A t' A ^=c: i A ' A = ^g- m — - ^ u ^ ^^ = :^= JD f 3 = 8 = 3 ^ 6 = - zc 4 — h = — " -C 1 0,LI>H.ALLRHYMEi K.K.BEALEY. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES a^ ■ X^ 3 c2^s' n tr TO OHN HARLAND, Esq., F.S.A., AN ANTIQUARIAN TO WHOM THE COUNTY PALATINE OF LANCASTER IS GREATLY INDEBTED )R THE ILLUSTRATION OF HER ANTIQUITIES, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED, AS AN EXPRESSION OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BY THE AUTHOR. JJsJVo^iO CONTENTS. PAGE A Happy Day 7 Yon Lad's noan weel ' . 14 The Master-Key 21 The Mariner 23 Wurch while yo' con 28 Bolsover Re- Visited 35 Life's Gloaming 43 My own Little Babby 46 Blind 49 Laura Merton 54 Owd David-at-Major's .60 Soul Thirst 67 When the heart's lit up wi' Song . . . - ^2 A Memory ^6 Weary Waiting ........ 83 Faith 87 Bettws y Coed 90 Morning 94 Evening 96 Ralph's Christmas Offering 98 A Valentine 102 Th' Power o' Yure 104 VI Contents. PAGE Hymn 109 Hymn . Ill Sonnet. — To Myself . 113 ,, To a Partridge . 114 To "Tiny" • 115 ,, To Lucy . 116 „ The Sabbath . "7 ,, Morning . 118 , , Morning . 119 , , Evening . 120 ,, Night . 121 Song. — I'm Queen of the Lily . 122 ,, Sweet Day, Good-bye . 124 ,, Laura, when Evening shades . 126 ,, Oh! Give me now my sweet Guita r 128 Be Gay . ■ 131 ,, Bonnie Maggie 133 Nelly . 135 ,, Cupid's Challenge » ■ 137 ,, Expectation . 139 ,, Jessie • 141 Erratum. — Page 57, 8th line, for "night" read "light." A HAPPY DAY. '' I ^0-DAY I've lived, and life has overflowed, -*" Not in a wild impassion'd ecstacy, Joy-springs have well'd within me to the brim, Then slowly trickled o'er in silent tears. I have been happy, and to say this much In round acknowledgment, without reserve. Is something worth to one of earthly mould, B 8 A Happy Day. Life runs so roughly o'er Time's rocky bed, And fate and circumstance so bend the stream In devious courses, that to find therein. Unsought and unexpected by the way, A deep, calm pool, where golden sunbeams lie Unbroken on the slowly flowing wave Is such a sweet surprise, and makes so glad The weaiy soul, that straight away she throws Her cares like garments off, and on the wave Floats peacefully, unheeding time or tide. Thus have I found this most delightful day. And rested with a rest that banishes Heart-weariness, and gives the soul new life. God must be nearer to the flowery fields. The hills and dales, the brooks and waterfalls, Than to the city with its cold, hard streets, Where human faces are the graves of smiles, And care sits brooding o'er a thousand brows. A Happy Day. 9 I would not choose to have the stream of life From first to last all calm and rippleless, For broken waters sing a lovely song, And valour grows on obstacles o'erthrown. There's strength in struggle, and we need be strong, With all the work there is for man to do Between his birth and death, God helping him, While none but earnest workers know true rest Or guess the meaning of a holiday. The wretched idler, half asleep by day And half awake by night, scarce lives at all, His faculties are dazed, and every sense Is dull and weak ; and time drags heavily That should go ever lilting lightly on, Unheard, unheeded, until passed away; While he who meets his work with cheerfulness And does full duty with ungrudging heart, Taking it up as heritage from God, Appointed and apportioned by His hand, Though weary often when the day is done, 10 A Happy Day. Yet has so still a conscience in his breast, And so enjoys the mystery of sleep, That he has recompense in that alone. Though not alone in that, for labour bears Within itself a great reward, a charm. Which only those (such is the law) can know Who sweat in heart and muscle for God's sake. I have not done this whole and perfect work, Yet have I ^vrought and borne my weight of care. Else had I lacked the power to love so well This day of perfect peace and quietness Amid the beauties of these hills and dales. I stand upon the mountain's lofty brow Midway 'twixt sunny clouds and shady vale. And from this noble and commanding height I gaze with wondering eyes upon the scene So vast and various, and withal so fair. — Here, mead and pasture, reaching up the hill A Happy Day. ii Fold round the orchard with endearing arms And touch the skirts of yonder leafy wood That guards the homestead from the sharp east wind. Beyond, amid the windings of the vale, ^\^■lite rocks are peeping from the firs and pines Like castle walls and turrets of a bygone age. Before me, fronting this on which I stand, A mountain rises, broad, and steep, and high, As they were chieftains of two rival clans. While deep below there rests the quiet vale, A child beloved of each who holds them friends. The West, with all the gather'd beauties of the day Is waiting to receive the glorious sun, Who hastens smiling as a traveller sighting home; And Evening sitting at the gate of night Smiles through deep blushes as he passes by ; While high above, the half-veil'd Queen of night Is waiting to resume her quiet reign. — All, all is peaceful, e'en the zephyr's wings 12 A Happy Day. Are folded as the shadows ghde along In mute procession to prepare for night. Sweet recollections these to muse upon When days are short, and cold, and comfortless, And gardens all are consecrated graves, Waiting the resurrection of the spring. But now I 'm summoned from these scenes away, And visions rise before me of the town Where nature now has scarce a lurking place. But crush'd and press'd away she sits disconsolate Outside the walls of what was once her home — An exile now in soil'd and worn attire. And to the summons, with unwilling heart, And heavy footsteps, I gave heedless heed. And slowly shambling down the glorious hills, Look ever backward, and, in looking, sigh. Farewell, sweet day, and all thy wealth of joy, A Happy Day. 13 Thou bright and gladsome child of summer time ; Thou gift of God — most beautiful, farewell. Thou leavest smiling, and we would not grieve, Yet for thy sweetness we regret thee gone : Hope comes confessing she's been left behind, Faith calls thee Prophet, pointing to the time. When all our days shall be as fair as thou, And all men casting off their heavy cares, And being purified of sinful dross, Shall dwell in paradise in perfect peace. YON LAD'S NOAN WEEK "\7'0N lad's noan weel ; he lias'nt bin Hissel for mony a day, Poor little chap, his rosy cheeks Are fadin' clen away ; He mopes abeaut fro' morn to neet Or rocks him in his cheer — An' th* sun shines on him eawt o'th' fowt But connot tice him theer. Von Lad^s Noan Weel. 15 Yo're sure he mun be gradely ill, When lads peep in at th' dur, An' ax him t' goo an' play \vi' 'em, But connot get him t' stir. He yers 'em runnin' whoam fro' schoo' An' shoutin' as they run ; But doesn't seem to care a bit, He's got no heart for fun. Sometimes aw sit an' let him lay His yed uppo' my knee. An' when aw stroke his little cheek, He smiles a bit for me. Then, little chap, he sidles up. As if noan quite at rest. An aw've to tak' him on my knee An' houd him to my breast. Dost think ut th' doctor owt to come To-morn ? what dost ta say ? J 6 Yon Lad^s Noan Wcel. If tha just axes him to co' If he should be this way ? — A bottle an a pill or two, Ull may-be set him reet ; Aw raley think it ud be best If yo wur t' goo to-neet. Aw connot bide to look at him, It breaks my heart to see, His little cheeks so thin an' pale, Ut used so red to be. He looks so wizzent an' so pinch'd An cruddl't up all o'er, Ut aw'm just fear'd it's summut wur, Nor aw've thowt on afore. Just put thy jacket on enow, An' see if th' doctor's in ; Tha thinks aw'm freetent, but aw'm sure, Sich fearin's noan a sin. Von Zad's Noan Wed. 17 So goo my lad, an' if tha con, Bring th' doctor wi' thee back ; Aw'll have o'th baggin pots wesh'd up, An' sided in a crack. Eh me ! it hurts my heart to think Of Httle Sam so bad — We've six fine wenches, but eawr Sam He's th' only lad we'n had ; We couldna lose him, could we James ? Nor none o'th' lasses could ; He's sich a pet, my little Sam, And bless him he's so good. Aw never thowt aw could ha' loved A brid ut -wur my own. So mich aboon o'th tother brids. In nayburs neests aw've known ; But so it is, an' neaw to see Him sweellin' fast away, 1 8 Yon Lad's Noan Weel. Just like a candle in a draft, It frets me neet an' day. Eawr Parson preaches, an' he says Ut sorrow's alus reet. He talks as if he know'd it wur. Aw yerd him tother neet ; But James, they're just as bad as us, When they'n a child uts ill, They're just like doctors, poo a face, When they'n to tak' a pill. But goo thy ways, an' let us do What's