THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES / /■ IPIBTTKEJIIL flOWHH^ POETICAL TENTATIVES. BY LYNN ERITH. LONDON : SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET 1854. LONDON : F. SlioLerl, Printer to H.S. H. Prince Albert, Rupert Street. n CONTENTS. Dedication Song-Land The Door and the Door-way They have passed away into Shadow Visions of the Beautiful The Poet and the Stream The Day Change ■ The Gallery To my Mother A Letter to a Friend Gleaners The Banner One of Three Voices and Faces . Who gave thee, Love ? The Farm- House . Night To a Little Child . Roderick PAGE 1 7 11 13 16 20 22 34 36 38 . 39 43 44 46 . 47 49 50 54 55 56 824241 VI CONTENTS. PAGE Gentleness .... 58 Marian .... 59 How beautiful does Woman seem . 60 Nay, tremble not at Thoughts of Love . 61 Go forth into the Fields to-day . 62 Opening the Page, I turn it down 63 Sweet Maiden of the Sunny Seas . 64 I walk at Morn, I walk at Eve 65 It was not in the Crowd that first . . 66 I hear, I hear thy gentle Voice 67 It is not a mere idle Thought . 68 Oh, sweet it were if all in Life 69 What is the Heart without the Mind ? . 70 I hear a Voice, I hear a Voice . 71 In Heaven there is a Love sublime 72 thou, who sittest on thy Rock 73 I have wandered, I have wandered . . 74 The Mountain Spring 75 Fancy ..... . 78 The Waterfall 80 The Rushing River 83 The Song-Bird 84 Alone in my lonely Chamber 85 Murmur .... 87 Music ..... 88 The Group of Mosses . 90 The Forget-Me-Not . 91 Homes of our Fatherland 93 The Painter's Grave . 96 jj CONTENTS. Vll PAGE The Ship's Light .... 98 Hail to ye, ye mighty Marvels . . .100 Song of the Blind Singer . . . 102 The Christmas Poor . . . .104 Rienzi ..... 106 The Torch and the Stars . . . .108 The Silent River . . . . 110 Parting . . . . . .111 To a Friend returning from America . . 112 Thoughts of Travel . . . .113 To a Friend . . . . .114 On the Picture of a Waterfall . . .115 Bolton Abbey . . . . 116 Pome ...... 121 The Baths of Caracalla . . . 1-22 Olive Woods . . . . .124 The Bay . . . . . ib. The Echo . . . . .125 Men and Nature . . . . 126 Life's Action . . . . .127 Woman . . . . .128 Truth . . ... . . ib. Music ..... 131 Memory . . . . . .132 Awaken! ..... 133 Freedom . . . . .134 What shall be the Future ? . . . 136 Night and Morn . . . . .138 The Poet ..... 139 vm CONTENTS. PAGE Thoughts • • • . 140 The Whole . • • • 142 The Valley • • • . 143 A May Day • . 145 The Wind in the Trees . 148 The Hills . . 151 Afternoon . . 152 Evening . . 154 Earth, Sea, and Sky . 155 Love and Hope . 157 Past, Present, and Euture . . 158 Drturattoiu My Brother, unto thee I dedicate This volume with remembrance and with hope — The sift I offer thee is thine to claim— For kindred thoughts, sweet voices of the past, Life's dearest melody have made it thine : Such thoughts were ours, when on youth's thres- hold first We sought for the regenerating power Of future hope in present happiness, (For joy is oft the oracle of deed ;) To lead us on beyond what then we saw — By what we felt with equal sympathy : They came to us when the night's shadows fell Upon the countenance of busy life, B 2 DEDICATION. And every star that flickered on the sky- Was like a torch held by invisible hands To guide us on to spirit worlds beyond ! Then, like the waves that chime upon the shore, With frequent pause at dreamy intervals, So came those thoughts to us, so came and went ; The earth and air were with them when they paused, And when again they touched the chord of soul It gave sweet answers through the silence heard. Those thoughts were ours, when on our meadow paths The sunshine rested ; and the summer time Was like a dream of music, travelling on Towards some heavenly goal we too might reach ; Then in the faintest wanderings of the breeze — That with the stream its playmate, children both Of the wild hills, made whispered merriment — And in the songs of birds that caged in leaves, Nestled themselves in freedom where they would, And where in woodlands cool, or on the banks Of sparkling rivers, nursed by their fresh breath — DEDICATION. 3 As by perpetual dew — the flowers did bloom In virgin brightness through their day of love ; — Then, as it were, sequest'red in the light, Which over all things dropped its hazy \ei\, Those thoughts did fill us with a vague delight Of being what Ave might be, a repose Of visionary hope encircling us. And often did they come to us again, In evening's gentle presence, as we lay In summer brooding silence on the turf, And watched the wave of light which ebbed away Behind the hills, and with its last bright smile Made earth forget her coining widowhood ; And ere she drew her veil of night about her, Through which the stars, her only hopes, were seen, Left her a parting benison of light — And opening all the flood-gates of Heaven's love, Spread a vast halo o'er that quiet earth. Then in the closing voice of all things round — The wild bee's winged harp tuned to the flowers — The nightingale's blest solitude of song — And man's returning step hushed by the hour — b 2 ■i DEDICATION. Those thoughts came to us, lingering on the day That left us with a glory of regret, And building many a sunny pinnacle Which should not, as we thought, so fade away, As those which now were lessening on our view In many a trembling line of broken light ! But oftener still those kindred thoughts did make The pulses of our hearts beat soothingly, When in our home, with other faces near, Whose glance was memory, lingering on that past We even saw the future doubtingly — So dear that past had been; and yet since then Links have been added to the chain of love, More precious unto thee than all beside, And thou hast lived a life, whilst I have thought : Again I dedicate my verse to thee, For then, as now, the Poet's dreams were ours; His words they were our common home of thought. A home where'er we went ; his chronicles Were in the living story of the past, What most we loved to look on — and we oft Treasured the memories he had left behind © DEDICATION. With household fondness — whilst with answering hearts "We sung his songs together ; and though now I sing alone, thy love is with me still, And thou art with me where I stand and wait. SONG-LAND. Where is the song-land? where that dwelling holv Of thought and feeling — \Y hence through the earth some voice of music lowly Is ever stealing? Where is the song-land, whence in virgin glorv The bard appearing, First told the joys and sorrows of his story In the world's hearing ? Where is the song-land, whence, with proud en- deavour, Some dream immortal Gives to the heart its impulses for ever, At life's first portal ? 8 SONG-LAND. Where is that land ? high spiritual yearning For nobler being- — And thoughts that to the goal of life are turning, With hope far seeing I And memories, that in dreams of the departed Around us linger, And make each spirit gentle and high-hearted. Itself a singer ; And nature, that in all things which it doeth Leaves nought to perish, But ever with a second life reneweth The things we cherish; And the earth's beauty, wheresoe'er it dwelleth — In love and kindness, And with the glory of its glance repelleth The spirit's blindness; SONG-LAND. And stars, as in rich slumber they are resting On the wave's pillow — And through clay's opening portal sunlight cresting The rock and billow. And meadow blooms that in the spring time quiver, Radiantly golden — And standing o'er the course of the blue river, Gray castles olden; And woods that utter, when the wind is sighing, Their yearning voices, And every flower that on our pathway lying, In life rejoices; And visions that were round us when leaf hidden — Eve's shadowy splendour Was into music gloriously bidden, By song words tender; B 5 10 SONG-LAND. And all the recollections we inherit From times and places — Which far behind them leave upon the spirit Their well-worn traces ; And meditations, when night's lamp is burning, And fondest fancies Are into words some dreamy tissue turning Beneath its glances ; And thoughts that we have had in many a season, Well loved though lonely, When mind has learnt the right without the reason, By feeling only ; And the bright smile of beauty in a maiden, When first it thrilled us — And with the music of one voice was laden Each sound that filled us ; THE DOOR AND THE DOOR-WAY. 1 1 And homes that love us, household words of gladness, Fond heart and hand ! All these may tell us, in our joy or sadness, Where is that land. THE DOOR AND THE DOOR-WAY I saw the door and the door- way, And the crowds that were passing by — Ever coining and ever going, With careless step and eye. And most passed by regardless, But some stood there awhile, And then went on with a whisper To each other, and a smile. 12 THE DOOR AND THE DOOR-WAY. And some with hasty footsteps Did boldly enter there, But these I saw departing, With a slower and sadder air. But some with earnest longing, Did stand before that door, Then entered in with reverence, And these I saw no more. And what was that door and door-way ? It led through care and sorrow, To the deeds which are not the greatest To-day, or perchance to-morrow. But when by time's endurance The truth is won at last, These deeds shall be set in jewels, And they shall crown the past. THEY HAVE PASSED INTO SHADOW. 13 THEY HAVE PASSED AWAY INTO SHADOW. They have passed away into shadow, The friends who were with us of late, And the books of our thoughts they are rendered, And the seals they are sealed of fate. They have passed away into shadow, And their presence no longer we feel, But wherever we go, and for ever, Their memories over us steal. Shall we meet them again in the future ? — We know not — that future is vast ; And all that we know of the present, It is only a dream of the past. Shall we meet them again in the by-ways Or the highways of life, together — Or where shall we meet? — but the answer Is only a where and a whether ? 1 4 THEY HAVE PASSED INTO SHADOW. We may meet them in marts of cities, Where the armies of life do meet, And the very earth in their motion Seems to hasten from under our feet. We may meet them in silent chambers, Where sorrow and love combine, And the thoughts of the days departed, Round our trembling heart-strings twine. We may meet them in gathering twilight, Under lofty and leafy trees, Where we learn that our sight is the farthest When the spirit's eye only sees. There in the spirit whisper, They may hover around us deep, Like a dream to the wandering fancy, But a dream that is not of sleep. We may meet them in fragrance and freshness, Where the poet doth hymn his song, And the flowers in the strength of their beauty. Make the soul of the singer as strong. THEY HAVE PASSED INTO SHADOW. 1 Where it needeth no word of gladness, And it needeth no word of woe, But the soul's still feelings only, That the friend should the friend's thought know. We know not where we shall meet them, But we know that the world it is ours, And that spirit arising to spirit, Shall kindle their kindred powers. We may meet them when visions completed Have passed into fullness of days, And friend upon friend in silence, With a thought of the past, doth gaze. Or we may not meet on this earth-land, But yonder are realms divine, Where the clouds of the sunset gather, And the vesper planets shine. There we may meet in the garden Of the stars where it all is still, Save the music of haunted fancies, From our memory's unfailing rill. 16 VISIONS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. There we may meet in the stillness Of the one eternal land, And bow down with wise men together, To worship and understand. There in the gathering; of nations We may meet them again, and be With those whom, in bygone ages, It was life, it was love, to see. VISIONS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. Ye to whom the sunbeam seemeth But an emblem of decay — Ye who only see in beauty That which soon shall pass away, Have ye never known a vision Of the beautiful and bright, Which for aye shall live to gladden Spirits with its blissful light — VISIONS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 17 Which if all the world did perish Still might live, might live alone, For the lio-ht wherein it dwelleth Is the brightness of its own ? When thou lookest, when thou listenest, Where is sight or sound divine, Is there not a Power within them Which doth make its Genius thine ? Dost thou only mark the feature Which to-morrow may decay ? Dost thou only hear the sweetness Of that sound which dies away ? No ; for there is light immortal Kindled from the fading eye, And that music's purest essence Was not born like this to die. Visions then of wond'rous being, Sight and sound of beauty bear : These around our spirits hover, Felt, remembered everywhere. 