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 THE LIBRARY 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 PREFACE. 
 
 The following Tributes were all rendered 
 to one lady : and the author flatters himself 
 that this circumstance gives them an advan- 
 <tage over many productions of far greater 
 merit, in which poets have discovered such 
 a marvellous power of transferring their 
 affection, as almost to preclude the possi- 
 bility of much sympathy from the reader. 
 
 The names Esselrade and Fasserton are 
 fictitiously applied to localities. 
 
 May^ 1854. 
 
 ^-Qf^/|.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A LOVER'S TRIBUTES TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 Pabt I. — 
 
 * PAGE 
 
 AN ESSAY ON WOMAN 1 
 
 Pakt II.— 
 
 I LOTE A THOtTSAND DEEAMS APPEAR 43 
 
 FROLIC STILL, MY FAIRY QUEEN 46 
 
 COME TO ME JUST AS THOU ART 49 
 
 THOU IN WHOSE LOVELY ASPECT I CAN 
 
 TRACE 52 
 
 SINCE FIRST IN FEEBLE LINES I DARED 
 
 TO PAINT 56
 
 Vlli CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 OH TELL ME NOT, TIS VAIN TO GRIEVE 63 
 WHEN BARBAROUS HANDS THE WORTH- 
 LESS PAPER AVRIT 66 
 
 THERE LIVES ABOVE YON STARRY FRAME 70 
 SHALL I SEE MY DEAR .TANe' BY THE 
 
 LIGHT OF THE MOON 75 
 
 SO NEAR HER, AND FAINT 78 
 
 WHY HAD MY TONGUE SO LITTLE SKILL 81 
 
 WHICH WAY DID I THINK IT SO BRIGHT 84 
 
 FATE FOR SORROW MAKES AMENDS 86 
 
 YE GENTLE GALES THAT FAN THE DAY 
 
 TO SLEEP 89 
 
 WHEN TOILING FOR MY DAILY BREAD... 109 
 
 THE WORLD HAS TRIED ME SORE, MY JANE 111 
 
 YES — 'twere UNJUST, MY JANE, UNJUST 114 
 you TOLD ME, YOU WERE FAIN TO 
 
 KNOW 121 
 
 OH THINK OF HIM WHO ALWAYS THINKS 
 
 OF THEE 123
 
 CONTENTS. IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PKINCES OF A FEUDAL DAT 126 
 
 I DARE NOT THINK ABOUT HER YET ... 128 
 WITH MORE THAN MORTAL BEAUTY 
 
 CLAD 131 
 
 father! to thy gracious care 135 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 FAIR mourner, cast THOSE WEEDS 
 
 AWAY 139 
 
 STILL LET A SMILE BEDECK THY FACE 142 
 SO MILTON's FIENDS WITH ABJECT 
 
 MALICE BURN 134
 
 PART I. 
 AN ESSAY ON WOMAN.
 
 A LOVER'S TRIBUTES TO HIS 
 MISTRESS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 AN ESSAY ON WOMAN. 
 
 Woman, delightful woman ! from whose eye 
 The lordly slave awaits his destiny, 
 Where'er a bosom beats that scorns the reign 
 Of man, and heaves against the despot's 
 chain, — 
 5 The despot of the cottage or the throne, — 
 Assert dominion, and impose thine own. 
 These are thy slaves, that court the scene of 
 
 strife. 
 As more in love with danger than with life ;
 
 2 A LOVER S TRIBUTES 
 
 Who man's contempt with ■worse contempt 
 repay, 
 10 And almost spurn his courtesy away; 
 
 Than steel in something more ungentle cased, 
 Whereon no sign of kindness else is traced. 
 Hero, or ruffian, before whom men quake. 
 By thy soft toils encompass'd, thou dost 
 make 
 1 5 Harmless and still as cradled infancy : 
 
 There Csesar bowed : the Spartan was not free. 
 And what's the rule of man, in this our day, 
 When vassals prove their right ? How 
 
 fallen away! 
 Where is the lawless king, to fire a town ; 
 20 The noble, proud of his blood-stain'd renown, 
 Or priest, that wields the thunderbolt? in 
 
 climes 
 Where still their claim lives, vanquished by 
 the times ; 
 ^ Whilst thy control is all uncheck'd, un- 
 changed : 
 In foul alliance when those tyrants ranged 
 25 Over a prostrate world, they made thee wear 
 Their trophies on thy finger, or thine ear ;
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS, 
 
 Nor less the Avortliier homage paid thee now: 
 Whate'er is changed beside, as much impe- 
 rial thou. 
 
 Oh nine times over worth the fabled Nine, 
 
 30 Who never heard, and never breath' d, a line ; 
 The idol work of labouring poet's brain, 
 Coldly invoked before he turn again 
 To his true source of inspiration — thee, 
 Thou living image of his poetry: ,^ 
 
 35 The classic law fulfiU'd, the tribute paid. 
 Of thy sweet countenance beneath the shade 
 He sits, and dreams, and sings. Then since 
 
 'tis so. 
 And thou, his muse, art his great subject too. 
 It seemeth hard that one who paints, and sells, 
 
 40 And then forgets, should to the bow'r where 
 dwells 
 Conversant beauty have access, and sketch 
 From life her character; invention stretch 
 To talk it forth ; while the poor poet would 
 Be deem'd a madman, if he haply should 
 
 45 So seek to trace a faithful portraiture. 
 'Tis true, the poet keeps a record sure
 
 4 A lover's tributes 
 
 Of looks, charms, graces; whicli, once seen, 
 
 are fix'd 
 Ever upon his mind ; and, howso mix'd 
 With the world's moving panorama, make 
 
 50 A gallery, where he reclines to take 
 
 His brightest lessons ; for there treasured lie 
 Each fleet expression that awakes thine eye; 
 Each artless grace, for scarce a moment seen. 
 In the unconscious changes of thy mien. 
 
 55 Dear centre of the pure and beautiful! 
 Whatever taste from nature's bed can cull 
 Seems only fair as it can tell of thee ; 
 While nought that's fair in nature doth it see 
 Without a counterpart in thee ; nay, more — 
 
 60 Its origin, perfectitude, and store. 
 
 'Tis well for bards, who by that lovely light 
 Thou look'st, with easy inspiration write; 
 Deem thee a thing from earthly grossness free ; 
 Contemplate hell within, and heaven in thee; 
 
 65 Read in thee what the troop of vulgar eyes 
 Find in their works,nor the true authors prize ; 
 That thou — as jewels of surpassing worth, 
 Free scatter'd,sparkle up and down the earth — 
 Art ever, from the formless hand that bears, 
 
 70 Heaps upon heaps, the treasury of stars,
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 Shower 'd upon every age and every clime ; 
 And eacli discovers in his place and time 
 One so supremely fair to look upon. 
 He thinks there never yet was such an one. 
 
 75 Here 'tis that every man a poet grows ; 
 That inspiration, e'en though silent, flows. 
 Let the chef-d ceuvres of plastic hand divine, 
 From every age and place, be made to shine 
 In constellated beauty upon man ; 
 
 80 And let the gazer have the taste to scan, 
 The heart to feel: far less the bursting sense 
 Of admiration that would kindle thence, 
 Than flames and stifles in the lover's breast. 
 With one bright lady's influence opprest. 
 
 85 And then from each the happiest feature take. 
 And join them all together, so to make 
 A paragon the world has never seen : 
 Who could not say, that heaven and earth 
 
 had been 
 Ransack'd, to deck with richer charms his 
 fair? 
 
 90 Then liken to the sable clouds her hair, 
 Convolved upon a snowy mountain's top ; 
 Her silken- fringed eyes, that always drop
 
 A LOVER S TEIBUTES 
 
 A liquid liglit, to nearer planets, drown'd 
 In tlie gold flood the day-king pours around : 
 95 Her cheeks to lilies, upon whose clear face 
 Some cunning hand, to flush them with new 
 
 grace. 
 Hath press'd the crimson rose, and shed its 
 
 dies; 
 Her teeth to separate sleet, ere yet it lies 
 Upon the soil. It is not strange that love 
 1 00 The dullest brain to poetry should move ; 
 But, as the world grows old, 'tis strange there 
 
 are 
 More HelenSjfof whom nations well might war : 
 Creatures whose forms, all lovely as at first. 
 Amid Creation's fall, remain alone un curst. 
 
 105 In times of peace, when swords reposing rust. 
 And men are seldom made to bite the dust. 
 Still sharper weapons in our hands are found, 
 To strike the spirit lower than the ground. 
 And drive the stoutest from life's active field, 
 
 110 With heart well nigh to break, though not 
 to yield.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 7 
 
 Peace throngs our cities ; many a mark 
 
 displays 
 To malice, that had 'scaped the point and 
 
 blaze 
 Of war. Ah, happier some, had they been 
 
 doom'd 
 By battle's furnace breath to be consumed 1 
 
 1 1 5 For there's ablast that touches what thehard 
 Unpitying engines of destruction spared : 
 Had they been doom'd an earlier fate to meet. 
 Enveloped in the dusky winding-sheet 
 That rolls portentous round the field of strife, 
 
 120 Than figTit at home for something more than 
 life I 
 Escaped the lion's grasp, 'twas theirs to bleed 
 Or sicken at the crawling centipede. 
 But not of such I sing. In times of peace, 
 Times of refinement, and of social ease, 
 
 1 25 The hostile temper a more polished steel ; 
 The victim more acutely learns to feel. 
 Disused the sword and buckler,we grow keen 
 In managing the armoury within. 
 What pointed arrows issue from the eye ; 
 
 1 30 Couch' d on the tongue, what deadly lances 1 ie 1
 
 8 A lover's tributes 
 
 And still lie best performs a gallant part 
 
 Who carries oak and brass about his heart. 
 
 See well-born poverty parade the streets, 
 
 The scorn of every pampered cit he meets ; 
 1 35 His relatives, to starve away disgrace, 
 
 Doing their best to keep him from a place : 
 
 Or genius, with an eye of mystic flame, 
 
 Lit at the fire that wastes awaj' the frame, 
 
 And dazzles when his ashes cease to be, 
 
 Put in a kind of moral pillory. 
 
 Where all may have their fling, both good 
 and bad : 
 
 Foes call him drunk, and friends confess him 
 mad. 
 
 Then mark ambition, that has gain'd no 
 more 
 
 By eloquence and spirit, but some sore, — 
 1 45 Some notable memorial of war, 
 
 Talk'd louder of than soldier's proudest scar. 
 
 'Tis vain to mourn what has been, and will 
 be : 
 
 But where's the remedy? — in love, — in thee. 
 
 Something akin to heaven's sublimer grace, 
 150 .Pure love's the next elixir for our race.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS » 
 
 The gloomy misanthrope, the reckless rake, 
 He who but quarrels for the quarrel's sake, 
 Have proved its healing influence on the 
 
 heart ; 
 And e'en where stubborn vice will not depart, 
 1 55 It wakes one virtue in the breast it moves ; 
 The wretch still strives, hates, drinks,— but 
 
 sometimes loves. 
 And sorrow's prisoners are ne'er so free 
 As when they hug thy chains, and think 
 of thee. 
 
 When sweetly by consenting beauty charm'd, 
 160 In panoply all-proof the man is arm'd 
 
 For fighting life shard battles, that each day 
 Brings, (though so swift it seems to glide 
 
 away) ; 
 Prescribes conditions to opposing fate, 
 And oft times, born a beggar, becomes great. 
 165 Were he not urged by this impulsion high. 
 How would the bravest sometimes faint and 
 
 die! 
 But when upon thy dear account he strives. 
 He feels the vigour of a thousand lives.
 
 10 A lover's tributes 
 
 The resolution to endure the worst, 
 170 To spare no pains ; to suffer hunger, thirst, 
 
 Conflict and toil — This is the gift of love — 
 
 To meet a world's contempt if thou approve. 
 
 'Tis love that talks so loud, yet feels so deep ; 
 
 That fools may mock,'but wise men ever keep, 
 175 A talisman, worn nearest to the heart. 
 
 To root out folly, and bid vice depart ; 
 
 To conquer 'or ennoble selfishness: 
 
 The more one's care for thee, he cares for 
 self the less: 
 
 Thy love will nerve his heart, and point his 
 sword, 
 1 80 Or prompt his tongue to use the skilful word : 
 
 Thy joy becomes his brightest heritage ; 
 
 Thy danger animates his generoiis rage : 
 
 A second heart is beating in his breast. 
 
 And come what may,su thou be safe, he*s blest. 
 
