessings on thee from above, — 
 
 A stranger's prayer may scarcely claim 
 An audience of thy flattered ear ; 
 
 Yet breathe it shall, and name thy name 
 To one who will not fail to hear. 
 
 Oft may this day's return be thine 
 And each still happier than the past ; 
 
 Till, in thy mortal life's decline, 
 
 Earth's bliss may end in heaven at last. 
 K 2
 
 100 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG 
 LADY. 
 
 She shone in youth and beauty's bloom. 
 With not a cloud her skies to gloom : 
 Sweet mildness, simple, native grace. 
 Appeared in voice, and air, and face ; 
 All eyes smiled on her where she 
 
 moved. 
 And, when she spoke, we heard and 
 
 loved ; 
 A sire's fond hopes upon her hung, 
 A brother's joy around her clung. 
 
 Scarce sixteen summers yet had shed 
 Their flush and fragrance o'er her head ; 
 Yet low^ in earth she coldly lies. 
 Torn from our wistful, longing eyes.
 
 101 
 
 As if the vernal leaf and flower. 
 In this their bright and palmy hour. 
 Struck by some sudden, strange decay. 
 Had sadly passed from earth away. 
 
 Shall not we then her fate bewail ? 
 Shall not our hearts within us fail ? 
 Yes ; Nature tears for grief decreed. 
 And torn affection needs must bleed : 
 Yet hopelessly we may not weep 
 For those who calm in Jesus sleep ; 
 And she who now in silence lies 
 Forbade such sorrow to arise. 
 
 We thought, indeed, long years to come. 
 To see her opening virtues bloom ; 
 To watch her mind and form display 
 Their sweets and graces, day by day ; 
 To soothe us with that soft sweet voice. 
 And in her winning smiles rejoice : — 
 Yet let us bow to God's high will ; 
 She's saved, perhaps, from future ill. 
 K 3
 
 102 
 
 And thou, whose bosom's aching void 
 Bespeaks thy life's best hope destroyed. 
 Though bleeding memory oft will tell 
 Of her thou vainly lov'dst so well ; 
 Think, for thy comfort, thou hast given 
 Thy child to be a saint in heaven : 
 Wipe off thy tears, lament no more — 
 " She is not lost, but gone before." 
 
 TO HENRIETTA LOUISA. 
 
 ON THE AXXIVERSARY OF OUR 
 WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 The happy morn which saw us stand 
 Before the venerable shrine ; 
 
 Where hand was joined to mutual hand, 
 And thy heart gave itself to mine ;
 
 103 
 
 That happy morn, so justly dear. 
 
 The circling moons again bring round ; 
 
 And ever love's blest ties appear 
 
 More closely knit, more firmly bound. 
 
 Each passing hour reveals some trait 
 Of sweetness not perceived before ; 
 
 And, oh ! I feel still day by day 
 As more I know, I love thee more. 
 
 May ever thus the seasons glide ; 
 
 Thus still our union closer prove ; 
 Till, earthlier passions purified. 
 Our souls become, like God, all love.
 
 104 
 
 ON THE LATE BEAUTIFUL 
 MRS. HOWARD, 
 
 OF CORBY CASTLE, CUMBERLA>-D, 
 
 Who died immediately after the infant to which 
 she had just given birth. 
 
 Sleep, lovely consort, sleep ! — Death 
 
 watched the hour 
 
 When thy young form its richest bloom 
 
 displayed. 
 
 And set his seal upon the blushing flower. 
 
 That mortal eye might never see it fade. 
 
 Sleep, happy matron, sleep ! — 'tis said 
 
 the blest 
 
 On angels' bosoms are conveyed above : 
 
 T7iy babe, upon an angel-mother's breast. 
 
 Attained at once a heaven of bliss and 
 
 love.
 
 105 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT 
 . SON. 
 
 And -thou art gone, my first — my only ! 
 And left my bosom void and lonely : 
 Thy little eyes just beamed on mine. 
 In smiles most sweetly infantine; 
 And, when my heart began to prove 
 The workings of parental love. 
 The ruthless hand of swift decay 
 Tore my young hope at once aw^ay. 
 
 Hard stroke ! yet let my heart be still. 
 Nor grieve at the Almighty's will : 
 Though clouds disguised his face awhile. 
 Soon through those clouds breaks forth 
 
 a smile ; 
 And now my soul hath learnt to know, 
 Mercy directs the sternest blow ;
 
 106 
 
 And now the gracious hand 1 kiss 
 Which snatched my babe from pain to 
 bliss. 
 
