fVIIN. 
 
 
 B 
 
 •M^^^r-iT'
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
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 fnnrlnr. FlaT-trM i £ Pl'^rl- H,,Tk,N-r^ Hill hu CGmf
 
 Oiimt 
 
 By E. H. 
 
 Go to the Avea.ry heart, 
 
 Bid it a-while unbend 
 Over thy pa^e — and soothe thou it, 
 
 Like voice of cheerful friend. 
 
 LONDON: 
 DARTON AND CLARK, 58, HOLBORN HILL.
 
 LONDON: 
 CTRSITOB STBKET, CHANCERT I.ANK.
 
 PKEFACE. 
 
 The following " Weeds " have been ga- 
 thered in the fields of imagination, and 
 are presented by the author to those kin- 
 dred spirits who love the Muse. By some, 
 perhaps, they will be considered humble 
 even as weeds, but should the Muse her- 
 self not reject them they may serve, per- 
 chance, as back ground to the bouquet of 
 choicer flowers supplied by the poets of 
 England. 
 
 85SS59
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Invocation vii 
 
 Belshazzar's Feast 1 
 
 Sweet are the uses of Adversity 4 
 
 Lines addressed to a Brother 5 
 
 Musings 10 
 
 To • 13 
 
 Keflections on Death 15 
 
 The Prisoners 17 
 
 Stanzas 20 
 
 Fragment 22 
 
 On Nature 23 
 
 To a Blother 26 
 
 The Lost Ship 28 
 
 Juvenile Inquiries 32 
 
 The Distraint 34 
 
 Stanzas 41 
 
 Lines supposed to be addressed to a young lady who 
 
 was married when in consumption 43 
 
 Wild Flowers 46 
 
 Breathings 50 
 
 Fragment 51 
 
 In every thing give Thanks 65 
 
 The Young Hawker 57 
 
 The Tidal Bell 68
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 The True Friend 74 
 
 A Voice from E. B 7o 
 
 Hail Christmas ! 81 
 
 On the Death of 85 
 
 Naomi, and Ruth, and Orpah 87 
 
 To Let 89 
 
 I lore our Queen 91 
 
 Tears " . . 96 
 
 The Lonely Death Bed 102 
 
 Unity is Strength 107 
 
 Promises 108 
 
 The Deserted One— Part 1 109 
 
 Part 2 115 
 
 The Arrest 122 
 
 Byron 126 
 
 To Mary 129 
 
 The Treacherous Friend 131 
 
 The Condemned Criminal 133 
 
 Inquiries 137 
 
 The Two Debtors 140 
 
 Recollections 142 
 
 Fragment 146 
 
 Conclusion 147
 
 inboratton. 
 
 Oh heavenly Father! who at length hath 
 
 smiled 
 Upon thy erring but repentant child, 
 My feeble efforts here be pleased to bless, 
 And grant at least a measure of success ; 
 For oh ! how well I know, taught by the past, 
 'Tis thine alone to bless them, or to blast. 
 
 And very watchful will my spirit be, 
 To write no thought inimical to Thee ; 
 Yet still, as I pursue my cherished dream, 
 And dwell awhile upon each varied theme. 
 Through human weakness lest my pen should 
 
 slide, 
 And thoughts unworthy to my paper glide. 
 Oh ! gracious Father, deign thyself to guide.
 
 /
 
 POETICAL WEEDS. 
 
 There was feasting in the palace 
 
 Of the King of Bahylon, 
 And to better feelings callous, 
 
 He but led the revellers on ; 
 Drank his wine before the hordes 
 He had named his thousand lords. 
 
 He forgat the God who o'er him 
 Scattered honour, glory, power, 
 
 Humbled not himself before him, 
 Careless of the coming hour ; 
 
 His father's God forgot to own. 
 
 And praised the Gods of wood and stone !
 
 But how soon the scene was alter' d — 
 That same hour the mandate came, 
 
 And Belshazzar's tongue now faltered, 
 Weakness seized the Monarch's frame ; 
 
 What has caught his straining eye, 
 
 Prelude of his destiny. 
 
 On that palace wall before him 
 
 Silently pale fingers wrote. 
 As he gazed a change came o'er him, 
 
 His weak knees together smote ; 
 And his countenance revealed 
 Fears too strong to be concealed. 
 
 Oh, how awful was the sentence 
 By that spectral hand conveyed ; 
 
 And alas ! by no repentance 
 The decree might be delayed ; 
 
 Unwarned by a parent's fate. 
 
 He had sinned till 'twas too late. 
 
 *' God, thy ill spent days hath numbered. 
 Thou art weighed and wanting found ;"
 
 And that night while nations slumbered, 
 His was sleep's most dread profound ; 
 He was slain — ^his kingdom famed, 
 By the Medes and Persians claimed. 
 
 Tis not numbers may secure us 
 From the woes that wait on sin, 
 
 For Belshazzar had his thousands, 
 Pent those palace walls within ; 
 
 Together we may sin — alone 
 
 Each must answer for his own. 
 
 Oh ! ye thoughtless sons of pleasure, 
 Read ye not the warning plain ? 
 
 Ye who like the king Belshazzar, 
 Oft the midnight wine cup drain ; 
 
 Sin ye not, till God no more 
 
 On you his holy spirit pour. 
 
 Have ye not while ye were tasting 
 Of the world's delusive joy ; 
 
 As tlie precious hours were wasting, 
 Felt conviction's keen alloy ; 
 b2
 
 Known as something to appal 
 Like tliat hand upon the wall. 
 
 Ere your hearts in sin be hardened, 
 
 Every feeling petrified, 
 Seek while yet ye may be pardoned. 
 
 Through the blood of him who died 
 Ere your day of grace be o'er, 
 Go repent and sin no more. 
 
 ** §>fsittt are t^t u^ti at ^tjcr^ttg." 
 
 E'en as the fabled nightingale, whose breast 
 Emits the sweetest sound when deepest 
 
 pressed 
 By the rude thorn, so to the human heart. 
 Affliction's piercing thorn will oft impart 
 A sweetened feeling, he who most has felt 
 Sorrow himself, for others' woes ^^^ll melt.
 
 Who lost his only boy when about three years of age. 
 He was a strikingly lovely child, both in the unfoldings 
 of his mind and person. A short time before he ex- 
 pired he repeatetl two lines of the little prayer so fami- 
 liar to almost every one: — 
 
 " Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 
 Look upon a little child," 
 with very peculiar emphasis, and soon afterwards he 
 said, " Papa, may I drink?" and on being satisfied, 
 " There I shall not want any more now." 
 
 In my late sickness I have often mused 
 For hours upon the past — and tho' unused 
 The feelings of my heart thus to pourtray, 
 I feel impelled to send this simple lay ; 
 Simple indeed! hut as my heart indites, 
 My pen as fearlessly the feeling writes ; 
 Of critic weapons thee disarmed I deem, 
 And rendered powerless hy my chosen theme.
 
 Say shall I grieve thee, if I thus renew 
 Touches of woe, and bring again to view 
 The fond endearments of the loved and lost. 
 With all the pain that bitter parting cost ? 
 
 I have a little Georgey, and my heart 
 Too prone to idolize, would feel the smart, 
 Most keenly feel, if He who giveth all 
 This token of His love, should now recall. 
 But sometimes when impatient of controul, 
 I watch deep passions working in his soul, 
 And feel my inability to still 
 The frequent outbreaks of his little will ; 
 Then, then, dear Henry, I could deem thee 
 
 blest, 
 All fears for thine, for ever laid to rest. 
 
 Thy bright exotic from another sphere. 
 Sweet floweret for a moment planted here. 
 And but a moment, as- if just to show 
 To human eyes what bright ones there may 
 blow ;
 
 Or win from earth a portion of our love, 
 To bear it to that " better land" above. 
 The fragile treasure, which tho' nursed witL 
 
 care. 
 The rough winds of this cold world could not 
 
 bear; 
 From heaven it came and safely hath returned, 
 Oh! hath thy heart submission's lesson learn'd. 
 
 He was a valued loan — if earthly friend, 
 To one of us should some rich jewel lend, 
 Which we might wear and prize, but when 
 
 reclaimed. 
 Should we not surely feel ourselves ashamed. 
 To render back with gloomy discontent. 
 Urging its value as an argument. 
 
 And he was beautiful — those beaming eyes. 
 Full of affection oft before me rise ; 
 How vividly can I distinguish now, 
 The gi-aceful contour of that snowy brow,
 
 Circled by that fair hair whose lengthened 
 
 curl, 
 The summer breezes pitying to unfurl ; 
 Just wafted gracefully around the face, 
 \^'liose noble beauty every eye might trace. 
 
 ' Tis useless now to dwell upon the bliss, 
 From those pure lips to win the honied kiss. 
 For he is gone — and oh ! the bleeding heart, 
 From such a dear one winces still to part ; 
 But there was much of mercy in the cup, 
 Tho' bitter still — that as thou drank it up 
 (And nature shuddered), thou couldst scarcely 
 
 be 
 Ungrateful for the noble boon that he, 
 Altho' so young, gave tokens ere he died, 
 Blest tokens of a spirit purified. 
 
 In dwelling on the past, his soft appeal 
 To " Gentle Jesus" how thy heart must feel, 
 How soothing too again ere all was o'er, 
 His sweet assurance he should thirst no more :
 
 9 
 
 O, thought entrancing, ere the parting strife, 
 Caught he some vision of the well of life, 
 Wliose satisfying waters ever lave, 
 Around the throne of God their crystal wave. 
 
 That eye was beautiful — yet oh, when hid 
 For ever from us by the fringed lid, 
 When motionless those little arms whose grasp 
 Around our neck so lovingly would clasp ; 
 AVhen the white hand sweet roses seemed to 
 
 hold, 
 Alas ! but seemed so — they were still and cold; 
 The chiseled fingers and the marble lips. 
 His living beauty surely did eclipse. 
 Upon the picture pause — nay do not weep, 
 Looked he not loveliest in his latest sleep ? 
 
 Farewell our loved one — for a little space, 
 Escaped before us — to that happy place ; 
 I say farewell, remembering tve must be 
 As " little children," if we come to thee.
 
 10 
 
 Father above ! on us thy spirit pour, 
 And fit us for that land where parting is no 
 more. 
 
 ^u^mgiS. 
 
 I HAVE a darling girl, 
 
 Whose every fairy feature, 
 
 By intellectual light seems lit ; 
 A pretty little creature. 
 
 I have a noble boy, 
 
 Just one short summer older 
 Ye will not often meet, 
 
 A brighter or a bolder. 
 
 My little bonny Alice, 
 
 Will oft the sunbeams clasp, 
 With patient perseverance, 
 
 As they still elude her grasp.
 
 11 
 
 My boy runs after butterflies, 
 
 A chase that's oft in vain ; 
 Thus early is his heart inured, 
 
 To disappointment's pain. 
 
 Oh how their tiny efforts, 
 
 Types of the future seem, 
 How many a phantom will they grasp, 
 
 Unsubstantial as that beam. 
 
 And many a chase as hopeless, 
 
 As the butterflies will prove 
 To them, when they have learned the names, 
 
 Of fortune and of love. 
 
 I think too as I sit and watch 
 
 Them mimic older life, 
 How little dream their guileless hearts 
 
 Of all its care and strife. 
 
 Oh ! could I keep them as they are, 
 And ever by my side.
 
 12 
 
 And my experience be a star, 
 Their future course to guide. 
 
 I may not — I must trust them o'er 
 
 Life's sea to sail alone, 
 Yet will I humbly ask, they may 
 
 A safer pilot own. 
 
 Thank God that I may teach them now 
 His name to love and fear ; 
 
 \Vlio better far than I can guard, 
 Their hearts when danger 's near. 
 
 To Him then I commit you. 
 
 Ye sunbeams of my path ! 
 Oh ! what on earth can equal. 
 
 The joy a mother hath. 
 
 To Him then I commend you, 
 And blessings on your way, 
 
 Oh, may it safely lead you, 
 To Heaven's eternal day.
 
 13 
 
 There are some friends whose worth we never 
 know, 
 Till poverty, or sickness, or distress, 
 In some one of the shades that here below 
 
 Mark her, tho' varied, always sombre dress, 
 O'ertake us — then when despair 
 
 Hath almost found an entrance to the heart, 
 Alone and mournful, oft we wonder where 
 Are gone the friends who used to take our 
 part. 
 And as we sit expectant of the rap. 
 
 Joyous and loud that heralds summer 
 graces. 
 There comes instead a quiet gentle tap. 
 
 And doubly kind tho' unexpected faces. 
 Ah ! then indeed, we feel their power to bless, 
 And words of sympathy and hope are 
 spoken.
 
 14 
 
 Until we half forget our wretchedness, 
 And quickly heals the heart we fancied 
 
 broken. 
 Feelings that by neglect were chilled and 
 frozen, 
 Will melt before the warmth of genuine 
 
 kindness ; 
 And then we marvel at our former blindness, 
 And at the mist that hath so long concealed 
 Virtues so rare and prized — in sorrow first 
 revealed. 
 O, human love and human sympathy, 
 
 Dear blessings are ye on life's dreary road ; 
 And may ye still our bright attendants be. 
 Till gained the city of our gracious God, 
 We need no more the gifts His goodness 
 hath bestowed.
 
 15 
 
 ^tfitttian^ an IS eat!). 
 
 Occasioned by the sudden and lamented decease of 
 G. W. Wood Esq., M.P., in the rooms of the Literary 
 and Philosophical Society, Manchester. 
 
 O DEATH, thy name is terrible, 
 
 To old and to the young, 
 For over every human path. 
 