 1 85 In noble minds thine influence ranks the first. 
 Nor wants it place < • A credit in the worst ; 
 While hearts that hcive known what it is to 
 
 move 
 Cheer'd with the precious balsam of thy love
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 1] 
 
 Speak thy name afterward in every throb ; 
 
 1 80 And 'tis as though a cruel knife should rob 
 Such hearts of their best blood, if some dire 
 
 fate 
 Take it from thence, and leave them desolate. 
 Thy love arouses wisdom, and then lends 
 A sanctity, to fit it for high ends. 
 
 195 No pride so fierce it cannot moderate; 
 No wretch so abject it cannot make great. 
 Wakes at thy touch the listless sot to health, 
 Activity, and character, and wealth ; 
 And baited cowards how oft hast thou 
 charm' d 
 
 200 To heroes ! for who is so worthless, warm'd 
 By favouring beauty, as content to bear 
 Feeling unequal to defend the fair 
 That trusts herself to him, or tamely yield 
 His right in her to an embattled field ? 
 
 205 If thou withdraw us from the scenes where we 
 Have long pursued life's dull variety. 
 Such an abstraction, such a wholesome rest. 
 Is of thy benefits amongst the best : 
 If through a worn-out world forbid to range' 
 
 120 We enter on a new (a good exchauge)
 
 12 A loyer's tributes 
 
 Wherein romance itself is ascertained, 
 And toilsome vanity may find an end ; 
 Where even ambition, pausing, thinks at last 
 It can attain no more, nor be surpassed; 
 
 215 Or where ambition's diverse rays may find 
 A focus where to meet, and where combined, 
 They lose their baleful character, and take 
 A pure, a blameless one, for thy dear sake. 
 Not lord of acres, man is rich indeed 
 
 220 If Providence his circumstances speed 
 Enough to yield the little love requires : 
 Love teaches worldly pride to quench its 
 
 fires. 
 He's but a slave, and he a beggar, who 
 Though ranking richest in the common view, 
 
 225 And making riches daily more and more, 
 Hath no such blest deposit for his store. 
 
 Ah, who that has not proved it, who can 
 
 tell, 
 Without when fightings are, within a hell 
 Of fears ; when all our independence fails, 
 230 And fortune turns a termagant, and rails,
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 13 
 
 How fit a resting place the heart may 
 
 find 
 
 In the affection of thy gentle mind ? 
 
 When all is gloom, then there is one bright 
 
 spot ; 
 
 All lowering storm, — that one browfrowneth 
 
 not; 
 
 235 All harshness else, — that one breast still is 
 
 soft ; 
 
 All midnight, — there is yet a star aloft. 
 
 But 'tis thy province to be only kind ; 
 
 Affectionately framed, thou wast designed 
 
 •< An almoner, to be besought, and give : 
 
 240 Yea, not to love, with thee, is not to live. 
 
 And if love be so potent to relieve 
 
 The load of cares beneath which all men 
 
 grieve, 
 
 What shall we say of thee, expressly 
 
 made 
 The channel for the gift to be conveyed? — 
 
 245 Why, that thou art a very goddess, bound 
 To neither classic age nor classic ground : 
 Who still hast power to stir up war's whirl- 
 wind, 
 And its reluctant pinions btill to bind:
 
 14 A lover's tributes 
 
 To open a new era on the shore 
 250 Where hopeless barbarism reign'd before. 
 The fabled deities of other days 
 Had their short glory, and in ancient lays 
 Now only live. Heroes that fought and bled 
 In warlike times, though laid in honour's bed, 
 255 Almost forgot, the retrospective strain 
 Of poesy can scarce call back again : 
 And kingdoms built with ever-during 
 
 strength 
 Have lost their name, have lost its shade, at 
 
 length. 
 But thy divinity shall ever live ; 
 260 Thy recent triumphs still the subject give 
 To bards, and be recited in the strain 
 Alike of nobles, and the village swain : 
 Thy kingdom never be dismantled, while 
 Man owns a pulse, to quicken at thy smile. 
 
 265 In torrid climes, where few cool breezes blow. 
 And where the thirsty sun forbids to flow 
 The streams impure, that life, not health, 
 
 sustain ; 
 Where many a league along the burning plain
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 15 
 
 Slumbers the baleful dust, that soon will rise, 
 270 Sensible darkness, round men's failing eyes, 
 Or, column'd, walk along the startled waste, 
 While in its devious footsteps may be traced 
 The unseen hurricane's impatient course, 
 As, whirl'd about with strange eccentric force, 
 275 It now vails some lone pilgrim from the sight, 
 Now shrouds a city in disastrous night ; 
 "Where summer's madness desolates the year 
 Worse than the winter cold that Britons 
 fear ; 
 < Where no-vv and then, as round the world's 
 
 corner, drives 
 280 The roughest blast rude Eolus contrives, 
 When Nature, fainting on her post, leaves 
 
 bare 
 A vacuum, through which the serried air 
 Rushes like cannon flame'; well loaded, too. 
 With locusts, and a smaller winged crew 
 285 Born but to sting : — (so some immortal souls, 
 Fashion'd to top the speck that farthest rolls, 
 A glimmering star, should seem to be !) 'twas 
 
 here. 
 Upon this coast of sultry gloom, so drear.
 
 16 A lover's tributes 
 
 Just as, descending in a golden shower, 
 
 290 The Spirit of the West displayed its power ; 
 Taught industry to smile, and arts to thrive, 
 And woo'd tormented nature to revive ; 
 Landed a woful man, with worldly good 
 Quite out of love, and seeking solitude r 
 
 295 For giant sorrow must have room to play, 
 And the proud pent-up tear will steal away. 
 When they whose malice forced it from the 
 
 brain 
 Are not at hand, to make it start again. 
 Accustom'd long to much existing ill, 
 
 300 And all his little joy but dream'd of still. 
 His life had been the life of hope defer'd ; 
 Till now no more his sicken'd spirit stir'd 
 At the too-oft-told tale, but long'd to dwell 
 In sable silence, prison'd in the cell 
 
 305 Of its contracted fancies. Hateful grown 
 Earth's atmosphere, he'd make one of his 
 
 own : 
 Hang midnight in the centre of his soul, 
 And gaze upon delights as stars that roll 
 In other spheres : would fain have passion 
 dead, 
 
 310 But go where he might conjure up its shade
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 17 
 
 In pleasing guise an hour or two, and then 
 
 Dismiss it into leaden sleep again : 
 
 And the false world, he knew, was apt to 
 
 make. 
 Only to mock it, passion's self awake : 
 315 To poison pleasure's cup, and friendship's 
 
 breath, 
 And mar love's purple dream with tincts of 
 
 death. 
 
 " Now a^ he wander'd o'er the trackless wild, 
 A summer storm was greeting him. Long 
 
 smiled 
 The sheeted lightning ; and, with voice that 
 shook the pole, 
 320 Its salutation did the thunder roll. 
 
 'Twas dark before he reach'dhis place of rest. 
 His fragile home ; and ere the ground he 
 
 prest 
 His soul, more weary than his limbs, thus 
 
 spoke, 
 In musings by the frequent tempest broke.
 
 18 A lovek's tributes 
 
 325 Come, desolation ; come, thou open sky ; 
 Grief's unrestraint, and pomp of poverty ! 
 Within these walls of clay (by far the best 
 For a clay-form'd and clay-devoted guest) 
 I've luxury beyond what princes own ; 
 330 For what is greatness, but to stand alone, 
 Towering above the world's unwholesome 
 
 breath, 
 That mist, in whose confusion stalks grim 
 
 death 
 Unseen, though felt, along the busy street. 
 While hidden serpents hiss about our 
 feet? 
 335 A misanthrope, yet social, here may sit 
 
 The student ; and none cry " All hail " — 
 
 and spit. 
 Come forth my books — so — now I look on 
 
 friends, 
 The good, the wise, the great, whose glory 
 
 ends 
 When history's page is blotted out, and shell 
 340 Poetic no more melody can tell.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 19 
 
 In this rude hut shall sage and wit be heard, 
 Nor loss of beauty's presence e'er be fear'd. 
 But see how foul — and now how fair the 
 
 storm. 
 Transfigured, — yet it wears that radiant form 
 346 A moment only ; then the lightning's burst 
 Leaves darkness darker than it was at first — 
 Seems now a thing of heav'n, and now of 
 
 hell; 
 
 Or day and night at strife, each fighting well. 
 
 Ah ! now a moment through the murky pall 
 
 ^50 Beneath- whose shelter from the Lord of all 
 
 Earth's rebels fain would hide, his live sword 
 
 seems 
 Quivering : — and now the horizon teems 
 With lapping fire from the distended jaw 
 Of hell, that flickers round with sulphurous 
 maw ; 
 355 A wolf, that for the whole creation prowls, 
 Then trembles into darkness. Hark ! it 
 
 howls. 
 The time has been that o'er my gloomy fate 
 Delusive flashes play'd ; known, when too 
 late,
 
 20 A lover's tributes 
 
 To be delusive : the result the same : 
 360 Day did usurp ; night reigns. But enter, 
 flame 
 And tempest : ye are welcome — and ye can. 
 I know ye better still, than treacherous man. 
 
 Now studied he morosely to survey 
 
 The nothingness of life's brief summer day: 
 
 365 Friendless and poor, indulged a foolish pride 
 In contemplating nature's darkest side ; 
 Till the poor fragments of his worldly hope, 
 Oft sifted, one by one were given up. 
 Little saw he of men ; nor on that shore 
 
 870 The little that he saw could tempt to more. 
 His fellows mostly had left home with vain 
 Desire of wealth, and meant to sail again. 
 Full fraught with mammon, each to his own 
 
 place. 
 Improved in fortune, but in no one grace ; 
 
 375 All reckless grown of home, and friends, 
 and land ; 
 Worth — and but worth — the money in his 
 hand.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 21 
 
 Yet sometimes to a placid mood he yields ; 
 Like the lone patriarch, goes into the fields 
 To meditate ; and there sometimes was rolled 
 
 380 Upon the eddying gale a sound that told 
 Of other days ; a homely sound, that bore 
 An invitation to a happier shore ; 
 Or spoke, at least, a gentle, sad adieu 
 From the dear scenes his happy childhood 
 knew, 
 
 385 And dearer friends, who still the dearer grew 
 When they were hid for ever from his view : 
 It was the dull tone of a rude church bell, 
 That of the distant and the dead would tell ; 
 For such the fiirewell such a tongue did say 
 
 390 When his loved mother's spirit pass'd away ; 
 And such the parting words that had been 
 
 said 
 O'er the cold grave where late his sire was laid: 
 And he had fancied that he heard the moan 
 Of her kind spirit in that solemn tone : 
 
 395 Wisely his father spoke, but ne'er so well 
 As in those iron accents of the bell.
 
 22 A xoyek's tributes 
 
 And now he thought again on them that slept, 
 His first, best friends : — and as he thought, 
 
 he wept, 
 Howe'er it was that sound, so sad, so rude, 
 400 First lured him from a lengthen'd solitude. 
 
 The church, though neither large nor graced 
 
 with store 
 Of legends, trophies, monuments of yore, 
 A nameless something had upon its face 
 Where one the spirit of romance might trace : 
 
 405 But whereabout this nameless something lay, 
 Real or imagined, it were hard to say : 
 Whether 'twas in the structure cruciform. 
 Or in the arch'd roof, shattered by the storm, 
 As if by time ; or in the humble show 
 
 410 Of four evangelists, that glared below 
 On windows near the altar : one or all 
 Of these appearances sufficed to call 
 Back to one's mind some ancient Gothic pile, 
 If not examined narrowly the while. 
 
 415 He mark'd the building, and he liked it well : 
 Yetpass'd, and further went; for, truth to tell,
 
 TO HIS IMISTKESS. 23 
 
 More was he drawn by early sympathy 
 Toward another, not so fair to see, 
 By hands episcopal unconsecrate, 
 
 420 Undeck'd and unsupported by the State. 
 So chanced he, then, upon a scorching day 
 To enter plain but holy walls, to pay. 
 Like many others, his external vows. 
 Unworthy of the day and of the house ; 
 
 425 Whence it might be, that with too curious 
 eyes 
 He all the place, and folk, did scrutinize ; 
 ^ But nothing there was worth a second glance, 
 Till with a silent step he saw advance 
 A lady brighter than his youthful dreams : 
 
 430 Robed, bonneted, and veil'd in white, she 
 seems 
 An icy charm, ih mercy sent to bring 
 Into those raging climes a gentle spring. 
 All through the sheening web, like a light 
 
 cloud 
 Before a face the morning might be proiid 
 
 435 To borrow, broke the glances of her eye, 
 As when the chasten'd sun, from frosty sky, 
 Shines in a region of unsullied snow. 
 With silver beam. There was a ceaseless flow
 
 24 A lover's tributes 
 
 Of liquid pearl, too pure for passion's name : 
 440 Indeed it rather seem'd as if it came 
 
 From some good angel's hand without, 
 
 distil'd 
 Upon her lids, like dew upon the field. 
 Her eyes, in sooth, told passion to restrain 
 Its wild emotions — but they spoke in vain. 
 445 To judge from her appearance, she had past 
 Some seventeen years ; and only the few last 
 Upon those burning shores ; arose unblown, 
 Pale, cold, and close, the damask hardly 
 
 shown ; 
 Enclosed within its envious case of green, 
 450 But half its fragrance known, its sparkles 
 yet unseen. 
 