reet as fur's we con, Aw've set my heart on seein' Sam Grow up a gradely mon. Aw've wonder'd o'er and o'er again, What sort o' mon he'll be. But th' finest aw con pictur' him, Is when he's most like thee. Yon Zad^s Noan Wed. 19 Aw think ut when he's yung and strung, An' aw'm booath owd and grey, An' bended wi' a weight o' years, He'll help me on my way. Aw just con see him takkin' me To church, an' walkin' slow, His strides so long, an' mine so short, Him straight, me bendin' low. An' then he'll oppen th' dur for me, An' put me into th' pew. An' find me every prayer and hymn Till th' sarvice is gone through ; An' then he'll walk me whoam again, As slow as he con goo. While nayburs passin' by ull turn To ax us how we do. Aw'm sometimes jealous when aw think Ut he'll be gettin' wed, — 20 Yon Lad's Noan Wed. To some nice bloomin' sort o' lass, An' lovin' her instead. But, eh ! what am aw talkin' on, He's nobbut just a lad, An' aw've bin makkin' him a mon, An' precious near a dad But mother's hearts can never rest. For oather hope or fear, UU set 'em off wi' lots o' thowts, Ut never owt be theer. Aw wish yon doctor 'd coom, for Sam, Poor lad, he's gradely ill, An' till he's bin, this heart o' mine, Ull OSS noan to be still. THE MASTER-KEY. /'"^OME, Tiny, let me now divide ^^ The locks that gambol o'er thy brow, The fleecy clouds may not so hide The moon, as thou art hidden now. And let me tremulously hold The truant tresses all in place, That I may watch the smiles unfold In living poems on thy face. 22 TJie Master-Key. Dost wonder what it is I see Within thy clear and cloudless eyes ? Ah ! little one, it seems to me That I am near the soul's blue skies, And I would pierce the azure veil That seems not willingly to hide — But rather shading to reveal What else was to my sight denied. Come nearer, Tiny— nearer still — Now kiss me dear— there— that will do I've learn'd the lesson, that not skill But sympathy has led me to. I sought to know the truth by sight, But I was dazzled, did not see ; It was thy kiss that set me right, For love is wisdom's master-key. THE MARINER. 'T^HE sea was raging wild and high, -■- And rain in torrents poured, Fierce lightning flash' d among the clouds, And thunder madly roared — ■ The darkness was intensely dark : And sea and clouds and air Seem'd lash'd in fearful deadly fight Of passion and despair. c 24 The Mariner. And yet a brave old mariner Was watching on the shore ; He did not tremble at the blast, Nor falter at the roar — But for a son, an only son, ■\Vho sailed upon the sea, He trembled like an aspen leaf. And moaned in agony. His life he'd spent upon the deck, And many a storm had braved ; Full often he'd escaped the wreck, And many a life had saved — But fear came never near his heart ; His courage gave not way ; He loved to meet the angry wave, And dash among the spray. And were he now upon the sea, With Jack upon the shore, The Mariner. 55 The courage would come back to him He knew in days of yore ; He'd gather strength from out the storm, Nor fear the frowning sky ; Like some old hunter he would leap At thought of days gone by. But now he trembled in the blast, And seemed no more a man ; The rain was falling thick and fast. His tears as quickly ran ; Full three-score years and ten had wound Their circles round his brow ; For half those years his father-love Had multiplied till now. Five children he had had in all, But only one was left; And now the old man seemed to think Of him he was bereft. 26 TJie Mariner. No wonder with such love and fear, He bowed his hoary head, And in the passion-raging storm Most bitter tears he shed. Next morning, on the wreck-strewn shore, When out the tide had run, Some women in their wanderings found The old man and his son ; Their bodies were together locked, And lay upon the sand, Mere empty shells, with thousands more. Thick strewn upon the strand. Soft breezes gently wafted o'er Their faces as they lay, And twin'd, as with a loving hand. The dark locks with the grey. About their necks the sea-weed hung, Like dark, cold flowers of death, The Mariner. 27 A fitting wreath for mortal frames Unmoved by living breath. The sunlight silver'd o'er the sea. That scarce a ripple wore, And lighted all the pebbly gems Along the peaceful shore. There was no cloud in all the sky, No foam o'er all the sea ; But there was Death upon the land, And wailing miserj^ WURCH WHILE YO' CON. T T rURCH hard, my good lads, while yo 're ' ' hearty, An' tackle to t' reet while yo 're yung ; There's nowt hauve so hard as t' be idle, An' nowt to my thinkin's moor wrung. God gave yo' good life to be usin', An' not to be wastin' away ; It's no use yo' tryin' to chet Him, He's sartin to " dock " if yo' play. Wiirch While Yd' Con. 29 Ay, wurch, my good chaps, while yo 're able, An' addle some brass while yo' con Or else yo' may find heaw a table Grows heavy \vi' nowt bein' on. Goo at it, an' do yer wark gradely, An' dunnot throw chonces away ; Time's kind, but he isn't forgivin' ; An' t' yer an excuse he'll noan stay. Aw wouldn't ha' folk to be misers, They're foos, an' they're poorest o' th' poor; But aw would ha' yo' be independent, Wi' plenty, an' just a bit moor. Like bees, yo' should lay up for th' winter, Yo' dunnot know what may betide ; It's hard to spend savin's, but harder, Wi' nowt saved, to " grin an' abide." There's nowt like to doin' full duty, An' honestly payin' one's way ; 3° Wiirch While Yd Con. It covers life o'er \vi' true beauty, An' scares rust an' rot clean away. A conscience ut's clear, an' a pocket Ut 's lined wi' a bit o' good gowd, Ull make a chap feel what a jnon is. An' make him booath happy an' bowd. There's nowt like a bill ut 's unsattled For givin' an' imperent stare ; It'll beat ony woman for pratin', An' says things ut nob'dy else dare. It'll shout i' yer ears when yo're sleepin', An' muddle yer j oiliest dream; An' burn it, by th' mass, it'll haunt yo', An' a stark starin' ghost it'll seem. But pay it, an' wi' a receipt stamp ' Just plaster it's ugly meawth o'er, Aw'U bet, yo' may show it " fat bacon," It'll noan dar to trouble yo' moor. Ww'c/i While Yo' Con. 31 My feyther says bills ut 's recayted Are picturs he likes weel to show ; He says they 're like maps o' great battles He's fowten, an' won em' an' o'. Then wurch bravely, lads, while yo're able, An' help th' world along while yo' con ; For helpin' one's self 's helpin' others, An' that 's gradely wark for a mon. Owd Time winnot stop wi' his wurchin', He's " puttin' eawt " every day ; An' if yo' durn't bring in yer "pieces," Yo'U find he's no wages to pay. An', lasses, aw'd ha' yo' be wary O' chaps ut are alius at play ; They'll ma' dacent haliday sweethearts, But that 's abeawt th' best aw con say. If a chap isn't fond of his warkshop. He'll noan care so mich for a wife ; 32 Wurch WJiile Yd Con. An' yo'd better by th' hauve ne'er be married, Than teed to sich felleys for life. An', chaps, if you'd like to be happy, An' marry some farrantly lass, Just try to love whoam while yo're single, An' larn to talc care o' yer brass. Be sartin to keep eawt o' th' " beershop," An' dunnot be seen in a "tap;" For company keepin' o' that sort UU soon ma' yo' not worth a rap. We 're just like to gardens ut 's growin' Good habits or bad uns, yo' known ; They're yezzy to manage as saplins, But not when they'n getten' full grown. Just try to get rid of an' owd un Ut 's grown i' your soul like a tree, Wi' th' roots grippin' howd o' yer natur ; Yo '11 find what a job it'll be ! Wurch While Yd Con. 33 Neaw, wurchin 's a gradely good habit, Ut sweetens an' blesses a life ; An' idleness, that's just a bad un, Ut fills it wi' trouble an' strife. So, folk, while yo' con, choose betwixt 'em. An' dunnot let th' habits choose yo' ; For one on yo '11 want to be th' mesther, An' which uU give in yo' may know. Aw'm sartin ut wark is a blessin', An' idleness mun be a sin. For God 's made this world like a puzzle, He hides mich ut 's good for us in. An' what does He hide 'em for, think yo', If seekin 's noan good for a mon ? Put that i' yer pipe neaw, an' smoke it. An' do it ere th' chonce may be gone. He might ha' put coal upo' th' surface, An' gowd might ha' grown on a tree, 34 Wttrch WJiile Yd Con. An' childer ha' come full o' wisdom, Beawt trouble o' larnin', yo' see. But it isn't so, chaps, an' yo 're sartin He didn't ma' th' world at a lurch ; He made us for wark, an' fun th' workshop. An' made it a pleasure to wurch. BOLSOVER RE-VISITED. "XZES, 'tis the same as when I saw -*" The landscape years ago ; No change, no wrinkle, not a trace Of age, is seen on nature's face, Nor do her