WORKS OF PERMANENT VALUE. HISTORY OP THE REIGN OP FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. By W. II. PRES- COTT. 3 vnls. 8vo, with portraits, etc. Price, in muslin, $'J per volume. HISTORY OP THE CONQUEST OP MEXICO. With a Life of Hcrnando Cortcz. By W. H. IYKSIOTT. Svols. 8vo. Price, in muslin, iJJ per volume. HISTORY OP THE CONQUEST OP PERU. With a Preliminary View of the Civilization cf the Incas. liy W. II. PUESCOTT. With portraits, maps etc. -j v , Price, in muslin, $_' pur volume. HISTORY OS 1 THE REIGN OP PHILIP II. T.y W. II. PHESCOTT. With portrait, maps, etc. 8vo. Vols. I. and II. Price, in muslin, $1 per volume. BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL MISCELLANIES. Ey W. II. FUESCOTT. Ivol.Svo. With portrait. Price, in muslin, $2 per volume. HISTORY OP THE REIGN OP THE EMPEROR CHARLES V. By WILLIAM KOIIERTSOX, D. IX, With a Continuation, treating rf the Emperor's Life after his Ab- dication. By W. II. PRESCOTT. In 3 vo!s. 8vo., uniform with Prescott's Works, with a portrait. Price, in muslin, 2 per volume. Mr. Prcscott's Works are also bound in a great variety of elegant styles, half calf, full calf, and antique. " The more closely we examine Mr. Prescott's work the more do we find cause to commend his dilipent i. Ill* vivacity of manner *nd discursive observations scattered tlimu^h notes a* well as ti-\t, riiriliiH countless proofs of Jus matchless industry. In point of style, too, he ninks with theabkst Kn^- lish historians : and p-irai'raphs may lie found in his volumes in which the (.'nice ::ml eloquence' ot _\i'.di- son are combined with Kubcrtson's majestic cadence, uud Gibbon's brilliancy." .-K/icjiteuMi. HISTORY OP MASSACHUSETTS. By RKV. JOHN- STETSON BARRY, Member of the Massa- rliusctts Historical Society, etc.. etc. To he comprised in three volumes Svo. Volumes I. :;n(l II.. em- bracing the Colonial and the Provincial Periods, now ready. Volume III. in press. Price $> per volume. Extracts from n Letter from 3Ir. PrcKOtt, the historian. " The History is based on solid foundations, as a glance at the authorities will shrw. " The autlior has well exhibited the elements of the I'unfin character, which he has evidently studied with much c ire. His style is perspicuous and manly, free from affectation i uud he merits the praise of a conscientious endeavor to be impartial. " The volume must be found to make a valuable addition to our stores of ci !<>i>i;,! hi.-tory. " Truly yours, "WILLIAM II. PRESCOTT." JAPAN, A<5 IT WAS, AND IS. By RICHARD HiLDRErn, author of " History of the United St it: s." In one volume, hirpe 12mo., \viih a map, glossary, index and notes. Price $1.^5. Tlic best and most reliable work on Japan in the language. SUR5ICAL R3PORTS, and Mi9cellaneous Papers on Medical Subjects. By GEOROE JlATWAliD, M. D.. Presid-nt of the Massachusetts Medical Society, etc., etc:. IJmo. Price ifl.i'i. "Distinguished for the calm pnod sense of their statcinonts, their freedom from proi'essiomd b and their simple and unambitious style of composition." .Veio York TruuiM. THE RELIGION OP GEOLOGY, and ita connected sciences. By EDWARD Hn-rn- K, I). I)., LL. p., late President of Amherst College. 12mo., with a colored section of the EarUi 1 * suilaee. $1.25. HUME'3 HISTORY OP ENGLAND. C vols. 12mo. Price, muslin. OILMAN'S GIBBON'S ROME. G vols. 12mo. Price, muslin, *MO ^IACAULAY'3 HISTORY OP ENGLAND. Vols. I., II., III., and IV. Forty Cents per vol. LINGARD'S HISTORY OP ENGLAND, i:; vols. Price, muslin. THE MODERN BRITISH ESSAYISTS; comprising the Reviews and Miscellanies of Macaulay, Carlyle, Professor Wilson. ("Kit North,") Sydney Smith, Alison, K lOkintosh, Jeffrey, Talfourd end Stephen. S vols. 8vo. Price, niu.^in, sjli'. Any volume sold separately. PUBLISHED II V PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO., Boston, for sale by all UouksdkTs in the United States. WORKS OF PERMANENT VALUE. ESSAYS; First and Second Series. By RALPH WALDO EMERSOX. 2 vols. 12mo. cloth. Price, $1 per volume. MISCELLANIES; including "Nature," etc. By R. "W. EMERSON. 1 vol.l2mo. cloth. Price, $1. REPRESENTATIVE MEN. By R. W. EMERSOX. 1 vol. 12mo. cloth. Price, 1. ENGLISH TRAITS. By R. W. EMERSON. 1 vol. 12mo. cloth. Price $1. Mr. Emerson's works are also bound in a great variety of elegant styles, half calf, full calf, antique, etc. These volumes are universally admitted to be among the most valuable contributions to the world's stock of ideas which our age has furnished. Every page bears the impress of thought, but it is thought subtilized, and redolent of poetry. MARGARET : a. Tale of the Heal and the Ideal, Blight and Bloom. By Rev. SYLVESTER JODD. Revised edition. 2 vols. 12mo. Price, ?J. The most remarkable daguerreotype of New England Life ever published. THE LIFE OF JOHN STERLING. By THOMAS CARLYLE. In one volume 12mo. Price, $1. One of the most touching biographies in the language, and to most readers, the most genial, as well as the most able, of Carlyle's works. MEMOIRS OF MARGARET FULLER, COUNTESS D'OSSOLI. By R. W. EMERSOX, W. II. CHANNIXQ, and JAMES FKEEMAX CLAKKE. 2 vols. 12mo. Price $2. MEMOIR OF THE LIFE AND LABORS OF REV. ADONIRAM JTJDSON. By FRANCIS WAYLAND, late President of Brown University. 2 vols. 12mo with portrait. Price, in muslin, $2 ; half calf, $3.50 ; turkey, or calf gilt, ijii. THE SELECT WORKS OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, including his Autobiogra- phy. With Notes and a Memoir. By EI-ES SARGENT, l.'mo., with two fine portraits. Price, *1.2.j. THE CONFLICT OF AGES; or, the Great Da'oat? o-\ th3 Moral Relations of God and Man. By EDWARD BEECIIER. D. D. 12mo, Price, SI. -V;. ' We calmly pronounce this volume to be the most important contribution which has been made for ye:iri to our religious literature. It is nn honest, manly, candid, nncl most able exposition of tin- workim:.: lit 1 a tree and cultivated mind upon a theme second in solemnity and practical Influence to no other within the range of human thought" Chiistiau Examiner. LETTERS TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN. By JAMES JACKSON. M. D., LL. D., Professor Emeritus of the Theory and Practice of Physic in the University lit Cambridge, etc., etc. A most valuable work for the general reader, as well as the professional man. 1 vol. 121110. tl. The reputation of the venerable author is so wide-spread that it is needless to present any cnlou'.v of his works. For fifty years in active practice, at the head of bis profession, he enjnyod every opportunity for gaining information. The medical student and the young practitioner will receive great benefit from this treatise, the condensed result of such a valuable experience. THE EARNEST MAN. A Sketch of the Character and Labors of Adoniratn Jud- son. First Missionary to Burmah. By Mrs. II. C. COXAJCT. In one volume, Ifimo. Price $1. To meet the general demand for a Life of the great Mis-i mary in a more popular form than that of the elaborate work of President Wayland, this volume has been prepared with the approval of the family and friends of the lamented subject, the copy-right being held for the benefit of his children. THOUGHTS AND THINGS AT HOME AND ABROAD. By ELIIIU BCRRITT. In one volume, with a portrait. Price, $1. This is in many respects a remarkable book especially as showing the wonderful perseverance, indus- try, and application of the author from his earlier years, and while struggling against a thousand ndverse influences. Hi< efforts were crowned with success, nnd the name of rlie /.> ni-m-il Itlni-l.-fnith has liccomo as familiar as a household word. The Essays arc prefaced by a very pleasant and appreciative biographi- cal sketch by MARY UOWITT. PUBLISHED DY PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO., Boston, And for sale by all Booksellers in the I'nitcd States. THE SELECT POETICAL WORKS or JAMES MONTGOMERY. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 1857. Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 184S, by SOKIN fc BALL, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. SOME four years since, the publishers of this volume commenced the issue of a cheap edition, in uniform style, of the standard English Poets, publishing, at irregular intervals, a volume at a time, until the number has now reached twenty-two. Some of these contain the authors complete; while others, from the necessity of limit, contain selections only, in which case great care has been taken to present the author's different peculiarities, whether of humor, pathos or sentiment. The volume now at hand is of the latter class, as its title-page will indicate ; yet the reader will find, on comparing it with his complete \vorks, that but few pieces are omitted in this edition. The great patronage which has followed the publication of the previous volumes of the series has induced the issue of this, and will encourage the publishers to make such arrangements as will bring out a complete uniform edition of all the standard poets. January, 1853. CONTENTS. THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. Page No. I. The Combat 13 No. II. The Car of Juggernaut 14 No. III. The Inquisition 15 No. IV. The State Lottery 17 No. V. To Britain 25 THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. Prologue. A Word with Myself ...... 31 No. I. The Complaint 33 No. II. The Dream 35 No. III. Easter-Monday at Sheffield 41 SONGS OF ZION, BEING IMITATIONS OF THE PSALMS. Psalm 1 50 Psalm III 51 Psalm IV. No. 1 52 Psalm IV. No. 2 52 Psalm VIII. 53 Psalm XI 53 Psalm XV. 54 Psalm XIX. No. 1 55 Psalm XIX. No. 2 55 Psalm XX 56 Psalm XXIII 57 Psalm XXIV. No. 1 58 Psalm XXIV. No. 2 58 Psalm XXIV. No. 1. (The Second Version.) . . . .59 Psalm XXIV. No. 2. (The Second Version.) ... 59 Psalm XXVII. No. 1 60 Psalm XXVII. No. 2 61 Psalm XXIX 62 Psalm XXX 62 Psalm XXXIX 64 Psalm XLII. No. 1 .65 Psalm XLIL No. 2 66 Psalm XLIII. No. 3 66 Psalm XLVI. No. 1 . 67 CONTENTS. . Page Psalm XLVL No. 2 68 Psalm XLVII 69 Psalm XLVIII 69 Psalm LI 70 Psalm LXIII 72 Psalm LXIX 72 Psalm LXX 73 Psalm LXXI 74 Psalm LXXII 75 Psalm LXXIII 77 Psalm LXXVII 78 Psalm LXXX 80 Psalm LXXXIV 81 Psalm XC 82 Psalm XCI 83 Psalm XCIII 85 Psalm XCV 85 Psalm C 86 Psalm CIII. . 87 Psalm CIV 88 Psalm C VII. No. 1 91 Psalm CVIL No. 2 91 Psalm CVIL No. 3 92 Psalm CVIL No. 4 93 Psalm CVIL No. 5 94 Psalm CXIII 95 Psalm CXVI 95 Psalm CXVII 96 Psalm CXXI. 97 Psalm CXXII 98 Psalm CXXIV 98 Psalm CXXV 99 Psalm CXXVI 100 Psalm CXXX 101 Psalm CXXXI 102 Psalm CXXXIL No. 1 102 Psalm CXXXIL Vo. 2 103 Psalm CXXXIII 103 Psalm CXXXIV. , 104 Psalm CXXXVII 104 Psalm CXXXVIII 105 Psalm CXXXIX .106 Psalm CXLI 107 Psalm CXLII 108 Psalm CXLIII 109 Psalm CXLV. 110 Psalm CXLVI ... 110 Psalm CXLVIII. Ill CONTENTS. Page NARRATIVES. Farewell to War 113 Lord Falkland's Dream. A. p. 1643 115 The Patriot's Pass- word 125 The Voyage of the Blind 128 An Every-Day Tale 136 A Tale without a Name 140 A Snake in the Grass 154 The Cast-away Ship 158 The Sequel 161 TRIBUTARY POEMS. To the Memory of the late Richard Reynolds . . . .164 I. The Death of the Righteous 164 II. The Memory of the Just 165 III. A Good Man's Monument 168 To the Memory of Rowland Hodgson, Esq., of Sheffield . . 171 " Occupy till I come." On the Death of the late Joseph Butter- worth, Esq 175 In Memory of the Rev. James Harvey . . . . 1 77 To the Memory of the late Joseph Browne, of Lothersdale . 179 To the Memory of the Rev. Thomas Spencer, of Liverpool . 181 The Christian Soldier. Occasioned by the sudden Death of the Rev. Thomas Taylor 184 A Recollection of Mary F 185 In Memory of E. B., formerly E. R 186 In Memory of E. G 187 M. S. To the Memory of " A Female whom Sickness had Re- conciled to the Notes of Sorrow" 188 On the Royal Infant 193 A Mother's Lament on the Death of her Infant Daughter . . 194 The Widow and the Fatherless 195 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The Lyre 197 Remonstrance to Winter . 200 Round Love's Elysian Bowers 201 Lines written under a Drawing of Yardley Oak . . . 202 Written for a Society whose Motto was " Friendship, Love, and Truth" 203 Religion. An occasional Hymn ...... 204 The Joy of Grief 205 The Battle of Alexandria 207 The Pillow f 211 Ode to the Volunteers of Britain 215 The Vigil of St. Mark 218 Hannah 223 A Field Flower . 225 CONTENTS. Page The Snow-drop 226 An Epitaph 229 The Ocean 230 The Common Lot 235 The Harp of Sorrow 236 Pope's Willow 238 A Walk in Spring 241 To Agnes 245 A Deed of Darkness 246 The Dial 248 Emblems 249 A Message from the Moon . 251 A Bridal Benison 253 The Blackbird 254 The Myrtle 255 A Death-Bed 256 Dale Abbey 257 In Bereavement . . 258 Coronation Ode for Queen Victoria 259 The Wild Pink, on the Wall of Malmesbury Abbey . . .260 Parting Words 263 The Roses 264 Elijah in the Wilderness 265 Stanzas on the Death of the late Rev. Thomas Rawson Taylor . 269 Christ the Purifier 270 " A Certain Disciple" 271 The Communion of Saints 272 " Perils by the Heathen" 273 A Midnight Thought 275 The Peak Mountains 276 To Ann and Jane 281 Transmigrations 282 Chatterton . . .284 A Daughter (C. M.)to her Mother, on her Birth-Day . . .285 On Finding the Feathers of a Linnet scattered on the Ground . 288 Occasional Ode for the Anniversary of the Royal British System of Education . . ' 290 Departed Days : A Rhapsody 291 The Bible 294 The Wild Rose 295 The Time-Piece ' . .298 A Mother's Love 300 The Visible Creation 302 Reminiscences 303 The Reign of Spring 304 The Reign of Summer . 307 Instruction 316 A Night in a Stage -Coach 317 CONTENTS. Page Incognita : On viewing the Picture of an unknown Lady . . 320 Winter-Lightning 323 The Little Cloud 324 Abdallah and Sabat 329 Questions and Answers 334 The Alps : A Reverie 335 The Bridal and the Burial 339 Youth Renewed 340 The Daisy in India 341 The Pilgrim .343 Robert Burns 344 The Stranger and his Friend 345 Friends 347 A Theme for a Poet 348 Night 351 Aspirations of Youth 353 A Hermitage 354 Inscription under the Picture of an aged Negro Woman . . 355 The Adventure of a Star 356 On Planting a Tulip-Root 359 The Drought. Written in the Summer of 1826 .... 360 The Falling Leaf 362 Thoughts and Images 363 The Ages of Man 366 The Grave 367 Bolehill Treea 371 The Old Man's Song 373 The Glow- Worm 374 The Mole-Hill 375 A Voyage Round the World 381 Humility 387 Birds 388 The Gentianella 396 A Lucid Interval 397 Worms and Flowers 399 The Recluse 400 Time : A Rhapsody 401 To a Friend, with a Copy of the foregoing Lucubration . . 403 The Retreat 404 The Lily. To a Young Lady, E. P. . . . . .407 The Sky-Lark. Addressed to a Friend 408 The Fixed Stars 409 A Cry from South Africa. On building a Chapel at Cape Town, for the Negro Slaves of the Colony, in 1828 . . .410 Speed the Prow 412 The Cholera Mount. Lines on the Burying-Place for Patients who died of Cholera Morbus ; a pleasant Eminence in Sheffield Park 413 CONTENTS. Page To Mary 416 Short-Hand. Stanzas addressed to E. P 416 To my Friend George Bennet, Esq., of Sheffield . . . 417 One Warning more. Written for Distribution on a Race-Course, 1824 420 A Riddle. Addressed to E. R. 1820 ... .421 The Tombs of the Fathers 422 The Sun-Flower 426 For J. S. A Preamble to her Album 427 To Cynthia : A Young Lady, unknown to the Author, who, by Letter, requested " a Stanza," or " a few Lines in his Hand- writing" 428 On a Watch- Pocket worked by A. L 429 An Infant's Album 431 To Margaret; a little Girl, who begged to have some Verses from the Author, at Scarborough, in 1814 .... 433 The blank Leaf 434 The Gnat. Written with Pencil round an Insect of that kind, which had been accidentally crushed, and remained fixed on a blank Page of a Lady's Album . Y . . 434 Morna .435 The Valentine Wreath 439 The Widow. Written at the Request of a Lady, who furnished several of the Lines and the Plan of the whole . . 440 Motto to " a Poet's Portfolio." (Fragment of a Page of Oblivion) 442 At Home in Heaven 443 The Veil 446 Heaven in Prospect 446 On the First Leaf of Miss J.'s Album 447 The Sand and the Rock . . .'.''. . . . 448 " Lovest thou Me" 451 Garden Thoughts. On Occasion of a Christian Assembly in the Grounds of a Gentleman at York, for the Purpose of pro- moting Missions among the Heathen .... 452 To Mr. and Mrs. T., of York, with the foregoing Stanzas . . 454 The Field of the World 455 Farewell to a Missionary . 456 " The Prisoner of the Lord." A Sabbath Hymn for a sick Chamber 457 An After-Thought 458 Our Saviour's Prayers 459 Reminiscence 462 Evening Time ... 463 The Lot of the Righteous 464 A Benediction for a Baby 466 Evening Song. For the Sabbath-Day 467 A Wedding Wish. To Mr. and Mrs. H 468 THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. DURING the greater part of the last forty years it has been my privilege to be connected, rather as an auxiliary than a principal, in many a plan for lessening the Bum of human misery at home and abroad, with three gen- tlemen of this neighbourhood, Mr. SAMUEL ROBERTS, Mr. GEORGE BENNET, and Mr. ROWLAND HODGSON. Of the two latter 1 need not speak here, because proofs of my esteem for each, distinctly, will be found in another part of this collection. With Mr. Roberts, however, it happened, that I have been more particularly and actively concerned on occasions rather general than local, such as the questions of the Slave Trade and Slavery, the State Lottery, and the practice of employing climbing boys to sweep chimneys. In these, the zeal, the energy, and the indefatigability of my friend far surpassed any corresponding qualifications which 1 could exercise in aid of the frequent causes in which we have been engaged together. Though, like Jehonadab's with Jehu's, my heart was always with his heart, it was riot in every enterprise that I had the courage to accept his invitation to "couieupto (him) into the chariot;" for the adversary's watchmen, descrying his approach from their walls, might truly exclaim, "His driving is like the driving of the son of Nimslii, for he driveth furiously." When, however, I could not do this, I girded myself up to run alongside of him, till I could no more keep pace with bis speed : I then followed him as far as my breath and strength would carry me. Among those who know him best, and esteem him proportionally, though I may perhaps call myself the foremost, having, more than any other individual, bad opportunities of understanding his motives, and judging his public conduct by these, I must not attempt, in this place, "to give him honour due," further than by simply re- cording my own obligations to him, for having, by his intrepidity and example on some trying occasions, caused me to do a little less harm, and a little more good in my generation, than I should otherwise have had forbearance in the one case to avoid, or fortitude in the other to undertake. This influence was more especially ascendant over my natural indolence and timidity, in our joint efforts through a series of years to rouse the country, and to persuade the legislature against "the State Lottery" as a system of legalized gambling, and "the employment of climbing boys to sweep chimneys as a sys- tem of home-slavery." In reference to the former I may here state, that it had been the practice, as long as I can remember, for the publishers of newspapers to procure lottery tickets for persons who applied for them, from any of the offices with which they had current accounts for advertising. From 1794, when I entered upon the property of the Sheffield frig, till 1801 or 1802, I was in the habit of executing such commissions to a very small amount annually. I know not what lottery speculations may have been made other- wise in this neighbourhood ; but if my sales were the standard of probabilities in so obscure a case, little of the money that was got upon the anvil was thrown into the fire, for the purchase of blanks, where prizes were contemplated in re- version. Once, however, about the above-mentioned date, I had the misfortune to sell the sixteenth of a ticket which turned up a prize of twenty thousand pounds. The price tn be paid for the share, I think, was 23*. 6rf., and the person who bespoke i' had left a guinea towards payment, at the market price could not be ascer lained till the voucher came from London. Accordingly I received it with a fa* 10 THOUGHTS ON WHEELS others which had been ordered in like manner, and pledges deposited. These, with the exception of that particular one, were duly fetched by the parties who had bespoken them. In those days the registering of tickets and shares was en- tirely done in the metropolitan offices, the names and addresses of the adven- turers being transmitted from the country by their respective correspondents. Whatever then might be the fate or the fortune of the numbers delivered by me, I knew nothing of the event unless the buyers themselves informed me, which they usually did when the prizes were small ones, and almost as usually ex- changed tliem for new ventures in the current or next lottery, paying the differ- ence, which was necessarily on the losing side, (the schemes being ingeniously contrived to effect that,) till a blank made amends for all, if it happened to cure the lottery-fit, though that kind of fever being intermittent, patients once affected were fearfully liable to returns. In the case above mentioned, the share remained week after week uncalled for in my desk, while the drawing continued, and till it was nearly at an end. In fact, I had given it up as a bad speculation of my own, so far as what was due upon it had been hazarded to a stranger, concluding that it must have been drawn a blank, and that my customer would take no more trouble about it. I well recollect throwing it aside among some indifferent papers, and muttering to myself, "There lies half-a-crown." One evening, however, a man from a vil- lage in Derbyshire called upon me in considerable agitation, and presented an open letter addressed to a female in whose name the share had been registered at the office (Nicholson's) in London, announcing that the ticket had been drawn a prize of twenty thousand pounds, with a hint, that, w liun the lady re- ceived the money, it was hoped she would remember the clerks in the office Till then the said lady did not so much as know the number of which a sixteenth had been thus registered to her. I was not a little bewildered myself at first, carcely remembering when I had last seen the precious scrap of paper; and, doubting whether the intelligence were not a hoax, and whether the applicant, who professed himself a relation of the owner, were a true man. But, having found the share, and ascertained the other points, I delivered it into the messen- ger's hands, and received the small balance due to me upon it. I was after- wards told, that the guinea which had been paid to n e in advance was put into the lottery "for luck's sake," having been found unexpectedly in a paper with Borne sugar-candy, in a neglected drawer. The fortunate recoverer of the un- redeemed prize that had fallen to her, like one of the forgotten things which the moon has been said to contain, " Where heroes' wits are kept in ponderous vanei, And beaux' in snuff boxes and ttveezer-cases," (Rape of the Loch, canto v.) proved to be a very respectable matron in good circumstances, and of prudent habits. Instead of eagerly seizing the spoil at the expense of the small discount, she waited till the money was full due, and never afterwards, so far as I was concerned, risked more than the price of another sixteenth at once in a lottery or two following. But the strangeness of this great event in provincial lottery annals did not end here. The successful ticket had been distributed, if I ri.-litly remember, entirely in sixteenths, and sold in different parts of the kingdom. This heing lila/.oiied in all the newspapers, occasioned an extraordinary demand for shares in the ensuing lottery, and mine being deemed ''a Lucky Office," commissions came pouring upon me in a manner and multitude beyond precedent. These I was enabled to supply on a new plan, which, I confess, I thought very hazardous to the metropo''ian office keepers, who, availing themselves of this - 'tido" in the. sea of bub 1 ,ies, took it "at the flood," not doubting that it would "lead on to for- tune" I. their "affairs." Accordingly they appointed agencies throughout the country, and one of these being offered to me by a first-rite house, 1 accepted it Ma mere matter of business, and for several years I was in the habit of dis- THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. 11 posing from twenty to fifty times as many tickets and shares as I bad ever done before. Besides the small commission on the amount sold, being from that time allowed the perquisite for registering the numbers myself, and communicating the results to my customers, I received from day to day the lists of the draw- ings, and became practically acquainted with the risks and the returns, indeed so well acquainted, that, during the term of my agency, I was never for a mo- ment tempted to hazard a shilling on a turn of the wheels for myself. On one occasion only, when the drawing was to be closed on an early day, and I had to send back to my principals the unsold shares in my hands, I retained two-eighths in expectation of having calls for them before the last drawing. One was sold, the other remained with me, but proving a small prize I escaped comparatively unscathed. Now of all the thousands in every variety of numbers which passed through my hands, including sold and returned, I do not recollect more than three shares of prizes above 252. namely, two of 502. and a third of 1202. ; the former dis posed of, the latter sent back. I thought at first that the rage for this losing game would soon abate of itself. I was mistaken; and though after a year or two it was less prodigally and promiscuously, yet it was more steadily pursued by regular customers, to whom the habitual stimulus became as necessary to provoke and appease, while in both cases it mocked, the "aari sacra fames," as dram-drinking and opium-eating are to diseased appetites of another kind. In addition to these perennials, there was an annual succession of inexperienced votaries of wealth, who came and tried, and withdrew, when they had grown wiser or warier at a reasonable cost. And here I must observe that the grosser evils of lotteries, flagrant as they were in the metropolis, came nnt within my observation here; what I knew personally of the original sin of the system wag learned by its ordinary effects. My dealings were principally with persons in moderate circumstances, yet with a considerable proportion of work-people and others who might have invested their small savings (if savings they were) on much better securities than the notes which my bank issued. It was one of the lame pleas for the State Lottery in Parliament, that after the suppression of the infamous insurance-offices which never existed here there remained no longer a snare to tempt the poor to take this royal way to riches, the lowest fraction of a ticket in the market being beyond their power of purchase. Whatever the case might be in London, the rich in this neighbourhood, if they speculated at all, did not come to me. One of these, a friend of mine, told me that he had obtained an eighth of a 20,0002., and I heard of another who was said to have hail a sixteenth of a 10,0002. prize. On this part of the subject, from an article in my newspaper of March 25, 1817, in which I questioned some statements made by liiirh authorities in the House of Commons, I may quote a memorandum, that, in throe lotteries drawn in 1803, 1 "sold, Whole Tickets not one; Halves one ; Quarters twenty ; Eighths eighty-eight ; Sixteenths five hundred and sixty- fix! and in previous years far greater numbers of the latter; many, very many of which were bought by poor people." Familiarity with some kinds of sin deadens the consciousness of it. This was not the case with me in reference to the State Lottery. It was familiarity with it which convinced me of the sin of dealing in its deceptive wares. I was occa- sionally surprised to notice the different kinds of money which were brought to me by persons of the humbler class, hoarded guineas, old crowns, half crowns, and fine impressions of smaller silver coins, at a time when bank-paper, Spanish dollars, and tokens of inferior standard, issued by private individuals and com- panies, formed a kind of mo6-currency throughout the realm, instead of the ster- ling issues of the Royal Mint. These, like the guinea of my Derbyshire matron, were ventured "for the sake of luck," in several instances by poor women who had inherited them from their parents, received them as birth or wedding-day gifts, saved them for their children's thrift-pots, or laid them up against a rainy day for family wants or sickness. With these they came to buy hope, and I sold THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. them disappointment I It was this very thought passing through my mind like a flash of lightning, in the very words, and leaving an indelible impression, (deep- ening with every recurrence of the haunting idea,) which decided a long-medi- tated hut often procrastinated purpose; and I said to myself, at length, "I will immediately give up this traffic of delusion." I did so, and from that moment never sold another share. This, however, was only cutting off the left hand of a profitable sin, while with the right I was still accepting the hire of iniquity. The proprietors of newspapers do not deem themselves responsible for the contents of advertise- ments which appear on their pages, so long as these are free from libellous, im- moral, or blasphemous matter. During the palmy days of the State Lottery, and even when it began to fall into disrepute, the office keepers were among the most liberal contributors of such precious articles to the public journals. The columns of mine were never much burdened with these opima spolia, wealth won without labour of the hands or the brains, gratuitously bestowed, collected at little risk, and small additional expense in the economy of the printing-office. Lottery advertisements, therefore, formed a considerable proportion of the very moderate amount of pecuniary means, by which I was enabled, under many dis- advantages, some local, and others personal, to maintain my paper at all. But when my friend Mr. Roberts and I, several years after my relinquishment of lottery sales, determined to attack the great state evil itself, with open, uncom promising hostility, I felt that I could not consistently, nor indeed honestly, sup- port him in his plans of aggression, while I was an actual accessory before the fact to the mischiefs which it was perpetrating throughout the length and breadth of the land, and especially, so far as I was implicated, within the range of my editorial influence. The question had long troubled me in secret; but, as in the former case, a final decision upon it was deferred, till rny friend one day unex- pectedly attacked me with a recommendation to renounce all connection with "the accursed thing," which we both had now made up our minds to hold up to public abhorrence and reprobation. The counsel was hard to a person in my circumstances: conscience and cupidity had a sharp conflict; but the battle was not a drawn one ; the better principle prevailed; and after the autumn of 1816 I never admitted another lottery advertisement into my paper. Nor did I ever, for one moment, repent the sacrifice. From that time till the abandonment of the State Lottery by government itself in 18iM, Mr. Roberts and I, in various ways, but principally by paragraphs and philippics in my columns, and pamphlets from my press, waged a desultory warfare with those ministers of the day and their supporters in Parliament who persisted in employing these unhallowed means of recruiting the revenue. With the late Lord Lyttelton (then Mr. Lyttelton) and other members of the House of Commons who held the same sentiments as ourselves on the subject, we had frequent correspondence; nor did the Chancellor of the Exchequer (otherwise one of the most upright and conscientious statesmen of the age) escape the an- noyance of our remonstrances and solicitations. In March, 1817, we promoted a petition to Parliament from Sheffield against this national nuisance. Whether this example was followed at that time by any other towns I do not remember. We know, however, that our various labours were not altogether in vain, but that two obscure individuals in a remote part of the kingdom, by strenuous per- severance in advocating a good cause, contributed something (however little jt may have been) towards the removal of the greatest plague that ever infested the country in the shape of a tax, upon the poverty, the morals, and the happi- nesi) of the people. In 1817, Mr. Roberts published The State Lottery, a Dream, a work of startling eccentricity in its plan, and no small ingenuity in the execution. Its frontis- piece, representing Jl Petty State Lottery within the walls of Christ's Hospital, in which not ihe drawers only, but all the adventurers, were children of that venerable establishment, was not without its effect in abating one of the most THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. 13 plausible but pernicious exhibitions at Guildhall and elsewhere, in the annual pantomime of The Orand State Lottery. My THOUGHTS ON WHEELS were but the glimmering tail of my friend's por- tentous comet The latter, having long ago passed its perihelion, is no more visible in the literary hemisphere ; and the former would have disappeared with it, had not the last section, the address To Britain, been deemed worthy of pre- servation by judges more competent to decide upon its claims than the public will allow an author to be in his own case. October 20, 1840. NO. I. THE COMBAT. OF old when fiery warriors met, On edge of steel their lives were set ; Eye watching eye, shield crossing shield, Foot wedged to foot, they fought the field, Dealt and withstood as many strokes As might have fell'd two forest-oaks, Till one, between the harness-joint, Felt the resistless weapon's point Quick through his heart, and in a flood Pour'd his hot spirit with his blood. The victor, rising from the blow That laid -his brave assailant low, Then blush'd not from his height to bend, Foully a gallant deed to end ; . But whirl'd in fetters round the plain, Whiii'd at his chariot wheels, the slain ; Beneath the silent curse of eyes, That look'd for vengeance to the skies ; While shame, that could not reach the dead, Pour'd its whole vial on his head. Who fails in honourable strife Surrenders nothing but his life ; Who basely triumphs casts away The glory of the well-won day ; Rather than feel the joy he feels, Commend me to his chariot wheels. 14 THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. NO. II. THE CAR OF JUGGERNAUT. ON plains beneath the morning star, Lo ! Juggernaut's stupendous car ; So high and menacing its size, The Tower of Babel seems to rise ; Darkening the air, its shadow spreads O'er thrice an hundred thousand heads ; Darkening the soul, it strikes a gloom, Dense as the night beyond the tomb. Full in mid-heaven, when mortal eye Up this huge fabric climbs the sky, The Idol scowls, in dragon-pride, Like Satan's conscience deified ; Satan himself would scorn to ape Divinity in such a shape. Breaking the billows of the crowd, As countless, turbulent, and loud As surges on the windward shore, That madly foam, and idly roar ; Th' unwieldy wain compels its course, Crushing resistance down by force ; It creaks, and groans, and grinds along, Midst shrieks and prayers, midst dance and song; With orgies in the eye of noon, Such as would turn to blood the moon ; Impieties so bold, so black, The stars to shun them would reel back ; And secret horrors, which the Sun Would put on sackcloth to see done. Thrice happy they, whose headlong souls, Where'er th' enormous ruin rolls, Cast their frail bodies on the stones, Pave its red track with crashing bones. And pant and struggle for the fate To die beneath the sacred weight. " O fools and mad !" your Christians cry , Yet wise, methinks, are those who die : THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. 1ft For me, if Juggernaut were God, Rather than writhe beneath his rod : Rather than live his devotee, And bow to such a brute the knee ; Rather than be his favourite priest, Wallow in wantonness, and feast On tears and blood, on groans and cries, The fume and fat of sacrifice ; Rather than share his love, or wrath ; I'd fling my carcass in his path, And almost bless his name, to feel The murdering mercy of his wheel. NO. III. THE INQUISITION. THERE was in Christendom, of yore, And would to heaven it were no more ! There was an Inquisition-Court, Where priestcraft made the demons sport : Priestcraft, in form a giant monk, With wine of Rome's pollutions drunk, Like captive Samson, bound and blind, In chains and darkness of the mind, There show'd such feats of strength and skill As made it charity to kill, And well the blow of death might pass For what he call'd it coup de grace ; While in his little hell on earth, The foul fiends quaked amidst their mirth :- But not like him, who to the skies Turn'd the dark embers of his eyes, (Where lately burn'd a fire divine, Where still it burn'd, but could not shine,) And won by violence of prayer, (Hope's dying accents in despair,) THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. Power to demolish, from its base, Dagon's proud fane, on Dagon's race ; Not thus like Samson ; false of heart, The tonsured juggler play'd his part, God's law in God's own name made void, Men for their Saviour's sake destroy'd, Made pure religion his pretence To rid the earth of innocence ; While Spirits from th' infernal flood Cool'd their parch'd tongues in martyrs' blood, And half forgot their stings and flames In conning, at those hideous games, Lessons, which he who taught should know How well they had been learn'd below. Among the engines of his power Most dreaded in the trying hour, When impotent were fire and steel, All but almighty was the Wheel, Whose harrowing revolution wrung Confession from the slowest tongue ; From joints unlock'd made secrets start, Twined with the cordage of the heart ; From muscles in convulsion drew Knowledge the sufferer never knew ; From failing flesh, in Nature's spite, Brought deeds that ne'er were done to light ; From snapping sinews wrench'd the lie, That gain'd the victim leave to die ; When self-accused, condomn'd at length, His only crime was want of strength ; From holy hands with joy he turn'd, And kiss'd the stake at which he burn'd. But from the man of soul sublime, Who lived above the world of time, Fervent in faith, in conscience clear, Who knew to love, but not to fear ; When every artifice of pain Was wasted on his limbs in vain, THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. And baffled cruelty could find No hidden passage to his mind, The Wheel extorted naught in death, Except forgiveness, and his breath. Such a victorious death to die Were prompt translation to the sky : Yet with the weakest, I would meet Racks, scourges, flames, and count them sweet ; Nay, might I choose, I would not 'scape " The question," put in any shape, Rather than sit in judgment there, Where the stern bigot fills the chair : Rather than turn his torturing Wheel, Give me its utmost stretch to feel. NO. IV. THE STATE LOTTERY. ESCAPED from ancient battle-field, Though neither with nor on my shield : Escaped how terrible the thought Even of escape ! from Juggernaut ; Escaped from tenfold worse perdition In dungeons of the Inquisition ; Oh with what ecstasy I stand Once more on Albion's refuge-land ! Oh with what gratitude I bare My bosom to that island-air, Which tyrants gulp and cease to be, Which slaves inhale and slaves are free ! For though the wheels, behind my back, Still seem to rumble in my track, Their sound is music on the breeze ; I dare them all to cross the seas : Nay, should they reach our guarded coast, Like Pharaoh's chariots and his host, THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. Monks, Brahmins, warriors, swoln and dead, Axles and orbs in wrecks were spread. And are there on this holy ground No wheels to trail the vanquished found ? None, framed the living bones to break, Or rend the nerves for conscience-sake ? No : Britons scorn th' unhallow'd touch, They will not use, nor suffer such ; Alike they shun, with fearless heart, The victim's and tormentor's part. Yet here are wheels of feller kind, To drag in chains the captive mind ; To crush, beneath their horrid load, Hearts panting prostrate on the road ; To wind desire from spoke to spoke, And break the spirit stroke by stroke. Where Gog and Magog, London's pride, O'er city bankruptcies preside ; Stone-blind at nisi prius sit, Hearken stone-deaf to lawyers' wit ; Or scowl on men, that play the beasts At Common Halls and Lord Mayors' feasts, When venison or the public cause, Taxes or turtle, stretch their jaws : There, in a whisper be it said, Lest honest Beckford shake his head ; Lest Chatham, with indignant cheek, Start from his pedestal and speak ; Lest Chatham's son in marble groan, As if restored to skin and bone ;* There, speak, speak out, abandon fear ; Let both the dead and living hear ; The dead, that they may blush for shame Amidst their monumental fame ; The living, that, forewarn'd of fate, Conscience may force them, ere too late, * These lines refer to the statues of British worthies which adorn the Guild onll of London THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. It Those Wheels of infamy to shun, Which thousands touch, and are undone. There, built by legislative hands, On Christian ground, an altar stands. " Stands ? gentle Poet, tell me where ?" Go to Guildhall : " It stands not there!" True ; 'tis my brain that raves and reels Whene'er it turns on Lottery Wheels ; Such things in youth can I recall Nor think of thee, of thee, Guildhall ? Where erst I play'd with glittering schemes, And lay entranced in golden dreams ; Bright round my head those bubbles broke, Poorer from every dream I woke ; Wealth came, but not the wealth I sought , Wisdom was wealth to me ; and taught My feet to miss thy gates, that lay, Like toll-bars on the old " broad way," Where pilgrims paid, oh grief to tell ! Tribute for going down to hell. Long on thy floor an altar stood, To human view unstain'd with blood, But red and foul in Heaven's pure eyes, Groaning with infant sacrifice, From year to year ; till sense or shame, Or some strange cause without a name, 'Twas not the cry of innocence, Drove such abomination thence : Thence drove it, but destroy'd it not ; It blackens some obscurer spot ; Obscurer, yet so well defined, Thither the blind might lead the blind, While heralds shout in every ear, " This is the temple, worship here." Thither the deaf may read their way ; 'Tis plain ; to find it, go astray! Thither the lame, on wings of paper, Ma) come to nothing, like a vapour ; THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. Thither may all the world repair ; A word, a wish, will waft you there ; And, O so smooth and steep the track, 'Tis worth your life to venture back ; Easy the step to Cooper's Hall,* As headlong from a cliff to fall ; Hard to recover from the shock, As broken-limb'd to climb a rock. TTiere, built by legislative hands, Our country's shame, an altar stands ; Not votive brass, nor hallow'd stone, Humbly inscribed " To God unknown ;" Though sure, if earth afford a space For such an altar, here's the place : Not breathing incense in a shrine, Where human art appears divine, And man by his own skill hath wrought So bright an image of his thought, That nations, barbarous or refined, Might worship there th' immortal mind, That gave their ravish'd eyes to see A meteor glimpse of Deity ; A ray of Nature's purest light, Shot through the gulf of Pagan night, Dazzling, but leaving darkness more Profoundly blinding than before. Ah ! no such power of genius calls Sublime devotion to these walls ; No pomp of art, surpassing praise, Britannia's altar here displays : A MONEY-CHANGER'S TABLE, spread With hieroglyphics, black and red. Exhibits, on deceitful scrolls, " The price of Tickets," and of Souls ; For thus are Souls to market brought, Barter'd for vanity, for naught ; * Where the State Lottery was drawn for many year*. THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. Till the poor venders find the cost, Time to eternal ages lost ! No sculptured idol decks the place, Of such excelling form and face, That Grecian pride might feign its birth A statue fallen from heaven to'earth : The goddess here is best design'd, A flimsy harlot, bold and blind ; Invisible to standers-by, And yet in everybody's eye ! FORTUNE her name ; a gay deceiver, Cheat as she may, the crowd believe her; And she, abuse her as they will, Showers on the crowd her favours still : For 'tis the bliss of both to be Themselves unseen, and not to see ; Had she discernment, pride would scout The homage of her motley rout ; Were she reveal'd, the poorest slave Would blush to be her luckiest knave. Not good OLD FORTUNE here we scorn, In classic fable heavenly born : She who for nothing deigns to deal Her blanks and prizes from One Wheel ; And who, like Justice, wisely blind, Scatters her bounties on mankind With such a broad impartial aim, If none will praise her, none should blame ; For were ten thousand fancies tried, Wealth more discreetly to divide Among the craving race of man, Wit could not frame a happier plan. Here, 'tis her Counterfeit, who reigns O'er haunted heads and moon-struck brains ; A Two-wheel 1 d Jade, admired by sots, Who flings, for cash in hand, her lots To those, who, fain " their luck to try," Sell Hope, and Disappointment buy. THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. The wily sorceress here reveals, With proud parade, her mystic Wheels ; Those Wheels, on which the nation runs Over the morals of its Sons ; Those Wheels, at which the nation draws Through shouting streets its broken laws ! Engines of plotting Fortune's skill To lure, entangle, torture, kill. Behold her, in imperial pride, King, Lords, and Commons at her side ; Arm'd with authority of state, The public peace to violate : More might be told, but not by me Must this " eternal blazon" be. Between her Wheels the Phantom stands, With Syren voice, and Harpy hands : She turns th' enchanted axle round ; Forth leaps the " TWENTY THOUSAND POUND !" That "twenty thousand" one has got; But twenty thousand more have not. These curse her to her face, deplore Their loss, then take her word once more ; Once more deceived, they rise like men Bravely resolved to try again ; Again they fail ; again trapann'd, She mocks them with her sleight of hand ; Still fired with rage, with avarice steel'd, Perish they may, but never yield ; They woo her till their latest breath, Then snatch their prize a blank in death. The priests, that in her temple wait, Her minor ministers of fate, Like Dian's silversmith's of old, True to the craft that brings them gold, Lungs, limbs, and pens unwearied plv To puff their Goddess to the sky ; Oh that their puffs could fix Her there, Who builds such castles in the air, THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. And in the malice of her mirth Lets them to simpletons on earth ! Who steals the rainbow's peaceful form, But is the demon of the storm ; Assumes a star's benignant mien, But wears a comet's tail unseen ; Who smiles a Juno to the crowd, But all that win her catch a cloud, And, doom'd Ixion's fate to feel, Are whirl'd upon a giddier wheel. Oh that her priests could fix her there, Whose breath and being are but air ! Yet not for this their spells they try, They bawl to keep her from the sky, A harmless meteor in that sphere ; A baleful Ignis fatuus here, With wandering and bewildering light, To cheer, and then confound the sight, Guide the lone traveller, then betray, Where Death in ambush lurks for prey. Fierce, but familiar, at their call, The veriest fiend of Satan's fall ; The fiend that tempted him to stake Heaven's bliss against the burning lake ; The fiend that tempted him again, To burst the darkness of his den, And risk whate'er of wrath untried Eternal justice yet could hide, For one transcendent chance, by sin, Man and his new-made world to win ; That fiend, while Satan play'd his part At Eve's fond ear, assail'd her heart, And tempted her to hazard more Than fallen Angels lost before ; They ruin'd but themselves her crime Brought death on all the race of time : That fiend comes forth, like Etna's flame ; The SPIRIT OF GAMBLING call his name ; 41 THOUGHTS OX WHEELS. So flush'd and terrible in power, The Priests themselves he would devour ; But straight, by Act of Parliament, Loose through the land his plagues are sent. The Polypus himself divides, A legion issues from his sides ; Ten thousand shapes he wears at will, In every shape a devil still ; Eager and restless to be known By any mark, except his own ; In airy, earthly, heavenly guise, No matter, if it strike the eyes ; Yet ever at the clink of pelf, He starts, and shrinks into himself: A traitor now, with face of truth, He dupes the innocence of youth ; A shrewd pretender, smooth and sage, He tempts the avarice of age ; A wizard, versed in damned arts, He trammels uncorrupted hearts ; He lulls Suspicion, Sense waylays, Honour and Honesty betrays, Finds Virtue sleeping, and by stealth Beguiles her with a dream of wealth ; Till rich and poor, till fools and wise, Haste to the headlong sacrifice, Gaze till they slip into the snare ; Angels might weep to see them there ; Then to the Lottery Wheels away, The SPIRIT OF GAMBLING drags his prey. Hail to the fiery bigot's rack ! Hail Juggernaut's destructive track ! Hail to the warrior's iron car ! But oh, be Lottery Wheels afar ! I'll die by torture, war, disease, I'll die by any Wheels but these ' THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. NO. V. TO BRITAIN. I LOVE Thee, O my native Isle ! Dear as my mother's earliest smile ; Sweet as my father's voice to me Is all I hear, and all I see, When, glancing o'er thy beauteous land, In view thy Public Virtues stand, The Guardian-angels of thy coast, Who watch the dear domestic Host, The Heart's Affections, pleased to roam Around the quiet heaven of Home. I love Thee, when I mark thy soil Flourish beneath the peasant's toil, And from its lap of verdure throw Treasures which neither Indies know. I love Thee, when I hear around Thy looms, and wheels, and anvils sound, Thine engines heaving all their force, Thy waters labouring on their course, And arts, and industry, and wealth Exulting in the joys of health. I love Thee, when I trace thy tale To the dim point where records fail ; Thy deeds of old renown inspire My bosom with our fathers' fire ; A proud inheritance I claim In all their sufferings, all their fame ; Nor less delighted, when I stray Down History's lengthening, widening way, And hail Thee in thy present hour, From the meridian arch of power, Shedding the lustre of thy reign, Like sunshine, over land and main. f love Thee, when I read the lays Of British bards, in elder days, Till, rapt on visionary wings, High o'er thy cliffs my spirit sings ; THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. For I, amidst thy living choir, I, too, can touch the sacred lyre. I love Thee, when I contemplate The full-orb'd grandeur of thy state ; ' Thy laws and liberties, that rise, Man's noblest works beneath the skies, To which the Pyramids are tame, And Grecian temples bow their fame : These, thine immortal sages wrought Out of the deepest mines of thought ; These, on the scaffold, in the field, Thy warriors won, thy patriots seal'd ; These, at the parricidal pyre, Thy martyrs sanctified in fire, And, with the generous blood they spilt, Wash'd from thy soil their murderers' guilt, Cancell'd the curse which Vengeance sped, And left a blessing in its stead. Can words, can numbers count the price, Paid for this little Paradise ? Never, oh ! never be it lost ; The land is worth the price it cost. I love Thee, when thy Sabbath dawns O'er woods and mountains, dales and lawns, And streams, that sparkle while they run, As if their fountain were the Sun : When, hand in hand thy tribes repair, Each to their chosen house of prayer, And all in peace and freedom call On Him who is the Lord of all. I love Thee, when my soul can feel The seraph-ardours of thy zeal : Thy charities, to none confined, Bless, like the sun, the rain, the wind ; Thy schools the human brute shall raise, < Guide erring youth in wisdom's ways, And leave, when we are turn'd to dust. A generation of the just. THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. 