 How oft arises, how oft sets, our sun ; 
 How many little lives we live in one ! 
 New plans, new objects, make succeeding day, 
 As disappointment sweeps the old away. 
 456 When man beholds his hemisphere o'ercast. 
 He thinks each darkness is to be the last : 
 He clothes himself in mourning for the dead, 
 And feels dead too : his heart lies buried
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 25 
 
 In the same grave ; , and the black robe he 
 wears, 
 460 As 'twere his own last dress, he coldly bears. 
 Unresting corpse ! sometime about the 
 
 streets. 
 Till sudden some new glimmering he meets 
 Of pleasure ; of new wealth, or friend, or 
 
 wife ; 
 Casts off his shroud, and rises to new life. 
 465 The fool whom avarice or ambition fires 
 Sees, in the headlong chase of his desires, 
 At once May brighten and December lower ; 
 Summer and winter in one little hour. 
 How many summers scorch, and winters 
 rage, 
 470 Ere he has reached mid-summer of his age I 
 The lover, drown'd and ravish'd with the 
 
 cup 
 Of morning fascination, soon must sup 
 On doubts and fears. The more he loves, 
 
 by so 
 Much more his share is of the lover's woe. 
 475 He lives upon his lady's looks, the scope ^ 
 Of his idolatrous vision ; and his hope 
 
 D
 
 26 A lover's tributes 
 
 Runs to immortal transports while they're 
 
 fair : 
 But oh ! the bitter blasts of jealous care ; 
 The tendency to doubt the truest eye, 
 480 And take for coldness virgin modesty ; 
 
 The pain of absence ; and perchance the 
 
 dread. 
 Some rival has been welcomed in his stead ; 
 Then, the mistrust of friends, who help his 
 * need, 
 
 If they not haste with all a lover's speed: 
 485 And, giddy lover, it is also thine 
 
 To put out, riotous, thy own sunshine ; 
 With ceaseless l9,shing to tire out the noon: 
 Too bright thy day, and shadows fall too 
 soon. 
 
 From this time forth his thoughts were 
 wholly changed : 
 490 No more at large imagination ranged 
 O'er all the ills of life. He felt a glow 
 Of hope ; — yet what he hoped did hardly 
 know ;
 
 \ 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 2/ 
 
 Sish'd out a sad adieu before he turn'd 
 From her, the scarce-seen fair, for whom he 
 burn'd, 
 495 Who, but thus briefly noted, was to be 
 Thenceforth the centre of his memory. 
 For she was wealthy. Yet a tide, repress'd 
 Too long, of passion, roll'd along his breast. 
 Murmuring melody, and through each vein, 
 500 Instinct, awoke love's transport and its 
 pain. 
 A long-lost sunshine now its splendour 
 
 threw 
 O'er all ' his thoughts, and lent a common 
 
 hue 
 To every object it encounter'd there, 
 Blending in bright confusion foul and fair. 
 505 Possess'd with the full lustre of her eyes, 
 He no more cared to contemplate the skies : 
 No more esteem'd that region dry and bare. 
 Since such a dewy flower could blossom 
 
 there. 
 Now for his worst foe he could find some 
 grace, 
 5 10 For he much charity from that soft face
 
 28 A lover's TRIBUTlirf 
 
 Had taken. Poverty had ceased to thrall ; 
 In loving her he had enough — had all. 
 
 Thus museth he ; oft wandering where lies 
 A range of petty mountains, which the skies 
 
 515 Descending, love to kiss, and lend them so 
 A majesty not native to their brow^ ; 
 Making their desert sweets to bloom, as 
 
 when 
 In western regions falls the genial rain. 
 For, as his true-love sighs have chased away 
 
 520 The meaner sorrows that before him lay, 
 So, since this lovely lady has been found, 
 The wilderness is consecrated ground : 
 And now he saw, or thought he saw, a spot 
 Ausonia's fairest grove could equal not ; 
 
 525 For here, from time to time, to taste the air 
 Of early day, appear' d the blooming fair, 
 A perfect image of unstudied grace, 
 With all her morning dreams upon her face. 
 With such a sylph-like lightness she her 
 seat 
 
 530 On her light palfrey took, the palfrey fleet
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 2.9 
 
 Seemed rather borne by her, than bearing 
 
 her, 
 
 As it with easy swiftness did appear 
 
 To fly, while spurning the unworthy road. 
 
 In company, her face a fair friend show'd, 
 
 535 Not seldom, born to shine ; but who, I 
 
 deem. 
 
 Like to a brilliant star did only seem 
 
 Too near the moon. She now is so become 
 
 His goddess, that he often tracks her home 
 
 To her fresh bower, worthy of fairyland 
 
 540 (The very garden of this desert strand) : 
 
 And there, what time the leafy network 
 
 green. 
 
 That twineth round, is glazed with dews of 
 
 e'en, 
 
 He loves to haunt, and thinks he mav 
 
 rejoice 
 
 If he can tell himself he hears her voice. 
 
 545 The neighbouring birds can sing; but they 
 
 in spite 
 
 He weens may seek the farthest mountain 
 
 height. 
 
 And die, for envy of that straia : or near 
 
 d2
 
 30 A lover's tkibtjtes 
 
 The casement should the well-known form 
 
 appear, 
 No more, for him, may the orient tribe dis- 
 play 
 550 Their secondary plumes ; poor, dull, array ! 
 But she of all his visions loolt'd most bright, 
 Once driven, as it seemed, to spend a night 
 Of harmless revelry. Her hair was bound 
 With glistering band, clasp'd by a diamond: 
 555 But paleness on that diamond lies, as though 
 It sicken'd, envious at the matchless glow 
 Of the pure whiteness round it — white save 
 
 when 
 The purple current came and went again 
 Of her pure blood : while her dark hair thuS 
 
 bound 
 560 Smoothly her smoother brow in contrast 
 
 round. 
 Made it look doubly brilliant. Her slight 
 
 hand 
 Grasps of a parasol the ivory wand, 
 Whose silken cover shades her as green 
 
 leaves 
 Some modest lily. Now she bends and gives
 
 XO HIS MISTRESS. 31 
 
 565 To her rough charioteer a gentle smile 
 
 (O, pearls to swine!) her dewy lips the 
 
 while 
 Distilling honey, and disclosing teeth 
 Like velvet-cushion'd jewelry, beneath ; 
 Appearing, as she speaks and smiles, to 
 bear 
 
 570 With uni?een wings upon the wanton air, 
 At play with it, half floating, half reclined 
 Upon her chariot : and seemed so kind, 
 
 , And young, and gay, and splendid, as to be 
 Too much possess'd with happiness ; as she 
 
 575 With happy spirits threatened to o'erflow, 
 And smiled and talked to spend them : 
 
 seemed as though 
 Revelling in Iter own charms ; as if she 
 
 knew 
 And felt herself divinely wise, fair, true : 
 Yet not one jot of pride or boldness lay 
 
 580 Upon the clear expanse, the milky way. 
 Of her serene aspect. Not hers the keen 
 Satiric glance unamiable, nor mien 
 Of vacancy, that speaks a senseless soul : 
 Nor shame across those features ever stole :
 
 32 A lover's tributes 
 
 585 But on her brow angelically shone 
 
 A gracious wit, and virtue's pride alone. 
 
 At length more fitful were his pleasures 
 
 found, 
 As love involved him in its mazy round : 
 He 'gan to wish he not admired so much ; 
 590 For here was beauty that he could not 
 touch ; 
 And why like Tantalus delight to fare ; 
 Behold at all, sith only to despair ? 
 He felt that fire within the inner breast, 
 That blazes not, j'et is not quite sup- 
 prest ; 
 595 Thrills through the pulse, and quivers o'er 
 the frame ; 
 Plays in the eye ; and passes as it came : 
 Consumes, yet lightens, life ; the lingering 
 
 pain 
 To doubt, to fear, hope, and despair again. — 
 True, noAV and then, most briefly when he 
 stole 
 600 A look that littered something of his soul,
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 33 
 
 He thought her angel glances seem'd to 
 say, 
 
 " Perchance I may requite your love some 
 day."— 
 
 This pure creation, on whose aspect fair 
 
 Heaven's softer attributes reflected were. 
 605 Like a celestial minister, whose form 
 
 Rode on imagination's ceaseless storm, 
 
 Yet less to urge than to direct its force. 
 
 And shed a mildness over all its course ; 
 
 Was she an angel to destroy, or save ? 
 610 Should he or bless or dread the light she gave. 
 
 As through the troubled depths of his dark 
 soul 
 
 Her flitting image pass'd with strange con- 
 trol ? 
 
 Had she looked tind ? — 'twas sporting o'er 
 a gulf, 
 
 Rousing a lion, playing with a wolf, 
 .615 With delicate fingers grappling a snake, 
 
 The rage of slumbering passions thus to 
 wake, 
 
 That, as a small cloud in the tropic sky 
 
 The merciless hurricane announces nigh,
 
 34 A lover's tributes 
 
 May grow to madness ; or, in silent-gloom, 
 620 Subside into the shadow of the tomb. 
 
 Or be it she look'd nothing, or look'd not. 
 Then all his joy was suddenly forgot : 
 He fear'd he had no place within her mind ; 
 Yet scarcely hoped, in fondest mood, to find 
 625 That he was more than pitied : but to 
 doubt 
 She had ne'er found his admiration out. 
 Or that some meddling friend's malicious 
 
 scheme 
 Had made her sensitive upon the theme, 
 Or robb'd him of what little share he had 
 630 In her regard — this was a fate too bad 
 
 To bear : and then again the mind would fall 
 Upon itself ; yet not relapse to all 
 Its former fretfulness, since there was yet 
 The luxury of loving : to forget 
 635 Her was impossible, though him she might: 
 And if she did, what then ? he had no right 
 To say she ever thought upon him more 
 Than fifty men who pass'd her eyes before.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 35 
 
 Few but have had the hap to love in vain : 
 640 Men past life's prime have borne the 
 charming pain ; 
 And many a little urchin, yet at school, 
 Has known too well what 'tis to play the 
 
 fool, 
 And court a pretty maid, or wed in jest. 
 The while some busy sister acts the priest : 
 645 And foolish trinkets, too, have been ex- 
 changed, 
 And the young lover's fancy long has ranged 
 •• In quest of his lost Paradise — has hung 
 Fondly on her for years; and when bells rung 
 Her marriage with another, he has mourn'd, 
 650 Feeling as though affection had been scorn'd. 
 Childhood, and almost age, have known the 
 bliss, 
 - The grief, the vehemence, of love like this. 
 When the poor heart would often burst its 
 
 cage. 
 And flutter forth, and make a pilgrimage 
 655 To the remotest shore the world contains. 
 If there the loved one dwelt, and feel its 
 pains
 
 36 A lovek's tribtjxes 
 
 Repaid, assuaged, so only it could show- 
 Its wounds to her. He was in life's full 
 
 glow ; 
 And she the fairest creature ever view'd 
 
 660 In polish'd city, or in hamlet rude. 
 
 'Twere only hard to say, had she been placed 
 Close by the side of other beauties, graced 
 Like Pallas and like Juno, more had been 
 To outshine goddesses as beauty's queen 
 
 665 Her triumph, than when like a lonely lamp 
 Hung in the tomb, all amid vapours damp 
 And dun she burn'd. And he, right well 
 
 I wis. 
 Entranced with gazing on her, did not miss 
 Aught that the world could give beside ; 
 nor care 
 
 670 For aught beside in ocean, earth, or air. 
 
 It may be they are happier whose taste. 
 Less hard to pleasure, does not cause the 
 
 waste 
 Of such a world of love. Enthusiasts view 
 Everything through one medium, oft untrue.
 
 TO HIS MISTKESS. 37 
 
 675 Contracted always : whatsoe'er falls not 
 Within the narrow rules it has begot 
 They pass as worthless ; and the beautiful 
 Too keenly studied, makes all objects dull 
 Except the few we hallow as divine. 
 