18 VISIONS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. Voices of the day, the ever Live within their mighty tale, And the soul, whene'er it dreameth, Seems to lift their mystic veil. And what still may dim their brightness, Soon shall fade and pass away, When the night that is around us Changes to a glorious day. For shall we, when heaven ascending, Look upon the earth like men? No ! what now is dark and formless May have lines of beauty then. And the Angel may discover, Like a mine of stars for him, What doth now before the mortal Lie neglected, cold, and dim. For the pure, creating wisdom Then from every drop shall shine ; Mightily the soul shall witness This to be a world divine. / VISIONS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 19 Then perchance these visions, dimly Waking in the gladdened soul, May be writ in open beauty As on God's immortal scroll. Child of Heaven, thou shalt remember What on earth did seem so fair, When thou seest its form immortal, Like thyself in glory there. This unto thy bosom darkened Rays of gentle light did bring ; This, when oft thy soul was weary, Flowers with fragrance of the spring. Shine, ye visions bright eternal, Shine upon the poet's song ; Ye beloved of his nature, Ye his soul hath wooed so long ! Day and night, which change around him, Ever of your presence tell ; Magic scenes of earth he roameth, In your fairest smiles to dwell. 2 THE POET AND THE STREAM. Ye can shrine the light of beauty, Ye the melody which bears Voices on each swelling pinion, Sent to lighten all his cares. Toil cloth oft times seem a pleasure When he feels you at his side, Ye inhabit worlds around him, Worlds the darkness cannot hide. Even now he seems to see ye, Hailing your immortal birth ! Welcome to the wintry bosom, Welcome to the weary earth ! THE POET AND THE STREAM. I sat me down by the waters, And my thoughts were quiet and still, As they answered the invocations Of the slowly murmuring rill. /■ THE POET AXD THE STREAM. 21 I sat me clown, and I listened To the music within my soul, Which seemed to rise like an echo Of that water's tremulous roll. And there, on the greensward resting, I gathered, in a careless dream, The flowers, as they grew about me, Then cast them away on the stream. But for ever I heard a whisper, Which came from the bubbling brook ; And, listening, I opened the pages Of a well-remembered book. But wherever I opened those pages, And murmured their thoughts divine, That streamlet followed me, murmuring Through every word and line : And 't was thus that I heard the waters, When their music over me stole, Not alone, but with songs of the Poet, To quicken them in my soul. -2 THE DAY. And though both in their time were ended, And my thoughts borne far away, Yet whenever I hear that streamlet, I hear that Poet's lay. And whenever I list to that Poet, In chambers silent and lone, I think that I hear that river, With its soft and exquisite tone. THE DAY. 'Twas where, beneath the light of southern skies, Lie England's sunniest seas and greenest woods ; And many a river followed by the bloom Of fields that never lose their pleasantness ; And many a heathery hill, whose gentle slope Melts into pastures of the rising vale : 'T was there that, when earth's summer glad- dened it, THE DAY. 23 There came to me a day to be remembered In my mind's annals, ne'er to be forgot, Till willingness shall cease at length to will, And all is silent in my memory. It was a day like one which, long foreseen, Doth seem to come upon us as a dream That we had dreamed of sunshine and of flowers, But scarce had thought it could be thus fulfilled As we had prophesied its form to be ! Yet so it was ; for in the fair abode Of day's first dawn, there was no part of shade : Night left a blushing smile without a tear ; The dews, like dreams, forsook the waking earth ; The orient reddened in a wave of fire ; The smiling leaves seemed conscious of their joy ; Sweet-laden w T ere the winds that came and went, Mingling their changing sounds amongst the flowers ; The melody of streams was undisturbed By harsher cadence, and the bird might hear The echoes of its voice without a pause ! Then breathing of the morning, ere the day Had quite dispelled night's freshness and repose, 24 THE DAY. Whilst happiness of sojul was jet untamed By weariness of limb, and thought was hope, I stood upon the mountain sides, with one Whom I had named "the sister of my soul !" We were but two of many ; but the rest, We left them revelling in their mood of gladness, Heedless of us and of our separate ways. How oft in kindred feeling we had lived, And, when expressed, our thoughts had been the same ; But, until now, so sweet an utterance We had not found for much and many things Which lingered with us undisturbed and still. We left the common road, and turned aside, Seeking a path to guide us through the wood, And bent our heads beneath the yoke of shade. Then found we a gray stone, with moss em- balmed : There sat we down, and silent looked around ; For there a mountain river lay in pools, In twinkling pools, within whose tideless calm, Under the surface, hung the phantom boughs That waved and waved in soundless motion there, / THE DAY. 25 And all about us, where the oozing stream Had given a freshness to the fragrant turf, There was a beauty, calm and shadow-like ; For there the curling mosses caught the gleams Of twilight on the emerald of their locks, And now the sunbeams brightened on the flowers, And now the shadows softened in their light, And like a sea-wave in whose voice there dwells The wind's most gentle sound, so swayed the grass. There, too, the wild rose was in harmony "With all the silent music of the scene : And often did its fragrance lead us on To where, within the thicket, it lay hid. And there the drooping harebell bowed itself, A modest flower, born with a downcast eye ; And there, like to a nun cloistered in woods, No fire upon its lips, no fragrance there, But a pure light undimmed, the daisy lay ; And, in the midst of those great corridors Of forest beauty, many a column rose Of lofty form, supporting the green boughs, Whose shadows waved about us where we stood, The gentle images of mighty strength ; c 26 THE DAY. For over us the spreading oak was seen, Wreathing its trunk with ivy; whilst on high Its fresh, green leaf was undisturbed by time ! Like some great nation, whose remembered past Is still preserved in ancient type and form, The ivied chronicles of long ago, Whilst fresh, bright thoughts and deeds that ever show A deathless power, renew its constant youth ! So passed we onward, musing as we went, Under the vaulted roof of cavernous boughs, And by young saplings, conscious of the wind, And over roots, knotted, and gnarled, and brown, Until a forest vista bid us pause ! As when, in entering a cathedral door, One looks along its aisles with dim surprise To see their vastness suddenly displayed : So we, two, stood, and gazed upon that scene, Shade, never ending shade, but still prolonged Into a flowing arch of leaf beyond, With mute delight, and waited, as it were, For some rapt voice — some forest anthem grand To break on that sweet stillness, and to tell THE DAY. 27 What Nature felt, that we might answer her. Then, looking round, I saw one standing there, In queenly silence, waiting for the calm Of inspiration to come o'er her brow: There was her eye, which, raised towards the sky, In its deep, lighted beauty, seemed to be Like some clear fount, full of the heaven it saw ; There was her brow, home of a lofty thought, Which mio;ht have been its mould of form and grace : The very air seemed listening for that thought, So hushed were all its sounds of melody ; The shadow of a leaf that softly fell Upon that brow in conscious quiet lay. As if it waited for that thought to speak. And I, too, like the air, and like the leaf, Did hoinage to that living thought, nor broke The silence by a footstep or a word, Until her mood of contemplation ceased, And she passed onward. Then we reached at last A space of heather and a camp of rock, Whilst over us a lofty summit rose. c 2 28 THE DAT. We climbed the mountain -paths, and on the top Of the rude hill at length we stood together ; Then turning Ave beheld, from hill to hill, A mighty landscape lying at our feet : Its farthest limit a blue wave of land, Full many an hour of march from where we stood, And well remembered scenes, distant and near, Sealed dreamily that vision on our hearts, And made us linger long with kindly gaze, Watching the world that slumbered at our feet, On hill sides and on banks of rivers bright. And amid blooming pastures lost in flowers ; And there, without a cloud, except its own, To dim the brightness of its lofty walls, A gleaming city by a river lay. And sometimes lost in leaf and sometimes seen. Leaning upon the sides of sunny slopes, And pointing to some hidden vale beyond, Lay many a village with its crowning spire. Unto the eye that looked upon it there, The silent minister of future things, ' THE DAY. 29 For more than one great change which comes upon us. And far below us though that valley lay Yet did it seem so near that you might see The raven hovering round his reverend walls. Now sweeping through the air with dusky wing, Xow like a leaf of sunshine gleaming bright, Then resting on the cross above the tower ! That landscape was a paradise for us, The sunlight made it so, and so did thought ; For wheresoe'er the eye glanced over it, The silvery meadows sparkled softly bright — The tall old trees, their dials telling now How hours passed on where ages too had passed, Cast their long shadows on them, and the herds Lay drowsily beneath the drooping boughs — Whilst rivulets in many a silver line Guided the fancy gently on its way ; And here and there was seen a rustic arch, On which one might have leaned, and, bending down, Have followed, musing, on its distant way 30 THE DAY. The streamlet to its meeting with the deep. Such things Ave saw, and more in thought des- cried, Beyond the broken lines of woods or hills, For distance leads to distance, as the deed Fully accomplished leads to more desire ! There stood we, and we saw the earth beyond, ]S T ot through the loopholes of creation seen, But as one stands upon a mighty wall And sees in thought the nations ranged below ; And all around us up towards the skies The stately edifice of nature rose, Her mountain fabric like a path to heaven, A path at least for reverence and for hope, One that our spirits followed as we gazed. Thus paused we long in silence, then she spake : Her voice was like the breathings of a lute, Breathed on by some rapt spirit full of song ; Or like the sweetest voices of the breeze, Which rising from the depths of summer calm. Do fill us with emotion still and strange, And make each thought that answers to their sound, THE DAY. 31 Wondering to be as ne'er it was before, An echo of themselves, a pulsing chord That trembles at their touch of harmony ! Her voice again was silent, but that string When shall it cease to tremble in my soul ? Time did not answer then although it passed In many a fleeting moment at our side, Until with fond regret we turned away To leave our mountain home, and follow thence A streamlet that should guide us on our course With the wild murmurs of its watery