 Thy shadow dark is flung. 
 
 There's no safe stage where we may rest. 
 
 If unprepared for thee, 
 Thou comest an unbidden guest, 
 
 Wherever we may be. 
 
 Thou comest to the heart, immersed 
 
 In this world's lawful toil. 
 And dost thine errand with a touch. 
 
 From which there 's no recoil.
 
 16 
 
 Thou comest to the heart, held fast 
 
 In pleasures gilded snare, 
 And for thy coming dread, death, 
 
 Forgetful to prepare. 
 
 Thou seek'st the in\ alid's dark room, 
 
 To find thy destined one ; 
 And stiik'st the watcher, whilst the watch'd 
 
 Is left to linger on. 
 
 Can sparkling genius nought impart, 
 
 Thy coming to defy ? 
 Ah ! it but tempts thy swifter dart, 
 
 And genius too must die. 
 
 The Halls of Science we may seek. 
 
 As sweet relief from care ; 
 Yet mingling ^ith our fellow men, 
 
 Thy arrows find us there. 
 
 Some suddenly, like him we mourn, 
 Beneath thv influence fade ;
 
 17 
 
 On some more favoured, thy cold hand, 
 In gentler mood is laid. 
 
 Sooner or later all must bow, 
 Before thy conquering rod ; 
 
 Dust to its kindred dust return, 
 The spirit to its God. 
 
 Reader, there's no escape from death — 
 And if it be the hour decreed. 
 
 Oh, he will come as thus I write. 
 Or he will come as ye may read. 
 
 Theee were three prisoners in the ward 
 
 Of Egypt's haughty king, 
 Partakers of the bitter fare 
 
 A monarch's ire may bring ; 
 c
 
 18 
 
 The butler and the baker each 
 Their separate dreams have told, 
 
 Whose meaning with a prophet's skill, 
 Their comrade could unfold. 
 
 And as with eager hope they gazed 
 
 To one, the Hebrew youth, 
 His dream interpreted, and soothed 
 
 With words of hope and truth. 
 And thus he said, " Pharoah to thee 
 
 His favour shall restore, 
 And in his presence thou shalt stand, 
 
 As thou hast stood before. 
 
 Ere three days shall thy bonds be reft, 
 
 And when 'tis well with thee, 
 Jiake mention of the captive left, 
 
 Shew kindness unto me ; 
 For indeed I was stolen away 
 
 From mine own native lands, 
 -\nd even now have nothing done, 
 
 A\' orthv these cruel bands.
 
 19 
 
 From durance now the king's caprice, 
 
 His Lutler did demand, 
 And he as heretofore hath given 
 
 The cup into his hand ; 
 But to the butler's name adheres 
 
 Ingratitude's dark spot, 
 For Joseph and his touching tale, 
 
 Were hoth alike forgot. 
 
 Is it not so too oft with us ? 
 
 When strewed our path with flowers, 
 How cruelly we oft forget, 
 
 The friends of darker hours. 
 And more ungrateful still 
 
 Alas ! forget a Saviour's love, 
 And oft the more he gives to us, 
 
 The more ungrateful prove. 
 
 Oh ! happy if there comes a time, 
 
 We with the Lutler say, 
 My faults I do remember, and 
 
 Bemoan alas ! this day. 
 c2
 
 20 
 
 Oh ! happy if ere 'tis too late, 
 We humbly kiss the rod, 
 
 And with a broken contrite heart, 
 Turn us ag-ain to God. 
 
 ^tanja^. 
 
 Nay! say not thatbeauty has passed from earth. 
 That purity's name is a fiction here. 
 
 That they only in brighter worlds have birth. 
 No denizens of our lower sphere. 
 
 There's purity in yon wTcath of snow. 
 
 And for beauty yon ivj wTeathed cottage may 
 show. 
 
 There's beauty wherever a streamlet flows, 
 There's beauty wherever a floweret peeps. 
 
 There's beauty in childhood's light repose. 
 There's beauty where mom o'er the moun- 
 tain creeps. 
 
 'Twere a harder task to find a spot 
 
 On earth's wide domain, where beauty is not.
 
 21 
 
 There's purity in the dewdrop's gem, 
 
 Or its like — when it falls from a maiden's eye 
 
 O'er the faults of the past, or th« foes that 
 condemn 
 Her sisters in slavery's chains to sigh. 
 
 Yes there's purity in the genuine tear, 
 
 That virtue weeps over freedom's bier. 
 
 And beauty's finger may often be seen 
 Tracing the outline, of earth and sky ; 
 
 Or tinging the leaflet a deeper green, 
 And her sister purity bending by. 
 
 Embodied and bright in yon moon's pale 
 beam, 
 
 Are beauty and purity both, I deem. 
 
 There is much that we often unnoticed pass by, 
 Created by Him who is boundless in love, 
 Wliose footstool is earth, and whose home is 
 the sky. 
 Our eyes to delight and our hearts to im- 
 prove ;
 
 22 
 
 Give me eyes ever open observing His way, 
 And a heart for His teachings, still prompt to 
 obey. 
 
 JTragmcnt. 
 
 Why do the gifted die 
 
 Ere half the term allotted life is o'er ? 
 Is there some baneful influence in the high 
 
 Ethereal regions where they love to soar ? 
 
 Excitement is the atmosphere they breathe, 
 The feverish withering of the spirit's 
 strength. 
 
 And the Avorn nei-ve, for ever on the stretch, 
 Gives way, and snaps at length. 
 
 Thus do the gifted die, 
 
 Ere half the term allotted life is o'er ; 
 And leave behind nought but a memory 
 
 Of fading sweetness, we must long deplore.
 
 23 
 
 I LOATi to keep a watchful eye, 
 
 And ever open ear, 
 To nature in lier varying moods, 
 
 Her budding leaf or sere. 
 
 Yes, dearly do I love to list. 
 
 Her monitory voice ; 
 Or when she bids us weep with her, 
 
 Or with her to rejoice. 
 
 'Tis autumn now — its fallen leaves 
 
 That rustle in the blast, 
 Come flitting by, like memories 
 
 That tell of sunshine past. 
 
 It is her.mournful mood — and oh! 
 
 She speaks to me of one. 
 Who drooping, watched her last decay. 
 
 And now she too is gone.
 
 24 
 
 From the low window of her room, 
 She marked her fading then, 
 
 And told us she must never see 
 The flowerets spring again. 
 
 And truly spake — for nought alas ! 
 
 Availed our love or grief; 
 We gave her to her mother earth, 
 
 Herself a fallen leaf. 
 
 Winter is coming — how I love 
 The touch of his cold hand ; 
 
 And oh ! to watch him nature dress 
 In her white shroud, is grand. 
 
 How on our chamher windows too. 
 He loves to work at night 
 
 (Like dark conspirators), and oft 
 Surprise our waking sight 
 
 Oh ! I do love thee winter, thou 
 Art my most sturdy friend,
 
 25 
 
 And with thy fairy frostwork too, 
 What pleasant memories blend. 
 
 Why should we mournfully behold 
 
 The dying year's last light ? 
 For like the good man it but dies, 
 
 To rise again more bright. 
 
 And spring comes next, and then we search 
 
 Where we before have seen 
 The snowdrop, firstling of the year, 
 
 With its bright tinge of green. 
 
 Kind spring, that ever gently comes 
 
 To nature's sweet relief, 
 How many brightly varied hopes, 
 
 Bud with thy budding leaf. 
 
 Then summer comes — and in her train. 
 Her birds, her fruits, her flowers ; 
 
 I love her short but joyous reign. 
 Her sunshine and her showers.
 
 26 
 
 Nature I love thine every face, 
 Yon stomi betokening- sky ; 
 
 O, glorious clouds — meet chariots ye, 
 For Heavenly Majesty. 
 
 Yon flitting sea-gulls ever bring 
 
 A mournful tale to me. 
 They come to wake our sympathies. 
 
 For brethren far at sea. 
 
 And dearly do I love to list 
 
 To nature's every voice ; 
 Or when she bids us weep with her. 
 
 Or with her to rejoice. 
 
 E0 a Mafi^tv, 
 
 Why when they look sweetest 
 Come fears that they will die 
 
 Fairest joys are ever fleetest, 
 Mother wherefore sigh ?
 
 27 
 
 What is there in death to fear, 
 Better go than linger here. 
 
 What a selfish thing is sorrow ! 
 
 Only for ourselves we weep ; 
 Not for them — a bright tomorrow 
 
 Follows quick that dreamless sleep ; 
 Pain with them for ever past, 
 Sorrow far behind them cast. 
 
 All in this world of the purest. 
 
 Is but nursing for the sky, 
 And we know their bliss the surest, 
 
 Who are earliest called to die ; 
 Called to die ere sin or shame, 
 Hath dimmed the Spirit's heavenly flame. 
 
 All in this world is delusion, 
 Save the hope that's fixed above, 
 
 Oft we mourn its dark intrusion, 
 On our better thoughts and love ; 
 
 Wherefore grudge their earlier flight, 
 
 To a land of pure delight.
 
 28 
 
 Rather let us seek to follow 
 
 The safe path their feet have trod, 
 
 All we leave is false and hollow, 
 
 Nought worth trusting here but God 
 
 Will he grant that we may share 
 
 With them eternal glory there. 
 
 Ei^E Hflst &^t|3. 
 
 She left the shore, her captain's honest pride 
 Bedecked her masts ^^•ith many a streamer 
 gay; 
 He deemed himself all competent to guide 
 In safety through the waves, her devious 
 way; 
 And many a friend was there " good bye" to 
 say — 
 Yet cheerful all — and smiled the sunny
 
 29 
 
 Who would have thought 'twas only to betray, 
 And lure its victims to a sea washed grave, 
 Far from their cherished home, where none 
 might hear or save. 
 
 And since the hour when she was seen a mote 
 
 In the far distance by the gazers there, 
 No trace or record has been gained, to note 
 What awful hap befel a thing so fair ; 
 How perished they — their relics resting 
 where — 
 Oh ! had but one been left, to us allied, 
 
 Our sympathy and kindness yet to share ; 
 And tell us where and how his brethren 
 
 died. 
 Less awful would have seemed thy power, re- 
 sistless tide. 
 
 Long there was expectation's eager feeling. 
 Panting to press the absent to the heart ; 
 As time elapsed slight fears came gently 
 stealing.
 
 30 
 
 But every bosom "bade them to depart, 
 And spoke of gales tlieir onward course to 
 thwart ; 
 The vo)'age lengthening safely yet to end, 
 
 And as time passed and keen suspense's dart 
 Was deeper felt — some now in grief would 
 
 bend. 
 Half fearful of the ftite of the long looked for 
 friend. 
 
 Succeeding feelings passed all fruitless by, 
 
 Notv hope no more her taper may relume; 
 Sank they at once beneath a cloudless sky, 
 Some sudden leak the herald of their 
 
 doom ; 
 Or pined they day by day amid the gloom 
 Of an existence, which they felt must end 
 At last un soothed — Oh ne'er the hot 
 simoom 
 Such parching fever to the traveller sends, 
 As when with sickening fear hope's fading 
 lustre blends.
 
 31 
 
 There reached us flying tales of wrecks dis- 
 cerned, 
 And of her hull above the waters seen, 
 That spars the breakers from their bosom 
 spurned, 
 Part of her fated timbers once had been ; 
 I oft have pictured her 'mid oceans green, 
 Chained to some Scylla of its waters, where 
 For human aid, they oft in vain might turn ; 
 But ah ! the winds no mournful tale would 
 
 bear, 
 Till plank by plank gave way, and left the 
 rock all bare. 
 
 Oh ! was there raised as once of old the cry 
 " Lord save, we perish," from her peopled 
 deck. 
 With looking upward, failed the straining eye. 
 As slowly she became a hopeless wreck ; 
 Or saw they in the distance, e'er a speck, 
 Which hope too soon reviving, hailed with 
 crlce
 
 32 
 
 Nought but conjectures left us, and her fate 
 A secret of the winds and waves must be, 
 Until gives up her dead — yon overwhelm- 
 
 " Where do the pretty little birds. 
 
 At night all go to bed ?" 
 A bonny little fellow, 
 
 Inquiringly once said. 
 
 " Why some in yonder forest, love. 
 Will hide among the leaves ; 
 
 And some more social shelter find, 
 Under our cottage eaves. 
 
 " The sea-birds lodge upon the rocks. 
 And some upon the ground ; 
 
 Each as their habits best may suit. 
 Their separate homes have formed."
 
 33 
 
 " And who, Mamma, takes care of them, 
 
 While they are fast asleep, 
 Lest they should tumble from the boughs, 
 
 Or down the rocks so steep ?" 
 
 " There is an eye my little one. 
 
 That kindly watches all ; 
 And ever wakes — without whose will 
 
 Not one of them may fall. 
 
 " He safely guards their little nests, 
 And watches o'er their young ; 
 
 He lives beyond the glorious sky, 
 Where yon bright moon is hung. 
 
 " And then all day, my darling boy, 
 Their thanks to him they sing ; 
 
 Hast thou not seen how toward his home, 
 Their flight they ever wing ?" 
 
 " And does He watch all the long night ? 
 How kind that friend must be ;
 
 34 
 
 Oh ! how I wish that I had one, 
 To take such care of me." 
 
 " Thou hast my love — the very friend 
 
 That watches over these, 
 And safely keeps through the long night. 
 
 Thy little cradle sees. 
 
 " Oh ! thank Him ere thine eyelids close 
 
 For all his care and love ; 
 And beg that He will sometime take 
 
 Thee to his home above." 
 