 Rest, darling, rest ! in heavenly peace. 
 Where care and toil and trouble cease ; 
 Far happier that indulgent fate 
 Assigned thy life so short a date : 
 Thy race was o'er when scarce begun. 
 Without a fight thy crown was won ; 
 And now, secure from all annoy. 
 Thou dwell'st in realms of endless joy. 
 
 Rest, darling, rest ! my heart indeed. 
 Torn by thy loss, long, long will bleed ; 
 Yet would I not, for worlds like this, 
 Recal thee from that land of bliss : 
 Rest, ever rest ! my hope, my love. 
 Clings to thee yet, in realms above ; 
 For, though thou com'st not back to me. 
 Faith whispers, I shall go to thee.
 
 107 
 PRAYER. 
 
 To trouble born, even as the sparks of 
 
 fire 
 By Nature's mandate upward still aspire, 
 Man comes into a world of grief and 
 
 gloom. 
 And his first cries bespeak his after 
 
 doom : 
 Pain, care, and sorrow, wait on all sides 
 
 round ; 
 Where'er he treads, he feels 'tis cursed 
 
 ground : 
 On this hand weakness, and on that 
 
 hand sin, [in ; — 
 
 Temptations outward, carnal lusts with- 
 What help is his, what succour, or what 
 
 stay. 
 To brave the shock, or brook the evil 
 
 day ?
 
 108 
 
 Alas ! no power has he, no strength of 
 
 trust ; 
 His might is air, his confidence but dust : 
 Be^'ond himself his only aid resides, 
 A foreign arm his shield, when ill betides, 
 In God above true hope and safety lies. 
 From him alone flow constant, full sup- 
 plies ; 
 Who needs his help, or lacks his guar- 
 dian care, [prayer. 
 Plain is the way — 'tis faithful, fervent 
 
 Strength of the feeble, refuge of the 
 
 weak. 
 Comfort of all who comfort duly seek. 
 Prayer is the light that scatters man's 
 
 despair. 
 Each want or suffering finds relief in 
 prayer. [press, 
 
 \Yhen troubles try us, and when dangers 
 "When courage fails beneath severe dis- 
 tress ;
 
 109 
 
 When heart and flesh shrink in amaze- - 
 raent dumb 
 
 'Neath griefs that crush, and heavier 
 griefs to come. 
 
 When hope desponds by weight of woes 
 o'erborne. 
 
 And faith itself begins to sink for- 
 lorn, — 
 
 God still is nigh ; He \vaits but 'till we 
 crave 
 
 His aid in prayer, and straight His hand 
 is stretched to save. 
 
 His people oft this cheering truth have 
 proved. 
 
 When earthly help and hope w^ere quite 
 removed. 
 
 Light has come dowm, and strength from 
 heaven been sent. 
 
 And Faith's strong cry been crowned om- 
 nipotent. 
 
 L
 
 110 
 
 This Israel felt, when, standing on the 
 
 coast. 
 They saw in hot pursuit proud Pharaoh's 
 
 host ; 
 "Wild mountains closed them in on either 
 
 side. 
 Before them rolled a furious, fordlesstide ; 
 And now behind their cruel masters urge. 
 Stern as the desert, furious as the surge : 
 Each bosom quailed, the stoutest held 
 
 their breath. 
 And, trembling,waited the expected death; 
 \Yhen, lo ! the prophet raised his hands 
 
 on high. 
 And cried for aid to Him who rules the 
 
 sky. 
 God heard — and instant at His high com- 
 mand 
 The waters formed a wall on either hand : 
 The people passed securely through the 
 
 wave ; 
 Their fierce pursuers found a watery grave.
 
 Ill 
 
 No mail was girded on, no helmet clasped; 
 No javelin wielded, and no spear was 
 
 grasped ; 
 The crowd stood still, exempt from dread 
 
 or care : 
 Faith was their sword, their only buckler 
 
 prayer. 
 With these they fought, and soon, from 
 
 peril free. 
 They sang their tyrants whelmed beneath 
 
 the sea. 
 
 Let pagan hordes, assailed by murderous 
 wars. 
 
 Confide in horses and in battle cars ; 
 
 Our trust is God — a strength which can- 
 not fail — 
 
 In that we combat, and in that prevail. 
 
 Arrows may pierce the breast-plate doubly 
 barred, 
 
 A taintless conscience is a surer guard : 
 
 L 2
 
 112 
 
 Embattled armies oft have lost their 
 
 might. 
 And, smit with panic, fainted in the fight ; 
 One righteous man, with spirit framed to 
 
 pray. 
 Has turned the fortune of the roughest 
 
 day. 
 
