THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Ij/J{lyr^ l'-\P.^^X(J/^^ (-^ly
 
 My^^/ff^') 
 
 
 ROUTINE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 % Cak 0f a^t 600blx)in Sratrs, 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 J 
 
 POEMS 
 
 ELIZABETH MARY PAESONS, 
 
 AUTHOB OP "the END OF THE PILGRIMAGE," 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 CHARLES WESTERTON, 
 
 PUBLISHER, 
 27, ST. GEOEGE'S PLACE, HYDE PAKK CORNER. 
 
 18G1.
 
 PR 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Knowing my offering is little worthy the kindly 
 notice of one so talented, whose works are so justly 
 appreciated hy the puhlic, that one admirer more 
 or less must be matter of indifference; but as a 
 trifling acknowledgment of the kind spnpathy and 
 helpful encouragement so liberally accorded to one 
 unknown to fame, 
 
 ®:^is littk ^ohxmz is gjibicHtsl) 
 
 TO THE AUTHOK OF 
 
 "WHITEFEIAES," "RICHELIEU IN LOTE," &c., (fee, 
 
 vnih genuine admu-ation and affectionate friendship, 
 
 by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 867074
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Is a book better with or without a Preface ? And 
 with what object is it generally written? To elu- 
 cidate what is obscure, or to veil in mystery what the 
 reader would otherwise have supposed clear ; to in- 
 TOke admiration where no one would have dreamt of 
 bestowing it, or deprecate harsh judgment upon 
 some weak point that might, but for the unlucky 
 preface, have escaped general censure, and only been 
 formidable in the hands of the critics ; perhaps even 
 to apologize for taking the liberty of publishing at 
 ill, which meanness of self-appreciation justly in- 
 vokes the ire of all, — for who ever writes a book they 
 lo not think worth reading, and if so, what right 
 lave they to burden the public with it prefaced or 
 mprefaced ? I have proposed to myself none of 
 ;hese. My little volume must go forth and win or 
 ose, uninfluenced by any farther help or hincU-ance 
 )f mine ; for having done my present best, I am 
 )repared to take the consequences, hoping that my 
 uture best may be an advance towards that perfection 
 ve must all so vainly try to reach. Even praise, to 
 )e acceptable, must come from a right quarter, or 
 t degenerates into the bitterest condemnation ; and 
 he censure or sarcasm of some is as a crown of 
 hornless roses : enough that it has not been sought 
 n any by the present Aviiter, and should it be un- 
 !xpectedly evoked, it will come as a pleasant surprise, 
 he sweeter that it was unlooked for.
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 The first and second Poems form a striking con- 
 trast. Whether the first foreshadows the Future, 
 portrays the Present, or really belongs to a bygone 
 century, or how much of it in any time could come 
 within the limits of possibility, the reading public 
 are in a position to adjudge for themselves ; but I 
 fear me the Lord Eoutine starved not, but is still to 
 be held accountable for some of our worst mi^iaps. 
 The second Poem shows what the Boats of the Uoijal 
 National Life-boat Institution* can do when manned by 
 our brave Sailor Volunteers ; their heroism making 
 it at once our duty as a nation, and our pleasure as 
 individuals, to place at its disposal funds that will 
 plant like Boats at points along our coasts wherever 
 needed, — we all know that a Crew will be forthcoming. 
 Let us hope their gallant efforts may be blessed with 
 aid from above, as they have hitherto so signally 
 been. For the remaining Poems, as for these two, 
 " Honi soit qui mal y pense." 
 
 These few observations made, the short-lived preface 
 comes to an end. Is it untimely ? and should it not 
 hvae been begun ? N'importe ! I say thus much for 
 it — if you have read it — don't ; if you have not — do. 
 
 * I have since learned that the Eamsgate Life-boat does not 
 belong to the Bistitution ; a sight of the orders issued respect- 
 ing it, and a knowledge of the catastrophe that occurred in the 
 early part of the present year, detailed in the Daily Telegraph 
 and other papers, must make it a source of congratulation aiike 
 to its Members and the Public that it does not.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Eoutine ; or, a Tale of the Goodwin Sands 
 
 
 PAGE 
 9 
 
 The Wreck of the " Samar 
 
 itano 
 
 • 
 
 
 . 60 
 
 Charles 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 . 83 
 
 One Thought . 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 . 85 
 
 A Poor Man's Wish . 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 / 
 
 . 91 
 
 Tines to a Friend 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 97 
 
 Song of the Blind Girl 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 . 107 
 
 " Garibaldi for Ever " 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 Kingcups and Daisies 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 112 
 
 To my Anonyme 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 115 
 
 My Dog "Fearless" . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 117 
 
 Love 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 123 
 
 To Emma E. . . . 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 To Charles Westerton, in 1859 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 130 
 
 To the same, Easter Tuesd 
 
 ay, If 
 
 360 . 
 