 Wi^t St^tramt. 
 
 She saw the old clock that for ages had stood, 
 The pride of that humble but cleanly abode ; 
 She saw the old clock with its bright polished 
 
 case, 
 That so long had been deemed the heirloom 
 
 of lierrace.
 
 35 
 
 Whose tick like the voice of a friend ever came, 
 And in every event had still cheered them 
 
 the same ; 
 She saw the rude hands of a stranger convey 
 That valued old clock from their dwelling 
 
 away. 
 
 That clock had descended from sire to son 
 For ages on ages, and now it was gone ; 
 She wept not, alas ! but she felt as disgrace. 
 The parting with its long familiar face. 
 Her husband stood by but he spoke not a word, 
 The rude jokes of the captors in silence he 
 
 heard, 
 And they stood there and watched them until 
 
 one by one. 
 Those prized household treasures for ever 
 
 were gone. 
 
 Then the cradle where each of her children 
 were lulled, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 From its nook in the corner was ruthlessly 
 
 pulled, 
 And she thought of the corpse that so lately- 
 had laid 
 In that cradle, alas ! till the coffin was made. 
 He had died of the fever at last it is true. 
 But on half famished forms it has little to do. 
 And she knew that her darling tho' young had 
 
 oft tried 
 The sharp pains of hunger to smother or 
 hide. 
 
 Together they stood, and she heavier pressed 
 On his arm, when their hible must go with 
 
 the rest ; 
 'Twas his grandmother's gift — with what pride 
 
 he had told 
 She could read its clear page when some 
 
 ninety years old. 
 As they gazed upon it who may picture their 
 
 grief.
 
 37 
 
 The names of their children were traced on 
 its leaf; 
 
 But the plunderers saw not, or if they ob- 
 served, 
 
 Oh ! not from their purpose one moment they 
 swerved. 
 
 They had struggled together for forty long 
 
 years, 
 And proved that this vale is indeed one of tears ; 
 They had known what it was to rise up from 
 
 a meal, 
 And hunger's half satisfied gnawings to feel ; 
 Tho' oft scant was the fuel their fire grate had 
 
 in. 
 And their well mended clothes with old age 
 
 were so thin. 
 They had managed their children to decently 
 
 rear, 
 And taught them the name of their maker to 
 
 fear.
 
 38 
 
 r 
 
 From no sudden shock of adversity's gale 
 They sank, no, for theirs was the often told tiile ; 
 The estate upon which their neat homestead 
 
 had stood, 
 From its ancient possessor the kind and the 
 
 good. 
 Had passed to some branch of the family tree. 
 With no English affections or feelings ; for he, 
 When he was but a boy, to some foreign land 
 
 went, 
 And knew nothing of money save how it was 
 
 spent. 
 
 He ne'er dreamt of the toils that bow down 
 
 to the grave. 
 And make England again but the land of the 
 
 slave ; 
 He cared nought for his home, and but \\Tote 
 
 to the spot 
 ^Vhen his income was spent that some more 
 
 must be got ;
 
 39 
 
 So the steward still closer and closer would 
 drain, 
 
 Till not even his food could the cottager 
 gain; 
 
 And where once shone conspicuous content- 
 ment and health, 
 
 Both were banished to furnish the wanderer 
 wealth. 
 
 With the last of their siezures the bailiffs are 
 
 gone, 
 They are left in that desolate dwelling alone, 
 Then slowly they paced 'mid that evening's 
 
 gloom, 
 A farewell to take of each now empty room ; 
 They had striven in vain and they turned to 
 
 the past. 
 And now destitution had reached them at last ; 
 All availess their toiling, their starvings, their 
 
 woe, 
 All fruitless each effort to ward the sad blow.
 
 40 
 
 Then in silence they passed from the low 
 
 arched door, 
 That must ope to receive their sad footsteps 
 
 no more ; 
 As mendicants now must earth's desert he 
 
 trod, 
 Nought left to console save the promise of 
 
 God. 
 Oh ! hasten the day when the knowledge of 
 
 thee. 
 Shall cover the earth as tlie waters the sea, 
 For when beams o'er the world thy all glorious 
 
 day, 
 Then man on his brother no longer shall prey.
 
 Why do the gifted minds who write 
 
 The poetry of life, 
 Still paint this world as cold and dark, 
 
 With nought but care and strife. 
 
 Why paint it thus — it does not so 
 Meet the meek christian's eye ; 
 
 In every turning of his path, 
 Some lovely flowerets lie. 
 
 'Tis true that many a bright hope fades, 
 
 Before our longing eyes ; 
 And love in all its lights and shades, 
 
 Oft bids the tear arise. 
 
 Tis true our own or other's griefs 
 We oft must deeply feel ;
 
 42 
 
 With many a wound dispensed by him, 
 "VVlio only wounds to heal. 
 
 What some ha^e deemed " the worst of ills, 
 
 'Tis true our loved ones die, 
 Why weep for this, they are not lost, 
 
 Safe treasured up on high. 
 
 And if our sky should wear a cloud. 
 And if the winds should blow, 
 
 Is there no place where we may hide, 
 No haven where to go. 
 
 City of refuge Israel had 
 
 Of old, where they might flee. 
 
 And safely hide till over past 
 The storm — and so have we. 
 
 And oh ! when wronged by human eye, 
 
 How sweet it is to turn ; 
 O Lord thou knowest, for Thou canst 
 
 Each secret thought discern.
 
 43 
 
 0, daily wait and humtly pray 
 
 That God will reconcile 
 Ye to himself, through Jesu's blood, 
 
 And on the future smile. 
 
 Oh ! humbly seek to God for this, 
 And when the tiial 's made, 
 
 Ye'll find that the worst ills of life. 
 Will wear a lighter shade. 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE 
 
 Who was married when in Consumption. 
 
 Oh ! dost thou dream when thou art his, 
 
 Ye may defy the grave, 
 Alas ! for all your fancied bliss, 
 
 He woiUd but cannot save.
 
 44 
 
 Think'st thou when to thy life 
 
 A dearer is united ; 
 Death will a moment pause, 
 
 Ere hopes like yours be blighted. 
 
 I know that ye have wealth, — 
 What may not riches yield ? 
 
 Oh ! not one moment's added breath, 
 To her whose fate is sealed. 
 
 Why snatch at happiness 
 
 With such a feeble hold ? 
 There is one arbiter of faith 
 
 May not be bribed with gold. 
 
 And why contend with death ? 
 
 Although the prize be life, 
 Ye may not conquerors be 
 
 In that unequal strife. 
 
 Can ye not see his stamp 
 Upon that fading brow,
 
 45 
 
 So deeply there impressed, 
 
 That hope seems wavering noiv. 
 
 Stern death is merciless, 
 
 And ne'er relenting knew ; 
 Oh ! ye may fly to summer spots, 
 
 But he will still pursue. 
 
 A few more fleeting hours 
 The struggle ye may keep ; 
 
 Then she will fade — as fade tlie flowers. 
 And softly sink to sleep. 
 
 Oh ! here all human skill 
 
 We know alas ! must fail ; 
 There is but one physician now, 
 
 Whose aid may thee avail. 
 
 Go, ask him to disarm 
 
 The tyrant of his sting ; 
 That when at last his mandate comes, 
 
 It may no terrors bring.
 
 46 
 
 mam ;ffxa^n^. 
 
 Childish recollections addressed to a Sister. 
 
 Beautiful ! beautiful flowers, 
 
 Nature's free ofi'ering to all ; 
 They call ye ivild, but what garden bowers, 
 Tho' trimmed and trained thro' weary hours, 
 And watered by artificial showers, 
 May boast your ever pleasing powers, 
 
 Sweet feelings to recall. 
 
 And first on my list I would note 
 
 The daisy — childhood's own : 
 But with it such visions float 
 
 Of her the loved and gone. 
 That I seem for ever flung back 
 Upon a mournful track. 
 Wet with aff'ection's dews, 
 Mine is a weeping muse.
 
 47 
 
 In memoiy how often I view, 
 
 As I turn to the joys of life's mora, 
 With a feeling nought else can renew ; 
 
 That hill with its crown of thorn, 
 So prettily speckled o'er 
 
 With Bums' honny gems, 
 And when we had gathered a store, 
 
 And severed the flowers from their stems. 
 With our childish treasures around us spread. 
 We sat down by a mother to necklaces thread. 
 
 The buttercup next — what fun, 
 
 To pop under each other's chin, 
 And guess by the shade it threw. 
 
 If we butter delighted in. 
 And the pretty, pretty blue bell, 
 
 Can ye in the garden trace — 
 One flower that may excel 
 
 Its unpretending grace. 
 And dost thou remember the spot 
 
 Where those luscious wild strawberries 
 grew;
 
 48 
 
 And feeling's flower, the forget-me-not, 
 
 And hearts-ease and birds-eye too ; 
 And under the shade of those fine okl trees, 
 How we sought for the cuckoo's bread and 
 cheese. 
 
 Then the snowdrop so pure yet so daring, 
 
 And the may-flower, bright herald of spring, 
 No sooner it peeps than we're sharing 
 
 In fancy what summer will bring ; 
 And the primrose like modest maiden, 
 
 So sweetly blooming in shade, 
 And the wild roses lining the hedges. 
 
 In the green lanes where often we played 
 Their splendid exotics the rich may prize. 
 But I love the flowers that freely rise. 
 
 Give a moment more to the past, 
 
 Just another peep let us take. 
 Of the stile where we rode for hours. 
 
 But did not much progress make :
 
 49 
 
 And the woods where we nutting went, 
 And returned o'erladen with spoils, 
 
 Oh ! happily then our days were spent ; 
 Tho' sometimes our patient toils, 
 
 As we fished with some thread and a pin in 
 the stream, 
 
 Were fruitless as many a later dream. 
 
 The rich rose may the garden adorn. 
 
 The dahlia its gorgeous head rear, 
 The tulip each meaner flower scorn. 
 
 But they are not to feeling so dear, 
 As ye eloquent, eloquent flowers. 
 
 That unasked and untutored will rise, 
 And decorate e'en the green sod, 
 
 That veils the loved dead from our eyes ; 
 Oh ! what so unselfishly yields such a store 
 Of simple happiness all the world o'er. 
 
 And how often this heart has reflected, 
 That a lesson of beauty to yield,
 
 50 
 
 Our Saviour himself once selected 
 The lilies sweet flowers of the field ; 
 
 Not much that belonged to life's morning, 
 That time has not cruelly reft, 
 
 But our pathway yet brightly adorning. 
 Be grateful that these are still left ; 
 
 Nor forget in our heart's most devotional hours, 
 
 To thank a kind God for his gift of wild 
 flowers. 
 
 JSrcatl^tnfl^. 
 
 O, THOU who little children blest, 
 
 And bade them come to thee. 
 In mercy bend to my request, 
 
 Look down on mine and me ; 
 Extend thy crook of boundless love. 
 
 And keep within thy fold, 
 Their spirits stainless as the dove. 
 
 Free from guilt's tyrant hold.
 
 51 
 
 Be with them in affliction's storms, 
 
 Or in temptation s floods, 
 Keep from the blighting canker worm 
 
 Of sin, my precious buds. 
 That from a tender plant they grow, 
 
 To trees of righteousness. 
 Of thine own planting, to remain 
 
 For ever in thy house. 
 
 dfrasmtut. 
 
 Say, will thy heart approve 
 This little tribute of a daughter's love ; 
 And listen for a moment to my lay, 
 While something of the past I thus pourtray ; 
 For I, like Cowper, here would bring to view, 
 Deeds of affection, every morning new. 
 I have no " picture," upon which to gaze. 
 Whilst numbering o'er kind acts of other days ;
 
 52 
 
 But oh ! upon the tablet of my heart, 
 Affection has employed the sculptor's art ; 
 And never painted portraiture could show, 
 So like a semblance of her form — I know 
 No artist's hand by feeling uninspired, 
 Could trace the smaller lines by truth re- 
 quired ; 
 Devotion to his art could ne'er eclipse 
 Affection's moulding of those beauteous lips, 
 \VTiose treasured words make her remain to 
 
 me, 
 A pleasing ever present memory. 
 
 And as I calmly think upon the past, 
 And linger o'er the scene from first to last, 
 Each individual feature seems a spell. 
 On which affection dearly loves to dwell ; 
 A\lio could forget the glance of that mild eye, 
 That gave to idle question, kind reply ; 
 Or its expression ministering reproof. 
 From which what heart untouched could 
 stand aloof;
 
 53 
 
 The velvet cheeks, or yet the placid brow, 
 Curtained by that dark hair — oh ! were she 
 
 now 
 But with us, how each one would watch 
 To be the first her slightest wish to catch, 
 And hasten its fulfilment — but no more 
 This hand for her the cup of tea may pour, 
 Or raise the fallen kerchief, move her seat. 
 Or place the little stool beneath her feet : 
 No more may she accept the offered arm, 
 When tempted out by weather mild and 
 
 warm. 
 Her feeble steps that garden would explore. 
 She loved so well — but these delights are o'er. 
 And I could weep to think this summer's sun, 
 Will brighten all she loved to gaze upon; 
 And that the flowers will wear as gay a dress, 
 And that the roots will yield no bud the less ; 
 Nay, the same sun that shines on flower and 
 
 wave, 
 Will rest its beams upon her quiet grave.
 
 54 
 
 Unconscious nature yielding no return 
 To love like hers — yet we from this may learn. 
 And in her lovely works may clearly see 
 Our heavenly father's kind regard , if she 
 Gave mournful tokens when each loved one 
 
 passed, 
 'Twould leave a darken'd earth for those who 
 
 linger last. 
 