 Was ever people so severely pressed. 
 
 Was ever sovereign with such fear dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 As Ahaz' son ; when, pouring on his 
 coasts. 
 
 He saw Assyria's wide, ferocious hosts ? 
 
 Outward they swept, like ocean's reckless 
 tide. 
 
 Which scatters mounds and navies in its 
 pride : 
 
 Their swords had reaped the fields of 
 countless realms, 
 
 A hundred victories blazed upon their 
 helms ;
 
 113 
 
 The strength of kings their conquering 
 
 arms had broke. 
 The gods of nations bowed beneath their 
 
 yoke : 
 And now to Salem's gates they haste 
 
 amain, [plain. 
 
 Their steel-clad myriads covering all the 
 Already the devoted walls appear. 
 When night descending checks their fierce 
 
 career. 
 
 Unhappy prince ! how shalt thou shun 
 the fate 
 
 That stands loud- threatening at thy cas- 
 tle gate ? 
 
 What trust is thine, what hope of suc- 
 couring power 
 
 To shield thy kingdom in so dread an 
 hour ? [despair ; 
 
 Earth's help is weak, and bids thine heart 
 
 To heaven then turn, and seek deliverance 
 there. 
 
 L 3
 
 114 
 
 Prone in the dust, before the shrine he 
 kneels. 
 
 And all his danger, all his fears reveals : 
 
 The God of Israel heard the monarch's 
 cry. 
 
 And showered down succour from His 
 throne on high. 
 
 His foes were baffled — as each warrior 
 lay. 
 
 Dreaming of spoils to come with coming 
 day; 
 
 The stern avenger stooped, his sword in 
 hand. 
 
 And smote and slaughtered all the god- 
 less band. 
 
 Morn rose ; the tents still whitened o'er 
 the ground. 
 
 But living thing no longer there was found : 
 
 The vaunted spoilers, lifeless and con- 
 gealed. 
 
 Lay stretched in death, as sleep their eyes 
 had sealed.
 
 115 
 
 Judah beheld, and, lost in wild amaze. 
 Their suppliant moans to loud hosannas 
 raise. 
 
 Such power hath prayer, when from a 
 
 bosom poured. 
 Earnest, devout, where faith and speech 
 
 accord : 
 To catch its accents heaven is opened wide. 
 Nor aught to its petition is denied. 
 Prayer bursts the prison-doors — prayer 
 
 bids the sun 
 Pause in his mid career, and straight 'tis 
 
 done : 
 Prayer checks the promised harvest in its 
 
 birth. 
 Closing the womb of the prolific earth ; 
 The clouds no longer drop their fatness 
 
 down. 
 And plenty the rich year forgets to crown. 
 But, loth and slow heaven's bounties to 
 
 restrain.
 
 116 
 
 Prayer triumphs more to bring joy back 
 again ; 
 
 To bid parched drought and hungry fa- 
 mine cease. 
 
 And corn and wine o'er all the land 
 increase. 
 
 So when false Israel had forsook the 
 Lord, 
 
 And other gods at other shrines adored ; 
 
 When, to avenge apostate Ahab's zeal. 
 
 The earth became as brass, the sky as 
 steel ; 
 
 The fig-tree'shopeful blossoms blustied no 
 more. 
 
 The vine no longer gave its juicy store. 
 
 The olive failed the rustic's toil to bless. 
 
 And fertile fields were curst with barren- 
 ness ; 
 
 No flock leapt forth at shepherd's well- 
 known call. 
 
 No sturdy ox fed joyous at the stall ;
 
 117 
 
 The months of harvest in their course 
 came round. 
 
 But blade, or ear, the reaper nowhere 
 found ; 
 
 The land was all one scorched and dreary- 
 waste. 
 
 From which each verdant life was quite 
 effaced ; 
 
 Three times the sun his annual race had 
 wheeled, [field ; 
 
 Since rain or dew refreshed the thirsty 
 
 Each stream had long forgot its wonted 
 course. 
 
 Each bubbling spring been dried up in its 
 source ; 
 
 Even haughty Jordan mourned the nig- 
 gard sky. 
 
 And, shrunk in strength, left half his 
 channel dry ; 
 
 The famished people craved in vain for 
 food, [subdued ; 
 
 No cooling draught their burning thirst
 
 118 
 
 By empty well, exhausted river's side. 
 In panting crowds, they gasped, they 
 pined, and died. 
 
 Where wert thou, Baal, when thy vo- 
 taries' cry 
 Rose night and day, and yet found no 
 
 reply ? 
 Why didst thou thus thine own to perish 
 
 leave ? [lieve ? 
 