 680 Men of less subtle sense, who take the line 
 Of observation as before them thrown, 
 Confused with no ideal of their own. 
 See good and fair ones that the others miss. 
 Nor sit and pine for this and only this. 
 
 685 Truly for them seem.s beauty to be made ; 
 t Whilst, of the other sort it may be said. 
 They're made for beauty ; made to kneel 
 
 before 
 Its cruellhrine, do penance, and adore. 
 
 Well, Cupid has his lackeys, who his dress 
 690 Put on, and strut in vulgar happiness ; 
 
 Whilst his free votaries learn another 
 
 creed ; 
 They know the way to want, tlie way In 
 bleed : 
 
 E t
 
 38 A lover's tributes 
 
 Nor does he leave them in all gloom, but 
 
 throws 
 Athwart it some bright colours of the rose : 
 695 Still melts their winter as he shakes his 
 
 wings : 
 His very cares are consecrated things. 
 
 He would, howbeit in an humble way, 
 A strain of poetry sometimes essay : 
 And, though his harp had long been thrown 
 aside, 
 
 700 His varying mood in lines that follow tried 
 To represent. Ye readers who have no 
 Compassion for a seeming silly woe, 
 Extend some pity to his early dole. 
 And spare the love that roused his drooping 
 soul. 
 
 705 Think yev a poet's heritage beneath 
 
 The sun is to admire : he can bequeath 
 Little beside description to his race : 
 Then to the poor man's all afford some 
 grace.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 39 
 
 And what, among the works of Him whose 
 name 
 710 The noblest object of poetic aim 
 
 Transcendant is confest, what so divine 
 A subject for the less aspiring line 
 As she who makes all nature what it is, 
 And without whom bliss Avould be no more 
 bliss ? 
 715 What though the grove the wisest bard 
 delights ; 
 Far more the maid whose presence there 
 ■• invites : 
 
 Or ocean's fearful glory ; how much more 
 His lady love who waits him on the shore ! 
 Far less the rosebud in its green leaves 
 drest, 
 720 Than she who gives it fragrance from her 
 breast : 
 The spacious heaven itself outstretched 
 
 above. 
 Than she whose face displays its living love : 
 Rocks, mountains, caves, and all that is in 
 
 them, 
 Than she, the whole creation's diadem. ,
 
 40 A lover's tributes, etc. 
 
 725 To sing the bowl, is not tte task for him. 
 Unless her image tremble on the brim. 
 He owns far more than lies within the 
 
 whole 
 Of Adam's race — a sense — he has a soul 
 For beauty, and he strangely finds relief 
 730 Even in dwelling on a hopeless grief. 
 But his was not ordained to be long so : 
 The lady, you will learn, was pleased to 
 
 show 
 A gracious countenance ; as when appears. 
 More beauteous beheld through Nature's 
 
 tears, 
 735 HIS pictured arch, who on it builds again 
 Assurance of clear shining after rain.
 
 PART II. 
 
 WRITTEN ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 E 2
 
 A LOVER'S TRIBUTES TO HIS 
 MISTRESS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 WRITTEN ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 I love — a thousand dreams appear 
 Reduced to precious substance here. 
 Full many a form of angel sheen , 
 
 I've dreamt, but ne'er the maid have seen 
 Who justly might be named with thee, 
 Thou vision-touched reality. 
 Oh, tarry long ; for fain would I 
 Here fix, and let the shadows fly.
 
 44 A lover's tributes 
 
 I love — and who shall talk to me 
 Of conflict, or of poverty ; 
 Of long-drawn hope, and jealous fear ? 
 Let Love's Atlantean shoulders bear 
 My world. Like infant Hercules, 
 He., with a grasp, such grievancee 
 Shakes into air. Our world how small 
 When a gold ring will gird it all I 
 
 I love — and there's no world for me 
 But where the loved one deigns to be. 
 I wonder any can be gay 
 The while her brightness is away ; 
 And more, that any can endure 
 To taint with word or thought impure 
 The region where my lady's found ; 
 For sure it should be holy ground. 
 
 I love — and o'er catastrophes 
 That late had sunk me, though with ease 
 Now walking, know not how nor why : 
 Can love's triumphant energy
 
 TO HIS MISTUKSS. 45 
 
 Lurk, in volcanic slumber, 'neath 
 
 This feeble pulse, this shortening breath ; 
 
 Or do I nurse a morbid fire, 
 
 That soon shall nurse my funeral pyre ?
 
 46 A lover's tributes 
 
 II. 
 
 Frolic still, my fairy queen ; 
 
 Let me see thee laugh agen : 
 
 Light as floating gossamer. 
 
 Toss thine arms again in air. 
 
 Would that he who loves thee well 
 
 Knew the way to frame a spell 
 
 That should keep thee ever so 
 
 As thou wast but even now ! 
 
 Just as one may note in thee 
 
 Joyance fair and revelry ; 
 
 Pleased, well pleased, begin to trace, 
 
 Glancing o'er thy lively face, 
 
 Flush'd with wit and prank'd with smiles. 
 
 Arch conceits and sportive wiles ;
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 47 
 
 Why so oft, like shades of e'en 
 Closing round the sunbright green. 
 Doth reserve, with silken scarf. 
 Wrap thy form and veil thy laugh ? 
 Is it maiden modesty 
 Checks a laugh so pure and free ; 
 Is it some intrusive care 
 Dashes mirth so free and fair ? 
 As the touch of glowing day 
 Spreads the rose, and shakes away 
 From its leaves the icy dew, 
 Laughter lightens over you. 
 Let old Care still spread abroad 
 Shrivell'd hands, and plague the road 
 Where the vulgar herd is seen : 
 Born to tread a pathway green, 
 Framed to breathe a softer air. 
 Thou art many miles from care : 
 Nor hath he the right, I trow, 
 To impress a frownless brow. 
 I woidd bind the blithesome morn. 
 When, by fanning breezes borne 
 O'er the freshened mountain top, 
 She comes upon the earth to drop
 
 48 A lover's tkibutks 
 
 Golden showers, nor gr udge the day, 
 So that thou, my geutle fay, 
 Would'st but frolic still, and grace 
 Darkness with a laughing face.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 49 
 
 III. 
 
 O come to me just as thou art. 
 Nor for years nor inheritance wait ; 
 But bring me that innocent heart, 
 And I'm more than content with my fate. 
 
 Though time will develop each g race 
 That puts forth the blossom so well, 
 And lend to the calm of thy face 
 All the language that beauty can tell,
 
 50 A LOVEU'S TKIBITTES 
 
 Yet time may tliy safety impugn. 
 And time will endanger thy rest ; 
 Then come to these faithful arms soon, 
 For surely they'll shelter thee best. 
 
 And I'll smile at a lowering sky, 
 I'll laugh when the storm speaks aloud. 
 If cheer'd by the light of that eye, 
 A star in the midst of the cloud. 
 
 Last evening 'twas misty and chill, 
 As lonely I went o'er the plain, 
 A pilgrim towards Fasserton hill. 
 To gaze on thy dwelling in vain ; 
 
 When suddenly darted the sun 
 On the mountain behind it that lies 
 A beam clear as noonday ; while dun 
 The rest of the earth, and the skies.
 
 TO HIS MISTKESS. 51 
 
 On its bosom it played for aAvhile : 
 Then dropped on the lawn, to illume, 
 As prophetic, with heavenly smile. 
 Thy bower, and thy true lover's gloom. 
 
 Ah! Fasserton, looking so fair; 
 Ray of promise, how pleasant to see ! 
 And still must the shadows be there. 
 That shut out thy beauties from me ? 
 
 O come to me while it is spring ; 
 For summer I'll find thee a shade ; 
 And winter may scathe me — but bring 
 No harm to a hair of thy head.
 
 02 A LOVEK S TRIBUTES 
 
 V. 
 
 Thou in whose lovely aspect I can trace 
 Virtue the loftiest, and kindness too, 
 Mingled, or reigning, on thy peerless face 
 Flashing, contending, blushing, into view : 
 
 When first along the church's hallow'd aisle. 
 Pure as a moonbeam, I beheld thee glide. 
 But lightly shadow'd by a silver veil, 
 'That did sublime those charms it could not 
 hide ;
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 53 
 
 I thought some vision from the realms of rest 
 Had been vouchsafed, to sanctify the scene : 
 Thy glance was love, the holiest and best ; 
 Immovable tranquillity, thy mien. 
 
 Must I believe that thou art mortal, then — • 
 Though sure too sacred for e'en Time's rude 
 
 hand 
 Rudely to touch ! — and wilt some time again 
 T^ranslated be to thy celestial land ? 
 
 Scarce brighter there to shine ; for what can 
 
 they 
 Who spangle Paradise be more than such 
 As thou art here, reflecting their own day ? 
 Tell me, thou fairest ! do I say too much ? 
 
 Well, then suppose thee spotted by a fault; 
 
 Susceptible, at least, of grief and pain : 
 
 I'll draw thee blessings down from heaven's far 
 
 vault 
 By prayer too fervent to be breath' d in vain. 
 
 F 2
 
 54 A lover's tributes 
 
 Such joys be always thine — all price above ! — 
 Blessings as rich, emotions all as free. 
 As mine when, giddy with my hopeless love, 
 I dream some flattering lie that tells of thee. 
 
 Be thine etherial pathway still as fair 
 As an unclouded Asiatic sky ; 
 Still happy, as thine own bewitching air. 
 And pure, as thine incomparable eye. 
 
 Could I but know when that more glorious sun 
 Sanction'd black night by shutting in its ray, 
 Or broke upon its favoured world again. 
 My night should then begin, and then my day. 
 
 Or did'st thou weep, the sky should seem to 
 
 low'r ; 
 Or smile, to brighten : — yes, though day and 
 
 night, 
 Summer and v/inter, changed with every hour- 
 Few be thy sighs, and all thy slumbers light !
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 55 
 
 Oh may no sorrow ever be thine own, 
 Those holy tears except, whence joy is wrought: 
 So bring thy painless death new life alone ; 
 New robes, new graces, ever free from spot !
 
 56 A lover's teibutks 
 
 V. 
 
 Since first in feeble lines I dared to paint 
 My reason's ruin and my fancy's saint 
 In thee so sweetly blended, the pale queen 
 Of night in fleeting beauty has been seen 
 5 To bless the world and coldly disappear 
 Oft'ner than has thy gentle lustre near 
 My fever'd vision pass'd, more fleet and fair. 
 Not without brightening the chains I wear. 
 Thou shed'st a dearer influence than she, 
 10 Albeit too like in nursing fantasy ; 
 
 For what prostration weak thy shrine would 
 
 claim, 
 Did not unceasing on my quenchless flame
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 57 
 
 Despair cold drops let fall ! Tis well for 
 
 me, 
 Condemn'd to violate love's great de- 
 cree 
 15 Which bids the wretched hope, o'er grief to 
 
 brood 
 Passive, and lose myself in solitude. 
 Too oft, in sleeping or in waking hours, 
 Thy fairy phantom on my sadness pours 
 The light of love, and drowns the willing 
 
 sense : 
 20 Ah ! in those looks of mild intelligence 
 
 Heavn's own ideal sweetness stands dis- 
 
 play'd, 
 As when thy mother Eve was erst array 'd 
 In matchless beauty, match'd with equal 
 
 grace, 
 Something supernal living on her face ; 
 25 Of all things stateliest, yet all smiles, all 
 
 love, 
 The bird of Paradise, she charm'd the 
 
 grove. 
 Making the nightingales unpractised sing. 
 And gaudy rivals ope the painted wing,
 
 58 A lover's tributes 
 
 In pretty emulation of their queen, 
 30 Who seem'd an afterthought (the best, I 
 
 ween, 
 In nature), of a nobler kind of biith. 
 Not to be formed from the insensate earth. 
 And thou, the spoil'd design born to fulfil, 
 Restorest freshness to Creation still : 
 35 (Than Eve herself in one thing more 
 
 unkind — 
 To fly and leave no Paradise behind !) 
 Thou, only, nothing her inferior art, 
 In aspect, softness, purity of heart. 
 Beneath thy feet methinks pleased Nature 
 
 flings 
 40 The flowers that blossom for her fairest 
 
 springs ; 
 And arching shades, and everlasting green. 
 Long dwell where thy lov'd presence once 
 
 hath been ; 
 Whilst all around thee fondly seems to play 
 A beaming innocence, and guard thy way. 
 45 'Tis thine enchantment o'er the world to 
 
 throw, 
 To mingle rapture with the tide of woe.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 59 
 
 To smile on virtue, and o'er vice to weep. 
 Rejoice, or mourn, with others ; and then 
 
 sleep, 
 In the calm bed where Deity once lay, 
 oO Placid, unmoved, till an immortal day. 
 A lily of the skies in thee appears 
 To bloom on earth but for a few short years, 
 And all the graces of the angel train 
 Are seen, admired, and will be lost again. 
 