 How looked that quiet room now she is gone, 
 That desolated comer ; where the one 
 Of all we loved the best, so oft would sit 
 For hours on hours, and gently rock and knit, 
 And that low window widely open set, 
 To admit the summer breezes — looks it yet 
 As when the hour of noon brought father 
 
 home, 
 AVhom nought but duty ever lured to roam 
 From her he loved, unto the utmost bound, 
 That might not be idolatry — where may be 
 
 found.
 
 55 
 
 111 beings of man's sterner mould, a heart, 
 So formed to act the kindly soother's part ; 
 Looks still that window as it used to do 
 When 'twas to greetings kind the avenue, 
 Where he as loth to wait the opened door, 
 Sent kind looks through, the sooner to explore 
 What change an hour of absence might have 
 
 wrought 
 Upon her feeble frame — oh ! how does thought 
 Upon the pleasant picture love to dwell, 
 And grudge to bid the pleasing theme fare- 
 well. 
 
 " 5n thev^ t!)tn5 gtbc ^Dl^anlftiS." 
 
 Give thanks when morning spreads 
 
 O'er all her gift of light. 
 Give thanks when it again recedes, 
 
 And welcome shades of night.
 
 Give thanks when bright and clear 
 
 Thy future prospect beams ; 
 Give thanks when dark and drear, 
 
 The gloomy pathway seems. 
 
 Pillar of cloud by day, 
 
 Pillar of fire by night, 
 Alternately still mark the way. 
 
 And guide the christian right. 
 
 Give thanks for friends that brightened. 
 The path thy feet have trod ; 
 
 And oh ! give thanks for moments 
 Of lone commune with thy God. 
 
 Give thanks when on the brink 
 
 Of time's swift ebbing sea. 
 Secure — thou wilt not sink, 
 
 If Christ be there with thee. 
 
 Let our last breath give praise, 
 And of his goodness tell ;
 
 57 
 
 Who overrules our chosen ways, 
 And doeth all things well. 
 
 Give thanks for the bright hope, 
 To join the heavenly ranks ; 
 
 And through eternity's wide scope. 
 Still utter grateful thanks. 
 
 'TwAS a beautiful morning in early spring. 
 When their sweetest of ditties the birds ever 
 
 sing, 
 And the first green leaves just peeping are 
 
 seen, 
 From behind the shade of their winter's screen ; 
 When a maiden peeped out from her humble 
 
 home. 
 And sallied away o'er the world to roam ; 
 What hope and happiness ye might trace. 
 In the open glance of that guileless face.
 
 58 
 
 There seemed about her some powerful 
 
 charm, 
 As she merrily trudged, and upon her arm 
 Her basket was hanging, so trim and new, 
 And adorned with gay nothings of many a 
 
 hue ; 
 And she looked Anth her burden as happy 
 
 and proud, 
 As the sceptred king at the shout of a crowd; 
 And her smiling face and her cuitsey low, 
 Made me pause — her history to know. 
 
 Hers was a simply touching tale. 
 Thrilling the heart like the plaintive wail 
 Of the mournful dove o'er its rifled nest, 
 By thoughtless schoolboy dispossessed; 
 Her father was dead — and the trifling store 
 Of wealth he had left them, alas! was no 
 
 more. 
 He had lingered long, and the doctor's fee 
 Swallowed half of the fund — then the wish to 
 
 see
 
 59 
 
 His remains in the churchyard decently laid, 
 And all its attendant expenses defrayed, 
 Had taken the rest — and they sat by the 
 
 fire. 
 Each dwelling in thought on their buried 
 
 sire. 
 
 Have you felt, my dear readers, what 'tis to 
 
 unite, 
 And sit down to converse by the fire's fitful 
 
 light; 
 To draw round your chairs for the first time — 
 
 when one. 
 And it may be — the heart's best beloved, is 
 
 gone! 
 Yet more e'en than this must my cottagers 
 
 feel. 
 And tears came in a torrent too strong to 
 
 conceal ; 
 Not one cheerful hope for the future has 
 
 brought, 
 An oil for the waters of troubled thought ;
 
 60 
 
 The mother was weakened hy nursing and 
 care, 
 
 And the habe at her breast seemed her suf- 
 fering to share ; 
 
 Then her boy a poor cripple had been from 
 his birth, 
 
 Oh ! know ye one sight on this sorrow fraught 
 earth 
 
 So sad, as an invalid child that must bear 
 
 To watch the wild plays he is longing to share. 
 
 And well might be darken'd that mother's 
 
 brow, 
 There was nought but the workhouse before 
 
 them now. 
 And the thought all apart from the feeling of 
 
 shame, 
 Like the knell of death o'er their spirits came ; 
 Ah, the workhouse indeed was misery's school. 
 They had heard sti'ange tales of its iron rule, 
 Of the brother and sister, forbid to meet. 
 And the mother and child in that sad retreat ;
 
 61 
 
 Oh, ye who bear rule o'er the desolate poor, 
 Give a thought to the pangs they are doomed 
 
 to endure. 
 Never heedlessly add to their burden of 
 
 woe, 
 But kindness and mercy delight ye to 
 
 show. 
 
 What bright thought in its passage thro' 
 
 Barbara's brain, 
 -Has chased from her brow its expression of 
 
 pain; 
 " Why mother if I had a basket and store," 
 She paused — and her sweet face was shaded 
 
 once more ; 
 For that little word if — oh! how oft it has 
 
 broken 
 The charm of the sweetest of sounds ever 
 
 spoken ; 
 It conies an intruder, still edging between 
 Ourselves and the joys we in fancy have seen ;
 
 62 
 
 How oft has some party of pleasure been 
 
 formed, 
 If the weather is fine, and the morning has 
 
 stoiTQed, 
 How oft are the words "i/Avill Papa allow," 
 But the prelude to storms on the stiipling's 
 
 brow ; 
 If we could from the language we'd banish 
 
 the word. 
 But I fear it must still be reluctantly heard. 
 
 Alas! where must the freight of attractions 
 
 be gained, 
 Or the basket to hold them itself be obtained, 
 For a few moments more on her face light 
 
 and shade. 
 As the clouds and the sun now alternately 
 
 played, 
 For she thought of one treasure which still 
 
 they possessed, 
 And its safe hiding place was a mother's fond 
 
 breast ;
 
 63 
 
 They had seen better days and a token of love, 
 Father's gift ere they wedded the story might 
 
 prove ; 
 'Twas a trifle of gold, in whose heart was en- 
 shrined 
 A lock of his hair, and she now called to mind, 
 They might pledge the loved treasure — and 
 
 thus could ensure 
 The needful supplies, and the basket procure. 
 
 She has summoned the courage her purpose 
 to speak, 
 
 Tho' the tears in a deluge are bathing her 
 cheek, 
 
 Yet she soothed with sweet words as she told 
 of her scheme, 
 
 With her earnings they soon would the trea- 
 sure redeem ! 
 
 And when the dear prize she no longer could 
 wear, * 
 
 She must fancy it only was put by with 
 care ;
 
 64 
 
 'Twas but a short parting — and thus she 
 
 beguiled 
 With hope, till her mother now cheeringly 
 
 smiled. 
 
 The struggle is over — for there was no choice 
 Between this and the workhouse — oh ! how 
 
 did rejoice 
 That child, for she was but a child of thirteen, 
 AMien the basket their fortunes to win was 
 
 first seen ; 
 Yes the trinket was pawned and the basket 
 
 was bought, 
 And with suitable wares it was presently 
 
 fraught, 
 With many a bright shining bauble 'twas 
 
 stored, 
 And they looked with amaze on its glittering 
 
 hoard. 
 
 Her earnest affection, her hopeful love, 
 The stagnant heart of a stoic might move :
 
 6C) 
 
 She gave to her mother a cheerful " good-bye," 
 And to Willy a glance of her mischievous 
 
 eye, 
 And an eloquent nod of her arch little head, 
 That told him far more than mere words 
 
 could have said ; 
 And his pale features brighten'd, he looked — 
 
 and he smiled — 
 How little brings joy to the heart of a child ! 
 Then she kissed the baby in ecstasy, 
 And bounded away in her spirit's glee. 
 
 What glorious visions of wealth were hers. 
 And some of the pleasures which wealth con- 
 fers, 
 Poor Willy again might his lesson learn. 
 With the pence she was hastening along to 
 
 earn. 
 So far in the futm'e already she glanced, 
 Her affectionate heart at the peep how it 
 danced —
 
 66 
 
 For the Aillage schoolmaster her Willy she 
 saw, 
 
 Tho' crippled, a king, whose command was 
 the law ; 
 
 And his stores of knowledge, oh ! how im- 
 mense. 
 
 Were all to he gained hy her gather'd pence. 
 
 She pictured the moment too, when she 
 
 might take 
 The gift so much prized, for the giver's sake. 
 Safe hack to its OA\Tier, and cordials too. 
 To tinge that pale cheek with a healthier hue. 
 And haby ! what toys must not hahy possess — 
 How infinite seemed her power to bless ; 
 All, all might be gained by the wealth she 
 
 sought, 
 Yes, her power seemed as large as her loving 
 
 thought. 
 
 Twas a beautiful sight as she tripped along, 
 Finding vent for her feelings in simple song,
 
 67 
 
 And I thought how oft I had turned away 
 With a hasty denial, from many a face, 
 In whose eager half fearful, half hopeful 
 glance, 
 A history sweet as her own I might trace ; 
 And I thought for the future how kind I 
 
 would he 
 To each toiling sister of low degree. 
 
 May smiles and success ever hrighten her 
 
 way, 
 And her step he as light and her heart be as 
 
 gay, 
 When unsoiled by the world she returns to 
 
 rest, 
 (As the dove to the ark) in her peaceful nest. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 Oh ! ever when I hear yon tidal bell, 
 
 Sad parting signal o'er the waters sending, 
 I think how often it has rung the knell 
 Of earthly hope — e'en now what hearts are 
 rending ! 
 What mingled feelings in some bosoms 
 blending, 
 The varied strife 'tween hope and fear may 
 tell, 
 That sound of friendship oft has been the 
 ending, 
 That sound has broken many a cherished 
 
 spell, 
 Prelude to many a sad, to many a last fare- 
 well. 
 
 'Tis a strange ignis fatuus that allures 
 
 The loved, the cherished from their home 
 away —
 
 69 
 
 A dream of gold, that oft, alas ! ensures 
 A life of penury : the young, the gay, 
 Methinks too oft a flattering scene pourtray ; 
 Nor dream of slippery ropes, and winter's 
 night 
 Upon the ocean, when the wished for day 
 Seems from them to withhold its blessed 
 
 light, 
 As weak with toil they watch, and pale 
 with wild affright- 
 
 'Tis sweet to list a sailor's wondi'ous tales, 
 
 'Tis sweet to launch upon a summer sea. 
 When the light zephyrs gently swell the 
 sails, 
 Or idly flap them, and men seem to be 
 Potent controllers of the wind and sea. 
 But once those mighty powers aroused, how 
 strong ! 
 The conquered vessel must before them
 
 70 
 
 With the light feather which they bear along, 
 Or lighter still, the sound of the sweet wood 
 bird's song. 
 
 But it must be an awful thing to lie 
 
 Eocked fearfully upon contending waves ; 
 Round them Egyptian darkness — agony 
 In form of thought, pourtraying rocky 
 graves, 
 In the wide vaults of ocean's coral caves ; 
 The stonny winds, the creaking timbers 
 parting, 
 Sings loud their dirge, as now the waters lave 
 Their shattered deck — and some in anguish 
 
 smarting. 
 At the sweet home they left, sad longing 
 thoughts are darting. 
 
 Ah ! many a maiden at yon sound has wept 
 O'er fragile vows that were not made to 
 keep;
 
 71 
 
 Yet treasured in her heart — and ere she 
 slept, 
 How nightly she her earnest prayers would 
 
 weep, 
 For the long loved one on the treacherous 
 deep; 
 Whilst he (herself already half forgot), 
 Soon as he gains some other shore, will 
 creep 
 Around some other heart, another hlot 
 To leave: such oft is man's poor faith, 
 such oft is woman's lot. 
 
 See too the mother by her first-bom standing. 
 Eyeing him there -uith all a mother's pride. 
 Whilst he his filial feelings scarce command- 
 ing, 
 Seems as if now he could not leave her 
 
 side. 
 And turns away the struggling tears to 
 hide :
 
 72 
 
 All unrepressed her own large drops are 
 
 falling, 
 She would but cannot say " yon faithlesstide 
 Engulphed his father ;" as the truth appaling 
 Hangs on her lips, a sound, hark! 'tis his 
 
 captain calling. 
 
 Their hurried farewell now is quickly o'er — 
 And the lone mother to her home repairing, 
 And her lone son as slow he leaves the shore — 
 Methinks they both an equal grief are 
 sharing ; 
 Where now are all the hopes so bright and 
 glaring ? 
 Where all the tales of wealth so late be- 
 lieved ? 
 Visions of greatness equally ensnaring, 
 Oh ! sank they when the vessel's anchor 
 
 heaved ? 
 He thought of nought but one — the mother 
 so bereaved.
 
 73 
 
 And many a sister then has deeply mourned, 
 From the dear playmate of her youth to 
 sever, 
 When high in hope he sailed — yet ne'er re- 
 turned, 
 But left his native shore, and left for ever ; 
 Tho' had he deemed it so, methinks that 
 
 never 
 His lips had oped the parting charge to tell. 
 Loved friend, and friend as much beloved 
 endeavour 
 Calmly to part — how many bosoms swell 
 With grief renewed, when sounds yon 
 mournful Tidal Bell. 
 