 When Ahab called, could Baal not re- 
 in vain thy hundred priests danced round 
 
 thy shrine. 
 No aid or virtue, rests in thee or thine ; 
 One succour Israel has, one only hope — 
 The voice that sealed the heavens, the 
 heavens can ope. 
 
 The holy man appears — long, anxious 
 
 time. 
 Searched and explored through many a 
 
 realm and clime ;
 
 119 
 
 Sudden he now appears ; on Carmers 
 
 height 
 He takes his station, clothed in conscious 
 
 might — 
 Might not his own, but breathed through 
 
 heart and frame 
 From Him whose trusted minister he 
 
 came : — 
 Bare is his head, he grasps the prophet's 
 
 rod, [God. 
 
 While low on earth, he wrestles with his 
 The people stand in silence, and intent. 
 Eye the grave scene, and wait the big 
 
 event. 
 In suppliant posture still the figure 
 
 bends ; 
 In thought, not words, his soul's recjuest 
 
 ascends. 
 The Power propitious hears the good 
 
 man's prayer 
 (The good man still is heaven's peculiar 
 
 care) ;
 
 120 
 
 Wide o'er the sea the watchman strains 
 
 his eyes. 
 At length the welcome cloud is seen to 
 
 rise ; 
 Winds gather soon, and blackness veils 
 
 the sky ; 
 The rains descend — earth drinks her full 
 
 supply. 
 
 Mysterious prayer ! that, where proud 
 monarchs fail, 
 
 Strengthens the friendless outcast to pre- 
 vail ; 
 
 Which, when the wise, the mighty, and 
 the brave. 
 
 Stand helpless by, and find no power to 
 save. 
 
 Bids a whole nation's quivering life or 
 death 
 
 Hang on a poor, unaided stranger's 
 breath ;
 
 121 
 
 And arms the form, by age and sorrow 
 bent. 
 
 With boundless sway, with might om- 
 nipotent : — 
 
 Mysterious prayer ! which feeble man 
 endows 
 
 With proudest influence when he low- 
 liest bows. 
 
 Which gives the humble heart, the abject 
 frame, 
 
 A power unknown to lords of wealth and 
 fame. 
 
 And lifts the bended knee to more com- 
 mand 
 
 Than crowned head or weapon-wielding 
 hand ! 
 
 Mysterious prayer ! oft has it bid, at will. 
 
 The storm of battle thunder, or be still; 
 
 Oft, like the moon above the' obsequious 
 
 tide. 
 Taught prowess now to swell, and now 
 subside. 
 
 M
 
 122 
 
 When warfare raged, and Amalek's stern 
 might 
 
 Hung hot on Israel's champions in the 
 fight. 
 
 When helm to helm, and sword encoun- 
 tering sword. 
 
 The heathen pressed the army of the 
 Lord; 
 
 Thoughtless of fear, the prophet took his 
 stand. 
 
 And turned the drift of battle with his 
 hand. 
 
 No word he spoke, in form alone he 
 prayed. 
 
 The carnage ceased, the fierce pursuit 
 was stayed. 
 
 While rose his suppliant arm, the faith- 
 ful sped ; 
 
 When tired it sank, their strength and 
 courage fled. 
 
 Till held at length by foreign aid on high. 
 It gave them full and perfect victory.
 
 123 
 
 The foe retired beneath its mystic sway ; 
 The people passed exulting on their way. 
 
 But wherefore tell of deeds of martial 
 
 power. 
 Which prayer has wrought in mortal 
 
 peril's hour ? 
 Why speak of victories won, of tyrants 
 
 quelled. 
 Or lorn defenders in defeat upheld ? 
 Far nobler succours faithful prayer has 
 
 brought. 
 Far mightier acts and prouder conquests 
 
 wrought. 
 When plague hath gone abroad at 
 
 heaven's command. 
 And death or terror paralysed the land. 
 When heart and help have fainted 
 
 through despair. 
 Relief has dawned, and hope revived by 
 
 prayer, 
 
 M 2
 
 124 
 
 The slaughtering angel has withheld the 
 
 blow, [of woe. 
 
 And health and joy re-lumed the house 
 Yet more, much more is prayer's great 
 
 might confessed. 
 In healing souls with plague of sin 
 
 oppressed : 
 No pest like this the troubled spirit 
 
 proves. 
 Nor any aid like that whose power its 
 
 taint removes. 
 
 Lo ! that sad form, which climbs the 
 
 mount of God, [road. 
 