garments shew One faded spot, all is as clear And fair as if no autumn sere Or winter's frost had e'er been near. 36 Bohover Re- Visited. Fond memory leaps to greet the scene, So well-beloved of yore, And dwells on each familiar view Some fading fancy to renew. Some lost one to restore — • Till days now gone are lived again, And memories that for long have lain Deep buried, crowd the heart and brain. Each hill and wood is recognised, And all the spreading vale ; Fair " Sutton," Scarsdale's pride and boast, Strong guarded by a marshall'd-host Of lime trees old and hale : Quaint " Owl Cotes " with his whitened face And Rufus head, though scarce a trace Remains of it was when pride Upraised it, and the proud defied. Again, the graceful church-crown' d hill, That smiles on all around. Bolsover Re- Visited. The church spire pointing from the tomb With all its sweet and pensive gloom, To where true life is found ; The orchards white, the meadows green, The pathways winding through the scene, And laughing in the sunny sheen. Beneath me on the Castle-hill, The Watch Towers old and lone. That seem to wonder at the change That makes them look'd upon as strange. Their occupation gone ! No foe to watch, no proud array Of warriors waiting for the fray ! All pomp and glory pass'd away, And e'en the Castle in decay. The distant smoke that marks the place Where commerce holds her sway, And here and there the fitful glare 37 38 Bolsover Re- Visited. Of furnace fires that wildly stare, With bleared eyes on day ; And hark ! the sudden booming sound That startles all the hills around, And wakes the Watch Towers into life As with the cannon's note of strife. All this I've seen and heard before With wonder and delight, And from this same green arbour seat I've gazed, each opening charm to greet, And revel'd in the sight ; While fancy spread her wings and flew, O'er all the green, through all the blue, And rapture in her freedom knew. And after years have roll'd away. These pleasures I renew ; The past and present hand-in-hand O'er-reach the years, and smiling stand Bolsover Re- Visited. In friendship strong and true ; For Time can have no power to slay One single joy, one single ray Of love, that e'er has seen the day. Yet do we gather as we go Along the road of life, Some faded flowers, some autumn shades. Some fruit that soon as gathefd fades — Some peace that beckons strife ; No man can live, but he must know Some beauty that will sickly grow — Some pleasures that to poison flow. Ah me ! I feel it to be thus To-day, and in this scene, I know of something pass'd away — I feel a want that makes to-day ; Not what the past has been. The friend who then was at my side, 39 D 40 Bolsover Re-Visited. And with my love of nature vied, Is gone, and I'm his smile denied. And feel my heart unsatisfied. The churchyard holds his faded fonn, His epitaph is there ; The monument that friendship rais'd, On which that noble friend is prais'd, With sparse and timid care ; 'Tis said of him that he was "good"- Not half as much is said as should — I know he was misunderstood. For his dear sake, my trusted friend, I came, and linger here, And gazing o'er the glorious scene, Remember pleasures that have been, Still treasured as most dear ; • And may-be, while I, musing, view The lovely landscape to renew Bolsover Re- Visited. 41 Old thoughts and fancies, he will strew His own among them, not a few. Death is but life with vizor on, An angel in disguise ; But we do often times deny The angel his identity, And say of man, '' he dies." 'Tis false, 'tis false ! man does not die, But like the typal butterfly He leaves a prison for the sky. Fulfilling thus his destiny. I cannot see my old friend's face. Nor hear his well-known tongue. And yet it may be on that seat He's sitting, and we're feet to feet These ancient scenes among. And while I'm saddened with regret At thought of days whose sun has set. His face with weeping may be wet. 42 Bo Is over Re- Visited. For hearts that beat in true accord, By death are parted never ; True friendship has eternal Hfe, Surviving change, surmounting strife. It Hves, and Hves for ever ! And though my friend has pass'd away From sight, he is my friend to-day As much as when I heard him say I was " as welcome as the May." LIFE'S GLOAMING. '' I "^HE years have left their autographs, Old man, upon thy brow — And taken with them locks of hair In pledge of friendship's vow — Yet, as the memories of youth, That still survive the dead — Some locks remain, that scantily Fringe round thy noble head. 44 Lifes Gloaming. Thy form is bent, but not to hide One bkish that speaks of shame ; Thou stoopest in humility For blessing, not for blame. And those bright smiles that light thy face Are as the crimson glow, Illuminating fleecy clouds That watch the sunlight go. It is the gloaming -with thee now, The heat of day is gone, And from the east whence morn arose, The night is mo\ing on — Night, ^vith its ever-welcome rest From all the toils of day — When tenderly the curtains fold And hide the light away. Thou art not wearied of thy life. Existence still is sweet ; Lif^s Gloaming. 45 Thou dost but need a little rest, Another day to meet ; And thou shalt have thy wanted sleep And wake refresh'd and strong, And through a higher life than this Thou shalt be always young. UY OWN LITTLE BABBY. 1 "^ H, bless thee, thar 'rt bonny, my own little ^-^ Babby, It plagues me to lev thee an' wander to th' mill ; Tha laughs i' my face, as tha lays i' thy caythur, An' ma'es me so fain to be nursin' thee still. Those dimples ut come i' thy cheeks when tha 'r laughin', Like posies i' sunshine, are bonny to see ; It mun be some angel has come, lass, an' touch'd thee, An' laft those two marks as a token for me. My Own Little Bahhy. 47 Thy feyther he's dead, an' if neaw he's an angel, Aw wish he'd look o'er thee for th' time aw'm away ! Aw conna but think if he con do he will do ; Aw'm sartin he '11 ax neaw an' then if he may. He loved thee soweel when he 're here, ut aw'm sartin, Unless in his natur reet alter'd he be. There 's nought i' o'th' mansions o' glory i' Heaven, UU keep him from oft enoof thinkin' of thee. It's hard wark to lev thee so long an' so lonely ; — But, as tha 's no feyther, what else con aw do ? God took him away, an' kind neighbours oft tell me, Ut no blessin' goos but ma'es th' road back for two. Aw know not if that con be true ; but, my bonny, There 's this ut aw feel, an' aw never wur towd : Aw 'd rayther ha' thee, an' wark hard for my livin', Nor lose, thee, an' pocket a million o' gowd. As soon as aw get into th' fact'ry aw 'm singin'. But th' tune ma'es no matter, it 's o' about thee ; 48 Afy Own Little Bahhy. For, psalm tune or song, it keeps time to my shuttle, An' th' shuttle ma'es money for Babby an' me. Then rest thee, an' dunno thee cry i' thy caythur, For th' tears of a babby fo' hot o' one's heart ; Aw think aw could tell if tha 'r hurt or ^vur badly. No matter heaw mony great miles were'n apart. Aw'll kiss thee once more, an' then tuck in thy clooas. For th' mill bell is ringin', it 's time t' be away ; It winno seem long if tha'U sleep while aw'm worchin', It 's Sunday to-morn, then aw'll nurse thee o' day. Aw couldn't, as some mothers do, give thee a cordial, To keep thee fro' makkin a bit of a din ; That's noan gradely sleep ut they get from a bottle ; — An' givin' it childer's a shaum an' a sin. BLIND. IV /r OTHER dear, life is so dreary -'-'-'- To one who has lost his sight,- The days drag along so slowly, So sadly, without the light. Darkness weighs heavily on me, And wearies me day by day, And often I grow impatient When surely 'twere best to pray. 50 Blind. Sometimes at night I awaken, And, forgetting that I'm bUnd, I turn my face to the window, Then shudder, the truth to find. Yet I love the night, for often I dream that I have my sight ; But oh, it's hard in the morning To find I have lost the light. Mother dear, well I remember The things that I used to see, The field, and the house, and the garden, And every bush and tree. I know that July has roses, And now it is mid-July, And I know that the grass has ripened And swathes in the meadow lie. I know how the men are working Beneath the bright burning sun. Blind. 