 35 And ere thou smile at all that I have writ 
 As a fond dream of love-sick poet's night. 
 Learn, 'tis a dream embodied in my brain ; 
 Attendant in the busy haunts of men. 
 As where I seek repose : a dream, the whole 
 
 t)0 Frame dreams : a dream that compasses my 
 soul. 
 Like a shadow, above my midnight rest, 
 It hovero pleasing : — but I wake unblest. 
 
 Not all unblest were I, not all alone. 
 Did I the limner's art but haply own :
 
 60 A lover's tributes 
 
 65 Thy face upon my throbbing breast should 
 lie, 
 And kiss the spring of all my sorrows dry, 
 And soothe my troubled soul, and hallow 
 
 care, 
 And whisper peace to all the passions there. 
 Yet, where's the limner could portray thee ? 
 how 
 70 Think to describe the azure of thy brow ? 
 His pleasing labour's lost, who boldly tries 
 The ever-changing sparkle of those eyes. 
 Tremulous dew-drops, from the blossom- 
 cups 
 Of the fair tree of life : in vain he hopes 
 75 To paint that pure excitement (purer far 
 Than fancy finds, save where blest spirits 
 
 are) 
 Thy every feature tells. So glances by, 
 So chaste, so airy-free, so joyously. 
 One such but newly plumed. Again, so 
 fix'd 
 80 In strong regard of sanctity unmix'd, 
 A seraph gazes. Who shall imitate 
 (Each jetty hair in beauty separate
 
 TO HIS illSTRKSS. 61 
 
 On its white bed) thy delicate eyebrow ! 
 Innocent mischief, undesigning bow, 
 85 Unbent, and yet not suffering to live ; 
 
 Or tokening a blissful ->lay, thou would'st 
 not give. 
 
 Now thy Creator, and the God of peace, 
 With his Almighty hand shade thy sweet 
 
 face ; 
 From evil breath guard thee of earth or 
 
 heir ; 
 90 Wipe off thy tears; keep, as he made thee,— 
 
 well ! 
 Eternal love the groundwork of his scheme, 
 (Sole passion of the passionless Supreme) 
 He, the Great Artist, brings out studies 
 
 vast. 
 Where pictures move or speak, sketch'd 'ere 
 
 was past 
 95 Creation's word ; filled up as tardy Time 
 O'ertakes his thought : the colouring, sublime. 
 Murky, or gaudy, he selects at will 
 From Nature or Infinity: and still 
 
 G
 
 6'2 A lover's TKIBUIES 
 
 As dark and bright in idle strife appear— 
 100 Tlie effect perplexing, but the purpose 
 
 clear — . 
 He, for a concentration of design, 
 Narrows the canvas ; and the final scene 
 Shows none but forms, like thine, in 
 
 company 
 Arising from the world's destruction, like a 
 
 sigh.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 63 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh ! tell me not, "tis vain to grieve; 
 The counsel's vain ; the theme forbear, 
 For woes that friendship can't relieve 
 I wish not friendship's self to share. 
 
 But do not say, my Jane was one 
 I hardly saw, and never knew : 
 I know her, if I know the sun, 
 Or forest green, or oeean blue.
 
 64 A lover's tributes 
 
 1,'saw, and knew, and lov'd. Less fair 
 Her form, were not her spirit so. 
 I've haunted lier, and breathed her air ; 
 And well her spotless name I know. 
 
 The baleful breath that would essay- 
 To shadow Dian's beams with blame, 
 Or blast the blossoms of the May, 
 Has never dared to fan her fame. 
 
 And when I think I can forget, 
 And look elsewhere for pleasures cold, 
 In other regions hoping yet, 
 Love's weary pinions may unfold, 
 
 The slightest glimpse of her, unsought. 
 Re-opes my wounds, and shakes my soul : 
 I find that she is unforgot, 
 And memory defies control.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 No more of this ! I wait the worst ; 
 Endure my load, nor whine again : 
 Henceforth, my heart, in silence burst ; 
 And gaze and fret, my eyes, in vain. 
 
 G 'J
 
 66 A lover's tributes 
 
 VII. 
 
 {Written on hearing that the Lady had received nn uneOurteims 
 Valentine.) 
 
 When barbarous hands the worthless paper 
 
 writ, 
 Devoid alike of feeling, truth, and wit, 
 Had I been near, it should have been my 
 
 task 
 The object of their strange device to ask : 
 5 On what account thev wreak'd an idle hate 
 On one too gentle to retaliate ;
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 67 
 
 Whose youth, whose beauty, or whose sex 
 
 alone. 
 Were not she of the fair the fairest one, 
 Whose quiet, modest, maidenly deport 
 10 A savage beast the law of kindness might 
 have taught. 
 
 Had I been favoured to be near thy side. 
 And o'er the libel watch'd thy soft eyes 
 
 glide, 
 Mine the impatient duty, the glad part, 
 From its malicious course to turn the dart ; 
 
 1/) To thy unknowing self thyself reveal, 
 
 And tell what modesty would fain conceal — 
 That 'tis thy merit draws the bitter scoff 
 From those who let the less conspicuous 
 
 off: 
 Because proclaimed by every voice a prize, 
 
 20 Thou art offensive in their envious eyes : 
 Because no face is fair when thou art by. 
 Their jealousy invents the paltry lie. 
 The multitude of misses, destitute 
 Of private or of popular repute,
 
 68 A lover's tributes 
 
 25 All indistinct, none born to bear the bell, 
 Or if beloved, to be beloved too well. 
 Are safe from tlieir own sex and ours ; but 
 
 not 
 Such, chief of beauty's train, thy happy lot: 
 Array 'd in dangerous honour^, thou must be 
 
 30 A mark for all the shafts of calumny. 
 There is not much temptation to declare 
 To ladies, really bold, how bold they are : 
 'Tis \vhat we all admit, and they must know; 
 And, since they cannot blush— why, let them 
 
 go. 
 35 There is (to one without a touch of grace) 
 To breathe on the unsullied mirror's face ; 
 To whisper an ill word within the ear 
 Accustom'd none but those of truth and 
 peace to hear. 
 
 It was a brave exploit ! but let it pass. 
 40 I cannot soften rocks : my words, alas, 
 To noble sentiments can never move 
 Those whom thy charms could not excite to 
 love.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 69 
 
 Down, my vain pen: and thou, my anger 
 
 sleep. 
 'Tis not the first time fools have made an 
 
 angel weep. 
 
 45 True. I might think her own good sense had 
 proved 
 More than enough to guard my well- 
 beloved, 
 And there repose ; but my affection's such, 
 I would fiot have care's very shadow touch ^ 
 The brow I dote upon : and it would be 
 50 A satisfaction at the least to me, 
 
 Could I suppose this tribute to her worth 
 The humble instrument of calling forth 
 A pleasurable feeling in her breast, 
 That had the hostile letter been supprest, 
 55 So, too, had been these poor but faithful 
 lines, 
 With whose defects their aim one merit still 
 combines.
 
 70 A lover's tributes 
 
 YIII. 
 
 There lives above you starry frame, 
 The spangled vail that shrouds his light, 
 One who knows every gem by name, 
 Maker and Lord of all that's bright. 
 
 There is an all-prevailing power, 
 Imagining what none can stop : 
 It builds the stately mountain tower 
 Thot reaches heaven with its top.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 It hangs on high the radiant cloud, 
 Lets loose the eagle towards the sun ; 
 Shakes the bright lightning all abroad, 
 And paints the west when day is done. 
 
 There is an ever listening ear, 
 An ever condescending mind, 
 For the complaints of love sincere; 
 To answer and to bless inclined. 
 
 If I would draw the heavens down, 
 Daring, unless he bid me stay, 
 To make his sweetest star my own. 
 My lovely Jane — who else says nay ? 
 
 She is his workmanship, whose hand 
 In trees and flowers I can trace ; 
 "Who edged the sea with golden sand. 
 And flung the sky upon its face.
 
 72 A lover's tributes 
 
 Yes, it was he who bid her live, 
 And every rising beauty nursed ; 
 Who did her gentle spirit give, 
 And shield her cradled sleep at first. 
 
 He made her good, and made her wise, 
 Frank as the day, supremely kind ; 
 Taught her to let those artless eyes 
 Discover all her gracious mind. 
 
 Moulded and turn'd her towering neck, 
 And struck with radiant thought her face 
 The childlike laugh upon her cheek. 
 The angel smile, the playful grace. 
 
 The noiseless step— all, all bespeak 
 Something beyond the vulgar earth : 
 From mortal man 'tis vain to seek 
 This beino of celestial birth.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 73 
 
 Alas ! I"ve sought my Jane's own ear 
 So anxiously, so ardently, 
 Have borne so long the cruel fear 
 That she has other suitors nigh, 
 
 The struggles of my cherish'd woe, 
 The strife of hope and of mistrust. 
 Do quite insufferable grow ; 
 Aqd speak— to her or Him— I must. 
 
 But let me bow to his control, 
 Still hoping most, deserving least. 
 Her heavenly Father reads the soul. 
 And knows who 'tis that loves her best. 
 
 And he can keep her safe and free ; 
 Can keep her hand, can keep her breast 
 But will he keep her safe ybr me P 
 Come, foolish spirit, be at rest : 
 
 H
 
 74 A T. oyer's TIUBUTKS 
 
 I'll learn to wait upon his word, 
 To want my wish, or to abound : 
 Only amongst thy jewels. Lord ! 
 When counted, let my Jane be found.
 
 lO H IS MISXUKSS. lO 
 
 IX. 
 
 4 
 
 Shall I see my dear Jane by the light of the 
 
 moon. 
 Press her hand — say, I love you— and shall it be 
 
 soon ? 
 Let Time, till our meeting, run swiltly away ; 
 liut then let him linger as long as he may. 
 
 The persuasion of nature, all fresh from the 
 
 heart. 
 Shall I trust, or con over the language of art ? 
 Of pain and of jdeasure, of hope and of fear. 
 Of bursting impatience lo speak, slie must hear.
 
 76 A lover's tributes 
 
 Not wealthy like others, though ready to 
 
 own, 
 My plea shall be passionate love — love alone : 
 This urges me, doubting, to tell her my 
 
 mind ; 
 This makes me a king if' her answer be 
 
 kind. 
 
 I'll add, if she vouchsafe a gracious assent, 
 
 All my days in the care of her peace shall be 
 spent ; 
 
 Or should she deny me, and haply for- 
 get, 
 
 Despair will be lightened by loving her yet. . • 
 
 Then what will she say ? oh, that such gentle 
 
 breath 
 Shoiild be charged with a sentence of life or 
 
 of death ! 
 Will she speak — will she pause — will she smile 
 
 — will she sigh, 
 Or leave me to gather my fate from her eye ?
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 77 
 
 'Twould take till the morning, and more, to 
 
 reveal 
 But only the half I have felt, and shall feel ; 
 And 'twere hard that an hour so long wished for 
 
 should bring 
 No real satisfaction at last on its wing. 
 
 A lock of her hair, to la)'^ nearest my heart ; 
 An assurance, 'twill not be for long that we part; 
 0;: should she ajipear very, very kind — stay ! 
 Pertfaps, after all, her reply will be nay. 
 
 If so, it shall straight be imputed to haste. 
 In hope she'll retract it : but let me once taste 
 A breath of compliance, I'll waft it (o heaven. 
 And call angels to witness the pledge she has 
 given. 
 
 II 2
 
 78 A loter's tkibutks 
 
 X. 
 
 So near her, and faint ! 
 
 What ails thee, my heart ? 
 
 'Tis thy Jane, 'tis thy saint : 
 
 Bid this weakness depart. 
 
 'Tis strange to have sought her 
 
 For nearly a year, 
 
 And when chance has brought her, 
 
 Be vanquish'd by fear. 
 
 I ought to rejoice, 
 But am cold as a stone : 
 What ails thee, my voice ? 
 All thy power is gone.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 79 
 
 The blood tha t runs riot 
 If touch'd with her name, 
 Before her how quiet, 
 How languid, how tame ! 
 
 Approach her, and speak: 
 Make an effort again : 
 And am I so weak — 
 "What ails thee, my brain ? 
 The vows I have spoken 
 Away from her ear, 
 Are scatter'd and broken 
 The moment she's here. 
 
 Of strength when bereft 
 This care-wearied frame, 
 And no nerve has been left. 
 Her image still came 
 Like sunbeams that banish 
 The clouds at noontide : 
 Yet will they not vanish 
 So close to her side.
 