 
 
 
 132
 
 EOUTINE ; 
 
 OE, 
 
 A TALE OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 
 
 5OW one liundi-ecl years ago ; 
 Ten decades of Luried years, 
 Marching by demand our tears. 
 
 Passed they fast, or passed they slow,- 
 We are wand'ring on their track. 
 On their coffins we go back. 
 
 Strange to us the tales they tell, — 
 
 We "will listen now to one. 
 
 Though we sorrow ere 'tis done ; 
 
 B
 
 10 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Weeping o'er what then befel, 
 Nine-and-ninety steps we take, 
 So the hundredth year we wake. 
 
 List ! a voice takes up the tale. 
 Will our smiles or tears prevail ? 
 
 Old the speaker, worn with care, 
 Sin and sorrow written there. 
 
 Blanched his cheek, bowed is his head, 
 Round he looks with air of dread. 
 
 Shriveled skin and sunken eye, 
 Seeking ours but to defy. 
 As he scowling says with ire : 
 
 " I have come at your desire, — 
 Why disturb the buried years, 
 Only to call forth your tears ?
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 11 
 
 Maudlin tears ye like to shed, 
 Thinking ye bewail the dead. 
 
 " Weeping for yourselves I trow, 
 Much more to the purpose now ; 
 
 Yet since ye will have it so, 
 Listen to a tale of woe. 
 One that happened long ago." 
 
 Snarling sure had been his trade, 
 Ever since the world was made ; 
 
 Yet he dropt his vengeful eye, 
 And began full dreamily. — 
 
 " We will to the castle go, 
 As the ramparts we walk slow, 
 
 Ye shall learn a legend there : 
 Desolate the city fair, 
 Past all trace of it away, 
 
 b3
 
 12 Routine; or, a Tale of 
 
 " Though it once was glad and gay ; 
 Sandown Castle lonely stands, 
 
 As a warning to all lands ; 
 Ye shall learn the reason why 
 The curse fell so heavily. 
 
 " It was a New Year's Night, serene and calm ; 
 No storms abroad, the winds were hushed to rest, 
 Or only heard, as, breathing in her sleep 
 Nature sighed softly on the lap of night, 
 Whose sable curtains, sweeping round her bed, 
 Guard all the infant essences, that morn 
 Will sweetly kiss and startle into life. 
 
 " life ! death ! morning and evening chime- 
 Dark midnight, and bright noontide's merry glow ;■ 
 The golden sun — and the sweet silver moon 
 With all attendant stars — the eai-th — the sea —
 
 the Goodwin Sands. 13 
 
 All old worlcls and all new in ev'iy sphere — 
 
 Dissolve in chaos, ere the mystery 
 
 Of this one night conies forth to human ken : 
 
 Baffling an overburdened soul to know 
 
 How much of truth's unsought-for germ may lie 
 
 In the full kernel of a midnight dream. 
 
 " The Harbour-master slumb'ring in his chair 
 In most perplext imrest, says * Untergang : ' 
 The dying shriek of six-and-twenty men 
 Appal the speaker, and the scene is changed. 
 
 " His soul, released by sleep in mimic death, 
 Made a mere puppet of its tenement. 
 And leant a willing ear to such strange sounds, 
 To sights so wUd and so incredible 
 Was witness, yet so true it seemed withal. 
 That trembling oft he solemnly averred. 
 He was no sleeper cozened by a dream,
 
 14 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 But saw and felt and heard what other men, 
 Had they had hydra lives, could ne'er have done 
 And lived. 
 