roll. The path was narrow and with boughs o'erhunu". Cumbered with rocks, and leading us toward The sounding precipice in many a spot. She loved this path, but I did love it most, For as we walked she leant her arm on mine, And I — who felt as if through all in life I could have broken through, even as through these, With one fair form for ever at my side — Swept the wild branches from our tangled way. But as the path grew wider, and the woods Softened around us into sunny glades 32 THE DAY. Of hazel and of oak, that gleamed and shone, More deep in mutual converse as we grew, Musing on many things, I then began In sudden thought to murmur forth my soul, AVith something of an eloquence I drew From impulses that could not be withstood. And thoughts were flowing through me like a stream Of melody that bears the soul away : And words came with them, lending utterance meet Unto the measure of the soul I'd won. And I could tell as thus I spake with fire, And poured old dreams into the common cup, Whilst fancies that had hovered long about me Took form and fashion and appeared in life, That she too was not silent in her soul. I felt her footstep quicken, and her eye Flashed brighter and yet brighter as I spake, Till like the overflowings of a stream, That, rushing o'er the rocks without a pause, Doth spread into a quiet gulf below, My thoughts that came to me gushing with song, X THE DAY. 33 Had into silence poured themselves again. Then as I ceased we paused with slower step Before our path was ended, and the earth Seemed lingering with us: not a sound was heard In the wide quiet of the slumbering woods, Save one sweet bird that sang above its nest, With us alone to listen to its notes And answer silently their harmony ! Then as we joined the others, thought awhile Passed into different courses, but again Returned to where it had been undisturbed By life around it, dwelling in itself : And ere we left, and ere sunset had changed The glory of the earth into a shade, We two, as if by chance, did stray apart From all the rest, and lingered for a while Where boughs did intervene 'twixt them and us. And but the gentle murmur of their voices Came to us like a pleasant evening sound. There sat she down beside a stream and thought, And I who waited for her did look on ; Then she arose, and both departed dreaming, c 5 34 CHANGE. But what those dreams might be it was not said And will not be, till we are there beyond In all the freedom of another being: There we may live that life of joy again, And learn, what then we learnt not, from each other. CHANGE. As night was changing into morn A single star forgot 'twas day, And lingered still with loving ray Upon the path of dawn. As autumn into winter passed Upon a wierd and widowed tree, A single leaf you still might see That flickered in the blast. And when the earth was veiled in snow A single flower with loving face All nature with its smile did grace, And told of life below. / CHANGE. o"> And when the summer silence set Its seal upon the winds and trees, A sound was heard, a passing breeze Made gentle music yet. And on the torrent's streamless bed One fragment of the faded rill, One pool of waters sparkled still, By no fresh fountain fed. So earth below, and heaven above, With things we oft have seen before, But scarce had thought to look on more, Still wait to meet our love. And in all change of time and place, A something still is left behind Which, lingering last upon the mind, No changes can efface. .*;<; THE GALLERY. THE GALLERY. When the day seems never ended, And the moon is shining bright, As I walk along the gallery, Oh, how silent is the night ! Can I, can I have forgotten Him who walked with me of yore, When the moonlight as it entered Gleamed upon the gallery floor ? Up and down we walked together, Listening to the wind and wave, Broken only were our musings By the murmurs which they gave. And we paused before the window, Saw the silver streaming surge, And the moonbeam's fiery column Resting on its farthest verge. / THE GALLERY. : 37 And with scarcely conscious fancy, Through the future we were led, And the poets' dreamy voices Were the measure of our tread. But where, then, two shadows lingered Now there is but one alone, And two voices now are answered By the stillness of my own. And when now I walk in silence, In this chamber of the past, Something seems to be, yet is not, Something comes which will not last. And before the window standing, Looking out upon the sea, 'Twas a doubly felt remembrance Gave that sudden pang to me. Oh, how often have I listened, When his voice has caught its power From the stillness of the gallery And the pathos of the hour ! 38 TO MY MOTHER. And how often in those pauses, When the verse was laid aside, Has the rapture of his impulse To the poet's thought replied ! But those dreams are now departed, And their joy returns no more, Though the moon is in the gallery And the wave upon the shore. TO MY MOTHER. How holy, high, and purified, Sealed by the very life of one, Is the affection fondly tried Betwixt a mother and her son. And where is there a nobler thought Of happiness that we can claim, Than that which comes to us unsought, When name and nature are the same? X A LETTER TO A FRIEND. 'i!> When kinship is the pledge of love And earliest ties still bind us round, As earth below and stars above Together on their course are bound ? How often has my spirit felt One tie of love in dream and deed, Since first within life's shrine I knelt, And looked before me full of need ! On many a day, in many a place, Were we, my mother, side by side, And fondly shall thy presence grace This day when poesy is my bride. A LETTER TO A FRIEND. Now that ocean keeps the silence of its summer watch no more, And the billows are foam-driven in their eddies on the shore, And the night of early darkness comcth o'er. 40 A LETTER TO A FRIEND. I would tell you of this season, as of one in which I dwell, In the quiet depths of fancy, for the waters as they swell Have within them deep a harmony and spell. And I know that you will listen in your fancy all the time To the breaking* of the billow and the wind's un- measured chime, As you oft have stood and heard each voice sublime. For the years have not yet passed us more than once upon their flight, Since we both together gazed upon the sea-wave's path of light, Ere it fell into the shadow of the night. And there was there a sunny bay, and there were rocks which glistened, And there were woodlands which all day to whis- pering breezes listened, And we with our own thoughts wave, rock, and wood have christened. A LETTER TO A FRIEND. 41 But you have seen the waves since then, far out upon the ocean, And trod no other path besides, and felt no other motion, Except in your own breast the tremblings of emotion. And you have watched the path of morn far rising into glory, Where boundlessly the waters told the dawning world's first story — The world that like to them is ever young though hoary. Yet did you not forget the while those moments of the past, When rock, and shore, and gentle homes, had listened to the blast, That into the far ocean died at last. But 't is now the time of twilight and the season of transmission, So I send to you this letter and I speed it on its mission, With the glories that I see as in a vision. 42 A LETTER TO A FRIEND. For a star is now arising on the altitudes of heaven, Amid ranks of the great clouds, but the clouds apart are riven, And a throne on the blue sky to it is given. And it seemeth like a spirit, lofty, luminous, and fair, That amid the world's dim shadow brightens into glory there, And has changed us with a glance from what, we were. And from cloud - land like a vessel proudly launched upon the sea, Glides the grand orbed moon in silence, and I Avould that you with me Now were waiting for the night that is to be. GLEANERS. 43 GLEANERS. In stubble-fields the lone earth craves and crackles With mournful sighing, For far around the corn in golden shackles Of sheaf is lying. No child that now within its hamlet lingers From morn to night, For all are gath'ring with their busy fingers The corn reeds bright. A nd all those scattered stalks that they have taken. Fold upon fold, Shall from the storehouse of the winter waken In grains of gold. So where great men have toiled, by toil's suc- cession Some thoughts we glean, And they who have a store in their possession May live serene. 44 THE BANNER. And home returning they may wait the season Of cold and wrong, When those few golden grains of truth and reason Shall make them strong. THE BAXXER. I saw a banner waving From a castle on a hill, There were mighty woods around it, But the woods were lying still. And that banner it was waving So softly on the air, You could not hear its motion, And all was silent there. It was May upon the meadows, The flowers were gleaming bright, And over all that turret Rose lofty in the light. THE BANNER. 45 A river lay beneath it, Its pools were dimly deep, For far above that banner Was floating on the steep. The daylight had departed And the moon was gliding by, But still that shadowy banner Was seen against the sky. A single star above it Lay near it as its crown, But into the abysses Of the vale looked dimly down. And so that turret standeth At morning and at eve, The ages as they pass it No mark of sadness leave. But whilst that turret standeth, And whilst that banner waves, The children of the children Are going to their graves. 46 ONE OF THREE. One only yet remaineth To raise that banner there, And on his staff he leaneth, And silver is his hair. ONE OF THKEE. I loved a maiden — one of three — I know not why I loved her so ; They all were beautiful, but she Was like a world of harmony That deepens into sunset's glow. I loved a maiden — one of two — The other had faded like a flower, Which leaves no other trace behind, But a sweet fragrance on the wind That cherished it in its bower. I loved a maiden — she was alone — The other two had passed away, And left but one to linger yet, And ere the setting sun did set, Short was the space of day. VOICES AND FACES. 47 Dearly I loved a maiden — and she May love me still, although I weep ; Cut of the three that were before On earth, none are there any more — They all are fallen asleep. VOICES AND FACES. Oh ! who has not heard some voices, Which are not as they were ? Oh ! who has not seen some faces, Which made the earth more fair? The vallies in sunlight slumbered — In sunlight calm and deep ; Or the moon with her stars about her Watched over them in their sleep. And Ave, too, rested and slumbered, But ours were waking dreams ; And voices that met together, In the woods and in the streams. 48 VOICES AND FACES. And where the greenwood's banner Unfolded itself in the breeze, A whisper was heard still sweeter Than the whispers of the trees. And where the streamlet blended With the silence its evening tone, A voice was heard beside it, That could be but one alone. And so in all our memories, And so in our hopes divine, One voice was heard to whisper, One face was seen to shine. And though the streamlet wandered, Far, far beyond our view — And thousrh. the breezes left us We deemed that voice was true. And though the sunlight faded, And the darkness took its place, We deemed that in storm or sunshine, We should ever behold that face. WHO GAVE THEE, LOVE ? 4.9 WHO GAVE THEE, LOVE? Who gave thee, love, that eye divine ? Who gave thee, love, that tender smile ? That sigh which wakes this heart of mine, Like sea-wave on a murmuring isle? Who gave thee, love, that voice of song Which passes on from soul to soul, As if unseen did glide along Some heavenly spirit to its goal ? Who gave thee, love, that thought which seems To shine upon us in our sleep, And gives a glory to our dreams Like summer splendour still and deep ? Who gave thee, love, that pulse of fire Which wakes with many an answering chord, To every holy, high desire, To every truly spoken word? D 50 THE FARM-HOUSE. Who gave thee, love, that form and face ? The music of that gentle glance ? That eye within whose kindling grace The sunny joys delight to dance ? Who gave thee, love, and who shall take All which thou hast, to be his own ? Oh, tell me in a word, and make My hopes, my fancy, thine alone. THE FARM-HOUSE. By the farm-house, as I was standing Under the linden tree, I saw the shadows of evening Come up across the lea. I heard the voices of reapers, And the rustling of the sheaves, And, muffled amongst the branches, The wind that shook the leaves. THE FARM-HOUSE. 