 Downcast his eye, his tears bedew the 
 Sorrow is in is gait, remorse and shame 
 O'ercloud his brow, and agitate his 
 
 frame ; 
 His steps at length the awful temple 
 
 reach, 
 But sobs and choking sighs obstruct his 
 
 speech ;
 
 125 
 
 One moment mute before the shrine he 
 stands. 
 
 Nor dares to lift his eye, or raise his 
 hands ; 
 
 The next, by sharper pangs of guilt dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 With bitter force he smites upon his 
 breast ; [groan. 
 
 Then cries in words rebuked by many a 
 
 " To me a sinner. Lord, be mercy 
 shown," — 
 
 Simple the accents, but the heart was 
 there. 
 
 And God received its penitential prayer ; 
 
 Grace beamed propitious on the sup- 
 pliant's head. 
 
 And love from Him who for the guilty 
 bled; 
 
 Back to his home the happy mourner 
 hied. 
 
 His travail past, his conscience justified. 
 M 3
 
 126 
 
 Be such thy blest exemplar, man forlorn, 
 
 Oppressed with sin, by sense of guilt 
 o'erborne. 
 
 Whose weary spirit panting seeks release 
 
 From secret pangs which long have 
 wrecked its peace ; 
 
 With this poor wretch, at Mercy's foot- 
 stool bow. 
 
 There all thy griefs and all thy faults 
 avow ; [love, 
 
 And that kind Power, to him so rich in 
 
 Will all thy cares wnth equal grace re- 
 move ; 
 
 Will whisper comfort to thy troubled 
 breast. 
 
 Banish thy fears, and sweetly give thee 
 rest. 
 
 Oh! dark their doom who in affliction's 
 
 day 
 Know not by prayer to charm its gloom 
 
 away.
 
 127 
 
 Who, when each object frowns upon 
 
 them here. 
 Have not a refuge in a better sphere ; 
 But all their hope by this cold world 
 
 engrossed, [lost ! 
 
 When that proves false, are ever, ever 
 
 Far happier they whose souls have learnt 
 
 to bend. 
 And made, betimes, the Lord of all their 
 
 friend. 
 Have given to Him the first-fruits of 
 
 their days. 
 Loved His great name from youth, and 
 
 lisped His praise. 
 At eve and morn, in tones sincere, though 
 
 weak. 
 Have duly bent the knee His grace to 
 
 seek. 
 To Him confessed each childish wish 
 
 and thought. 
 In each emergence His direction sought.
 
 128 
 
 And when the joys of earth have wooed 
 
 their love. 
 Have turned untouched away, and fixed 
 
 their heart above. 
 
 To such this anxious, troubled scene 
 
 below. 
 With all its dangers, all its care and 
 
 woe. 
 Moves smoothly on, and, though its trials 
 
 vex. 
 They have no power to ruffle or perplex. 
 In each dark moment still the spirit flies 
 For help to Him whose throne is in the 
 
 skies. 
 And, while the trembling thought can 
 
 frame a prayer. 
 It never fails of present succour there : 
 Affliction's stroke of half its force is 
 
 shorn ; 
 Pain learns to smile, and Grief forgets to 
 mourn.
 
 129 
 
 A favoured wife, beloved of her Lord, 
 Why pines her heart, why is her lot de- 
 plored r [year. 
 Why as she w^ends to Shiloh, year by 
 In God's accustomed service to appear. 
 Droops still her spirit, and her offerings 
 
 rise 
 Joyless and cold, her prayers are choked 
 
 with sighs ? 
 She has no child ; a happier rival's sneers 
 The sore reproach sound daily in her ears : 
 And, though her husband with endearing 
 zeal [heal. 
 
 Plies all love's arts the hidden pang to 
 The hidden pang still rankles in her 
 
 breast ; 
 Her wounded spirit knows no peace or 
 
 rest ; 
 Her eyes weep on ; grief will not be be- 
 guiled ; 
 Shame still consumes her heart,— she 
 
 HAS NO CHILD.
 
 130 
 
 Moons circle round ; her due feet seek 
 
 again 
 Shiloh's blest seat, and tread the hal- 
 lowed fane : 
 The sacrifice is done, the feast is o'er. 
 She hastes to God her secret plaints to 
 
 pour ; 
 She prays, and, as its prayer her soul 
 
 reveals. 
 Tears moisten all the ground whereon 
 
 she kneels : 
 Long time in cheerless mood she lowly 
 
 bends. 
 And still her heart in earnest vows 
 
 ascends — 
 Vows not pronounced with outward 
 
 voice or tone. 
 But felt and breathed within the reins 
 
 alone : 
 At length with conscious hope her breast 
 is stirred ; [heard : 
 
 She feels as if her soul's desire were
 
 131 
 
 Lightly she rises from the sacred ground, 
 Grace from on high her fervent prayer 
 
 hath found : 
 The boon is given — when time's due 
 
 course was run. 
 Her raptured arms embrace a lovely son : 
 In bitter tears she sowed, she reaps in 
 
 joy, [ploy. 
 