51 And I know how they wipe their faces When drops, tickling, down them run. Ah me ! and the sheep and the cattle Are grazing through all the day. And my father, he's over busy And anxious about the hay. The sightless from birth know nothing Of what my great loss can be ; I've seen, while they do but wonder And guess, what it means to see. Yet memory oft cheers the passage Through many a weary day ; And may be, I should be thankful For the sight that has passed away. , But, mother, I know you're weeping, Weeping alone for me, To think the earth has such beauties That I can no longer see. 52 Blind. But weep not, for when you're weeping Your tears on my heart will fall — And a mother's tears are so heavy, And I have to bear them all. But, mother dear, when youre smiling, There comes o'er my heart a glow Of something like warm bright sunshine That in winter melts the snow ; And like music in the midnight Is your cheerful laugh to me, And oh then it is, dear mother, I forget that I cannot see. Do you think that God intended So soon to withdraw my sight. When first he sent forth my spirit To live in His earthly light ? If so, there must be some purpose. Some wisdom, in what He's done, Blind. 5 And doubtless He'll one day finish The work He has thus begun. But whether I walk on in darkness, Or whether I see again, I'm sure that our Heavenly Father . Does nothing at all in vain. The " hairs of our heads are all numbered," " The sparrows are seen to fall," And He who gives sight or re-takes it Knows best what is good for all. LAURA MERTON. ]\^T IGHT was creeping o'er the landscape, •^ ^ Trailing shadows on her way — As behind the western mountains Calmly sank the summer day. Softly sigh'd the scented breezes O'er the daisy-dotted Lea — And the dew, like manna falling, Cover'd bush, and field, and tree. Laura Merton. 55 From the half-mown peaceful meadows Where the green swathes quiet lay, Scythe, and rake, and horn, and bottle, With the workers, were away. There was peace through all the valley — There was peace upon the hill — Every note of music slumber'd Save the ripple of the rill. Pity that in scene so lovely. In the hour of nature's rest, Any soul should be unhappy. Any heart should feel unblest. Pity that sweet Laura Merton, With her darkly flowing hair. Should be wandering through the valley In the foldings of despair. She had left her mother's cottage Where the ruddy roses grew, E 56 Laura Mertofi, Climbing, till the Eaves o'erhanging, Many a cluster downward threw. It was hard to leave the cottage, And she turned round to see, How the smoke was upward curling To the over-hanging tree. How the creaking of the wicket. As she closed it, pierced her through, As it were the voice of childhood Asking what she meant to do ? But she heeded not the question, For she could not give reply ; Heeded not the voice of childhood With its painful, pleading cry. She, her widow'd mother's darling. Tore herself from home away — AVhere, she neither knew nor heeded, She but felt she could not stay. Laura Merton. 57 In her hand a letter holding, In her eye a scalding tear, In her heart a dark, deep sorrow, And an aching sense of fear. "to Through the shadows on she wander'd. To the darkness of the night ; Through the shadows softly falling O'er the slow receding night. And the fatal letter holding, Tightly, tightly in her hand — She bade welcome to the shadows As they crept o'er all the land. Through the glooming vale she wander'd, To the dark wood's deeper gloom, Seeking shelter from her sorrow, As if darkness were a tomb. How she shudder'd as she wander'd Through the weird wood all alone — 58 Laura Merton. How her trembling footsteps quicken'd As she heard the night-winds moan. Midnight came and found the maiden Kneehng by the river side, Talking in a mournful murmur, To the murmur of the tide. Telling (with the letter open) How her lover false had proved — Telling how her heart was broken, For the lack of being loved. Morning came, and found the maiden With the darkly flowing hair, Down the river gently gliding, Like a water-nymph at prayer. With her hands, the letter holding. Closely, closely to her breast ; She had found in Death a refuge From a broken heart's unrest. Laura Merton. 59 Peace to lovely Laura Merton, May her soul know sweet repose ; Here on earth we do not blame her, Love was lost and life would close. In the land to which she hasten'd, God who reigns, is Lord of Love — May He take her to His bosom. And her grief Himself remove. . OWD DAVID-AT-MAJOR'S. 'nr^H' yung spring sun 's fun it 's way to th' fowt, -*■ An' kisses th' window cheek, An' sends across my sanded floor, A thin, breet gowden streak. My fire is burnin' low i' th' grate, An' wears a thowtful look ; An' aw' m just thinkin' to mysel, Keawer't dea\vn i' th' chimbly nook. Oiod David-at-Majo}^ s. 6t Aw 'm thinkin' it 's lung, lung ago Sin aw wur i' my teens, An' backward i' my life aw goo To owden days an' scenes. Aw 'm seven-an'-eighty yer of age, An' every yure 's gone grey ; They once wur dark — God help my heart — Aw 've awther'd i' my day. But though aw 'm owd, my yunger days Come to me neaw an' then ; An' here, on the hearthstone, oft aw play Yung marlocks o'er again. Aw 'm robbin' brid neests up i'th' trees, (Aw 'm sorry that ^vur done ;) Aw 'm spinnin' tops an' flyin' kites, An' up to th' een i' fun. Aw 'm off " pace-eggin'," donned so fine, An' in my crown aw play 62 Owd David-at-Major' s. King George, an' wi' a wooden sword Aw th' famous dragon slay ! An' neaw my mother (bless her heart !) Hoo sends me off to schoo', An'' jumpin' up to kiss my hond, Eawr dog it will go too. An' lots of other days i' life Aw 'm livin' o'er again, To cheer my latter eend a bit, Afore Deoth says ''Amen;" But moor ner onythin' beside, Ay, ten times moor ner o'. Aw court my sweetheart o'er again Till tears ull ofttimes flow. Aw feel her soft, yung hond i' mine, As, walkin' side by side. We goo through mony a shady nook, Eawr love fro' th' world to hide. Gwd David-at-Major' s, ^t^ We tak along fro' Hugh's i'th' Wood, An' through th' owd footpath stray — A quiet walk, noan wur so nice Upon a summer day. Noan ever tried to stop us then, That path wur alus free, An' every single inch of it Is sacred greawnd to me. Hods trodden on it day by day, An' while aw've power to goo, Aw '11 walk along that quiet path To mak' owd times look new. There may be mony a nicer place, Ut other folk can see ; But noan can ever be so nice As yon owd path to me. Aw've walk'd it i' my childish days, Aw 've walk'd it as a mon, 64 Owd David-at-Major' s. Aw 've walk'd it wi' my darlin' wife, An' neaw to heaven hoo 's gone. Ay, theer hoo is i' heaven aboon, An angel breet an' fair; A place beside her made for me. Of that hoo 'd talc good care. But if they towd her th' owd footpath Wur stopp'd a single day, Hoo 'd lev her place, an' come to th' yearth, To claim that " right o' way." An', Derby, let me tell yo this, That path aw co my own ; Aw 've made it mine, so stond aside. An' let my path alone ; Aw' ve getten th' " writin's " i' my heart. Love's finger wrote 'em there ; Yo 've got o' th' fields, so be content. An' dunnot touch my share. Owd David-at Major's. 65 Yo 've got yer mansions, three or four, Aw 've but one little cot ; Yo 've got yer parks to ramble o'er. Aw 've noan a garden plot. What ma'es yo be so peevish then, Wi' weyver-chaps like me ? An 'd be ashaumed, if aw wur yo. An' let poor folk a-be. Just tret a gradely Lanky lad, Wi' what aw co fair play. He'll ax no favours, but be kind An' civil o' th' lung day ; But try to chet him, an' yo '11 find. He 's noan a bit a foo. He '11 square an' feight to keep his reet. An' win his battle too. Aw 'm just a Lanky lad mysel'. An' what aw say, aw know ; 66 Owd David-at-Major' s. An' if yo' do me wrung aw '11 feight, An' gradely gam aw '11 show. Aw 'd rayther not — aw 've getten' owd- It 's time for me to rest ; But if there 's fieghtin' mun be done, To the eend aw '11 do my best. SOUL THIRST. /'^ H earth thou canst not satisfy The heart that trusts in thee ; The richest food that thou canst give Would starve the soul in me. What hast thou in thy garners, say, To feed the human heart ? What nectar that can satisfy, And truest joy impart ? 68 Soul Thirst Thou pointest to the lucious fruit And tellest of the wine ; The flowrets of ten thousand hues, And sayest, " these are mine." Thou jDointest to the clear blue sky And to the grand deep sea ; The mountains, vales, and waterfalls, And thy looks question me. And then thou tellest me of pomp, Of honour, and of fame, — Of pleasures and the joys of wealth, The glories of a name. And then of thy philosophy. And of thy science too ; And thou dost wonder what a man With more than these can do. Soul Thirst. 