97 I love Thee, when I see thee stand The hope of every other land ; A sea-mark in the tide of time, Rearing to heaven thy brow sublime ; Whence beams of Gospel-splendour shed A sacred halo round thine head ; And Gentiles from afar behold (Not as on Sinai's rocks of old) GOD, from eternity conceal'd, In his own light, on Thee reveal'd. I love Thee, when I hear thy voice Bid a despairing world rejoice, And loud from shore to shore proclaim, In every tongue, Messiah's name ; That name, at which, from sea to sea, All nations yet shall bow the knee. I love Thee : next to heaven above, Land of my fathers ! thee I love ; And, rail thy slanderers as they will, "With all thy faults I love Thee" still : For faults thou hast, of heinous size ; Repent, renounce them, ere they rise In judgment ; lest thine ocean- wall With boundless ruin round thee fall, And that, which was thy mightiest stay, Sweep all thy rocks like sand away. Yes, thou hast faults of heinous size, From which I turn with weeping eyes ; On these let them that hate Thee dwell : Yet one 1 spare not, one I tell, Tell with a whisper in thine ear ; Oh ! might it wring thy heart with fear ! Oh ! that my weakest word might roll, Like heaven's own thunder, through thy soul ! There is a lie in thy right hand ; Ji bribe, corrupting all the land ; There is within thy gates a pest, Gold and a Babylonish vest ; THOUGHTS ON WHEELS. Not hid in shame-concealing shade, But broad against the sun display'd. These, tell it not, it must be told ; These from thy LOTTERY WHEELS are sold ; Sold, and thy children, train'd to sin, Hazard both worlds these plagues to win ; Nay, thy deluded statesmen stake Thyself, and lose Thee for their sake ! Lose Thee ? They shall not ; HE, whose will Is Nature's law, preserves Thee still ; And while th' uplifted bolt impends, One warning more his mercy sends. O BRITAIN ! O my country ! bring Forth from thy camp th' accursed thing ; Consign it to remorseless fire ; Watch till the latest spark expire, Then cast the ashes on the wind. Nor leave one atom-wreck behind. So may thy wealth and power increase ; So may thy people dwell in peace ; On Thee th' Almighty's glory rest, And all the world in Thee be blest. ShrffieM, Oct. 10, 1816. THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. sioned in the personal appearance, decent behaviour, and improved intelligence (most of them having been Sunday scholars) of the successive generations of these poor creatures, which have passed before us during that period, has been ; IM t it I.MIII MJ in IHII uwn Ildgliuuui liuuu, dim tin. IITJM riit u idiiuieB Ul ours to obtain legislative redress for the grievance itself throughout Ives, and lay upon their apprentices (who were often their iiiis i;iei is me unaiiswerauie objection 10 me wnuie sy&iem, it cannoi i> mended, though its inevitable miseries may be, and are, in numberless instances This was presented by Lord Milton, (now Earl Fitz- THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. the obj.ict, on the 25th of June following a Bill was brought into the House of Commons, for prohibiting the employment of Climbing Boys in sweeping chim- neys, from as brief a prospective date as should be found practicable under exist- ing circumstances. Certain technical difficulties, however, respecting the nature of the Bill, and the probability of Parliament being prorogued before an Act could be passed, caused the postponement of further proceedings till the next Session. In the following year, 1818, the Bill was revived, carried triumphantly through the Commons, sent up to the Lords, read, committed, counsel heard, evidence examined, favourably reported, but withdrawn before the third reading, to give to the government surveyors, and other professional gentlemen, opportunity to make certain experiments and estimates, recommended by their Lordships' Committee, previous to their ultimate decision on the merits of the case. In the third year, 1819, the Bill was again introduced in the House of Peers, when, after some very strange discussion, it was summarily thrown out. Two causes, exceedingly dissimilar, concurred to effect this catastrophe : namely, certain grave doubts, expressed by high legal authority, whether, in making laws, more tenderness were due to old chimneys or to young children ; the for- mer being inveterately crooked and therefore incurable, whereas (though this was left to be inferred) the latter (the children) might easily be made crooked, by accommodating their pliable bodies to the perverse ways through which they followed their craft. The second stumbling-block, on which indeed the neck of the Bill was broken, deserves more distinct exposure. A noble Earl, who re- sisted the Bill less by argument than by banter, among other illustrations of the calamities which would befall the nation, if the use of Climbing Boys were abolished, is reported to have said: "I might illustrate the confined humanity of the supporters of this measure, by repeating a story, commonly told in Ireland. It was us.ua! in that country to sweep chimneys by tying a string to the leg of a goose, and dragging the unfortunate bird down the chimney. This practice was reprobated by many humane persons, who looked upon the goose as very ill treated ; but an honest Irishman having asked what he should use instead of the goose, one of the humane gentlemen replied, ' It'hy don't you get a couple of ducks ?' Such was the humanity that dictated this measure, which, dwelling on the sufferings of the Climbing Boys, forgot every care for the safety of so- ciety, which, considering the few children employed in sweeping chimneys, threw out of its protection the many children who should be exposed to the hazards of fire, and to be tossed out of the windows." This pleasant sally put their Lordships into such good humour, that, to borrow a couple of the noble Earl's phrases, the Bill was either " tossed out of the win- dow," or "exposed to the hazard of fire," for aught that I could ever learn of its fate. The report of the foregoing debate and decision in the House of Peers was published in my newspaper of March 23, 1819. Under the date nf rfpril the 13th following, I find this paragraph, written by myself, and for the authenticity of which I can as conscientiously vouch, as his Lordship could for the truth of "a story commonly told in Ireland :" "Yesterday (being Easter Monday), at the Cutlers' Hall, in this town, the Committee for abolishing the use of Climbing Boys, and bettering the condition of Chimney Sweepers' Apprentices, gave their annual dinner to the children employed in that business here. Twenty-two were present ; and though the Inds of this town and neighbourhood fare as well, if not better, than others in tliH like situation elsewhere, their friends here are more and more convinced, from experience, observation, and rcfl.-ction diirine twelve years past, that the practice of employing Climbing Boys to sweep chimneys is a national crime as well as a national disgrace, and ought to be prohibited. "A boy, about thirteen years of age, who attended the dinner at the Cutlers' Hall, on last Easter Monday, lately came to a shocking and premature end, in the following manner, as we were, on this occasion, informed by his companions THE CLIMBING BOY 5 S SOLILOQUIES. Their master being asleep in a public house, in a village in Derbyshire, his two apprentices, who had been sweeping in the neighbourhood, were left with a company of fellows who were drinking together, and became the butts of their brutal conversation. Among other thing", it was wantonly proposed to the younger apprentice to go up the chimney of the room in which they were sitting, while there was a fire in the range. He refused ; but the elder, tempted by a promise of sixpence, ventured, and was helped up into the flue. Before he reached the top, however, the soot fell down in such quantities upon the fire below, that the chimney was soon in a blaze, and the poor boy struggled to the bottom through the flames, and was dragged out by the legs In- fore he came direct upon the live coals in the grate. He was so miserably scorched, that he died, after lingering three weeks in excruciating torture." I need not further pursue the history of parliamentary proceedings on this subject, in which my friends and I bore our part from time to time, till, during the last Session, an Act for the total discontinuance of the evil practice passed both Houses, almost without a murmur of opposition, under the direct sanction of Her Majesty's Government. Among other intervening means for eventually bringing to pass this great purpose, Mr. Roberts projected the publication of a volume, to be entitled l; The Chimney Sweepers' Friend, and Climbing Boys' Jllbum," of which he persuaded me to undertake the editorship. The first part of the work, when completed, contained, in various forms, a summary of such information on the general ques- tion as we had been enabled to collect, during seventeen years, from the com- mencement of our labours and inquiries. The second part consisted of essays and tales, in prose and verse, illustrative of the unpitied and unalleviated suffer- ings of children, under this unnatural bondage, through more than a century since its introduction. These were chiefly furnished, at my solicitation, by living authors of distinction. The volume was dedicated, by permission, to His Majesty, George IV., and being soon out of print, a new edition was issued at York, by a benevolent bookseller, and sold extensively through the northern provinces. The following small pieces were my quota of contributions to this work. October 22, 18 10. PROLOGUE. A WORD WITH MYSELF. I KNOW they scorn the Climbing Boy, The gay, the selfish, and the proud ; I know his villanous employ Is mockery with the thoughtless crowd. So be it ; brand with every name Of burning infamy his art, But let his country bear the shame, And feel the iron at her heart. I cannot coldly pass him by, Stript, wounded, left by thieves half dead ; THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. Nor see an infant Lazarus lie At rich men's gates, imploring bread. A frame as sensitive as mine, Limbs moulded in a kindred form, A soul degraded yet divine, Endear to me my brother-worm. He was my equal at his birth, A naked, helpless, weeping child ; And such are born to thrones on earth, On such hath every mother smiled. My equal he will be again, Down in that cold, oblivious gloom, Where all the prostrate ranks of men Crowd, without fellowship, the tomb. My equal in the judgment day, He shall stand up before the throne, When every veil is rent away, And good and evil only known. And is he not mine equal now ? Am I less fall'n from God and truth, Though " Wretch" be written on his brow, And leprosy consume his youth ? If holy nature yet have laws Binding on man, of woman born, In her own court I'll plead his cause, Arrest the doom, or share the scorn. Yes, let the scorn that haunts his course Turn on me like a trodden snake, And hiss and sting without remorse, If I the fatherless forsake. Sheffield, Feb. 28, 1834. THE CLIMBING BOY's SOLILOQUIES. N'O. I. THE COMPLAINT. WHO loves the Climbing Boy ? Who cares If well or ill I be? Is there a living soul that shares A thought or wish with me ? I've had no parents since my birth, Brothers and sisters none ; Ah ! what to me is all this earth Where I am only one ? I wake and see the morning shine, And all around me gay ; But nothing I behold is mine, No, not the light of day ; No, not the very breath I draw ; These limbs are not my own ; A master calls me his by law, My griefs are mine alone : Ah ! these they could not make him Would they themselves had felt ! Who bound me to that man of steel Whom mercy cannot melt. Yet not for wealth or ease I sigh, All are not rich or great ; Many may be as poor as I, But none so desolate. For all I know have kin and kind, Some home, some hope, some joy ; But these I must not look to find, Who knows the Climbing Boy ? The world has not a place of rest For outcast so forlorn ; 'Twas all bespoken, all possest, Long before I was born. Affection, too, life's sweetest cup, Goes round from hand to hand, THE CLIMBING BOY 7 S SOLILOQUIES. But I am never ask'd to sup, Out of the ring I stand. If kindness beats within my heart, What heart will beat again ? I coax the dogs, they snarl and start ; Brutes are as bad as men. The beggar's child may rise above The misery of his lot ; The gipsy may be loved, and love ; But I but I must not. Hard fare, cold lodgings, cruel toil, Youth, health, and strength consume : What tree could thrive in such a soil ? What flower so scathed could bloom ? Should I outgrow this crippling work, How shall my bread be sought ? Must I to other lads turn Turk, And teach what I am taught ? Oh, might I roam with flocks and herds In fellowship along ! Oh, were I one among the birds, All wing, and life, and song ! Free with the fishes might I dwell Down in the quiet sea ! The snail in his cob-castle shell The snail's a king to me ! For out he glides in April showers, Lies snug when storms prevail ; He feeds on fruit, he sleeps on flowers I wish I was a snail ! No, never ; do the worst they can I may be happy still ; For I was born to be a man. And if I live I will THE CLIMBING BOY's SOLILOQUIES. NO. II. THE DREAM. I DREAMT ; but what care I for dreams ? And yet I tremble too ; It look'd so like the truth, it seems As if it would come true. I dreamt that, long ere peep of day, I left my cold straw bed, And o'er a common far away, As if I flew, I fled. The tempest hurried me behind Like a mill-stream along ; I could have lean'd against the wind, It was so deadly strong. The snow I never saw such snow Raged like the sea all round, Tossing and tumbling to and fro ; I thought I must be drown'd. Now up, now down, with main and might I plunged through drift and stour ; Nothing, no, nothing baulk'd my flight, I had a giant's power. Till suddenly the storm stood still, Flat lay the snow beneath ; I curdled to an icicle, I could not stir not breathe. My master found me rooted there ; He flogg'd me back to sense, Then pluck'd me up, and by the hair, Sheer over ditch and fence, He dragg'd, and dragg'd, and dragg'd me on, For many and many a mile ; At a grand house he stopp'd anon ; It was a famous pile. THE CLIMBING BOY's SOLILOQUIES. Up to the moon it seem'd to rise, Broad as the earth to stand ; The building darken' d half the skies, Its shadow half the land. All round was still as still as death ; I shivering, chattering, stood ; And felt the coming, going breath, The tingling, freezing blood. Soon, at my master's rap, rap, rap, The door wide open flew ; In went we ; with a thunder clap Again the door bang'd to. I trembled, as I've felt a bird Tremble within my fist ; For none I saw, and none I heard, But all was lone and whist. The moonshine through the windows show'd Long stripes of light and gloom ; The carpet with all colours glow'd, Stone men stood round the room : Fair pictures in their golden frames, And looking-glasses bright ; Fine things, I cannot tell their names, Dazed and bewitch'd me quite. Master soon thwack'd them out my head- The chimney must be swept ! Yet in the grate the coals were red ; I stamp'd, and scream'd, and wept. I kneel'd, I kiss'd his feet, I pray'd ; For then which shows I dreamt Methought I ne'er before had made The terrible attempt. But, as a butcher lifts the lamb That struggles for its life, THE CLIMBING BOY's SOLILOQUIES. (Far from the ramping, bleating dam,) Beneath his desperate knife ; With his two iron hands he grasp'd And hoisted me aloof; His naked neck in vain I clasp'd, The man was pity-proof. So forth he swung me through the space, Above the smouldering fire ; I never can forget his face, Nor his gruff growl, "Go higher." As if I climb'd a steep house-side, Or scaled a dark draw-well, The horrid opening was so wide, I had no hold, I fell: Fell on the embers, all my length, But scarcely felt their heat, When, with a madman's rage and strength, ' I started on my feet ; And, ere I well knew what I did, Had clear' d the broader vent ; From his wild vengeance to be hid, I cared not where I went. The passage narrow'd as I drew Limb after limb by force, Working and worming, like a screw, My hard, slow, up-hill course. Rougher than harrow-teeth within, Sharp lime and jagged stone fltripp'd my few garments, gored the skin, And grided to the bone. Gall'd, wounded, bleeding, ill at ease, Still I was stout at heart ; Head, shoulders, elbows, hands, feet, kneea, All play'd a stirring part. 38 THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. 1 climb'd, and climb'd, and climb'd in vain. No light at top appear'd ; No end to darkness, toil, and pain, While worse and worse I fear'd. I climb'd, and climb'd, and had to climb, Yet more and more astray ; A hundred years I thought the time, A thousand miles the way. Strength left me, and breath fail'd at last, Then had I headlong dropp'd, But the straight funnel wedged me fast, So there dead-lock'd I stopp'd. I groan'd, I gasp'd, to shriek I tried, No sound came from my breast ; There was a weight on every side, As if a stone-delf press'd. Yet still my brain kept beating on Through night-mares of all shapes, Foul fiends, no sooner come than gone, Dragons, and wolves, and apes. They gnash'd on me with bloody jaws, Chatter* d, and howl'd, and hiss'd : They clutch'd me with their cat-like claws. While off they whirl'd in mist. Till, like a lamp-flame, blown away, My soul went out in gloom ; Thought ceased, and dead-alive I lay, Shut up in that black tomb. Oh, sweetly on the mother's lap Her pretty baby lies, And breathes so freely in his nap, She can't take off her eyes. Ah ! thinks she then, ah. thinks she not ! How soon the time may be THE CLIMBING BOY 5 S SOLILOQUIES. When all her love will be forgot, And he a wretch like me ? She in her grave at rest may lie, And daisies speck the sod, Nor see him bleed, nor hear him cry, Beneath a ruffian's rod. No mother's lap was then my bed, O'er me no mother smiled ; No mother's arm went round my head, Am I no mother's child ? Life, on a sudden, ran me through, Light, light, all round me blazed, Red flames rush'd roaring up the flue, Flames by my master raised I heard his voice, and ten-fold might Bolted through every limb ; I saw his face, and shot upright ; Brick walls made way from him. Swift as a squirrel seeks the bough Where he may turn and look Down on the school-boy, chop-fallen now, My ready flight I took. The fire was quickly quench'd beneath, Blue light above me glanced, And air, sweet air, I 'gan to breathe, The blood within me danced. I climb'd, and climb'd, and climb'd away, Till on the top I stood, And saw the glorious dawn of day Come down on field and flood. Oh, me ! a moment of such joy I never knew before ; Right happy was the climbing-boy, One moment, but no more. THE CLIMBING BOY'S ' SOLILOQUIES. Sick, sick I turn'd, the world ran round, The stone I stood on broke, And plumb I toppled to the ground, Like a scared owl, I woke. I woke, but slept again, and dream'd The self-same things anew : The storm, the snow, the building seem'd All true, as daylight's true. But, when I tumbled from the top, The world itself had flown ; There was no ground on which to drop, 'Twas emptiness alone. On winter nights I've seen a star Leap headlong from the sky ; I've watch'd the lightning from afar Flash out of heaven and die. So, but in darkness, so I fell Through nothing to no place, Until I saw the flames of hell Shoot upward to my face. Down, down, as with a mill-stone weight, I plunged right through their smoke ! To cry for mercy 'twas too late, They seized me, I awoke : Woke, slept, and dream'd the like again The third time, through and through, Except the' winding up ; ah ! then I wish it had been true. For when I climb'd into the air, Spring-breezes flapt me round ; Green hills, and dales, and woods were there, And May-flowers on the ground. The moon was waning in the west, The clouds were golden red ; THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. 41 The lark, a mile above his nest, ^ Was cheering o'er my head. The stars had vanish'd, all but one, The darling of the sky, That glitter'd like a tiny sun, No bigger than my eye. I look'd at this, I thought it smiled. Which made me feel so glad, That I became another child, And not the climbing lad : A child as fair as you may see, Whom soot has never soil'd As rosy-cheek'd as I might be If I had not been spoil'd. Wings, of themselves, about me grew, And, free as morning-light, Up to that single star I flew, So beautiful and bright. Through the blue heaven I stretch'd my hand To touch its beams, it broke Like a sea-bubble on the sand ; Then all fell dark. I woke. NO. III. EASTER-MONDAY AT SHEFFIELD YES, there are some that think of me ; The blessing on their heads ! I say ; May all their lives as happy be, As mine has been with them to-day ! When I was sold, from Lincolnshire To this good town, I heard a noise, What merry-making would be here At Easter-tide, for climbing boys. 1HE CLIMBING BOY's SOLILOQUIES. 'Twas grange, because where I had been, The better people cared no more For such as me, than had they seen A young crab crawling on their shore. Well, Easter came ; in all the land Was e'er a 'prentice lad so fine ! A bran-new suit at second-hand, Cap, shoes, and stockings, all were mine. The coat was green, the waistcoat red, The breeches leather, white and clean ; 1 thought I must go off my head, I could have jump'd out of my skin. All Sunday through the streets I stroll' d, Fierce as a turkey-cock, to see How all the people, young and old, At least I thought so, look'd at me. A t night, upon my truss of straw, Those gaudy clothes hung round the room ; By moon-glimpse oft their shapes I saw Like bits of rainbow in the gloom. Yet scarce I heeded them at all, Although I never slept a wink ; The feast, next day, at Cutlers' Hall, Of that I could not help but think. Wearily trail'd the night away ; Between the watchman and the clock, 1 thought it never would be day ; At length out-crew the earliest cock. A second answer'd, then a third, At a long distance, one, two, three, A dozen more in turn were heard ; I crew among the rest for glee. Up gat we, I and little Bill, And donn'd our newest and our best ; THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. Nay, let the proud say what they will, As grand as fiddlers we were drest. We left our litter in the nook, And wash'd ourselves as white as snow ; On brush and bag we scorn'd to look, It was a holiday, you know. What ail'd me then I could not tell, I yawn'd the whole forenoon away, And hearken'd while the vicar's beU Went ding dong, ding dong, pay, pay, pay ! The clock struck twelve I love the twelves Of all the hours 'twixt sun and moon ; For then poor lads enjoy themselves, We sleep at midnight, rest at noon. This noon was not a resting time ! At the first stroke we started all, And, while the tune rang through the chime, Muster'd, like soldiers, at the hall. Not much like soldiers in our gait ; Yet never soldier, in his life, Tried, as he march'd, to look more straight Than Bill and I, to drum and fife. But now I think on't, what with scars, Lank, bony limbs, and spavin'd feet, Like broken soldiers from the wars, We limp'd, yet strutted through the street Then, while our meagre, motley crew Came from all quarters of the town, Folks to their doors and windows flew ; I thought the world turn'd upside down. For now, instead of oaths and jeers, The sauce that I have found elsewhere, Kind words, and smiles, and hearty cheers Met us, with halfpence here and there. 44 THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. The mothers held their babies high, To chu;kle at our hobbling train, But clipt them close while we went by ; I heard their kisses fall like rain, And wiped my cheek, that never felt The sweetness of a mother's kiss ; For heart and eyes began to melt, And I was sad, yet pleased, with this. At Cutlers' Hall we found the crowd, That shout the gentry to their feast ; They made us way, and bawl'd so loud, We might have been young lords at least. We enter'd, twenty lads and more, While gentlemen, and ladies too, All bade us welcome at the door, And kindly ask'd us, " How d'ye do ?" ' Bravely," I answer'd, but my eye Prickled, and leak'd, and twinkled still ; I long'd to be alone, to cry, To be alone, and cry my fill. Our other lads were blithe and bold, And nestling, nodding as they sat, Till dinner came, their tales they told, And talk'd of this, and laugh'd at that. I pluck'd up courage, gaped, and gazed On the fine room, fine folks, fine things, Chairs, tables, knives, and forks, amazed, With pots and platters fit for kings. Roast-beef, plum-pudding, and what not, Soon smoked before us, such a size, Giants their dinners might have got ; We open'd all our mouths and eyes Anon, upon the board, a stroke Warn'd each to stand up in his place THE CLIMBING BOy's SOLILOQUIES. One of our generous friends then spoke Three or four words they cail'd it Grace. I think he said " GOD bless our food !" Oft had I heard that name, in tones Which ran like ice, cold through my blood, And made the flesh creep on my bones. But now, and with a power so sweet, The name of God went through my heart. That my lips trembled to repeat Those words, and tears were fain to start. Tears, words, were in a twinkle gone, Like sparrows whirring through the street. When, at a sign, we all fell on, As geese in stubble, to our meat. The targe plum-puddings first were carved, And well we younkers plied them o'er ; You would have thought we had been starved, Or were to be, a month or more. Next the roast-beef flew reeking round In glorious slices, mark ye that ! The dishes were with gravy drown'd ; A sight to make a weasel fat. A great meat-pie, a good meat-pie, Baked in a cradle-length of tin, Was open'd, emptied, scoop'd so dry, You might have seen your face within. The ladies and the gentlemen Took here and there with us a seat ; They might be hungry, too, but then We gave them little time to eat. Their arms were busy helping us, Like cobblers' elbows at their work, Or see-saw, see-saw, thus and thus ; A merry game at knife and fork. THE CLIMBING BOY's SOLILOQUIES. Oh then the din, the deafening din, Of plates, cans, crockery, spoons and knives, And waiters running out and in ; We might be eating for our lives. Such feasting I had never seen, So presently had got enough ; The rest, like fox-hounds, stanch and keen. Were made of more devouring stufT. They cramm'd like cormorants their claws, As though they never would have done ; It was a feast to watch their jaws Grind, and grow weary, one by one. But there's an end to every thing ; And this grave dinner pass'd away, I wonder if great George our king Has such a dinner every day. Grace after meat again was said, And my good feelings sprang anew, But at the sight of gingerbread, Wine, nuts, and oranges, they flew. So while we took a turn with these, Almost forgetting we had dined ; As though we might do what we please, We Icll'd, and joked, and told our mind. Now I had time, if not before, To take a peep at every lad ; 1 counted them to twenty-four, Each in his Easter-finery clad. All wash'd and clean as clean could be, And yet so dingy, marr'd, and grim, A mole with half an eye might see Our craft in every look and limb. All shapes but straight ones you might find As sapling-firs on the high moors. THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. Black, stunted, crook'd, through which the wind, Like a wild bull, all winter roars. Two toddling five-year olds were there, Twins, that had just begun to climb, With cherry-cheeks, and curly hair, And skins not yet engrain'd with grime. I wish'd, I did, that they might die, Like " Babes i' th' Wood," the little slaves, And " Robin redbreast" painfully Hide them "with leaves," for want of graves ;- Rather than live, like me, and weep To think that ever they were born ; Toil the long day, and from short sleep Wake to fresh miseries every mom. Gay as young goldfinches in spring, They chirp'd and peck'd, top-full of joy, As if it was some mighty thing To be a chimney-sweeper's boy. And so it is, on such a day As welcome Easter brings us here, In London, too, the first of May, But oh, what is it all the year ! Close at a Quaker-lady's side, Sate a young girl ; I know not how I felt when me askance she eyed, And a quick blush flew o'er her brow For then, just then, I caught a face Fair, but I oft had seen it black, And mark'd the owner's tottering pace Beneath a vile tv >bushel sack. Oh ! had I known ii was a lass, Could I have scorn'd her with her load ? Next time we meet, she shall not pass Without a lift along the road. THE CLIMBING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. Her mother, mother but in name ! Brought her to-day to dine with us : Her father, she's his 'prentice : shame On both, to use their daughter thus ! Well, / shall grow, and she will grow Older, it may be taller, yet ; And if she'll smile on me, I know Poor Poll shall be poor Reuben's pet. Time, on his two unequal legs, Kept crawling round the church-clock's face, Though none could see him shift his pegs, Each was for ever changing place. Oh, why are pleasant hours so short ? And why are wretched ones so long ? They fly like swallows when we sport, They stand like mules when all goes wrong. Before we parted, one kind friend, And then another, talk'd so free ; They went from table-end to end, And spoke to each, and spoke to me. Books, pretty books, with pictures in, Were given to those who learn to read, Which show'd them how to flee from sin, And to be happy boys indeed. These climbers go to Sunday-schools, And hear what things to do or shun, Get good advice, and golden rules For all their lives, but I'm not one. Nathless I'll go next Sabbath day Where masters, without thrashing, teach Lost children how to read, and pray, And sing, and hear the parsons preach. For I'm this day determined not With bad companions to grow old. THE CLI1WSING BOY'S SOLILOQUIES. But, weal or wo, whate'er my lot, To mind what oar good friends have told. They told us things I never knew Of Him who heaven and earth did make ; And my heart felt their words were true, It burn'd within me while they spake. Can I forget that God is love, And sent his son to dwell on earth ? Or that our Saviour from above Lay in a manger at his birth, Grew up in humble poverty, A life of grief and sorrow led ? No home to comfort Him had He ; No, not a place to lay his head. Yet He was merciful and kind, Heal'd with a touch all sort of harms ; The sick, the lame, the deaf, the blind ; And took young children in his a-m?j. Then He was kill'd by wicked men, And buried in a deep stone cave ; But of Himself He rose again, On Easter-Sunday, from the grave. Caught up in clouds, at God's right uai d, In heaven He took the highest place ; There dying Stephen saw him stand, Stephen, who had an angel's face. He loves the poor, He always did ; The little ones are still his care ; I'll seek Him, let who will forbid, I'll go to Him this night in prayer. Oh, soundly, soundly should I sleep, And think no more of sufferings past, If God would only bless, and ktep, And make me his, his own, at last Sheffield, March, 1834. SONGS OF ZION, IMITATIONS OF THE PSALMS. In the following imitations of portions of the true "Song-s of Zion," the author pretends not to have succeeded better than any that have gone before him; but, having followed in the track of none, he would venture to hope, that, by avoid- ing the rugged literality of some, and the diffusive paraphrases of others, he may, in a few instances, have approached nearer than either of them have generally done to the ideal model of what devotional poems, in a modern tongue, grounded upon the subjects of ancient psalms, yet suited for Christian edifica- tion, ought to be. Beyond this he dare not say more than that, whatever symp- toms of feebleness or bad taste may be betrayed in the execution of these pieces, he offers not to the public the premature fruits of idleness or haste. So far as he recollects, he has endeavoured to do his best, and, in doing so, he has never hesitated to sacrifice ambitious ornament to simplicity, clearness, and force of thought and expression. If, in the event, it shall be found that he has added a little to the small national stock of "psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs," ii which piety speaks the language of poetry, and poetry the language of inspire lion, he trusts that he will be humbly contented and unfeignedly thankful. Sheffield, May 21, 1822. PSALM I. THRICE happy he, who shuns the way That leads ungodly men astray ; Who fears to stand where sinners meet, Nor with the scorner takes his seat. The law of God is his delight ; That cloud by day, that fire by night, Shall be his comfort in distress, And guide him through the wilderness. SONGS OF ZION. 51 His works shall prosper ; he shall be A fruitful, fair, unwithering tree, That, planted where the river flows, Nor drought, nor frost, nor mildew knows. Not so the wicked ; they are cast Like chaff upon the eddying blast ; In judgment they shall quake for dread, Nor with the righteous lift their head. For God hath spied their secret path, And they shall perish in his wrath ; He too hath mark'd his people's road, And brings them to his own abode. PSALM III. THE Tempter to my soul hath said, " There is no help in God for thee :" Lord ! lift thou up thy servant's head, My glory, shield, and solace be. Thus to the Lord I raised my cry ; He heard me from his holy hill ; At his command the waves roll'd by ; He beckon'd, and the winds were still. I laid me down and slept ; I woke ; Thou, Lord ! my spirit didst sustain ; Bright from the east the morning broke, Thy comforts rose on me again. I will not fear, though armed throngs Compass my steps, in all their wrath : Salvation to the Lord belongs ; His presence guards his people's path 6 SONGS OF ZION. PSALM IV. No. 1. How long, ye sons of men, will ye The servant of the Lord despise, Delight yourselves with vanity, And trust in refuges of lies ? Know that the Lord hath set apart The godly man in every age : He loves a meek and lowly heart ; His people are his heritage. Then stand in awe, nor dare to sin ; Commune with your own heart ; be still ; The Lord requireth truth within, The sacrifice of mind and will. PSALM IV. No. 2. WHILE many cry, in Nature's night, Ah ! who will show the way to bliss ? Lord ! lift on us thy saving light ; We seek no other guide than this. Gladness thy sacred presence brings, More than the joyful reaper knows ; Or he who treads the grapes, and sings, While Avith new wine his vat o'erflows. In peace I lay me down to sleep ; Thine arm, O Lord ! shall stay my head, Thine angel spread his tent, and keep His midnight watch around my bed. SONGS OF ZION. 5J PSALM VIII. O LORD, our King ! how excellent Th} name on earth is known ! Thy gkuy in the firmament How wonderfully shown ! Yet are the humble dear to Thee ; Thy praises are confest By infants lisping on the knee, And sucklings at the breast. When I behold the heavens on high, The work of thy right hand ; The moon and stars amid the sky, Thy lights in every land : Lord ! what is man, that thou shouldst deign On him to set thy love, Give him on earth a while to reign, Then fill a throne above ? O Lord, how excellent thy name ! How manifold thy ways ! Let Time thy saving truth proclaim, Eternity thy praise. PSALM XL THE Lord is in his holy place, And from his throne on high He looks upon the human race With omnipresent eye. He proves the righteous, marks their path ; In him the weak are strong ; But violence provokes his wrath, The Lord abhorreth wrong. 5- SONGS OF 2ION. God on the wicked will rain down Brimstone, and fire, and snares ; The gloom and tempest of his frown ; This portion shall be theirs. The righteous Lord will take delight Alone in righteousness ; The just are pleasing in his sight, The humble He will bless. PSALM XV. LORD ! who is he that shall abide Within thy tabernacle here ? Who on thy holy hill reside ? He that maintains a conscience clear He that in his uprightness walks, Who from his heart the truth will teil Of others ne'er malignly talks, Nor lets his tongue on slanders dwell: He who his neighbour never wrongs, But, while the base ones are abhorr'd Pays the high honour that belongs To those who fear and love the Lord : He that to his own hurt will swear, Nor change his word, his covenant break ; Nor lend on usury to ensnare, Nor bribes to slay the righteous take : He who doth these shall not be moved, For God will surely him uphold, And bring, when in the furnace tried, Forth from the fire, refined like gold. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XIX. No. 1. THY glory, Lord ! the heavens declare, The firmament displays thy skill ; The changing clouds, the viewless air, Tempest and calm thy word fulfil ; Day unto day doth utter speech, And night to night thy knowledge teach. Though voice nor sound inform the ear, Well known the language of their song, When one by one the stars appear, Led by the silent moon along, Till round the earth, from all the sky, Thy beauty beams on every eye. Waked by thy touch, the morning sun Comes like a bridegroom from his bower, And, like a giant, glad to run His bright career with speed and power ; Thy flaming messenger, to dart Life through the depth of Nature's heart. While these transporting visions shine Along the path of Providence, Glory eternal, joy divine, Thy word reveals, transcending sense ; My soul thy goodness longs to see, Thy love to man, thy love to me. PSALM XIX. No. 2. THY law is perfect, Lord of light ! Thy testimonies sure ; The statutes of thy realm are right, And thy commandment pure. SONGS OF ZION. Holy, inviolate thy fear, Enduring as thy throne ; Thy judgments, chastening or severe, Justice and truth alone. More prized than gold, than gold whose waste Refining fire expels ; Sweeter than honey to my taste, Than honey from the cells. Let these, O God ! my soul convert, And make thy servant wise ; Let these be gladness to my heart, The day-spring to mine eyes. By these may I be warn'd betimes ; Who knows the guile within ? Lord ! save me from presumptuous crimes, Cleanse me from secret sin ! So may the words my lips express, The thoughts that throng my mind, O Lord, my strength and righteousness ! With thee acceptance find. PSALM XX. JEHOVAH hear thee in the day Of thine adversity ; The God of Jacob be thy stay, His name thy stronghold be : Help from his sanctuary send, Strength from his holy hill ; Accept thy vows, thy prayers attend, Thy heart's desires fulfil. In thy deliverance we rejoice, And in Jehovah's name SONGS OF ZION. Lift up our banners and our voice, His triumphs to prockim. Now know we that the Lord will hear His own Anointed One, And rescue him from every fear ; So let his will be done. While some in chariots put their trust, On horses some rely, Those shall be broken, these like dust Before the whirlwind fly. But we remember God alone, And hope in Him, whose hand Will raise us up though overthrown, Though fall'n will make us stand. God save the King, the people save ! Lord ! hear a nation's cries : From death redeem us, and the grave, To life beyond the skies. PSALM XXIII. THE Lord is my shepherd, no want shall I know ; I feed m green pastures, safe-folded I rest ; He lead^th my soul where the still waters flow, Restores me when wandering, redeems when opprest. Through the valley and shadow of death though I stray, Since Thou art my guardian, no evil I fear ; Thy rod shall defend me, thy staff be my stay, No harm can befall, with my Comforter near. In the midst of affliction my table is spread, With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er ; With perfume and oil Thou anointest my head ; O what shall I ask of thy Providence more "< 58 SONGS OF ZION. Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God ! Still follow my steps till I meet Thee above ; I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod Through the land of their sojourn, thy kingdom of love. PSALM XXIV. No. 1. THE earth is thine, Jehovah ! thine Its peopled realms and wealthy stores ; Built on the flood, by power divine, The waves are ramparts to the shores. But who shall reach thine holy place, Or who, O Lord ! ascend thine hill ? The pure in heart shall see thy face, The perfect man that doth thy will. He who to bribes hath closed his hand, To idols never bent the knee, Nor sworn in falsehood, He shall stand Redeem'd, and own'd, and kept by Thee. PSALM XXIV. No. 2. LIFT up your heads, ye gates ! and wide Your everlasting doors display ; Ye angel-guards ! like flames divide, And give the King of Glory way. Who is the King of Glory ? He, The Lord Omnipotent to save, Whose own right arm in victory Led captive death, and spoil'd the grave. Lift up your heads, ye gates ! and high Your everlasting portals heave ; Welcome the king of Glory nigh ; Him let the heaven of heavens receive SONGS OF ZION. Who is the King of Glory ? Who ? The Lord of Hosts ; behold his name ; The kingdom, power, and honour due Yield Him, ye saints, with glad acclaim. PSALM XXIV. No. 1. (THE SECOND VERSION.) THE earth is God's with all its stores, The world and ah 1 therein that be ; Upon the flood He fix'd the shores, And gave his law unto the sea: His holy mountain who shall climb, Or tread his courts without offence ? He who hath cleansed his heart from crime, And wash'd his hands in innocence :- From vanity hath turn'd his eyes, Nor put to shame his neighbour's trust, Practised deceit, or utter'd lies ; He that is upright, pure, and just. These shall enjoy Jehovah's grace ; To them his mercy shall be shown ; For these are they that seek thy face ; These, God of Jacob ! Thou wilt own. PSALM XXIV. No. 2. (THE SECOND VERSION.) LIFT up* your heads, ye gates ! behold The King of Glory draweth nigh ; Ye everlasting doors ! unfold And give Him welcome to the sky SONGS OF ZION. Who is this King of Glory, who ? Jehovah, strong and mighty: He His foes in battle overthrew, And crown' d Himself with victory. Lift up your heads, ye gates ! on high ; Eternal doors ! throw wide your leaves ; The King of Glory draweth nigh, And Him the heaven of heavens receive. Who is this King of Glory, say ? The Lord of Hosts, whom we proclaim He is the King of Glory : they That know his power wiV fear his Name. PSALM XXVIL No. 1. GOD is my strong salvation, What foe have I to fear ? In darkness and temptation, My light, my help is near : Though hosts encamp around me, Firm to the fight I stand ; What terror can confound me, With God at my right hand ? Place on the Lord reliance, My soul, with courage wait ; His truth be thine affiance, When faint and desolate : His might thine heart shall strengthen, His love thy joy increase ; Mercy thy days shall lengthen ; The Lord will give thee peace SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XXVIL No. 2. ONE thing, with all my soul's desire, I sought and will pursue ; What thine own Spirit doth inspire, Lord ! for thy servant do. Grant me within thy courts a place, Among thy saints a seat, For ever to behold thy face, And worship at thy feet : In thy pavilion to abide, When storms of trouble blow, And in thy tabernacle hide, Secure from every foe. " Seek ye my face ;" without delay, When thus I hear Thee speak, My heart would leap for joy, and say, " Thy face, Lord, will I seek." Then leave me not when griefs assail, And earthly comforts flee ; When father, mother, kindred fail, My God ! remember me. Oft had I fainted, and resign'd Of every hope my hold, But mine afflictions brought to mind Thy benefits of old. Wait on the Lord, with courage wait ; My soul ! disdain to fear ; The righteous Judge is at the gate, And thy redemption near M SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XXIX. GIVE glory to God in the highest ! give praise, Ye noble, ye mighty, with joyful accord ; All-wise are his counsels, all-perfect his ways ; In the beauty of holiness worship the Lord ! The voice of the Lord on the ocean is known, The God of eternity thundereth abroad ; The voice of the Lord, from the depth of his throne, Is terror and power ; all nature is avv'd. At the voice of the Lord the cedars are bow'd, And towers from their base into ruin are hurl'd ; The voice of the Lord, from the dark-bosom'd cloud, Dissevers the lightning in flames o'er the world. See Lebanon bound, like the kid on his rocks, And wild as the unicorn Sirion appear : The wilderness quakes with the resonant shocks ; The hinds cast their young in the travail of fear. The voice of the Lord through the calm of the wood Awakens its echoes, strikes light through its caves ; The Lord sitteth King on the turbulent flood ; The winds are his servants, his servants the waves. The Lord is the strength of his people ; the Lord Gives health to his people, and peace evermore ; Then throng to his temple, his glory record, But, oh ! when he speaketh, in silence adore PSALM XXX. YEA, I will extol Thee, Lord of life and light ! For thine arm upheld me, Turn'd my foes to flight : SONGS OF ZION. I implored thy succour, Thou wert swift to save, Heal my wounded spirit, Bring me from the grave. Sing, ye saints, sing praises ! Call his love to mind : For a moment angry, But for ever kind : Grief may, like a stranger, Through the night sojourn, Yet shall joy to-morrow With the sun return. (n my wealth I vaunted, " Naught shall move me hence ;" Thou hadst made my mountain Strong in thy defence : Then thy face was hidden, Trouble laid me low, " Lord," I cried, most humbly, " Why forsake me so ? " Would my blood appease Thee, In atonement shed ? Can the dust give glory, Praise employ the dead? Hear me, Lord ! in mercy ; God, my helper, hear ;" Long Thou didst not tarry, Help and health were near. Thou hast turn'd my mourning Into minstrelsy, Girded me with gladnqss, Set from thraldom free : Thee my ransom'd powers Henceforth shall adore, Thee, my great Deliverer, Bless for evermore ! 