 [Perhaps it may be necessary to inform my inland 
 readers that the Tidal Bell rings two hours before high 
 water, as a signal for all vessels sailing by that tide 
 to clear out of dock.]
 
 74 
 
 The only constant friend I know, 
 Uncliangecl alike in weal or woe, 
 One to whom always we may go. 
 
 Sure to be heard, 
 Is He whose love has borne a test, 
 That earthly friends, the very best 
 That ever yet this heart possessed, 
 
 I fear would shrink from. 
 
 I prize perhaps as much as any. 
 The few kind friends, (would they were many,) 
 WTio oft their sympathy have shown ; 
 But He who never turns away, 
 Nor slackens in his love's display, 
 But cheers us still in darkest day, 
 Is God alone.
 
 75 
 
 To Him may I more closely turu, 
 The lesson He would teach us learn, 
 
 And " meek and lowly" be ; 
 How free from many anxious cares, 
 How safe amid so many snares 
 
 I then should be. 
 
 ^ motce from e, 23» 
 
 Oh ! is there 'mid the hosts I've Wronged 
 One Christian heart will pray, 
 
 " Father, forgive the guilty one, 
 Self banished far away ?" 
 
 Oh ! if on that disastrous night 
 
 Ye would a moment think, 
 I madly broke with human kind 
 
 My last connecting link. 
 
 Knew ye my anguish as I paused 
 A moment at my door,
 
 76 
 
 Then hastened on and felt alas ! 
 I there might pause no more. 
 
 Could ought suspense's pain pourtray, 
 When gained the vessel's deck, 
 
 Still fearful ye would track my way, 
 Till England seemed a speck. 
 
 Would not your hearts in pity melt, 
 
 Could ye my feelings tell, 
 When first the favouring breeze begun 
 
 Our vessel's sails to swell. 
 
 And who may paint my misery 
 And bitter thoughts of home, 
 
 As on she tracked her prosperous way, 
 Amid the ocean's foam. 
 
 Here — wandering like a second Cain, 
 
 Sin's mark upon my brow. 
 Sure nought but pity would ye feel, 
 
 If ye could see me now.
 
 77 
 
 O, curse me not, ye could not add 
 
 One atom to my woe ; 
 I bear within this labouring breast 
 
 A curse where'er T go. 
 
 How oft despite my spirit's pain, 
 I join the drunkard's laugh, 
 
 And madly striving thoughts to drown, 
 The fiery waters quaff. 
 
 For ever in the evening breeze 
 There comes a mournful tone ; 
 
 I coldly shudder, seems it not 
 The mournful widow's moan. 
 
 The ruined orphans' piteous sigh, 
 
 In deepest night I hear, 
 Sleep rests not on this aching eye. 
 
 Bayed by remorse and fear. 
 
 And when bright morning dawns again, 
 I seem to hate the light,
 
 78 
 
 And writhing in my agony, 
 Then wildly wish for night. 
 
 When noon's bright hour affords relief 
 
 To the poor sons of toil, 
 I gaze till at their harmless mirth 
 
 My spirit will recoil. 
 
 O guilt, thou art a fearful thing — 
 
 Each shadow o'er my path, 
 If hut the flitting of a bird, 
 
 To me a terror hath. 
 
 All nature seems against me leagued, 
 
 And memories of the past, 
 Float in the zephyr's gentlest airs, 
 
 Or in the bolder blast. 
 
 Some would be bright and happy ones, 
 Formed of life's morning scene. 
 
 Did not the woe I since have wTought, 
 So darkly intenene.
 
 79 
 
 The gentle one to my dark life 
 Joined by earth's closest tie, 
 
 They say that she has heard the tale, 
 And heard it but to die. 
 
 Another victim too I mourn, 
 Whose spirit could not share, 
 
 The dark reverse that stronger minds 
 Have nerved themselves to bear. 
 
 For him I mourn — but for the one 
 By his sad death bereaved, 
 
 Oh ! who may tell how oft for her 
 My guilty heart hath heaved. 
 
 And when this canker in my breast 
 Its destined work hath done, 
 
 And of the banned and blighted one. 
 The dark career is run. 
 
 When the dread hour of death arrives, 
 Without one friend to cheer.
 
 80 
 
 Or o'er my solitary grave 
 To shed one genuine tear. 
 
 From earth unloved, unmourned, to pass, 
 
 Must be my cheerless lot ; 
 Nor may my execrated name 
 
 Be even then forgot. 
 
 The " evil of my life shall live," 
 
 ^Vhen I have passed away, 
 And brother men the tale repeat, 
 
 E'en o'er my senseless clay. 
 
 Oh ! how I grudge the unconscious fate, 
 The " beasts that perish" meet ; 
 
 For oh the future ! if there be 
 Indeed a judgment seat. 
 
 Is povert}^ the worst of ills ? 
 
 What doth these coffers hold. 
 Ah me I it is the price of sin, 
 
 Curse on the poisoned gold.
 
 81 
 
 Is there amid the hosts I've wronged 
 One Christian heart will pray, 
 
 " Father, forgive the guilty one, 
 So widely ^one astray ?" 
 
 My sad appeal some ears may reach. 
 And strike like funeral knell ; 
 
 Think ye I stood alone in guilt i' 
 Eternity shall tell. 
 
 Hail Cfjri^tma^ ! 
 
 Hail Christmas! how oft have thy praises 
 
 heen sung, 
 By the grave and the gay, by the old aiid the 
 
 young ; 
 Each year to thy altar fresh trophies must 
 
 bring, 
 Hearts afresh feel the gladness that prompts 
 
 them to sinu'.
 
 82 
 
 Hail Christmas all hail ! tho' to me thou hast 
 
 brought 
 But the memory of joys, but the banquet of 
 
 thought ; 
 There are hearts thou hast gladdened, and 
 
 eyes that have shone 
 More bright — yet undimmed by the days that 
 
 are gone. 
 
 Hail Christmas! how clearly again can I 
 see 
 
 The friends who once shared in thy pastimes 
 with me, 
 
 When we saw not the cloud o'er the future 
 that hung, 
 
 When our hearts and our feelings were buoy- 
 ant and young ; 
 
 Where are they ? ah ! some in despair have 
 struck sail, 
 
 And been driven on the rocks by adversity's 
 gale:
 
 83 
 
 Some are doomed on a far foreign island to 
 
 tread, 
 And some, ah ! the dearest — they sleep with 
 
 the dead. 
 
 Hail Christmas all hail ! tho' thou comest not 
 
 now 
 As we met thee of yore with the frost on thy 
 
 brow, 
 With thy mantle so fair o'er the wide surface 
 
 cast, 
 With thy icicles, snow-wreaths, and wild 
 
 sleety blast ; 
 With thy lakes frozen over, thy feathery 
 
 shower 
 That we watch'd with delight in those wild 
 
 happy hours ; 
 What strange hap has occurred thy wild spirit 
 
 to tame ? 
 Yet why should I ask thee ? my own is the 
 
 same. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 
 
 All hail to thee Christmas ! tho' schoolboys 
 
 deplore, 
 For the slides and the snowballs that greet 
 
 them no more, 
 Yet the desolate poor and the aged rejoice 
 In thy features subdued, in the hush of thy 
 
 voice ; 
 And the mariner braving the wintery seas. 
 Since his toils are the less with thy lessening 
 
 breeze, 
 More joyous the welcome from these thou 
 
 hast gained, 
 Since thy spirit was calmed and thy wilduess 
 
 restrained. 
 
 All hail to thee Christmas! the loved far 
 away, 
 
 With kind words and kind wishes will wel- 
 come the day, 
 
 Of the joys we once shared to new friends 
 perchance speak.
 
 85 
 
 As the tear of affection will steal down the 
 
 cheek ; 
 And would merry Christmas could waft them 
 
 for me, 
 The warm greetings of love o'er yon wide 
 
 rolling sea ; 
 Not one thought of the 'past that the present 
 
 could mar, 
 But a hright happy Christmas, wherever they 
 
 are. 
 
 <^\x i^t IBeat^ of 
 
 That little hand for ever still, 
 For ever closed the sparkling eye 
 
 That gem-like gleamed, methinks it was 
 Too heautiful to die. 
 
 Too heautiful, oh ! is not death 
 A selfish epicure ;
 
 86 
 
 And ever of our loveliest first, 
 Will make himself secure. 
 
 No, slow consumption's withering blight 
 
 Consumed his life away ; 
 A sun that set at once in night, 
 
 A flower that bloomed a day. 
 
 We never felt hope's flattering powers, 
 Nor lured by brightening eye, 
 
 Smiled at the fears of darker hours, 
 Nor thought he could not die. 
 
 We had but little space to wean 
 Our hearts from him — one day 
 
 Death's messenger, disease, was sent, 
 The next he claimed his prey. 
 
 Mother, how oft now he is gone 
 
 W^ill tears thy pillow steep, 
 As wakeful fancy seems to hear 
 
 His munnurings in his sleep.
 
 87 
 
 And busy memory brings the hour, 
 
 Ere he retired to bed, 
 When with clasped hands on bended knee 
 
 His little prayer was said. 
 
 For oh ! I think a mother's heart 
 Scarce feels the depth of prayer, 
 
 Till first her darling's lisping voice, 
 The sweet employ may share. 
 
 One happy thought must still allay 
 
 Our spirit's bitterest pain ; 
 For ours alone we know the loss, 
 
 And his how rich the gain. 
 
 ^aomt, antr ^^utl^, antr ^rpa]^. 
 
 Friendship ! how few will bear the test, 
 That still will forge the name, 
 
 To cover something that at best, 
 Proves an uncertain flame.
 
 88 
 
 How do our worldly friendships stand 
 
 Before the earnest truth, 
 That marked the simple intercourse 
 
 Of Naomi and Ruth. 
 
 How sweet their hond of union seemed, 
 
 Methinks almost divine ; 
 " Thy people shall my people be, 
 
 And thy God shall be mine ; 
 Where'er thou lodgest I will lodge. 
 
 And where thou goest go, 
 The sharer of life's every joy, 
 
 The soother of its woe. 
 
 " And where thou diest I will die, 
 
 And there my grave shall be, 
 The Lord requite and more if aught, 
 
 But death part thee and me." 
 How few there are when trouble comes, 
 
 To us like Ruth will cleave ; 
 How mani/, many that alas ! 
 
 Like Orpah, kiss — and leave.
 
 8*) 
 
 «Ca net," 
 
 Addressed to an absent Sister. 
 
 To let ! to let ! our pretty home, 
 
 Where will its loved ones shelter now. 
 
 Will not the grief from it to roam, 
 Still deeper shade our father's brow ; 
 
 And sisters join in our regret, 
 
 That it should be to let, to let. 
 
 To let ! to let ! that garden plot. 
 
 Where every separate inch of ground 
 
 Has some remembrance — not a spot 
 Without its tokens may be found ; 
 
 Its cherished tokens, oh ! not yet. 
 
 It must not be to let, to let. 
 
 To let ! to let ! the pretty flowers, 
 
 Methinks, their fragrance should refuse,
 
 90 
 
 Rejecting the refreshing showers, 
 
 Ungrateful for the evening's dews ; 
 Who would have thought when they were set, 
 That it would he to let, to let. 
 
 To let ! to let ! oh ! how the words 
 Have grated upon feeling's string ; 
 
 To let ! to let ! will the sweet hirds 
 To stranger ears their ditties sing, 
 
 Or leave the place with fond regret ; 
 
 And can it he to let ! to let ? 
 
 To let ! to let ! oh ! who will guard 
 Their little nests with such fond care ? 
 
 And when cold winter comes again, 
 
 Who'll fling the crumhs to Bohhy there ? 
 
 That pretty Bob for years our pet, 
 
 Those harrowing words to let ! to let ! 
 
 To let! to let! that quiet room. 
 Sacred to memory, and to one
 
 91 
 
 Whose passing left on all the gloom 
 
 That ever rests where light has shone ! 
 Past scenes in it shall we we forget, 
 Tho' it may be to let, to let. 
 
 Farewell to thee our pretty home, 
 While rises still the parting tear ; 
 
 May each the kindly warning own 
 We've no continuing city here. 
 
 And teach us ne'er our love to set 
 
 On what may be to let, to let. 
 
 i Xabt 0ur ^Luttn* 
 
 I LOVE our Queen — yet it is not because 
 With a lenient hand she upholds our laws ; 
 And no missile of woe undeservedly sends, 
 But mercy with justice sweetly blends ; 
 Howe'er good or how kind as a Queen she 
 
 may be. 
 She has richer attractions than these for me.
 
 92 
 
 I follow her oft in fancy to where 
 
 The prince and his sisters her fondlings share ; 
 
 I picture her darling's delighted press, 
 
 Impatient to gain the first caress ; 
 
 And stripped of royalty's rohes and crown, 
 
 I see nought but a happy mother sit down 
 
 To taste the bliss none but mothers may know, 
 
 The sweetest drop in life's cup of woe. 
 
 Yes, often in fancy I see her leave 
 Her guests alone at the hour of eve, 
 And steal to her nursery, happy to share, 
 Or teach her darlings their little prayer ; 
 To soothingly lull each sorrow to sleep, 
 (For e'en into palaces sorrow will creep) ; 
 I picture the joy that her presence will bring 
 To him whom we hail as our future king. 
 And I wonder sometimes if she ever sings 
 To his listening ear of the kinrf of kings ; 
 Of the meek and lowh/ one, whose sway. 
 As ether boundless, e'en he must obey ;
 
 When in royalty's cot he reposes his head, 
 
 Does she tell of the manger his Saviour's bed, 
 
 Or ever explain to her regal child, 
 
 Of the Prince of Peace and his precepts mild ; 
 
 And tell him if these he obey and love. 
 