 " For him, past is the quiet night. 
 He hears the raging of the storm without, — 
 He dreams the waves demand in angry tone 
 The lives of a whole struggling foreign crew 
 Ashore upon the Goodwin ; and the fiend 
 In shape of dastard pride, said : ' Let them die, 
 The messenger from Deal was not to thee.' — 
 Then whispered narrow-minded, lank Koutine, 
 Swathed in the red tape that had maimed its sires, 
 Crippled its own fair limhs, and shewn the world 
 How trammelled minds move years in the same groove 
 ' Instructions bear you out, you will he safe. 
 Wait till they shew a light from Beacon Head, 
 It so was named in orders from Blackhole.' 
 He took the two ideas and made them one, 
 Else he had not contained them, and he saw
 
 the Croodivin Sands. 15 
 
 His puerile self alone, in darkness sat, 
 Beneath the shadow of his dignity : — 
 In vain did Samuel Perrin's well-known voice 
 Plead for the crew of the doomed * Untergang.' 
 There was the gallant lifehoat ready manned, 
 Impatient hearts were leaping at the task, 
 But — monstrous deed — they were denied her aid : 
 The Harhour-master's sullen voice said, * No.' 
 And indignation filled the sailors' breasts 
 As, ordered from the boat, they homeward went j 
 Blushing for very shame at the foul thought. 
 That one in human shape could surely know 
 The frantic suff'rings of a disowning crew. 
 And calmly wait while the encroaching storm 
 Bellowed its orgies in their frighted eai's. 
 And death made ready to receive his prey. 
 
 " Pass on, brave men, ye are indeed absolved. 
 No voice will be uplifted save in praise
 
 16 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 That ye were ready, and had saved their lives, 
 But that official ignorance stepped in, 
 And — the old story — rusted in the blood, 
 And paralysed each noble thought and deed. 
 
 " For two whole hours, (he dreamed,) he waited on, 
 With strange misgivings gnawing at his heart. 
 That he had wrongly done ; yet once denied, 
 Not all the prayers of the whole sailor race. 
 Nor all the messengers that Deal could send, 
 Nor sweet humanity's half-stifled voice. 
 Could change his purpose. 
 
 " ' T was bordering on nine. 
 When the bright signal came from Beacon Head. . 
 
 " Those precious minutes that had winged their flight 
 To join Eternity, had borne with them 
 The means to save. Near two o'clock they came 
 From off a bootless errand, all too late
 
 the Groodwin Sands. l7 
 
 For any saving purpose ; yet, God, 
 Inscrutable in judgment ! in their ears 
 Oft tingled the wild death-cry of that crew : 
 Long were their eyes as blasted by the sight 
 Of that doomed vessel found'ring in the tide. 
 They cruised about in vain — no life was saved — 
 That night no human form by them was seen, 
 Save their own half-distracted, weary selves, 
 Till they returned with their sad tale of woe ; 
 And ' Untergang ' became a name of dread. 
 
 " The Harbour-master slunk as smitten hound. — 
 Before the month was out the public voice 
 Was roused to hoot him from his place of pow'r ; 
 And though he paced with haughty mien among 
 His fellows, dreaded he his Lord's return. 
 He knew that thousands breathed his name in scorn, 
 And looked with loathing each to each, and said: 
 ' Are we on English ground ? Can this be time ? '
 
 18 Routine ; or^ a Tale of 
 
 Men's tongues were utt'ring judgment loud and deep ; 
 
 Some cursed him for a hardened fiend, but some 
 
 Whispered, ' incompetent ' — and many said : 
 
 ' Though fearful was their fate — The Twenty-six — 
 
 ' Yet rather would they suffer the death-throes 
 
 ' Of the whole number drawn into one pang, 
 
 ' Than be the man who sent them to their doom.' 
 
 " Day after day went by, no tidings came 
 Of tell-tale bodies cast upon the shore ; 
 The orphan'd children of a widowed sire 
 Ne'er congregated round his shrouded corpse — 
 Dead or alive, in vain Deal claimed her own, 
 For William Johnson to a living crew 
 Was never Pilot, from tliat fearful night 
 When the Earl Godwin with his spectral hand 
 Clutched at his throat, and shook his weird white locks 
 To blind him, that he might not see how near 
 To his Estate he was ; for he had need
 
 the Groodwin Sands. 19 
 
 Of victims ; madly thirsting for their lives, 
 Insatiate ever ; the ohedient sand 
 Made common cause with him, and drew down all, 
 Alike the pilot with the mui'dered crew. 
 
 " Days became weeks, but still there seemed no 
 change. 
 He lived through public obloquy that clung 
 Tenacious of its object; ev'ry sum 
 Announced for Johnson's childi-en, seemed a goad 
 To prick him into shame. But he was dull, 
 And clung to office with a desp'rate gripe ; 
 If not kicked thence he would hold on till death 
 With his numbed fingers, and he gained the day ; 
 His absent Lord was deaf to pleading tongues 
 That would have ousted him, — his place he kept. 
 