69 But earth, I tell tliee as at first, Thou canst not satisfy The heart that puts its trust in thee, For on thy food we die. But do not think proud, stately earth That I would thee despise, For thou art very beautiful Beneath thy clouds and skies. Thou givest to us of thy best, And joy in thee I've found; Thou wast my birthplace and shalt be My body's burial ground. But oh thou canst not give to me A something that I crave ; A something nobler, better far. Than thy hand ever gave. 7° Soul Thirst. I want a consciousness of God And of His love for me — I want to see him, if my eyes Were made such sight to see. And oh, I want eternal life Where naught can ever die ; Where there will be the change of growth, But not mortality. I want the deepest love I have Brought into fullest play, I want to know the love of love That casteth fear away. I want to throw away my doubt And fling aside my care — I want to rise on wings of Faith Beyond where Hope would dare. Soul Thirst. 71 I want the truth — the truth of God, And of the ever-blest — And oh I want deep in my heart A full and perfect rest. But it were worse than vain to tell My wants, oh earth, to thee — For if thou gavest me thyself. It would as nothing be. WHEN THE HEART'S LIT UP WI' SONG. /'~^OME, chaps, draw up an' sattle deawn, ^-^ An' listen while aAv'm singin'; Time 's sHdin' on his silent way, An' changes wi' him bringin'. Some say th' owd felley crawls along, Some say he goos like leetenin' ; But o' agree he does goo on, An' lots o' folk he 's freetenin'. But whether fast or slow he goos, Come, join me i' my chorus; For when the heart's lit up wi song, Care 's noan a gaffer o'er us. When the heart's lit up wr Song. 73 Folk ne'er wur made to mope abeawt Wi' solemn looks o' sadness, As if to laugh were gradely sin, An' singin' nobbut madness. There's luck, my lads, i' crackin' jokes. An' laughin 's noan heart-breakin' ; Fun isn't folly, nowt o' th' sort. It's dust off th' feathers shakin'. So if yo're rayther deawn i' th' dumps, &c. Aw'm owd mysel' — that is to say. It 's lung sin'th' yer aw 're born in ; But eh, my lads, my heart 's as yung As 'twur on th' weddin mornin' ; Aw'U crack a joke, or chink at one, Or shed a tear o' pity, As weel as ony yunger chap I' th' country or i' th' city. But whether owd or yung, my lads, &c. 74 W/wi the hearfs lit up wi^ Song. Aw've travell'd up an' deawn i' life, An' known some care an' frettin', But alus fun' a sunny day- Come after sorrow's wettin'. Aw'd alus faith ut summer time In winter wur but liidin' — Ut singin' brids an' bloomin' flowers Their time were nobbut bidin'. But whether wet or fine, my lads, &c. Aw've yerd folk curse aboon a bit, When wayward luck wur frownin' ; An' some ha' shed as mony tears As luck itsel' could drown in. But sheddin' tears ull do no good. An' luck ull stond no curses ; It 's nobbut those ut tret him weel Ut get him t' fill their purses. But whether luck be glum or glad, &c. Whe?i the hearfs lit tip wi' Song. 75 But neaw aw'U finish up my song, It 's time ut aw wur endin' — My singin' pipes are wearin' eawt, They want a deal o' mendin' ; Aw've lots o' music i' my heart, Ut winnot dee wi deein' ; An' some ull sarve me up aboon In th' world to which we 're fleein'. So up, an' hond i' hond, my lads. An join me i' my chorus — To-neet eawr hearts are lit wi' song, An' care's stone dead afore us. A MEMORY. I. T T 7HY should I thus so strangely long ' * To hear that strain once more ? The sweetly sad and mournful song, From one so lovely and so young, I heard in days of yore. I ask, but cannot answer why : And though I ask again, There cometh to me no reply : I do but hear as in a sigh. An echo of the strain. A Memory. 77 The sweet clear voice of childish years — The deeply solemn song ; 'Twas like a spring day wet with tears, 'Twas like a hope hung round with fears, It boded something wrong. I hear the echo ; how the tone. Comes struggling up Time's way, As if a lost one, sad and lone. Were struggling through the night alone And praying for the day. 'Twas sad enough, and yet I would I heard it once again ; There's sweetness in the saddest mood, And tears have often brought me good, They never fall in vain. Is care then good for us to know ? Is disappointment balm ? 78 A Memory. Is pleasure but a phantom show ? Does sweetness pall, and must we know That storm createth calm ? 11. The midnight hour was tolling slow, Dark clouds were overhead ; The gloomy river flow'd below, And with a murmur sad and low. Beneath the bridge it sped. I've stood upon the bridge alone At midnight in the cold. The damp wind pass'd me with a moan, And I out-breathed a heavy groan That tales of sorrow told. I look'd around, and all was drear. The river flow'd below ; I look'd above, the clouds were near. A Memory. 79 There was no star the eye to cheer, No lamp the way to show. Yet as I heard the thunder roll, And hope was well nigh gone ; And all was dark within my soul As if I were at sorrow's goal, The solemn clock struck " one." With tighten'd cloak I paced along. Nor fear'd the gloomy night ; I did not hear a morning song, And yet I felt that I grew strong In waiting for the light. The night grew fainter and the morn Moved slowly over head ; New hopes within my heart were born, A bandage from my eyes was torn, I was as from the dead. 8o A Memory. The river did not cease to flow, But glistSn'd in the Hght ; And holy morning served to show, What in the night I could not know, That all was sure and right. The solemn murmur turn'd to song Beneath morn's sunny gleam, And as the river ran along It danced, bright golden sparks among, And was a happy stream. Thank God for night as well as day, Thank Him indeed for all ; Life like a river flows away Through light and dark and will not stay ; Come let us give God thanks and pray. Our mercies are not small. A Memory. 8i III. Yet how I long to hear the strain I heard in days of yore, It haunts me with a sense of pain And pleasure, that I can't explain, And never felt before. The sweet young voice, the mournful tone. That seem'd to weigh it down, As if too much to bear alone. And I have help'd her when the moan Was saddest, as if hope had flown, And left her with a frown. How strange it seems to have the past Thus with me here to-day — Sleep-walking, with her pale face cast Upon me, as I saw her last, Yet sadder, as her tongue were fast And she'd some words to say. 82 A MejHory. Oh come thou singer and awake, That sleeper with thy song, And all this dreadful silence break, And bid her speak as once she spake, Aye, come and loose her tongue. I bid thee come to me and sing, I bid thee change thy voice, With all the sadness thou canst wring From that sad song ; I bid thee bring Thy deepest pathos, and I'll fling My voice with thine, and we will sing That song till sadness takes the wing. And I in heart rejoice. WEARY WAITING. 'np^HE cold and many-finger'd rain Plays music on the Window-pane, So weird and fitful in its tone That all the sorrow I have known Is wakened in my heart again, Is waken'd by that woefiil strain, While I am weary, waiting here For him who should be all my cheer. 84 Weary Waiting. The damp wind steals beneath the door And Hfts the carpet from the floor ; The mice about the skirting play, And crickets chirp a saddening lay ; The clock keeps ticking on the wall, And in my lonely heart I call For him who should be with me here, My life, my hope, my only cheer. I gaze within the hollow fire, And watch the embers all expire ; The cat lies purring at my feet The dog barks low, when in the street A hasty footstep passing on. Proclaims another hope is gone ; And I sit sadly waiting here For him who should be all my cheer. I'm weary of this gnawing pain, That ceases but new strength to gain ; Weary Waiting. 85 Each morning hears a promise made § That in its grave at night is laid j And Hope, thus cheated day by day, Puts out her Hght and hides away; Wliile I am left to dwell with Fear Without one joy my life to cheer. Oh, heart of mine, how changed the scene, How changed from what my life has been ; From when my lover came to me And vow'd that he my slave would be, Aye, vow'd he'd dedicate his life To me, if I would be his wife. And give to him the only cheer That he could ever wish for here. Oh wounded love, oh hopes that die. Oh vows that broken round me lie ! What comfort is there left for me This side the great eternity ? 