51 A pool of waters lay darkling Beside that old house wall : The shadows of chesnuts crept o'er it, And the poplar shadows tall. And amidst the wavering branches, Whose edges were lost in sun, The birds sang a mellow chorus As they nestled there one by one. And over my head, in clusters Of two, or three, or four, The rooks, to their home returning, Flew cawing about the door. Then still I stood there and listened, For each sound had a well-known tone ; And all that there was about me Seemed there for me alone. That scattered and cawing rookery — How oft had I seen it before, As it wandered back from the meadows, Like a cloud that was floating; o'er ! d2 52 THE FARM-HOUSE. And that grove of chesuut and poplar — How oft had I seen it bend O'er the face of the silent waters, And into the wave descend. And a feeling was kindled within me, With the fulness of other days ; And the birds that were singing seemed only My memories which sang their lays. But it was not the farm-house only, But neighbouring* lawns and streams : And walls that were loftier and larger, That haunted me in my dreams. And then, as my thoughts passed from me, I knew, when they fell away, I should find them again where they had been On many a by-gone day. And all seemed brighter than ever, As I entered that home of yore ; But still I was under the linden, Before the farm-house door. THE FARM-HOUSE. 53 Then I knew as the shadows grew deeper And the gleaners were passing on With the rustling sheaves which they carried. That the day was almost gone. But I waited still, till the starlight Was seen in the pool below, And the leaves of the tallest poplar Had waved in the moon like snow. And I waited still, till the breezes Grew fainter and fainter there ; And the leaves, as they trembled above me, Seemed murmuring the dreams of air. Then I stood on the threshold a moment. And looked over homestead and grange : But except in the sound of those voices Within, I felt no change. 51 NIGHT. NIGHT. The stars look on us from above With eyes of dewy light ; And we look up as silently They gather into sight. Our vision takes no certain form, But, like a cloudless dream, Those hovering spheres above us lie In many a trembling gleam. What is it that we seem to see Where yonder planets shine — Is it some res-ion dim and vast Of spirit life divine ? Oh, night of rest ! oh, heaven of love ! The home of many a star ; Is there no spot of life may look Thus peaceful from afar ? TO A LITTLE CHILD. 55 TO A LITTLE CHILD. I gaze on thee, thou little one, As on a beam of morning light, My world has felt thy sunny smile And wakens out of night. Yes, thou, with thine unclouded face, Art like that morning gleam to me ; Ah ! little know'st thou, gentle soul, What yet thy life may be ! And when I turn to gaze on thee, I too forget life's sadder. part; And from thy sunny smile I take A bright life to my heart. 56 RODERICK. RODERICK. Oh, Roderick, I have seen thee oft Amid the busy throng, And in the woodlands green have felt The spirit of thy song. And where blue rivers wound afar Their clear and cloudless streams, And where the golden primrose bank Lay clad in sunny gleams; And where the moon, with glance serene, Rose over sea and hill, ( )r stars were trembling on the sky, And all the earth was still ; There have we often stood and gazed, AVhilst many a poet's psalm \ V T as stealing on from voice to voice, Like night winds through the calm. RODERICK. 57 And wheresoever we have been, By woodland, stream or sea, There were some odc-wing* thoughts which fell o o O Like wandering stars from thee. D 5 5S GENTLENESS. GENTLENESS. I will not give to thee a name, Fair maiden form, if such thou be; I will but call thee by a thought, And leave thy spirit free ! For o'er the world where'er thou wilt, Not captive to a name or home, Such as thou art may well delight With silent step to roam. How does the smile on human brow Arise untaught to meet thine own? How does the voice to music change, Lost in thy quiet tone I I see thee in the sun that smiles O'er all the blooming summer land ; Fain would I feel thee in myself, And saint-like understand. MARIAN. 59 MAKIAN. Marian of the sun-land, cloud-land, I behold thee now, With a smile, a cloud of beauty Saddening on thy brow. Then, again, I see a tear-drop Brightening in thine eye; In thy sigh there is a gladness, In thy song a sigh. Nay, thou wilt not let us think thee Either glad or mournful ; And when proud, thou seemest sweetest, And when sweetest, scornful. 60 How beautiful does woman seem, By art untamed and free, In frolic step, and gentle glance, And graceful symmetry. Like this, the lowliest village maid Is in her joy a queen, An empire in her flowing locks, And in her glowing mien. Gl Nay, tremble not at thoughts of love, If thou hast never seen Love's image in the skies above, And in the meadows green. &* Nay, tremble not at loving word, If thou hast never known What 'tis to hear love's trembling chord In ocean's broken tone. 62 Go forth into the fields to-day, The heavens in glory shine, And over all things is a ray Of happiness divine. Go forth, and from the earth and heaven A loving image frame ; To it a gentle soul be given, To it a gentle name. 63 Opening the page I turn it clown, I see, yet am not seeing, For what is knowledge or renown ? There's love in all my being. And what to me can be the past, However great or glorious, Until the future come at last, And love is all victorious ? 64 Sweet maiden of the sunny seas, Whence song at first in gladness rose, There is a o-entle summer breeze That wafts thee to thy soul's repose. It is not here the orange grove, It is not here the unclouded deep, Where nature hangs on thoughts of love, And all things dream in joyous sleep. But yet there is a spirit here, That, when thou breathest, answers thine, For song is trembling on the air, And laughing sunbeams round us shine. I walk at morn, I walk at eve, I hear the lark and nightingale : On sunny dew my step I leave, And watch the twilight growing pale. And when from cloud-land fallcth far The gushing gladness of the morn, And when from woods begirt with star The music of the night is horn, There is one voice in woodlands dim, One voice that fills the air above ; My heart repeats that vesper hymn, And rises sunward, lost in love. C6 It was not in the crowd that first I saw thy starry glance ; I met thee not where beauty meets, And mingles in the dance. 'B' Yet have I often seen since then, Bright faces beaming there, But none that were as fair as thine, Nay, none were half so fair. - 67 I bear, I hear thy gentle voice Breathing a song divine ; All nature is a home for thee, And makes its gladness thine. The fields, the woods, the blooming flowers, The meadows sunnier grown : They all are smiling on thee now, Their music is thine own. 68 It is not a mere idle thought — A Poet's foolish dream, That happiness may come unbought Like air or sunlight's gleam. For where the green woods open wide Their arms to meet the breeze, Or where deep music fills the tide Of ebbing, flowing seas ; Or where bright flowers of golden bloom Are scattered o'er the sod, And from the cold earth's wintry tomb, Spring rises fresh to God; Or where the streamlet passes by And blends with ours its voice, There is a place where thou and I, Beloved, may rejoice. 69 Oh, sweet it were if all in life Were like a voice of soiiq: — If we through every storm and strife, In peace could pass along. If over all our grief were drawn A veil of shadowy light, That stars, from eventide 'till morn, Might make a joy of night. But woman's smile, and woman's tear, And woman's sigh of love, Are like those stars that, soft and clear, Look on us from above. And woman's soul, whose gentle powers Of gladness never cease, Doth breathe a tender song through ours, Of hope, and love, and peace. 70 What is the heart without the mind ? The mind without the heart ? Both in their place as one you find, The two you cannot part. Eyes that are full of glorious thought, Are like the sun for me ; And when with tenderness they're fraught, The rising stars I see. 71 I hear a voice, I hear a voice, Beneath the arches of the past, It bids me in my soul rejoice — That song at least may living last. It rings afar its silver tones, And echo bears them back again ; The wind has ceased its wandering moans, And silence listens to that strain. 72 In heaven there is a love sublime, On earth there is a love of woe ; But who shall say that loving so, Is not the doom, the death of time. If time be dead, immortal we, Both earth and heaven, our love shall hold ; Its story by the stars is told — Its tale of immortality. 73 thou, who sittest on thy rock, With earth and ocean round thee, What dost thou hear, what dost thou see. What fancies there have found thee ? " I hear the wind that sighcth deep — I see the drifting sand ; And fancy's bark my soul hath borne Far on from land to land." £ 74 I have wandered, I have wandered. By the ocean's lonely tide, I have heard the billow breaking — And an echo that replied. I have wandered, I have wandered, Where life's ocean lonely lies, And I hear its voice within me — But no echo that replies. THE MOUNTAIN SPRING. 7"> THE MOUNTAIN SPRING. There lay a mountain spring upon my path ; It was alone and so was I : thus we Were linked together by a sweeter joy Than ought beside — the joy of sympathy. Dim were the vallies lying at my feet ; The peopled world was seeking, in the distance, For other aims than it was mine to know ; Though, where it lay, still and unmoved it seemed, And inaccessible, save to the wing Of some descending bird which hovered o'er it, And found a resting-place where man had none ; Nor, whilst the world breathed silently below, Was there, amongst those hills, a dwelling seen Where I might cool my thirsty lips, or find The cup that, with a kindly welcome given, Is oft the best of gifts to him who bears A willing heart, although a weary limb ; But here, upon the outskirts of a wood, e 2 70 THE MOUNTAIN SPRING. Beside a track that, overgrown with grass, Wound, terrace-like, around the mountain's rim — A sentinel path to watch the vale below — There lay a mountain spring, embalmed in rock That gave its waters a cool resting-place, From age to age in undisturbed repose : For over them there rose a natural roof, That veiled the sunbeam when the summer fell With cloudless brightness on the hills around, And in the winter's tempest guarded them From the wild wind that shook the trembling woods, But scarcely broke the mirror of their wave, As it lay hid in its sepulchral depths. And from the place whence first the spring arose, Giving its waters to the cautious day, A silent cave wound on into the earth — A subterranean grot its mother fount — That poured it on unseen as it came forth With no swift current to awaken it ; And round that rocky spring there was a bed Of downy mosses — a bright emerald green, Which dazzled every sunbeam entering in, THE MOUNTAIN STRING. 