64 SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XXXIX. LORD ! let me know mine end, My days, how brief their date, That I may timely comprehend How frail my best estate. My life is but a span, Mine age as naught with Thee ; Man, in his highest honour, man Is dust and vanity. A shadow even in health, Disquieted with pride, Or rack'd with care, he heaps up wealth Which unknown heirs divide. What seek I now, O Lord ? My hope is in thy name ; Blot out my sins from thy record, Nor give me up to shame. Dumb at thy feet I lie, For Thou hast brought me low : Remove thy judgments, lest I die ; I faint beneath thy blow. At thy rebuke, the bloom Of man's vain beauty flies ; And grief shall, like a moth, consume All that delights our eyes. Have pity on my fears, Hearken to my request, Turn not in silence from my tears, But give the mourner rest. A stranger, Lord ! with Thee, I walk on pilgrimage, Where all my fathers once, like me, Sojourn'd from age to age. SONGS OF ZION. O spare me yet, I pray ! Awhile my strength restore, Ere I am surnmon'd hence away, And seen on earth no more. PSALM XLIL No. 1. As the hart, with eager looks, Panteth for the water-brooks, So my soul, athirst for Thee, Pants the living God to see : When, O when, with filial fear, Lord ! shall I to Thee draw near ? Tears my food by night, by day Grief consumes my strength away ; While his craft the Tempter plies, " Where is now thy God ?" he cries ; This would sink me to despair, But I pour my soul in prayer. For in happier times I went Where the multitude frequent : I, with them, was wont to bring Homage to thy courts, my King ! I, with them, was wont to raise Festal hymns on holy days. Why art thou cast down, my soul ? God, thy God, shall make thee whole: Why art thou disquieted ? God shall lift thy fallen head ; And his countenance benign Be the saving health of thine. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XLIL -No. 2. HEARKEN, Lord, to my complaints, For my soul within me faints ; Thee, far off, I call to mind, In the land I left behind, Where the streams of Jordan flow, Where the heights of Hermon glow Tempest-tost, my failing bark Founders on the ocean dark ; Deep to deep around me calls, With the rush of water-falls ; While I plunge to lower caves, Overwhelm'd by all thy waves. Once the morning's earliest light Brought thy mercy to my sight, And my wakeful song was heard Later than the evening bird ; Hast Thou all my prayers forgot ? Dost Thou scorn, or hear them not ? Why, my soul, art thou perplex'd ? Why with faithless trouble vex'd ? Hope in God, whose saving name Thou shall joyfully proclaim, When his countenance shall shine Through the clouds that darken thine PSALM XLIII. No. 3. [CONTINUATION OF PSALM XLII.] JUDGE me, Lord, in righteousness ; Plead for me in my distress : Good and merciful Thou art, Bind this bleeding, broken heart ; SONGS OF ZION. Cast me not despairing hence, Be thy love my confidence. Send thy light and truth to guide Me, too prone to turn aside, On thy holy hill to rest, In thy tabernacles blest ; There, to God, my chiefest joy, Praise shall all my powers employ. Why, my soul, art thou dismay'd ? Why of earth or hell afraid ? Trust in God ; disdain to yield, While o'er thee He casts his shield, And his countenance divine Sheds the light of Heaven on thine. PSALM XLVL No. 1. GOD is our refuge and defence, In trouble our unfailing aid ; Secure in his omnipotence, What foe can make our soul afraid ? Yea, though the earth's foundations rock, And mountains down the gulf be hurPd, His people smile amid the shock, They look beyond this transient world. There is a river pure and bright, Whose streams make glad the heavenly plains ; Where, in eternity of light, The city of our God remains. Built by the word of his command, With his unclouded presence blest, Firm as his throne the bulwarks stand ; There is our home, our hope, our rest. SONGS OF ZION. Thither let fervent faith aspire ; Our treasure and our heart be there : Oh for a seraph's wing of fire ! No, on the mightier wings of prayer, We reach at once the last retreat, And, ranged among the ransom' d throng, Fall with the Elders at his feet, Whose name alone inspires their song. Ah, soon, how soon ! our spirits droop ; Unwont the air of heaven to breathe : Yet God in very deed .will stoop, And dwell Himself with men beneath. Come to thy living temples, then, As in the ancient times appear ; Let earth be paradise again, And man, O God ! thine image here. PSALM XL VI. No. 2. COME and behold the works of God, What desolations he will make ; In vengeance when He wields his rod, The heathen rage, their kingdoms quakf- He utters forth his voice ; 'tis felt ; Like wax the world's foundations melt The Lord of Hosts is in the field, The God of Jacob is our shield. Again he maketh wars to cease, He breaks the bow, unpoints the spear, And burns the chariot ; joy and peace In all his glorious march appear : Silence, O Earth ! thy Maker own Ye Gentiles, He is God alone ; The Lord of Hosts is in the field The God of Jacob is our shield SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XL VII. EXTOL the Lord, the Lord most high, King over all the earth ; Exalt his triumphs to the sky In songs of sacred mirth. Where'er the sea-ward rivers run, His banner shall advance, And every realm beneath the sun Be his inheritance. God is gone up with loud acclaim. And trumpets' tuneful voice ; Sing praise, sing praises to his name { Sing praises, and rejoice ! Sing praises to our God ! sing praise To every creature's King ! His wondrous works, his glorious ways, All tongues, all kindred sing. God sits upon his holy throne, God o'er the heathen reigns ; His truth through all the world is known, That truth his throne sustains. Princes around his footstool throng, Kings in the dust adore ; Earth and her shields to God belong : Sing praises evermore ! PSALM XLVIII. JEHOVAH is great, and great be his praise ; In the city of God He is King ; Proclaim ye his triumphs in jubilant lays, On the mount of his holiness sing. SONGS OF ZION. The joy of the earth, from her beautiful height, Is Zion's impregnable hill ; The Lord in her temple still taketh delight, God reigns in her palaces still. At the sight of her splendour, the kings of the earth Grew pale with amazement and dread ; Fear seized them like pangs of a premature birth ; They came, they beheld her, and fled. Thou breakest the ships from the sea-circled climes, When the storm of thy jealousy lowers ; As our fathers have told of thy deeds, in their times, So, Lord, have we witness'd in ours. In the midst of thy temple, O God ! hath our mind Remember'd thy mercy of old ; Let thy name, like thy praise, to no realm be confined Thy power may all nations behold. Let the daughters of Judah be glad for thy love, The mountain of Zion rejoice, For Thou wilt establish her seat from above, Wilt make her the throne of thy choice. Go, walk about Zion, and measure the length, Her walls and her bulwarks mark well ; Contemplate her palaces, glorious in strength, Her towers and their pinnacles tell. Then say to your children : Our stronghold is tried This God is our God to the end ; His people for ever his counsels shall guide, His arm shall for ever defend. PSALM LI. HAVE mercy on me, O my God ! In loving-kindness hear my prayer ; Withdraw the terror of thy rod ; Lord ! in thy tender mercy, spare SONGS OF ZION. Offences rise where'er I look ; But I confess their guilt to Thee : Blot my transgressions from thy book, Cleanse me from mine iniquity. Whither from vengeance can I run ? Just are thy judgments, Lord, and right: For all the evil I have done, I did it only in thy sight. Shapen in frailty, born in sin, From error how shall I depart ? Lo, thou requires! truth within ; Lord ! write thy truth upon my heart. Me through the blood of sprinkling make Pure from defilement, white as snow; Heal me for my Redeemer's sake; Then joy and gladness I shall know. A perfect heart in me create, Renew my soul in innocence ; Cast not the suppliant from thy gate, Nor take thine Holy Spirit hence. Thy consolations, as of old, Now to my troubled mind restore ; By thy free Spirit's might uphold And guide my steps, to fall no more. Then sinners will I teach thy ways, And rebels to thy sceptre bring ; Open my lips, O God ! in praise, So shall my mouth thy goodness sing. Not streaming blood, nor purging fire, Thy righteous anger can appease ; Burnt-offerings thou dost not require, Or gladly I would render these. The broken heart in sacrifice, Alone may thine acceptance meet ; My heart, O God ! do not despise, Broken and contrite, at thy feet SONGS OF ZION. PSALM LXIII. O GOD ! Thou art my God alone, Early to Thee my soul shall cry ; A pilgrim in a land unknown, A thirsty land whose springs are dry. Oh that it were as it hath been, When, praying in the holy place, Thy power and glory I have seen, And mark'd the footsteps of thy grace ! Yet, through this rough and thorny maze, I follow hard on Thee, my God ! Thine hand unseen upholds my ways, I safely tread where Thou hast trod. Thee, in the watches of the night, When I remember on my bed, Thy presence makes the darkness light, Thy guardian wings are round my head. Better than life itself thy love, Dearer than all beside to me ; For whom have I in heaven above, Or what on earth compared with Thee ? Praise with my heart, my mind, my voice, For all thy mercy I will give ; My soul shall still in God rejoice, My tongue shall bless Thee while I live. PSALM LXIX. GOD ! be merciful to me, For my spirit trusts in Thee, And to Thee, her refuge, springs : Be the shadow ef thy wings SONGS OF ZION. 7 Round the trembling sinner cast, Till the storm is overpast. From the water-floods that roll Deep and deeper round my soul, Me, thine arm almighty take, For thy loving-kindness' sake : If thy truth from me depart, Thy rebuke would break my heart. Foes increase, they close me round, Friend nor comforter is found ; Sore temptations now assail, Hope, and strength, and courage fail ; Turn not from thy servant's grief. Hasten, Lord ! to my relie*. Poor and sorrowful am I ; Set me, O my God ! on high : Wonders Thou for me hast wrought ; Nigh to death my soul is brought ; Save me, Lord ! in mercy save, Lest I sink below the grave PSALM LXX. HASTEN, Lord, to my release, Haste to help me, O my God ! Foes, like armed bands, increase ; Turn them back the way they trod. Dark temptations round me press, Evil thoughts my soul assail ; Doubts and fears, in my distress, Rise, till flesh and spirit fail. Those that seek Thee shall rejoice ; I am bow'd with misery ; T4 SONGS OF ZION. Yet I make thy law my choice ; Turn, my God ! and look on me. Thou mine only Helper art, My Redeemer from the grave ; Strength of my desiring heart, Do not tarry, haste to save ! PSALM LXXI. LORD ! I have put my trust in Thee, Turn not my confidence to shame ; Thy promise is a rock to me, A tower of refuge is thy name. Thou hast upheld me from the womb ; Thou wert my strength and hope in youth ; Now, trembling, bending o'er the tomb, I lean upon thine arm of truth. Though I have long outlived my peers, And stand amid the world alone, (A stranger, left by former years,) I know my God, by Him am known. Cast me not off in mine old age, Forsake me not in my last hour ; The foe hath not foregone his rage, The lion ravens to devour. Not far, my God, not far remove : Sin and the world still spread their snares ; Stand by me now, or they will prove Too crafty yet for my gray hairs. Me, through what troubles hast Thou brought ' Me, with what consolations crown'd ! Now be thy last deliverance wrought ; My soul in peace with Thee be found ' SONGS OF ZION. PSALM LXXII. HAIL to the Lord's anointed ! Great David's greater Son : Hail, in the time appointed, His reign on earth begun ! He comes to break oppression, To let the captive free ; To take away transgression, And rule in equity. He comes, with succour speedy, To those who suffer wrong ; To help the poor and needy, And bid the weak be strong ; To give them songs for sighing, Their darkness turn to light, Whose souls, condemn'd and dying, Were precious in his sight. By such shall He be feared, While sun and moon endure, Beloved, obey'd, revered ; For He shall judge the poor, Through changing generations, With justice, mercy, truth, While stars maintain their stations, Or moons renew their youth. He shall come down, like showers Upon the fruitful earth, And love, joy, hope, like flowers, Spring in his path to birth ; Before Him, on the mountains, Shall Peace the herald go ; And righteousness in fountains From hill to valley flow. Arabia's desert-ranger, To Him shall bow the knee ; SONGS OF ZION. The Ethiopian stranger His glory come to see ; With offerings of devotion, Ships from the isles shall meet To pour the wealth of ocean In tribute at his feet. Kings shall fall down before Him, And gold and incense bring ; All nations shall adore Him, His praise all people sing ; For He shall have dominion O'er river, sea, and shore, Far as the eagle's pinion Or dove's light wing can soar. For Him shall prayer unceasing, And daily vows ascend ; His kingdom still increasing, A kingdom without end ; The mountain-dews shall nourish A seed in weakness sown, Whose fruit shall spread and flourish, And shake like Lebanon. O'er every foe victorious, He on his throne shall rest, From age to age more glorious, All-blessing and all-blest ; The tide of time shall never His covenant remove ; His name shall stand for ever : That name to us is Love. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM LXXIII. TRULY the Lord is good to those, The pure in heart, who love his name ; But as for me, temptation rose, And well-nigh cast me down to shame. For I was envious at their state, When I beheld the wicked rise, And flourish in their pride elate, No fear of death before their eyes. Not troubled they, as others are, Nor plagued, with all their vain pretence ; Pride like a chain of gold they wear, And clothe themselves with violence. Swoln are their eyes with wine and lust, For more than heart can wish have they ; In fraud and tyranny they trust To make the multitude their prey. Their mouth assails the heavens ; their tongue Walks arrogantly through the earth ; Pleasure's full cups to them are wrung ; They reel in revelry and mirth. " Who is the Lord, that we should fear L^st He our dark devices know ? Who the Most High, that He should hear, Or heed, the words of men below ?" Thus cry the mockers, flush'd with health, Exulting while their joys increase ; These are th' ungodly ; men, whose wealth Flows like a river, ne'er to cease. And have I cleansed my heart in vain, And wash'd in innocence my hands? All day afflicted, I complain, All night I mourn in str ; *ening bands 78 SONGS OF ZiON. Too painful this for me to view, Till to thy temple, Lord, I went, And then their fearful end I knew, How suddenly their light is spent. Surely, in slippery places set, Down to perdition these are hurl'd ; Snared in the toils of their own net, A spectacle to all the world. As, from a dream when one awakes, The phantoms of the brain take flight ; So, when thy wrath in thunder breaks, Their image shall dissolve in night. Abash'd, my folly then I saw ; I seem'd before Thee like a brute ; Smit to the heart, o'erwhelm'd with awe, I bow'd, and worshipp'd, and was mute. Yet Thou art ever at my side ; O ! still uphold me, and defend ; Me by thy counsel Thou shall guide, And bring to glory in the end. Whom have I, Lord ! in heaven but Thee ? On earth shall none divide my heart ; Then fail my flesh, my spirit flee, Thou mine eternal portion art. PSALM LXXVII. IN time of tribulation, Hear, Lord ! my feeble cries ; With humble supplication, To Thee my spirit flies : My heart with grief is breaking, Scarce can my voice complain ; Mine eyes, with tears kept waking, Still watch and weep in vain SONGS OF ZION. 7 The days of old, in vision, Bring vanish'd bliss to view ; The years of lost fruition Their joys in pangs renew : Remember'd songs of gladness, Through night's lone silence brought. Strike notes of deeper sadness, And stir desponding thought. Hath God cast off for ever ? Can time his truth impair ? His tender mercy, never Shall I presume to share ? Hath He his loving-kindness Shut up in endless wrath ? No ; this is my own blindness, That cannot see his path. I call to recollection The years of his right hand ; And, strong in his protection, Again through faith I stand : Thy deeds, O Lord ! are wonder ; Holy are all thy ways ; The secret place of thunder Shall utter forth thy praise. Thee, with the tribes assembled, O God ! the billows saw ; They saw Thee, and they trembled, Turn'd, and stood still, with awe : The clouds shot hail -they lighten'd ; The earth reel'd to and fro ; Thy fiery pillar brighten'd The gulf of gloom below. Thy way is in great waters, Thy footsteps are not known ; Let Adam's sons and daughters Confide in Thee alone : SONGS OF ZION. Through the wild sea Thou leddest Thy chosen flock of yore ; Still on the waves Thou treadest, And thy redeem'd pass o'er. PSALM LXXX. OF old, O God ! thine own right hand A pleasant vine did plant arid train ; Above the hills, o'er all the land, It sought the sun, and drank the rain. Its boughs like goodly cedars spread, Forth to the river went the root ; Perennial verdure crown'd its head, It bore, in every season, fruit. That vine is desolate and torn, Its scions in the dust are laid ; Rank o'er the ruin springs the thorn, The wild boar wallows in the shade. Lord God of Hosts ! thine ear incline, Change into songs thy people's fears ; Return, and visit this thy vine, Revive thy work amidst the years. The plenteous and continual dew Of thy rich blessing here descend ; So shall thy vine its leaf renew, Till o'er the earth its branches bend. Then shall it flourish wide and far, While realms beneath its shadow rest ; The morning and the evening star Shall mark its bounds from east to west. So shall thine enemies be dumb, Thy banish'd ones no more enslaved, The fulness of the Gentiles come, And Israel's youngest born be saved. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM LXXXIV. How amiable, how fair, O Lord of Hosts ! to me Thy tabernacles are ! My flesh cries out for Thee ; My heart and soul, with heaven-ward fire To Thee, the living God, aspire. The sparrow here finds place To build her little nest ; The swallow's wandering race Hither return and rest ; Beneath thy roof their young ones cry, And round thine altar learn to fly. Thrice-blessed they who dwell Within thine house, my God ! Where daily praises swell, And still the floor is trod By those, who in thy presence bow, By those, whose King and God art Thou. Through Baca's arid vale, As pilgrims when they pass, The well-springs never fail, Fresh rain renews the grass ; From strength to strength they journey still, Till all appear on Zion's hill. Lord God of Hosts ! give ear, A gracious answer yield ; O God of Jacob ! hear ; Behold, O God ! our shield ; Look on thine own Anointed One, And save through thy beloved Son. Lord ! I would rather stand A keeper at thy gate, Than on the king's right hand In tents of worldly state ; W SONGS OK ZION. One day within thy courts, one day, Is worth a thousand cast away. God is a sun of light, Glory and grace to shed ; God is a shield of might, To guard the faithful head : O Lord of Hosts ! how happy ne, The man who puts his trust in Thee ! PSALM XC- LORD ! Thou hast been thy people's rest Through all their generations, Their refuge when by danger prest, Their hope in tribulations ; Thou, ere the mountains sprang to birth, Or ever thou hadst form'd the earth, Art God from everlasting ! The sons of men return to clay, When Thou the word hast spoken, As with a torrent borne away, Gone like a dream when broken : A thousand years are, in thy sight, But as a watch amid the night, Or yesterday departed. At morn, we flourish like the grass With dew and sunbeams lighted, o 7 But ere the cool of evening pass, The rich array is blighted : Thus do thy chastisements consume Youth's tender leaf and beauty's bloom We fade at thy displeasure. Our life is like the transient breath That tells a mournful story ; SONGS OF Z1ON. 83 Early or late, stopt short by death ; And where is all our glory ? Our days are threescore years and ten, And if the span be lengthen'd then, Their strength is toil and sorrow. Lo ! thou hast set before thine eyes All our misdeeds and errors ; Our secret sins from darkness rise, At thine awakening terrors : Who shall abide the trying hour ? Who knou-s the thunder of thy power ? We flee unto thy mercy. Lord ! teach us so to mark our days, That we may prize them duly ; So guide our feet in Wisdom's ways, That- we may love Thee truly ; Return, O Lord, our griefs behold, And with thy goodness, as of old, O satisfy us early ! Restore our comforts as our fears, Our joy as our affliction ; Give to thy church, through changing years, Increasing benediction ; Thy glorious beauty there reveal. And with thy perfect image seal Thy servants and their labours. PSALM XCI. CALL Jehovah thy salvation, Rest beneath th' Almighty's shade ; In his secret habitation Dwell, nor ever be dismay'd : There no tumult can alarm thee, Thou shall dread no hidden snare ; SONGS OF Z10N. Guile nor violence can harm thee, In eternal safeguard there. From the sword at noon-day wasting, From the noisome pestilence, In the depth of midnight blasting, God shall be thy sure defence : Fear not thou the deadly quiver, When a thousand feel the blow ; Mercy shall thy soul deliver, Though ten thousand be laid low. Only with thine eye, the anguish Of the wicked thou shalt see, When by slow disease they languish, When they perish suddenly : Thee, though winds and waves be swelling, God, thine hope, shall bear through all ; Plague shall not come nigh thy dwelling, Thee no evil shall befall. He shall charge his angel-legions, Watch and ward o'er thee to keep, Though thou walk through hostile legions, Though in desert-wilds thou sleep : On the lion vainly roaring, On his young thy foot shall tread ; And, the dragon's den exploring, Thou shalt bruise the serpent's head. Since, with pure and warm affection, Thou on God hast set thy love, With the wings of his protection He will shield thee from above : Thou shalt call on Him in trouble, He will hearken, He will save, Here for grief reward thee double Crown with life beyond the grave. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM XCIII. THE Lord is King ; upon his throne He sits in garments glorious ; Or girds for war his armour on, In every field victorious : The world came forth at his command ; Built on his word, its pillars stand ; They never can be shaken. The Lord was King ere time began, His reign is everlasting ; When high the floods in tumult ran, Their foam to heaven up-casting, He made the raging waves his path ; The sea is mighty in its wrath, But God on high is mightier. Thy testimonies, Lord ! are sure ; Thy realm fears no commotion, Firm as the earth, whose shores endure Th' eternal toil of ocean : And Thou with perfect peace wilt bless Thy faithful flock ; for holiness Becomes thine house for ever. PSALM XCV. O COME, let us sing to the Lord, In God our salvation rejoice ; In psalms of thanksgiving record His praise, with one spirit, one voice ! For Jehovah is King, and He reigns, The God of all gods, on his throne ; The strength of the hills he maintains, The ends of the earth are his own. SONGS OF ZION. The sea is Jehovah's ; He made The tide its dominion to know ; The land is Jehovah's ; He kid Its solid foundations below : Oh come, let us worship, and kneel Before our Creator, our God ! The people who serve Him with zeal, The flock whom He guides with his rod As Moses, the fathers of old Through the sea and the wilderness led. His wonderful works we behold, With manna from heaven are fed : To-day, let us hearken, to-day, To the voice that yet speaks from above. And all his commandments obey, For all his commandments are love. His wrath let us fear to provoke, To dwell in his favour unite ; His service is freedom, his yoke Is easy, his burden is light : But, oh ! of rebellion beware, Rebellion, that hardens the breast, Lest God in his* anger should swear That we shall not enter his rest. PSALM C. BE joyful in God, all ye lands of the earth ! Oh, serve Him with gladness and fear ! Exult in his presence with music and mirth, With love and devotion draw near. For Jehovah is God, and Jehovah alone, Creator and ruler o'er all ; And we are his people, his sceptre we own; His sheep, and we follow his call. SONGS OF ZION. 87 Oh, enter his gates with thanksgiving and song, Your vows in his temple proclaim ; His praise with melodious accordance prolong, And bless his adorable name ! For good is the Lord, inexpressibly good, And we are the work of his hand ; His mercy and truth from eternity stood. And shall to eternity stand PSALM CIII. O MY soul ! with all thy powers, Bless the Lord's most holy name ; O my soul ! till life's last hours, Bless the Lord, his praise proclaim : Thine infirmities He heal'd ; He thy peace and pardon seal'd. He with loving-kindness crown'd thee, Satisfied thy mouth with good ; From the snares of death unbound thee, Eagle-like thy youth renew'd : Rich in tender mercy He, Slow to wrath, to favour free. He will not retain displeasure, Though awhile He hide his face ; Nor his God-like bounty measure By our merit, but his grace : As the heaven the earth transcends, Over us his care extends. Far as east and west are parted, He our sins hath sever'd thus : As a father, loving-hearted, Spares his son, He spareth us ; For He knows our feeble frame, He remembers whence we came. SONGS OF 2.1ON. Mark the field-flower, where it groweth, Frail and beautiful ; anon, When the south-wind softly bloweth, Look again, the flower is gone ! Such is man ; his honours pass, Like the glory of the grass From eternity, enduring To eternity, the Lord, Still his people's bliss insuring, Keeps his covenanted word : Yea, with truth and righteousness, Children's children He will bless. As in heaven, his throne and dwelling, King on earth he holds his sway ; Angels ! ye in strength excelling, Bless the Lord, his voice obey ; All his works beneath the pole, Bless the Lord, with thee, my soul ! PSALM CIV. MY soul ! adore the Lord of might : With uncreated glory crown'd, And clad in royalty of light, He draws the curtain'd heavens around ; Dark waters his pavilion form, Clouds are his car, his wheels the storm. Lightning before Him, and behind Thunder rebounding to and fro ; He walks upon the winged wind, And reins the blast, or lets it go : This goodly globe his wisdom plann'd, He fix'd the bounds of sea and land. SONGS OF ZION. When o'er a guilty world, of old, He summon'd the avenging main, At his rebuke the billows roll'd Back to their parent gulf again ; The mountains raised their joyful heads, Like new creations, from their beds. Thenceforth the self-revolving tide Its daily fall and flow maintains ; Through winding vales fresh fountains glide, Leap from the hills, or course the plains ; There thirsty cattle throng the brink, And the wild asses bend to drink. Fed by the currents, fruitful groves Expand their leaves, their fragrance fling, Where the cool breeze at noon-tide roves, And birds among the branches sing ; Soft fall the showers when day declines, And sweet the peaceful rainbow shines. Grass through the meadows, rich with flowers, God's bounty spreads for herds and flocks : On Lebanon his cedar towers, The wild goats bound upon his rocks ; Fowls in his forests build their nests, The stork amid the pine-tree rests. To strengthen man, condemn'd to toil, He fills with grain the golden ear ; Bids the ripe olive melt with oil, And swells the grape, man's heart to cheer ; The moon her tide of changing knows, Her orb with lustre ebbs and flows The sun goes down, the stars come out ; He maketh darkness, and 'tis night ; Then roam the beasts of prey about, The desert rings with chase and flight ; The lion, and the lion's brood, Look up, and God provides them food SONGS OF ZION. Morn dawns far east ; ere long the sun Warms the glad nations with his beams ; Day, in their dens, the spoilers shun, And night returns to them in dreams : Man from his couch to labour goes, Till evening brings again repose ! How manifold thy works, O Lord ! In wisdom, power, and goodness wrought ; The earth is with thy riches stored, And ocean with thy wonders fraught : Unfathom'd caves beneath the deep For Thee their hidden treasures keep. There go the ships, with sails unfurl'd, By Thee directed on their way ; There, in his own mysterious world, Leviathan delights to play ; And tribes that range immensity, Unknown to man, are known to Thee. By Thee alone the living live ; Hide but thy face, their comforts fly ; They gather what thy seasons give ; Take Thou away their breath, they die : Send forth thy Spirit from above, And all is life again, and love. Joy in his works Jehovah takes, Yet to destruction they return : He looks upon the earth, it quakes ; Touches the mountains, and they burn : Thou, God ! for ever art the same ; I AM is thine unchanging name. SONGS OF 2ION. PSALM C VII. No. 1. THANK and praise Jehovah's name, For his mercies, firm and sure, From eternity the same, To eternity endure. Let the ransom'd thus rejoice, Gather'd out of every land ; As the people of his choice, Pluck'd from the destroyer's hand. In the wilderness astray, Hither, thither, while they roam, Hungry, fainting by the way, Far from refuge, shelter, home : Then unto the Lord they cry, He inclines a gracious ear, Sends deliverance from on high, Rescues them from all their fear To a pleasant land He brings, Where the vine and olive grow, Where from flowery hills the springs Through luxuriant valleys flow. Oh that men would praise the Lord, For his goodness to their race ; For the wonders of his word, And the riches of his grace ! PSALM CVIL No. 2. THEY that mourn in dungeon gloom, Bound in iron and despair, Sentenced to a heavier doom Than the pangs they suffer there , M SONGS OF ZION. Foes and rebels once to God, They disdain'd his high control ; Now they feel his fiery rod Striking terrors through their soul. Wrung with agony, they fall To the dust, and, gazing round, Call for help ; in vain they call, Help, nor hope, nor friend are found. Then unto the Lord they cry ; He inclines a gracious ear, Sends deliverance from on high, Rescues them from all their fear. He restores their forfeit breath, Breaks in twain the gates of brass, From the bands and grasp of death, Forth to liberty they pass. Oh that men would praise the Lord, For his goodness to their race ; For the wonders of his word, And the riches of his grace ! PSALM CVIL No. 3. FOOLS, for their transgression, see Sharp disease their youth consume, And their beauty, like a tree, Withering o'er an early tomb. Food is loathsome to their taste, And the eye revolts from light ; All their joys to ruin haste, As the sunset into night. Then unto the Lord they cry ; He inclines a gracious ear, SONGS OF ZION. Sends deliverance from on high, Rescues them from all their fear. He with health renews their frame, Lengthens out their number'd days ; Let them glorify his name With the sacrifice of praise. O that men would praise the Lord, For his goodness to their race ; For the wonders of his word, And the riches of his grace. PSALM CVIL No. 4. THEY that toil upon the deep, And, in vessels light and frail, O'er the mighty waters sweep With the billow and the gale, Mark what wonders God performs, When He speaks, and unconfined. Rush to battle all his storms In the chariots of the wind. Up to heaven their bark is whirl'd On the mountain of the wave ; Down as suddenly 'tis hurl'd To th' abysses of the grave. To and fro they reel, they roll, As intoxicate with wine ; Terrors paralyze their soul, Helm they quit, and hope resign. Then unto the Lord they cry ; He inclines a gracious ear, Sends deliverance from on high, Rescues them from all their fear. SONGS OF ZION Calm and smooth the surges flow, And, where deadly lightning ran, God's own reconciling bow Metes the ocean with a span. O that men would praise the Lord, For his goodness to their race ; For the wonders of his word, And the riches of his grace. PSALM CVIL No. 5. LET the elders praise the Lord, Him let all the people praise, When they meet with one accord In his courts, on holy days. God for sin will vengeance take, Smite the earth with sore distress, And a fruitful region make As the howling wilderness. But when mercy stays his hand, Famine, plague, and death depart ; Yea, the rock, at his command, Pours a river from its heart. There the hungry dwell in peace, Cities build, and plough the ground, While their flocks and herds increase, And their corn and wine abound Should they yet rebel, his arm Lays their pride again in dust : But the poor he shields from harm, And in Him the righteous trust. Whoso wisely marks his will, Thus evolving bliss from wo, Shall, redeem'd from every ill, All his loving-kindness know. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXIII. SERVANTS of God ! in joyful lays Sing ye the Lord Jehovah's praise ; His glorious name let all adore, From age to age, for evermore. Blest be that name, supremely blest, From the sun's rising to its rest ; Above the heavens his power is known, Through all the earth his goodness shown. Who is like God ? so great, so high, He bows Himself to view the sky, And yet, with condescending grace, Looks down upon the human race. He hears the uncomplaining moan Of those who sit and weep alone ; He lifts the mourner from the dust, And saves the poor in him that trust. Servants of God ! in joyful lays Sing ye the Lord Jehovah's praise : His saving name let all adore, From age to age, for evermore. PSALM CXVI. I LOVE the Lord ; He lent an ear When I for help implored ; He rescued me from all my fear ; Therefore I love the Lord. Bound hand and foot with chains of sin, Death dragg'd me for his prey ; The pit was moved to take me in ; All hope was far away. SONGS OF ZION. I cried, in agony of mind, " Lord ! I beseech Thee, save :" He heard rne; Death his prey resign'd, And Mercy shut the grave. Return, my soul, unto thy rest, From God no longer roam ; His hand hath bountifully blest, His goodness call'd thee home. What shall I render unto Thee, My Saviour in distress, For all thy benefits to me, So great and numberless ? This will I do, for thy love's sake, And thus thy power proclaim ; The sacramental cup I'll take, And call upon thy name. Thou God of covenanted grace, Hear and record my vow, While in thy courts I seek thy face* And at thine altar bow : Henceforth to Thee myself I give ; With singte heart and eye, To walk before Thee while I live, And bless Thee when I die. PSALM CXVII. ALL ye Gentiles, praise the Lord , All ye lands, your voices raise : Heaven and earth, with loud accord, Praise the Lord, for ever praise ! For his truth and mercy stand, Past, and present, and to be SONGS OF ZION. Like the years of his right hand, Like his own eternity. Praise Him, ye who know his love, Praise Him from the depths beneath, Praise Hun in the heights above ; Praise your Maker, all that breathe ! PSALM CXXI. ENCOMPASS'D with ten thousand ills, Press'd by pursuing foes, I lift mine eyes unto the hills, From whence salvation flows. My help is from the Lord, who made And governs earth and sky ; I look to his almighty aid, And ever-watching eye. He who thy soul in safety keeps Shall drive destruction hence ; The Lord thy keeper never sleeps ; The Lord is thy defence. The sun, with his afflictive light, Shall harm thee not by day ; Nor thee the moon molest by night Along thy tranquil way. Thee shall the Lord preserve from sin, And comfort in distress ; Thy going out and coming in, The Lord thy God shall bless. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXXII. . GLAD was my heart to hear My old companions say, Come in the house of God appear, For 'tis an holy day. Our willing feet shall stand Within the temple door, While young and old, in many a band, Shall throng the sacred floor. Thither the tribes repair, Where all are wont to meet, And, joyful in the house of prayer, Bend at the mercy seat. Pray for Jerusalem, The city of our God ; The Lord from heaven be kind to tnem That love the dear abode. Within these walls may peace And harmony be found ; Zion ! in all thy palaces, Prosperity abound ! For friends and brethren dear, Our prayer shall never cease ; Oft as they meet for worship here, God send his people peace ! PSALM CXXIV. THE Lord is on our side, His people now may say ; The Lord is on our side, or we Had fallen a sudden prev SONGS OF ZION. Sin, Satan, Death, and Hell, Like fire, against us rose ; Then had the flames consumed us quick, But God repell'd our foes. Like water they return'd, When wildest tempests rave ; Then had the floods gone o'er our head. But God was there to save. From jeopardy redeem'd, As from the lion's wrath, Mercy and truth uphold our life, And safety guards our path. Our soul escaped the toils ; As from the fowler's snare, The bird, with disentangled wings, Flits through the boundless air. Our help is from the Lord ; In Him we will confide, Who stretch'd the heavens, who fonn'd the earth ; The Lord is on our side. PSALM CXXV. WHO make the Lord of Hosts their tower, Shall like Mount Zion be, Immovable by mortal power, Built on eternity. As round about Jerusalem The guardian mountains stand, So shall the Lord encompass them Who hold by his right hand. The rod of wickedness shall ne'er Against the just prevail, Lest innocence should find a snare, And tempted virtue fail. 100 SONGS OF ZION. Do good, O Lord ! do good to those Who cleave to Thee in heart, Who on thy truth alone repose, Nor from thy law depart. While rebel souls, who turn aside, Thine anger shall destroy, Do Thou in peace thy people guide To thine eternal joy. PSALM CXXVI. WHEN God from sin's captivity Sets his afflicted people free, Lost in amaze, their mercies seem The transient raptures of a dream. But soon their ransom'd souls rejoice, And mirth and music swell their voice, Till foes confess, nor dare condemn, " The Lord hath done great things for them.' They catch the strain and answer thus, " The Lord hath done great things for us ; Whence gladness fills our hearts, and songs, Sweet and spontaneous, wake our tongues " Turn our captivity, O Lord ! As southern rivers, at thy word, Bound from their channels, and restore Plenty, where all was waste before. Who sow in tears shall reap in joy ; Naught shall the precious seed destroy, Nor long the weeping exiles roam, But bring their sheaves rejoicing home SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXXX. OUT of the depths of wo To Thee, O Lord ! I cry ; Darkness surrounds me, but I know That Thou art ever nigh. Then hearken to my voice, Give ear to my complaint ; Thou bidst the mourning- soul rejoice, Thou comfortest the faint. I cast my hope on Thee, Thou canst, Thou wilt forgive; Wert Thou to mark iniquity, Who in Thy sight could live ? Humbly on Thee I wait, Confessing all my sin ; Lord ! I am knocking at thy gate ; Open, and take me in ! Like them, whose longing eyes Watch, till the morning star (Though late, and seen through tempests) nse. Heaven's portals to unbar : Like them I watch and pray, And, though it tarry long, Catch the first gleam of welcome day Then burst into a song. Glory to God above ! The waters soon will cease ; For, lo ! the swift returning dove Brings home the sign of peace. Though storms his face obscure, And dangers threaten loud, Jehovah's covenant is sure, His bow is in the cloud. 101 SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXXXI. LORD ! for ever at thy side Let my place and portion be ; Strip me of my robe of pride, Clothe me with humility. Meekly may my soul receive All thy Spirit hath reveal'd ; Thou hast spoken, I believe, Though the prophecy were seal'd. duiet as a weaned child, Weaned from the mother's breast ; By no subtilty beguiled, On thy faithful word I rest. Saints ! rejoicing evermore, In the Lord Jehovah trust ; Him in all his ways adore, Wise, and wonderful, and just. PSALM CXXXIL No. 1. GOD in his temple let us meet, ; < Low on our knees before Him bend ; Here hath He fix'd his mercy-seat, Here on his Sabbath we attend. Arise into thy resting-place, Thou, and thine ark of strength, O Lord 1 Shine through the veil, we seek thy face ; Speak, for we hearken to thy word. With righteousness thy priests array ; Joyful thy chosen people be ; Let those who teach and those who pray, Let all be holiness to Thee ! SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXXXIL No. 2. LORD ! for thy servant David's sake, Perform thine oath to David's Son ; Thy truth Thou never wilt forsake ; Look on thine own Anointed One ! The Lord in faithfulness hath sworn His throne for ever to maintain ; From realm to realm, the sceptre borne Shall stretch o'er earth Messiah's reigv. Zion, my chosen hill of old, My rest, my dwelling, my delight, With loving-kindness I uphold, Her walls are ever in my sight. I satisfy her poor with bread, Her tables with abundance bless, Joy on her sons and daughters shed, And clothe her priests with righteousness There David's horn shall bud and bloom, The branch of glory and renown ; His foes my vengeance shall consume ; Him with eternal years I crown. PSALM CXXXIII. How beautiful the sight Of brethren who agree In friendship to unite, And bonds of charity ! 'Tis like the precious ointment, shed O'er all his robes, from Aaron's head. 'Tis like the dews that fill The cups of Hermon's flowers ; Or Zion's fruitful hill, Bright with the drops of showers. 104 SONGS OF ZION. When mingling odours breathe around, And glory rests on all the ground. For there the Lord commands Blessings, a boundless store, From his unsparing hands ; Yea, life for evermore ; Thrice happy they who meet above To spend eternity in love ! PSALM CXXXIV. BLESS ye the Lord with solemn rite, In hymns extol his name, Ye who, within his house by night, Watch round the altar's flame. Lift up your hands amid the place Where burns the sacred sign, And pray, that thus Jehovah's face O'er all the earth may shine. From Zion, from his holy hill, The Lord our Maker send The perfect knowledge of his will, Salvation without end ! PSALM CXXXVII. WHERE Babylon's broad rivers roll, In exile we sat down to weep, For thoughts of Zion o'er our soul Came, like departed joys, in sleep, Whose forms to sad remembrance rise. Though fled for ever from our eyes SONGS OF ZION. 1(0 Our harps upon the willows hung, Where, worn with toil, our limbs reclined ; The chords, untuned and trembling, rung With mournful music on the wind ; While foes, insulting o'er our wrongs, Cried, " Sing us one of Zion's songs." How can we sing the songs we love, Far from our own delightful land ? If I prefer thee not above My chiefest joy, may this right hand, Jerusalem ! forget its skill, My tongue be dumb, my pulse be still ! PSALM CXXXVIII. THEE will I praise, O Lord ! in light, Where seraphim surround thy throne ; With heart and soul, with mind and might, Thee will I worship, Thee alone. I bow toward thy holy place ; For Thou, in mercy still the same, Hast magnified thy word of grace O'er all the wonders of thy name. In peril, when I cried to Thee, How did thy strength renew my soul ! Kings and their realms might bend the knee, Could I to man reveal the whole. Thou, Lord ! above all height art high, Yet with the lowly wilt Thou dwell ; The proud far off, thy jealous eye Shall mark, and with a look repel. Though in the depth of trouble thrown, With grief I shall not always strive , Thou wilt thy suffering servant own, And Thou the contrite heart revive. 100 SONGS OF ZION. Thy purpose then in me fulfil ; Forsake me not, for I am thine ; Perfect in me thine utmost will ; Whate'er it be, that will be mine ! PSALM CXXXIX. SEARCHER of hearts ! to Thee are known The inmost secrets of my breast ; At home, abroad, in crowds, alone, Thou mark'st my rising and my rest, My thoughts far off, through every maze, Source, stream, and issue, all my ways. No word that from my mouth proceeds, Evil or good, escapes thine ear ; Witness Thou art to all my deeds, Before, behind, for ever near : Such knowledge is for me too high ; I live but in my Maker's eye. How from thy presence should I go, Or whither from thy Spirit flee, Since all above, around, below, Exist in thine immensity ? If up to heaven I take my way, I meet Thee in eternal day. If in the grave I make my bed With worms and dust, lo ! Thou art there; If, on the wings of morning sped, Beyond the ocean I repair, I feel thine all-controlling will, And thy right hand upholds me still. " Let darkness hide me," if I say, Darkness can no concealment be ; SONGS OF ZION. W7 Night, on thy rising, shines like day, Darkness and light are one with Thee ; For Thou mine embryo-form didst view Ere her own babe my mother knew. In me thy workmanship display'd, A miracle of power I stand ; Fearfully, wonderfully made, And framed in secret by thy hand ; I lived, ere into being brought, Through thine eternity of thought. How precious are thy thoughts of peace. O God, to me ! how great the sum ! New every morn, they never cease ; They were, they are, and yet shall come, In number and in compass more Than ocean's sand, or ocean's shore. Search me, O God ! and know my heart ; Try me, my secret soul survey, And warn thy servant to depart From every false and evil way ; So shall thy truth my guidance be To life and immortality. PSALM CXLI. LORD ! let my prayer like incense rise, And when I lift my hands to Thee, As on the evening sacrifice, Look down from heaven, well-pleased, on me Set Thou a watch to keep my tongue, Let not my heart to sin incline ; Save me from men who practise wrong, Let me not share their mirth and wine. 1<* SONGS OF ZTON. But let the righteous, when I stray, Smite me in love ; his strokes are kind ; His mild reproofs, like oil, allay The wounds they make, and heal the mind. Mine eyes are unto Thee, my God ! Behold me humbled in the dust ; I kiss the hand that wields the rod, I own thy chastisements are just. But oh ! redeem me from the snares With which the world surrounds my feet, Its riches, vanities, and cares, Its love, its hatred, its deceit. PSALM CXLII. I CRIED unto the Lord most just, Most merciful in prayer ; I cried unto Him from the dust, I told Him my despair. When sunk my soul within me, then Thou knew'st the path I chose ; Unharm'd I pass'd the spoiler's den, I walk'd through ambush'd foes. I look'd for friends, there was not one In sorrow to condole ; I look'd for refuge, there was none ; None cared for my soul. I cried unto the Lord ; I said, Thou art my refuge ; Thou, My portion ; hasten to mine aid ; Hear and deliver now. Now, from the dungeon, from the grave. Exalt thy suppliant's head ; Thy voice is freedom to the slave, Revival to the dead. SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXLIII. HEAR me, O Lord ! in my distress, Hear me in truth and righteousness ; For, at thy bar of judgment tried, None living can be justified. Lord ! I have foes without, within, The world, the flesh, indwelling sin, Life's daily ills, temptation's power, And Satan roaring to devour. These, these my fainting soul surround, My strength is smitten to the ground ; Like those long dead, beneath their weight Crush'd is my heart and desolate. Yet, in the gloom of silent thought, I call to mind what God hath wrought, Th^ wonders in the days of old, Thy mercies great and manifold. Ah! then to Thee I stretch my hands, Like failing streams through desert-sands ; I thirst for Thee, as harvest plains Parch'd by the summer thirst for rains. O ! let me not thus hopeless lie, Like one condemn'd at morn to die, But with the morning may I see Thy loving-kindness visit me. Teach me thy will, subdue my own ; Thou art my God, and Thou alone ; By thy good Spirit guide me still, Safe from all foes, to Zion's hill. Release my soul from trouble, Lord ! Quicken and keep me by thy word ; May all its promises be mine ! Be Thou my portion 1 am thine. 