 80 > A lover's tributes 
 
 By signs such as these 
 
 Can true love be revealed, 
 
 A boaster in peace, 
 
 A poltroon in the field ; 
 
 Or is she my being, 
 
 My pulse, and my breath, ^ 
 
 Whom suddenly seeing 
 
 Can strike as -with death ?
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 81 
 
 XL 
 
 'Why had my tongue so little skill 
 My passion to unfold ; 
 Why was such love declared so ill, 
 And half untold ? 
 
 'Tis hard to tell a year's desire 
 Prompt at a moment's call : 
 Yes — a long life it will require 
 To utter all.
 
 82 A lover's tkibutes 
 
 No more than this ? so many days 
 And nights of busy thought, 
 While chafing over fresh delays — 
 This all they've brought ? 
 
 Nurtured beneath a chilling sky, 
 In distant Scotia's air, 
 Not as the sunborn maids reply 
 Replies my fair. 
 
 But how was then my ardour bred, 
 All in the wintry west ? 
 On her first sight I would have wed. 
 And thought me blest. 
 
 Or has her else complying mind 
 Been fortified and school'd; 
 And were she as my wislies kind, 
 Not overruled ?
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 83 
 
 Well, thus it stands : — my greatest bliss, 
 Not to have been denied ; 
 Unless that much an earnest is 
 Of much beside. 
 
 Yet not again, oh ! not again 
 
 An undecisive year : 
 
 Though smooth in song, the lovers pain 
 
 Is rough to bear.
 
 84 A LOVER S TRIBUTES 
 
 XII. 
 
 Which way did I think it so bright, — 
 Did a lustre so strangely come o'er 
 The growing obscure of the night, 
 That I never haA-e noted before ? 
 
 Which way did the mountains appear 
 All their frowns and their terror to lose, 
 And the black trees around me to wear 
 The form of the myrtle and rose ?
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 85 
 
 Which way was I drawn by a charm ; 
 Belated and weary, was drawn, 
 Unthoughtful of hunger or harm, 
 And could have walked on till the dawn ? 
 
 Was it east, was it west, was it north, 
 Or south ? All is dreary again : 
 'Twas a will o' the wisp drew me forth, 
 While my fancy was following Jane. 
 
 Or else 'twas these labouring eyes 
 That in weakness seduced me to rove, 
 By telling such beautiful lies 
 In pursuit of the object they love.
 
 86 A I-OVEK S TKIBUTES 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Fate for sorrow makes amends : 
 Sought at length no more in vain 
 Health, or wealth, or peace, or friends. 
 Now I only want my Jane. 
 
 He the solitary who 
 Sets in families, hath sent 
 Father, brother, sisters, new ; 
 Much to soften banishment.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 87 
 
 Cultured fields, or favouring skies, 
 'Gin to make a milder day ; 
 And what breezes grateful rise, 
 When the sunbeam melts away ! 
 
 Surely cooler than before 
 Is the gale that evening gives, 
 While at every thirsty pore 
 Fainting: nature drinks and lives. 
 
 Precious evening ! who shall say 
 How we love to see the dawn, 
 Bringing in a better day 
 Than the darkly dazzling morn ? 
 
 Still as voice of dying war ; 
 Soft as memory's idleness ; 
 Fresh as youthful fancies are ; 
 Kind as beauty bent to bless.
 
 88 A lover's tributes 
 
 Yet my spirit seems to crave 
 More than even friendship rare ; 
 Something more than wealth would have; 
 Pants for love's restoring air. 
 
 I would count a worthless thing 
 All Peru's unfathom'd gold, 
 Lacking, like an empty ring. 
 Her, the jewel it should hold. 
 
 Come, my Jane ! as chaste, as fair. 
 As a southern summer's moon : 
 Let this burning, faint, despair. 
 Like the day-fire, vanish soon. 
 
 Adam when in Eden bless'd 
 Though with pleasures and with food, 
 Wanting Eve, it was confess'd 
 That — that only — .was not good.
 
 TO HIS MISTKESS. 89 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ye gentle gales that fan the day to sleep, 
 How long this sullen silence will ye keep ; 
 Make melody for every ear hut mine, 
 And see me still in doubt unpitied pine r 
 5 Sweet is your breath — sweet to the labour- 
 ing swain, 
 Of mind at ease and body free from pain. 
 Who rests from toil with the retiring ray. 
 And looks for morrow lighter than to-day : 
 10 Sweet to the civic drudge, whose week is 
 sold 
 For a base fee that scarce amounts to gold, 
 
 I 2
 
 90 A XOVEn's TRIBTJTES 
 
 And who can say at eventide alone 
 That his poor miserable soul's his own : 
 
 15 Sweet to the bustling mistress of the house, 
 Who looks out now for her returning 
 
 spouse, 
 And counts as naught her solitude and 
 
 care, 
 So he come now, and take his pleasure 
 
 20 there : 
 
 Sweet to the urchin, who begins to enjoy. 
 Free from molest, his frolic or his toy. 
 Sparing no longer one unwilling eye 
 
 20 To see if his grim tutor stand loo nigh. 
 All these attend your voice, and hear ye 
 say, 
 
 " This is the season to drive care away:" 
 But not so I : — with the descending sun 
 The lover's melancholy is begun. 
 25 Throughout the active day the wound may 
 
 bleed. 
 But now it is that pain is pain indeed : 
 Now — when the faculties no more are 
 
 chain'd 
 To other objects, but (as streams, restrain'd
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 91 
 
 By no unyielding floodgates, passage make, 
 30 Boiling and foaming, to their proper lake,") 
 Revert at once, and wholly, to the theme, 
 Night's constant study, and day's broken 
 
 dream. 
 My breathings poison yours, my burning 
 
 sighs ; 
 The fires of noon-day roll beneath my eyes ; 
 35 And might my sorrows speak, they'd raise 
 
 a moan 
 More dismal than when winter wakes your 
 
 OWJl. 
 
 But come, ye zephyrs, that with envied 
 
 ease 
 From peopled streets can pass to forest 
 
 trees ; 
 On balanced wing may pause, and freely 
 
 trace 
 40 The lineaments of my loved lady's face, 
 Nor raise a blush when wantonly you sip 
 The treasured honey from her gracious lip ; 
 Ye that may steal the music of her tongue, 
 And waft it through the grateful groves 
 
 along ;
 
 92 A lover's tributes 
 
 45 Play round her presence, whisper o'er her 
 rest, 
 And bear her prayers to regions of the 
 
 blest : 
 Inform a wanderer of the star he loves ; 
 In what blest orbit is it that she moves ; 
 Dwells she in cool retreats, or in the town ; 
 50 Does she eclipse a world, or walk the waste 
 alone ? 
 
 Call it not foolish to complain to you : 
 As well I may, as to the heartless crew, 
 Deaf to humanity's desponding call. 
 To whom I've said, and said in vain, that 
 all 
 55 Depends upon success — my course of life 
 Decided by the end of this love-strife : 
 That bitters will be sweet if she be there, 
 Or sweet things bitter to my fix'd despair. 
 None heeds. The trouble surely were not 
 great 
 60 To turn the trembling balance of my 
 fate :
 
 TO HIS MISTKESS. 93 
 
 A little aid or counsel — are denied ; 
 And I have only One upon my side, 
 To whom. I've vow'd the freedom of relief 
 To consecrate, or consecrate my grief: 
 65 Hoping to learn with her before his face 
 To follow out a blissful, peaceful, race ; 
 Or if of Him who gives and may deny 
 The will be otherwise — to learn to die. 
 
 What ecstacy to have her all my own, 
 ''O Or yield a share in her to heav'n alone ! 
 To hold her gently in a true-love clasp, 
 But firmly too, as with a lion's grasp ; 
 To love her with a love as strong as death. 
 Yet soft as • summer evening's softest 
 breath ; 
 75 To take up in her presence the old strain 
 So oft begun, but never dropp'd again ; 
 Let love and poetry unbounded flow ; 
 Unwasted fancy o'er her beauties throw 
 Its kindling gaze ; and as new aspects 
 rose 
 80 Of loveliness in movement or repose,
 
 94 A lover's tributes 
 
 To catch them ere they vanish' d — no, not 
 
 they, 
 But ere the new impression pass'd away : 
 The finely chisel' d form afresh to admire, 
 Or, glancing innocent unconscious fire, 
 85 The eye so wild and yet so modest too, 
 With love and Avonder blent again to view : 
 To wonder o'er and o'er again, that she, 
 Despite the mantling mist of modesty, 
 Should, rising artless o'er her maiden 
 fear, 
 90 In all the warmth of kindness dare appear : 
 To wonder at her matchless constancy ; 
 Nor wonder less at that simplicity 
 "Which keeps her from the knowledge . of , 
 
 her worth. 
 And makes her feel like one of common 
 
 earth ; 
 95 Shuts out (perceived by all beside) from 
 
 her own breast 
 Her capabilities of making blest : 
 Then praise those beauties that first caught 
 
 my eyes. 
 That kindness that took pity on my sighs,
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 95 
 
 And most tte favouring Providence divine 
 100 That condescended to vouchsafe her mine : 
 Recount the ceaseless trouble I endured 
 Before my happiness was once ensured ; 
 My petty transient triumph, or my pain, 
 As now and then hope seem'd secure, or 
 
 vain; 
 105 And the unshaken confidence that still 
 I felt sublime in the Almighty will 
 (Engaged upon my side by bitter tears, 
 By daily, nightly, hourly, wearying, 
 
 prayers) 
 To give her to me; that the unfailing 
 
 friend 
 110 Who bade her smile at first would help me 
 
 to the end. 
 
 Oh that I had her now upon my arm ! 
 
 In Polar deserts 'twould my life-blood 
 
 warm, 
 In tropic heat 'twould bring my soul a 
 
 shade, 
 To feel the tender, timid, trusting, maid
 
 96 A xotee's tkibtttes 
 
 115 Fast clinging to the unworthy side she'd 
 
 grace ; 
 To catch her speaking glance upon my 
 
 face, 
 Full, placid, clear, with not a thought to 
 
 hide ; 
 Chaste, but all-generous; queenly without 
 
 pride. 
 A smile sits in her eye, yet not for long ; 
 120 Before the adoring gaze too bold, too 
 
 strong, 
 Soon playfully it turns askance ; gives 
 
 place 
 To an expressive strife : across her face, 
 The untutor'd index of her soul, there 
 
 starts 
 Shade after shade of thought; till pride 
 
 imparts 
 125 A gentle sadness, almost like reproof. 
 
 That her pure mind, so fain to dwell aloof, 
 Imbower'd in modesty, thus disarray'd 
 And taken by surprise, should be display'd. 
 Perhaps displeasure on her brow may sport 
 130 A while, albeit too lightsome to distort
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 97 
 
 Its calmness, that shines more intensely 
 
 forth 
 From the detected soul, in all its worth 
 Confess'd. But how much fire is in that 
 
 soul ! 
 How through that form transparent still 
 doth roll 
 135 Love's glowing tide, that blushes as it 
 flows ! 
 Her countenance, a magic mirror, shows 
 Our purest thoughts reflected — only such : 
 Each bolder glance, before the hallow'd 
 
 touch 
 Of its celestial sheen — ^just trembling first 
 140 One moment on the inofi"ensive burst 
 Of her dilating eye — doth fall away 
 Like mist before the honest light of 
 
 day. 
 And I would read, if I could have my 
 
 will. 
 Unruffled peace upon her forehead still ; 
 145 Nothing but peace ; the triumph of my 
 heart. 
 In worldly cares to let her have no part, 
 
 K
 
 98 A liOVEE's IKIBUTES 
 
 And trust that as externally she's pure^ 
 The world and all its gaudes should ne'er 
 
 allure 
 Her from that glorious soul-simplicity 
 150 Which marks the favour'd heiress of the 
 
 sky. 
 
 Here there is e'en too much of loneliness 
 For one who likes a solitary place ; 
 And wer't not for the bondage of my love, 
 These restless feet of mine would seek to 
 
 rove 
 155 To countries where Romance hath set his 
 
 seal ; 
 Where dulcet sounds at eve are heard to 
 
 steal 
 Through the sick air, impregn'd with lover's 
 
 sigh? ; 
 And many an antique structure doth 
 
 arise ; 
 So mouldering some, indeed, they only 
 
 stand 
 1 60 Secure because no sacriligeous hand.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 99 
 
 Though all their usefulness be long since 
 
 gone, 
 Will touch what we delight to look upon. 
 But hardly dare to enter. Such, in sooth, 
 In emblem show the early age uncouth 
 165 When they were built ; those good old- 
 fa shion'd days 
 'Tis very well to read about and praise, 
 But best at distance are. Or other parts 
 To view, where later than the Gothic 
 •• arts 
 
 Learning and perfect taste have flourish'd 
 long; 
 1 70 Given a diviner tone to sacred song, 
 
 Something beyond mere colour to the 
 
 pane, 
 Redeem'd the figured stone from quaintness 
 
 vain, 
 And (instrumental to high uses made 
 By a superior power's controlling aid) 
 175 Have substituted in the holy place 
 
 For empty sounds the words of truth and 
 grace :
 
 100 A lover's tributes 
 
 Have taught Romance to cast his arms 
 
 away, 
 Though he may still command the winning 
 
 lay: 
 Where love and war no more, but love and 
 peace, 
 180 Make solid, not ideal, happiness. 
 