86 Weary Waiting. Oh Faith ! God's servant in the heart, Help me, lest love at last depart, And I am left without one cheer To glimmer while I'm waiting here. FAITH. A S bubbles from a drowning one Are eloquent of mortal doom, The sobs that burst upon the room Attest my joys and pleasures gone. As dry leaves in the wintry wold Speak sadly to the wind and rain ; Old memories roused to life again With sighs and tears sad converse hold. 88 Faith. I hearken back upon the past, And listen with attentive ear, For some sweet music that can cheer This hour with darkness overcast. I upward look, and strain my eyes, That I some opening clouds may find. But straining only makes me blind, I get no glimpses of the skies. But I my Lamp of Faith will light, And by its clear and guiding ray I'll walk, nor fear to lose my way, However dark and long the night. Clouds are apportion'd for each year, Some days have more and others less ; But mortal wisdom cannot guess What in the morrow shall appear. Faith. " 89 I've seen the clouds disperse before, And I shall see them part again ; I know they do not come in vain, They hold, but hide, much goodly store. BETTWS Y COED. /'~\ H, Bettws the beautiful, rarely I've linger'd ^-^^ In spot so enchanting, in valley so fair, Where Beauty has moulded and painted the land- scape, And finish'd each point with such fancy and care. The mountains that rise from thy emerald valley. Some clad in warm verdure, some naked and wild, Fold round thee to keep out the storm and the tem- pest. As giants that lovingly watch o'er a child. Bettws y Coed. 91 Spring kisses thee early, and Summer-time lingers Within thy sweet borders, then leaves Avith a tear ; And Autumn, in changing the shades of thy beauty, Wards off the cold Winter till late in the year. And even the frost and the snow touch thee kindly, As sternest of fathers, whose passion is wild, Is hush'd and subdued into silence, on seeing. Asleep in her cradle, his favourite child. The ever-clear Conway, so sparkling and graceful, Winds thro' thee, refreshing both pasture and mead; Now playfully hiding, now dancing in laughter. Now fretting and rearing, like high mettled steed. While LlugAvy in fury comes down from the moun- tains, O'er-leaping the rocks, foaming, roaring away ; 92 Bethvs y Coed. As dashes an army of horsemen to battle, Impatient and madden'd to join in the fray. In some of thy sohtudes, sunny but lonely, Half hidden recesses of peace and repose, Where balmiest zephyrs in summer are playing. And listlessly, lazily, life gently flows. The beautiful fairies are seen, and their singing Is heard, as the shadow or spirit of sound, As waftings of music from far in the distance, Or water that ripples and sings under ground. Oh, Bettws the beautiful, rarely I've linger'd In spot so enchanting, in valley so fair. Where Beauty, who moulded and finished the land- scape. Left footprints that tell she'd stood lingering there; Bettws y Coed. 93 Left tracings that tell of her thankful devotions, Paid willingly after her labours were o'er, Thus making of Bettws a temple where pilgrims The spirit of Beauty may come to adore. Oh, home of the muses, where many have linger'd, Entranced by thy loveliness, so perfect and rare ; I leave thee, but hold the sweet charm of thy spirit Within me, to work out its influence there. And though I should never again look upon thee. In worship and wonder, with rapturous gaze, I'll think of thy beauty and dream of thy glory, And oft in the city break forth in thy praise. MORNING. T T P ! for the sun has arisen, ^~^^ And darkness is melting away ; The skylark is singing in heaven, And throstles are welcoming day. Mists in the vales are dispersing, Revealing the fields : and, behold ! The beauties that night has been nursing Are bathed in rich purple and gold. Mor fling. 95 Up ! for the freshness of morning Is spreading o'er mountain and vale ; And nature herself is adorning, The day in its newness to hail ! Fountain, and brooklet, and river, Reflecting the light of the sun. Smile back on the bountiful Giver Of beauty, and sing as they run. Chanticleer bravely is crowing. The roosters have shaken their wings, The sharp, early breezes are blowing New life o'er all beautiful things. Flocks and the herds are awaking, And cheerily spring from the ground ; Up, then ! the morning is breaking, Let all at their matins be found. EVENING. O EE how the dayhght and darkness commingle, *^-^ And silently weave, The beautiful Eve, That falls like a gossamer veil over all ; Yet nothing is heard, And nothing is stirr'd, — So softly and thinly the gossamers fall Westerly zephyrs bring threads that are golden. Mysteriously spun From rays of the sun, Evening. 97 To weave in the shadows that fall on the ground ; While odours ascend, And silently blend, With shadows that come without shadow of sound. Yet gossamer added to gossamer veiling, In layer upon layer, Though thinner than air. Will form soon a curtain to hide out the light ; And beautiful Eve Must silently leave The empire of Nature to Darkness and Night. M«mB ^^g'^;^m«-°g| EP^gn ^j^MW^TISBnu ^ rp^J ^^P ^ W^m ^ 2^1^^^ ^^^^ S ^s^ RALPH'S CHRISTMAS OFFERING. T ONG e'er the doors were open thrown, — ' Long e'er the bells began to ring, An old man stood at the churchyard gate With his Christmas offering. For half his life-time of fourscore years, Each Christmas morning had found him there, Waiting to enter, e'er yet the time Had come for public praise and prayer. RalplCs Christmas Offering. 99 The door wide open at last was swung, And Ralph, with his drooping, snowy head, Walk'd slowly down the desolate aisle, With solemn awe, and a measured tread. And straight to the altar he made his way, Not to his seat near the pulpit stair, And 'neath the stain'd glass window he knelt. But not yet to utter a word of prayer. First he confess'd that the Lord was good. And then that himself was full of sin, — Disclaimed all merit, and would not bribe With empty promise, God's smile to win. But before he dare one blessing crave, Before he dare cast his eyes above. On that blessed day when Christ was born, To bring to earth God's purest love. 100 RalpJCs Christmas Offering. He freely pardon'd whatever wrong His fellow creatures had to him done, — For he would not soil God's holy throne, With a single grudge that remained as one. He laid them down, and they seem'd to him, A heap of vermin most vile to see \ But his heart's free pardon changed them all Into forms as fair as forms could be. And he felt so happy when that was done. With conscience so clear, and heart so still, That he thought an ill-will turn'd to good, Was better than one that ne'er was ill. The bells rang loud, and the people came. E'er he had finish'd his thankful praise ; But no one wonder' d, they knew his wont Alone to worship on Christmas days. RalpJCs Christmas Offer i fig. loi The Pastor preach'd from a loving heart, The people responded low in prayer, But none was haj^pier than old Ralph, Who sat in the pew near the pulpit stair. A VALENTINE. /^NCE a little Robin redbreast,^ ^~^^ When the ground was white with snow, Perched upon my Ivied lattice, Tapping, just to let me know. He was such a handsome fellow. With a breast so round and red ; But he seemed both cold and hungry, And was asking me for bread. A Valentine. Soon I open threw my lattice, Robin flying to a tree, 'Till he saw I'd laid the table, When he came and lunched with me. Now, the handsome little fellow, Comes to see me every day, — And I dearly love sweet Robin, While he cannot keep away. So my love has flown to "Millie," And is waiting at her breast. Peeps, and sees her heart a-beating, And for sighing, knows no rest. Surely darling little "Millie" Will not spurn a love like mine ! But will take me for her sweetheart, And become my Valentine. 