 And now^ loud praises heart and lips em- 
 Pilgrims of sorrow, whose untoward 
 
 doom 
 Has wove your vital web with threads 
 
 of gloom ; 
 To whom the seasons, which in annual 
 
 flow 
 Joys bring to all, bring only change of 
 
 woe ; 
 See here your solace, and your sovereign 
 
 aid. 
 When heaviest ills your sinking souls 
 
 invade ;
 
 132 
 
 In straitest trials, and in lowest state. 
 
 On God by prayer with meek affiance 
 wait ; 
 
 And, though all strength and help within 
 you die. 
 
 Fresh strength will come and succour 
 from on high : 
 
 As on that night, ere man's release was 
 wrought. 
 
 Remission of his throes the Sufferer 
 sought. 
 
 An angel shall descend, and to your 
 heart 
 
 Increase of virtue, heavenly might, im- 
 part. 
 
 How many sorrows thus have been al- 
 layed ! 
 
 How oft has light broke through the 
 thickest shade ! 
 
 How oft deep suffering, sad bereavement, 
 found wound ! 
 
 A cure for every sore, a balm for every
 
 133 
 
 A voice of bitter wailing rends the air ; 
 Deep anguish, sure, and agony is there : 
 The childless mother sorrows, and her 
 
 grief 
 Refuses comfort, for it lacks relief ; 
 Her heart is all upon that lifeless boy — 
 Her hope so late, her dearest, only joy : — 
 He came, a sudden unexpected boon. 
 And now he's gone as strangely and as 
 
 soon ; 
 Yet not alone he hastes to his decline. 
 Her best affections still around him 
 
 twine ; 
 And even in death, in darkness, and de- 
 cay. 
 She cannot tear from him her soul away : 
 The seer arrives, who first announced 
 this son, [run ? 
 
 But what can he, now life's last sand is 
 Yet, oh! how hard the cherished hope to 
 part, [heart ! 
 
 Which cleaves and clings about a mother's
 
 134 
 
 Before his feet her prostrate length she 
 
 throws. 
 And cries for pity on her cruel woes : 
 His bosom melts at such severe distress ; 
 He lifts, he cheers, and bids her hope re- 
 dress ; [dead, 
 Then hastening to the chamber of the 
 His limbs he casts upon the fateful bed ; 
 And with unuttered groans, and urgent 
 prayers, [cares : 
 Lays all his care on Him who for him 
 His cry is heard ; death's leaden slumber 
 breaks, [awakes ; 
 The lifeless breathes again, the dead 
 The mother clasps once more her living 
 
 boy. 
 And grief's cold tears melt in a gush of 
 
 joy. 
 
 Blest power of prayer, at whose al- 
 mighty voice 
 The lost return again, the sad rejoice ;
 
 135 
 
 May morn ne'er dawn, nor evening cast 
 
 its shade. 
 Without my orisons devoutly paid ! 
 In every trouble, every grief or need. 
 May still my soul to God for comfort 
 
 plead ; 
 And know that those with Him hold 
 
 dearest place 
 Who most desire and oftenest crave His 
 
 grace. 
 O, may I learn, when doubt and dark- 
 ness rise, ^ [eyes. 
 And spread their filmy veil before my 
 Or when my steps, uncertain of the way. 
 Through devious mazes hesitating 
 
 stray, — 
 O, may I learn, with steadfast trust 
 
 though meek, [seek ; 
 
 Direction, guidance, light, of Him to 
 And, when His counsel shines upon my 
 
 heart, [part ! 
 
 Therein to walk, and never thence de- 
 N 2
 
 136 
 
 Blest power of prayer ! in that most 
 
 awful day, 
 When life declines, and earth fleets fast 
 
 away ; 
 When the receding soul requires some 
 
 stay. 
 To bear her up in Nature's sad decay ; 
 Where shall she turn, on what blest 
 
 hope rely. 
 But cling through help of thee to Him 
 
 who reigns on high ? 
 How oft through this have saints been 
 
 known to prove 
 A strength in death, which tortures could 
 
 not move I 
 How oft have pure confessors thus de- 
 fied 
 Hell's pangs, and victors more than vic- 
 tims died ! 
 