 And ever a loyal subject prove. 
 
 He shall reign with him an eternal day, 
 
 When his earthly kingdom has passed away. 
 
 How oft when the crown she's compelled to 
 
 wear, 
 And the richest jewels bestud her hair, 
 Their worth and their beauty alike she spurns. 
 To her living jewels in fancy turns ; 
 Yes, oft methinks when the cares of state. 
 And the lofty toils that on majesty wait. 
 Demand her presence, her heart is away 
 Where her sportive darlings delighted play ; 
 And she longs for the hour w^hen adieu to 
 
 pomp. 
 She may join with them in the healthful rump.
 
 94 
 
 Shock I my readers ? nay, not if they be 
 Of the number of happy mothers like me ; 
 We read of a king who his children to please,* 
 Scampered over the room on his hands and 
 
 knees ; 
 And I think not e'en etiquette's strongest chain, 
 The heart of a mother could ever restrain ; 
 As well might ye hope for the power to bind 
 The wandering wing of the viewless wind. 
 
 How far surpassing the name of Queen 
 Is the beautiful epithet, Mother^ I ween ; 
 Did she not feel that it was so, when first 
 From the lips of her daughter like music it 
 burst ? 
 
 I love our Queen, yet it is not because 
 With a lenient hand she upholds our laws ; 
 I love because her first perfections 
 Are mingled with all our best affections ; 
 
 * Henrv the 4th of France, 1 believe.
 
 95 
 
 I see her the true and affectionate wife, 
 Ever watching- in love o'er her dearer life ; 
 A nation's homage could never thrill 
 Her heart, like the whispers low and still 
 Of the one she from the whole world aparts, 
 To enshrine and enthrone in her " heart of 
 hearts'' 
 
 What an empire is his, undisturbed and 
 
 serene, 
 Who reigns monarch beloved in the breast of 
 
 our Queen, 
 Her fealty owns, whose unlimited sway, 
 (Willing subjects 'tis true) all the rest must 
 
 obey; 
 And long may he reign there, and long may 
 
 she know 
 His affection, a solace in every woe ; 
 May their course through the world in full 
 
 glory be run. 
 Like the shadowless rule of a summer day's 
 
 sun,
 
 96 
 
 And when the gi*ave veils like a cloud from 
 
 our eyes, 
 May we feel they in beauty again shall rise. 
 
 Ccai^. 
 
 Tears, bright tears, as ye silently flow, 
 
 How oft are ye deemed the mute emblems of 
 woe, 
 
 When ye are not all bitter, for some have a 
 power 
 
 Unknown to the smiles of a shadowless hour; 
 
 \VTien we feel all too happy, too full to ex- 
 press. 
 
 And tears gush, kindly gush, to relieve our 
 excess, 
 
 When the heart that has loved amid hopes, 
 amid fears, 
 
 Finds aflection requited, rejoices in teai>.
 
 97 
 
 Yes, tears flow from the breast that in sorrow 
 
 has nursed 
 A love it deemed hopeless, the deepest, the 
 
 first ; 
 When its own timid feelings grown bold by 
 
 On expression has found the beloved one 
 
 could share — 
 There are tears! the pure diamond dew of 
 
 the soul, 
 O'er the woes of our brethren in sympathy 
 
 roll ; 
 There are tears, gi'ateful tears for kind acts 
 
 that have cheer' d — 
 And ah ! there are some that have blighted 
 
 and seared. 
 
 There are tears, the sweet tears of affection 
 
 that rise, 
 When the long parted friends once again 
 
 glad our eyes ; 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 "V^Tien our feelings overcharged would their 
 tenement hurst, 
 
 If the eyes, nature's safety valves, opened not 
 first. 
 
 There are tears that we shed when again we 
 must part. 
 
 Yes, tears for each feeling that hallows the 
 heart, 
 
 When words are too weak our deep sorrow 
 to tell, 
 
 We speak not, hut weep o'er the final fare- 
 well. 
 
 There are tears, hitter tears, tliat alas ! must 
 
 oft fall. 
 As we taste that sad drop of life's wormwood 
 
 and gall ; 
 "When the friend we had trusted, that shared 
 
 the bright day. 
 The gay sunshine of life, slips ere winter 
 
 awav.
 
 And is off with the swallow in search of a 
 
 land, 
 Wliere the flower of his friendship may safely 
 
 expand, 
 Unhurt by the chill blasts, unhamied by the 
 
 showers, 
 And the keen nipping frosts of our wintery 
 
 hours. 
 
 Yes, these are tears that this heart hath oft 
 
 shed. 
 More bitter than those that we weep for the 
 
 dead. 
 For the dear and the kind that have happily 
 
 passed 
 From this earth and its love, but were true to 
 
 the last. 
 Not all bitter the tears that we weep o'er the 
 
 grave 
 Of the one who could trust in a Saviour to 
 
 save ; 
 
 II 2
 
 100 
 
 But what hope wlien the traitor is laid in the 
 
 dust, 
 And must stand at the bar of a judge who 
 
 is just. 
 
 There are tears, the soft tears of contrition 
 
 and love. 
 That water the heart, and ascending above. 
 Are an incense accepted by Him who once 
 
 wept 
 \Vlien the friend that he loved, when his 
 
 Lazarus slept ; 
 And again o'er the city whose crimes wore the 
 
 dye, 
 The red blood of the prophets, e'en He the 
 
 most high, 
 "WTien He walked for our sakes 'raid this 
 
 valley of fears, 
 Wept o'er sin and o'er death, and has sancti- 
 fied tears.
 
 101 
 
 No tears moist the eye as we think on the 
 
 doom 
 Of him who unpardoned has passed to the 
 
 tomb ; 
 When our horrified feelings are stagnant and 
 
 chill, 
 Then our sorrow-scorched eyes no soft tear 
 
 drop w ill fill ; 
 Are ye sorrow's true tokens? the heart's 
 
 deepest woe 
 Admits of no drops from our eyelids to flow, 
 There must be one sunbeam, one bright hope 
 
 that cheers, 
 Ere the iceberg of sorrow will melt into tears.
 
 102 
 
 I STOOD at evening- by the side of one 
 Whose life was sinking with the sinking 
 
 sun ; 
 No relative was there her couch to spread, 
 Or smooth the pillow for her dying head ; 
 Bear in her woe a kind companionship, 
 With gentle hand to moist the parched lip ; 
 To speak of Jesus in that awful hour, 
 ^Mien every other hope has lost its power, 
 Or pay those kind attentions to the last. 
 That yield a solace when the loved have 
 
 passed. 
 
 It was a heartless scene. The doctor came, 
 Whom charily forbids me here to name ; 
 He turned upon me with a meaning air, 
 As if to question why I lingered there
 
 103 
 
 (And truth to tell, perchance I knew not why, 
 Unless the tie that held was sympathy, 
 It seemed so sad, so veri/ sad to die 
 Without one real mourner standing* hy). 
 He looked upon the candle, took her hand 
 With all the dignity he could command ; 
 " There was some pulse, tho' very slight," he 
 
 said, 
 And then he fed his nose beside the bed, 
 " Thought she might last till one, perchance 
 
 till two ;" 
 Again looked round him, took a last adieu. 
 Will he e'er think of her again ? he will — 
 Just once, perhaps, when he prepares his bill. 
 
 Next came the minister, a portly man, 
 I would describe him, but I never can ; 
 He did not look like one of those of old, 
 Wlio meekly bore revilings, hunger, cold ; 
 He in his life-time his good things possessed, 
 " Soul take thine ease, and body take thy rest ;"
 
 104 
 
 Tho' bleak the weather, he would take no 
 
 harm, 
 He had uot given his clothes the cold to 
 
 warm, 
 The. winds in vain might urge their way 
 
 within, 
 Or rain essay to damp his sleeky skin ; 
 With long dra\\Tj face, almost too fat to kneel, 
 Too A\Tapped in self for other's woes to feel ; 
 In all the sounding words he rattled there, 
 Methinks I heard not e'en one breath of 
 
 prayer. 
 One heartfelt earnest wdsh for her who lay 
 In agony, for whom he came to pray ; 
 His duty done, he started from his knees. 
 Intent at least the living ones to please : 
 He turned to one (in feeling his own brother), 
 " You, James, might just as well as any other. 
 Make the poor creature's coffin, call at morn, 
 And take the measure." James, with look 
 
 forlorn,
 
 105 
 
 " Why she may live to-morrow o'er^' he said. 
 ' To-moiTow ! nay, she can't, she's now half 
 
 dead." 
 " Wellif ?/ow think so then I'll call," he sighed, 
 " For coffins we'll put other work aside." 
 Then left the " minister," and crossed the 
 
 the road 
 To find another invalid's ahode, 
 The self same mummery to enact again ; 
 Perchance another coffin to obtain 
 For the bright youth who followed in his train. 
 
 As she, poor mortal, trembled on the brink 
 Of dread eternity — as snapped the link 
 That held her never dying spirit here, 
 The hour that seems to bring to us so near 
 That far-off world — as she to joy or woe. 
 Fixed and eternal, noiv alone must go, 
 Not e'en by that dread hour from gain de- 
 terred, 
 These the last sounds her passing spirit heard.
 
 106 
 
 Nor when the parson left the chatter ceased, 
 Indeed, methinks, the hnbbub was increased, 
 " She's dead!" " She is not!" " See! another 
 
 breath !" 
 One cried, and then again, " This, this is 
 
 death !" 
 And bade, before the spirit really fled, 
 " Go, run and tell the minister she's dead." 
 A young, fair female soon as she was gone, 
 A member of his church, looked calmly on. 
 And cried with levity of heart and brow, 
 " Well, the great secret's open to her now I" 
 And soon the bustle of the thing began. 
 Now here, now there, one and another ran ; 
 " Do this," " do that," to the poor senseless 
 
 mould, 
 They waited not, alas ! till it was cold ; 
 No weeping mourner urged the fond delay, 
 Sacred to sorrow, ere 'twas laid away. 
 Thoughtful I turned me from the drearj' scene, 
 Yet not regretting that I there had been.
 
 107 
 
 Well might the exile long- for one " to shed 
 The tear of memory o'er his narrow bed." 
 
 And we were strangers 'till that hour, for I 
 Knew not she lived, until she came to die ; 
 Or if, when waging that last awful strife, 
 Her name w^as written in the book of life ; 
 Ere I am called such agony to bear, 
 O may I know my own is written there. 
 
 YoN ocean whose resistless course 
 
 Bears all it meets along, 
 Yon mountain whose opposing force, 
 
 Stands in its might so strong ; 
 The first is but made up of drops^ 
 
 Atoms the mighty mountain props, 
 Bearing the motto which we see, 
 Their strength is in their unity.
 
 108 
 
 Promises, light and airy tilings, 
 
 Like a bird from the heather that upward 
 
 springs, 
 With its silvery plume and its musical note, 
 That delight and enchant as aivai/ they 
 
 float; 
 Clear and distinct as our pathway it crossed, 
 Away, and away, till in distance lost. 
 
 But there are promises rich and true, 
 Beauteous ever their changeless hue, 
 That grow brighter and clearer the longer 
 
 seen. 
 Uphold you the firmer the stronger you 
 
 lean, 
 And will still console when wo come to die, 
 Tis the promise of Him who cannot lie.
 
 109 
 
 Cl^c HBe^crtetf ^lu. 
 
 " Come tell me me the tale that has dimned 
 that eye, 
 Which once in unclouded lustre shone, 
 Why heaves from thy bosom so oft the deep 
 sigh. 
 For I love a tale of the days that are gone ; 
 And if memory wake sorrow, and bid thee 
 
 weep. 
 May not sympathy soothe it again to sleep." 
 
 Dear one, why should I sadden thy heart ? 
 
 My tale ! v>hat is it ? a woman's tale, 
 Of feelings repulsed, of the poisoned dart. 
 
 Left by hopes that were nursed ere fulfil- 
 ment to fail ;
 
 no 
 
 A chalice of joy that was raised to the lip, 
 But dashed to the ground when I ventured 
 
 to sip ; 
 Yet perchance it may show to thy youthful eye, 
 How the paths of feeling and duty lie, 
 Too often apart in a woman's lot, 
 And have not too many the truth forgot. 
 
 Thou know'st how death to our household 
 
 came, 
 Ere my tongue could whisper a mother's 
 
 name — 
 Still o\^Tiing that hlessing, life's first and hest, 
 Each sorrow to hide in a parent's hreast, 
 Methinks thou scarce may my loss conceive, 
 Nor the perils I passed in my teens helieve ; 
 With none to counsel, or kindly correct 
 Each error in judgment, each feeling's defect, 
 And the world proves so different to what it 
 
 seems. 
 In the trusting view of our girlish dreams.
 
 Ill 
 
 Ah ! might not the vessel as easily sweep, 
 Tho' rudderless, safe o'er the vasty deep, 
 As a wilful girl in the paths of life, 
 With no parent to guide thro' its snares and 
 strife. 
 
 And thou knowest that T wedded — my hus- 
 
 hand was one 
 I deemed all affection, had bade me believe, 
 I trusted to feelings, and feelings are prone — 
 I have learnt, sadly learnt, are too prone to 
 
 deceive ; 
 And mine flowed towards him as the waters 
 
 flow. 
 Till they reached yon rock in the vale 
 
 below ; 
 Deep and strong was their silent course. 
 For sorrow and pity had been their source. 
 Yon waters repulsed are dashed back in 
 
 spray, 
 And my love was spumed to the winds away.
 