103 H TH' POWER 0' YURE. "X/'UNG Bob o' Joe's, o' Pilkington— -*- As nice a lad as e'er wur bred — Wur over yed an ears i' love, But til' lass ud yer o' nowt he said. He tried her every male o' way : He coaxed an swore an piped his eye ; But hoo wur like a nowty horse — Hoo'd nobbut kick, or jib, or shy. Tin Power d Yure. Poor Bob o' Joe's ! he sigh'd so mich, He're welly lifted off his feet; An then his heart went bumpin' so, Folk passin' yerd it eawt o' th' street. Says he— "It's gradely queer, it is, "Aw'm gettin' fifty bob a wick, "An yet whene'er aw speyk to th' lass " Hoo cuts me as if aw're a stick. " Aw'm noan so feaw, aw connot be, " Or lies are towd by th' lookin'-glass : " Aw've got a pair o' e'en an lips " Ut owt to tak wi' ony lass ; " An yet aw connot mak my way " To Mary's heart whate'er aw do ; " But by o' th' grass i' Pilkington, " Aw'll have her yet, or dee a foo'. " Aw'll try her on another tack; "Aw'll cheek it up, and mak a fuss : 105 io6 TJH Poivcr d* Ytire. " An if hoo does'nt talc it Avrung, " Aw'll sidle up, an steal a buss." But o' his talk wur like a blob, For when he went to try it on, As soon as e'er he seed her face His tongue wur teed, his pluck wur gone. He felt as soft as if he'd bin Fun' eawt i' doin' summut wrung. An like two donkey's tails his arms At oather side his body hung. Poor Bob o' Joe's, o' Pilkington ! He're fairly puzzled what to do — But this wur sattl'd in his mind — 'Twur time to dee, he're sich a foo'. But yer yo^ heaw it ended up — An mind yo' this is noan a fib — He won his Mary Ann at last, An made her as hoo wouldn't jib TK Power d Yure. 107 He thrut his razzors into th' cutt — As folk wi' senses awlus dun — An let o' th' yure grow o'er his face, Like grass an posies grow i' th' sun. An when owd Natur geet her way, An made him summat like a mon — Not like a woman in a coat, Wi' breeches an a waistcoat on — Hoo sent him to his Mary Ann, To try what monly looks ud do ; An sure enoof hoo're strucken so, Her turn wur come for bein' th' foo'. Poor Bob o' Joe's, o' Pilkington ! He stood just like a wooden doll; But when his tongue geet loase at last He brasted eawt, "Eh! bless thee, Poll!" An gettin' courage wi' his words, He rush'd up to her at a crash, io8 Th^ Power d Yiire. An in a minnite hoo'd a taste O' Bob o' Joe's bran new moustache ! An sure enoof hoo liked it well ; Hog never seem'd t' be satisfied ; Hoo said his yurey bus wur th' best Of any sort hoo'd ever tried. An as for Bob o' Joe's, he swore He'd love her till he wur i' th' grave ; While hoo but answer'd wi' a smile — ''Whate'er yo' do, Bob, dunnot shave." s ^TjTTB^^g^^^ 1 1 9 ^^Ppiiiifi ^f^^^ HYMN. T T 7HY should we not Thy goodness sing, ' ' And give Thee lofty praise ? From whom we have each pleasant thing That beautifies our days. From early morn to later eve, Through every day that flies, There's nothing good that we receive - But thy great love supplies. no Hyj7in. The seasons, as they roll around, All nature to renew. And bring us change of sight and sound, E.eveal and praise Thee too. The flowers that deck this world of Thine, The birds that sweetly sing, The sun, and all the stars that shine. New glories with them bring. And shall the creatures of Thy hand, ^Vhom Thou so high dost raise, Not join with sea, and sky, and land, To give Thee lofty praise ? Nay, Lord ! we'd rise beyond them all. And join the Hosts above, Who at Thy footstool humbly fall, And praise Thee for Thy love. HYMN. 'T^HE earth is Thine, Oh Lord most high, ■^ And Thine are all our days : The dying live, the Hving die, And all to give Thee praise. We are but Pilgrims here below. And oft we miss our way ; We think we're wise when least we know, And lead ourselves astray. 112 Hymn. Show us the truth, and lead us right, Oh leave us not alone ; Yea ! take us to the clearer light That shines around Thy throne. Thou hast not left us in the dark, While giving eyes to see ; Nor hast Thou placed us in a barque Our own poor guides to be. Jesus, the Way, the Truth, the Life, Was sent to guide us through ; And if we trust Him in the strife, He'll help and guide us too. Pilgrims we are to Canaan's land. And oft we miss our way ; Oh take us gently by the hand, And lead us, lest we stray. TO MYSELF. T T THENE'ER thou takest up thy pen to write, ^ ^ Banish all thought of human praise or blame ; Pure be thy motive ; single be thy aim, The truth of God within thee to indite ; Cloud not with selfish ends the holy light. For inspiration of the highest kind. Flows ever through the pure and humble mind. While pride refracts the rays, and hurts the sight. Nor ever try to force the Muse, for she In her own time, and then alone, will bring God's messages, and none else may'st thou sing, Though all the world should wait to honor thee. Who sings the best, sings ever as the bird, For love of song, and not of being heard. TO A PARTRIDGE. "XT AY, fear not me ! nor deem that I resort •^ For wanton slaughter, to the shady wood, Disturbing all the sylvan solitude To eke my passion out, and call it sport. Sportsmen do this ; I'm but a simple child Whom nature has baptized to tender love, Of all her forms in pasture, mead, and grove, In flowery dell, or mountain's rocky wild. I would not harm thee ! why then scud away In frantic haste, on wild impetuous wing ? Am I so much like those who careless sHng The gun a-shoulder, and go forth to slay ? Nay, I've no pleasure in another's pain, With life I sport not, so your fear is vain. TO "TINY." T7ATHER, I thank Thee for this child's dear "*" love, That glows around my heart like summer-tide, And draws forth beauties that within me hide, From chills that mist-like o'er my spirit rove : Thank Thee for her bright laughter that can raise, To life again the pure and careless joy That bloom'd within me when I was a boy. And life had only spring and summer days. Thank Thee for her caress, that aye doth prove A spell that melts my sorrow all away, Aye, lifts me from the midnight into day At one clear bound, upon her winged love. Thank Thee for life and its perennial bloom, That proves the earth a garden, not a tomb. TO LUCY. A S comes the glorious sunshine to the earth, Oft suddenly, and raises from the tomb Sweet spring, full-clad in verdure and in bloom. And bright with smiles that in her heart have birth Thou from thy childhood springest to the life Of bright intelligence, at such a bound, And in such beauty in our midst art found, That we, amazed, think nature is at strife. Yet there is not in this apparent haste One beauty left behind, thou art so fair That time prolonged, or added skill and care, Would all their industries upon thee waste. My heart but hopes thy early happy May To Summer-time will grow, not fade away. THE SABBATH. WEET day of calm and all-abounding peace j *^-^ A shady seat upon life's rugged road — Where pilgrim resting lays aside his load, And from his weariness gains sweet surcease- Yet not alone art thou the heart's release, Thou givest strength for cares that we resign ; Thou art the pot of water changed to wine, And joys for ever in thy joys increase. In life's rough sea thou art a shelter'd bay, Bright sunshine art thou in cold winter time : In Life's great poem thou dost make the rhpne, Thou art sweet music charming cares away, 1 love thee, for thou'rt neither sad nor gay, But Holy, oh ! most restful Sabbath day. MORNING. AT OW, from the mountain tops the risen Day, ■^ ^ Comes to the sleeping valleys calm and still, And dim cold shadows pace along each hill, To herald him upon his glorious way. Like one who bears good news, and dare not stay, He moves along, and, bearing torch in hand, Wakes up the sleepers with a stern command, That all the faithful to the king obey. And still he marches through the cities grey, Through streets and alleys, through the narrow lanes, Pierces the forest, hastes across the plains, — / Covers the sea, and silvers o'er its spray, And, while the songsters sing their matin strains, He melts the last faint shades of night away. MORNING. T~~\ OWN from the mountain, now the risen Day, ^~^ Fresh from his sleep and wash'd in crj^stal dew, Knee-deep in vapours, cometh to renew All things, and melt the shades of night away. The lark beholds him, and resumes his lay, Flutters his wings and rises to the sky ; The thrush awakens as he passes by, And warbles, flute-like, on the leafy spray. The daisy opens ; sharp, fresh breezes play Around the head of every living thing ; The cattle rise and eat, bees take the wing, And chanticleer proclaims the risen day ; While still the faithful pensive moon will stay, And see the last faint shades of night away. " " " " ■' " " " ■' 1' " " " " EVENING. T T OW gracefully the day reclines at Eve, And on soft golden pillows in the west, Closes her eyes and smiles away to rest. Beneath a coverlid the shadows weave. Not as a tired traveller, weak and worn — Tumbles to bed, and fears the coming day, — But rather as a maid, who sinks away To pleasant dreams, anticipating morn. The thrush sings vespers, and the perfumed breeze Moves softly, slowly, as a lover's sigh ; The daisy in the grass has closed her eye. And shadows lengthen from the stately trees, — While just within the curtain of the sky. The moon in waiting bids the day good-bye. NIGHT. 