 The multitude prevail ; with one accord 
 They rush upon the senant of the Lord ;
 
 137 
 
 Black vengeance in their hearts, stones 
 
 in their hands. 
 They crush the holy martyr where he 
 
 stands : 
 He, meekly bending, with unaltered eye. 
 While thousand angry fates about him 
 
 Regardless of the pain his limbs that 
 
 rends. 
 His soul to Christ in placid faith com- 
 mends : 
 His peace thus made, his spirit thus 
 
 composed. 
 He turns his thoughts to those who 
 
 round him closed ; 
 And rendering love for malice, prayer 
 
 for hate, 
 "Their sin, O Lord," he cries, "thy 
 
 grace abate :" 
 Then, fraught with glory from the realms 
 
 of light, [his flight. 
 
 To which in heart he wings even now 
 N 3
 
 138 
 
 And, full of the reward he there will 
 
 reap. 
 In Jesu's arms he calmly falls asleep. 
 
 Who would not die a death so sweet, so 
 
 blest ? 
 Who would not sink in praise and prayer 
 
 to rest ? — 
 Let this, my soul, be still thy wish and 
 
 aim. 
 By the same faith to gain an end the 
 
 same : 
 Be fixed my latest look upon the skies. 
 My parting breath in adoration rise ; 
 And, when my spirit from its chains is 
 
 riven. 
 May it ascend, and find a home in 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 But while we sojourn in this world of 
 
 gloom. 
 Regret, and fear, is our appointed doom ;
 
 139 
 
 We feel as pilgrims, who delightless 
 
 roam 
 Through alien climes, and never seem at 
 
 home. 
 Yet here, even here, we hold communion 
 
 sweet. 
 By faith and hope, with our loved, native 
 
 seat; 
 And, when the heart is wrapped in fervent 
 
 prayer. 
 We almost deem we breathe in heavenly 
 
 air : 
 Earth and its sorrows all are cast behind. 
 And God and bliss alone engage the mind. 
 So when the Saviour, in that abject day. 
 While yet in flesh his Godhead shrouded 
 
 lay. 
 To Tabor's lonely height, from public 
 
 view [drew. 
 
 For secret worship with the three with- 
 Even as he knelt, and all his spirit poured 
 In deep devotion to his Sire and Lord,
 
 140 
 
 A change passed o'er him, and his form 
 
 and face 
 With light immortal glowed, and heavenly 
 
 grace : 
 Prophets of elder times, in God-like 
 
 sheen. 
 Came down, and shed a radiance o'er 
 
 the scene ; 
 And such a glorious spectacle was given, 
 x\s heaven had stooped to earth, or earth 
 
 were changed to heaven. 
 
 Thrice-blessed prayer ! who knows thy 
 
 healing power, 
 O'er him no fears can hang, no darkness 
 
 lower : 
 Of sovereign force thou bring'st a ready 
 
 balm, [calm : 
 
 That outvN^ard bane, or inward care can 
 Sustained by thee, the wretch forgets his 
 
 pain, [again : 
 
 And dull Despondence learns to hope
 
 141 
 
 Where thou abid'st, no more can vice 
 
 beguile ; 
 And at thy voice Remorse and Anguish 
 
 smile. 
 
 What sins are his ! — how deeply stained 
 his heart 
 
 With crimes that bid the firmest con- 
 science start ! 
 
 How shall he hope his guilty head to 
 hide 
 
 From Him whose Son so oft he crucified ! 
 
 Alas ! no doom is left him but despair ; 
 
 No place for penitence, no heart for 
 prayer. 
 
 Three days he sat, with sullen grief op- 
 pressed. 
 
 Three days he fasted, and refused all 
 rest ; 
 
 At length a gleam of light began to ope, 
 
 He felt, though plunged in guilt, there 
 yet was hope ;
 
 142 
 
 That Christ, whose faith and name to 
 
 scorn he gave, 
 Had poured his soul, the lost Uke him to 
 
 save : 
 To Him he turned with groans and bitter 
 
 tears. 
 And sought release from all he feels and 
 
 fears ; 
 To Him he scorned the scoffer bowed 
 
 for aid, 
 
 The persecutor to his Victim prayed ! 
 
 O, what a sight for angels to explore ; — 
 
 The proud abased, the foe constrained to' 
 adore ! 
 
 Loud hallelujahs through heaven's con- 
 cave rise. 
 
 The voice of laud and triumph fills the 
 skies : 
 
 "Thrones, dominations, princedoms, vir- 
 tues, powers," 
 
 With saints and seraphs in their blissful 
 bowers.
 