 112 
 
 \\nien first we met 'twas a summer's eve, 
 And sympathy bade me with him to grieve ; 
 He told me the tale of a lonely heart, 
 That with nought in this lower world had part, 
 Unloved and unloving, deserted, yet prone 
 To indulge in the joys that are happily known, 
 To him who has some one each feeling to 
 
 share. 
 Life's pleasures to heighten, to dissipate care. 
 The tale o'er my youthful fancy stole 
 With a feeling I had not the power to control, 
 And I longed in my childish simplicity, 
 A soother, a friend, a consoler to be. 
 
 And now kind friends cautioned, their warn- 
 
 nings I spurned, 
 And my spirit rebelled, and indignantly 
 
 burned, 
 Wlien they called him " unworthy," and 
 
 bade me " beware 
 Of trusting lo promises lighter than air.'
 
 113 
 
 Oh ! had I but yielded when wisely advised, 
 
 Nor their counsel so kindly intended, des- 
 pised. 
 
 Far less had it cost me to answer him 
 " no," 
 
 Than to bear the keen pangs of a life-time of 
 woe. 
 
 But a few little months we were wedded, 
 
 before 
 A cloud our happiness shaded o'er, 
 Restless, dissatisfied, ever he came 
 Home, and when parting- he left me the same ; 
 Wearied, dispirited, sometimes a word 
 Half churlish, half banter, in sorrow I heard 
 And so time passed on — till he told me one 
 
 day 
 Of schemes he had formed — to a land far 
 
 away, 
 Where man is so riclily repaid for his toil. 
 By the produce immense of the fertile soil, 
 I
 
 114 
 
 He first would go, and a home prepare, 
 Then return for his "loved one," his cottage 
 to share. 
 
 Tho' we were not rich, yet we were not poor, 
 And I felt had he loved me he could not en- 
 dure 
 The pains of absence — not willingly go. 
 And leave me alone to contend with life's 
 
 woe ; 
 For dearly I loved him — yet pride in my 
 
 heart 
 Forbade me to whisper " let us not part." 
 And I oft have thought that a gentle word, 
 A >vinning tone such as once was heard 
 Between us, might even then have changed 
 His pui-pose, no more had our hearts been es- 
 tranged ; 
 But the moment passed, and he soon was 
 
 gone, 
 And f left t(t indulge in iny grief alone.
 
 115 
 
 O love ! and pride ! the misery 
 
 Of many a life ye have been to nie, 
 
 The worm that has cankered the flower of 
 
 From the pathway of duty a bright decoy ! 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Oh ! is it not sweet to have something to love, 
 That is weak, that is helpless, dependent for 
 
 all, 
 Yes, even for life on the kindness that proves 
 Not all that is worthy was lost in the fall ; 
 And I now had a treasure a bright living rose, 
 That I wore on my bosom and hushed to re- 
 pose ; 
 And I felt the full power of those words " my 
 
 own," 
 And I thought I could never again be lone. 
 
 Yet many a long, long day I passed, 
 But a summons came for myself at last ; 
 I 2
 
 lie 
 
 He came not for me, a vague excuse, 
 Some important business he could not 
 
 leave, 
 But 1 scarcely heeded this strange abuse 
 Of my love, of affection — I scarce could 
 
 giieve. 
 For I thought if hut once again we met, 
 Joy, a lasting seal to our love would set. 
 
 The moment came, and I bade adieu 
 
 To my early friends, tho' they now were 
 
 few ; 
 How often my courage had almost failed, 
 Ere the anchor heaved and the vessel sailed. 
 The voyage was long, but my baby smiled, 
 And its mother's heart of care beguiled, 
 For it seemed by its own wild glee to share 
 In the hopes that again were triumphant 
 
 there ; 
 I felt no regret when my native shore, 
 In the distance afar could be seen no more.
 
 117 
 
 'Tis a glorious world— oh ! that summer sky, 
 With its light fleecy clouds as they flitted hy, 
 And were mirror'd in ocean like angels of 
 
 light, 
 Away on their errands of mercy ; and bright 
 Was the sea, and the sky, and the ship, and 
 
 my heart 
 In the aspect of nature seemed bearing a 
 
 part. 
 And how oft as those sparkling waters shone, 
 And the ship like a thing of life rode on, 
 I have paced with my babe on its ample deck, 
 When the sky was clear, and not e'en a speck 
 Was seen to invade the broad expanse ! 
 He would gaze at the sea, he would gaze 
 
 at the sky, 
 Then turn to meet the enraptured glance, 
 As it bent o'er him of his mother's eye. 
 
 Ah ! those were moments of ecstacy, 
 
 No heart but a mother's may understand,
 
 118 
 
 To feel her child's sweet sympathy, 
 
 Eve the power of expression its tongue may 
 command. 
 
 And I thought on my hushand's impatient 
 
 glee, 
 As the vessel was neariug, his first-born to 
 
 see, 
 And how often I dwelt on my own deep 
 
 bliss, 
 As he pressed on its soft cheek a father's first 
 
 kiss, 
 When he saw those bright eyes and that 
 
 beauteous brow, 
 Yes, yes, I knew he must love me now ; 
 I had brought o'er the waters a something 
 
 would be, 
 A magnet to keep him for ever to me ; 
 How sweet the promise the future gave. 
 As we rocked day by day on the heaving 
 
 wave,
 
 119 
 
 Each one brought us nearer the wished for 
 
 shore, 
 Where troubles and cares would he mine no 
 
 more. 
 
 All this and much more through my heart 
 
 had passed, 
 And we gained the destined shore at last, 
 My straining eyes thro' the distance peer. 
 Till hope seemed half yielding again to 
 
 fear ; 
 Each one hut myself as we gained the strand 
 Met a welcoming voice and a friendly hand. 
 And now my poor baby was fretful, yet still 
 My heart in its frenzy foreboded no ill, 
 I sought on the shore, and I sought him where 
 Our home should have been, l)ut he was not 
 
 there. 
 
 I will not pause in my tale to retrace 
 Each liap that occurred in our eager chace
 
 120 
 
 Enough that I found him — but oh! mv 
 
 heart, 
 I had deemed it was hitter indeed to part, 
 But the pangs of our parting may never com- 
 pare 
 With the woe that I felt on our meeting 
 
 him there ; 
 He scarcely knew me ! his stupified gaze 
 Quenched at once in my heart hope's reviving 
 
 rays. 
 I turned away, for I could not brook 
 His altered, alas ! his besotted look ; 
 And his brutal companions — their ribald 
 
 song, 
 As I left them was borne by the breeze along. 
 And I saw him again, and again, but in 
 
 vain. 
 Each interview proved but renewal of pain ; 
 Vv'hen sober I found him entreaty he spumed, 
 And tho' sorrowing I went, I more sorrowing 
 
 returned.
 
 121 
 
 From the day tliat we landed my baby pined, 
 And fretted, alas ! till its strengtli declined ; 
 I watched and I l()\'ed with redoubled power, 
 Yet, ah ! I but cherished a withering- flower. 
 
 There 's a little green hillock afar o'er the 
 
 main, 
 Where the lofty trees bend to the fertile plain, 
 Where the loved are oft borne e'er their fading 
 
 breath. 
 Must yield like the flowers to the frost of 
 
 death ; 
 Wliere the genial warmth of a milder sky, 
 Sometimes lights up afresh e'en the dying eye ; 
 The scene is lovely, all nature as mild 
 And as fair as the brow of my sleeping child. 
 
 Once more I launched on the heaving wave. 
 But I left behind me my baby's grave. 
 With a desolate heart and a darkened eye, 
 I turned from that land of unclouded sky ;
 
 122 
 
 And I'm glad that I went, fur he yet may 
 
 prove 
 The power and the pain of returning love, 
 And that grave methinks may he some relief. 
 Some solace to him in his hitterest grief; 
 It may tell of the love that hade me hrave 
 For his sake the terrors of wind and wave ; 
 And when deepest he feels o'er the past regret, 
 It may point to forgiveness and happiness yet. 
 
 How much of misery thoughtlessly is dealt 
 By man unto his hrother — some have felt 
 The utmost rigour of commercial law, 
 Whose only fault might tears of pity draw. 
 
 There were two gentlemen their bargain 
 
 made, 
 Like other merchants in the course of trade j
 
 123 
 
 I know of nought peculiar in the act, 
 My tale throughout is one of simple fact. 
 
 One was a broker, and on goods consigned 
 To him, whilst of their value ignorant, 
 Had given bills — but when they came to 
 
 hand. 
 He found them worthless, and could ne'er 
 
 command 
 A sale for e'en a part. He wrote the owner 
 
 then, 
 But no reply was deigned. Oh ! shame that 
 
 men 
 Should thus entrap their fellows^ When the 
 
 bill 
 Was due, a warrant came, and tlie poor 
 
 broker 
 All unsuspicious of the future ill, 
 Gave up the goods. Under the warrant they 
 
 were sold. 
 Yet did not realize one half the amount
 
 124 
 
 The bills were drawn for, and months passed 
 
 away, 
 And he long deemed the matter ended, till 
 
 one day 
 He left his home as usual, for the cares 
 Of business, sweetened by the thought of those 
 His toils might benefit. He was met 
 By the law's minion on the way, 
 Arrested for the balance, and without 
 E'en the sad privilege to say farewell, 
 Or whisper parting's cheering fond assurance, 
 Remembrance of the absent, (how oft has this 
 Been spoken, yet ne'er palls upon us, ever new 
 The feeling which it brings, uttered by lips 
 
 we love). 
 Without e'en this, hurried away to durance. 
 There to spend long sleepless nights and 
 
 days to him as dark. 
 
 Turn we from this sad picture to the one 
 Upon whose fiat all this woe hath followed,
 
 125 
 
 Intent on money getting — had he looked 
 Beyond the simple fact that he must have it, 
 Or had he weighed its trifling loss to him, 
 (Scarce missed amid his thousands), with the 
 
 woe, 
 The misery for its sake he was inflicting, 
 Ne'er for the gain oi''^ filthy lucre" surely, 
 His unrelenting heart the deed had done. 
 And when that eve, the toils of husiness o'er, 
 He reached his home, oh ! could he meet the 
 
 eye 
 That heamed a kindly welcome unto him, 
 Nor turn in agony of thought to one 
 \Vliom he had sent the blinding tears to 
 
 dim ; 
 Or when his own delighted pets rushed their 
 
 papa to meet. 
 And with their little hands clasped round his 
 
 knees, 
 Brought him a willing prisoner to their 
 
 play;
 
 126 
 
 Tliouglit he not then of some must watch and 
 wait 
 
 And more than this, when he essayed to pray, 
 
 Did he not speechless kneel ? 
 
 "What awful mockery to God most high 
 
 He must have felt the prayer " forgive our 
 
 debts, 
 As we forgive our debtors." 
 
 2Bgr0n. 
 
 To my young fancy and to thousands more, 
 Byron, thy very name was once a spell. 
 
 And truly it was thine in thought to soar 
 Heavenward, yet carried there a taint of 
 hell—
 
 127 
 
 Oh ! who tlie vast amount of guilt may tell, 
 Of sin, of misery, which thy lay hath 
 wrought 
 And yet is working poison to distil ; 
 
 Corrupting the pure streams of virgin 
 
 thought, 
 The earthquake thou depict'st hath no such 
 ruin wrought. 
 
 'Twas thine to ridicule life's holiest feelings, 
 Wlien such thy wanton muse's mood might 
 seem, 
 Nor may its touching, sweet, and high re- 
 vealings. 
 The greater mass of sullied thoughts re- 
 deem ; 
 To be oblivious of thy snaring dream. 
 
 When time advancing , better moments 
 gave, 
 There are would suffer much, sad tears may 
 stream,
 
 128 
 
 Forgetfulness is comrade of tlie grave ! 
 Let me a beacon raise, the young to guard 
 
 Oh! I could weep for hours misspent on 
 thee, 
 
 And for the thousands by thy lay beguiled, 
 Dazzled or blinded by the brilliancy. 
 
 The lightning flashes of thy mighty mind ; 
 For a far nobler task by God designed. 
 
 Oh ! if thou hadst to higher purer aim 
 Thy spirit's lofty breathings but assigned. 
 
 How bright, how lasting might have been 
 the fame. 
 
 The halo circling thy already fading name.
 
 129 
 
 ^0 i^atg. 
 
 My little humming birds 
 
 That thro' the day a ceaseless murmur keep, 
 Are silent now — their little joys and cares 
 
 All hushed in sleep. 
 
 It is the hour of eve, 
 
 The quiet hour redeemed from household 
 care, 
 When as I sit beside my cheerful fire. 
 
 Come friends in fancy, intercourse to share. 
 
 Or backward on the past. 
 
 For cordial to the present, memory turns, 
 And in the distance brightly beaming yet, 
 
 Kind words and actions clearly she dis- 
 cerns.
 
 130 
 
 Mingling with these, my Mary, thy dear 
 name, 
 
 And with the foremost she oft fondly brings, 
 Time in its flight hath taken much from me, 
 
 But only hath enriched affection's springs. 
 
 And the remembrance of the past has power, 
 E'en now to make the grateful tears o'erflow; 
 
 To such kind friends and to the God who made 
 Them mine, how much I owe. 
 
 When in thy after life some of the ills 
 
 "Wliich flesh is heir to, and which all must 
 feel. 
 
 Shall come upon thee, mayst thou never lack, 
 A friend to soothe or heal. 
 