13 LOW gently, winds, upon the face of night, -^ Lest you, perchance, should wake her up too soon; Shine in her chamber mildly, stars and moon. For sleepers are disturbed by too much light. Night is but day asleep, and if we think How much one day has wrought, we then shall own That rest is needful after so much done : — Hush, then ! ye winds, till on the morning's brink. Hush ! for the solemn music of the spheres Is heard at midnight, when the world is calm, Like distant echoes from creation's psalm, Reverberating through the silent years. Nature doth sleep, and man, in her repose, Listening, may hear that music as it flows. I'M QUEEN OF THE LILY. T M Queen of the Lily, I crown the spring, ■'- And gaily and lithely my songs I sing. While light on my throne, in the breeze I s^ving, I'm Queen of the Lily, the fairy Queen. I dance in a robe of the moonlight spun, I sing in the sheen of the golden sun, But the rainbow colours I wear for fun, I'm Queen of the Lily, the fairy Queen. Vm Queen of the Lily. 123 Each morning I bathe in the costal dew, I dance in the sparkle, and hfe renew, And ride upon every changing hue, I'm Queen of the Lily, the fairy Queen. Oh ! none are so blithe as the Lily Queen, She hides from the storm in her arbour green, And never a shade on her brow is seen, I'm Queen of the Lily, the fairy Queen. A flower is the dream of a Poet, caught. And into a form by the fairies wrought, And Lilies are dreams, of a child out^vrought. I'm Queen of the Lily, the fairy Queen. The fairies make honey to feed the bees, The fairies make odours to load the breeze, The fairies know all hidden mysteries. I'm Queen of the Lily, the fairy Queen. SWEET DAY, GOOD-BYE! "NT OW day retires, and evening shades, "^ In silence round her fall, — And night awakens in the glades — At evening's call. The throstle, with his vesper song, Has lulled himself to sleep. And silent shadows move along The moss-grown steep. So sweetly calm, so softly still. The hour of days repose, — No voice is heard, save that the rill With music flows. The crescent moon, \vith pearly way. Is shining in the sky, Sweet Day, Good-bye. 125 And placidly she seems to say, Sweet day, good-bye ! Sweet day, good-bye, and now the strain Is wafted by the breeze, O'er hill and valley, wood and plain, And through the trees. Flow, crystal brooklet, flow away, The night is drawing nigh, Soon, soon, the stars will shine and say, Twilight, good-bye 3 Oh ! lovely night, serene and calm, Unfold thy wings of sleep. Waft o'er the world, heart-soothing balm, And Vigil keep. Awake ! awake, sweet nightingale, And while the moon is high, We'll hear thee all thy woes bewail, The night and I. LAURA, WHEN EVENING SHADES. "|\ /r Y Laura, when evening shades Are veiling each flower and tree, And mists gather in the glades, I'm thinking alone of thee. The bright evening star, Beckons to me afar. And bids me to love and to tliee. Laura, when Evejiing Shades. 127 Impatient through all the day, I long for the tranquil night, But the sun seems to hold away The hours from their wonted flight, And oh ! how I sigh, That time would but fly And take me to thee in its flight. It's weary to long and wait. It's weary to sing and sigh, But harder it is by far To say to my love "good-bye." Oh ! Laura, my sweet. It's joyful to meet, But fearful to say " good-bye." OH! GIVE ME NOW MY SWEET GUITAR. T N wealth of crimson robes, the day ■*' Is sinking down to rest, And night is moving on her way In darkness dressed. One throstle sings, and all beside Is still, the song to hear, That swells upon the eventide So sweet and clear. Oh! Give me now my Sweet Guitar. 129 Oh ! give me now my sweet guitar, I'll dash among the strings, And send rich music bounding far On evening's wings. I'll fling a tempest of delight, To wake the dozing day, — And bid him stay the coming night. To hear me play. My bonny barque shall glide along Where bending willows lave, And zephyrs, laden with my song. Shall kiss the wave. And while the sky is all a-glow. And burning in the west, I'll ply the muse, nor shall she know A moment's rest. 130 Oh! Give me now my Sweet Guitar, Anon, a soft and tender strain Upon the air I'll pour, And lull the day to rest again, Nor wake her more. Oh ! rest thee, calm, sweet, summer day, Encurtain'd round by night, And I will hush the muse away, To sleeps dehght. BE GAY. /^\ H ! heavy heart, oppress'd with care, ^~^^ A weight of cold tear — sprinkled clay, Why dost thou linger sobbing there ? Why dost thou in the dungeon stay? Why not arise, and seek the day ? Away, sad heart, away, away. Dash off the tears, fling care away, Be gay, be gay. 132 Be Gay. Oh ! weary heart, I bid thee rise On memory's wings, and fly away, Until beneath some clearer skies, And in some fairer clime, the day May cheer thee with a morning ray. Away, sad heart, away, away. Smite care, nor with her longer stay, Be gay, be gay. Oh ! sorry heart, I mind the days, When I have seen thee bright and gay. When all around, the summer rays Made beautiful the happy day. And life was just a round of play. Arise then, heart, away, away, And live again that yesterday. Be gay, be gay. BONNIE MAGGIE. T T THEN you were the little lassie Oft I took upon my knee, And I ask'd you for the kisses That you freely gave to me : Then it was, sweet, bonnie Maggie, E'er your years had reach'd their teens. That I deemed you, in your beauty. One of Nature's coming Queens. 134 Bonnie Maggie. Years have passed away, and Maggie, You've been hidden from my sight ; I've been strengthen'd by the storm-winds. You've been growing in the hght. Last I saw you as a rosebud, Now a blushing rose you're seen ; Then I hailed you "Little Princess," Now you are indeed a Queen. It's the spring-time with you, Maggie, Merry, happy, sunny May; Hoard the sunshine in your nature, It will light a darker day. Summer-time will come, and autumn, — Then the winter frosts are seen ; Keep the sunshine in you, Maggie, And you'll always be a Queen. NELLY. A BIRTHDAY SONG. TV T ELLY in her bed was sleeping, ■^ While the sun was vigil keeping, Shining in the early May ; Nelly in her sleep was dreaming, But her dream was more than seeming, Dreaming ?>; her Natal day. Came a Fairy to her, flinging Flowers about her path, and singing Lightly as the fountains play, — And the singer sang on, saying, Fairy life is all a Maying, Love makes all the year a May. K 136 Nelly. Came another Fairy singer, And she pointed with her finger To an old man bald and grey,— And she bade him sing, and singing — All his aged looks were winging, Till he look'd as young as May. Smiled the Fairies while adorning. Little Nelly, for the morning Of her happy Natal day. Then they kiss'd and left her, saying, Nelly, all your life keep Maying, In your heart be always May. CUPID'S CHALLENGE. ^W'OUNG Cupid challenged all the Nine, ■*' To fomi a maid so fair, That all the world should have to own She was beyond compare. Sweet "Susy" was the maid they brought, And Cupid, at the sight, Fell down upon his arrow points And slew himself outright. 138 Cupid's Challenge. Then how could I, a mortal man, Resist the charms of "Sue," — I tried awhile, but soon I found, 'Twas more than I could do. She drew the darts from Cupid's breast, And flung them into mine ; So I'm her captive, and perforce. My freedom I resign. But who would not his freedom lose. To be so sweetly bound ? Aye ! who would not lose life itself, If love in death were found ? I'd rather far be Susy's slave, Than Queen, without her reign. And though the world were offer'd me, I'd ne'er be free again. EXPECTATION. 1\ /r IGHTY Boreas, granrthy power, "^ Speed the good ship in her sailing, Bring her into harbour safely, By thy favoring winds prevailing. Keep, oh! keep, away thine anger, Waft the breezes in thy pleasure. Let thy rugged brows expanding Shew thou dost regard my treasure. 140 Expectation. Wherefore, mighty father Neptune, Art thou thus my love detaining ? Can it be that she has charmed thee, And thou'rt deaf to my complainin a? Gods ! oh, is my loved one singing. And to hear her you're delaying ? I forgive ; but, oh ! in pity, Listen to my fervent praying. Waft, oh ! waft, ye favoring breezes, Fill, oh ! fill, the sails with gladness. Speed the good ship, speed her homeward, And awake my heart from sadness. JESSIE. A WAY, away, with golden store, Away with jewels rare; Just see, sweet Jessie, when her laugh Throws sunshine on the air. Oh ! see her in the rosy bower, And listen to her sing — Then tell me which you'd rather be, Her lover, or a king ? T42 Jessie. Oh ! see her in a silken robe As white as mountain snow, Beneath a veil that falls as light As spray that zephyr's blow ; And see her with the orange bloom Around her lily brow — Then tell me how much gold you'd give To claim her bridal vow ? Oh ! bonny, is sweet darling Jess, And none with her compare. Just see her pouting ruddy lips With kisses waiting there ; And see her rosy dimpled cheeks, Her chin almost divine ; Now tell me what you think of her ? But listen — she is mine. John Hcynvood, Printer, Dcansgate, Manchester. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim^ 3 1158 00848 1938 REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIUT/ mmmmmi^mmmm^mmmmmm^