10 SONGS OF ZION. PSALM CXLV. THE Lord is gracious to forgive, And slow to let his anger move ; The Lord is good to all that live, And all his tender mercy prove. Thy works, O God ! thy praise proclaim ; The saints thy wond'rous deeds shall sing, Extol thy power, and to thy name Homage from every nation bring. Glorious in majesty art Thou ; Thy throne for ever shall endure ; Angels before thy footstool bow, Yet dost Thou not despise the poor. The Lord upholdeth them that fall ; He raiseth men of low degree ; O God ! our health, the eyes of all, Of all the living, wait on Thee. Thou openest thine exhaustless store, And rainest food on every land ; The dumb creation Thee adore, And eat their portion from thy hand. Man, most indebted, most ingrate, Man only, is a rebel here ; Teach him to know Thee, ere too late ; Teach him to love Thee, and to fear. PSALM CXLVI. PRAISE ye the Lord from pole to pole ! Praise Thou the Lord, my soul, my soul J Long as I live, my voice shall raise, My pulse repeat, the song of praise. SONGS OF ZION. Ill In men, in princes, put no trust ; Their breath goes forth, they turn to dust ; Then, fleeting like the flower of grass, Perish their thoughts, their glories pass. Thrice happy he whose heart can say " The God of Jacob is my stay ; The Lord of Hosts my help shall be, Who made the heaven, the earth, the sea." The Lord avenges the opprest, He sends the wandering stranger rest ; The Lord unbinds the prisoner's chain, He sets the fallen up again. The Lord restores the blind to sight, Gives strength to them that have no might ; The Lord relieves, in their distress, The widow and the fatherless. The Lord supplies the poor with food, He loves to do the righteous good ; But for the wicked, in his wrath, He turns destruction on their path. The Lord shall reign for evermore, Thy King, O Zion ! Him adore ; Let unborn generations raise To God, thy God, the song of praise ! PSALM CXLVIII. HERALDS of creation ! cry, Praise the Lord, the Lord most high! Heaven and earth ! obey the call, Praise the Lord, the Lord of all. For He spake, and forth from night Sprang the universe to light ; He commanded, Nature heard, And stood fast upon his word H SONGS OF ZION. Praise Him, all ye hosts above ! Spirits perfected in love ; Sun and moon ! your voices raise, Sing, ye stars ! your Maker's praise. Earth ! from all thy depths below, Ocean's hallelujahs flow ; Lightning, vapour, wind, and storm, Hail and snow, his will perform. Vales and mountains ! burst in song ; Rivers ! roll with praise along ; Clap your hands, ye trees ! and hail God, who comes in every gale. Birds ! on wings of rapture, soar, Warble at his temple-door ; Joyful sounds, from herds and flocks, Echo back, ye caves and rocks ! Kings ! your Sovereign serve with awe , Judges ! own his righteous law ; Princes ! worship Him with fear ; Bow the knee, all people here ! Let his truth by babes be told, And his wonders by the old ; Youths and maidens ! in your prime, Learn the lays of heaven betime. High above all height his throne, Excellent his name alone ; Him let all his works confess ! Him let every being bless ' NARRATIVES. FAREWELL TO WAR: BEING A PROLOGUE TO " LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM," AND 'ARNOLD DE WINKELRIED, OR THE PATRIOT'S PASS- WORD." PEACE to the trumpet ! no more shall my breath Sound an alarm in the dull ear of death, Nor startle to life from the truce of the tomb The relics of heroes, to combat till doom. Let Marathon sleep to the sound of the sea, Let Hannibal's spectre haunt Cannae for me ; Let Cressy and Agincourt tremble with corn, And Waterloo blush with the beauty of morn ; I turn not the furrow for helmets and shields, Nor sow dragon's teeth in their old fallow fields ; I will not, as bards have been wont, since the flood, With the river of song swell the river of blood, The blood of the valiant, that fell in all climes, The song of the gifted, that hallow'd all crimes, All crimes in the war-fiend incarnate in one ; War, withering the earth war, eclipsing the sun, Despoiling, destroying, since discord began, God's works and God's mercies, man's labours and man Yet war have I loved, and of war have I sung, With my heart in my hand and my soul on my tongue ; With all the affections that render life dear, With the throbbings of hope and the flutterings of fear, Of hope, that the sword of the brave might prevail, Of fear, lest the arm of the righteous should fail. But what was the war that extorted my praise ? What battles were fought in my chivalrous lays ? 10* n 114 NARRATIVES. The war against darkness contending with light ; The war against violence trampling down right ; The battles of patriots, with banner unfurl'd, To guard a child's cradle against an arrn'd world ; Of peasants that peopled their ancestors' graves, Lest their ancestors' homes should be peopled by slaves. I served, too, in wars and campaigns of the mind ; My pen was the sword, which I drew for mankind ; In war against tyranny throned in the West, Campaigns to enfranchise the negro oppress'd ; In war against war, on whatever pretence, For glory, dominion, revenge or defence, While murder and perfidy, rapine and lust, Laid provinces desolate, cities in dust. Yes, war against war was ever my pride ; My youth and my manhood in waging it died, And age, with its weakness, its wounds, and its scars, Still finds my free spirit unquench'd as the stars, And he who would bend it to war must first bind The waves of the ocean, the wings of the wind ; For I call it not war, which war's counsels o'erthrows, I call it not war which gives nations repose ; 'Tis judgment brought down on themselves by the proud, Like lightning, by fools, from an innocent cloud. I war against all war ; nor, till my pulse cease, Will I throw down my weapons, because I love peace, Because I love liberty, execrate strife, And dread, most of all deaths, that slow death call'd life, Dragg'd on by a vassal, in purple or chains, The breath of whose nostrils, the blood in whose veins, He calls not his own, nor holds from his God, While it hangs on a king's or a sycophant's nod. Around the mute trumpet, no longer to breathe War-clangours, my latest war-chaplets I wreathe, Then hang them aloof on the time-stricken oak, And thus, in its shadow, heaven's blessing invoke : LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM. ii& " Lord God ! since the African's bondage is o'er, And war in our borders is heard of no more, May never, while Britain adores Thee, again The malice of fiends or the madness of men, Break the peace of our land, and by villanous wrong Find a field for a hero, a hero for song." 1834. LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM A. D. 1643. " lo vo gridando, Pace ! pace ! pace !" PETRARCA, Canzone agli principi d' Italia, Esortazione alia Pace, A. D. 1344." "In this unhappy battle (of Newbury) was slain the Lord Viscount Falkland, a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight of conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed war, than that single loss, it must be most infamous and execrable to all posterity. 'Turpe mori, post te, solo non posse dolore.' " ***** " From the entrance into that unnatural war, his natural cheerfulness and vivacity grew clouded ; and a kind of sadness and dejection stole upon him, which he had never been used to. After the King's return to Oxford, and the furious resolution of the two Houses not to admit any treaty for peace, those indispositions which had before touched him grew into a perfect habit of uncheerfulness ; and he who had been so exactly easy and affable to all men, that his face and countenance was always present, and vacant to his com- pany, and held any cloudness or less pleasantness of the visage a kind of rude- ness or incivility, became on a sudden less communicable, and thence very sad, pale, and exceedingly affected with the spleen. In his clothes and habit, which he minded before with more neatness, and industry, and expense, than is usual to so great a soul, he was not only incurious, but too negligent ; and in his recep- tion of suitors, and the necessary and casual addresses to his place, (being then Secretary of State to King Charles,) so quick, and sharp, and severe, that there wanted not some men (strangers to his nature and disposition) who believed him proud and imperious, from which no mortal man was ever more free." ***** " When there was any overture or hope of peace he would be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to press any thing which he thought might *"I go exclaiming, Peace! peace! peace!" From PETRARCH'S Canzone to tin Prince* of Italy, entitled " -in Exhortation to Peace." 110 NARRATIVES. promote it ; and, sitting among his friends, often, after a deep silence, and fre- quent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, ingeminate the word ' Peace 1 peace!' and would profess that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart." CLARENDON'S History, vol. ii. part i. WAR, civil war, was raging like a flood, England lay weltering in her children's blood ; Brother with brother waged unnatural strife, Sever'd were all the charities of life : Two passions virtues they assumed to be, Virtues they were, romantic loyalty, And stern, unyielding patriotism, possess'd Divided empire in the nation's breast ; As though two hearts might in one body reign, And urge conflicting streams from vein to vein. On either side the noblest spirits fought, And highest deeds on either side were wrought : Hampden in battle yesterday hath bled, Falkland to-morrow joins the immortal dead , The one for freedom perish'd not in vain ; The other falls a courtier without stain. \ 'Twas on the eve of Newbury's doubtful fight ; O'er marshall'd foes came down the peace of night, Peace which, to eyes in living slumber seal'd, The mysteries of the night to come reveal'd, When that throng'd plain, now warm with heaving breath, Should lie in cold, fix'd apathy of death. Falkland from court and camp had glid away, With Chaucer's shade* through Speenham's woods to stray. And pour in solitude, without control, Through the dun gloom, the. anguish of his soul. Falkland, the plume of England's chivalry, The just, the brave, the generous, and the free 1 Nay, task not poetry to tell his praise, Twine but a wreath of transitory bays, * The estate of Speenhamland, near Newbury, Berks, is said to have been the property and residence of Chaucer. LORD FALKLAND S DREAM. 117 Tc crown him, as he lives, from age to age, In Clarendon's imperishable page ; Look there upon the very man, and see What Falkland was, what thou thyself shouldst be ; Patriot and loyalist, who veil'd to none, He loved his country and his king in one, And could no more, in his affections, part That wedded pair, than pluck out half his heart : Hence every wound that each the other gave, Brought their best servant nearer to the grave. Thither he hasten'd, withering in his prime, The worm of sorrow wrought the work of time ; And England's woes had sunk him with their weight, Had not the swifter sword foreclosed his date. In sighs for her his spirit was exhaled, He wept for her till power of weeping fail'd ; Pale, wasted, nerveless, absent, he appear'd To haunt the scenes which once his presence cheer'd ; As though some vampire from its cerements crept, And drain'd health's fountain nightly while he slept ; But he slept not; sleep from his eyelids fled, All restless as the ocean's foam his bed : The very agony of war, the guilt Of blood by kindred blood in hatred spilt, Crush'd heart and hope ; till foundering, tempest-toss'd, From gulfs to deeper gulfs, himself he lost. Yet when he heard the drum to battle beat, First at the onset, latest in retreat, Eager to brave rebellion to the face, Or hunt out peril in its hiding-place. Falkland was slow to harm th' ignoble crowd, He sought to raise the fall'n, strike down the proud, Nor stood there one for parliament or throne More choice of meaner lives, more reckless of his own. Oft from his lips a shrill, sad moan would start, And cold misgivings creep around his heart, When he beheld the plague of war increase, And but one word found utterance "Peace! peace! peace!" 118 NARRATIVES. """ ' "" '" " "" ' ^^^a That eve he wander'd in his wayward mood, Through thoughts more wildering than the maze of wood, Where, when the moon-beam flitted o'er his face, He seem'd th' unquiet spectre of the place : Rank thorns and briers, the rose and woodbine's bloom Perplex'd his path through checker'd light and gloom; Himself insensible of gloom or light, Darkness within made all around him night ; Till the green beauty of a little glade, That open'd up to heaven, his footsteps stay'd : Eye, breath, and pulse, the sweet enchantment felt, His heart with tenderness began to melt ; Trembling, he lean'd against a Druid oak, Whose boughs bare token of the thunder-stroke, With root unshaken, and with bole unbroke : Then thus, while hope almost forgot despair, Breathed his soul's burden on the tranquil air : " O, Britain ! Britain ! to thyself be true ; Land which the Roman never could subdue : Oft though he pass'd thy sons beneath the yoke, As oft thy sons the spears they bow'd to broke ; Others with home-wrought chains he proudly bound. His own too weak to fetter thee he found : Though garrison 5 d by legions, legions fail'd To quell thy spirit, thy spirit again prevail'd. By him abandon'd, island-martyr ! doom'd To prove the fires of ages unconsumed, Though Saxon, Dane, Norwegian, Gallic hordes, In dire succession, gave thee laws and lords, Conquer'd themselves by peace, in every field, The victor to the vanquish'd lost his shield. To win my country, to usurp her throne, Canute and William must forsake their own ; Invading rivers thus roll back the sea, Then lose themselves in its immensity. " But 'twas thine own distractions lent them aid, Enslaved bv strangers, because self-betray'd ; LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM. lit Still self-distracted ; yet should foreign foe Land now, another spirit thy sons would show ; King, nobles, parliament, and people, all, Like the Red Sea's returning waves, would fall, And with one burst o'erwhelm the mightiest host. Would such a foe this hour were on thy coast ! " How oft, O Albion ! since those twilight times, Have wars intestine laid thee waste with crimes ! Tweed's borderers were hereditary foes, Nor can one crown even now their feuds compose ; Thy peasantry were serfs to vassal lords, Yoked with their oxen, tether'd to their swords : Round their cross-banners kings thy bowmen ranged, Till York and Lancaster their roses changed. Those days, thank Heaven ! those evil days are past, Yet wilt thou fall by suicide at last ? O England ! England ! from such frenzy cease, And on thyself have mercy, Peace ! peace ! peace !" " Who talks of Peace ? sweet Peace is in her grave : Save a lone widow, from her offspring save !" Exclaim'd a voice, scarce earthly, in his ear, Withering his nerves with unaccustom'd fear; His hand was on his sword, but ere he drew The starting blade, a suppliant cross'd his view ; Forth from the forest rush'd a female form, Like the moon's irna^e hurrying through the storm ; Down in a moment at his feet, aghast, Lock'd to his smiting knees, herself she cast. Rent were her garments, and her hair unbound, All fleck'd with blood from many an unstaunch'd wound. Inflicted by the very hands that press'd, In rose-lipp'd infancy, her yearning breast ; And ever and anon she look'd behind, As though pursuing voices swell'd the wind ; Then shriek'd insanely, "Peace is in her grave ! Save a lost mother, from her children save !" Wan with heart-sickness, ready to expire, Her cheeks were ashes, but her eye was fire, 120 NARRATIVES. Fire fix'd, as through the horror of the mine, Sparks from the diamond's still water shine ; So where the cloud of death o'ershadowing hung, Light in her eye from depth of darkness sprung, Dazzling his sight, and kindling such a flame Within his breast as nature could not name ; He knew her not ; that face he never saw ; He loved her not, yet love, chastised by awe And reverence, with mysterious terror mix'd, His looks on hers in fascination fix'd. [at length : "Who ? whence ? what wouldst thou ?" Falkland cried His voice inspired her ; up she rose in strength, Gather'd her robe and spread her locks, to hide The unsightly wounds ; then fervently replied : " Behold a matron, widow'd and forlorn, Yet many a noble son to me was born, Flowers of my youth, and morning-stars of joy ! They quarrell'd, fought, and slew my youngest boy ; Youngest and best beloved ! I rush'd between, My darling from the fratricides to screen ; He perish'd ; from my arms he dropp'd in death ; I felt him kiss my feet with his last breath ; The swords that smote him, flashing round my head, Pierced me, the murderers saw my blood, and fled, Their parent's blood ; and she, unconscious why She sought thee out, came here came here to die. 'Tis a strange tale ; 'tis true, and yet 'tis not ; Follow me, Falkland, thou shall see the spot, See my slain boy, my life's own life, the pride And hope of his poor mother, but he died ; He died, and she did not ; how can it be? But I'm immortal ! Falkland, come and see." She spake ; while Falkland, more and more amazed, On her ineffable demeanour gazed ; So vitally her form and features changed, He thought his own clear senses were deranged ; Outraged and desolate she seem'd no more ; He follow'd ; stately, she advanced before ; LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM. The thickets, at her touch, gave way, and made A wake of moonlight through their deepest shade. Anon he found himself on Newbury's plain, Walking among the dying and the slain ; At every step in blood his foot was dyed, He heard expiring groans on every side. The battle-thunder had roll'd by ; the smoke Was vanish'd ; calm and bright the morning broke, While such estrangement o'er his mind was cast, As though another day and night had past. There, midst the nameless crowd, oft met his view An eye, a countenance, which Falkland knew, But knew not him ; that eye to ice congeal'd, That countenance by death's blank signet seal'd : Rebel and royalist alike laid low, Where friend embraced not friend, but foe grasp'd foe Falkland had tears for each, and patriot sighs, For both were Britons in that Briton's eyes. Silent before him trod the lofty dame, Breathlessly looking round her, till they came Where shatter'd fences mark'd a narrow road : Tracing that line, with prostrate corpses strow'd, She turn'd their faces upward, one by one, Till, suddenly, the newly-risen sun Shot through the level air a ruddy glow, That fell upon a visage white as snow ; Then with a groan of agony, so wild, As if the soul within her spake, " My child ! My child !" she said, and pointing, shrinking back, Made way for Falkland. Prone along the track (A sight at once that warm'd and thrill'd with awe) The perfect image of himself he saw, Shape, feature, limb, the arms, the dress he wore, And one wide, honourable wound before. Then flash'd the fire of pride from Falkland's eye, ** 'Tis glorious for our country thus to die ; 'Tis sweet to leave an everlasting name, A heritage of clear and virtuous fame." 11 122 NARRATIVES. While thoughts like these his maddening brain possess'd, And lightning pulses thunder'd through his breast ; While Falkland living stood o'er Falkland dead, Fresh at his feet the corse's death-wound bled, The eye met his with inexpressive glance, Like the sleep-walker's in benumbing trance, And o'er the countenance of rigid clay, The flush of life came quick, then pass'd away ; A momentary pang convulsed the chest, As though the heart, awaking from unrest, Broke with the effort ; all again was still ; Chill through his tingling veins the blood ran, chill. "Can this," he sigh'd, "be virtuous fame and clear? Ah ! what a field of fratricide is here ! Perish who may, 'tis England, England falls ; Triumph who will, his vanquish'd country calls, As I have done, as I will never cease, While I have breath and being Peace ! peace ! peace !" Here stoop'd the matron o'er the dead man's face, Kiss'd the cold lips, then caught in her embrace The living Falkland ; as he turn'd to speak, He felt his mother's tears upon his cheek : He knew her, own'd her, and at once forgot All but her earliest love, and his first lot. Her looks, her tones, her sweet caresses, then Brought infancy and fairy land again, Youth in the morn and maidenhood of life, Ere fortune curst his father's house with strife, And in an age when nature's laws were changed, Mother and son, as heaven from earth, estranged.* " Oh, Falkland ! Falkland !" when her voice found speech, The lady cried ; then took a hand of each, And joining clasp'd them in her own, " My son ! Behold thyself, for thou and he are one." * There had been unhappy divisions in the family, both with respect to an inheritance which Falkland held from bis grandfather, and the religion of hit mother, who wag a Roman Catholic. LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM. m . The dead man's hand grasp'd Falkland's with such force, He fell transform'd into that very corse, As though the wound which slew his counterpart That moment sent the death-shot through his heart. When from that ecstasy he oped his eyes, He thought his soul translated to the skies ; The battle-field had disappear'd ; the scene Had changed to beauty, silent and serene ; City nor country look'd as heretofore ; A hundred years and half a hundred more Had travell'd o'er him while entranced he lay ; England appear'd as England at this day, In arts, arms, commerce, enterprise, and power, Beyond the dreams of his devoutest hour, When, with prophetic call, the patriot brought Ages to come before creative thought. With doubt, fear, joy, he look'd above, beneath, Felt his own pulse, inhaled, and tried to breathe Next raised an arm, advanced a foot, then broke Silence, yet only in a whisper spoke : " My mother ! are we risen from the tomb ? Is this the morning of the day of doom ?" No answer came ; his mother was not there, But, tall and beautiful beyond compare, One, who might well have been an angel's bride, Were angels mortal, glitter'd at his side. It seem'd some mighty wizard had unseal'd The book of fate, and in that hour reveal'd The object of a passion all his own, A lady unexistent, or unknown, Whose saintly image, in his heart enshrined, Was but an emanation of his mind, The ideal form of glory, goodness, truth, Imbodied now in all the flush of youth, Yet not too exquisite to look upon : He kneel'd to kiss her hand, the spell was gone. Even while his brain the dear illusion cross'd, Her form of soft humanity was lost. 124 NARRATIVES. Then, nymph nor goddess, of poetic birth, E'er graced Jove's heaven, or stept on classic earth, Like her in majesty ; the stars came down To wreathe her forehead with a fadeless crown ; The sky enrobed her with ethereal blue, And girt with orient clouds of many a hue ; The sun, enamour'd of that loveliest sight, So veil'd his face with her benigner light, That woods and mountains, valleys, rocks, and streams, Were only visible in her pure beams. While Falkland, pale and trembling with surprise, Admired the change, her stature seem'd to rise, Till from the ground, on which no shadow spread, To the arch'd firmament she rear'd her head ; And in th' horizon's infinite expanse, He saw the British islands at a glance, With intervening and encircling seas, O'er which, from every port, with every breeze, Exulting ships were sailing to all realms, Whence vessels came, with strangers at their helms, On Albion's shores all climes rejoiced to meet, And pour their native treasures at her feet. Then Falkland, in that glorious dame, descried Not a dead parent, nor a phantom bride, But her who ruled his soul, in either part, At once the spouse and mother of his heart, His country, thus personified, in grace And grandeur unconceived, before his face. Then spake a voice, as from the primal sphere, Heard by his spirit rather than his ear : " Henceforth let civil war for ever cease ; Henceforth, my sons and daughters, dwell in peace : Amidst the ocean-waves that never rest, My lovely Isle, be thou the halcyon's nest ; Amidst the nations, evermore in arms, Be thou a haven, safe from all alarms ; Alone immovable 'midst ruins stand, Th' unfailing hope of every failing land - THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD. us To thee for refuge kings enthroned repair; Slaves flock to breathe the freedom of thine air. Hither, from chains and yokes, let exiles bend Their footsteps ; here the friendless find a friend ; The country of mankind shall Britain be, The home of peace, the whole world's sanctuary." The pageant fled ; 'twas but a dream : he woke, And found himself beneath the Druid-oak, Where first the phantom on his vigil broke. Around him gleam'd the morn's reviving light ; But distant trumpets summon'd to the fight, And Falkland slept among the slain at night. 1831. THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD. on the achievement of Arnold de Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, in which the Swigs insurgents secured tlm freedom of their country, against the power of Austria, in the fourteenth century. " MAKE way for liberty !" he cried, Made way for liberty, and died. In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood ; A wall, where every conscious stone Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown, A rampart all assaults to bear, Till time to dust their frames should wear : A wood, like that enchanted grove* In which with fiends Rinaldo strove, Where every silent tree possess'd A spirit imprison' d in its breast, Which the first stroke of coming strife Might startle into hideous life : So still, so dense, the Austrians stood, A living wall, a human wood. * Oerusalemme Liberata, c*nto xviii. 1W NARRATIVES. Impregnable their front appears, All-horrent with projected spears, Whose polish'd points before them shine, From flank to flank, one brilliant line, Bright as the breakers' splendours run Along the billows to the sun. Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their father-land ; Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks th' ignoble yoke, And beat their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords, And what insurgent rage had gain'd, In many a mortal fray maintain'd. MarshalPd once more, at freedom's call They came to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquer'd, he who fell, Was deem'd a dead or living Tell ; Such virtue had that patriot breathed, So to the soil his soul bequeathed, That wheresoe'er his arrows flew, Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod. And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath ; The fire of conflict burn'd within, The battle trembled to begin ; Yet while the Austrians held their ground, Point for assault was nowhere found ; Where'er th' impatient Switzers gazed. Th' unbroken line of lances blazed ; That line 'twere suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet : How could they rest within their graves, To leave their homes the haunts of slaves ? Would they not feel their children tread, With clank/ng chains, above their head ? THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD. m It must not be ; this day, this hour Annihilates th' invader's power ; All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly, she cannot yield, She must not fall ; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boast, ^Yet every freeman was a host, And felt as 'twere a secret known, That one should turn the scale alone, While each unto himself was he, On whose sole arm hung victory. It did depend on one indeed ; Behold him, Arnold Winkelried ; There sounds not to the trump of fame The echo of a nobler name. Unmark'd he stood amidst the throng, In rumination deep and long, Till you might see, with sudden grace, The very thought come o'er his face, And by the motion of his form Anticipate the bursting storm, And by th' uplifting of his brow Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. But 'twas no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won ; " Make way for liberty !" he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide, As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten spears he swept within his grasp ; "Make way for liberty !" he cried, Their keen points cross'd from side to side ; He bow'd amidst them, like a tree, And thus made way for liberty. Swift to the breach his comrades fly, "Make way for liberty !" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart, 128 NARRATIVES. While, instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic seized them all ; An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow. Thus Switzerland again was free ; Thus death made way for liberty. Redcar, 1827. I THE VOYAGE OF THE BLIND. " It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark." MILTON'S Lyeidas. THE subject of the following poem was suggested by certain well-authenticated facts, published at Paris, in a medical journal, some years ago ; of which a few particulars may be given here. "The ship Le Rodenr, Captain B., of two hundred tons burden, left Havre on the 24th of January, 1819, for the coast of Africa, and reached her dentination on the 14th of March following, anchoring at Bonny, on the river Calabir. The crew, consisting of twenty-two men, enjoyed good health during the outward voyage, and during their stay at Bonny, where they continued till th.> 6th of April. They had observed no trace of ophthalmia among the natives ; iiri.l it was not until fifteen days after they had set sail on the return voyage, and thrf >>gs which he once believed and fear'd, Then scorn'd as idle names, Death, judgment, conscience, hell conspire, With thronging images of fire, To light up guilt in flames. Who cried for mercy in that hour, And found it on the desert sea ? Who to the utmost grasp of power Wrestled with life's last enemy ? Who, Marius-like, defying fate, (Marius on fallen Carthage) sate * THE VOYAGE OF THE BLIND. 1M Who, through a hurricane of fears, Clung to the hopes of future years ? And who, with heart unquail'd, Look'd from time's trembling precipice Down on eternity's abyss, Till breath and footing fail'd ? Js there among this crew not one, One whom a widow 'd mother bare, Who mourns far off her only son, And pours for him her soul in prayer ? Even now, when o'er his soften'd thought, Remembrance of her love is brought, To soothe death's agony, and dart A throb of comfort through his heart, Even now a mystic knell Sounds through her pulse ; she lifts her eye, Sees a pale spirit passing by, And hears his voice, " farewell !" Mother and son shall meet no more : The floating tomb of its own dead, That ship shall never reach a shore ; But, far from track of seamen led, The sun shall watch it, day by day, Careering on its lonely way ; Month after month, the moon shine pale On falling -mast and riven sail ; The stars, from year to year, Mark the bulged flanks, and sunken deck, Till not a ruin of the wreck On ocean's face appear. 1890. 1 NARRATIVES. AN EVERY-DAY TALE. Written for a benevolent Society in the metropolis, the object of which is to relieve poor women during the first month of their widowhood, to preserve what little property they may have from wreck and ruin, in a season of embarrass- ment, when kindness and good counsel are especially needed ; and, so far a may be practicable, to assist the destitute with future means of maintaining themselves and their fatherless children. " The short and simple annals of the poor." CRAY. MINE is a tale of every day, Yet turn not thou thine ear away ; For 'tis the bitterest thought of all, The worm-wood added to the gall, That such a wreck of mortal bliss, That such a weight of wo as this, Is no strange thing, but, strange to say ! The tale, the truth of every day. At Mary's birth, her mother smiled Upon her first, last, only child, And, at the sight of that young flower, Forgot the anguish of her hour ; Her pains return' d ; she soon forgot Love, joy, hope, sorrow, she was not. Her partner stood, like one bereft Of all, not all, their babe was left ; By the dead mother's side it slept, Slept sweetly ; when it woke, it wept. " Live, Mary, live, and I will be Father and mother both to thee !" The mourner cried, and while he spake, His breaking heart forebore to break ; Faith, courage, patience, from above, Flew to the help of fainting love. While o'er his charge that parent yearn'd, All woman's tenderness he learn'd, All woman's waking, sleeping care, That sleeps not to her babe, her prayer, AN EVERY-DAY TALE. Of power to bring upon its head, The richest blessings heaven can shed ; All these he learn'd, and lived to say, " My strength was given me as my day." So the Red Indian of those woods, That echo to Lake Erie's floods, Reft of his consort in the wild, Became the mother of his child ! Nature (herself a mother) saw His grief, and loosed her kindliest law : Warm from its fount life's stream, propell'd, His breasts with sweet nutrition swell'd, At whose strange springs, his infant drew Milk, as the rose-bud drinks the dew. Mary from childhood rose to youth, In paths of innocence and truth ; Train'd by her parent, from her birth, To go to heaven by way of earth, She was to him, in after-life, Both as a daughter and a wife. Meekness, simplicity, and grace, Adorn'd her speech, her air, her face ; The spirit, through its earthly mould, Broke, as the lily's leaves unfold ; Her beauty open'd on the sight, As a star trembles into light. Love found that maiden ; love will find Way to the coyest maiden's mind ; Love found and tried her many a year, With hope deferr'd, and boding fear ; To the world's end her hero stray'd ; Tempests and calms his bark delay'd ; What then could her heart-sickness soothe ? " The course of true love ne'er ran smooth !" Her bosom ached with drear suspense, Till sharper trouble drove it thence : Affliction smote her father's brain, And he became a child again. 12* 198 NARRATIVES. Ah ! then, the prayers, the pangs, the tears, He breathed, felt, shed on her young years, That duteous daughter well repaid, Till in the grave she saw him laid, Beneath her mother's church-yard stone : There first she felt herself alone ; But while she gazed on that cold heap, Her parents' bed, and could not weep, A still small whisper seem'd to say, " Strength shall be given thee as thy day :" Then rush'd the tears to her relief; A bow was in the cloud of grief. Her wanderer now, from clime to clime, Return'd, unchanged by tide or time, True as the morning to the sun ; Mary and William soon were one ; And never rang the village bells With sweeter falls or merrier swells, Than while the neighbours, young and old, Stood at their thresholds, to behold, And bless them, till they reach'd the spot, Where woodbines girdled Mary's cot, Where throstles, perch'd on orchard trees, Sang to the hum of garden bees : And there no longer forced to roam William found all the world at home ; Yea, more than all the world beside, A warm, kind heart to his allied. Twelve years of humble life they spent, With food and raiment well content ; In flower of youth and flush of health, They envied not voluptuous wealth ; The wealth of poverty was theirs, Those riches without wings or snares, Which honest hands, by daily toil, May dig from every generous soil. A little farm, while William till'd, Mary her household cares fulfill'd ; AN EVERY-DAY TALE. And love, joy, peace, with guileless mirth, Sate round the table, warm'd their hearth ; Whence rose, like incense, to the skies, Morning and evening sacrifice, And contrite spirits found, in prayer, That home was heaven, for God was there. Meanwhile the May-flowers on their lands Were yearly pluck'd by younger hands ; New comers watch'd the swallows float, And mock'd the cuckoo's double note ; Till, head o'er head, in slanting line, They stood, a progeny of nine, That might be ten ; but ere that day, The father's life was snatch' d away ; Faint from the field one night he came ; Fever had seized his sinewy frame, And left the strong man, when it pass'd, Frail as the sere leaf in the blast ; A long, long winter's illness, bow'd His head ; spring-daisies deck'd his shroud. Oh ! 'twas a bitter day for all, The husband's, father's funeral ; The dead, the living, and the unborn Met there, were there asunder torn. Scarce was he buried out of sight, Ere his tenth infant sprang to light, And Mary, from her child-bed throes, To instant, utter ruin rose ; Harvests had fail'd, and sickness drain'd Her frugal stock-purse, long retain'd ; Rents, debts, and taxes all fell due, Claimants were loud, resources few, Small, and remote ; yet time and care Her shatter' d fortunes might repair, If but a friend, a friend in need, Such friend would be a friend indeed, Would, by a mite of succour lent, Wrongs irretrievable prevent ! NARRATIVES. She look'd around for such an one, And sigh'd but spake not, "Is there none?" Oh ! if he come not ere an hour, All will elapse beyond her power, And homeless, helpless, hopeless, lost, Mary on this cold world be tost With all her babes i ***** Came such a friend ! I must not say ; Mine is a tale of every day : But wouldst thou know the worst of all, The wormwood mingled with the gall, Go visit thou, in their distress, The widow and the fatherless, And thou shalt find such wo as this, Such breaking up of earthly bliss, Is no strange thing, but, strange to say ! The tale the truth of every day. Go, visit thou, in their distress, THE WIDOW and the FATHERLESS. 1830. A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. " O woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please; When pain anil anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!" SCOTT'S Marmion, canto vl. PART I. HE had no friend on earth but thee ; No hope in heaven above ; By day and night, o'er land and sea, No solace but thy love : He wander'd here, he wander'd there, A fugitive like Cain ; And moum'd like him, in dark despair A brother rashly slain. A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. ill Rashly, yet not in sudden wrath, They quarrell'd in their pride ; He sprang upon his brother's path, And smote him that he died. A nightmare sat upon his brain, All stone within he felt ; A death-watch tick'd through every vein, Till the dire blow was dealt. As from a dream, in pale surprise, Waking, the murderer stood ; He met the victim's closing eyes, He saw his brother's blood : That blood pursued him on his way, A living, murmuring stream ; Those eyes before him flash'd dismay, With ever-dying gleam. In vain he strove to fly the scene, And breathe beyond that time ; Tormented memory glared between ; Immortal seem'd his crime : His thoughts, his words, his actions all Turn'd on his fallen brother ; That hour he never could recall, Nor ever live another. , To him the very clouds stood still, The ground appear'd unchanged ; One light was ever on the hill, That hill where'er he ranged : He heard the brook, the birds, the wind, Sound in the glen below ; The self-same tree he cower'd behind, He struck the self-same blow. Yet was not reason quite o'erthrown, Nor so benign his lot, To dwell in frenzied grief alone All other wo forgot : NARRATIVES. The world within and world around, Clash'd in perpetual strife ; Present and past close interwound Through his whole thread of life. That thread, inextricably spun, Might reach eternity ; For ever doing, never done, That moment's deed might be ; This was a worm that would not die, A fire unquenchable : Ah ! whither shall the sufferer fly ? Fly from a bosom-hell ? He had no friend on earth but thee, No hope in heaven above ; By day and night, o'er land and sea, No refuge but thy love ; Not time nor place, nor crime, nor shame, Could change thy spousal truth ; In desolate old age the same As in the joy of youth. Not death, but infamy, to 'scape, He left his native coast ; To death in any other shape, He long'd to yield the ghost : But infamy his steps pursued, And haunted every place, While death, though like a lover wooed, Fled from his loathed embrace. He wander'd here, he wander'd there, And she his an^ol-guide, The silent spectre of despair, With mercy at his side ; Whose love and loveliness alone Shed comfort round his gloom, Pale as the monumental stone That watches o'er a tomb A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 141 PART II. They cross'd the blue Atlantic flood ; A storm their bark assail'd ; Stern through the hurricane he stood, All hearts, all efforts fail'd : With horrid hope, he eyed the waves, That flash' d like wild-fires dim ; But ocean, midst a thousand graves, Denied a grave to him. On shore he sought delirious rest, In crowds of busy men, When suddenly the yellow pest Came reeking from its den : The city vanish'd at its breath ; He caught the taint, and lay A suppliant at the gate of death, Death spum'd the wretch away. In solitude of streams and rocks, Mountains and forests dread, Where nature's free and fearless flocks At her own hand are fed, They hid their pangs ; but oh ! to live In peace, In peace to die, Was more than solitude could give, Or earth's whole round supply. The swampy wilderness their haunt, Where fiery panthers prowl, Serpents their fatal splendours flaunt, And wolves and lynxes howl ; Where alligators throng the floods, And reptiles, venom-arm'd, Infest the air, the fields, the woods, They slept, they waked unharm'd 144 NARRATIVES. Where the Red Indians, in their ire, With havoc mark the way, Skulk in dark ambush, waste with fire, Or gorge inhuman prey : Their blood no wild marauder shed ; Secure without defence, Alike, were his devoted head, And her meek innocence. Weary of loneliness, they turn'd To Europe's carnage-field ; At glory's Moloch-shrine, he burn'd His hated breath to yield : He plunged into the hottest strife ; He dealt the deadliest blows ; To every foe exposed his life ; Powerless were all his foes. The iron thunder-bolts, with wings Of lightning, shunn'd his course ; Harmless the hail of battle rings, The bayonet spends its force ; The sword to smite him flames aloof. Descends, but strikes in vain ; His branded front was weapon-proof, He wore the mark of Cain. " I cannot live, I cannot die !" He mutter'd in despair ; " This curse of immortality, Oh, could I quit, or bear !" Of every frantic hope bereft, To meet a nobler doom, One refuge, only one, was left, To storm th' unyielding tomb. Through his own breast the passage lay, The steel was in his hand ; But fiends upstarting fenced the way, And every nerve unmann'd : A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 141 The heart that ached its blood to spill, With palsying horror died ; The arm, rebellious to his will, Hung withering at his side. O woman ! wonderful in love, Whose weakness is thy power, How did thy spirit rise above The conflict of that hour ! She found him prostrate ; not a sigh Escaped her tortured breast, Nor fell one tear-drop from her eye, Where torrents were supprest. Her faithful bosom stay'd his head, That throbb'd with fever heat ; Her eye serene compassion shed, Which his could never meet : Her arms enclasp'd his shuddering frame, While at his side she kneel'd, And utter'd nothing but his name, Yet all her soul reveal'd. Touch'd to the quick, he gave no sign By gentle word or tone ; In him affection could not shine, 'Twas fire within a stone ; Which no collision by the way Could startle into light, Though the poor heart that held it, lay Wrapt in Cimmerian night. It was not always thus ; erewhile The kindness of his youth, His brow of innocence, and smile Of unpretending truth, Had left such strong delight, that sh Would oft recall the time, And live in golden memory, Unconscious of his crime. 13 HI NARRATIVES. Though self-abandon'd now to fate, The passive prey of grief, Sullen, and cold, and desolate, He shunn'd, he spurn'd relief: Still onward m its even course Her pure affection press'd. And pour'd with soft and silent force Its sweetness through his breast. Thus Sodom's melancholy lake No turn or current knows ; Nor breeze, nor billow sounding, break The horror of repose ; While Jordan, through the sulphurous brine, Rolls a translucent stream, Whose waves with answering beauty shine To every changing beam. PART III. At length the hardest trial came, Again they cross the seas ; The waves their wilder fury tame, The storm becomes a breeze : Homeward their easy course they hold, And now in radiant view, The purple forelands, tinged with gold, Larger and lovelier grew. The vessel on the tranquil tide Then seem'd to lie at rest, While Albion, in maternal pride, Advanced with open breast To bid them welcome on the main : Both shrunk from her embrace ; Cold grew the pulse through every vein ; He turn'd away his face. A TALE WITHOUT 'A NAME. 1C Silent, apart, on deck he stands In ecstasy of wo: A brother's blood is on his hands, He sees, he hears it flow : Wilder than ocean tempest-wrought, Though deadly calm his look ; His partner read his inmost thought, And strength her limbs forsook. Then first, then last, a pang she proved Too exquisite to bear : She fell, he caught her, strangely moved, Roused from intense despair ; Alive to feelings long unknown, He wept upon her cheek, And call'd her in as kind a tone As love's own lips could speak. Her spirit heard that voice, and felt Arrested on its flight ; Back to the mansion where it dwelt, Back from the gates of light, That open'd paradise in trance, It hasten'd from afar, Quick as the startled seaman's glance Turns from the polar star. She breathed again, look'd up, and lo ! Those eyes that knew not tears, With streams of tenderness o'erflow ; That heart, through hopeless years, The den of fiends in darkness chain'd, That would not, dared not rest, Affection fervent, pure, unfeign'd, In speechless sighs express'd. Content to live, since now she knew What love believed before ; Content to live, since he was true, And lovo could ask no more, I NARAATIVtS. This vow to righteous heaven she made, " Whatever ills befall, Patient, unshrinking, undismay'd, I'll freely suffer all." They land, they take the wonted road, By twice ten years estranged ; The trees, the fields, their old abode, Objects and men had changed : Familiar faces, forms endear'd, Each well-remember'd name', From earth itself had disappear'd, Or seem'd no more the same. The old were dead, the young were old ; Children to men had sprung ; And every eye to them was cold, And silent every tongue ; Friendless, companionless, they roam Amidst their native scene ; In drearier banishment at home, Than savage climes had been. PART IV. Yet worse she fear'd ; nor long they lay In safety or suspense ; Unslmnbering justice seized her prey, And dragg'd the culprit thence : Amid the dungeon's darken'd walls, Down on the cold damp floor, A wreck of misery he falls, Close to the bolted door. And she is gone, while he remains, Bewilder'd in the gloom, To brood in solitude and chains Upon a felon's doom : A TALE \VITHOUT A NAME. Yes, she is gone, and he forlorn Must groan the night away, And long to see her face at morn, More welcome than the day. The morning comes, she re-appears With grief-dissembling wiles ; A sad serenity of tears, An agony of smiles, Her looks assume ; his spectral woes Are vanish'd at the sight ; And all within him seem'd repose, And all around him light. Never since that mysterious hour, When kindred blood was spilt, Never had aught in nature power To soothe corroding guilt, Till the glad moment when she cross'd The threshold of that place, And the wild rapture, when he lost Himself in her embrace. Even then, while on her neck he hung, Ere yet a word they spoke, As by a fiery serpent stung, Away at once he broke : Frenzy, remorse, confusion, burst In tempest o'er his brain ; He felt accused, condemn'd, accurst, He was himself again. Days, weeks, and months had mark'd the flight Of time's unwearied wing, Ere winter's long, lugubrious night Relented into spring : To him who pined for death's release, An age the space between ! To her who could not hope for peace, How fugitive the scene ! 