 But love can make all lands alike : and 
 
 here, 
 Only because I feel my Jane is near, 
 I find or fancy all my senses ask. 
 ^- Roaming with her, though hard would be 
 
 the task 
 185 To call our narrow beach, our pigmy 
 hills. 
 Waste howling deserts, and discolour'd 
 
 rills, 
 A match for Switzerland or Italy, 
 Perchance 'twere not too hard; for I can 
 
 see 
 Perpetual spring, while far removed she 
 lives : 
 .190 Though distant, her association gives
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 101 
 
 A thousand witcheries to this dull spot. 
 Nor in the estimation be forgot 
 Those honour'd every way, but most because 
 From them my love her dear existence 
 draws. 
 195 I would not willingly the pleasure lose 
 (Anticipated, though not grown to use,) 
 Of letting them the happiness partake 
 Their child was sent into the world to 
 
 make : 
 Daily with me the enchanting progress 
 trace 
 200 Of virtues new to dignify her grace ; 
 Receive a sweet return for all the care 
 It cost to train and cherish one so rare ; 
 And in mid life those sympathies engage 
 So oft reserved to gladden feeble age. 
 205 Farewell my airy flights, were joys like 
 these 
 But mine, my wild abstracted fantasies : 
 What more romance would I, than with 
 
 her walk. 
 And of the grand, the fair, in heaven and 
 nature talk ? 
 
 k2
 
 102 A lovee's tkieitees 
 
 Her docile thought inform ; refine my 
 own ; 
 210 Suggest a legend from each stock and 
 stone, 
 Each cavern'd hollow, and storm-ruin'd 
 
 wall, 
 That might ideas of other lands recall : 
 Tell her of scenes where shines the lis- 
 tening saint, 
 Or pictured beauty pales in fading paint : 
 215 Of courts, and all the pomp of courtly 
 sheen : 
 Of castles where the famous brave have 
 
 been : 
 Of halls where stand arranged in life-like 
 
 trim 
 The suits of steel that sheath'd the mighty 
 
 limb, 
 And mimic faces from the helmet stare, 
 220 And a dread steely chill pervades the 
 air : 
 Of districts where the calm suburban 
 
 shades 
 Alone would make a hundred Esselrades :
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 103 
 
 Of towns wherein a feverish multitude 
 Are striving hopelessly for what the rude 
 225 Unheard-of rustic gains, not they — con- 
 tent : 
 Then mourn no more that wayward fate 
 
 hath sent 
 Me far from native scenes, whilst I receive 
 The best delight my native land could 
 
 give, 
 The converse of a love sincere : not all 
 230 Its recollected glories should recall 
 
 My fasX affections from the place where 
 
 she 
 Their centre dwells. For her, she would 
 
 not be 
 The Jane slje is, the wise yet simple 
 
 Jane, 
 If versed in all the craft and splendour 
 
 vain 
 235 Of cities. In her as she is, I see 
 
 No seeming, but the soul of modesty ; 
 Much wisdom, but of cunning not a 
 
 jot ; 
 No prudery, but virtue free from spot :
 
 104 A lover's trtbuies 
 
 No airs, but many graces : not a store 
 240 Of knowledge which puffs up, but far, far 
 
 more 
 Of that which edifies, than some display 
 "Who have outlived three times her little 
 
 day: 
 Many real charms, but not a borrow'd 
 
 one : 
 In brief, she is God's workmanship alone, 
 245 And fashion'd, painted, vamp'd, by none 
 
 beside. 
 It were a task to heavenly bliss allied. 
 Through flowery paths to guide her ductile 
 
 mind 
 Of wisdom and of pleasantness combined^* 
 Soft sensibility 'twould introduce 
 250 To my affections, callous from disuse ; 
 
 Touch me with life, and hope, and joy, 
 
 agen. 
 And fit my outlaw'd heart to dwell with 
 
 men. 
 Through many a light, through many a 
 
 learned page, 
 I'd lead my gentle Jane a pilgrimage.
 
 :l 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. lOS 
 
 255 Nor overlook the field of sacred lore, 
 
 Where something richer than the miser's 
 
 store 
 Invites to dig : nor music, precious boon 
 To some who else would sink and sadden 
 
 soon. 
 As turn by turn we pour'd the varying 
 
 strain, 
 260 Each from the other might a lesson 
 
 gain: 
 Her dancing hands along the yielding 
 
 keys 
 While following with captive ears and 
 
 . eyes, 
 My dull harmonic notions I might wing 
 For livelier flights; she learn to wake the 
 
 string 
 265 To solemn minstrelsy. Sometimes, at 
 
 length 
 Reclined to gather my exhausted strength. 
 After a day's hard toil, the lightest 
 
 book 
 Too heavy, I should be well pleased to 
 
 look
 
 106 A lover's tributes 
 
 While she essay 'd the busy housewife's 
 part, 
 270 Belike with more of willingness than art. 
 
 Ah ! woe is me, that I have lived on 
 
 dreams 
 Up to this hour, and that my prospect 
 
 seems 
 Yet unsubstantial. I write, ponder, hope, 
 But haply never shall behold the scope 
 275 Of fair reality. Still, dreams of Jane 
 Are so delightful that I'd sleep again. 
 Nor wake to aught of earth, herself ex- 
 cept. 
 From all the anxious vigils I have kept. 
 The cares and toils of life, I've ever 
 turn'd 
 280 To her, and found repose. And I have 
 burn'd 
 To celebrate more worthily the name 
 That calls for notes of everlasting fame. 
 With what an eagerness I haste away 
 From all the avocations of the day
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 107 
 
 285 To pay the evening tribute of my song 
 
 To her I've loved so well, and loved so 
 
 long ! 
 True earnest of the eager, constant haste 
 With which if happy I her presence taste, 
 It will be ever sought. With what a 
 
 strange 
 290 Excursive power my giddy muse will 
 
 range ; 
 How easily is taken up the pen, 
 ■• How hardly dropp'd, so swell my numbers 
 
 vain. 
 As beauties in a fine disorder pass, 
 Beauties unsung, athwart my memory's 
 
 glass. 
 
 295 Now darkness moves along the face of 
 
 things, 
 And shuts out nature : but alas ! it 
 
 brings 
 A night more dense upon my restless 
 
 soul : 
 Loads me with images I can't control,
 
 108 A lover's iribittes 
 
 Apt my too ready thought from sleep to 
 
 Avake, 
 300 And my unsleeping jealousy to make 
 
 Get up; and thus I'm harass'd till the 
 
 morn. 
 See, the compassionate ' moon begins to 
 
 adorn 
 The gloomy dusk. Oh lady, shine on me, 
 And o'er my blackening spirit thou shalt 
 
 see 
 305 Some of thy virtues grow. But thou must 
 
 shine 
 Without a shadow, and without decline.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 109 
 
 XV. 
 
 When tolling for my daily bread, 
 I cheerful every nerve could strain. 
 While hope within my bosom said, 
 "A home for Jane ! "' 
 
 And when my grateful hands were fill'd 
 With all they sought, and fill'd again. 
 My joy was this — 'twould serve to gild 
 The home for Jane.
 
 110 A lover's tributes 
 
 Or fortune proving slack and scant, 
 Not for myself was felt the pain ; 
 The single fear, that I might want 
 A home for Jane. 
 
 My home depends not on the strength 
 Of flocks and herds, and fields of grain, 
 And walls of height, and lands of length ; 
 But on my Jane. 
 
 But could'st thou leave the halls of youth, 
 And all that charms the gay, the vain, 
 And dare to trust thy lover's truth 
 For shelter, Jane ? 
 
 Could'st fly to him who offers thee 
 Nor gold, nor pomp, nor menial train ; 
 Who's only rich in love — and be 
 At home, my Jane ?
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. Ill 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The world has tried me sore, my Jane 
 So long, so bitterly, 
 I did not think to smile again : 
 Yet I've a smile for thee. 
 
 And life and all its joys, my Jane, 
 Had lost their charm to me : 
 Desire was sick, and hope was slain ; 
 But both revive for thee.
 
 112 A lover's IKIBUTES 
 
 I had no spirit left, my Jane, 
 For friend or enemy; 
 But now a voice in every •vein 
 Speaks life, or death, for thee. 
 
 Then give me one kind look, my Jane, 
 If yet no more must be : 
 Oh! I would look, and look again. 
 And lose myself in thee. 
 
 "Would thou could'st read this breast, my Jane, 
 My guileless ! thou should'st see 
 Much that might waken fear and pain. 
 But heaven's own truth to thee. 
 
 Shall that blest time arrive, my Jane, 
 When my charg'd heart, as free 
 As summer clouds to pour the rain. 
 May utter love to thee ?
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 113 
 
 How would'st thou hallow wealth, my Jane, 
 
 Or brighten poverty ! 
 
 For thee alone I'd prize my gain, 
 
 Or prize a crust with thee.
 
 114 A lover's tributes 
 
 XYII. 
 
 Yes — 'twere unjust, my Jane, unjust 
 That thou should'st take this heart on trust, 
 Unknowing what a world of gloom 
 Within it hath so constant room : 
 
 5 That thine should be the frequent care 
 To make me change this mournful air ; 
 To chase away the evil sprite 
 That haunts me, and to lend delight 
 To all the wand'rings of my thought : — 
 
 10 What worthless love! how dearly bought ! 
 
 L 2
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 115 
 
 But hence the fear — it will not be 
 That thou shalt minister to me 
 A med'cine for the peevish hour ; 
 Thy presence will prevent its power : 
 
 1 5 For even when in reverie 
 
 Thine angel form at hand I see, 
 "With meteor-brightness all prepared 
 Me happy from myself to guard. 
 The obscuring cloud is rent away : 
 
 20 Then what if all the fleeting day. 
 The fleeting night, I had thee nigh. 
 In all thine own reality, 
 Surpassing dreams, surpassing hope ; 
 Were there a place in fancy's scope 
 
 25 For apprehension or for pain ? 
 Could either visit me again ? 
 If thou wert mine, 'twould pain me most 
 To think my treasure might be lost : 
 No miser broods upon his store, 
 
 30 Nor fears its diminution more. 
 Than I upon the hope that burns 
 And frets and comforts me by turns ; 
 Upon the throw that hazards all ; 
 By which I stand, by which I fall :
 
 116 A lover's tributes 
 
 35 Each trembling passion watches there 
 For full relief, or deep despair ; 
 There every latent energy 
 Expects to couquer, or to die. 
 To lose that one dear hope, would form 
 
 40 The mental shroud, the mehtal worm ; 
 Thick darkness, and the funeral dress 
 The body wears when spiritless : — 
 The wasted, burning, tearless, eye. 
 And weeping heart that's never dry, 
 
 45 And nerves that have been played upon 
 Till half the sense of pain is gone, 
 So that a kind of apathy 
 Succeeds to sensibility : 
 And though a flame be lambent there 
 
 50 As if 'twould blaze, it doth not dare 
 To fix and feed, for fear it end 
 The fuel that there is to spend 
 In that exhausted bosom's core : 
 The fixed looks, that never more 
 
 55 Shall strain with hope, relax in mirth ; — 
 Such are the signs our living earth 
 Puts on at last, the spirit dead : 
 Such were my spirit's living bed.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 117 
 
 My irrecoverable state, 
 60 If once of thee quite desolate. 
 
 Nor must thou say the tale I tell 
 Is that of one who loves too well : 
 It is not blind idolatry, 
 This passing love I own for thee, 
 
 65 While Him who gives thee I adore. 
 Nor ask on earth one favour more. 
 
 _, E'en now, 'tis happiness to pray 
 For thy' well-being night and day : 
 'Tis all my hope, 'twere all my pride, 
 
 70 To beg thee blessings by thy side : 
 Awake, asleep, though near thee still. 
 And warding off th'approach of ill. 
 To trust thy peace, to trust my own. 
 To heav'n at last, to heav'n alone. 
 