77 With lustrous gleaming; whilst unto the touch A soft and settled texture there it lay, With curling locks, no ringlet out of place. JSTor moss alone was there ; but o'er the wave The slender fern leant musing, and within The mirror of the waters saw itself — Its fairy likeness floating in the depths. Thus lost amongst the hills, that lonely spring Was like a nest of beauty : in all times Its loveliness remains ; and I would fain See it in autumn with the sere leaves round. But neither fern nor mosses changed within ; Or in the spring, when flowers are budding near Feeling the freshness of the neighbouring wave'. And young birds flutter past it, and it lies With a returning gladness in the rays Of entering sun, that seek it in its cave, And tell it how all nature lives again, As it has ever lived, and welcome it To be once more the traveller's friend and joy. 78 FANCY, FANCY. Bright bud of the morning, the darkness sur- passing, Our spirits have watched thee unfold ; Full bloom of the west, where thy petals were cast, The steps of our soul on the firmament passed, And we dreamed of thine islands of gold. Sweet pilgrim of night, where thy halo hath been, Our visions unbounded have strayed; As thou saint-like went forth on thy mission of light, Through the tremulous cloud, or the shadowless night, Whilst the ocean thine image displayed. FANCY. 7! i Ye heirs of the twilight, how softly ye smile. Ye seem as if God at your birth, Like a sower had scattered the li^ht from his hand, And had left you a quenchless, unchangeable band To witness his glory to earth. Thou delicate bow, which the tempest has bent, We deem thee an emblem of love ; Thou seemest as if from their lowly retreat, The flowers had painted the sunbeams they meet, Then left them to centre above. And earth, how our spirits have wandered in thee, By mountain, and valley, and stream, Whilst beauty and eloquence dwelt in thy blooms, We emptied thy palaces, peopled thy tombs, And loved of thy secrets to dream. 80 THE WATERFALL. Tis fancy hath trodden the course of the sun, With the moonbeam its pilgrimage made, Hath dwelt in the garden of planet and star, Hath smiled where the rainbow's arch shone from afar, And the earth with its magic pourtrayed. THE WATERFALL. The waterfall ! the waterfall ! How sounds its sweet melodious call The Alpine vallies through; It streaks the dark rock's distant side, Its foam upon the air doth ride ; Thou beautiful ! the mountain's bride, Far gliding into view ! Nearer I come, and o'er thy form, As if to quell the beauteous storm, That ever battles there, I see a veil of tender hue, A rainbow of ethereal dew Hang lightly in the air ! THE WATERFALL. 81 The mighty brother pines have shed Their fruits around thy rocky bed ; The eagle's wing is slowly spread Above thy cloud of foam. Has nature a more glorious child Than thou, the wonderful and wild, In thine own mountain home ? Yet as I stand upon thy brink, It seems that but a feeble link Restrains my footsteps, ere they sink In that bright waste below. But who would wish the secret things, The wonders of the angry springs, In thy abyss to know ? Thou seem'st a child of wrath, and yel Those smiles upon thy waters set Tell not of passion's strife : If passion born thy music ring, Surely thou art the fairest thing That discord gives to life. It is not passion — canst thou be Other than sonorous, wild, and free, E 5 82 THE WATEKFALL. To mountain glory wed ? Thy sisters are the lauwine's roar, The glacier's castellated floor ; The sheet of snow which mantles o'er The tall peak's needling head. Farewell ! though now thy beauty seems No more the presage of my dreams ; A mighty thing, whose image teems With glory yet unseen. Still wast thou beautiful and bright, As to my visionary sight, When by thee I have been. Thy veil of light is on my eye, And on my ear it cannot die, Thy music's distant sound. What lovely spirit threads her way Through thy thin labyrinth of spray, I know not — but a thought will say, How glorious thou wast found ! THE RUSHING RIVER. THE RUSHING RIVER. Oh, river ! rushing river, That floweth on for ever, Under the shadow of the tree that droopeth down : Swift art thou, and full Of the rolling beautiful, Choir of rock and Avave, as they each other crown. Thy goal is not yet won, But still thou glidest on, To where its shores are lying ; Towards that mighty sea, Which soon shall set them free, Thy trembling waves are sighing. How rapid is the tide Of life, which thus doth glide Towards some boundless ocean ; How many a soul to-day, Is hurrying on its way, With sighing and emotion ! 84 THE SONG-BIRD. THE SONG-BIRD, In the very heart of London, In the centre of the town, Sat a song-bird at a window, As the crowds went up and down. And, though caged, it sang as sweetly As in early happy dreams, When its houses were the meadows, And its streets the flow 1112; streams. o Yet not one of all the thousands Who were hurrying on their way, Paused to listen for a moment Where that song-bird poured its lay. But it sang as sweet as ever, Though no voice responsive rang, For its past delights came o'er it, And the woods where once it sang. ALONE IN MY LONELY CHAMBER. 85 Oh, bow few can sing so sweetly, Thus forgotten and alone, When their very hearts are breaking With the fulness of their tone ? Oh, how few, in streets of cities, Keep their voices gentle still, As when first they heard them speaking In the wood or by the rill ! ALONE IN MY LONELY CHAMBER. Alone in my lonely chamber I thought upon the sea ; And the breeze that was round me rising, It gave that thought to me. And the deep, attentive billows, As £hey came from the farthest pole, That thought bore onward with them, In the gladness of their roll. 86 ALONE IN MY LONELY CHAMBER. And the heavy, hollow heaving That bore the sea-weed past, It bore the starlight with it, And up on the shore it cast. And silently arising, Like an angel out of a grave, I saw the moon, that was standing On the summit of a wave. And many a thought came to me, As the lonely night went round : And many a voice seemed changing My fancies into sound. And so my dreams sped onward, Far over the distant deep : Till I and the silvery moonlight, We both drew back in sleep. Behind a snowy mountain Of cloud the moon lay down : And I on my wave-rocked pillow, With the starlight for my crown. MURMUR. N" MURMUR. Winds, and woods, and waters, Answer me at play : What is there in a murmur Passing on its way ? Winds, and woods, and waters, Answer me with your sighs : What is there in a murmur, When that murmur dies ? Winds, and woods, and waters Answer me at peace : What is there in the silence, When your murmurs cease r v Winds, and woods, and waters Answer me with delight: What is there in a murmur? Dreams of day and night. 88 music. Winds, and woods, and waters : What is there in those dreams Which that murmur gives us ? Winds, and woods, and streams. MUSIC. Music spoken, Music broken, By the rushing of a rill : What is this but what doth enter Into every heart's deep centre, And doth all with gladness fill ? Music waking, Music taking, From the breezes of their joy : What is this but what doth murmur, Growing fainter, growing firmer, When our dreams our deeds employ ? music. 89 Music dwelling Where the swelling Of the wind and wave is near : What is this, great heart of Ocean, But our own of changed emotion, Now a smile, and now a tear ? Music ringing Where the singing Of the wood-bird fills the dell : What is this delight of being But our own, when we are seeing What no words but song can tell? Through the ages, On the pages Of the Poet born to live : Music from the suns that glisten, From the flowers the fields that christen : Music ! wherefore do we listen ? Tis the bliss that thou canst give. 90 THE GROUP OF MOSSES. THE GROUP OF MOSSES. Upon a barren moor a group of mosses lay — The sunlight saw them there, and lingered on its way. Before no cottage door those mosses bright were seen, No branches lent them shade, no fountain kept them green. But yet whene'er they drooped, they soon were fresh again — The summer gave them light, the autumn gave them rain. In smiles and tears alike no change they had to fear, They gladdened in the smile and they quickened in the tear. THE FORGET-ME-XOT. 91 A traveller passed one day across the lonely wild, And saw that sparkling moss from all its kin exiled. And, pausing as he went, he rested there awhile, For all around that spot did nature seem to smile. And resting there he said, when sadness fills the mind, How oft on some lone spot a joy like this yon find. And should such fate be mine, and sorrow be my lot, These mosses of the moor shall guide me to that spot. THE FORGET-ME-NOT. It was a little withered flower, Betwixt two leaves it lay, You scarce could tell what now it was, Though sunny was the day. 92 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. But well I knew what once it was, That little faded spot. When first I plucked it in the wood — A blue forget-me-not. How many blue forget-me-nots Had bloomed in field and wood, And there had lived, and there had died, Unseen in solitude. But those had long forgotten been, Whilst others rose instead, But this though plucked before its time Had never yet been dead. For when 'twas plucked, I know not why, One called it fairy fair, And when by chance I kept it still, One saw me place it there. And so this little flower will live, And never be forgot, And must be still whilst memory last* A true forget-me-not. HOMES OF OUR FATHERLAND. HOMES OF OUR FATHERLAND. Homes of our fatherland, Homes of our fatherland, Clasping by many a band, Dearly we love ye, As in your joy ye stand, On mount or ocean's strand, Aged tree's withered hand, Spreading above ye. Here the calm waters meet, There the wild hills retreat, Proudly before ye ; And where nought else is sweet, Where hearts in concert beat, Peace mantles o'er ye. Where that bright heavenly child, With its eye ever mild, Kindred love, shields ye ; Nought hath its breath defiled, Grief hath its smile beguiled, Gladness it yields ye. 94 HOMES OF OUR FATHERLAND. Sorrow — dark sorrow — Brings gloom for the morrow, Homes ye are bare ; Weep for the aged head, Laid on its lowly bed — Mourn for the fair. Yet whilst the household-bell In every heart doth knell, With a deep tolling, Tides of new feeling, Bright waters of healing, O'er ye are rolling. See how each knee is bent, Hark how each heart unpent Sobs out its prayer ; God gives his loving hand, And for the lonely band, Homes of our fatherland, Yet are ye there. HOMES OF OUR FATHERLAND. 95 Sweet is the household-bell That can my spirit tell, Yes, and it whispereth well ; Oh ! for its sound, There would I ever dwell, Where love's unbroken spell Circles it round. Homes of our fatherland, Homes of our fatherland, By no soft breezes fanned, Poverty's haggard wand Blasting around ye ; Smilingly even there, Love, with its golden hair, Gently hath bound ye. Homes of our fatherland, Homes of our fatherland, Clasping by many a band, Bright is your blossom ; Age does your forms behold, Growing not changed or cold, 96 the paintee's grave. And in a tender hold, Youth's brightest dreams ye fold Deep in your bosom. And as some gentle bird, When the cold winds have stirred, Shelters her young, Thus would ye ever bring, Under your parent wing, Hearts which beneath it spring, Tenderly strung. THE PAINTER'S GRAVE. River, still thou moanest on, Moanest for a brother gone ; Gone from us, and gone from thee, Forms of living poesy He shall trace on earth no more, For his spirit bright doth soar THE PAINTER'S GRAVE. 97 O'er the cloud's empurpled nice, Which his finger loved to trace, And the folds of golden sky- Far beneath his footsteps lie; And the forest, dale, and hill, Which could once his spirit fill With a longing for the sight Of things yet more purely bright — He has left them, he has left them, And his parting has bereft them Of a pencil, which could make The wild fancies which they take Glorious on his canvass rise, Of a mind which well could prize All their changes, every shape, From the spray encircled cape, And the snowy mountain's brow, To the isle where fondly now, Stormy river, thou and I, Near his lonely tomb may sigh. i< 98 the ship's light. THE SHIPS LIGHT. O'er the dark and dreamy ocean, Went a stately vessel by ; Like a shadow she was passing 'Twixt the waters and the sky. And the music of the billows Proudly rung her onward march ; And the star-clouds crossed above her, In a pale triumphal arch. And she dashed aside the surges, In a soft and sleepy spray ; And she swept across the ocean, In the glory of her way. But through all the dim night shadows, And above the waters dark, As that ship went on majestic, One lone torch her path did mark. the ship's light. 