 " Mayst thou be happy, Mary," once I said, 
 The earnest wish is now renewed for thee, 
 
 And if no virtue else my lay will claim. 
 Grant it the rare one of sincerity.
 
 13] 
 
 Cl^e CreadjrroujS dTrt'enlf. 
 
 Jesus answered them, " Have I not chosen you 
 twelve, and one of you is a devil." He spake of Judas 
 Iscariot, the son of Simon, for he it was that should 
 betray him. — John, ch. 6, v. 70 
 
 Theee are some friends, or some who steal 
 
 the name, 
 Yet ne'er were touched with friendship's holy 
 
 flame; 
 Base counterfeits, alas ! who often pass 
 For her pure gold their coin of gilded 
 
 brass. 
 Yes, there are some with sympatlietic smile, 
 Worn like an ignis fatuus to beguile, 
 Who steal into our bosom's inmost core. 
 Each secret thought and feeling to explore ; 
 k2
 
 132 
 
 Who of affection speak, her guise assume, 
 Yet leave us ere the time of conflict come ; 
 Bask in the sunshine of a prosperous hour, 
 But ^'anish when our sky begins to lour ; 
 Too many Judas-like, there are — one day 
 Dip with us in the dish — the next betray. 
 
 An enemy's reproaches we may bear, 
 
 And fortify ourselves against the snare 
 
 Of the acknowledged foe — but 'gainst the 
 
 hidden dart 
 Of him who smiling stabs you to the heart — 
 Into the snare too deeply laid to miss 
 Beguiles you on — betrays you with a kiss. 
 Oh ! who may guard, or luhat the wound may 
 
 heal? 
 Long as life lasts its bitter pain we feel ; 
 The hardest task the human heart may know, 
 Is freely to forgive a treacherous foe. 
 The keenest word our Saviour ever spoke. 
 Upon the traitor's startled hearing broke.
 
 133 
 
 I picture some who read my truthful lay, 
 Stand self convicted — " Is it I ?" will say ; 
 If such there be, then, I reply to them 
 Not mine the unwelcome province to con- 
 demn. 
 Go by the light of truth dispensed to thee, 
 Go search that hidden cave, thy heart, and 
 
 see. 
 Subterfuge and evasion disallow. 
 Go — and to truth's unerring verdict bow. 
 
 tH^c C0ntremnclf Cn'mtnal. 
 
 O COME with me to yon dark cell, 
 Whose inmate scarce may catch a ray 
 
 Of light, or hear ought save the bell 
 That tells how quick time ebbs away ; 
 
 Darkness is round him tho' 'tis day.
 
 134 
 
 But thicker darkness reigns within, 
 Where black despair holds direful swa}% 
 The rayless night of unresisted sin — 
 Well if it usher not a night more dreadful 
 in. 
 
 And do ye deem that there in him ye trace 
 Some monster ne'er to human hearts allied, 
 
 Some fiendlike being of another race? 
 For him as thee, a sinless Saviour died ; 
 
 A father's hojie, a mother's joy and pride, 
 Recipient of a darling sister's love ; 
 
 Oh ! had ye seen him oft her footsteps guide 
 Through the rich mazes of the leafy grove — 
 His very nature seemed as gentle as the 
 dove! 
 
 And now, too late, see softening thoughts are 
 stealing 
 Back on his heart, his home in childhood's 
 hours.
 
 135 
 
 He sees his aged mother, feels the feeling 
 With which, a child, he plucked the spring's 
 wild flowers ; 
 He hears again her deep, her latest hlessing, 
 
 Again, again he sees her quiet grave, 
 As thought on thought, so tear on tear is 
 pressing. 
 But now, alas ! they came too late to save 
 From sin and from the doom, its fatal in- 
 fluence gave. 
 
 It is an awful thing for man to take 
 
 Into his hand God's sole prerogative. 
 To bid another's soul its home forsake, 
 
 In woe or bliss eternally to live ; 
 I marvel more — ^howe'er the judge can give 
 
 His warrant for a fellow sinner's life. 
 In calm cold blood, yet ask God to forgive I 
 
 This seems more awful than the murderer's 
 knife. 
 
 Dealt in unguarded hour, in passion's 
 curbless strife.
 
 136 
 
 In the lone convict's dark and dreaded cell ! 
 
 Is it not sweet to think that even here, 
 Or where the waves round yon lone lighthouse 
 swell, 
 
 Alike a God of mercy bends to hear ? 
 Not unobserved may spring the contrite tear, 
 
 Or fall unnoticed by a God of love, 
 Weak, not unworthy if it be sincere — 
 
 Ascending till it reach his throne above. 
 
 It is an incense which he will, he doth ap- 
 prove. 
 
 See with what fearful energy he prays, 
 
 The earnest anguish of his every tone ; 
 He asks not, hopes not now, for lengthened 
 days, 
 It seems the very thought of life is gone. 
 O the deep misery of that awful groan ! 
 Now tears relieve, like the refreshing 
 shower 
 That falls where long the thunder cloud has 
 shown ;
 
 137 
 
 Hark ! hark ! he begs forgiveness, and the 
 
 dower 
 Support me in the last, the awful dying 
 
 hour. 
 
 inquiries. 
 
 " Summer thou art coming, 
 
 With thy bright and lengthening days. 
 And what, what art thou bringing, 
 
 To meet our eager gaze ?" 
 
 " To the butterfly I'm bringing 
 Leave to sport its little hour, 
 
 To the birds the time for singing, 
 And fresh beauty to the flower. 
 
 " To the rivulets I'm bringing, 
 Leafy shadows, softer flow,
 
 138 
 
 Like aerial music ringing, 
 
 Througli the forests as they go." 
 
 " But to humaii hearts and feelings, 
 Summer, wliat hast thou to bring ? 
 
 Be of these thy sweet revealings, 
 
 Flowers may bloom, and birds may sinj 
 
 " I am bringing clouds to darken, 
 Clouds to dim the sparkling eye, 
 
 That in gazing now perceives not 
 One dark speck upon its sky. 
 
 " I am bringing to the dreamer 
 
 That life's cup is one of joy, 
 Something must awake the schemer, 
 
 To its mixture of alloy. 
 
 " I am bringing to the beauty 
 Wrinkles for her snowy brow, 
 
 May she learn from these that duty 
 Joys more lasting can bestow.
 
 139 
 
 " I am bringing to the eager 
 Weary toiler, Mammon's slave, 
 
 Kest unmingled, peace unbroken, 
 'Tis the quiet of the grave. 
 
 " I am bringing to the lonely 
 Watcher by the couch of pain, 
 
 A release — but ah ! 'tis only 
 Forging him a heavier chain. 
 
 " I am bringing to the mother 
 Signal from her child to part, 
 
 This to one, and to another 
 
 The sad boon — a broken heart." 
 
 " Summer, summer, cease thy wailing. 
 Tell again of flowers and streams, 
 
 These are fresh and never failing. 
 Ah ! not so our human dreams. 
 
 " Kind the hand that interposes, 
 Shields from us our future day.
 
 140 
 
 Strewed with thorns, or strewed with roses, 
 Lends us faith to light the way." 
 
 O IS it not a bliss to muse 
 On Jesu's touching words. 
 
 And gain the sweet instruction which 
 Each syllable records ? 
 
 " There was a certain creditor 
 
 And he had debtors poor, 
 The one owed him but fifty pence, 
 
 The other ten times more. 
 
 " And when they nothing had to pay, 
 
 He both alike forgave;" 
 Unequal their degrees of debt, 
 
 Equal his power to save.
 
 141 
 
 Stood not the greater debtor there, 
 
 A slave to greater fear, 
 Sorrowing prepared the bitter words 
 
 Of punishment to hear. 
 
 Oh ! what sweet feelings must have thrilled 
 
 His very being o'er, 
 When all that seemed required of him, 
 
 Was but to love the more. 
 
 Our sins how great their sum. 
 Yet is their pardon full and free. 
 If only we will come. 
 
 And some poor tried and feeble ones, 
 
 Their coldness oft deplore ; 
 Help those whom thou hast much forgiven, 
 
 Father ! to love thee more.
 
 142 
 
 Again the year revolving brings the hour, 
 With all its mingled thoughts, a sorrow- 
 ing train ; 
 Brings back that moment of unequalled 
 power, 
 Over bereaved hearts once more to reign ; 
 When the sweet soother of each childish pain, 
 The kindly guardian of our youthful years, 
 The mother of our love, who long had lain 
 A patient lingerer, left this vale of tears, 
 Bade a resigned adieu to all its hopes and 
 fears. 
 
 We sat around her dying bed, and all 
 Was silent save the sufferer's laboured 
 breath,
 
 143 
 
 And struggling cough, as waiting for the call, 
 
 The welcome call of the deliverer death ! 
 For now the time was come when all beneath 
 Seemed fast receding from her darkening 
 eye, 
 The parting lips revealed the pearly teeth, 
 As still she strove in mortal agony, 
 Ere the glad soul released, might join its 
 God on high. 
 
 Oh ! that to her was one long day of woe, 
 Yes, that was misery's latest, darkest spell, 
 
 An agony of pain which none may know. 
 Which none may feel and ever live to tell ; 
 
 She knew that it was such — and her farewell 
 Was given for each loved object of her 
 care. 
 
 All effort now was vain our grief to quell — 
 One sister leaned on me, as if to share, 
 Would make the coming stroke less keen 
 to bear.
 
 144 
 
 Oh ! how we loved her — yet our added 
 love, 
 One easy inspiration could not gain, 
 One moment's respite as she vainly strove. 
 
 In nature's deep extremity of pain ! 
 All human sympathy for her w^as vain. 
 Yet as her anguished look our own would 
 
 meet, 
 She seemed to ask it — one strove to restrain 
 His woe, and nerved him to repeat, 
 " Ah ! soon that aching heart shall cease 
 with pain to beat." 
 
 That hour was feeling's climax — when the 
 one 
 Endeared companion of her varied life. 
 The soother of each change by time brought 
 on, 
 Stood by, but could not aid its keenest 
 strife. 
 He passed his arm around his dying wife ;
 
 145 
 
 Conscious, tho' speechless, to the act re- 
 plying, 
 She raised her eyes to his — affection rife, 
 
 They still reavealed — and 'gainst his bosom 
 lying, 
 
 Bespoke she loved him still^ — yes, e'en 
 when she was dying. 
 
 Fainter and fainter still the contest grew, 
 
 And each succeeding moment in its flight 
 
 Brought with it added weakness, and we 
 
 knew 
 
 Not long for us would shine her spirit's 
 
 light; 
 
 Ah ! then indeed we felt dark sorrow's might, 
 
 As some of us had never felt before. 
 Nor e'er again may feel — that parting blight 
 With her so long beloved — hush! is it 
 
 o'er. 
 Ah ! now that weary head, shall throb with 
 pain no more. 
 
 L
 
 146 
 
 Ah ! now that weary heart no more shall feel 
 Keen disappointment's manybarbed sting, 
 
 No smart of feelings wounded to conceal, 
 No more itself for death be sorro^\ing ; 
 
 Of that bright world a happy denizen, 
 Where it has glad rejoined the loved, the 
 fond, 
 
 Sharer of joy that knows no lessening; 
 Mid earthly cares should we not oft despond, 
 Did we not know there were a better world 
 beyond. 
 
 No equal loves the heartadmits, 
 One first and foremost must remain, 
 
 Either to God for joy we look. 
 Or seek it in this world of pain, 
 Where we must ever seeh in vain.
 
 147 
 
 And is it so ? then oli ! my heart, 
 Like Mary, choose the better part, 
 The one thing needful which is given 
 To all who truly seek for Heaven. 
 
 Conclusion, 
 
 My gentle readers, do not picture me, 
 As some lone isolated one at strife 
 
 (As authors sometimes are supposed to be) 
 With the sweet duties of domestic life, 
 I claim the lovely names of mother and of 
 wife. 
 
 I boast no study sacred to the muse. 
 
 Where none but she may venture to in- 
 trude; 
 The music of some little pattering shoes, 
 Too oft invades my deepest solitude, 
 And sooner far than these, herself I would 
 exclude. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 
 
 On terms of closest friendship, she and I, 
 Long since with us all etiquette is o'er, 
 And when in hopes some thought to catch 
 we fly, 
 'Tis from my babies' nursery we soar, 
 Where toys of many a hue adorn the lit- 
 tered floor. 
 
 And oh ! how oft whilst dwelling on our theme 
 Of thoughts and feelings, some perhaps 
 ideal, 
 
 We've been aroused from our delicious dream, 
 To combat with the tangible and real ; 
 
 How many wounded fingers had to kiss 
 
 (Experience tells the best of cordials this). 
 
 How many romps good temper to restore, 
 Have marked the progress of each simjile 
 song; 
 
 What interruptions we have had, before 
 We could declare to whom must first belong
 
 149 
 
 The last new toy — and once this point de- 
 cided, 
 Another would arise, opinion still divided. 
 
 I own no genius, if to it belong 
 
 The misanthropic gloomy mood of mind ; 
 Endowed with feelings ever warm and strong, 
 
 I dearly love each spring of human kind. 
 And if I could, would closer draw the tie. 
 That binds together all humanity. 
 
 And now my readers, you and I must part, 
 And if one thought or feeling in my lay, 
 
 Hath made a brother's or a sister's heart 
 Advance more cheerily upon its way. 
 
 Not all in vain hath been my muse's spell, 
 
 To each and all I wish a kind farewell.
 
 LONDON : 
 lAKlIN, CfHSITOB STKEBT,
 
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