13* NARRATIVES. In vain she chid forewarning fears, In vain repress'd her wo, Alone, unseen, her sighs and tears Would freely heave and flow : Yet ever in his sight, by day, Her looks were calm and kind, And when at evening torn away, She left her soul behind. Hark ! hark ! the judge is at the gate, The trumpets' thrilling tones Ring through the cells, the voice of fate ! Re-echo'd thence in groans : The sound hath reach'd her ear, she stands In marble-chillness dumb ; He too hath heard, and smites his hands : "I come," he cried, "I come." Before the dread tribunal now, Firm in collected pride, Without a scowl upon his brow, Without a pang to hide, He stood ; superior in that hour To recreant fear and shame ; Peril itself inspired the power To meet the worst that came. 'Twas like the tempest when he sought Fate in the swallowing flood ; 'Twas like the battle, when he fought For death through seas of blood: A violence which soon must break The heart that would not bend, A heart that almost ceased to ache In hope of such an end. On him, while every eye was fix'd, And every lip express'd, Without a voice, the rage unmix'd. That boil'd in every breast ; A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 151 It seem'd, as though that deed abhorr'd. In years far distant done, Had cut asunder ever cord Of fel.owship but one, That one indissolubly bound A feeble \\ Oman's heart : Faithful in every trial found, Long had she borne her part ; Now at his helpless side alone, Girt with infuriate crowds, Like the neAv moon her meekness shone, Pale through a gulf of clouds. Ah ! well might every bosom yearn, Responsive to her sigh ; And every visage, dark and stern, Soften beneath that eye : Ah ! well might every lip of gall Th' unutter'd curse suspend ; Its tones for her in blessings fall, Its breath in prayer ascend. " Guilty !" that thunder-striking sound, All shudder'd when they heard ; A burst of horrid joy around Hail'd the tremendous word ; Check'd in a moment, xhe was there ! The instinctive groan was hush'd ; Nature, that forced it, cried, " Forbear ;" Indignant justice blush'd. PART V. One wo is past, another speeds To brand and seal his doom ; The third day's failing beam recedes, She watch'd it into gloom : That night, how swift in its career, It flew from arm to sun ! NARRATIVES. That night, the last of many a dear, And many a dolorous one ! That night, by special grace she wakes In the lone convict's cell, With him for whom the morrow breaks, To light to heaven or hell : Dread sounds of preparation rend The dungeon's ponderous roof; The hammer's doubling strokes descend, The scaffold creeks aloof. She watch'd his features through the shade, Which glimmering embers broke ; Both from their inmost spirit pray'd ; They pray'd, but seldom spoke : Moments meanwhile were years to him ; Her grief forgot their flight, Till on the hearth the fire grew dim ; She turn'd, and lo ! the light ; The light less welcome to her eyes, The loveliest light of morn, Than the dark glare of felon's eyes Through grated cells forlorn : The cool fresh breeze from heaven that blew, The free lark's mounting strains, She felt in drops of icy dew, She heard, like groans and chains. " Farewell !" 'twas but a word, yet more Was utter'd in that sound, Than love had ever told before, Or sorrow yet had found : They kiss like meeting flames, they part, Like flames asunder driven ; Lip cleaves to lip, heart beats on heart, Till soul from soul is riven. Quick hurried thence, the sullen bell Its pausing peal began ; A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 153 She hearkens, 'tis the dying knell, Rung for the living man : The mourner reach'd her lonely bower, Fell on her widow' d bed, And found, through one entrancing hour, The quiet of the dead. She woke, and knew he was no more : " Thy dream of life is past ; That pang with thee, that pang is o'er, The bitterest and the last !" She cried : then scenes of sad amaze Flash'd on her inward eye ; A field, a troop, a crowd to gaze, A murderer led to die ! He eyed the ignominious tree, Look'd round, but saw no friend ; Was plunged into eternity ; Is this is this the end ? Her spirit follow'd him afar Into the world unknown, And saw him standing at that bar, Where each must stand alone. Silence and darkness hide the rest Long she survived to mourn ; But peace sprang up within her breast, From trouble meekly borne : And higher, holier joys had she, A Christian's hopes above, The prize of suffering constancy, The crown of faithful love 1831. NARRATIVES. A SNAKE IN THE GRASS. A TALE FOR CHILDREN : FOUNDED ON FACTS. SHE had a secret of her own, That little girl of whom we speak, O'er which she oft would muse alone, Till the blush came across her cheek, A rosy cloud, that glow'd awhile, Then melted in a sunny smile. There was so much to charm the eye, So much to move delightful thought, Awake at night she loved to lie, Darkness to her that image brought , She murmur'd of it in her dreams, Like the low sounds of gurgling streams What secret thus the soul possess' d Of one so young and innocent ? Oh ! nothing but a robin's nest, O'er which in ecstasy she bent ; That treasure she herself had found, With five brown eggs, upon the ground. When first it flash'd upon her sight, Bolt flew the dam above her head ; She sioop'd, and almost shriek'd with frigh; ; But spying soon that little bed With feathers, moss, and horst'-hairs uvitied Rapture and wonder fill'd her mind. Breathless and beautiful she stood, Her ringlets o'er her bosom fell ; With hands uplift, in attitude, As though a pulse might break the spell, While through the shade her pale, fine face Shone like a star amidst the place. A SNAKE IN THE GRASS. ]55 She stood so silent, stay'd so long, The parent-birds forgot their fear ; Cock-robin trill'd his small, sweet song, In notes like dew-drops trembling, clear ; From spray to spray the shyer hen Dropt softly on her nest again. There Lucy mark'd her slender bill On this side, and on that her tail, Peer'd o'er the edge, while, fix'd and still, Two bright black eyes her own assail, Which, in eye-language, seem to say, " Peep, pretty maiden ! then, away !" Away, away, at length she crept, So pleased, she knew not how she trode, Yet light on tottering tiptoe stept, As if birds' eggs strew'd all the road ; With folded arms, and lips compress'd, To keep her joy within her breast. Morn, noon, and eve, from day to day, By stealth she visited that spot : Alike her lessons and her play Were slightly conn'd, or half forgot ; And when the callow young were hatch'd, With infant fondness Lucy watch'd : Watch'd the kind parents dealing food To clamorous suppliants all agape ; Watch'd the small, naked, unform'd brood Improve in size, and plume, and shape, Till feathers clad the fluttering things, And the whole group seem'd bills and wings. Unconsciously within her breast, Where many a brooding fancy lay. She plann'd to bear the tiny nest, And chirping choristers away, In stately cage to tune their throats, And learn untaught their mother-notes. NARRATIVES. One morn, when fairly fledged for flight, Blithe Lucy, on her visit, found What seem'd a necklace, glittering bright, Twined round the nest, twined round and round, With emeralds, pearls, and sapphires set, Rich as my lady's coronet. She stretch'd her hand to seize the prize, When up a serpent popt its head, But glid like wild-fire from her eyes, Hissing and rustling as it fled ; She utter'd one short shrilling scream, Then stood, as startled from a dream. Her brother Tom, who long had known That something drew her feet that way, Curious to catch her there alone, Had follow'd her that fine May-day ; Lucy, bewilder'd by her trance, Came to herself at his first glance. Then in her eyes sprang welcome tears ; They fell as showers in April fall ; He kiss'd her, coax'd her, soothed her fears. Till she in frankness told him all : Tom was a bold, adventurous boy, And heard the dreadful tale with joy. For he had learnt, in some far land, How children catch the sleeping snake ; Eager himself to try his hand, He cut a hazel from the brake, And like a hero set to work, To make a lithe, long-handled fork. Brother and sister then withdrew, Leaving the nestlings safely there ; Between their heads the mother flew, Prompt to resume her nursery care But Tom, whose breast for glory burn d. In less than half an hour return'd A SNAKE IN THE GRASS ISl With him came Ned, as cool and sly As Tom was resolute and stout ; So, fair and softly, they drew nigh, Cowering and keeping sharp look-out, Till they had reach'd the copse, to see, But not alarm the enemy. Guess, with what transport they descried, How, as before, the serpent lay Coil'd round the nest, in slumbering pride ; The urchins chuckled o'er their prey, And Tom's right hand was lifted soon, Like Greenland whaler's with harpoon. Across its neck the fork he brought, And pinn'd it fast upon the ground ; The reptile woke, and quick as thought Curl'd round the stick, curl'd round and round ; While, head and tail, Ned's nimble hands Tied at each end, with pack-thread bands. Scarce was the enemy secured, When Lucy timidly drew near, But by their shouting well assured, Eyed the green captive void of fear ; The lads, stark wild with victory, flung Their caps aloft, they danced, they sung. But Lucy, with an anxious look, Turn'd to her own dear nest, when lo ! To legs and wings the young ones took, Hopping and tumbling to and fro ; The parents chattering from above With all the earnestness of love. Alighting now among their train, They peck'd them on new feats to try ; But many a lesson seem'd in vain, Before the giddy things would fly ; Lucy both laugh'd and cried, to see How ill the} play'd at liberty. U 158 NARRATIVES. I need not tell the snake's sad doom, You may be sure he lived not long ; Cork'd in a bottle for a tomb, Preserved in spirits and in song, His skin in Tom's museum shines, You read his story in these lines. 1831. THE CAST-AWAY SHIP. The subjects of the following poems were suggested by the loss of the Blenheim, commanded by Sir Thomas Trowbridge, which was separated from the ves- sels under its convoy, during a storm in the Indian Ocean. The Admiral's son afterwards made a voyage, without success, in search of his father. Trowbridge was one of Nelson's captains at the Battle of the Nile, but hi* ship unfortunately ran a-ground as he was bearing down on the enemy. A VESSEL sail'd from Albion's shore, To utmost India bound, Its crest a hero's pendant bore, With broad sea-laurels crovvn'd In many a fierce and noble fight, Though foil'd on that Egyptian night When Gallia's host was drown'd, And NELSON o'er his country's foes, Like the destroying angel rose. A gay and gallant company, With shouts that rend the air, For warrior-wreaths upon the sea, Their joyful brows prepare : But many a maiden's sigh was sent, And many a mother's blessing went, And many a father's prayer, With that exulting ship to sea, With that undaunted company. The deep, that like a cradled child In breathing slumber lay, THE CAST-AWAY SKIP. 19* More warmly blush'd, more sweetly smiled, As rose the kindling day : Through ocean's mirror, dark and clear, Reflected clouds and skies appear In morning's rich array ; The land is lost, the waters glow, 'Tis heaven above, around, below. Majestic o'er the sparkling tide, See the tall vessel sail, With swelling winds in shadowy pride, A swan before the gale : Deep-laden merchants rode behind ; But, fearful of the fickle wind, Britannia's cheek grew pale, When, lessening through the flood of light, Their leader vanish'd from her sight. Oft had she hail'd its trophied prow, Victorious from the war, And banner'd masts that would not bow, Though riven with many a scar ; Oft had her oaks their tribute brought, To rib its flanks, with thunder fraught ; But late her evil star Had cursed it on its homeward way, " The spoiler shall become the prey." Thus warn'd, Britannia's anxious heart Throbb'd with prophetic wo, When she beheld that ship depart, A fair ill-omen'd show ! So views the mother, through her tears, The daughter of her hopes, and fears, When hectic beauties glow. On the frail cheek, where sweetly bloom The roses of an early tomb. No fears the brave adventurers knew, Peril and death they spurn'd ; 160 NARRATIVES. Like full-fledged eagles forth they flew ; Jove's birds, that proudly burn'd In battle-hurricanes to wield His lightnings on the billowy field ; And many a look they turn'd O'er the blue waste of waves to spy A Gallic ensign in the sky. But not to crush the vaunting foe, In combat on the main, Nor perish by a glorious blow, In mortal triumph slain, Was their unutterable fate ; That story would the Muse relate, The song might rise in vain ; In ocean's deepest, darkest bed, The secret slumbers with the dead. On India's long-expecting strand Their sails were never furl'd ; Never on known or friendly land, By storms their keel was hurl'd ; Their native soil no more they trod, They rest beneath no hallow'd sod ; Throughout the living world, This sole memorial of their lot Remains, they were, and they are not. The spirit of the Cape* pursued Their long and toilsome way ; At length, in ocean-solitude, He sprang upon his prey ; ' Havoc !" the shipwreck-demon cried, Loosed all his te'mpests on the tide, Gave all his lightnings play ; * The Cape of Good Hope, formerly called the Cape of Storms. See Canto**'* Lutiad, book v. THE SEQUEL. 1M The abyss recoil'd before the blast, Firm stood the seamen till the last. Like shooting stars, athwart the gloom The merchant-sails were sped ; Yet oft, before its midnight doom, They mark'd the high mast-head Of that devoted vessel, tost By winds and floods, now seen, now lost ; While every gun-fire spread A dimmer flash, a fainter roar ; At length they saw, they heard no more. There are to whom that ship was dear, For love and kindred's sake ; When these the voice of Rumour hear, Their inmost heart shall quake, Shall doubt, and fear, and wish, and grieve, Believe, and long to unbelieve, But never cease to ache ; Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear The Hope that keeps alive Despair. THE SEQUEL. HE sought his sire from shore to shore, He sought him day by day ; The prow he track'd was seen no more, Breasting the ocean-spray : Yet, as the winds his voyage sped, He sail'd above his father's head, Unconscious where it lay, Deep, deep beneath the rolling main ; He sought his sire ; he sought in vain. 14- IM NARRATIVES. Son of the brave ! no longer weep ; Still with affection true, Along the wild disastrous deep, Thy father's course pursue : Full in his wake of glory steer, His spirit prompts thy bold career, His compass guides thee through ; So, while thy thunders awe the sea, Britain shall find thy sire in thee. TRIBUTARY POEMS. TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS, Who died on the 10th of September, 1816 THB author has nothing to say in favour of the following verses, except that they are the sincere tribute of his affections, as well as his mind, to the Christian virtues of the deceased. Richard Reynolds was one of the Society of Friends, but, as far as human judgment can extend, he was one of those who also are Christians, not in word only but in deed. To his memory the inhabitants of Bristol have already insti- tuted and may their posterity perpetuate it ! the noblest monument, perhaps, that man ever raised in honour of his fellow-man. This will be sufficiently explained by the following advertisement : "At a general meeting of the inhabitants of Bristol, held in the Guildhall of that city, on Wednesday, the 2d October, 1818, the right worshipful the Mayor in the chair: It was unanimously resolved, That, in consequence of the severe loss which society has sustained by the death of the venerable Richard Reynolds, and in order to perpetuate, as far as may be, the great and important benefits he has conferred upon the city of Bristol and its vicinity, and to excite others to imitate the example of the departed philanthropist, an Association be formed under the designation of 'Reynolds's Commemoration Society.' That the members of the Society do consist of life subscribe s of ten guineas or upwards, and annual subscribers of one guinea or upwards; and that the object of this Society be to grant relief to persons in necessitous circumstances, and also occa- sional assistance to other benevolent institutions in or near the city, to enable them to continue or increase their usefulness, and that especial regard be had to the Samaritan Society, of which Richard Reynold* was the founder. That the cases to be assisted and relieved be entirely in the discretion of (he committee ; but it is recommended to them not to grant any relief or assistance without a careful investigation of the circumstances of each case ; and th'it, in imitation of the example of the individual whom the Society is designed to commemorate, it be considered as a sacred duty of the committee, to the latest period of its existence, to be wholly uninfluenced in the distribution of its funds by any con- siderations of sect or party." The third piece in the ensuing series, entitled " A Good Man's Monument," wag intended for it flcurative representation of this sublime mid universal cha- rity. The resemblance ought to have been sufficiently obvious, without being pointed out here. 164 TRIBUTARY POEMS. I. THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. THIS place is holy ground ; World, with thy cares, away ! Silence and darkness reign around, But, lo ! the break of day : What bright and sudden dawn appears, To shine upon this scene of tears ? 'Tis not the morning light, That wakes the lark to sing ; 'Tis not a meteor of the night, Nor track of angel's wing : It is an uncreated beam, Like that which shone on Jacob's dream. Eternity and Time Met for a moment here ; From earth to heaven, a scale sublime Rested on either sphere, Whose steps a saintly figure trod, By Death's cold hand led home to GOD. He landed in our view, Midst naming hosts above Whose ranks stood silent, while he drew Nigh to the throne of love, And meekly took the lowest seat, Yet nearest his Redeemer's feet. Thrill'd with ecstatic awe, Entranced our spirits fell, And saw yet wist not what they saw And heard no tongue can tell What sounds the ear of rapture caught, What glory fill'd the eye of thought. Thus far above the pole, On wings of mounting fire, Faith may pursue th' enfranchised soul, But soon her pinions tire ; THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS. 105 It is not given to mortal man Eternal mysteries to scan. Behold the bed of death ; This pale and lovely clay ; Heard ye the sob of parting breath ? Mark'd ye the eye's last ray ? No ; life so sweetly ceased to be, It lapsed in immortality. Could tears revive the dead, Rivers should swell our eyes ; Could sighs recall the spirit fled, We would not quench our sighs, Till love relumed this alter'd mien, And all th' imbodied soul were seen. Bury the dead ; and weep In stillness o'er the loss ; Bury the dead ; in Christ they sleep, Who bore on earth his cross, And from the grave their dust shall rise, In his own image to the skies. II. THE MEMORY OF THE JTTST. STRIKE a louder, loftier lyre ; Bolder, sweeter strains employ ; Wake, Remembrance ! and inspire Sorrow with the song of joy. Who was He, for whom our tears Flow'd, and will not cease to flow ? Full of honours and of years, In the dust his head lies low. Yet resurgent from the dust, Springs aloft his mighty name ; For the memory of the Just Lives in everlasting fame. TRIBUTARY POEMS. He was One, whose open face Did his inmost heart reveal; One, who wore with meekest grace, On his forehead, Heaven's broad seal. Kindness all his looks express'd, Charity was every word ; Him the eye beheld, and bless'd , And the ear rejoiced that heard. Like a patriarchal sage, Holy, humble, courteous, mild, He could blend the awe of age With the sweetness of a child. As a cedar of the LORD, On the height of Lebanon, Shade and shelter doth afford, From the tempest and the sun : While in green luxuriant prime, Fragrant airs its boughs diffuse, From its locks it shakes sublime, O'er the hills, the morning dews : Thus he flourish'd, tall and strong, Glorious in perennial health ; Thus he scatter'd, late and long, All his plenitude of wealth ! Wealth, which prodigals had deem'd Worth the soul's uncounted cost ; Wealth, which misers had esteem'd Cheap, though heaven itself were lost. This, with free unsparing hand To the poorest child of need, This he threw around the land, Like the sower's precious seed. In the world's great harvest day, Every grain on every ground, THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS. 1W Stony, thorny, by the way, Shall an hundred fold be found. Yet, like noon's refulgent blaze, Though he shone from east to west, Far withdrawn from public gaze, Secret goodness pleased him best. As the sun, retired from sight, Through the purple evening gleams, Or, unrisen, clothes the night, In the morning's golden beams : Thus beneath th' horizon dim,. He would hide his radiant head, And oh eyes that saw not him, Light and consolation shed. Oft his silent spirit went, Like an angel from the throne, On benign commissions bent, In the fear of GOD alone. Then the widow's heart would sing, As she turn'd her wheel, for joy ; Then the bliss of hope would spring On the outcast orphan boy. To the blind, the deaf, the lame, To the ignorant and vile, Stranger, captive, slave, he came With a welcome and a smile. Help to all he did dispense, Gold, instruction, raiment, food, Like the gifts of Providence, To the evil and the good. Deeds of mercy, deeds unknown, Shall eternity record, Which he durst not call his own, For he did them to the LORD. 18 TRIBUTARY POEMS. As the Earth puts forth her flowers, Heaven-ward breathing from below ; As the clouds descend in showers, When the southern breezes blow ; Thus his renovated mind, Warm with pure celestial love, Sheds its influence on mankind, While its hopes aspired above. Full of faith at length he died, And, victorious in the race, Won the crown for which he vied Not of merit, but of grace. III. A GOOD MAN S MONUMENT. THE pyre, that burns the aged Bramin's bones, Runs cold in blood, and issues living groans, When the whole Harem with the husband dies, And demons dance around the sacrifice. In savage realms, when tyrants yield their breath, Herds, flocks, and slaves, attend their lord in death ; Arms, chariots, carcases, a horrid heap, Rust at his side, or share his mouldering sleep. When heroes fall triumphant on the plain ; For millions conquer'd, and ten thousands slain ; For cities levell'd, kingdoms drench'd in blood, Navies annihilated on the flood ; The pageantry of public grief requires The splendid homage of heroic lyres ; And genius moulds impassion' d brass to breathe The dauntless spirit of the dust beneath, Calls marble honour from its cavern'd bed, And bids it live the proxy of the dead. Reynolds expires, a nobler chief than these : No blood of widows stains his obsequies THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS. 1W But widows' tears, in sad bereavement, fall, And foundling voices on their father call : No slaves, no hecatombs, his relics crave, To gorge the worm, and crowd his quiet grave ; But sweet repose his slumbering ashes find, As if in Salem's sepulchre enshrined ; And watching angels waited for the day, When Christ should bid them roll the stone away. Not in the fiery hurricane of strife, 'Midst slaughter'd legions, he resign'd his life ; But peaceful as the twilight's parting ray, His spirit vanish'd from its house of clay, And left on kindred souls such power imprest, They seem'd with him to enter into rest. Hence no vain pomp, his glory to prolong, No airy immortality of song ; No sculptured imagery, of bronze or stone, To make his lineaments for ever known, Reynolds requires : his labours, merits, name, Demand a monument of surer fame ; Not to record and praise his virtues past, But show them living, while the world shall last ; Not to bewail one Reynolds, snatch'd from earth. But give, in every age, a Reynolds birth ; In every age a Reynolds ; born to stand A prince among the worthies of the land, By Nature's title, written in his face : More than a prince a sinner saved by grace, Prompt at his meek and lowly Master's call To prove himself the minister of all. Bristol ! to thee the eye of Albion turns ; At thought of thee thy country's spirit burns ; For in thy walls, as on her dearest ground, Are " British minds and British manners" found : And 'midst the wealth, which Avon's waters pour From every clime, on thy commercial shore, Thou hast a native mine of worth untold : Thine heart is not encased in rigid gold, 15 TRIBUTARY POEMS. Wither'd to mummy, steel'd against distress ; No free as Severn's waves, that spring to bless Their parent hills, but as they roll expand In argent beauty through a lovelier land, And widening, brightening to the western sun, In floods of glory through thy channel run ; Thence, mingling with the boundless tide, are hurl'd In Ocean's chariot round the utmost world : Thus flow thine heart-streams, warm and unconfined, At home, abroad, to wo of every kind. Worthy wert thou of Reynolds ; worthy he To rank the first of Britons even in thee. Reynolds is dead ; thy lap receives his dust Until the resurrection of the just : Reynolds is dead ; but while thy rivers roll, Immortal in thy bosom live his soul ! Go, build his monument : and let it be Firm as the land, but open as the sea. Low in his grave the strong foundations lie, Yet be the dome expansive as the sky, On crystal pillars resting from above, Its sole supporters works of faith and love ; So clear, so pure, that to the keenest sight, They cast no shadow : all within be light ; No walls divide the area, nor enclose ; Charter the whole to every wind that blows ; Then rage the tempest, flash the lightnings blue, And thunders roll, they pass unharming through One simple altar in the midst be placed, With this, and only this, inscription graced, The song of angels at Immanuel's birth, " Glory to God ! good will and peace on earth." There be thy duteous sons a tribe of priests, Not offering incense, nor the blood of beasts, But with their gifts upon that altar spread ; Health to the sick, and to the hungry bread, Beneficence to all, their hands shall deal, With Reynolds' single eye and hallow'd zeal IN MEMORY OF ROWLAND HODGSON, ESQ. 171 Pain, want, misfortune, thither shall repair ; Folly and vice reclaim'd shall worship there The God of him in whose transcendent mind Stood such a temple, free to all mankind : Thy God, thrice-honour'd city ! bids thee raise That fallen temple, to the end of days : Obey his voice ; fulfil thine high intent ; Yea, be thyself the Good Man's Monument! 1818. TO THE MEMORY OF ROWLAND HODGSON, OF SHEFFIELD; Who departed this life January 27, 1837, aged 63 years. Through a long period of severe bodily affliction, aggravated in the sequel by loss of sight, he sig- nally exemplified the Christian graces of faith, hope, and charity, with hum- ble resignation to the will of God. He had been from his youth one of the most active, liberal, and unwearied supporters of benevolent and evangelical institutions throughout this neighbourhood and elsewhere, in foreign lands as well as at home. The writer of these lines had the happiness to be his travelling companion on annual visits and temporary sojourns, which they made together in many parts of the kingdom, from the autumn of 1817 to the same season of 1836. PART I. Go where thy heart had gone before, And thy heart's treasure lay ; Go, and with open'd eye explore Heaven's uncreated day : Light in the LORD, light's fountain, see, And light in Him for ever be. But darkness thou has left behind ; No sign, no sight, nor sound, At home, abroad, of thee I find, Where thou wort ever found ; Thon gaze I on thy vacant place, Till my soul's ey 1 meets thy soul's face : TRIBUTARY POEMS. As, many a time, quite through the veil Of flesh 'twas wont to shine, When thy meek aspect, saintly pale, In kindness turn'd to mine, And the quench'd eye its film forgot, Look'd full on me, yet saw me not ! Then, through the hody's dim eclipse, What humble accents broke, While, breathing prayer or praise, thy lips Of light within thee spoke ; Midst Egypt's darkness to be felt, Thy mind in its own Goshen dwelt. Nor less in days of earlier health, When life to thee was dear, Borne on the flowing tide of wealth, To me this truth was clear, That hope in Christ was thy best health, Riches that make not wings thy wealth. When frequent sickness bow'd thy head, And every labouring breath, As with a heavier impulse, sped Thy downward course to death, Faith falter'd not that hope to show, Though words, like life's last drops, fell slow. How often when I turn'd away, As having seen the last Of thee on earth, my heart would say, " AVhen my few days are past, Such strength be mine, though nature shrink, The cup my Father gives, to drink !" I saw thee slumbering in thy shroud, As yonder moon I view, Now glimmering through a snow-white cloud Midst heaven's eternal blue ; I saw thee lowcr'd into the tomb, Like that cloud deepening into gloom. IN MEMORY OF ROWLAND HODGSON, ESQ. 171 All darkness thou hast left behind ; It was not thee they wound In dreary grave-clothes, and consign'd To perish in the ground ; 'Twas but thy mantle, dropt in sight, When thou wert vanishing in light. That mantle, in earth's wardrobe lain, A frail but precious trust, Thou wilt reclaim and wear again, When, freed from worms and dust, The bodies of the saints shall be Their robes of immortality. PART n. These fragments of departed years, I gather up and store, Since thou, in mercy to our tears And prayers, art heal'd no more. In that last war was no discharge ; Yet walks thy ransom'd soul at large. For what, my friend, was death to thee ? A king ? a conqueror ? No ; Death, swallow'd up in victory, Himself a captive foe, Was sent in chains to thy release, By Him who on the cross made peace. When year by year, on pilgrimage, We journey'd side by side, And pitch'd and struck, from stage to stage, Our tents, had we one guide ? One aim ? are all our meetings past ? Must our last parting be our last ? Nay, GOD forbid ! if hand and heart, On earth we loved to roam, Where once to meet is ne'er to part, In heaven's eternal home, 15* 174 TRIBUTARY POEMS. Our Father's house, not made with hands, May we renew our friendship's bands ! Thus, as I knew thee well and long, Thy private worth be told : What thou wert more, affection's song Presumes not to unfold : Thy works of faith and zeal of love, Are they not register'd above 1 Are they not register'd below ? If few their praise record, Yet, in the judgment, all shall know, Thou didst them to thy LORD ; For 'twas thy soul's delight to cheei The least of all his brethren here. Though less than even the least of these, Thou didst thyself esteem, Thou wert a flower-awakening breeze, A meadow-watering stream : The breeze unseen its odours shed, The stream unheard its bounty spread. What art thou now ? Methinks for thee Heaven brightens round its king ; New beams of the Divinity, New-landing spirits bring, As GOD on each his image seals, And ray by ray himself reveals. While ray by ray those thronging lines To one great centre tend, Fulness of grace and glory shines In CHRIST, their source and end, To show, where all perfections meet The orb of Deity complete. THE LATE JOSEPH BUTTERWORTH, ESQ. 175 PART III. So rest in peace, them blessed soul ! Where sin and sorrow end ; So may 7 follow to the goal, Not t hee, not thee, my friend ! But Him, whom thou, through joy and wo, Thyself didst follow on to know. Faint yet pursuing, I am strong, Whene'er his steps I trace ; Else, slow of heart, and prone to wrong, I yet may lose the race, If on thy course I fix mine eye, And Him in thee not glorify. The wild, the mountain-top, the sea, The throng'd highway he trode, The path to quiet Bethany, And Calvary's dolorous road : Where He then leads me must be right ; I walk by faith, and not by sight. "OCCUPY TILL I COME." ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE JOSEPH BUTTERWORTH, ESO. AN EXEMPLARY CHRISTIAN, PAT1UOT, AND PHILANTHROPIST. " HE was a burning and a shining light :" And is he now eclipsed in hopeless night ? No ; faith beholds him near the sapphire throne ; Shining more bright than e'er on earth he shone ; While, where created splendour all looks dim, Heaven's host are glorifying GOD in him. 176 TRIBUTARY POEMS. If faith's enraptured vision now be true, And things invisible stand forth to view, Though eye to eye th' imbodied soul can see, Self-lost amidst unclouded Deity, He chooses, rather than a seraph's seat, The lowest place at his Redeemer's feet ; And, with th' eternal weight of glory prest, Turns even in paradise to Christ for rest. Come we who. once beheld his noontide blaze, And hid before him our diminish'd rays ; Since his translation to a higher sphere, We may, we must by our own light appear ; When sun and moon their greater beams resign, The stars come out ; they cannot choose but shine ; With force like his all eyes we cannot strike, We may not equal him, but may be like : Nor let the meanest think his lamp too dim, In a dark world the LORD hath need of him ; By feeble instruments in providence, GOD is well pleased his bounties to dispense ; In his economy of grace the same ; The weakest are almighty in his name. What though the great, the good, the glorious fall, HE reigns whose kingdom ruleth over all. Talk not of talents ; what hast thou to do ? Thy duty, be thy portion Jive or two ; Talk not of talents ; is thy duty done ? Thou hadst sufficient, were they ten or one. LORD, what my talents are I cannot tell, Till thou shalt give me grace to use them well : That grace impart, the bliss will then be mine, But all the power and all the glory thine. IN MEMORY OF REV. JAMES HARVEY. 17T IN MEMORY OF THE REV. JAMES HARVEY, OF -W^STON TAVSLL, NOSTHAMPTONSHIRI, Who died on Christmas-day, 1758, aged forty -three years. COMPOSED ON AN OCCASIONAL CELEBRATION OF HIS VIRTUES AND TALENTS, AT THAT VILLAGE, IN 1823. WHERE is the house for all the living found ? Go ask the deaf, the dumb, the dead ; All answer, without voice or sound, Each resting in his bed ; Look down and see, Beneath thy feet, A place for thee ; There all the living meet. Whence come the beauteous progeny of spring ! They hear a still, small voice, " Awake '" And while the lark is on the wing, From dust and darkness break ; Flowers of all hues Laugh in the gale, Sparkle with dews, And dance o'er hill and dale. Who leads through trackless space the stars of night ? The Power that made them guides them still ; They know Him not, yet, day and night, They do his perfect will : Unchanged by age, They hold on high Their pilgrimage Of glory round the sky 171 TRIBUTARY POEMS. Stars, flowers, and tombs were themes for solemn thought With him whose memory we recall ; Yet more than eye can see he sought : His spirit look'd through all, Keenly discern'd The truths they teach, Their lessons learn'd, And gave their silence speech. Go, meditate with him among the tombs, And there the end of all things viev r ; Visit with him spring's earliest blooms, See all things there made new ; Thence rapt aloof In ecstasy, Hear, from heaven's roof, Stars preach eternity. We call him blessed whom the LORD hath blest And made a blessing ; long to shed Light on the living, from his rest, And hope around the dead : Oh ! for his lot, Who dwells in light, Where flowers fade not, And stars can find no night TO THE MEMORY OF JOSEPH BROWNE. 17f TO THE MEMORY OP THE LATE JOSEPH BROWNE, OP LOTHBBSDA.IJ6, ONE OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS, Who, with seven others of his religious community, had suffered a long confine- ment in the Castle of York, and loss of all his worldly property, for conscience ake, in the years 1795 and 1796. He was a thoughtful, humble-minded man, and occasionally solaced himself with "Prison Amusements" in verse, at the time when the Author of these Stanzas, in a neighbouring room, was whiling away the hours of a shorter captivity in the same manner. " SPIRIT, leave thine house of clay ; Lingering Dust, resign thy breath ! Spirit, cast thy chains away : Dust, be thou dissolved in death !" Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL spoke, As he watch'd thy dying bed ; As the bonds of life he broke ; And the ransom' d captive fled. Prisoner, long detain'd below ; Prisoner, now with freedom blest ; Welcome from a world of wo, Welcome to a land of rest '." Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL sang, As he bore thy soul on high ; While with Hallelujahs rang All the region of the sky. Ye that mourn a FATHER'S loss, Ye that weep a FRIEND no more, Call to mind the CHRISTIAN cross, Which your FRIEND, your FATHER, bore. Grief, and penury, and pain Still attended on his way ; TRIBUTARY POEMS. And Oppression's scourge and chain, More unmerciful than they. Yet while travelling in distress ('Twas the eldest curse of sin) Through the world's waste wilderness, He had paradise within. And along that vale of tears, Which his humble footsteps trod, Still a shining path appears, Where the MOURNER walk'd with GOD. Till his MASTER, from above, When the promised hour was come, Sent the chariot of his love To convey the WANDERER home. Saw ye not the wheels of fire, And the steeds that cleft the wind ? Saw ye not his soul aspire, When his mantle dropp'd behind ? f e who caught it as it fell, Bind that mantle round your breast ; So in you his meekness dwell, So on you his spirit rest ! Vet rejoicing in his lot, Still shall Memory love to weep O'er the venerable spot Where his dear cold relics sleep jJrave ! the guardian of his dust, Grave ! the treasury of the skies. ivery atom of thy trust Rests in hope again to rise. riark ! the judgment-trumpet calls " Soul, rebuild thine house of clay IMMORTALITY thy walls, And ETERNITY thy day '" IN MEMORY OF REV. THOMAS SPENCER. 181 TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. THOMAS SPENCER, OF LIVERPOOL, Who was drowned wlule bathing in the tide, on the 5th of August, 1811, in his 21st year. " Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters ; and thy footstep* are not known." Psalm Ixxvii. 19. I WILL not sing a mortal's praise ; To Thee I consecrate my lays, To whom my powers belong ! These gifts upon thine altar strown, GOD ! accept accept thine own ; My gifts are Thine, be Thine alone The glory of my song. In earth and ocean, sky and air, All that is excellent and fair, Seen, felt, or understood, From one eternal cause descends, To one eternal centre tends, With GOD begins, continues, ends, The source and stream of good. 1 worship not the Sun at noon, The wandering Stars, the changing Moon, The Wind, the Flood, the Flame ; I will not bow the votive knee To Wisdom, Virtue, Liberty ; " There is no God but GOD" for me; JEHOVAH is his name. Him through all nature I explore, Him in his creatures I adore, 16 TRIBUTARY POEMS. Around, beneath, above ; But clearest in the human mind, His bright resemblance when I find, Grandeur with purity combined, I most admire and love. Oh ! there was ONE, on earth a while He dwelt ; but transient as a smile That turns into a tear, His beauteous image pass'd us by ; He came, like lightning from the sky, He seem'd as dazzling to the eye, As prompt to disappear. Mild in his undissembling mien, Were genius, candour, meekness seen ; The lips, that loved the truth ; The single eye, whose glance sublime Look'd to eternity through time ; The soul, whose hopes were wont to climb Above the joys of youth. Of old, before the lamp grew dark, Reposing near the curtain'd ark, The child of Hannah's prayer Heard, through the temple's silent round, A living voice, nor knew the sound, That thrice alarm'd him, ere he found The Lord, who chose him there.* Thus early call'd, and strongly moved, A prophet from a child, approved, SPENCER his course began; From strength to strength, from grace to grace, Swiftest and foremost in the race, He carried victory in his face ; He triumph'd as he ran. 1 Sam. iii. IN MEMORY OF REV. THGMAS SPENCER. 153 How short his day ! the glorious prize, To our slow hearts and failing eyes, Appear'd too quickly won : The warrior rush'd into the field, With arm invincible to wield The Sprit's sword, the Spirit's shield, When, lo ! the fight was done. The loveliest star of evening's train Sets early in the western main, And leaves the world in night ; The brightest star of morning's host, Scarce risen, in brighter beams is lost ; Thus sunk his form on ocean's coast, Thus sprang his soul to light. Who shall forbid the eye to weep, That saw him, from the ravening deep, Pluck'd like the lion's prey ? For ever bow'd his honour'd head, The spirit in a moment fled, The heart of friendship cold and dead, The limbs a wreath of clay ! Revolving his mysterious lot, I mourn him, but I praise him not ; Glory to GOD be given, Who sent him, like the radiant bow, His covenant of peace to show ; Athwart the breaking storm to glow, Then vanish into heaven. O Church ! to whom that youth was dear, The Angel of thy mercies here, Behold the path he trod, " A milky way" through midnight skies ! Behold the grave in which he lies ; Even from this dust thy prophet cries, "Prepare to meet thy GOD" 184 TRIBUTARY POEMS. THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DEATH OF THE REV. THOMAS TAYLOR, After having declared, in his last Sermon, on a preceding evening, that he honed to die as an old soldier of Jesus Christ, with his sword in his hand " SERVANT of GOD ! well done, Rest from thy loved employ ; The battle fought, the victory won, Enter thy Master's joy." The voice at midnight came ; He started up to hear : A mortal arrow pierced his frame, He fell, but felt no fear. Tranquil amidst alarms, It found him in the field, A veteran slumbering on his arms, Beneath his red-cross shield : His sword was in his hand, Still warm with recent fight, Ready that moment at command, Through rock and steel to smite. It was a two-edged blade Of heavenly temper keen ; And double were the wounds it made, Where'er it smote between : 'Twas death to sin ; 'twas life To all that mourn'd for sin ; It kindled and it silenced strife, Made war and peace within. Oft with its fiery force, His arm had quell'd the foe, And laid, resistless in his course. The alien-armies low : A RECOLLECTION OF MARY F. Bent on such glorious toils, The world to him was loss ; Yet all his trophies, all his spoils, He hung upon the cross. At midnight came the cry, " To meet thy GOD prepare !" He woke, and caught his Captain's eye ; Then strong in faith and prayer, His spirit, with a bound, Bursts its encumbering clay : His tent, at sunrise, on the 'ground, A darken'd ruin lay. The pains of death are past, Labour and sorrow cease, And life's long warfare closed at last, His soul is found in peace. Soldier of Christ ! well done ; Praise be thy new employ ; And while eternal ages run, Rest in thy Saviour's joy. A RECOLLECTION OF MARY F., A Y3T7NS LADY UNEXPECTEDLY REMOVED FROM A LARGE FAMILY CIECLB. Il;r life had twice been saved, once from the flames, and again from the water, by an affectionate father. THRICE born for earth and twice for heaven, A lovely maiden once I knew. To whom 'tis now in glory given To grow, as here in shade she grew ; Brief was her course, but starry bright ; The linnet's song, the lily's white, The fountain's freshness, these shall be Meet emblems of that maid to me. 16" TRIBUTARY POEMS. A weeping babe to light she came, And changed for smiles a mother's throes ; In childhood from devouring flame, Rescued, to second life she rose ; A father's arm had pluck'd her thence ; That arm again was her defence, When buried in the strangling wave, He snatch'd her from an ocean grave. Twice born for heaven as thrice for earth, When God's eternal Spirit moved On her young 'heart, a nobler birth Than nature can confer, she proved : The dew-drop in the breeze of morn, Trembling and sparkling on the thorn, Falls to the ground, escapes the eye, Yet mounts on sunbeams to the sky. Thus in the dew of youth she shone, Thus in the morn of beauty fell ; Even while we gazed, the form was gone, Her life became invisible ; Her last best birth, with her last breath, Came in the dark disguise of death ; Grief filPd her parents' home of love, But joy her Father's house above. 1833. IN MEMORY OF E. B. FORMERLY E. R. HERS was a soul of fire that burn'd Too soon for us, its earthly tent, But not too soon for her return'd To Him from whom it first was sent : Grave ! keep the ashes, till, redeem'd from thee, This mortal puts on immortality. IN MEMORY OF E. G. Hers was a frame so frail, so fine, The soul was seen through every part, A light that could not choose but shine In eye and utterance, hand and heart ; That soul rests now, till God, in his great day, Remoulds his image from this perish'd clay. Body and soul, eternally, No more conflicting nor estranged, One saint made perfect then shall be, From glory into glory changed ; This was her hope in life, in death ; may I Live like the righteous, like the righteous die. 1833. IN MEMORY OF E. G. SOFT be the turf on thy dear breast, And heavenly calm thy lone retreat ; How long'd the wearied frame for rest ; That rest is come, and oh how sweet ! There's nothing terrible in death ; 'Tis but to cast our robes away, And sleep at night, without a breath To break repose till dawn of day. 'Tis not a night without a morn, Though glooms impregnable surround ; Nor lies the buried corse forlorn, A hopeless prisoner in the ground. The darkest clouds give lightnings birth, The pearl is form'd in ocean's bed ; The gem, unperishing in earth, Springs from its grave as from the dead. So shall the relics of the just ; In weakness sown, b'.t raised in power. TRIBUTARY POEMS. The precious seed shall leave the dust, A glorious and immortal flower. But art thou dead ? must we deplore Joys gone for ever from our lot ? And shall we see thy face no more, Where all reminds us thou art not ? No, live while those who love thee live, The sainted sister of our heart ; And thought to thee a form shall give Of all thou wast, and all thou art : Of all thou wast, when from thine eyes The latest beams of kindness shone ; Of all thou art, when faith descries Thy spirit bow'd before the throne. 