99 And the waves that rose to meet her Fell again in fountains bright ; And on either side the darkness Passed a moment into light. And the breezes as they mingled With the moaning of the brine, Seemed to deepen in their music Where that falling light did shine. And wherever passed the shadow Of that lone and lofty bark, And wherever flew her canvass Through the spaces of the dark, Still that star was gleaming downward, On the wave with steadfast ray, Like some light of our existence, Shining on its darkest way. f -2 100 HAIL TO YE, YE MIGHTY MARVELS. HAIL TO YE, YE MIGHTY MARVELS. Hail to ye, ye rnighty marvels Dwelling in the great unknown; Seeming silent in creation, Heard in spirit worlds alone ! Who with vision slow unfolding, Step by step your mystic shroud ; Who shall be the mighty concpuerors First to snatch ye from the cloud ? Death hath wearied many a seeker, Faltering in his own decay ; Ere in toiling through the darkness, He hath borne the light away. They are fallen yet with courage, Press we onward o'er the tomb ; And their shadows stand like way marks, As we travel through the gloom. HAIL TO YE, YE MIGHTY MARVELS. 101 And their voices, as we listen, Through the ages reach us still ; And their thoughts are ours to utter, And their visions to fulfil. So in still and starry watches, In the fragrance of the night ; When the silence of the planet Has a music in its light; When the world is seen about us, In another form and guise, Like a spirit that is rising, For the worship of our eyes ; We will seek the mighty future, Pressing onward in the van ; And Avhilst labouring in the present, We will learn the past of man. 102 SONG OF THE BLIND SINGER. SONG OF THE BLIND SINGER. Oh ! give me something for my song, My friends, for I am weary, And though this world doth me no wrong, This world is somewhat dreary. For though the sun is on my brow, The flowers I may not see ; Yet though I cannot seek them now, 'Tis true they seek for me. The flower that springeth at my feet, Is all unseen and cold, And yet its breath is far more sweet, Than in the times of old. Oh ! have ye ever seen a rose, Or have ye seen the bloom Of a white lily, as it grows Upon a brother's tomb ? SONG OF THE BLIND SINGEH. L03 Nor ever thought the soul in death, The soul whose dreams begin, Might sometimes feel the pleasant breath. Of flowers come creeping in. "Tis so with me — my soul in sleep Doth kindle all its powers, Whene'er it feels in fragrance deep, The gentle breath of flowers. And yet the breath of human words To me is still more sweet, And they can touch the gentlest chords That in my bosom beat. But then I have no friend to guide My wandering footsteps on, Save this poor dog, who at my side, Its own scant meal hath won. Then give me, gentle friends, a smile — Unseen, it shall be dear ; And if your hearts be glad the while, I will not ask a tear. 1 04 THE CHRISTMAS POOR, THE CHRISTMAS POOR. With strange distinctions of degree, We regulate this life of ours ; As Avhen upon a stormy sea, One wave above another towers. For honour, riches, and descent, Are closest friends that seldom part ; Unless by riches it be meant, The Avealth that lies in brain and heart. Yet may the rich be poor indeed, The poorest rich, except in name ; But we have added need to need, Until the noblest lacks its claim. But nature hath a broader way Of teaching us our birth and kin, And showing us from day to day, How wealth may end, and worth begin. THE CHRISTMAS POOR. 105 For from the peasant to the king, The soul within is still the same ; The lowliest tree may loftiest spring, Despite the stock from whence it came And unto all, to weak or strong, To poor or rich, this earth and sky- Lie open, and with light and song We may not traffic, sell, or buy. For all alike the lilies blow, For all alike the roses twine, And even upon this wintry snow, For all alike the sun may shine. This season doth a truth reveal, In coldest want the time is ripe, That those who suffer most should feel, Of what their sorrows are a type. For on this day a man was born, A man of sorrows, poor was he ; But now the world recants its scorn, And worships his Divinity. F ■> 106 RIENZI. RIENZI. What is it stirs the clear blue air, that was so calm and still ? What is this sound which goeth round, a voice from hill to hill ? " Rome and a Roman !" do we hear that music once sublime ? What are the lips that utter now those words of by-gone time ? Rome and a Roman! if we stand where wide Campania lies, Through lonely arch no host doth march, no cloud along the skies. It is the same blue raiment still o'er tower, and hill, and fane, The sunshine ever cometh back, but the dead come not again. EIENZI. 10/ Yet whilst that voice is eloquent, as if it spake oi old, Though Romans be not Romans now, can Roman hearts be cold? No ; whilst the orator is heard across that sea of brow — Across those eyes, that gleam so bright, and look upon him now — How many a heart is listening deep to each impassioned tone, How many a voice is ready now to answer with its own. He tells them of the mighty deeds their fathers did of yore, He calls upon them to awake ; " "Wake now, or never more !" For what is this blue sky above, and this bright earth below, And what the flowers they freely give, the bounties they bestow ; 108 THE TORCH AND THE STARS. And what is this old blood of Rome, and Avhat this honoured name ! If slaves can stand where free men stood, great. memories are their shame. THE TORCH AND THE STARS. As I walked at night, I saw a light In a cottage from afar, Its golden rim, Through the shadows dim, Seemed the circle of a star. Ye stars that shine, In a golden line, Ear over the earth and ocean, Will ye grow less bright Since a fainter light Is kindling with your emotion? THE TORCH AND THE STARS. 109 Ah, no ! for that torch By the cottage porch, Far on into night is gleaming, Yet the stars they give Their light, and live In the spirit's deepest dreaming. So, ye who hold That ye still behold In the youngest sons of the ages, That light which gleams In its proudest beams, On the world's most distant pages, Think not the while That yon mighty smile, Which gladdened the times departed, Will grow less bright, Because out of its light, Some others have faintly started. HO THE SILENT RIVER. THE SILENT RIVER. Thou swift and silent river, I see thee at my side, For ever gliding onward, With thine unfailing tide. The alder boughs bend o'er thee, And see themselves below, No wind doth stir their branches, But still thy waters flow. And so in life beside us There passes many a mind, Which ever journeys onward, And leaves the world behind. It seems as if in slumber Its dreams are soft and still, But in that silent purpose, There lies the might of will. PARTING. I I 1 PARTING. Parting on the spirit tolls — Pain is dreaming in our souls — Shades of pain that will not die With these hours that pass us by : Even now the tears we shed, When our childhood's partings came, For the lost and for the dead, Cling to each departed name ! Now more silently we sigh, When our sorrow cometh near, Yet beneath a calmer sky, Thoughts of deeper meaning lie, Than within our childhood's tear. 112 TO A FRIEND. TO A FRIEND RETURNING FROM AMERICA. A welcome wanderer to your home again, In sunshine now the flowers will spring to greet you, Like kindred hearts that open at the touch Of friendship's sun, and brighten in its rays. Old England will be verdant now and gay, Like ocean's youngest child, rather than like The mother of the worlds which you have seen ; Then welcome, and may love of those things past, Which oft your heart with sweet thoughts did inspire, Sit like a pilot waiting at the helm Of some proud vessel, bidding you embark And reach the shores of fatherland again. THOUGHTS OF TRAVEL. I I 3 THOUGHTS OF TRAVEL. 'Tis sweet in thought to stray again, Where late we strayed from land to land, To watch the city's peopled plain, Or the wide ocean's silent strand. To stand upon the rock, and gaze On lake and valley far below, To see the sun's departing rays, Or starlight on the hills of snow. To hear the echoes as they call From hill to hill-side, far away, To see the cloudy cataracts fall In many a line of filmy spray. To glide along the shadowy wave, And far above it to behold, As from the depths of a deep cave, The clouds around the mountains rolled. 114 TO A FRIEND. TO A FRIEND. When we two wandered by the rushing river, I do remember well we rested there Upon a sunny bank, and read together Horace's Odes, but often ceased to read, And listened dreamily unto the wave That far below us poured itself along In wild confusion between lofty hills, Vast portals through whose opening chasm it reached The neighbouring ocean which we saw beyond. And in the evening, ere the moon arose, Along the rocky valley as we walked, With mighty nature round us shadowy dim, We talked upon the present and the past, But more upon the future, such as now Men hear it in the nations' battle cry ! Oh, friend, you who with lofty mind can read The records of the past, and there have found That tyranny can only last its time ; You, who when freedom called you, did not fear ON THE PICTURE OF A WATERFALL. 1 1 5 To draw a true blade for your fatherland, How must hope tremble in your bosom now, A fresh life flooding all your patriot heart, To hear the mighty earthquake's distant roll ! ON THE PICTURE OF A WATERFALL. I see the waves, I see the trees again, As then I saw them when we rested there, Under the joyous shadow of their boughs, Thick forest clusters bending o'er us calm, In all the tender hues of the fresh leaf That just had burst its bud, and felt with joy Nature's most gentle welcome in its birth ; I see the cool cascade with its wild throng Of passionate waves, that never cease to bound From rock to rock, impatient of their chains. I seem to hear their music whilst I gaze Upon your picture — you have made the boughs Hang o'er the whirling waves, as if they too Were listening to that rushing melody. 116 BOLTON ABBEY. BOLTON ABBEY. As music wakens at the finger's touch, So does the spirit waken into song, Touched by remembrance, for in loved abodes Of past delight to linger once again, Gives us a spirit life we cannot speak In common intercourse, and which may flow On like a silent river, 'till it reach Some point of change, when waking from its dreams, It pours forth all its being into song. Yes, sweet it is, in each fresh phase of life, To tell again in fancy's accents deep, Of places where, amid a hush of joy, We oft have walked with those whose steps and ours Were echoes of each other, guided on By kindred souls along their musing path. So even from yonder lines of neighbouring hill, BOLTON ABBEY. 117 Whose woods are now just bursting into life, And from these trees majestic, as they shed Their sleeping shadows on the glossy turf, Even from this home, my home, in every sense Of kinship and of recollection dear, Turning, my wandering spirit strays again Within the abbey gray, and through its woods, Or by its stream, whose path through flowery meads I follow gently on, or pause awhile To see it, hear it, glide from rock to rock With white ascending cloud above its course ! For there I oft have walked with one who made The sweet delight of nature sweeter still, With fancy able to inspire my mind With distant aspirations — he himself Might well accomplish, if his thought were known. There have we rested by the trembling stream, Watching the sunlight gleaming on its banks, And talked of deeds of travel to be done ; Deeds that, not yet fulfilled, may one day lead Our footsteps to some distant bourne of thought, 118 BOLTON ABBEY. To nature and to nations never touched By cloudy shadows of inconstant change. And there amid the woodland and the rock, Or with the calm of long departed years Quickening our souls to thoughts of harmony — There have we listened to a lady's voice, That on the stillness of the summer air Poured a sweet melody no art could reach, Unless high soul had gifted it with power. There also have I walked at times with those Whose kin to me made all the present past, And the past present, adding life to life ; And there too have I heard the voice of one Whose eloquence has often touched the world, Though sometimes with changed meaning; may it reach The noblest truth at last, and there remain ! And others also have been with me there, Who still may think perchance of what we spake Together in those dreamy solitudes. Thus, Bolton Abbey, I return again Unto thy towers and streams, and fain would stray BOLTON ABBEY. 