 143 
 
 Strike their sweet lyres, their tuneful 
 
 voices raise ; 
 In one full burst of rapture and of praise ; 
 And still from lyre and voice these straias 
 
 resound — 
 " The dead's alive again, the lost is 
 
 found;" 
 The fell avenger hath forsworn his ire. 
 Blind zeal no longer sets his soul on 
 
 fire ; 
 The power of grace at length hath beam- 
 ed within. 
 And now he sees, and he deplores his 
 
 sin : 
 Tears of repentance from his eyelids 
 
 start. 
 Blest sighs of true contrition heave his 
 
 heart ; 
 The cross he spurned, he seeks with 
 
 wistful gaze. 
 And, stretched before it, lo ! he prays, 
 
 he prays !
 
 144 
 
 To wondering earth the joyful tidings 
 spread. 
 
 Refreshing hearts before with terror 
 dead; 
 
 Through field and city straight the mes- 
 sage flies ; 
 
 The plain repeats it, and the hill replies : 
 
 " The foe w^ho came, the church's 
 scourge and rod. 
 
 Is now a chosen vessel of our God ; 
 
 His hate is cast away, the wrath as- 
 suaged 
 
 With which against our brethren erst he 
 raged ; 
 
 O'er his hard heart the Spirit's melting 
 rays 
 
 With power have beamed, and, lo ! he 
 prays, he prays I "
 
 145 
 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 '• Quis locu3 iugenio, nisi cum se carmine solo 
 
 Vexant 
 
 Pectora vestra, duas uoa admitteutia curas ? " 
 
 Juvenal. 
 
 Farewell, my lyre, thy wakeful task is 
 
 done ! [awhile : 
 
 And now, companions long, we part 
 
 O'er many a varied theme thy notes have 
 
 run, [smile. 
 
 And moved in equal turn the tear and 
 
 To Friendship's touch thy willing chords 
 have rung ; lays ; 
 
 The sigh of ardent love has fired thy 
 Flowers, Music, War, and Death thy 
 voice hath sung. 
 And swelled its breath in pure Reli- 
 gion's praise. 
 
 o
 
 146 
 
 Yet well I ween to polished ears and 
 
 wise 
 
 Thy artless tones will sound uncouth 
 
 and tame : 
 
 The harsh will censure, and the proud 
 
 despise [frame. 
 
 The feeble spirit that pervades thy 
 
 For thee with soft regard no heart will 
 
 beat, [cheer : 
 
 No friendly voice thy rude adventure 
 
 But scorn or cold neglect thy strains 
 
 will greet — [sneer. 
 
 Rebuke thy meed, thy best reward a 
 
 They little know what clouds of grief 
 
 and gloom 
 
 Hung o'er thy path, and damped thy 
 
 kindling flame ; [doom, 
 
 ^Yhat pain and labour marred thy early 
 
 What scoffers turned thy generous 
 
 pride to shame.
 
 147 
 
 Unapt the heart which crosses sharp 
 consume [song ; 
 
 To wake the raptures of the stirring 
 Where chill Despondence wastes the 
 cheek's young bloom, 
 The Muse disdains her visits to pro- 
 long. 
 
 The soul must stand remote from vulgar 
 
 care, [her own ; 
 
 Which she delights to bless, and make 
 
 No sad perplexing thoughts must rankle 
 
 there, [alone. 
 
 But all be given to peace and Her 
 
 But me, ere youth's first flowers were 
 
 fully blown. 
 
 Hard fate required precocious fruit to 
 
 bring, [sown. 
 
 My boyish breast with thorny cares was 
 
 And Autumn pressed upon the steps 
 
 of Spring.
 
 148 
 
 As age matured, still sterner duties came. 
 
 And nights in watching, days in toil 
 
 were worn ; 
 
 Till paled away by slow degrees the flame 
 
 The Muse had breathed, and left my 
 
 soul forlorn. 
 
 What wonder, then, my hand unequal 
 
 swept [lected lyre. 
 
 Thy trembling strings, my poor neg- 
 
 Or that the buoyant spirit sometimes 
 
 slept, aspire ? 
 
 Which might have bid sublimer strains 
 
 Be banished far each dark foreboding 
 
 thought — [aim. 
 
 Where pure the object, laudable the 
 
 Though flag success below the height it 
 
 sought, [blame. 
 
 The good will pardon, and the just not 
 
 Thorns, Printer, \^ar«ick Square.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below
 
 J 
 
 B 000 000 956 3 
 
 MIN. 
 
 PR 
 
 H37t