1821. M. S. TO THE MEMORY OF "A FEMALE WHOM SICKNESS HAD RECONCILED TO THE NOTES OF SORROW," Who corresponded with the Author under this signature, on the first publication of his Poems, in 1806, but died soon after j when her real name and merit* were disclosed to him by one of her surviving friends. MY Song of Sorrow reach'd her ear ; She raised her languid head to hear, And, smiling in the arms of Death, Consoled me with her latest breath. What is the Poet's highest aim, His richest heritage of fame ? To track the warrior's fiery road, With havoc, spoil, destruction strew'd, While nations bleed along the plains, Dragg'd at his chariot- wheels in chains ' M. S. With fawning hand to woo the lyre, Profanely steal celestial fire, And bid an idol's altar blaze With incense of unhallow'd praise ? With syren strains, Circean art, To win the ear, beguile the heart, Wake the wild passions into rage, And please and prostitute the age ? NO ! to the generous bard belong Diviner themes and purer song : To hail Religion from above, Descending in the form of Love, And pointing through a world of strife The narrow way that leads to life : To pour the balm of heavenly rest Through Sorrow's agonizing breast ; With Pity's tender arms embrace The orphans of a kindred race ; And in one zone of concord bind The lawless spoilers of mankind : To sing in numbers boldly free The wars and woes of liberty ; The glory of her triumphs tell, Her noble suffering when she fell,* Girt with the phalanx of the brave, Or widow'd on the patriot's grave, Which tyrants tremble to pass by, Even on the car of Victory. These are the Bard's sublimest views, The angel-visions of the Muse, That o'er his morning slumbers shine ; These are his themes, and these were mine. But pale Despondency, that stole The light of gladness from my soul, While youth and folly blindfold ran The giddy circle up to Man, 'Piu val d'ogni vittoria un bel soffrire." GAETANA PASSBRINI. IN TRIBUTARY POEMS. Breathed a dark spirit through my lyre, Dimm'd the noon-radiance of my fire, And cast a mournful evening hue O'er every scene my fancy drew. Then though the proud despised my strain, It flow'd not from my heart in vain ; The lay of freedom, fervour, truth, Was dear to undissembling youth, From manly breasts drew generous sighs, And Virtue's tears from Beauty's eyes. My Song of Sorrow reach'd HER ear ; She raised her languid head to hear, And, smiling in the arms of Death, She bless'd me with her latest breath. A secret hand to me convey'd The thoughts of that inspiring Maid ; They came like voices on the wind, Heard in the stillness of the mind, When round the Poet's twilight walk Aerial beings seem to talk : Not the twin-stars of Leda shine With vernal influence more benign, Nor sweeter, in the sylvan vale, Sings the lone-warbling nightingale, Than through my shades her lustre broke, Than to my griefs her spirit spoke. My fancy form'd her young and fair, Pure as her sister-lilies were, Adorn'd with meekest maiden grace, With every charm of soul and face, That Virtue's awful eye approves, And fond Affection dearly loves : Heaven in her open aspect seen, Her Maker's image in her mien. Such was the picture fancy drew, in lineaments divinely true ; The Muse, by her mysterious art, Had shown her likeness to my heart M. s. And every faithful feature brought O'er the clear mirror of my thought. But she was waning to the tomb ; The worm of death was in her bloom ; Yet as the mortal frame declined, Strong through the ruins rose the mind ; As the dim moon, when night ascends, Slow in the east the darkness rends, Through melting clouds, by gradual gleams, Pours the mild splendour of her beams, Then bursts in triumph o'er the pole, Free as a disembodied soul ! Thus, while the veil of flesh decay'd, Her beauties brighten'd through the shad.*, ; Charms which her lowly heart conceal' d, In nature's weakness were revealed And still the unrobing spirit cast Diviner glories to the last, Dissolved its bonds, and clear'd its flight, Emerging into perfect light. Yet shall the friends who loved her weep, Though shrined in peace the sufferer sleep, Though rapt to heaven the saint aspire, With seraph guards on wings of fire ; Yet shall they weep ; for oft and well Remembrance shall her story tell, Affection of her virtues speak, With beaming eye and burning cheek, Each action, word, and look recall, The last, the loveliest of all, When on the lap of death she lay, Serenely smiled her soul away, And left surviving Friendship's breast Warm with the sunset of her rest. O thou, who wert on earth unknown, Companion of my thought alone ! Unchanged in heaven to me thou art, Still hold communion with my heart ; Itt TRIBUTARY POEMS. Cheer thou my hopes, exalt my views, Be the good angel of my Muse ; And if to thine approving ear My plaintive numbers once were dear ; If, falling round thy dying hours, Like evening dews on closing flowers, They soothed thy pains, and through thy soul With melancholy sweetness stole, HEAR ME: When slumber from mine eyes, That roll in irksome darkness, flies ; When the lorn spectre of unrest At conscious midnight haunts my breast ; When former joys and present woes, And future fears, are all my foes ; Spirit of my departed friend, Calm through the troubled gloom descend, With strains of triumph on thy tongue, Such as to dying saints are sung ; Such as in Paradise the ear Of GOD himself delights to hear ; Come, all unseen ; be only known By Zion's harp of higher tone, Warbling to thy mysterious voice ; Bid my desponding powers rejoice : And I will listen to thy lay, Till night and sorrow flee away, Till gladness o'er my bosom rise, And morning kindle round the skies. If thus to me, sweet saint, be given To learn from thee the hymns of heaven, Thine inspiration will impart Seraphic ardours to my heart ; My voice thy music shall prolong, And echo thy entrancing song ; My lyre with sympathy divine Shall answer every chord of thine, Till their consenting tones give birth To harmonies unknown on earth. ON THE ROYAL INFANT. Ill Then shall my thoughts, in living fire Sent down from heaven, to heaven aspire, My verse through lofty measures rise, A scale of glory, to the skies, Resembling, on each hallow'd theme, The ladder of the Patriarch's dream, O'er which descending angels shone, On earthly missions from the throne, Returning by the steps they trod, Up to the Paradise of God. 8TILL-BOBN; NOV. 5, 1817. A THRONE on earth awaited thee ; A nation long'd to see thy face, Heir to a glorious ancestry, And father of a mightier race. Vain hope ! that throne thou must not fill ; Thee may that nation ne'er behold ; Thine ancient house is heirless still, Thy line shall never be unroll'd. Yet while we mourn thy flight from earth Thine was a destiny sublime ; Caught up to Paradise in birth, Pluck'd by Eternity from Time. The Mother knew her offspring dead : Oh ! was it grief, or was it love That broke her heart ? The spirit fled To seek her nameless child above. Led by his natal star, she trod The path to heaven: the meeting there, And how they stood before their GOD, The day of judgment shall declare. n A MOTHER'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HER INFANT DAUGHTER I LOVED thee, Daughter of my heart ; My Child, I loved thee dearly ; And though we only met to part, How sweetly ! how severely ! Nor life nor death can sever My soul from thine for ever. Thy days, my little one, were few, An Angel's morning visit, That came and vanish'd with the dew : 'Twas here, 'tis gone, where is it ? Yet didst thou leave behind thee A clew for love to find thee. The eye, the lip, the cheek, the brow, The hands stretch'd forth in gladness All life, joy, rapture, beauty now, Then dash'd with infant sadness, Till, brightening by transition, Return'd the fairy vision : Where are they now ? those smiles, th&ot tears, Thy Mother's darling treasure ? She sees them still, and still she hears Thy tones of pain or pleasure, To her quick pulse revealing Unutterable feeling. Hush'd in a moment on her breast, Life, at the well-spring 1 drinking, Then cradled on her lap to rest, In rosy slumber sinking, Thy dreams no thought can guess them ; And mine- -no tongue express them. THE WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS. 1 For then this waking eye could see, In many a vain vagary, The things that never were to be, Imaginations airy ; Fond hopes that mothers cherish, Like still-born babes to perish. Mine perish'd on thy early bier ; No changed to forms more glorious. They flourish in a higher sphere, O'er time and death victorious ; Yet would these arms have chain'd thee, And long from heaven detain'd thee. Sarah ! my last, my youngest love, The crown of every other ! Though thou art born in heaven above, I am thine only Mother, Nor will affection let me Believe thou canst forget me. Then, thou in heaven and I on earth, May this one hope delight us, That thou wilt hail my second birth When death shall re-unite us, Where worlds no more can sever Parent and child for ever. THE WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS. WELL, thou art gone, and I am left ; But, oh ! how cold and dark to me This world, of every charm bereft, Where all was beautiful with thee ! Though I have seen thy form depart For ever from my widow'd eye, I hold thee in my inmost heart ; There, there at leaet, thou canst not die. Itt TRIBUTARY POEMS. Farewell on earth ; Heaven claim'd its own ; Yet, when from me thy presence went, I was exchanged for GOD alone : Let dust and ashes learn content. Ha ! those small voices silver-sweet Fresh from the fields my babes appear ; They fill my arms, they clasp my feet ; ' Oh ! could your father see us here !" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS THE LYRE. "Ah ! who would love the lyre !" W. B. STEVENS WHERE the roving rill meander'd Down the green retiring vale, Poor, forlorn ALC^US wander'd, Pale with thought, serenely pale : Timeless sorrow o'er his face Breathed a melancholy grace, And fix'd on every feature there The mournful resignation of despair. O'er his arm, his lyre neglected, Once his dear companion, hung, And, in spirit deep dejected, Thus the pensive poet sung ; While at midnight's solemn noon, Sweetly shone the cloudless moon, And all the stars, around his head, Benignly bright, their mildest influence shed. " Lyre ! O Lyre ! my chosen treasure, Solace of my bleeding heart ; Lyre ! O Lyre ! my only pleasure We must now for ever part ; For in vain thy poet sings, Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings ; The Muse's wretched sons are born To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn. 17* . MS MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " That which ALEXANDER sigh'd for, That which CAESAR'S soul possess'd, That which heroes, kings, have died for Glory ! animates my breast : Hark ! the charging trumpets' throats Pour their death-defying notes ; To arms !' they call : to arms I fly, Like WOLFE to conquer, and like WOLFE to die " Soft ! the blood of murder'd legions Summons vengeance from the skies : Flaming towns and ravaged regions, . All in awful judgment rise. then, innocently brave, 1 will wrestle with the wave ; Lo ! Commerce spreads the daring sail, And yokes her naval chariots to the gale " Blow, ye breezes ! gently blowing, Waft me to that happy shore, Where, from fountains ever flowing, Indian realms their treasures pour ; Thence returning, poor in health, Rich in honesty and wealth, O'er thee, my dear paternal soil, I'll strew the golden harvest of my toil. " Then shall Misery's sons and daughte* In their lowly dwellings sing : Bounteous as the Nile's dark waters, Undiscover'd as their spring, I will scatter o'er the land Blessings with a secret hand ; For such angelic tasks design' d, I give the lyre and sorrow to the wind On an oak, whose branches hoary Sigh'd to every passing breeze, Sigh'd and told the simple story Of the patriarch of trees ; 03. THE LYRE. 199 High in air his harp he hung, Now no more to rapture strung ; Then warm in hope, no longer pale, He blush'd adieu, and rambled down the dale. Lightly touch' d by fairy fingers, Hark ! the Lyre enchants the wind ; Fond ALC^EUS listens, lingers Lingering, listening, looks behind. Now the music mounts on high, Sweetly swelling through the sky ; To every tone, with tender heat, His heart-strings vibrate, and his pulses beat. Now the strains to silence stealing, Soft in ecstasies expire ; Oh ! with what romantic feeling Poor ALC^US grasps the Lyre. Lo ! his furious hand he flings In a tempest o'er the strings ; He strikes the chords so quick, so loud, 'Tis JOVE that scatters lightning from a clouc 1 " Lyre ! O Lyre ! my chosen treasure, Solace of my bleeding heart ; Lyre ! O Lyre ! my only pleasure, We will never, never part : Glory, Commerce, now in vain Tempt me to the field, the main ; The Muse's sons are blest, though born To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn " What, though all the world neglect me, Shall my haughty soul repine ? And shall poverty deject me, While this hallow'd Lyre is mine ? Heaven that o'er my helpless head Many a wrathful vial shed, Heaven gave this Lyre, and thus decreed, Be thou a bruised, but not a broken reed." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. REMONSTRANCE TO WINTER. AH ! why, unfeeeling WINTER, why Still flags thy torpid wing ? Fly, melancholy Season, fly, And yield the year to SPRING. Spring, the young harbinger of love, An exile in disgrace, Flits o'er the scene, like NOAH'S dove Nor finds a resting place. When on the mountain's azure peak Alights her fairy form, Cold blow the winds, and dark and bleak Around her rolls the storm. If to the valley she repair For shelter and defence, Thy wrath pursues the mourner there, And drives her, weeping, thence. She seeks the brook, the faithless brook, Of her unmindful grown, Feels the chill magic of thy look, And lingers into stone. She wooes her embryo-flowers in vain To rear their infant heads ; I >eaf to her voice, her flowers remain Enchanted in their beds. In vain she bids the trees expand Their green luxuriant charms ; Bare in the wilderness they stand, And stretch their withering arms Her favourite birds, in feeble notes, Lament thy long delay ; And strain their little stammering throats To charm thy blasts away. ROUND LOVE'S ELYSIAN BOWERS. 101 Ah ! WINTER, calm thy cruel rage, Release the struggling year ; Thy power is past, decrepit Sage, Arise and disappear. The stars that graced thy splendid night Are lost in warmer rays ; The Sun, rejoicing in his might, Unrolls celestial days. Then why, usurping WINTER, why Still flags thy frozen wing ? Fly, unrelenting tyrant, fly And yield the year to SPRING. ROUND LOVE'S ELYSIAN BOWERS. ROUND LOVE'S Elysian bowers The fairest prospects rise ; There bloom the sweetest flowers, There shine the purest skies : And joy and rapture gild awhile The cloudless heaven of BEAUTY'S smile. Round LOVE'S deserted bowers Tremendous rocks arise ; Cold mildews blight the flowers, Tornadoes rend the skies : And PLEASURE'S waning moon goes down Amid the night of BEAUTY'S frown. Then YOUTH, thou fond believer ! The wily Syren shun ; Who trusts the dear deceiver Will surely be undone : When BEAUTY triumphs, ah ! beware ; Her smile is hope her frown despair. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF YARDLEY OAK, CELEBRATED BY COWPER. See Hayley's Life and Letters of W. Cowper, Esq. THIS sole survivor of a race Of giant oaks, where once the wood Rang with the battle or the chase, In stern and lonely grandeur stood. From age to age it slowly spread Its gradual boughs to sun and wind ; From age to age its noble head As slowly wither' d and declined. A thousand years are like a day, When fled ; no longer known than seen ; This tree was doom'd to pass away, And be as if it ne'er had been ; But mournful COWPER, wandering nigh, For rest beneath its shadow came, When, lo ! the voice of days gone by Ascended from its hollow frame. O that the Poet had reveal'd The words of those prophetic strains, Ere death the eternal mystery seal'd Yet in his b ~>ng the Oak remains. And fresh in undecaying prime, Tliere may it live, beyond the power Of storm and earthquake, Man and Time, Till Nature's conflagration-hour. FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH. WRITTEN FOR A SOCIETY, WHOSE MOTTO WAS " FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH. ' WHEN " Friendship, Love, and Truth" ahound Among a band of BROTHERS, The cup of joy goes gaily round, Each shares the bliss of others : Sweet roses grace the thorny way Along this vale of sorrow ; The flowers that shed their leaves to-day Shall bloom again to-morrow : How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy " FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, and TRUTH !" On halcyon wings our moments pass, Life's cruel cares beguiling ; Old TIME lays down his scythe and glass, In gay good-humour smiling : With ermine beard and forelock gray, His reverend front adorning, He looks like Winter turn'd to May, Night soften'd into morning. How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy " FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, and TRUTH !" From these delightful fountains flow Ambrosial rills of pleasure : Can man desire, can Heaven bestow A more resplendent treasure ? Adorn'd with gems so richly bright, We'll form a Constellation, Where every Star, with modest light, Shall gild his proper station. How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy " FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, and TRUTH !" 1700. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. RELIGION. AN OCCASIONAL HYMN. THROUGH shades and solitudes profound The fainting traveller winds his way ; Bewildering meteors glare around, And tempt his wandering feet astray. Welcome, thrice welcome, to his eye The sudden moon's inspiring light, When forth she sallies through the sky, The guardian angel of the night. Thus mortals, blind and weak, below Pursue the phantom Bliss, in vain ; The world's a pilgrimage of wo, And life a pilgrimage of pain, Till mild RELIGION, from above, Descends, a sweet engaging form The messenger of heavenly love, The bow of promise in a storm. Then guilty passions wing their flight, Sorrow, remorse, affliction cease ; RELIGION'S yoke is soft and light, And all her paths are paths of peace. Ambition, pride, revenge depart, And folly flies her chastening rod ; She makes the humble contrite heart A temple of the living GOD. Beyond the narrow vale of time, Where bright celestial ages roll, To scenes eternal, scenes sublime, She points the way, and leads the soul. THE JOY OF GRIEF. At her approach the Grave appears The Gate of Paradise restored ; Her voice the watching Cherub hears, And drops his double-flaming sword. Baptized with her renewing fire, May we the crown of glory gain ; Rise when the Host of Heaven expire, And reign with God, for ever reign ! 1799. THE JOY OF GRIEF. SWEET the hour of tribulation, When the heart can freely sigh, And the tear of resignation Twinkles in the mournful eye. Have you felt a kind emotion Tremble through your troubled breast ; Soft as evening o'er the ocean, When she charms the waves to rest ? Have you lost a friend, or brother ? Heard a father's parting breath ? Gazed upon a lifeless mother, Till she seem'd to wake from death ? Have you felt a spouse expiring In your arms before your view ? Watch'd the lovely soul retiring From her eyes that broke on you ? Did not grief then grow romantic, Raving on remember' d bliss ? Did you not, with fervour frantic, Kiss the lips that felt no kiss ? Yes ! but when you had resign'd her, Life and you were reconciled ; W MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ANNA left she left behind her, One, one dear, one only child. But before the green moss peeping-, His poor mother's grave array'd, In that grave the infant sleeping On the mother's lap was laid. Horror then, your heart congealing, Chill'd you with intense despair : Can you call to mind the feeling ? No ! there was no feeling there. From that gloomy trance of sorrow, When you woke to pangs unknown, How unwelcome was the morrow, For it rose on you ALONE ! Sunk in self-consuming anguish, Can the poor heart always ache ? No, the tortured nerve will languish, Or the strings of life must break. O'er the yielding brow of Sadness One faint smile of comfort stole ; One soft pang of tender gladness Exquisitely thrill'd your soul. While the wounds of wo are healing, While the heart is all resign'd ; 'Tis the solemn feast of feeling, 'Tis the sabbath of the mind. Pensive memory then retraces Scenes of bliss for ever fled, Lives in former times and places, Holds communion with the dead. And when night's prophetic slumbers Rend the veil to mortal eyes, From their tombs the sainted numbers Of our lost companions rise. THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA. VI You have seen a friend, a brother, Heard a dear dead father speak ; Proved the fondness of a mother, Felt her tears upon your cheek. Dreams of love your grief beguiling, You have clasp'd a consort's charms, And received your infant smiling From his mother's sacred arms. Trembling, pale, and agonizing, While you mourn'd the vision gone, Bright the morning-star arising, Open'd heaven, from whence it shone. Thither all your wishes bending, Rose in ecstasy sublime, Thither all your hopes ascending Triumph'd over death and time. Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken, Have you known such sweet relief? Yes, my friend ; and by this token, You have felt "THE JOY OF GRIEF." 180S THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA. At Thebes, in Ancient Egypt, was erected a statue of Memnon, with a harp in his hand, which is said to have hailed with delightful music the rising sun, and in melancholy tones to have mourned his departure. The introduction of this celebrated Lyre, on a modern occasion, will be censured as an anachronism by those only who think that its chords have bee/i touch'd unskilfully. HARP of Memnon ! sweetly strung To the music of the spheres ; While the HERO'S dirge is sung, Breathe enchantment to our ears. As the SUN'S descending beams, Glancing o'er thy feeling wire, Kindle every chord that gleams, Like a ray of heavenly fire : 8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Let thy numbers, soft and slow, O'er the plain with carnage spread, Soothe the dying while they flow To the memory of the dead. Bright as Beauty, newly born, Blushing at her maiden charms ; Fresh from Ocean rose the Morn, When the trumpet blew to arms. Terrible soon grew the light On the Egyptian battle-plain, As the darkness of that night, When the eldest born was skin. Lash'd to madness by the wind, As the Red Sea surges roar, Leave a gloomy gulf behind, And devour the shrinking shore ; Thus, with overwhelming pride, GALLIA'S brightest, boldest boast, In a deep and dreadful tide, Roll'd upon the BRITISH host. Dauntless these their station held, Though with unextinguish'd ire GALLIA'S legions, thrice repell'd, Thrice return'd through blood and fire. Thus, above the storms of time, Towering to the sacred spheres, Stand the Pyramids sublime, Rocks amid the flood of years. Now the veteran CHIEF drew nigh, Conquest towering on his crest, Valour beaming from his eye, Pity bleeding in his breast. BRITAIN saw him thus advance In her Guardian- Angel's form ; But he lower'd on hostile FRANCE, Like the Demon of the Storm. THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA. 909 On the whirlwind of the war High he rode in vengeance dire ; To his friends a leading star, To his foes consuming fire. Then the mighty pour'd their breath, Slaughter feasted on the brave ! 'Twas the Carnival of Death ; 'Twas the Vintage of the Grave. Charged with ABERCROMBIE'S doom, Lightning wing'd a cruel ball : 'Twas the Herald of the Tomb, And the HERO felt the call Felt and raised his arm on high ; * Victory well the signal knew, Darted from his awful eye, And the force of FRANCE o'erthrew. But the horrors of that fight, Were the weeping MUSE to tell, Oh 'twould cleave the womb of night, And awake the dead that fell ! Gash'd with honourable scars, Low in Glory's lap they lie ; Though they fell, they fell like stars, Streaming splendour through the sky. Yet shall Memory mourn that day, When, with expectation pale, Of her soldier far away The poor widow hears the tale. In imagination wild, She shall wander o'er this plain, Rave, and bid her orphan-child Seek his sire among the skin. Gently, from the western deep, O ye evening breezes, rise ! 18* MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. O'er the Lyre of MEMNON sweep, Wake its spirit with your sighs. Harp of MKMNON ! sweetly strung To the music of the spheres ; While the HERO'S dirge is sung, Breathe enchantment to our ears. Let thy numbers soft and slow O'er the plain with carnage spread, Soothe the dying while they flow To the memory of the dead. None but solemn, tender tones Tremble from thy plaintive wires : Hark ! the wounded WARRIOR groans : Hush thy warbling ! he expires. Hush ! while Sorrow wakes and weeps ; O'er his relics cold and pale, Night her silent vigil keeps, In a mournful moonlight vale. Harp of MEMNON ! from afar, Ere the lark salute the sky, Watch the rising of the star That proclaims the morning nigh. Soon the Sun's ascending rays, In a flood of hallow'd fire, O'er thy kindling chords shall blaze, And thy magic soul inspire. Then thy tones triumphant pour, Let them pierce the HERO'S grave ; Life's tumultuous battle o'er, Oh how sweetly sleep the brave ! From the dust their laurels bloom, High they shoot and flourish free ; Glory's Temple is the tomb ; Death is immortality. THE PILLOW. Ill THE PILLOW THE head that oft this PILLOW press'd, That aching head, is gone to rest ; Its little pleasures now no more, And all its mighty sorrows o'er, For ever, in the worm's dark bed, For ever sleeps that humble head ! Mv FRIEND was young, the world was new ; The world was false, MY FRIEND was true ; Lowly his lot, his birth obscure, His fortune hard, MY FRIEND was poor ; To wisdom he had no pretence, A child of suffering, not of sense ; For NATURE never did impart A weaker or a warmer heart. His fervent soul, a soul of flame, Consumed its frail terrestrial frame ; That fire from Heaven so fiercely burn'd, That whence it came it soon return'd : And yet, O PILLOW ! yet to me, My gentle FRIEND survives in thee ; In thee, the partner of his bed, In thee, the widow of the dead. On HELICON'S inspiring brink, Ere yet MY FRIEND had learn'd to think, Once as he pass'd the careless day Among the whispering reeds at play, The MUSE of SORROW wander'd by ; Her pensive beauty fix'd his eye ; With sweet astonishment he smiled ; The Gipsy saw she stole the child ; And soft on her ambrosial breast Sang the delighted babe to rest ; Convey'd him to her inmost grove, A.nd loved him with a Mother's love. m MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Awaking from his rosy nap, And gaily sporting on her lap, His wanton fingers o'er her lyre Twinkled like electric fire : Quick and quicker as they flew, Sweet and sweeter tones they drew ; Now a bolder hand he flings, And dives among the deepest strings ; Then forth the music brake like thunder ; Back he started, wild with wonder. The MUSE OF SORROW wept for joy, And clasp'd and kiss'd her chosen boy. Ah ! then no more his smiling hours Were spent in Childhood's Eden-bowers ; The fall from Infant-innocence, The fall to knowledge drives us thence : O Knowledge ! worthless at the price, Bought with the loss of PARADISE. As happy ignorance declined, And reason rose upon his mind, Romantic hopes and fond desires (Sparks of the soul's immortal fires) Kindled within his breast the rage To breathe through every future age, To clasp the flitting shade of fame, To build an everlasting name, O'erleap the narrow vulgar span, And live beyond the life of man. Then NATURE'S charms his heart possess'd, And NATURE'S glory fill'd his breast : The SAveet Spring-morning's infant rays, Meridian Summer's youthful blaze, Maturer Autumn's evening mild, And hoary Winter's midnight wild, Awoke his eye, inspired his tongue ; For every scene he loved, he sung. Rude were his songs, and simple truth, Till Boyhood blossom'd into Youth ; i. PILLOW. tit Then nobler themes his fancy fired, To bolder flights his soul aspired ; And as the new moon's opening eye Broadens and brightens through the sky, From the dim streak of western light To the full orb that rules the night ; Thus, gathering lustre in its race, And shining through unbounded space, From earth to heaven his GENIUS soar'd, Time and eternity explored, And hail'd, where'er its footsteps trod, In NATURE'S temple, NATURE'S God : Or pierced the human breast to scan The hidden majesty of Man ; Man's hidden weakness too descried, His glory, grandeur, meanness, pride : Pursued along their erring course The streams of passion to their source ; Or in the mind's creation sought New stars of fancy, worlds of thought. Yet still through all his strains would flow A tone of uncomplaining wo, Kind as the tear in Pity's eye, Soft as the slumbering Infant's sigh, So sweetly, exquisitely wild, It spake the MUSE OF SORROW'S child. O PILLOW ! then, when light withdrew, To thee the fond enthusiast flew ; On thee, in pensive mood reclined, He pour'd his contemplative mind, Till o'er his eyes with mild control Sleep like a soft enchantment stole, Charm'd into life his airy schemes, And realized his waking dreams. Soon from those waking dreams he woke, The fairy spell of fancy broke ; In vain he breathed a soul of fire Through every cherd that strung his lyre. J14 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. No friendly echo cheer' d his tongue ; Amidst the wilderness he sung ; Louder and bolder bards were crown'd, Whose dissonance his music drown'd : The public ear, the public voice, Despised his song, denied his choice, Denied a name, a life in death, Denied a bubble and a breath. Stript of his fondest, dearest claim, And disinherited of fame, To thee, O PILLOW ! thee alone, He made his silent anguish known ; His haughty spirit scorn'd the blow That laid his high ambition low ; But, ah ! his looks assumed in vain A cold, ineffable disdain, While deep he cherish'd in his breast The scorpion that consumed his rest. Yet other secret griefs had he, O PILLOW ! only told to thee : Say, did not hopeless love intrude On his poor bosom's solitude ? Perhaps on thy soft lap reclined, In dreams the cruel FAIR was kind, That more intensely he might know The bitterness of waking wo. Whate'er those pangs from me conceal'd, To thee in midnight groans reveal'd, They stung remembrance to despair : " A wounded spirit who can bear !" Meanwhile disease, with slow decay, Moulder'd his feeble frame away ; And as his evening sun declined, The shadows deepen'd o'er his mind. What doubts and terrors then possess'd The dark dominion of his breast ! How did delirious fancy dwell On Madnes?, Suicide, and Hell ! TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF BRITAIN. tlf There was on earth no POWER to save : But, as he shudder'd o'er the grave, He saw from realms of light descend The friend of him who has no friend, RELIGION ! Her almighty breath Rebuked the winds and waves of death ; She bade the storm of frenzy cease, And smiled a calm, and whisper'd peace : Amidst that calm of sweet repose, To HEAVEN his gentle Spirit rose. 1803. ODE TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF BRITAIN ON THE PROSPECT OF INVASION. O FOR the death of those Who for their country die, Sink on her bosom to repose, And triumph where they lie ! How beautiful in death The WARRIOR'S corse appears, Embalm'd by fond AFFECTION'S breath, And bathed in WOMAN'S tears ! Their loveliest native earth Enshrines the fallen brave ; In the dear land that gave them birth They find their tranquil grave. But the wild waves shall sweep BRITANNIA'S foes away, And the blue monsters of the deep Be surfeited with prey. No ! they have 'scaped the waves, 'Scaped the sea-monsters' maws ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. They come ! but oh ! shall GALLIC SLAVES Give ENGLISH FREEMEN laws 1 By ALFRED'S Spirit, No ! Ring, ring the loud alarms ; Ye drums, awake ! ye clarions, blow I Ye heralds, shout " To arms !" To arms our Heroes fly ; And, leading on their lines, The BRITISH BANNER in the sky, The star of conquest shines. The lowering battle forms Its terrible array ; Like clashing clouds in mountain-storms. That thunder on their way : The rushing armies meet ; And while they pour their breath, The strong earth shudders at their feet, The day grows dim with death. Ghosts of the mighty dead ! Your children's hearts inspire ; And while they on your ashes tread. Rekindle all your fire. The dead to life return ; Our Fathers' spirits rise ; My brethren, in YOUR breasts they burn, They sparkle in YOUR eyes. Now launch upon the foe The lightning of your rage ; Strike, strike the assailing giants low, The TITANS of the age. They yield, they break, they fly ; The victory is won : Pursue ! they faint, they fall, they die Oh, stay ! the work is done. TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF BRITAIN. T SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE ! rest : Sweet MERCY cries, " Forbear '." She clasps the vanquish'd to her breast ; Thou wilt not pierce them there ? Thus vanish BRITAIN'S foes From her consuming eye ; But rich be the reward of those Who conquer, those who die. O'ershadowing laurels deck The living HERO'S brows ; But lovelier wreaths entwine his neck, His children and his spouse. Exulting o'er his lot, The dangers he has braved, He clasps the dear ones, hails the cot, Which his own valour saved. DAUGHTERS OF ALBION, weep : On this triumphant plain, Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep, For you and freedom slain. Oh ! gently close the eye That loved to look on you ; Oh ! seal the lip whose earliest sigh, Whose latest breath was true : With knots of sweetest flowers Their winding-sheet perfume ; And wash their wounds with true-love showers, And dress them for the tomb. For beautiful in death The WARRIOR'S corse appears, Embalm'd by fond AFFECTION'S breath, And bathed in WOMAN'S tears. Give me the death of those Who for their country die ; 19 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And oh ! be mine like their repose, When cold and low they lie ! Their loveliest mother Earth Enshrines the fallen brave ; In her sweet lap who gave them birth They find their tranquil grave. 1804 THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK. RETURNING from their evening walk, On yonder ancient stile, In sweet, romantic, tender talk, Two lovers paused awhile : EDMUND, the monarch of the dale, All conscious of his powers ; ELLA, the lily of the vale, The rose of AUBURN'S bowers. In airy Love's delightful bands He held her heart in vain : The Nymph denied her willing hands To HYMEN'S awful chain. " Ah ! why," said he, " our bliss delay T Min 2 ELLA, why so cold ? Those who but love from day to day, From day to day grow old. " The bounding arrow cleaves the sky, Nor leaves a trace behind ; And single lives like arrows fly, They vanish through the wind. " In Wedlock's sweet endearing lot, Let us improve the scene, That some may be, when we are not. To tell that we have been." THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK. tit " 'Tis now," replied the village Belle, " St. Mark's mysterious Eve ; And all that old traditions tell I tremblingly believe ; " How, when the midnight signal tolls, Along the churchyard green A mournful train of sentenced souls In winding-sheets are seen. " The ghosts of all whom death shall doom Within the coming year, In pale procession walk the gloom, Amid the silence drear. " If EDMUND, bold in conscious might, By love severely tried, Can brave the terrors of to-night, ELLA will be his bride.". She spake, and, like the nimble fawn, From EDMUND'S presence fled : He sought, across the rural lawn, The dwelling of the dead ; That silent, solemn, simple spot, The mouldering realm of peace, Where human passions are forgot, Where human follies cease. The gliding moon through heaven serene Pursued her tranquil way, And shed o'er all the sleeping scene A soft nocturnal day. With swelling heart and eager feet Young EDMUND gain'd the church, And chose his solitary seat Within the dreadful porch. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Thick, threatening clouds assembled soon, Their dragon wings display'd ; Eclipsed the slow retiring moon, And quench'd the stars in shade. Amid the deep abyss of gloom No ray of beauty smiled, Save, glistening o'er some haunted tomb, The glow-worm's lustre wild. The village watch-dogs bay'd around, The long grass whistled drear, The steeple trembled to the ground, Ev'n EDMUND quaked with fear. All on a sudden died the blast, Dumb horror chill'd the air, While NATURE seem'd to pause aghast, In uttermost despair. Twelve times the midnight herald toll'd, As oft did EDMUND start ; For every stroke fell dead and cold Upon his fainting heart. Then glaring through the ghastly gloom, Along the churchyard green, The destined victims of the tomb In winding-sheets were seen. In that strange moment EDMUND stood, Sick with severe surprise ! While creeping horror drank his blood, And fix'd his flinty eyes. He saw the secrets of the grave ; He saw the face of DEATH : No pitying power appear'd to save He gusp'd away his breath THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK. Yet still the scene his soul beguiled, And every spectre cast A look, unutterably wild, On EDMUND as they pass'd. All on the ground entranced he lay ; At length the vision broke : When, lo ! a kiss, as cold as clay, The slumbering youth awoke. That moment through a rifted cloud, The darting moon display'd, Robed in a melancholy shroud, The image of a maid. Her dusky veil aside she drew, And show'd a face most fair : " My Love ! my ELLA !" EDMUND flew, And clasp'd the yielding air. " Ha ! who art thou ?" His cheek grew pale ; A well-known voice replied, " ELLA, the lily of the vale ; ELLA thy destined bride." To win his neck her airy arms The pallid phantom spread ; Recoiling from her blasted charms, The affrighted lover fled. To shun the visionary maid, His speed outstrip! the wind ; But, though unseen to move, the shade Was evermore behind. So DEATH'S unerring arrows glide, Yet seem suspended still ; Nor pause, nor shrink, nor turn aside But smite, subdue, and kill. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. O'er many a mountain, moor, and vale, On that tremendous night, The ghost of ELLA, wild and pale, Pursued her lover's flight. But when the dawn began to gleam, Ere yet the morning shone, She vanish'd like a nightmare-dream, And EDMUND stood alone. Three days, bewilder'd and forlorn, He sought his home in vain ; At length he hail'd the hoary thorn That crown'd his native plain. 'Twas evening ; all the air was balm, The heavens serenely clear ; When the soft music of a psalm Came pensive o'er his ear. Then sunk his heart ; a strange surmise Made all his blood run cold : He flew, a funeral met his eyes : He paused, a death-bell toll'd. " 'Tis she ! 'tis she !" He bursts away ; And bending o'er the spot Where all that once was ELLA lay, He all beside forgot. A maniac now, in dumb despair, With love-bewilder'd mien, He wanders, weeps, and watches there, Among the hillocks green. And every Eve of pale St. MARK, As village hinds relate, He walks with ELLA in the dark, And reads tho rolls of Fate irw. HANNAH. HANNAH. AT fond sixteen my roving heart Was pierced by Love's delightful dart : Keen transport throbb'd through every vein, I never felt so sweet a pain ! Where circling woods embower'd the glade, I met the dear romantic maid : I stole her hand, it shrunk, but no ; I would not let my captive go. With all the fervency of youth, While passion told the tale of truth, I mark'd my HANNAH'S downcast eye 'Twas kind, but beautifully shy : Not with a warmer, purer ray, The sun, enamour'd, woos young May ; Nor May, with softer maiden grace, Turns from the sun her blushing face. But, swifter than the frighted dove, Fled the gay morning of my love ; Ah ! that so bright a morn, so soon Should vanish in so dark a noon. The angel of Affliction rose, And in his grasp a thousand woes ; He pour'd his vial on my head, And all the heaven of rapture fled. Yet, in the glory of my pride, I stood, and all his wrath defied ; I stood, though whirlwinds shook my brain, And lightnings cleft my soul in twain. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I shunn'd my nymph ; and knew not why I durst not meet her gentle eye ; I shunn'd her, for I could not bear To marry her to my despair. Yet, sick at heart with hope delay'd, Oft the dear image of that maid Glanced, like the rainbow, o'er my mind, And promised happiness behind. The storm blew o'er, and in my breast The halcyon Peace rebuilt her nest : The storm blew o'er, and clear and mild The sea of Youth and Pleasure smiled. 'Twas on the merry morn of May, To HANNAH'S cot I took my way : My eager hopes were on the wing, Like swallows sporting in the spring. Then as I climb'd the mountains o'er, I lived my wooing days once more ; And fancy sketch' d my married lot, My wife, my children, and my cot. I saw the village steeple rise, My soul sprang, sparkling, in my eyes The rural bells rang sweet and clear, My fond heart listen' d in mine ear. I reach' d the hamlet : all was gay ; I love a rustic holyday : I met a wedding, stepp'd aside ; It pass'd, my HANNAH was the bride. - There is a grief that cannot feel ; It leaves a wound that will not heal ; - My heart grew cold, it felt not then ; When shall it cease to feel again ? 1901. A FIELD FLOWER. A FIELD FLOWER. ON FINDING ONE IN FULL BLOOM, ON CHRISTMAS DAY, 1805V. THERE is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the Sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December's arms. The purple heath and golden broom On moory mountains catch the gale, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale. But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den. Within the garden's cultured round It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead. 220 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild-bee murmurs on its breast, The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, Light o'er the sky-lark's nest. 'Tis FLORA'S page ; in every place, In every season fresh and fair, It opens with perennial grace, And blossoms every where. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise ; The Rose has but a summer-reign, The DAISY never dies. THE SNOW-DROP. WINTER, retire, Thy reign is past ; Hoary Sire, Yield the sceptre of thy sway, Sound thy trumpet in the blast, And call thy storms away. Winter, retire ; Wherefore do thy wheels delay ? Mount the chariot of thine ire, And quit the realms of day ; On thy state Whirlwinds wait ; And blood-shot meteors lend thee light ; Hence to dreary arctic regions Summon thy terrific legions ; Hence to caves of northern night Speed thy flight. From halcyon seas And purer skies, O southern breeze ' Awake, arise : THE SNOW-DROP. Breath of heaven, benignly blow, Melt the snow : Breath of heaven, unchain the floods, Warm the woods, And make the mountains flow. Auspicious to the Muse's prayer, The freshening gale Embalms the vale, And breathes enchantment through the air ; On its wing Floats the Spring, With glowing eye, and golden hair : Dark before her Angel-form She drives the demon of the storm, Like Gladness chasing Care. Winter's gloomy night withdrawn, Lo ! the young romantic Hours Search the hill, the dale, the lawn, To behold the SNOW-DROP white Start to light, And shine in FLORA'S desert bowers, Beneath the vernal dawn, The Morning Star of Flowers. Oh ! welcome to our isle, Thou Messenger of Peace ! At whose bewitching smile The embattled tempests cease : Emblem of Innocence and Truth, First born of Nature's womb, When strong in renovated youth She bursts from Winter's tomb ; Thy parent's eye hath shed A precious dew-drop on thine head, Frail as a mother's tear Upon her infant's face, When ardent hope to tender fear, And anxious love, gives place. W MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But, lo ! the dew-drop flits away, The sun salutes thee with a ray Warm as a mother's kiss Upon her infant's cheek, When the heart bounds with bliss, And joy that cannot speak. -When I meet thee by the way, Like a pretty sportive child, On the winter-wasted wild, f With thy darling breeze at play, Opening to the radiant sky All the sweetness of thine eye ; Or bright with sunbeams, fresh with showers, O thou Fairy-Queen of flowers ! Watch thee o'er the plain advance At the head of FLORA'S dance ; Simple SNOW-DROP, then in thee All thy sister-train I see ; Every brilliant bud that blows, From the blue-bell to the rose ; All the beauties that appear On the bosom of the Year, All that wreathe the locks of Spring, Summer's ardent breath perfume, Or on the lap of Autumn bloom, All to thee their tribute bring, Exhale their incense at thy shrine, Their hues, their odours, all are thine, For while thy humble form I view, The Muse's keen prophetic sight Brings fair Futurity to light, And Fancy's magic makes the vision true. There is a Winter in my soul, The winter of despair ; Oh, when shall Spring its rage control? When shall the SNOW-DROP blossom there * Cold gleams of comfort sometimes dart AN EPITAPH. A dawn of glory on xny heart, But quickly pass away : Thus Northern-lights the gloom adorn, And give the promise of a morn That never turns to day ! But, hark ! methinks I hear A still small whisper in mine ear ; " Rash youth, repent : Afflictions, from above, Are angels sent On embassies of love. A fiery legion at thy birth, Of chastening woes were given. To pluck the flowers of hope from earth, And plant them high O'er yonder sky, Transform'd to stars, and fix'd in heaven." 1805. AN EPITAPH. ART thou a man of honest mould, With fervent heart, and soul sincere ? A husband, father, friend ? Behold, Thy brother slumbers here. The sun that wakes yon violet's bloom, Once cheer'd his eye, now dark in death, The wind that wanders o'er his tomb Was once his vital breath. The roving wind shall pass away, The warming sun forsake the sky ; Thy brother, in that dreadful day, Shall live and never die. 20 SSC MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE OCEAN. WRITTEN AT SCARBOROUGH, IN THE SUMMER OF 1805. ALL hail to the ruins,* the rocks and the shores ! Thou wide-rolling OCEAN, all hail ! NOAV brilliant with sunbeams, and dimpled with oars, Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale, While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail, And the silver wing'd sea-fowl on high, Like meteors bespangle the sky, Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide. From the tumult and smoke of the city set free, With eager and awful delight, From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee ; I gaze, and am changed at the sight ; For mine eye is illumined, my Genius takes flight, My soul, like the sun, with a glance Embraces the boundless expanse, And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll, From the day-darting .zone to the night-shadow'd pole. My spirit descends where the day-spring is born, Where the billows are rubies on fire, And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn Are sweet as the Phoenix's pyre : O regions of beauty, of love, and desire ! O gardens of Eden ! in vain Placed far on the fathomless main, Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her youth, When pure was her heart, and unbroken her truth. * Scarborough Cactle. THE OCEAN- Ml But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind Through countries and kingdoms o'erthrown : Where the giant of Tyranny crushes mankind, Where he reigns, and will soon reign alone ; For wide and more wide, o'er the sun-beaming zone, He stretches his hundred-fold arms, Despoiling, destroying its charms ; Beneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry, And the mountains recoil from the flash of his eye. Thus the pestilent Upas, the Demon of trees, Its boughs o'er the wilderness spreads, And with livid contagion polluting the breeze, Its mildewing influence sheds : The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their beds, Are slain by its venomous breath, That darkens the noonday with death ; And pale ghosts of travellers wander around, While their mouldering skeletons whiten the ground. Ah! why hath, JEHOVAH, in forming the world, With the waters divided the land, His ramparts of rocks round the continent hurl'd, And cradled the Deep in his hand, If man may transgress his eternal command, And leap o'er the bounds of his birth, To ravage the uttermost earth, And violate nations and realms that should be Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea ? There are, gloomy OCEAN ! a brotherless clan, Who traverse thy banishing waves The poor disinherited outcasts of man, Whom Avarice coins into slaves : From the homes of their kindred, their forefathers' graves, Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss, They are dragg'd on the hoary abyss ; The shark hears their shrieks, and, ascending to day, Demands of the spoiler his sharo of the prey 23S MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Then joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath, And makes their destruction its sport ! But wo to the winds that propitiously breathe, And waft them in safety to port, Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon resort ; Where Europe exultingly drains The life-blood from Africa's veins ; Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod, And spurns at his footstool the image of God ! The hour is approaching, a terrible hour ! And Vengeance is bending her bow ; Already the clouds of the hurricane lour, And the rock-rending whirlwinds blow : Back rolls the huge OCEAN, Hell opens below : The floods return headlong, they sweep The slave-cultured lands to the deep ; In a moment entomb'd in the horrible void, By their Maker Himself in his anger destroy'd ! Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles, More lovely than clouds in the west, When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles Sinks softly and sweetly to rest ? NO ! Father of mercy ! befriend the opprest : At the voice of thy Gospel of peace May the sorrows of Africa cease ; And the slave and his master devoutly unite To walk in thy freedom, and dwell in thy light !* As homeward my weary-wing'd Fancy extends Her star-lighted course through the skies, High over the mighty Atlantic ascends, And turns upon Europe her eyes ; Ah me ! what new prospects, new horrors arise ! * Alluding to tho glorious success of the Moravian Missionaries among the Negroes in the West Indies. THE OCEAN. S33 I see the war-tempested flood All foaming, and panting with blood ; The panic-struck OCEAN in agony roars, Rebounds from the battle, and flies to his shores ; For BRITANNIA is wielding the trident to-day, Consuming her foes in her ire, And hurling the thunder of absolute sway From her wave-ruling chariots of fire : She triumphs ; the winds and the waters conspire To spread her invincible name ; The universe rings with her fame ; But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise, And the tears of the widow are shed on her bays.* O Britain ! dear Britain ! the land of my birth ; O Isle, most enchantingly fair ! Thou Pearl of the Ocean ! Thou Gem of the Earth ! O my Mother ! my Mother ! beware ; For wealth is a phantom, and empire a snare : O let not thy birthright be sold For reprobate glory and gold ! Thy distant dominions like wild graftings shoot, They weigh down thy trunk they will tear up thy root :- The root of thine OAK, O my country ! that stands Rock-planted, and flourishing free ; Its branches are stretch' d o'er the uttermost lands, And its shadow eclipses the sea : The blood of our ancestors nourish'd the tree ; From their tombs, from their ashes it sprung ; Its boughs with their trophies are hung ; Their spirit dwells in it : and, hark ! for it spoke ; The voice of our fathers ascends from their Oak : * While the author wag meditating these stanzas, in sight of the ocean from tbe northern cliffs, intelligence arrived of the naval victory of Sir Robert Caldc r, over the French and Spanish fleets off the western coast of Spain. 20* 34 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " Ye Britons, who dwell where we conquer'd of old, Who inherit our battle-field graves ; Though poor were your fathers, gigantic and bold, We were not, we could not be slaves ; But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves, The spears of the Romans we broke, We never stoop'd under their yoke ; In the shipwreck of nations we stood up alone, The world was great CAESAR'S, but Britain our own. "For ages and ages, with barbarous foes, The Saxon, Norwegian, and Gaul, We wrestled, were foil'd, were cast down, but we rose With new vigour, new life from each fall ; By all we were conquer'd : WE CONQUER'D THEM ALL ' The cruel, the cannibal mind, We soften'd, subdued, and refined : Bears, wolves, and sea monsters, they rush'd from their den ; We taught them, we tamed them, we turn'd them to men. " Love led the wild hordes in his flower-woven bands, The tenderest, strongest of chains : Love married our hearts, he united our hands, And mingled the blood in our veins ; One race we became : on the mountains and plains Where the wounds of our country were closed, The Ark of Religion reposed, The unquenchable Altar of Liberty blazed, And the Temple of Justice in Mercy was raised. " Ark, Altar, and Temple, we left with our breath ! To our children, a sacred bequest : O guard them, O keep them, in life and in death ! So the shades of your fathers shall rest, And your spirits with ours be in Paradise blest : Let Ambition, the sin of the brave, And Avarice, the soul of a slave, No longer seduce your affections to roam From Liberty, Justice, Religion, AT HOME." THE COMMON LOT. THE COMMON LOT. A Birthday Meditation, during a solitary winter walk, of seven miles, between a Tillage in Derbyshire and Sheffield, when the ground was covered with snow, the sky serene, and the morning air intensely pure. ONCE in the flight of ages past, There lived a man : and WHO was HE ? Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, That Man resembled Thee Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown : His name has perish'd from the earth ; This truth survives alone : That joy and grief, and hope and fear, Alternate triumph'd in his breast ; His bliss and wo, a smile, a tear ! Oblivion hides the rest. The bounding pulse, the languid limb, The changing spirits' rise and fall ; We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all. He suffer' d, but his pangs are o'er ; Enjoy'd, but his delights are fled ; Had friends, his friends are now no more , And foes, his foes are dead. He loved, but whom he loved, the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb : Oh, she was fair ! but nought could save Her beauty from the tomb. He saw whatever thou hast seen ; Encounter'd all that troubles thee : He was whatever thou hast been ; He is what thou shall be. SM MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, Erewhile his portion, life and light, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew. The annals of 'the human race, Their ruins, since the world began, Of HIM afford no other trace Than this, THERE LIVED A MAN ! Jfovember 4, 1805. THE HARP OF SORROW. I GAVE my Harp to Sorrow's hand, And she has ruled the chords so long, They will not speak at my command ; They warble only to her song. Of dear, departed hours, Too fondly loved to last, The dew, the breath, the bloom of flowers, Snapt in their freshness by the blast : Of long, long years of future care, Till lingering Nature yields her breath, And endless ages of despair, Beyond the judgment-day of death : The weeping Minstrel sings ; And while her numbers flow, My spirit trembles with the strings, Responsive to the notes of wo. Would gladness move a sprightlier strain, And wake this wild Harp's clearest tones t THE HARP OF SORROW. VI The chords, impatient to complain, Are dumb, or only utter moans. And yet, to soothe the mind With luxury of grief, The soul to suffering all resign'd In sorrow's music feels relief. Thus o'er the light JEolian lyre The winds of dark November stray Touch the quick nerve of every wire, And on its magic pulses play ; Till all the air around, Mysterious murmurs fill, A strange bewildering dream of sound, Most heavenly sweet, yet mournful still. O ! snatch the Harp from Sorrow's hand, Hope ! who hast been a stranger long ; O ! strike it with sublime command, And be the Poet's life thy song. Of vanish 'd troubles sing, Of fears for ever fled, Of flowers that hear the voice of Spring, And burst and blossom from the dead ; Of home, contentment, health, repose, Serene delights, while years increase ; And weary life's triumphant close In some calm sunset hour of peace ; Of bliss that reigns above, Celestial May of Youth, Unchanging as JEHOVAH'S love, And everlasting as his truth : Sing, heavenly hope ! and dart thine hand O'er my frail Harp, untuned so long ; That Harp shall breathe, at thy command, Immortal sweetness through thy song. 38 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ah ! then, this gloom control, And at thy voice shall start A new creation in my soul, A native Eden in my heart. 1807. POPE'S WILLOW. Written for an Urn, made out of the Trunk of the Weeping Willow, imported from the East, and planted by Pope in his grounds at Twickenham, where it flourished many years ; but, falling into decay, it was lately cut down. ERE Pope resign'd his tuneful breath, And made the turf his pillow, The minstrel hung his harp in death Upon the drooping Willow ; That Willow from Euphrates' strand, Had sprung beneath his training hand. Long as revolving seasons flew, From youth to age it flourish'd, By vernal winds and starlight dew, By showers and sunbeams nourish'd ; And while in dust the Poet slept, The Willow o'er his ashes wept. Old Time beheld its silvery head With graceful grandeur towering, Its pensile boughs profusely spread, The breezy lawn embowering, Till, arch'd around, there seem'd to shoot A grove of scions from one root. Thither, at summer noon, he view'd The lovely Nine retreating, POPE'S WILLOW. Beneath its twilight solitude With songs their Poet greeting, Whose spirit in the Willow spoke, Like Jove's from dark Dodona's oak. By harvest moonlight there he spied The fairy bands advancing ; Bright Ariel's troop, on Thames's side, Around the Willow dancing ; Gay sylphs among the foliage play'd, And glow-worms glitter'd in the shade. One morn, while Time thus mark'd the tree In beauty green and glorious, " The hand," he cried, " that planted thee, O'er mine was oft victorious ; Be vengeance now my calm employ, One work of POPE'S I will destroy." He spake, and struck a silent blow With that dread arm, whose motion Lays cedars, thrones, and temples low, And wields o'er land and ocean The unremitting axe of doom, That fells the forest of the tomb. Deep to the Willow's root it went, And cleft the core asunder, Like sudden, secret lightning, sent Without recording thunder : From that sad moment, slow away Began the Willow to decay. In vain did Spring those bowers restore, Where loves and graces revell'd, Autumn's wild gales the branches tore, The thin gray leaves dishevell'd, And every wasting Winter found The Willow nearer to the ground. 240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Hoary, and weak, and bent with age, At length the axe assail' d it : It bow'd before the woodman's rage ; The swans of Thames bewail'd it, With softer tones, with sweeter breath, Than ever charm'd the ear of death. O POPE ! hadst thou, whose lyre so long The wondering world enchanted, Amidst thy paradise of song This Weeping Willow planted ; Among thy loftiest laurels seen, In deathless verse for ever green, Thy chosen Tree had stood sublime, The storms of ages braving, Triumphant o'er the wrecks of Time Its verdant banner waving, While regal pyramids decay'd, And empires perish 'd in its shade. An humbler lot, O Tree ! was thine, Gone down in all thy glory ; The sweet, the mournful task be mine, To sing thy simple story ; Though verse like mine in vain would raise The fame of thy departed days. Yet, fallen Willow ! if to me Such power of song were given, My lips should breathe a soul through thee, And call down fire from heaven, To kindle in this hallow'd Urn A flame that would for ever burn 1806. A WALK IN SPRING. Ml A WALK IN SPRING. I WANDER'D in a lonely glade, Where, issuing from the forest shade, A little mountain stream Along the winding valley play'd, Beneath the morning beam. Light o'er the woods of dark brown oak The west-wind wreathed the hovering smoke. From cottage roofs conceal'd, Below a rock abruptly broke, In rosy light reveal'd. 'Twas in the infancy of May, The uplands glow'd in green array, While from the ranging eye The lessening landscape stretch'd away To meet the bending sky. 'Tis sweet in solitude to hear The earliest music of the year, The Blackbird's loud wild note, Oi, from the wintry thicket drear, The Thrush's stammering throat. In rustic solitude 'tis sweet The earliest flowers of Spring to greet, The violet from its tomb, The stra\vberry, creeping at our feet, The sorrel's simple bloom. Wherefore I love the walks of Spring, While still I hear new warblers sing, Fresh-opening bells I see ; Joy flits on every roving wing, Hope buds on every tree. 21 t4 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. That morn I look'd and listen'd long, Some cheering sight, some woodland song, As yet unheard, unseen, To welcome, with remembrance strong Of days that once had been ; When gathering flowers, an eager child, I ran abroad with rapture wild ; Or, on more curious quest, Peep'd breathless through the copse, and smiled, To see the linnet's nest. Already had I watch'd the flight Of swallows darting through the light, And mock'd the cuckoo's call ; Already view'd, o'er meadows bright, The evening rainbow fall. Now in my walk, with sweet surprise, I saw the first Spring cowslip rise, The plant whose pensile flowers Bend to the earth their beauteous eyes, In sunshine as in showers. Lone on a mossy bank it grew, Where lichens, purple, white, and blue, Among the verdure crept ; Its yellow ringlets, dropping dew, The breezes lightly swept. A bee had nestled on its blooms, He shook abroad their rich perfumes, Then fled in airy rings : His place a butterfly assumes, Glancing his glorious wings. Oh, -welcome, as a friend ! I cried ; A friend through many a season tried, Nor ever sought in vain, When May, with Flora at her side Is dancirg on the plain. A WALK IN SPRING. M* Sure as the Pleiades adorn The glittering coronet of morn, In calm delicious hours, Beneath their beams thy buds are born, 'Midst love-awakening showers. Scatter'd by Nature's graceful hand, In briary glens, o'er pasture-land, Thy fairy tribes we meet ; Gray in the milk-maid's path they stand They kiss her tripping feet. i ; rom winter's farm-yard bondage freed, The cattle bounding o'er the mead, Where green the herbage grows, Among thy fragrant blossoms feed, Upon thy tufts repose. Tossing his forelock o'er his mane, The foal, at rest upon the plain, Sports with thy flexile stalk, But stoops his little neck in vain To crop it in his walk. Where thick thy primrose blossoms play, Lovely and innocent as they, O'er coppice lawns and dells, In bands the rural children stray, To pluck thy nectar'd bells ; Whose simple sweets, with curious skit, The frugal cottage-dames distil, Nor envy France the vine, While many a festal cup they fill With Britain's homely wine. Unchanging still from year to year, Like stars returning in their sphere, With undiminish'd rays, Thy vernal constellations cheer The dawn of lengthening days. 344 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Perhaps from Nature's earliest May, Imperishable 'midst decay, Thy self-renewing race Have breathed their balmy lives away In this neglected place. And, oh ! till Nature's final doom, Here unmolested may they bloorn, From scythe and plough secure, This bank their cradle and their tomb, While earth and skies endure ! Yet, lowly Cowslip, while in thee An old unalter'd friend I see, Fresh in perennial prime ; From Spring to Spring behold in me . The woes and waste of Time. This fading eye and withering mien Tell what a sufferer I have been, Since more and. more estranged, From hope to hope, from scene to scene, Through Folly's wilds I ranged. Then fields and woods I proudly spurn'd , From Nature's maiden love I turn'd, And wooed the enchantress Art ; Yet while for her my fancy burn'd, Cold was my wretched heart, Till, distanced in Ambition's race, Weary of Pleasure's joyless chase, My peace untimely slain, Sick of the world, 1 turn'd my face To fields and woods again. 'Twas Spring ; my former haunts I found, My favourite flowers adorn'd the ground, My darling minstrels play'd ; The mountains were with sunset crown'd, The valleys dun with shade. TO AGNKS. 345 With lorn delight the scene I view'd, Past joys and sorrows were renew'd ; My infant hopes and fears Look'd lovely, through the solitude Of retrospective years. And still, in Memory's twilight bowers, The spirits of departed hours, With -mellowing tints, portray The blossoms of life's vernal flowers For ever fall'n away. Till youth's delirious dream is o'er, Sanguine with hope, we look before, The future good to find ; In age when error charms no more, For bliss we look behind. 1808. TO AGNES. REPLY TO SOME LINES, BEGINNING " ARREST, O TIME, THY FLEET3C9 COURSE." TIME will not check his eager flight, Though gentle AGNES scold, For 'tis the Sage's dear delight To make young Ladies old. Then listen, AGNES, friendship sings ; Seize fast his forelock gray, And pluck from his careering wings A feather every day. Adorn'd with these, defy his rage, And bid him plough your face, For every furrow of old age Shall be a line of grace. Start not ; old age is virtue's prime ; Most lovely she appears, 21* MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Clad in the spoils of vanquish'd Time, Down in the vale of years. Beyond that vale, in boundless bloom, The eternal mountains rise : Virtue descends not to the tomb, Her rest is in the skies. 1804. A DEED OF DARKNESS. the body of the Missionary, John Smith, (who died February 6, 1824, In prison, under sentence of death by a court-martial, in Deinerara,) was ordered to be buried secretly at night, and no person, not even his widow, was allowed to follow the corpse. Mrs. Smith, however, and her friend Mrs Elliott, accom- panied by a free Negro, carrying a lantern, repaired beforehand to the spot where a grave had been dug, and there they awaited the interment, which took place accordingly. His Majesty's pardon, annulling the condemnation, is said to have arrived on the day of the unfortunate Missionary's death, from the rigours of confinement, in a tropical climate, and under the slow pains of an inveterate malady, previously afflicting him. COME down in thy profoundest gloom, Without one vagrant fire-fly's light, Beneath thine ebon arch entomb Earth, from the gaze of heaven, O Night ! A deed of darkness must be done, Put out the moon, hold back the sun. Are these the criminals, that flee Like deeper shadows through the shade ? A flickering lamp, from tree to tree Betrays their path along the glade, Led by a Negro ; now they stand, Two trembling women, hand in hand. A grave, an open grave, appears ; O'er this in agony they bend, Wet the fresh turf with bitter tears ; Sighs following sighs their bosoms rend : These are not murderers ! these have known Grief more bereaving than their own. A DEED OF DARKNESS. Oft through the gloom their straining eyes Look forth, for what they fear to meet : It comes ; they catch a glimpse ; it flies : duick-glancing lights, slow-tramping feet, Amidst the cane-crops, seen, heard, gone, Return, and in dead-march move on. A stern procession ! gleaming arms, And spectral countenances dart, By the red torch-flame, wild alarms, And withering pangs through either heart ; A corpse amidst the group is borne, A prisoner's corpse who died last morn. Not by the slave-lord's justice slain, Who doom'd him to a traitor's death ; While royal mercy sped in vain O'er land and sea to save his breath; No ; the frail life that warm'd this clay Man could not give nor take away. His vengeance and his grace, alike, Were impotent to spare or kill ; He may not lift the sword to strike, Nor turn its edge aside, at will ; Here, by one sovereign act and deed, God cancell'd all that man decreed. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, That corpse is to the grave consign'd ; The scene departs : this buried trust The Judge of quick and dead shall find, When things which Time and Death have seal'd, Shall be in flaming fire reveal'd. The fire shall try Thee, then, like gold, Prisoner of hope ! await the test : And oh ! when truth alone is told, Be thy clear innocence confess'd ! The fire shall try thy foes ; may they Find mercy in that dreadful day. 8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE DIAL. THIS shadow on the Dial's face, That steals from day to day, With slow, unseen, unceasing pace, Moments, and months, and years away ; This shadow, which, in every clime, Since light and motion first began, Hath held its course sublime ; What is it ? Mortal Man ! It is the scythe of TIME : A shadow only to the eye ; Yet, in its calm career, It levels all beneath the sky ; And still, through each succeeding year, Right onward, with resistless power, Its stroke shall darken every hour, Till Nature's race be run, And TIME'S last shadow shall eclipse the sun. Nor only o'er the Dial's face, This silent phantom, day by day, With slow, unseen, unceasing pace, Steals moments, months, and years away ; From hoary rock and aged tree, From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls, From Teneriffe, towering o'er the sea, From every blade of grass it falls ; For still, where'er a shadow sweeps, The scythe of Time destroys, And man at every footstep weeps O'er evanescent joys EMBLEMS. Like flow'rets glittering with the dews of morn, Fair for a moment, then for ever shorn : Ah ! soon, beneath the inevitable blow, I too shall lie in dust and darkness low. Then TIME, the Conqueror, will suspend His scythe, a trophy, o'er my tomb, Whose moving shadow shall portend Each frail beholder's doom : O'er the wide earth's illumined space, Though TIME'S triumphant flight be shown, The truest index on its face Points from the churchyard stone. 1807. EMBLEMS. AN evening cloud, in brief suspense, Was hither driven and thither, It came, I saw not whence, It went, I knew not whither ; I watch'd it changing, in the wind, Size, semblance, form, and hue, Lessening and fading, till behind It left no speck on heaven's pure blue. Amidst the marsh all' d host of night Shone a new star supremely bright ; With marvelling eye, well pleased to err, I hail'd that prodigy ; anon, It fell, it fell like Lucifer, A flash, a blaze, a train, 'twas gone ; And then I sought in vain its place, rhroughout the infinite of space. 50 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Dew-drops, at day-spring, deck'd a line Of gossamer so frail, so fine, A gnat's wing shook it : round and clear As if by fairy-fingers strung, Like orient pearls at beauty's ear, In trembling brilliancy they hung Upon a rosy brier, whose bloom Shed nectar round them, and perfume. Ere long exhaled, in limpid air, Some mingled with the breath of morn, While some slid singly, here and there, Like tears by their own weight down borne : At length the film itself collapsed, and where The pageant glitter'd, lo ! a naked thorn. What are the living ? hark ! a sound From grave and cradle crying, By earth and ocean echoed round, " The living are the dying.'" From infancy to utmost age, What is man's scene of pilgrimage * The passage to death's portal ! The moment we begin to be, We enter on the agony, The dead are the immortal ; They live not on expiring breath, They only are exempt from death. Cloud-atoms, sparkles of a falling star, Dew-drops on gossamer, all are : What can the state beyond us be ? Life ? Death ? Ah ! no. a greater mystery , What thought hath not conceived, ear heard, eye seen Perfect existence from a point begun ; Part of what GOD'S eternity hath been, WJiole immortality belongs to none, But Him, the First, the Last, the Only One. A MESSAGE FROM THE MOON. 351 A MESSAGE FROM THE MOON: A THOUGHT AT EXETER, DURING THE GREAT ECLIPSE OF THE SUM, MAT 15, 1836. THE evening star peep'd forth at noon, To learn what ail'd the sun, her sire, When, lo ! the intervening moon Plunged her black shadow through his fire : Of ray by ray his orb bereft, Till but one slender curve was left, And that seem'd trembling to expire. The sickening atmosphere grew dim, A faint, chill breeze crept over all ; As in a swoon, when objects swim Away from sight, a thickening pall Of horror, boding worse to come. That struck both field and city dumb, O'er man and brute was felt to fall. " Avaunt, insatiate fiend !" I cry, " Like vampire stealing from its grave To drain some sleeper's life-strings dry, Back to thine interlunar cave ; Ere the kst glimpse of fountain-light, Absorpt by thee, bring on a night From which nor moon nor morn can save." While yet I spake, that single beam (Bent like Apollo's bow half-strung) Broaden'd and brighten'd ; gleam o'er gleam, Splendours that out of darkness sprung, The sun's unveiling disk o'erflow'd, Till forth in all his strength he rode, For ever beautiful and young. t5* MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Reviving Nature own'd his power ; And joy and mirth with light and heat, Music and fragrance, hail'd the hour When his deliverance was complete : Aloft again the swallow flew, The cock, at second day-break crew ; When suddenly a voice most sweet ; A voice, as from the ethereal sphere, Of one unseen yet passing by, Came with such rapture on mine ear, My soul sprang up into my eye ; But naught around could- 1 behold, No " mortal mixture of earth's mould," Breathed that enchanting harmony. " How have I wrong'd thee, angry bard ! What evil to your Avorld have done ? That I, the moon, should be deburr'd From free communion Avith t'ae sun ? If, while I turn'd on him my /ice, Your's was o'ercast a little space, Already are amends begun. " The lustre I have gather'd now, Not to myself I will confine ; Night after night, my crescent brow, My full and waning globe shall shine On yours, till every spark is spent, Which for us both to me was lent ; Thus I fulfil the law divine. " A nobler sun on thee hath shone, On thee bestow'd benigner light ; Walk in that light, but not alone, Like me to darkling eyes give sight: This is the way GOD'S gifts to use, First to enjoy them, then diffuse, Learn from the moon that lesson right." A BRIDAL BENISON. ttl A BRIDAL BENISON. ADDRESSED TO MY FRIENDS MR. AND MRS. B. OCEAN and land the globe divide, Summer and winter share the year, Darkness and light walk side by side, And earth and heaven are always near. Though each be good and fair alone, And glorious, in its time and place, In all, when fitly pair'd, is shown More of their Maker's power and grace. Then may the union of young hearts, So early and so well begun, Like sea and shore, in all their parts, Appear as twain, but be as one. Be it like summer ; may they find Bliss, beauty, hope, where'er they roam Be it like winter, when confined, Peace, comfort, happiness at home. Like day and night, sweet interchange Of care, enjoyment, action, rest ; Absence nor coldness e'er estrange Hearts by unfailing love possest. Like earth's horizon, be their scene Of life, a rich and various ground, And, whether lowering or serene, Heaven all above it and around. When land and ocean, day and night When time and nature cease to be Lot their inheritance be light, Their union an eternity. 1890. 82 M MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE BLACKBIRD. Those who are apt to awake early on spring mornings in rural neighbourhoods, must often have been charmed with the solitary song of the Blackbird, when all beside is still, and the Lark himself is yet on the ground. At evening, too, his broad and homely strain, different from that of every other, and chiming in at intervals with the universal chorus of wild throats, is known from in- fancy by all who have been accustomed to walk abroad in the hour of twi- light. The yellow bill and glossy plumage of the same conspicuous bird, when he flits from hedge to tree, or across a meadow, are equally familiar to the eye of such, nor less to their ear is the chuckling note with which he bolts out of a bush before the startled passenger, who has unconsciously disturbed him from his perch. MORNING. GOLDEN bill ! Golden bill ! Lo, the peep of day ; All the air is cool and still, From the elm-tree on the hill, Chant away : While the moon drops down the west. Like thy mate upon her nest, And the stars before the sun, Melt like snow-flakes, one by one ; Let thy loud and welcome lay Pour along Few notes but strong. EVENING. Jet-bright wing ! jet-bright wing I Flit across the sunset glade; Lying there in wait to sing Listen with thy head awry, Keeping time with twinkling eye, While from all the woodland shade. Birds of every plume and note Strain the throat, Till both hill and valley ring, And the warbled minstrelsy, THE MYRTLE. Ebbing, flowing like the sea, Claims brief interludes from thee : Then, with simple swell and fall, Breaking beautiful through all, Let thy Pan-like pipe repeat Few notes but sweet. iikern, near Doncaster, 1835. THE MYRTLE. DARK-GREEN and gemm'd with flowers of snow, With close uncrowded branches spread, Not proudly high, nor meanly low, A graceful myrtle rear'd its head. Its mantle of unwithering leaf, Seem'd, in my contemplative mood, Like silent joy, or patient grief, The symbol of pure gratitude. Still life, methought, is thine, fair tree ! Then pluck 'd a sprig, and while I mused, With idle hands, unconsciously, The delicate small foliage bruised. Odours, at my rude touch set free, Escaped from all their secret cells ; Quick life, I cried, is thine, fair tree ! In thee a soul of fragrance dwells : Which outrage, wrongs, nor wounds destroy, But wake its sweetness from repose ; Ah ! could I thus heaven's gifts employ, Worth seen, worth hidden, thus disclose : In health, with unpretending grace, In wealth, with meekness and with fear, Through every season wear one face, An i be in truth what I appear 266 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Then should affliction's chastening rod Bruise my frail frame, or break my heart, Life, a sweet sacrifice to GOD, Out-breathed like incense would depart. The Captain of Salvation thus, When like a lamb to slaughter led, Was, by the Father's will, for us, Himself through suffering purified. 1837. A DEATH-BED. " So giveth He his beloved sleep." Psalm cxxvii. 2. HER path was like the shining light, Clear, calm, progressive, perfect day ; At even-tide came sudden night, Thick darkness fell on all her way ; Amazed, alarm'd, she quail'd with dread, And cried " The Comforter is fled !" It was the tempter's vantage-hour ; Eager and flush'd with hope was he ; He kiu'\v the limit of his power, And struggled hard for victory ; A deathless soul, at life's last gasp, Seem'dbut a hair's breadth from his grasp. The dire deceiver was deceived, That soul was in a faithful hand, Even his in whom her heart believed ; Satan before Him could not stand, But fell like lightning to the deep, So gave He his beloved sleep. 1-87. DALE ABBEY. DALE ABBEY. A solitary arch in the middle of an open meadow, and a small oratory more an- cient than the monastery itself, now the chapel of ease for the hamlet, are alone conspicuous of all the magnificent structures which once occupied this ground. The site is about five miles south-east from Derby. THE glory hath departed from thee, Dale ! Thy gorgeous pageant of monastic pride, A power, that once the power of kings defied, Which truth and reason might in vain assail, In mock humility usurp'd this vale, And lorded o'er the region far and wide ; Darkness to light, evil to good allied, Had wrought a charm, which made all hearts to quail. "What gave that power dominion on this ground, Age after age ? the Word of God was bound ! At length the mighty captive burst from thrall, O'erturn'd the spiritual bastile in its march, And left of ancient grandeur this sole arch, Whose stones cry out, " Thus Babylon herself shall fall." n. More beautiful in ruin than in prime, Methinks this frail, yet firm memorial stands, The work of heads laid low, and buried hands : Now slowly mouldering to the touch of time, It looks abroad, unconsciously sublime, Where sky above and earth beneath expands . And yet a nobler relic still demands The grateful homage of a passing rhyne. 8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Beneath the cliff yon humble roof behold ! Poor as our Saviour's birthplace; yet a fold, Where the good shepherd, in this quiet vale, Gathers his flock, and feeds them, as of old, With bread from heaven : I change my note ; all hail! The glory of the Lord is risen upon thee, Dale !* 1830. IN BEREAVEMENT. LIFT up thine eyes, afflicted soul ! From earth lift up thine eyes ; Though dark the evening-shadows roll, And daylight beauty dies, One sun is set, a thousand more Their rounds of glory run, Where science leads thee to explore In every star a sun. Thus, when some long-loved comfort ends, And Nature would despair, Faith to the heaven of heaven ascends, And meets ten thousand there : First faint and small, then clear and bright, They gladden all the gloom, As stars that seem but points of light The rank of suns assume. 1836. * This ancient oratory is supposed to have stood between 700 and 600 years. It wag built by a person who had previously dwelt as a hermit in a cave which he had hewed in the ruck adjacent, where he submitted to great hardships and privations. He was a native of Derby, and believed it was the will of heaven, that he should leave his home and friends and live in solitude. The Abbey was founded in 1204, near the spot where this holy man had thus lived and died. Af- ter being successively occupied by monks of various orders, it was broken up in 1539. The buildings occupied a large space of ground ; but beside tlie arch and chapel nothing more than a few fragments of walls and foundations can be traced. CORONATION ODE. S5 CORONATION ODE FOR GlUEEN VICTORIA. THE sceptre in a maiden-hand, The reign of beauty and of youth, Should wake to gladness all the land, Where love is loyalty and truth : Rule, Victoria, rule the free, Hearts and hands we offer Thee Not by the tyrant law of might, But by the grace of GOD we own, And by the people's voice, thy right To sit upon thy Father's throne : Rule, Victoria, rule the free, Heaven defend and prosper Thee. Thee isles and continents obey ; Kindreds and nations nigh and far, Behold the bound-marks of thy sway, The morning and the evening star : Rule, Victoria, rule the free, Millions rest their hopes on Thee. No slave within thine empire breathe ! Before thy steps oppression fly ! The lamb and lion play beneath The meek dominion of thine eye ! Rule, Victoria, rule the free, Bonds and shackles yield to Thee. Still spreading influence more benign, Light to thy realms of darkness send, Till none shall name a God but thine, None at an idol altar bend : Rule, Victoria, rule the free, Till all tongues shall pray for Thee MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. At home, abroad, by sea, on shore, Blessings to thee and thine increase ; The sword and cannon rage no more, The whole world hail thee Queen of Peace : Rule, Victoria, rule the free, And th' Almighty rule o'er Thee. 1838. THE WILD PINK, ON THE WALL OF MALMESBURY ABBEY. (Dianthus Ckeirophyllus.) On seeing a solitary specimen near the Great Archway, and being told that the plant was not to be found elsewhere in the neighbourhood. THE hand that gives the angels wings, And plants the forest by its power, O'er mountain, vale, and champaign flings The seed of every herb and flower ; Nor forests stand, nor angels fly, More at God's will, more in his eye, Than the green blade strikes down its root, Expands its bloom, and yields its fruit. Beautiful daughter of a line Of unrecorded ancestry ! What herald's scroll could vie with thine Where monarchs trace their pedigree ? Thy first progenitor had birth While man was yet unquicken'd earth, And thy last progeny may wave Its flag o'er man's last-open'd grave. Down from the day of Eden lost, A generation in a year, Unscathed by heat, unnipt by frost, True to the sovereign sun, appear THE WILD PINK. Ml The units of thy transient race, Each in its turn, each in its place, To make the world a little while Lovelier and sweeter with its smile. How earnest thou hither ? from what soil, Where those that went before thee grew, Exempt from suffering, care, and toil, Clad by the sunbeams, fed with dew ? Tell me on what strange spot of ground Thy rock-born kindred yet are found, And I the carrier-dove will be To bring them wondrous news of thee. How, here, by wren or red-breast dropt, Thy parent-germ was left behind, Or, in its trackless voyage stopt, While sailing on th' autumnal wind, Not rudely wreckt, but safely thrown On yonder ledge of quarried stone, Where the blithe swallow builds and sings, And the pert sparrow pecks his wings. Then, by some glimpse of moonshine sped, Queen Mab, methinks, alighting there, A span-long, hand-breadth terrace spread, A fairy -garden hung in air, Of lichens, moss, and earthy mould, To rival Babylon's of old, In which that single seed she nurst, Till forth its embryo-wilding burst. Now, like that solitary star, Last in the morn's resplendent crown, Or first emerging, faint and far, When evening-glooms the sky embrown, Thy beauty shines without defence, Yet safe from gentle violence, While infant-hands and maiden-eyes Covet in vain the tempting prize. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Yon arch, beneath whose giant-span, Thousands of passing feet have trod Upon the dust that once was man, Gather'd around the house of GOD, That arch which seems to mock decay, Fix'd as the firmament to-day, Is fading like the rainbow's form, Through the slow stress of time's long storm. But thou mayst boast perennial prime ; The blade, the stem, the bud, the flower, Not ruin'd but renew'd by time, Beyond the great destroyer's power, Like day and night, like spring and fall, Alternate, on the abbey wall, May come and go, from year to year, And vanish but to re-appear. Nay, when in utter wreck are strown Arch, buttress, all this mighty mass, Crumbled, and crush'd, and overgrown With thorns and thistles, reeds and grass, While Nature thus the waste repairs, Thine offspring, Nature's endless heirs, Earth's ravaged fields may re-possess, And plant once more the wilderness. So be it : but the sun is set, My song must end, and I depart ; Yet thee I never will forget, But bear thee in my inmost heart. Where this shall thy memorial be, If GOD so cares for thine and thee, How can I doubt that love divine, Which watches over me and mine ? 38. PARTING WORDS. PARTING WORDS. " And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh." Genesis, xxxii. 28. LET me go, the day is breaking, Dear companions, let me go ; We have spent a night of waking In the wilderness below ; Upward now I bend my way, Part we here at break of day. Let me go, I may net tarry, Wrestling thus with doubts and fears ; Angels wait my soul to carry, Where my risen LORD appears ; Friends and kindred, weep not so, If ye love me, let me go. We have travell'd long together, Hand in hand, and heart in heart, Both through fair and stormy weather, And 'tis hard 'tis hard to part, Yet we must : " Farewell!" to you ; Answer, one and all, "rfdieu!" 'Tis not darkness gathering round me, Which withdraws me from your sight ; Walls of flesh no more can bound me, But, translated into light, Like the lark on mounting wing, Though unseen, you hear me sing. Heaven's broad day hath o'er me broken, Far beyond earth's span of sky : Am I dead ? Nay, by this token, Know that I have ceased to die ; Would you solve the mystery, Come up hither, -come and see. 1837 4 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE ROSES. ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND ON THE BIRTH OF HIS FIRST CHILD Two Roses on one slender spray In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray, And drank the evening dew ; While sweetly wreath'd in mossy green, There sprang a little bud between. Through clouds and sunshine, storm and showers, They open'd into bloom, Mingling their foliage and their flowers, Their beauty and perfume ; While foster'd on its rising stem, The bud became a purple gem. But soon their summer splendour pass'd, They faded in the wind, Yet were these roses to the last The loveliest of their kind, Whose crimson leaves in falling round, Adom'd and sanctified the ground. When thus were all their honours shorn, The bud unfolding rose, And blush'd and brighten'd, as the mom From dawn to sunrise glows, Till o'er each parent's drooping head, The daughter's crowning glory spread. My Friends ! in youth's romantic prime, The golden age of man, Like these twin Roses spend your time, Life's little, lessening span ; Then be your breasts as free from cares Your hours as innocent as theirs. ELIJAH IN THE WILDERNESS. 265 And in the infant bud that blows In your encircling arms, Mark the dear promise of a rose, The pledge of future charms, That o'er your withering hours shall shine, Fair, and more fair, as you decline ; Till, planted in that realm of rest Where roses never die, Amidst the gardens of the blest, Beneath a stormless sky, You flower afresh, like Aaron's rod, That blossom'd at the sight of God. 1808. ELIJAH IN THE WILDERNESS 1 KINGS xix. THUS pray'd the prophet in the wilderness ; " GOD of my fathers ! look on my distress; My days are spent in vanity and strife, Oh that the LORD would please to take my life ! Beneath the clods through this lone valley spread, Fain would I join the generations dead !" Heaven deign'd no answer to that murmuring prayer. Silence that thrill'd the blood alone was there ; Down sunk his weary limbs, slow heaved his breath, And sleep fell on him with a weight like death ; Dreams, raised by evil spirits, hover'd near, Throng'd with strange thoughts, and images of fear ; Th' abominations of the Gentiles came ; Detested Chernosh, Moloch clad with flame, Ashtaroth, queen of heaven, with moony crest, And Baiil, sunlike, high above the rest, Glared on him, gnash'd their teeth, then sped away, Like ravening vultures to their carrion-prey, Where every grove grew darker with their rites, And blood ran reeking down the mountain-heights : 23 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But to the living GOD, throughout fhe land, He saw no altar blaze, no temple stand ; Jerusalem was dust, and Zion's hill, Like Tophet's valley, desolate and still : The prophet drew one deep desponding groan, And his heart died within him like a stone. An angel's touch the dire entrancement broke, " Arise and eat, Elijah !" He awoke, And found a table in the desert spread, With water in the cruise beside his head ; He bless'd the Lord, who turri'd away his prayer, And feasted on the heaven-provided fare ; Then sweeter slumber o'er his senses stole, And sunk like life new-breathed into his soul. A dream brought David's city on his sight, Shepherd's were watching o'er their flocks by night ; Around them uncreated splendour blazed, And heavenly hosts their hallelujah's raised; A theme unknown since sin to death gave birth, " Glory to GOD ! good will and peace on earth !" They sang ; his heart responded to the strain, Though memory sought to keep the words in vain : The vision changed ; amid the gloom serene, One star above all other stars was seen, It had a light, a motion of its own, And o'er an humble shed in Bethlehem shone ; He look'd, and, lo ! an infant newly born, That seem'd cast out to poverty and scorn, Yet Gentile kings its advent came to greet, Worshipp'd, and laid their treasures at its feet. Musing what this mysterious babe might be, He saw a sufferer stretch'd upon a tree ; Yet while the victim died, by men abhorr'd, Creation's agonies confess'd him LORD. Again the Angel smote the slumberer's side ; "Arise and eat, the way is long and wide." He rose and ate, and with unfainting force, Through forty days and nights upheld his course. ELIJAH IN THE WILDEUNESS. Horeb, the mount of GOD, he reach'd, and lay Within a cavern till the cool of day. " What dost thou here, Elijah ?" Like the tide, Brake that deep voice through silence. He replied, " I have been very jealous for thy cause, LORD GOD of hosts ! for men make void thy laws ; Thy people have thrown down thine altars, slain Thy prophets, I, and I alone, remain ; My life with reckless vengeance" they pursue, And what can I against a nation do ?" " Stand on the mount before the Lord, and know, That wrath or mercy at my will I show." Anon the power that holds the winds let fly Their devastating armies through the sky ; Then shook the wilderness, the rocks were rent, As when JEHOVAH bow'd the firmament, And trembling Israel, while he gave the law, Beheld the symbols but no image saw. The storm retired, nor left a trace behind ; The LORD pass'd by ; he came not with the wind. Beneath the prophet's feet the shuddering ground Clave, and disclosed a precipice profound, Like that which open'd to the gates of hell, When Koran, Dathan, and Abiram fell ; Again the Lord pass'd by, but unreveal'd ; He came not with the earthquake, all was seal'd. A new amazement ! vale and mountain turn'd Red as the battle-field with blood, then burn'd Up to the stars, as terrible a flame As shall devour this universal frame ; Elijah watch'd it kindle, spread, expire ; The LORD pass'd by; he came not with the fire. A still small whisper breathed upon his ear; He wrapt his mantle round his face with fear ; Darkness that might be felt involved him, dvmb With expectation of a voice to come, He stood upon the threshold of the cave, As one long dead, just risen from the grave, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. In the last judgment. Came the voice and cried, ' What dost thou here, Elijah ?" He replied, " I have been very jealous for thy cause, LORD GOD of hosts ! for men make void thy laws Thy people have thrown down thine altars, slain Thy prophets, I, and I alone, remain ; My life with ruthless violence they pursue, And what can I against a nation do ?" " My day of vengeance is at hand : the year Of my redeem'd shall suddenly appear : Go Thou, anoint two kings, and in thy place, A prophet to stand up before my face : Then he who 'scapes the Syrian's sword shall fall By his whom to Samaria's throne I call ; And he who 's apes from Jehu, in that day, Him shall the judgment of Elisha slay. Yet hath a remnant been preserved by me, Seven thousand souls, who never bow'd the knee To Baal's image, nor have kiss'd his shrine ; These are my jewels, and they shall be mine, When to the world my righteousness is shown, And, root and branch, idolatry o'erthrown." So be it, God of truth ! yet why delay ? With thee a thousand years are as one day ; O crown thy people's hopes, dispel their fears ! And be to-day with Thee a thousand years ! Cut short the evil, bring the blessed time, Avenge thine own elect from clime to clime ; Let not an idol in thy path be spared, All share the fate which Baiil long hath shared ; Nor let seven thousand only worship Thee ; Make every tongue confess, bow every knee ; Now o'er the promised kingdoms reign thy Son, One Lord through all the earth, his name be one Hasi Thou not spoken? shall it not be done ? 182* THE REV. THOMAS RAWSON TAYLOR. 269 STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE REV. THOMAS RAWSON TAYLOR, OF BRADFORD, IN YORKSHIRE; A young minister of great promise, and a poet of no mean order, whose verses, entitle 3 " Communion with the Dead," on the removal in early life of a sister, would endear and perpetuate the remembrance of both, were they as generally known as they deserve to be. The survivor died on the 7th of March, 1835, aged 28 years. MILLIONS of eyes have wept o'er frames Once living, beautiful, and young, Now dust and ashes, and their names Extinct on earth because unsung : Yet song itself hath but its day, Like the swan's dirge, a dying lay. A dying lay I would rehearse, In memory of one whose breath Pour'd forth a stream of such sweet verse As might have borne away from death The trophy of a sister's name, Winning at once and giving fame. But all is mortal here, that song Pass'd like the breeze, which steals from flowers Their fragrance, yet repays the wrong With dew-drops, shaken down in showers ; Ah ! like those flowers with dew-drops fed, They sprang, they blossom'd, they are dead. The poet (spared a little while) Follow'd the sister all too soon ; The hectic rose that flush'd his smile Grew pale and wither' d long ere noon ; In youth's exulting prime he gave What death demanded to the grave. 