119 Along thy woodland walks, that as tlicy end In sudden glimpse of mountain, and of flood Seen far beneath them from their rocky edge, Have made me linger, breathless with delight, And pause again, and still in silence pause — For 'tis not only Alps or Appenines Should bear the soul aloft, or bid it stoop From its proud eyrie, with a musing glance Of awestruck quiet falling far below; But every home of nature in itself Worthy of joy, should be for us who feel That beauty in whatever seen is love, And love our life, a glory and a dream ; A present glory, and a future haunt Of memories bright, that ne'er can be effaced From our soul's heaven, but there like stars shall shine, However distant from their place of dawn. Thus, Bolton, with a fancy unconstrained By thoughts of what I may have seen since then, When other hills have been my resting-place, And other echoes answered to mv voice, And other shrines more ancient e'en than thine, 120 BOLTON ABBEY. Have heard my footstep wandering through their halls — Or, as I trust, with spirit only made Yet more attentive to the majesty Of contemplation in thy quiet shades, I make a pilgrimage of thought once more, No weary travel, to thine altars clad With fresh spring greenness, and would fain invoke Those who have lingered there with me before, To meet me once again where then we met, And we would people all thy solitudes With gentle memories, and with hopes too bold To utter in the common ear of men — Hopes which should make the images of stone In thy long corridors, if that could be, Listen with trembling wonder to our words. ROME. 1 - 1 ROME. I went to Rome with one who loved like me, To see the flag; of each new land unfurled, To mark the manner and the tide of things, And then when weary of the path of change, To linger softly 'mid the fallen past, To sive a living nature to the dead, And with the spirit of remembered song, To fill the quiet resting place of time, Of ages past, with fresh divinity. And when at Rome I tarried, there was one AYho likewise tarried there, whose mind was stored With all that art could tell him of its growth From age to age, a proud development ! And as we walked along the corridors Of painting and of sculpture, he would point On either hand familiarly to all The forms of mighty thought which the) enshrined. Oh, Lake Albano, often shall I think Upon thine excpiiisite calm in sunlight clad, And on thy cloudy thunders as they rolled G 122 THE BATHS OF CARACALLA. From rock to rock with kindling majesty, For one beheld thee with me, one who stands In nature's presence with a soul endowed With power to feel her deepest harmonies. When shall we meet again upon thy shore ? Or if not there, in some green spot of earth, Some mountain valley, or some woodland shade ; Or it may be on ocean's trembling shore, A fitting tryst for our glad sympathies ! THE BATHS OF CARACALLA. Oh, home of glorious ruin, do I see Your mighty relics still, and do I walk Along your narrow ramparts roofed with grass. And tapestried with many a golden bloom ? And can I sit beneath your broken towers, The mighty fragments of an empire's might, Whilst the nooD sun descends upon the plain, And think of him whose spirit rich in song, Reposed here once, where he in silence writ His glowing tragedy ? Or do I stand And on thy cloudy thunders as they rolled THE BATHS OF CARACALLA. 123 In quiet contemplation o'er the wreck Of some dismantled chamber, and survey The long lines of the aqueducts that reach Across the plain at broken intervals ? And, standing there, can I again behold They twain, who stood beside me there when last Your flowery ruins were my pensive haunt ? One who through life had ministered to me, And one, who late a stranger could not be A stranger long, where minds are brought together By the most glorious thoughts the world can give Of present beauty and of past decay, Mingling together in sweet fellowship, And crowned by recollections, which from far Breathe life into the soul, and which when felt In presence and reality, become A part of our own being, and a seal Of all our dreams have blessed us with n till then. Yes I can walk again where then I walked, And I can think again what then I thought ; For fancy has a magic in its power, In scenes like yours, great walls of Caracalla ! g2 124 THE BAY. OLIVE WOODS. There climbs the hill-side on his mule A peasant gaily dressed ; There is a cross beside the road, Inviting me to rest. Deep woods there are on every side, Of olive silver green ; Their aged trunks in many a shape Of artful ruin seen. This forest, cross, and muleteer Slow wending on his way, Have borne my fancy back again To ages far away. THE BAY. I look upon a sunny bay, I sit within an orange bower, I hear the boatmen's evening lay, Rising below the old gray tower. THE ECHO. 1 25 The wave is deep'ning into night, The golden distance faintly fades, But not a cloud disturbs my sight, And not a sound awakes the shades; Or but that melody alone, Which now has ceased, and now returns: And now I hear its waning tone, Where yonder circling beacon burns. THE ECHO. Beneath the shadow of a mountain, There lay an echo sleeping ; A broken avalanche, a fresh fountain, Beside her ever keeping. But soon the Alpine horn awoke Its wild notes without number ; And as they on the mountain broke, They chased that echo's slumber. 126 MAN AND NATURE. She rose, and then again, again Those notes so sweetly chanted, It seemed as if that Alpine chain Beings of music haunted. Oh ! when shall I forget her voice, That echo lightly taking Her slumber, where the hills rejoice, To tell of her awaking ! MAN AND NATURE. Time's measured sweep comes onward, land and wave Meet it with joy, but to the young and old Each serveth for a birth-place or a grave, And each in time hath heard the story told < )f man's mortality o'er many a brave And gentle spirit ; generations bold LIFE'S ACTION. L27 To do and dare, and hearts that cling to love, All these depart, but amid all remains An unchanged nature, the same stars above, And the same sunshine, and the fruitful rains, Remain alike to living and to dead, But man, his life begins and soon has sped ! LIFE'S ACTION. What bold desires to silent action cleave, Whilst life is passing on from day to day, Without a thought that seems to joy or grie\ e , Like ships that steal along their watery way, With full blown sails, flushed by still winds of eve : No sound is heard — but breathingly they stray From stream to stream, as if some god did leave His mighty musing motion in their own, To bear them on towards a world unknown. 128 TKUTH. WOMAN. How gently fitting are her forms of phrase, Her eye accompanied silence, how it teems With loving music which no voice can raise ; And we, the poet race, who live in dreams, Have drawn from that sweet look, which nothing says To break the chain of fancy, our best gleams Of spiritual thought and happiness, For in its very quietude it seems Our tenderest thoughts and dearest hopes to bless; And wheresoever woman is, we find A heart that answers ours and oft a mind. TRUTH. Oh loose not truth, although it sometimes seem That truth is manifold, and when you reach The goal at last, oh, let not darkness then Close round your path, forbidding you to see TRUTH. 1 29 That 'tis the goal indeed which you have reached, 'lis true that step by step we must advance Towards the light we seek for, every step Bringing us nearer to the glimmering dawn ; But whilst we still remember what has been, Let us not vainly wrestle with ourselves And say 'twas then we saw the light, or then. And other places were as bright as this ; Ungrateful are we, nor are we content With what we have, but doubtful of the good Which we possess, compare it still with other. There have been many prophets false and true, Some careless of the wants of our humanity Or pampering to its weakness and its sins — Some nobly striving for the life to be, And wearing cheerfully the martyr's crown. Though God's unwritten word alone has taught them Wisdom and virtue in the day of deed ; But one alone has gained the victory That others struggled for, and one alone g5 1 30 TKUTH. Has made immortal truth our heritage — One only in his Being has combined The human and divine ; a mighty Prince He was, who laid aside his majesty And came to feel men's sorrows for himself. MUSIC. 131 MUSIC. The shadows deepen in the room, But the flame is dancing bright. And now I hear a dreamy tone, Like the voice of coming night. I hear that tone ! it hath no words, But a spirit kindling sound, And I feel that its awakening hand Hath all its music found. Ah ! often have I turned aside From dim and doubtful lore, And oft have stayed my wandering moods, To hear that sound once more .' 132 MEMORY. MEMORY. The noontide mirror of the sky Is here in all its glory, Within its depths how quiet lie The mountains high and hoary. All nature in her night doth sleep, The wave grows dim and dimmer, But still within its silence deep, The stars and moon-beams glimmer. &' So in all change of good or ill, What life has left behind it, Unbroken and unchanging still In memory's wave we find it. \ waken! 13o AWAKEN ! Thou mighty spirit of the past, By whom we ne'er can be forsaken, Through all the ages as they last — Awaken ! Thou spirit of the present, bring Thy beauteous gifts, from all things taken; Wherever love or hope may sing — Awaken ! Thou, spirit of the future, thou By whom the world shall soon be shaken, I call upon thee even now — Awaken ! 34 FREEDOM, FREEDOM. Oh, freedom, do we see thee here, Or shall we see thee never — And wilt thou only come to man, When soul from form shall sever ? If thou art not upon these shores, In every billowy roll, We know not where to find thee else, Though sought from pole to pole. Yet rest thee not alone where lies This port of sheltering time, For they who feel thee here would spread Thy name through every clime. And Poland calls thee with a voice That ne'er shall cease again, And there are echoes of that call From many a classic fane. FREEDOM. 1 35 Then speed thee on from shore to shore, Where'er thy billows sweep, And men shall see thee like a sod, Arising from the deep. 136 WHAT SHALL BE THE FUTURE? WHAT SHALL BE THE FUTURE ? We toil to build, with ready hand, The stately spires throught the land, With gold to guild at our command — Then what shall be the future ? From place to place we pave a way, Fire flashing bears us on, we say " It is not swift enough to day — " Then what shall be the future ? Light sparkles and the words we read, Ask not the moment for its speed ; It is a thought and not a deed — Then what shall be the future ? It rises now the swelling song — From mouth to mouth 'tis borne along, " For we are swift and we are strong'' — Then what shall be the future? WHAT SHALL BE THE FUTURE ? 