 75 Oh no, 'tis not idolatry, 
 
 To deem that thou art sent to me 
 With precious balm, the pains to heal 
 That some were sent to make me feel ; 
 And bow, and praise a gracious God, 
 
 80 Whose mercy triumphs o'er his rod.
 
 118 A lover's tributes 
 
 The day was chill, my fate severe ; 
 ('Twas not long since) no help was near ; 
 Each hostile face more hostile burn'd, 
 And friends almost to foes "were turn'd. 
 
 85 I hardly cared to look around, 
 Lest some new enemy were found : 
 I hardly cared to court a friend 
 For kindness every breath could end : 
 Cared not to grasp the treacherous bliss 
 
 90 That's linked to such a world as this, 
 I rode abroad, but woe the while! 
 On Nature's face there was no smile : 
 Fields, trees, and flowers, appear'd to be." 
 All drooping as my destiny ; 
 
 95 While rural mirth, and rural bloom. 
 Did only fret my jealous gloom ; 
 Till, full of wrath with earth and seas, 
 And azure skies, and enemies, 
 And friends, and self, and all below, 
 100 Scarce knowing where. I chanced to go 
 Amongst a crowd where thou wast placed 
 And when my vacant vision traced
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 11.9 
 
 A look (though guarded modestly) 
 That seemed to say, " I think of thee," 
 
 105 Returning fire was felt to start 
 
 Through all the frame, and cheer the heart : 
 
 Forgetting then my poverty, 
 
 Nor mindful of my misery, 
 
 I own'd that there was something still 
 
 110 To make life sweet; and to fulfil 
 That tacit contract of the eye. 
 Must, could, would, face adversity. 
 
 Yet have a care, my gentle Jane ; 
 This pleasure is allied to pain : 
 
 115 As wounded men will crawl to drink 
 Cool water from the river's brink. 
 Thy lover's thirsty fondness tries 
 To slake itself at those clear eyes : 
 But will those eyes be turn'd away, 
 
 120 Or will they look less kind, some day ? 
 I love the field, I love the wood. 
 The purling stream, the silent flood, 
 And dearly love the voice to hear 
 Of friend, if he be friend sincere ;
 
 120 A lovee's tributes 
 
 125 Nor scorn the treasure that can give 
 New peace, and bid the wretched live ; 
 Nor health, that sets the soul at ease 
 To relish blessings such as these : 
 But one sweet smile of thine, my Jane, 
 
 » 
 
 1 30 Is worth the world and all its gain ; 
 
 Shoots laughing health along my blood, 
 And turns my evil into good. 
 Let thy reserve, let others guile. 
 Ne'er rob my spirit of that smile ; 
 
 135 And while its lustre is my shield, 
 I will not faint, I will not yield.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 121 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 You told me, you were fain to know 
 A little more of one 
 Who seeks your hand : — and be it so 
 I would not fain begone : 
 
 But lingering, for ever gaze 
 
 On all I wish to see ; 
 
 Then, drinking transport from that face, 
 
 "Will bid you study me.
 
 122 A lover's tributes 
 
 Come, read me. What is written here ? 
 Read where you will — the same : 
 A volume I, whose leaves appear 
 All colour'd with your name. 
 
 Fix'd on my soul, you shall survey 
 Yourself reflected shine ; 
 Nor scorn the glass that does display 
 A picture so divine.
 
 TO HIS MISTKESS. 123 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh think of him who always thinks of thee : 
 Whose thoughts, too like the ever-wakeful 
 
 waves 
 That play and threaten in a desert sea, 
 Surging, depress'd ; now meuntains, and now 
 
 graves ; 
 Unruffled seldom ; bear above the caves 
 And weeds and monsters which their glooms 
 
 contain 
 One golden dream, not quite a wreck, that 
 
 braves 
 Alike the whirlpool and the hurricane. 
 And which even years may seek to dissipate in 
 
 vain. '
 
 124 A lover's TBIBtTTES 
 
 Yet in thy presence, though my heart be fix'd 
 On thee more firmly than within my breast, 
 The joy it feels is ever strangely mix'd 
 With an alloy of tumult and unrest ; 
 A war of elements within ; and lest 
 My eye give out too much of that wild fire 
 Far easier so than by my words exprest, 
 I've turned it from the beauties that inspire 
 Alike my heart, my hands, and my unworthy 
 lyre. 
 
 I would not thy afiection were like mine ; 
 May such disorder ne'er to thee belong : 
 Never make thou my anxious moments thine ; 
 Ne'er blanch at jealousy, whose screech-owl 
 
 song 
 So often makes me pale. Ne'er steal along 
 That cheek the hectic when fond hope doth 
 
 tell 
 A story that makes pleasure grow too strong — 
 (Exalted folly ! care I would not sell) — 
 Do thou but say " I love," I'll think thou lovest 
 
 well.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 125 
 
 I would observe (and do not call me vain), 
 After the turmoil of the day is done, 
 That dear eye brighten, when he comes again 
 Whose business is to wait on thee alone : 
 Would fain observe that thou dost think of one 
 Who far prefers the dwelling in thy mind 
 To that in palaces of polished stone : 
 Who is almost to other objects blind, 
 And watches but the glance which tells that 
 thou art kind. 
 
 And I may well afford to spare the proofs 
 
 I find within, yet count thy love sincere : 
 
 Not all the love a hundred happy roofs 
 
 Can boast, makes up the sum that's treasured 
 
 here. 
 Still in thy sportive graces, still appear 
 All the exuberance of a free spring tide : 
 Still flash the ingenuous eye, devoid of fear; 
 Still, still be thine the buoyancy untried 
 By pain ; the heart that only views love's 
 
 brightest side. 
 
 M
 
 126 A liOVEK'S TKIBUTES 
 
 XX. 
 
 Princes of a feudal day 
 In their zeal would give away, 
 When for holy church it glow'd, 
 All the wealth a province ow'd. 
 
 Great the bounty greatness showers 
 'Twas in times not far from ours, 
 Crowns were shaken from the nod 
 Of the Gallic demigod.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 127 
 
 But my Jane is richer far 
 Than the greatest princes are : 
 She has more to give than pelf ; 
 Yes ! than honours more ; — herself.
 
 128 A lover's tributes 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I dare not think about her yet : 
 Would, would I had the happy skill 
 To blunt sensation, and forget ! 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still. 
 
 Athwart the tide that would arise. 
 
 The tide of my unruly will, 
 
 Let me impose a chain of ice. 
 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 123 
 
 At best, there's many a day to pass 
 Of sad suspense and patience chill 
 Ere I can claim my lovely lass. 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still. 
 
 What though she's wise, and knows her mind, 
 And smiles on me, and such a smile ! 
 'Tis e'en her nature to be kind : — 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still. 
 
 What though my vows she deigns to hear. 
 And plays oiFended beauty ill ; 
 Who knows what rivals claim her ear ? 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still. 
 
 Then, I have worldly wit to learn. 
 These empty coffers first to fill, 
 Ere love's affairs may take their turn. 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still.
 
 130 A lover's ibibtjtes 
 
 Not yet the pent up storms may fly ; 
 Nor Ocean rise in riot shrill ; 
 Not yet the rocket to the sky : 
 Be still, tumultuous thought, be still.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 131 
 
 XXII. 
 
 With more than mortal beauty clad, 
 A thousand times thrice over, 
 A charming lass in Esselrade 
 Lives near me ; and I love her. 
 
 Not from the mass by Nature made. 
 But something rare, to prove her, 
 Was the sweet lass of Esselrade 
 Bespoken ; and I love her.
 
 132 A lovek's tributes 
 
 Hangs o'er her her dark tresses shade. 
 As night in vain will cover 
 (O lovely lass of Esselrade !) 
 The bright snow ; and I love her. 
 
 No lamp in heaven hath so repaid 
 My gaze, a trackless rover, 
 As of the lass of Esselrade 
 The pure eyes ; and I love her. 
 
 The sparkling east hath ne'er displayed, 
 When darkness 'gins remove her. 
 The tint the lass of Esselrade 
 Bears rosy ; and I love her. 
 
 Nor silver shod, with joyous tread, 
 Can morn such grace discover. 
 As does the lass of Esselrade 
 Light footed ; and I love her.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 133 
 
 Nor fawn in forest ever stray 'd 
 That could so lightly move her. 
 As moves the lass of Esselrade 
 Her light form ; and I love her. 
 
 So queenly never raised her head 
 (No neighbouring plant above her), 
 As the fair lass of Esselrade 
 The lily; and I love her. 
 
 No stone on which the chisel play'd 
 Of Chantrey or Canova 
 The shapely lass of Esselrade 
 Can rival ; and I love her. 
 
 You will not find a milder maid 
 From Austral shores to Dover, 
 Than the dear lass of Esselrade 
 Balm-breathing ; and I love her. 
 
 N
 
 134 
 
 A LOVER'S TRIBUTES 
 
 Yet virgin none, when Vesta bade, 
 A whiter robe hath wove her. 
 Than the chaste lass of Esselrade 
 Without stain ; and I love her. 
 
 Let fate against her stand array'd ; 
 Let blame, let sickness, hover 
 Around the lass of Esselrade ; 
 In life, in death, I love her.
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 135 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 CA Prayer.) 
 
 Father ! to thy gracious care 
 I commend my heart's delight : 
 Let my Jane thy blessing share. 
 Rest within thy arms, to-night. 
 
 Ever near her, very near, 
 Thou who giv'st thy children sleep, 
 Safe from sorrow and from fear 
 Her love-curtain'd slumbers keep.
 
 136 
 
 Hush'd be each disturbing sound, 
 Sounds of folly and of sin : 
 All be calm above, around, 
 All beneath, and all within. 
 
 Still, repose as evening brings. 
 Lie she down in perfect peace ; 
 Shadow'd by the eternal wings, 
 Robed in finish'd righteousness. 
 
 Waking, day by day may she 
 Find her Saviour near her side : 
 Wake from her last sleep, to be 
 With his likeness satisfied.
 
 A FEW 
 
 MISCELLATsfEOUS POEMS. 
 
 N li
 
 139 
 
 A FEW 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 I. 
 
 To a Lady in Mourning. 
 
 Fair mourner, cast those weeds away, 
 Poor shadow of substantial grief ! 
 To speak the half thy heart could say, 
 Life were too brief. 
 
 Full soon was thine the woe of woes : 
 Ere scarce his tale thy love could tell. 
 Love's silver tones were changed for those 
 Of the hoarse bell.
 
 140 A FEW 
 
 The flame tliat in his bosom burned 
 Had scarcely mingled with his breath, 
 When peace, and hope, and love, were turned 
 To bale and death. 
 
 Australia's sun shone bright the while ; 
 And when it sunk beneath the wave, 
 The moon arose with sickly smile 
 Upon his grave. 
 
 The world smiled still — but not so thou 
 Though ladies tears be false and few, 
 Methinks I read upon that brow, 
 Thy love was true. 
 
 Yet do not lift the sable pall, 
 To dwell upon the senseless clay, 
 The coffin, and the shroud, and all 
 Death's sad array :
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 
 
 Or sorrow not without a hope 
 Of union death can nee'r divide, 
 When eager spirits shall call up 
 His gentle bride. 
 
 The robes of light, the fields of bliss. 
 The saints, the throne, invite the blest : 
 Then strive hope that state was his : — 
 Forget the rest. 
 
 Thrice happy so, a lost one lives ; 
 And happy they who feel that shore 
 Their home, where God the just receives, 
 To mourn no more.
 
 132 A FEW 
 
 II. 
 
 To a Lady. 
 
 Still let a smile bedeck thy face ; 
 'Tis woman's richest jewel ; 
 Nor give to frowns provoked a place, 
 Increasing fire with fuel. 
 
 Should wayward Fortune e'er incline 
 To dash with woe the chalice, 
 Still let a smiling face be thine ; 
 "Twill charm away her malice.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 
 
 Or, should'st thou feel affliction's dart 
 Barbed by a friend's unkindness, 
 Do thou to all the traitor's art 
 Affect a smiling blindness. 
 
 To smile serene when blasts assail, 
 Is to be verdant ever : 
 The weak tree fades, as women wail, 
 O'ercome by winter weather. 
 
 Upon thy faci in death's repose 
 May smiling hope be sleeping, 
 The last leaf on the scatter'd rose, 
 While friends surround thee weeping.
 
 * *• 
 
 144 A FEW MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written on hearing a parti/ of rvffians hiss g, Professional J.ailii 
 of great beauty and accomplishment. 
 
 So Milton's fiends with abject malice burn 
 'Gainst beauteous Eve : and so, condemn'd to 
 
 turn 
 To reptile serpents, by just heav'n, proclaim. 
 Involuntary, with a hiss their name. 
 
 FINIS.
 
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