23* 170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But that which death nor grave could seize, His soul, into his Saviour's hands (Who by the cross's agonies Redeem'd a people from all lands) He yielded, till " that day"* to keep, And then, like Stephen, fell asleep. " That day" will come, meanwhile weep not, O ye that loved him ! and yet more Love him for grief that " he is not :" Rather with joy let eyes run o'er, And warm hearts hope his face to see, Where 'tis for ever " good to be." CHRIST THE PURIFIER. MALACHI, iii. 2, 3. HE that from dross would win the precious ore, Bends o'er the crucible an earnest eye, The subtle, searching process to explore, Lest the one brilliant moment should pass by, When in the molten silver's virgin mass, He meets his pictured face as in a glass. Thus in GOD'S furnace are his children tried ; Thrice happy they who to the end endure ! But who the fiery trial may abide ? Who from the crucible come forth so pure, That He, whose eyes of flame look through the whole, May see his image perfect in the soul ? - Not with an evanescent glimpse alone, As in that mirror the refiner's face, But, stampt with heaven's broad signet, there be shown Immanuel's features, full of truth and grace, And round that seal of love this motto be, " Not for a moment, but eternity !" * 2 Tim. i. 12. A CERTAIN DISCIPLE. til "A CERTAIN DISCIPLE." ACTS ix. 10. ON THE PORTRAIT OF THE REV. W. M. LONG may his living countenance express The air and lineaments of holiness, And, as from theme to theme his thoughts shall range In high discourse, its answering aspects change ! Like Abraham's, faith's sublimest pledge display, When bound upon the altar Isaac lay ; Kindle like Jacob's, when he felt his power With GOD, and wrestled till the day-break hour ; Shine like the face of Moses, when he came, All-radiant, from the mount that burn'd with flame ; Flash like Elisha's, when, his sire in view, He caught the mantle and the spirit too ; Darken like Jonah's, when with " Wo !" he went Through trembling Nineveh, yet cry " Repent !" Brighten like Stephen's, when his foes amazed, As if an angel stood before them, gazed ; And like that martyr's, at his latest breath, Reflect his Saviour's image full in death. Yea, ever in the true disciple's mien, His meek and lowly Master must be seen, And in the fervent preacher's boldest word, That voice which was the voice of mercy heard : So may the love which drew, as with a chain, The Son of GOD from heaven, his heart constrain, Draw him from earth, and fix his hopes above, While with the self-same chain, that chain of love In new captivity, he strives to bind Sin's ransom'd slaves, his brethren of mankind ; Labouring and suffering still, whate'er the cost, By life or death, to seek and save the lost ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. That, following Christ, in pure simplicity, As He was in this world, himself may be, Till, call'd with Him in glory to sit down, And with the crown then given the Giver crown 1834. THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS. JOHN xvii. 2023. FREE, yet in chains the mountains stand, The valleys link'd run hand in hand, In fellowship the forests thrive, And streams from streams their strength derive. The cattle graze in flocks and herds, In choirs and concerts sing the birds, Insects by millions ply the wing, And flowers in peaceful armies spring. All nature is society, All nature's voices harmony, All colours blend to form pure light, Why then should Christians not unite ? Thus to the Father pray'd the Son, " One may they be as We are one ; That I in them, and Thou in Me, They one with Us may ever be." Children of GOD ! combine your bands, Brethren in Christ ! join hearts and hands, And pray, for so the Father will'd, That the Son's prayer may be fulfill'd : Fulfill'd in you, fulfill'd in all That on the name of Jesus call, And every covenant of love Ye bind on earth, be bound above '. "PERILS BY THE HEATHEN." "PERILS BY THE HEATHEN." 2 CORINTHIANS xi. 26. Lines in memory of the Rev. WILLIAM THRELFALL, Wesleyan Missionary, who, with two native converts, (JACOB LINKS and JOHANNES JAOOER.) set out in June, 1S25, to carry the gospel into great Namaqua-land, on the western coaat of South Africa. The last communication received from him by his brethren was the following brief note, dated " Warm Baths, August 6, 1825. Being rather unkindly handled by this people, in their not finding or not permitting us to have a guide, we returned hither yesterday, after having been to the north four days' journey, and losing one of the oxen. I feel great need of your prayers, and my patience is much tried. These people are very unfeeling and deceitful ; but, thank God, we are all in good health, though we doubt of suc- cess. Our cattle are so poor that they cannot, 1 think, bring us home again ; but we shall yet try to get further ; and then it is not unlikely, I shall despatch Johannes to you to send oxen to fetch us away. Do not be uneasy about us; we all feel much comforted in our souls, and the Lord give us patience. We are obliged to beg hard to buy meat. Peace be with you ! WILLIAM THREL- FALL. No further intelligence arrived concerning the wanderers for seven months, except unauthorized rumours, that they had, in some way, perished in the desert. In the sequel it was ascertained, that Mr. Threlfall and his faithful companions had left the Warm Baths above mentioned about the 9th or 10th of August, having obtained a vagabond guide to the Great Fish River. This wretch, meeting with two others as wicked as himself, conducted them to a petty kraal of Bushmen, (the outcasts of all the Caffre tribes,) and there mur- dered them in the night after they had lain down to sleep, for the sake of the few trifling articles which they carried with them for the purchase of food by the way. Two of the assassins were long afterwards taken by some of their own wild countrymen, and by them delivered up to the colonial authorities. One of these was the arch-traitor, called Naangaap, who with his own hand hurled the stone which caused the death of the missionary. He was tried at Clanwilliam, and condemned to be shot. On their way to the place appointed for execution, the escort halted at Lily Fountain, where the relatives of hia murdered companion, Jacob Links, resided. 'I li.-st; came out of their dwellings and 8|>oke to the criminal upon his awful situation, of which he seemed little heedful. Martha, Jacob's sister, was especially concerned to awaken him to a sense of his guilt and peril, saying to him, with true Christian meekness and sympathy, "I am indeed very sorry for you, though you have killed my bro- her, because you are indifferent about the salvation of your own sinful soul." On the 30th of September, 1627, he wag shot, according to his sentence, by six men of his own tribe, at Silver Fountain, on the border of tin; colony, with the entire concurrence of the chief, who had come from ms distant residence to witness the execution. Mr. Threlfdll was a young man who had served on several missionary stations In South Africa, from the year I&22, under great bodily affliction for the most part of the time, hut with unquenchable f.-rvny of spirit, and devotion to the work of God among the heathen. Ili.s two Ifllow-Ubourers ai:d fellow-suf- ferers, Jacob Links and Johannes Jagger, hid voluntarily offered themselvei MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. to the same service and sacrifice with him, for the sake of carrying the gospel of the grace of God to their benighted countrymen in the farther regions of Namaqua-land. NOT by the lion's paw, the serpent's tooth, By sudden sun-stroke, or by slow decay, War, famine, plague, meek messenger of truth ! Wert thou arrested on thy pilgrim-way. The sultry whirlwind spared thee in its wrath, The lightning flash'd before thee, and pass'd by, The brooding earthquake paused beneath thy path, The mountain-torrent shunn'd thee, or ran dry. Thy march was through the savage wilderness, Thine errand thither, like thy gracious LORD'S, To seek and save the lost, to heal and bless Its blind and lame, diseased and dying hordes. How did the love of Christ, that, like a chain, Drew Christ himself to Bethlehem from his throne, And bound Him to the cross, thine heart constrain, Thy willing heart, to make that true love known ! But not to build, was thine appointed part, Temple where temple never stood before ; Yet was it well the thought was in thine heart, Thou know'st it now, thy LORD required no more. The wings of darkness round thy tent were spread, The wild beast's bowlings brake not thy repose ; The silent stars were watching overhead, Thy friends were nigh thee, nigh thee were thy foes The sun went down upon thine evening prayer, He rose upon thy finish'd sacrifice ; The house of GOD, the gate of heaven, was there ; Angels and fiends on thee had fix'd their eyes. At midnight, in a moment, open stood Th' eternal doors to give thy spirit room ; At morn the earth had drunk thy guiltless blood, But where on earth may now be found thy tomb ? A MIDNIGHT THOUGHT. 875 At rest beneath the ever-shifting sand, This thine unsculptured epitaph remain, Till the last trump shall summon sea and land, "To me to live was Christ; to die was gain." And must with thee thy slain companions lie, Unmourn'd, unsung, forgotten where they fell ? Oh ! for the spirit and power of prophecy, Their life, their death, the fruits of both to tell ! They took the cross, they bore it, they lay down Beneath it, woke, and found that cross their crown. O'er their lost relics, on the spot where guilt Slew sleeping innocence, and hid the crime, A church of Christ, amidst the desert built, May gather converts till the end of time, And there, with them, their kindred, dust to dust, Await he resurrection of the just. A MIDNIGHT THOUGHT. IN a land of strange delight, My transported spirit stray'd ; I awake where all is night, Silence, solitude, and shade. Is the dream of Nature flown ? Is the universe destroy'd, Man extinct, and I alone Breathing through the formless void ! No : my soul, in GOD rejoice ! Through the gloom his light I see, In the silence hear his voice, And his hand is over me. When I slumber in the tomb, He will guard my resting-place : Fearless in the day of doom May I stand before his face ' f76 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE PEAK MOUNTAINS : IN TWO PARTS. WRITTEN AT BUXTON, IN AUGUST, 1812. It may be useful to remark, that the scenery in the neighbourhood of Buxton, when surveyed from any of the surrounding eminences, consists chiefly of numerous and nak the way. THE WILD ROSE. THE WILD ROSE : ON PLUCKING ONE LATE IN THE MONTH OF OCTOBER. THOU last pale promise of the waning'year, Poor sickly Rose ! what dost thou here ? Why, frail flower ! so late a comer, Hast thou slept away the summer ? Since now, in Autumn's sullen reign, When ev'ry breeze Unrobes the trees, And strews their annual garments on the plain, Awaking from repose, Thy fairy lids unclose. Feeble, evanescent flower, Smile away thy sunless hour ; Every daisy, in my walk, Scorns thee from its humbler stalk : Nothing but thy form discloses Thy descent from royal roses : How thine ancestors would blush To behold thee on their bush, Drooping thy dejected head Where their bolder blossoms spread ; Withering in the frosty gale, Where their fragrance fill'd the vale. Last and meanest of thy race, Void of beauty, colour, grace, No bee delighted sips Ambrosia from thy lips ; No spangling dew-drops gem Thy fine elastic stem ; W MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. No living lustre glistens o'er thy bloom, Thy sprigs no verdant leaves adorn, Thy bosom breathes no exquisite perfume ; But pale thy countenance as snow, While, unconceal'd below, All naked glares the threatening thorn. Around thy bell, o'er mildew'd leaves, His ample web a spider weaves ; A wily ruffian, gaunt and grim, His labyrinthine toils he spreads Pensile and light ; their glossy threads Bestrew'd with many a wing and limb ; Even in thy chalice he prepares His deadly poison and delusive snares. While I pause, a vagrant fly Giddily comes buzzing by ; Round and round, on viewless wings, Lo ! the insect wheels and sings : Closely couch'd, the fiend discovers, Sets him with his sevenfold eyes, And, while o'er the verge he hovers, Seems to fascinate his prize, As the snake's magnetic glare Charms the flitting tribes of air, Till the dire enchantment draws Destined victims to his jaws. Now midst kindred corses mangled, On his feet alights the fly ; Ah ! he feels himself entangled, Hark ! he pours a piteous cry. Swift as Death's own arrows dart, On his prey the spider springs, Wounds his side, with dexterous art Winds the web about his wings ; Q,uick as he came, recoiling then, The villain vanishes into his den. THE WILD KOSE. The desperate fly perceives too late The hastening crisis of his fate ; Disaster crowds upon disaster. And every struggle to get free Snaps the hopes of liberty, And draws the knots of bondage faster. Again the spider glides along the line ; Hold, murderer ! hold ; the game is mine Captive ! unwarn'd by danger, go, Frolic awhile in light and air ; Thy fate 'tis easy to foreshow, Preserved to perish in a safer snare ! Spider ! thy worthless life I spare ; Advice on thee 'twere vain to spend, Thy wicked ways thou wilt not mend, Then haste thee, spoiler, mend thy net ; Wiser than I Must be yon fly, If he escapes thy trammels yet ; Most eagerly the trap is sought In which a fool has once been caught. And thou, poor Rose ! whose livid leaves expand. Cold to the sun, untempting to the hand, Bloom unadmired, uninjured die ; Thine aspect, squalid and forlorn, Insures thy peaceful, dull decay ; Hadst thou with blushes hid thy thorn, Grown " sweet to sense and lovely to the eye," I might have pluck'd thy flower, Worn it an hour, " Then cast it like a loathsome weed away."* 1796. * Ot way's Orphan. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE TIME-PIECE. WHO is He, so swiftly flying, His career no eye can see ? Who are They, so early flying, From their birth they cease to be ? Time : behold his pictured face ! Moments : can you count their race ? Though, with aspect deep-dissembling, Here he feigns unconscious sleep, Round and round this circle trembling, Day and night his symbols creep, While unseen, through earth and sky, His unwearying pinions fly. Hark ! what petty pulses, beating, Spring new moments into light ; Every pulse, its stroke repeating, Sends its moment back to night ; Yet not one of all the train Comes uncall'd, or flits in vain. In the highest realms of glory, Spirits trace, before the throne, On eternal scrolls, the story Of each little moment flown ; Every deed, and word, and thought, Through the whole creation wrought. Were the volume of a minute Thus to mortal sight unroll'd, More of sin and sorrow in it, More of man, might we behold, Than on History's broadest page, In the relics of an age. Who could bear the revelation ? Who abide the sudden test ? THE TIME-PIECE. With instinctive consternation, Hands would cover every breast, Loudest tongues at once be hush'd. Pride in all its writhings crush'd. Who, with leer malign exploring, On his neighbour's shame durst look ? Would not each, intensely poring On that record in the book, Which his inmost soul reveal'd, Wish its leaves for ever seal'd ? Seal'd they are for years, and ages, Till, the earth's last circuit run, Empire changed through all its stages, Risen and set the latest sun, On the sea and on the land Shall a midnight angel stand : Stand ; and, while th' abysses tremble, Swear that Time shall be no more : Quick and Dead shall then assemble, Men and Demons range before That tremendous judgment-seat, Where both, worlds at issue meet. Time himself, with all his legions, Days, Months, Years, since Nature's birth. Shall revive, and from all regions, Singling out the sons of earth, With their glory or disgrace, Charge their spenders face to face. Every moment of my being Then shall pass before mine eyes : God, all-searching ! God, all-seeing ! Oh ! appease them, ere they rise : Warn'd I fly, I fly to thee ; God, be merciful to me ! Liverpool, 1SI6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A MOTHER'S LOVE. A MOTHER'S Love, how sweet the name What is a Mother's love ? A noble, pure, and tender flame, Enkindled from above, ' To bless a heart of earthly mould ; The warmest love that can grow cold ' This is a Mother's Love. To bring a helpless babe to light; Then, while it lies forlorn, To gaze upon that dearest sight, And feel herself new-born, In its existence lose her own, And live and breathe in it alone ; This is a Mother's Love. Its weakness in her arms to bear; To cherish on her breast, Feed it from Love's own fountain there, And lull it there to rest ; Then, while it slumbers, watch its breath, As if to guard from instant death ; This is a Mother's Love. To mark its growth from day to day, Its opening charms admire, Catch from its eye the earliest ray Of intellectual fire ; To smile and listen while it talks, And lend a finger when it walks ; This is a Mother's Love. And can a Mother's Love grow cold ? Can she forget her boy ? His pleading innocence behold, Nor weep for grief for joy ? A MOTHER'S LOVE. A Mother may forget her child, While wolves devour it on the wild ; Is this a Mother's Love ? Ten thousand voices answer " No !" Ye clasp your babes and kiss ; Your bosoms yearn, your eyes o'erflow ; Yet, ah ! remember this, The infant, rear'd alpne for earth, May live, may die, to curse his birth ; Is this a Mother's Love ? A parent's heart may prove a snare ; The child she loves so well, Her hand may lead, with gentlest care, Down the smooth road to hell ; Nourish its frame, destroy its mind : Thus do the blind mislead the blind, Even with a Mother's Love. Blest infant ! whom his mother taught Early to seek the Lord, And pour'd upon his dawning thought The day-spring of the word ; This was the lesson to her son, Time is Eternity begun : Behold that Mother's Love.* Blest Mother ! who, in wisdom's path By her own parent trod, Thus taught her son to flee the wrath, And know the fear, of God : Ah, youth ! like him enjoy your prime ; Begin Eternity in time, Taught by that Mother's Love. 77m/ Mother's Love ! how sweet the name ! What was that Mother's Love ? The noblest, purest, tenderest flame, That kindles from above, 9 Tim. i 5; iii. 14 15. 26 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Within a heart of earthy mould, As much of heaven as heart can hold, Nor through eternity grows cold : This was that Mother's Love. THE VISIBLE CREATION. THE GOD of Nature and of Grace In all his works appears ; His goodness through the earth we trace, His grandeur in the spheres. Behold this fair and fertile globe, By Him in wisdom plann'd ; 'Twas He who girded, like a robe, The ocean round the land. Lift to the firmament your eye, Thither his path pursue ; His glory, boundless as the sky, O'erwhelms the wondering view. He bows the heavens the mountains stand A highway for their God ; He walks amidst the desert land, 'Tis Eden where He trod. The forests in His strength rejoice ; Hark ! on the evening breeze, As once of old, the LORD GOD'S voice Is heard among the trees. Here on the hills He feeds his herds, His flocks on yonder plains : His praise is warbled by the birds ; Oh ! could we catch their strains ! Mount with the lark, and bear our song Up to the gates of light, REMINISCENCES. Or with the nightingale prolong Our numbers through the night ! In every stream his bounty flows, Diffusing joy and wealth ; In every breeze his spirit blows, The breath of life and health. His blessings fall in plenteous showers Upon the lap of earth, That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers. And rings with infant mirth. If God hath made this world so fair, Where sin and death abound, How beautiful beyond compare Will Paradise be found ! REMINISCENCES. WHERE are ye with whom in life I started, Dear companions of my golden days ? Ye are dead, estranged from me, or parted, Flown, like morning clouds, a thousand ways. Where art thou, in youth my friend and brother. Yea, in soul my friend and brother still ? Heaven received thee, and on earth none other Can the void in my lorn bosom fill. Where is she, whose looks were love and gladness ? Love and gladness I no longer see ! She is gone ; and, since that hour of sadness, Nature seems her sepulchre to me. Where am I ? life's current faintly flowing, Brings the welcome warning of release ; Struck with death, ah ! whither am I going ? All is well, my spirit parts in peace. J04 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE REIGN OF SPRING. WHO loves not Spring's voluptuous hours, The carnival of birds and flowers ? Yet who would choose, however dear, That Spring should revel all the year ? Who loves not Summer's splendid reign, The bridal of the earth and main ? Yet who would choose, however bright, A Dog-day noon without a night ? Who loves not Autumn's joyous round, When corn, and wine, and oil abound ? Yet who would choose, however gay, A year of unrenew'd decay ? Who loves not Winter's awful form ? The sphere-born music of the storm ? Yet who would choose, how grand soever, The shortest day to last for ever? 'Twas in that age renown'd, remote, When all was true that Esop wrote ; And in that land of fair Ideal, Where all that poets dream is real ; Upon a day of annual state, The Seasons met in high debate. There blush'd young Spring in maiden pride, Blithe Summer look'd a gorgeous bride, Staid Autumn moved with matron-grace, And beldame Winter pursed her face. Dispute grew wild ; all talk'd together ; The four at once made wondrous weather ; Nor one (whate'er the rest had shown) Heard any reason but her own ; While eaeh (for nothing else was clear) Claim'd the whole circle of the year. Spring, in possession of the field, Compell'd her sisters soon to yield : THE REIGN OF SPRING. 305 They part, resolved elsewhere to try A twelvemonth's empire of the sky ; And, calling off their airy legions, Alighted in adjacent regions. Spring o'er the eastern campaign smiled, Fell Winter ruled the northern wild, Summer pursued the sun's red car, But Autumn loved the twilight star. As Spring parades her new domain, Love, Beauty, Pleasure, hold her train ; Her footsteps wake the flowers beneath, That start, and blush, and sweetly breathe ; Her gales on nimble pinions rove, And shake to foliage every grove ; Her voice, in dell and thicket heard, Cheers on the nest the mother-bird ; The ice-lock'd streams, as if they felt Her touch, to liquid diamond melt : The lambs around her bleat and play ; The serpent flings his slough away, And shines in orient colours dight, A flexile ray of living light. Nature unbinds her wintry shroud, (As the soft sunshine melts the cloud,) With infant gambols sports along, Bounds into youth, and soars in song. The morn impearls her locks with dew, Noon spreads a sky of boundless blue, The rainbow spans the evening scene, The night is silent and serene, Save when her lonely minstrel wrings The heart with sweetness while he sings. Who would not wish, unrivall'd here, That Spring might frolic all the year ? Three months are fled, and still she reigns, Exulting queen o'er hills and plains ; The birds renew their nuptial vow, Nestlings themselves are lovers now ; 26* MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Fresh broods each bending bough receives, Till feathers far outnumber leaves ; But kites in circles swim the air, And sadden music to despair. The stagnant pools, the quaking bogs, Teem, croak, and crawl with hordes of frogs : The matted woods, th' infected earth, Are venomous with reptile-birth ; Armies of locusts cloud the skies ; With beetles hornets, gnats with flies, Interminable warfare wage, And madden heaven with insect-rage. The flowers are wither'd ; sun nor dew Their fallen glories shall renew ; The flowers are wither'd ; germ nor seed Ripen in garden, wild, or mead : The corn-fields shoot : their blades, alas t Run riot in luxuriant grass. The tainted flocks, the drooping kine, In famine of abundance pine, Where vegetation, sour, unsound, And loathsome, rots and rankles round ; Nature with nature seems at strife ; Nothing can live but monstrous life By death engender'd ; food and breath Are turn'd to elements of death ; And where the soil his victims strew, Corruption quickens them anew. But ere the year was half expired, Spring saw her folly, and retired ; Yoked her light chariot to a breeze, And mounted to the Pleiades ; Content with them to rest or play Along the calm nocturnal way ; Till, heaven's remaining circuit run, They meet the pale hybernal sun, And, gaily mingling in his bkze, Hail the true dawn of vernal days THE REIGN OF SUMMER. 307 THE REIGN OF SUMMER. THE hurricanes are fled ; the rains, That plough'd the mountains, wreck'd the plains, Have pass'd away before the wind, And left a wilderness behind, As if an ocean had been there Exhaled, and left its channels bare. But, with a new and sudden birth, Nature replenishes the earth ; Plants, flowers, and shrubs, o'er all the land So promptly rise, so thickly stand, As if they heard a voice, and came, Each at the calling of its name. The tree, by tempests stript and rent, Expands its verdure like a tent, Beneath whose shade, in weary length, Th' enormous lion rests his strength, For blood, in dreams of hunting, burns, Or, chased himself, to flight returns ; Growls in his sleep, a dreary sound, Grinds his wedged teeth, and spurns the ground While monkeys, in grotesque amaze, Down from their bending perches gaze, But when he lifts his eye of fire, Quick to the topmost boughs retire. Loud o'er the mountains bleat the flocks , The goat is bounding on the rocks ; Far in the valleys range the herds; The welkin gleams with flitting birds, Whose plumes such gorgeous tints adorn, They seem the offspring of the morn. From nectar'd flowers and groves of spice, Earth breathes the air of Paradise ; 308 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Her mines their hidden wealth betray, Treasures of darkness burst to day ; O'er golden sands the rivers glide, And pearls and amber track the tide. Of every sensual bliss possess'd, Man riots here ; but is he bless'd ? And would he choose, for ever bright, This Summer-day without a night 1 For here hath Summer fix'd her throne, Intent to reign, and reign alone. Daily the sun, in his career, Hotter and higher, climbs the sphere, Till from the zenith, in his rays, Without a cloud or shadow, blaze The realms beneath him : in his march, On the blue key-stone of heaven's arch, He stands ; air, earth, and ocean lie Within the presence of his eye. The wheel of Nature seems to rest, Nor rolls him onward to the west, Till thrice three days of noon unchanged. That torrid clime have so deranged. Nine years may not the wrong repair ; But Summer checks the ravage there ; Yet still enjoins the sun to steer By the stern Dog-star round the year, With dire extremes of day and night, Tartarean gloom, celestial light. In vain the gaudy season shines, Her beauty fades, her power declines ; Then first her bosom felt a care ; No healing breeze embalm'd the ail, No mist the mountain-tops bedew'd, Nor shower the arid vale renew'd ; The herbage shrunk ; the ploughman's toil Scatter' d to dust the crumbling soil ; Blossoms were shed ; th' umbrageous wood, Laden with sapless foliage, stood : THE REIGN OF SUMMER. The streams, impoverished day by day, Lessen'd insensibly away ; Where cattle sought, with piteous moans, The vanish'd lymph, midst burning stones, And tufts of wither'd reeds, that fill The wonted channel of the rill ; Till, stung with hornets, mad with thirst, In sudden rout, away they burst, Nor rest, till where some channel deep, Gleams in small pools, whose waters sleep , There with huge draught and eager eye Drink for existence, drink and die ! But direr evils soon arose, Hopeless, unmitigable woes ; Man proves the shock ; through all his veins The frenzy of the season reigns ; With pride, lust, rage, ambition blind, He burns in every fire of mind, Which kindles from insane desire, Or fellest hatred can inspire ; Reckless whatever ill befall, He dares to do and suffer all That heart can think, that arm can deal, Or out of hell a fury feel. There stood in that romantic clime A mountain awfully sublime ; O'er many a league the basement spread, It tower'd in many an airy head, Height over height, now gay, now wild, The peak with ice eternal piled ; Pure in mid-heaven, that crystal cone A diadem of glory shone, Reflecting, in the night-fall'n sky, The beams of day's departed eye ; Or holding, ere the dawn begun, Communion with th' unrisen sun. The cultured sides were clothed with woods, Vineyards, and fields ; or track'd with floods. 310 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Whose glacier fountains, hid on high, Sent down their rivers from the sky. O'er plains, that mark'd its gradual scale, On sunny slope, in shelter'd vale, Earth's universal tenant, He, Who lives wherever life may be, Sole, social, fix'd, or free to roam, Always and everywhere at home, MAN pitch'd his tents, adorn'd his bowers, Built temples, palaces, and towers, And made that Alpine world his own, The miniature of every zone, From brown savannas parch' d below, To ridges of cerulean snow. Those high-lands form'd a last retreat From rabid Summer's fatal heat : Though not unfelt her fervours there, Vernal and cool the middle air ; While from the icy pyramid Streams of unfailing freshness slid, That long had slaked the thirsty land, Till avarice, with insatiate hand, Their currents check'd ; in sunless caves, And rock-bound dells, engulf 'd the waves, And thence in scanty measures doled, Or turn'd heaven's bounty into gold. Ere long the dwellers on the plain Murmur'd ; their murmurs were in vain ; Petition'd, but their prayers were spurn'd ; Thr eaten' d, defiance was return'd ; Then rang both regions with alarms ; Blood-kindling trumpets blew to arms ; The maddening drum and deafening fife Marshall'd the elements of strife : Sternly the mountaineers majntain Their rights against th' insurgent plain ; The plain's indignant myriads rose To wrest the mountain from their foes THE REIGN OF STJMMEB. Ill Resolved its blessings to enjoy By dint of valour, or destroy. The legions met in war-array ; The mountaineers brook'd no delay ; Aside their missile weapons threw, From holds impregnable withdrew, And, rashly brave, with sword and shield, Rush'd headlong to the open field. Their foes th' auspicious omen took, And raised a battle-shout that shook The campaign ; stanch and keen for blood, Front threatening front, the columns stood ; But, while like thunder-clouds they frown. In tropic haste the sun went down ; Night o'er both armies stretch'd her tent. The star-bespangled firmament, Whose placid host, revolving slow, Smile on th' impatient hordes below, That chafe and fret the hours away, Curse the dull gloom, and long for day, Though destined by their own decree No other day nor night to see. That night is past, that day begun ; Swift as he sunk ascends the sun, And from the red horizon springs Upward, as borne on eagle-wings : Aslant each army's lengthen'd lines, O'er shields and helms he proudly shines While spears, that catch his lightnings keen, Flash them athwart the space between. Before the battle-shock, when breath And pulse are still, awaiting death ; In that cold pause, which seems to be The prelude to eternity, When fear, ere yet a blow is dealt, Betray'd by none, by all is felt ; While, moved beneath their feet, the tomb Widens her lap to make them room ; IM MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Till, in the onset of the fray, Fear, feeling, thought are cast away, And foaming, raging, mingling foes, Like billows dash'd in conflict, close, Charge, strike, repel, wound, struggle, fly, Gloriously win, unconquer'd die : Here, in dread silence, while they stand, Each with a death-stroke in his hand, His eye fix'd forward, and his ear Tingling the signal blast to hear ; The trumpet sounds ; one note, no more ; The field, the fight, the war is o'er ; An earthquake rent the void between ; A moment show'd, and shut the scene ; Men, chariots, steeds, of either host, The flower, the pride, the strength were lost : A solitude remains ; the dead Are buried there, the living fled. Nor yet the reign of Summer closed ; At night in their own homes reposed The fugitives, on either side, Who 'scaped the death their comrades died ; When, lo ! with many a giddy shock The mountain-cliffs began to rock, And deep below the hollow ground Ran a strange mystery of sound, As if, in chains and torments there, Spirits were venting their despair. That sound, those shocks, the sleepers woke ; In trembling consternation, broke Forth from their dwellings, young and old ; Nothing abroad their eyes behold But darkness so intensely wrought, 'Twas blindness in themselves they thought. Anon, aloof, with sudden rays, Issued so fierce, so broad a blaze, That darkness started into light, And evt ry eye, restored to sight. THE REIGN OF SUMMER. 313 Gazed on the glittering crest of snows, Whence the bright conflagration rose, Whose flames condensed at once aspire, A pillar of t elestial fire, Alone amidst infernal shade, In glorious majesty display'd : Beneath, from rifted caverns, broke Volumes of suffocating smoke, That roll'd in surges, like a flood, By the red radiance turn'd to blood ; Morn look'd aghast -upon the scene, Nor could a sunbeam pierce between The panoply of vapours, spread Above, around the mountain's head. In distant fields, with drought consumed, Joy swell' d all hearts, all eyes illumed, When from that peak, through lowering skies, Thick curling clouds were seen to rise, And hang o'er all the darken 'd plain, The presage of descending rain. Th' exulting cattle bound along, The tuneless birds attempt a song, The swain, amidst his sterile lands, With outstretch'd arms of rapture stands. But, fraught with plague and curses, came Th' insidious progeny of flame ; Ah ! then, for fertilizing showers, The pledge of herbage, fruits, and flowers, Words cannot paint, how every eye (Blood-shot and dim with agony) Was glazed, as by a palsying spell, When light sulphureous ashes fell, Dazzling, and eddying to and fro, Like wildering sleet or feathery snow : * Strewn with gray pumice Nature lies, At every motion quick to rise, Tainting with li vid fumes the air ; Then hope lies down in prone despair, a SU MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And man and beast, with misery dumb, Sullenly brood on woes to come. The mountain now, like living earth, Pregnant with some stupendous birth, Heaved, in the anguish of its throes, Sheer from its crest th' incumbent snows ; And where of old they chill'd the sky, Beneath the sun's meridian eye, Or, purpling in the golden west, Appear'd his evening throne of rest, There, black and bottomless and wide, A cauldron, rent from side to side, Simmer'd and hiss'd with huge turmoil Earth's disembowell'd minerals boil, And thence in molten torrents rush ; Water and fire, like sisters, gush From the same source ; the double stream Meets, battles, and explodes in steam ; Then fire prevails ; and broad and deep Red lava roars from steep to steep ; While rocks unseated, woods upriven, Are headlong down the current driven ; Columnar flames are wrapt aloof, In whirlwind forms, to heaven's high roof, And there, amidst transcendent gloom, Image the wrath beyond the tomb. The mountaineers, in wild affright, Too late for safety, urge their flight ; Women, made childless in the fray, Women, made mothers yesterday, The sick, the aged, and the blind ; None but the dead are left behind. Painful their journey, toilsome, slow, Beneath their feet quick embers glow, And hurtle round in dreadful hail ; Their limbs, their hearts, their senses fail While many a victim, by the way, Buried alive in ashes lav, THE REIGN OF SUMMEB. Or perish'd by the lightning's stroke, Before the slower thunder broke. A few the open field explore : ' The throng seek refuge on the shore, Between two burning rivers hemm'd, Whose rage nor mounds nor hollows stemm'd ; Driven like a herd of deer, they reach The lonely, dark, and silent beach, Where, calm as innocence in sleep, Expanded lies th' unconscious deep. Awhile the fugitives respire, And watch those cataracts of fire (That bar escape on either hand) Rush on the ocean from the strand ; Back from the onset rolls the tide, But instant clouds the conflict hide ; The lavas plunge to gulfs unknown, And, as they plunge, collapse to stone. Meanwhile the mad volcano grew Tenfold more terrible to view ; And thunders, such as shall be hurl'd At the death-sentence of the world ; And lightnings, such as shall consume Creation, and creation's tomb, Nor leave, amidst th' eternal void, One trembling atom undestroy'd ; Such thunders crash'd, such lightnings glared : Another fate those outcasts shared, When, with one desolating sweep, An earthquake seem'd t' ingulf the deep, Then threw it back, and from its bed Hung a whole ocean overhead ; The victims shriek'd beneath the wa\e, And in a moment found one grave ; Down to th' abyss the flood retum'd, Alone, unseen, the mountain burn'd 1815. lie MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. INSTRUCTION. FROM heaven descends the drops of dew, From heaven the gracious showers, Earth's winter-aspect to renew, And clothe the spring with flowers ; From heaven the beams of morning flow, That melt the gloom of night ; From heaven the evening breezes blow, Health, fragrance, and delight. Like genial dew, like fertile showers, The words of wisdom fall, Awaken man's unconscious powers, Strength out of weakness call : Like morning beams they strike the mind* Its loveliness reveal ; And softer than the evening wind, The wounded spirit heal. As dew and rain, as light and air, From heaven instruction came, The waste of Nature to repair, Kindle a sacred flame ; A flame to purify the earth, Exalt her sons on high, And train them for their second birth, Their birth beyond the sky. ALBION ! on every human soul, By thee be knowledge shed, Far as the ocean-waters roll, Wide as the shores are spread : A NIGHT IN A STAGE-COACH. 317 Truth makes thy children free at home ; Oh ! that thy flag, unfurPd, Might shine, where'er thy children roam, Truth's Banner round the world. London, 1812. A NIGHT IN A STAGE-COACH ; BEING A MEDITATION ON THE WAY BETWEEN LONDON AND BRISTOL, 8KPTEMBEK 23, 1815. I TRAVEL all the irksome night, By ways to me unknown ; I travel, like a bird in flight, Onward, and all alone. In vain I close my weary eyes, They will not, cannot sleep, But, like the watchers of the skies, Their twinkling vigils keep. My thoughts are wandering wild and far ; From earth to heaven they dart ; Now wing their flight from star to star, Now dive into my heart. Backward they roll the tide of time, And live through vanish'd years, Or hold their " colloquy sublime" With future hopes and fears ; Then passing joys and present woes Chase through my troubled mind, Repose still seeking, but r ?pose Not for a moment find. av* 818 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. So yonder lone and lovely moon Gleams on the clouds gone by, Illumines those around her noon, Yet westward points her eye. Nor wind nor flood her course delay, Through heaven I see her glide ; She never pauses on her way, She never turns aside. With anxious heart and throhbing brain, Strength, patience, spirits gone, Pulses of fire in every vein, Thus, thus I journey on. But soft ! in Nature's failing hour, Up springs a breeze, I feel Its balmy breath, its cordial power, A power to soothe and heal. Lo ! gray, and gold, and crimson streaks The gorgeous east adom, While o'er th' empurpled mountain breaks The glory of the morn. Insensibly the stars retire, Exhaled like drops of dew ; Now through an arch of living fire, The sun comes forth to view. The hills, the vales, the waters bum With his enkindling rays, No sooner touch' d than they return A tributary blaze. His quickening light on me descends, His cheering warmth I own : Upward to him my spirit tends, But worships GOD alone. Oh ! that on me, with beams benign, His countenance would turn A NIGHT IN A STAGE-CO AC TI. 319 I too should then arise and shine, Arise, and shine, and burn. Slowly I raise ray languid head, Pain and soul-sickness cease ; The phantoms of dismay are fled, And health returns, and peace. Where is the beauty of the scene, Which silent night display'd ? The clouds, the stars, the blue serene, The moving light and shade ? All gone ! the moon, erevvhile so bright, Veil'd with a dusky shroud, Seems, in the sun's o'erpowering light, The fragment of a cloud. At length, I reach my journey's end : Welcome that well-known face ! I meet a brother and a friend ; I find a resting-place. Just such a pilgrimage is life ; Hurried from stage to stage, Our wishes with our lot at strife, Through childhood to old age. The world is seldom what it seems : To man, who dimly sees, Realities appear as dreams, And dreams realities. The Christian's years, though slow their flight, When he is call'd away, Are but the watches of a night, And Death the dawn of day. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. INCOGNITA : ON VIEWING THE PICTURE OF AN UNKNOWN LADY. WRITTEN AT LEAMINGTON, IN 1817. "She was a phantom of delight." WORDSWORTH. IMAGE of One, who lived of yore ! Hail to that lovely mien, Once quick and conscious, now no more On land or ocean seen ! Were all earth's breathing forms to pass Before me in Agrippa's glass, 8 Many as fair as Thou might be, But oh ! not one, not one like Thee. Thou art no Child of Fancy ; Thou The very look dost wear, That gave enchantment to a brow, Wreathed with luxuriant hair ; Lips of the morn embathed in dew, And eyes of evening's starry blue ; Of all who e'er enjoyed the sun, Thou art the image of but One. And who was she, in virgin prime, And May of womanhood, Whose roses here, unpluck'd by Time, In shadowy tints have stood ; While many a winter's withering blast Hath o'er the dark cold chamber pass'd, In which her once-resplendent form Slumber'd to dust beneath the storm ? Of gentle blood ; upon her birth Consenting planets smiled, And she had seen those days of mirth That frolic round the child ; INCOGNITA. To bridal bloom her strength had sprung, Behold her beautiful and young ! Lives there a record, which hath told That she was wedded, widow'd, old ? How long her date, 'twere vain to guess . The pencil's cunning- art Can but a single glance express, One motion of the heart ; A smile, a blush, a transient grace Of air, and attitude, and face ; One passion's changing colour mix, One moment's flight for ages fix. Her joys and griefs alike in vain Would fancy here recall ; Her throbs of ecstasy or pain Lull'd in oblivion all ; With her, methinks, life's little hour Pass'd like die fragrance of a flower, That leaves upon the vernal wind Sweetness we ne'er again may find. Where dwelt she ? Ask yon aged tree Whose boughs embower the lawn, Whether the birds' wild minstrelsy Awoke her here at dawn ? Whether beneath its youthful shade, At noon, in infancy she played? If from the oak no answer come, Of her all oracles are dumb. The Dead are like the stars by day ; Withdrawn from mortal eye, But not extinct, they hold their way In glory through the sky : Spirits, from bondage thus set free, Vanish amidst immensity, Where human thought, like human sight. Fails to pursue their trackless flight. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Somewhere within created space, Could I explore that round, In bliss, or wo, there is a place Where she might still be found ; And oh ! unless those eyes deceive, I may, I must, I will believe, That she, whose charms so meekly glow, /* what she only seem'd below ; An angel in that glorious realm Where GOD himself is King : But awe and fear, that overwhelm Presumption, check my wing ; Nor dare imagination look Upon the symbols of that book, Wherein eternity enrols The judgments on departed souls. Of Her of whom these pictured lines A faint resemblance form ; Fair as the second rainbow shines Aloof amid the storm ; Of Her, this " shadow of a shade,'* Like its original, must fade, And She, forgotten when unseen, Shall be as if she ne'er had been. Ah ! then, perchance, this dreaming strain, Of all that e'er I sung, A lorn memorial may remain, When silent lies my tongue ; When shot the meteor of my fame, Lost the vain echo of my name, This leaf, this fallen leaf, may be The only trace of her and me. With One who lived of old, my song In lowly cadence rose ; To One who is unborn, belong The accents of its close : WINTER-LIGHTNING. Ages to come, with courteous ear, Some youth my warning voice may hear ; And voices from the dead should be The warnings of eternity. When these weak lines thy presence greet Reader ! if I am hless'd, Again, as spirits, may we meet In glory and in rest ! If not, and / have lost my way, Here part we, go not Thou astray : No tomb, no verse my story tell ; Once, and for ever, Fare Thee well ! WINTER-LIGHTNING. THE flash at midnight ! 'twas a light That gave the blind a moment's sight, Then sunk in tenfold gloom ; Loud, deep, and long the thunder broke The deaf ear instantly awoke, Then closed as in the tomb : An angel might have pass'd my bed, Sounded the trump of GOD, and fled. So life appears ; a sudden birth, A glance revealing heaven and earth, It is and it is not ! So fame the poet's hope deceives, Who sings for after-times, and leaves A name to be forgot : Life is a lightning-flash of breath, Fame but a thunder-clap at death. 18M. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE LITTLE CLOUD. Seen in a country excursion among the woods and rocks of Wharndiffe and the ailjacent park and pleasure grounds of Wortluy Hall, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord Wharncliffe, near Sheffield, on the 30th day of June, 1818 THE summer sun was in the west, Yet far above his evening rest ; A thousand clouds in air display'd Their floating isles of light and shade, The sky, like ocean's channels, seen In long meandering streaks between. Cultured and waste, the landscape lay, Woods, mountains, valleys stretch'd away, And throng'd th' immense horizon round, With heaven's eternal girdle bound ; From inland towns, eclipsed with smoke, Steeples in lonely grandeur broke ; Hamlets, and cottages, and streams, By glimpses caught the casual gleams, Or blazed in lustre broad and strong, Beyond the picturing powers of song : O'er all the eye enchanted ranged, While colours, forms, proportions changed. Or sunk in distance undefined, Still as our devious course inclined, And oft we paused, and look'd behind One little cloud, and only one, Seem'd the pure offspring of the sun, Flung from his orb to show us here What clouds adorn his hemisphere ; Unmoved, unchanging, in the gale, That bore the rest o'er hill and dale, Whose shadowy shapes, with lights around, Like living motions, swept the ground, THE LITTLE CLOUD. This little cloud, and this alone, Long in the highest ether shone ; Gay as a warrior's banner spread, Its sunward margin ruby-red, Green, purple, gold, and every hue That glitters in the morning dew, Or glows along the rainbow's form, The apparition of the storm. Deep in its bosom, diamond-bright, Behind a fleece of pearly white, It seem'd a secret glory dwelt, Whose presence, while unseen, was felt ; Like Beauty's eye, in slumber hid Beneath a half-transparent lid, From whence a sound, a touch, a breath, Might startle it, as life from death. Looks, words, emotions of surprise, Welcomed the stranger to our eyes : Was it the phoenix, that from earth In flames of incense sprang to birth ? Had ocean from his lap let fly His loveliest halcyon through the sky ? No : while we gazed, the pageant grew A nobler object to our view ; We deem'd, if heaven with earth would hold Communion, as in days of old, Such, on his journey down the sphere, Benignant RAPHAEL might appear, In splendid mystery conceal'd, Yet by his rich disguise reveal'd : That buoyant vapour, in mid-air, An angel in its folds might bear, Who, through the curtain of his shrine, Betray'd his lineaments divine. The wild, the warm illusion stole, Like inspiration, o'er the soul, Till thought was rapture, language hung Silent but trembling on the tongue ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And fancy almost hoped to hail The seraph rushing through his veil, Of hear an awful voice proclaim The embassy on whi