137 But not alone of stately spire, Or ship or car borne on by fire, Or voices of the whispering wire, Ask what shall be the future. Nay rather of that honour bright, That faith which gives the spirit light, The heart contentment, wealth, and might — Ask what shall be the future. ] 38 NIGHT AND MORN. NIGHT AND MORN. Dim, dim, dim, The shadow of evening lies — Dark, dark, dark Is the face of the midnight skies. And from the turret clock A lingering sound is stealing, I know not whether to rejoice, Or mourn with dreamy feeling. There is a cloud and a star, But the star has lost the cloud, And so my spirit cometh forth, From its unwinding shroud. Dark, dark, dark, The midnight sky may be, But over all of us shall arise The morning fresh and free. THE TOET. 139 THE POET. Ask not what the Poet hath That is bright or beaming, Rather ask what he hath not, When his morn is gleaming. Nature folds a mantle round her Full of flowery sheen, And the Poet shares its glory, Light and cloud between. In the storm and in the thunder- On the billowy tide — Doth the Poet proudly mingle With all nature's pride. In the maiden's tender glances He beholds his queen, And he takes her to his spirit, Smiling love serene. 1 40 THOUGHTS. THOUGHTS. Like the twinkling of a star — Like the throbbing of a heart — Like the trembling of the surge, Where the shore and breakers part, Are the thoughts which stir the soul Unto future hope and deed, When it knoweth not as yet Whither all its dreams shall lead. Like the waving of a leaf In the gentle summer breeze — Like the ripple of a stream, Floating on towards the seas. » Like the ebbing of the wave, When it leaves the shore behind- Like the murmurs of a harp, Waking in the passing wind, THOUGHTS. 141 Are the thoughts which lull the soul, When its weariest toils are o'er, When it feels the good it hath From the hopes it had before. 1^2 THE WHOLE. THE WHOLE. What is it in this mighty space Of earth, and air, and sea, That we behold where'er we look ? — Our immortality ! What do we feel where childhood's lips Are faltering forth a prayer, Or sorrow weeps a tear of joy ? — We feel that God is there ! What is it in this world we find Where'er our steps may lead ? — That there's in all things good and great A temple and a creed. THE VALLEY. 14,'j THE VALLEY. Two ckui'ch towers gray, Far apart I see — A line of purple hills behind, And all around the wide and leafy lea. The evening dreams serene Of soft and sunny climes, Only a faint sweet melody Comes stealing o'er me from those distant chimes. Here where this meadow lies, Covered with golden bloom, Upon the first slopes of the hill, And breathes afar its delicate perfume. Here where the gray old grange, Well girt with stack and stall, Stands by me glittering in the light, Beside its chesnuts, elms, and poplars tall. 144 THE VALLEY. Lingering, I draw the rein, And, wandering o'er the scene, My fancy dreamily returns With many a by-gone joy to what has been. I see the gray church towers, The purple hills no more, But in the distant valley see That which I oft have looked upon before. A MAY DAY. 1 45 A MAY DAY. The brood of ducks (their fostermother hen Watching them from the bank with stately care) Are huddling close together in the pool. And hunt the flies that skim across the wave, Or circle idly round, chasing each other In veering flight — a breezy company ! Those yellow downy creatures, how they glide, With brisk and graceful motion, o'er the calm Of the still water ; but with what a slow And heavy step they climb the reedy bank, To trim their freshened feathers in the sun ; With what a joyous breadth of nursling wing Their kindly guardian welcomes them again : And now they cluster round her on the grass — The warm soft grass — and not a sound disturbs The quiet of their rest, unless it be That, from the farm-yard near, they chance to hear H 146 A MAY DAY. The cock, avIio loudly crows his joyous march ; Or from the clustering boughs, the warbling bird, That like themselves, though with more sovereign bliss, Rejoices in the gladness of the morn. And, see, beneath the straggling, leafy weed That floats below the surface of the wave, The fearless fish are gliding to and fro, As swift as thought, now lost, now seen again, Their magic colours gleaming in the depths. The daisy watches them, and on the bank Muses the buttercup, and, looking up With golden glance, claims kinship with the sun ; Whilst many a group of reeds, thick interspersed With white and purple flowers that garland it, Springs from the water's edge, and seems to point Towards heaven's silence with its slender stems. The lofty woods are towering o'er the vale — The vale that, rich with meads, is teeming now With fragrance and with beauty ! Who could tell What those may feel, who, on a morn like this, A MAY DAY. 147 See earth from some bright region of their own ; And even sorrow must forget its grief To mingle with earth's joyousness to-day. There is a speechless concord everywhere — The least thing seems to woo the lordliest — The lordliest seems no worthier than the least : And they which roam, their joy scarce guides itself! And they which rest, how boundless is their bliss ! For all are glad, where all are beautiful. ii "> I 48 THE WIND IN THE TREES. THE WIND IN THE TEEES. A few old trees they stand alone, And yield a sigh to every breeze, Upon the hill-top where they stand — Those old and mournful trees. And here I often come at morn, And oft at eve return again, To hear the wind amongst the pines- A melancholy strain. And as I listen to that sound Passing, it passes through my heart, I seem to hear the steps of friends, Who sigh as they depart. THE WIND IN THE TREES. 1 4D Or it might be a bard who wakes For the last time his quivering lyre, It strays afar that sorrowing song, And through the tree-tops steals along. Arising high and higher. This wind it now is deep and strong, Like breathings of a mighty mind That seek to wake the slumbering earth — Now like a spirit in its birth, It sighs this gentle wind. Come hither, Poet ! hither come And rest upon thy way, This wind has oft a tuneful sigh, May fill thy soul with melody For many a future day. Bend o'er me now ye hovering pines — Bend, silent bend if that may be, Then rise again with sudden wail, And let me hear the fitful gale That sweeps across the sea. 150 THE WIND IN THE TREES. But summer rests amongst your leaves, And dreamily as here I sit, I sometimes listen for the strain That I so oft have heard, in vain, But soon its sighs return again, As to and fro ye flit. THE HILLS. 1 5 1 THE HILLS. I hear the cuckoo's distant note Arising from the vale ; A trembling murmur passes me — A whisper of the gale. I see the hills that far and wide With golden bloom are crowned I watch a stately shadow float Towards its sunny bound. I see not, yet I feel beyond Yon mountain's purple line. The quiet of the listening seas In summer light divine. It is as if a gentle hand On all things here were pressed As if a voice had said to me, Forget, and be at rest. 152 AFTEENOON. AFTERNOON. Beneath the lofty golden bank Of furze, the waters lie, And they are sparkling in the light Of a noon calmed sky. Their sleep it is a joyousness — Unbroken are their dreams — Till a bright ripple crosses them, Wind-wafted o'er their streams. The cawing of the rooks is heard, Beyond the stately trees, And, with a mellow murmur low, The leaves have caught the breeze. There comes a gush of gladdened song (Its thought who does not know ?) From some rapt, listening, wondering bird, A sudden overflow. AFTERNOON. 1 5o And thou, too, Poet, canst but )'<'irf/c Fox. By Mrs. J. R. Greer, Author of "Quakerism ; or, the Story of my Life." "Thi9 is a particularly curious book. In her sensible and searching theological of the Quaker Sect, Mrs. G-reer has recorded the best possible justification of the step she took in leaving it." — Warder. " Interesting and attractive, instructive and suggestive it is, and must be so alike to thai mixed multitude who are antithetically called the Religious world, as well as to every English churchman." — Liverpool Mail. IX. In 3 vols, post 8vo, CONFIDENCE. A TALE. "The extraordinary delineation of the heroine is such as to fasten the attention of the reader on the track of the matchless female Maehiavel from the first page to the last." — Lit. Chron. X. In 2 vols, post Svo, CASTLE ST. LAURE. A TALE. "If all works of imagination were like this, the school of fiction would soon become the highest school of morality. There is as much to delight as to improve in this work. A woman true and faithful to her duty, beautiful in her devotion, ennobling the humblest positiou, yet so acting as to dignify the highest." — Post. XI. In 1 vol. post Svo, CLAVERSTON. A TALE. By Charles Mitchell Charles, Author of "Hanion and Cator." " There is no living English author, whatever his reputation, who need bo ashamed of having written such a work as this. It is original and masterly in design, and in execution shows the vigour of a youthful artist, confident in Ms powers, and possessing powers worthy of his con- fidence. We may safely predict that those who read this work once will lie very likely to read it twice." — Toil's Magazine. XII. Iii 2 vols, post Svo, THE VICISSITUDES OF COMMERCE. A TALE OF THE FACTORIES. "The author of these volumes did wisely when, seated in his own domain, he employed his pen and his powers to delineate scenes of which he himself was perfect master, but which are shut out from us as entirely as though they belonged to another portion of the globe." Literary Chronit le. XIII. In 1 vol. post Svo, HERBERT ANNESLIE. A REMINISCENCE. By Fulwar Craven Fowle, Of the Bengal Civil Service. "A Tale of every-day life, well written, and pointing a wholesome moral." — Critic. " Realizing those agreeable scenes of rural life so dear t o the national heart. It is difficult to shake off the impression that we are really listening to a narrative of facts told in the very person of their chief actor. The delineations of natural country life are among the foremost merits of the book."— Lit. Chron. 4 Works just published by Messrs. Saunders 8f Otley. RECENT POEMS, Published by Messrs. Saunders & Otley, Conduit Street. EVA and other Poems. By SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, Bart. EUSTACE. An Elegy. With Illustrations. By the Right Hon. C. T. D'EYNCOURT, M.P. SACRED POEMS. By the late Eight Hon. SIR EOBEET GRANT. With an Introduction, by LORD GLENELG. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By J. WYNNE, Esq. BLANCHE DE BOURBON. By WILLIAM JONES. GERTRUDE AND EMMELINE. By a MANCHESTER LADY. GADARA. A Poem. IRENE. By CHARLES WALKER. MOMENTS OP CONSOLATION. HANNO. A Tragedy. THE VALLEY OP THE REA. By V., Author of " IX. Poems," "The Queen's Ball," &c. FLOTSAM AND JETSAM. A Cargo of Christmas Rhyme. By HOOKANIT BEE, Esq. MORTIMER DELMAR. A Tale. By G. W. STARBUCK, Esq. POEMS. By PHILIP CHALONER. THE LAYS OP MANY YEARS. By the Rev. J. D. HALL. MORBID A ; or, Passion Past, and other Poems, from the Cymric. Now ready, with the Arms beautifully engraved, bound and guilt, Mr. LODGE'S PEERAGE & BARONETAGE (for 1854). As an authority, no work of the kind has ever stood so high as Mr. Lodge's Pef.bage ; it is corrected throughout by the Nobility, and published under the especial sanction of Her Majesty and Prince Albert. The present edition contains many important particulars com- municated by noble families not previously given. HOW TO PRINT AND WHEN TO PUBLISH. A DVICE TO AUTHOES, Inexperienced Writers, and Possessors -£*- of Manuscripts, on the efficient publication of Books intended for General Circulation or Private Distribution. Sent post free to orders inclosing 12 stamps, addressed to Messrs. SAUNDERS & OTLEY, Publishers, Conduit Street. PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT STREET. AT this Extensive and Valuable Library 5 from which the Nobility and Gentry in town and country are supplied, Sub scribers have the choice of an immense collection of the most interesting works in the English, French, Italian, and German Languages, and of all the New Works as they appear, with the right of purchasing, after the first demand, any that may be desired at half the published price. Catalogues and library boxes gratis. The new XsS&RAELV CIRCV£s/L2t, with terms, sent free to orders enclosing two stamps, addressed to Messes. SAUNDERS & "OTLEY, Pub- lishers, Conduit Street. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 «*««« THE LIBRARY TO *TY O^ cmjt y of ( \hwonmx UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 373 831 PR U705 F831p