 " Weeks mounted into months, (for still his dream 
 In life-like semblance carried him along,)
 
 20 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Till once again a New Year's clay was bom ; 
 And then to stifle thought, he filled his house, 
 Nor counted o'er his guests, 'till ranged around 
 At well spread table, as the lightning's flash 
 Across the brain, he noted to himself 
 The fated number of The Twenty-six ! 
 
 " 'T was seven o'clock, the very hour at which. 
 One year agone, he said that sullen ' No.' 
 And fear fell on him, doubt, dread, mystery, 
 A perplex feeling — that it was not chance 
 Had wielded such a homethrust at his heart ; 
 But far beyond his ken, some other pow'r, 
 Beneath whose influence he felt chilled and strange. 
 Was surely there at work ; — the company 
 In their hilarity seemed checked, and stared 
 Each at some other with a hushed, awed look, 
 That tokened naught of good, a boding gleam 
 Of evil to befal them — undefined. —
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 21 
 
 (Who would not rather face the worst thek fate 
 
 In its malignest vengeful ire can bring, 
 
 Than bow, with palsied heart and blenching fi-ame, 
 
 Before the shadow of some dread unknown ? ) 
 
 'T was as some ghost had passed, and the chill air 
 
 Had struck their vitals, with a deadlier cold 
 
 Than bleak Siberia's most chilling frost ; 
 
 In vain they tried to rally, as their host 
 
 With perturbation ordered fuel on, 
 
 Until in seeming joy, the sparkling flame 
 
 Leaped up, and cracked as Christmas yule-logs should 
 
 When merry faces form a setting bright : — 
 
 'Twas as sharp, gibing mockery to them. 
 
 In vain the smoking viands were consumed, 
 
 With good rich wines, whose luscious names have pow'r 
 
 To warm cold hearts, with stirring memories 
 
 Of jovial feasts, when they were toasted round. 
 
 For those bright eyes and laughing ruby lips. 
 
 That pouting scorned them with so haught an air.
 
 22 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Bacchus himself grew powerless, and paled 
 His ruddy cheeks, as minutes lived and died, 
 Bequeathing hours, each with a dying speech 
 From the inexorahle tell-tale clock, 
 Whose rich sonorous voice sent harmony 
 From out its marble black in ghostly chime ; 
 As some deluded nun in sable robe. 
 Chanting, by aid of beads, her deathlike prayer — 
 E'en while she counts by inches wanes the soul. 
 
 " As ev'ning sank into the shades of night. 
 The Harbour-master, weary of his guests. 
 Would fain dismiss them, but they took no hint, 
 And gradually one by one they slept — 
 Such a strange sleep — so much more near to death 
 In semblance, than the kindly rest we take ; 
 No quiet respiration heaved their breasts, 
 Nor did the eyelid shield the weai'y orb. 
 Spell-bound — entranced — ^but not as living men
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 23 
 
 Waking or sleeping. 
 
 " A most ghastly group 
 Of hideous statuary, cut in hell 
 By some malignant sculptor, who on earth 
 Debased his heaven-born art to the corrupt, 
 And now was fiendish in his hate for men, 
 In fash'ning such had won his Master's praise ; 
 But naught of nature's limning seemed there — 
 Yet slowly, by degrees, they changed again. 
 
 " With wild dilated eye, and ev'ry nerve 
 In fullest tension, with suspended breath. 
 The wretched host sat palsied in his chair, 
 While slowly, slowly, scarce perceptibly. 
 But oh, so surely, ev'ry man was changed 
 Into some other, and he looked around 
 For one familiar face, in vain, in vain ; — 
 E'en their habiliments had altered, for 
 In sailors' garb they sat — a foreign crew.
 
 24 Routine ; or^ a Tale of 
 
 " One Englishman alone confronted him 
 With pale set face, as though the waves had washed 
 And eddy'ng round it had refined its mould, 
 And giv'n it the polished, smoothened, well-worn, 
 Sm'face of the stones, cast up in play-day, 
 High on the happy, prattling, sunny beach ; 
 But well he knew while gazing, that no play 
 Had sent that Spirit there, for such he was 
 He doubted not, though all unknown to him 
 While he had lived and breathed — some inward voice 
 Pervaded his whole being with one name — 
 Each fibre shook, each nerve re-echoed back, 
 And ev'ry vein swelled as it were with sound — 
 Till from his own parched lips, self-moving, came 
 What most he feared to hear — ' William Johnson.' 
 
 " ' The Murderer,' said the awful visitant, 
 ' Manslayer of these five-and-twenty men 
 ' Who trusted me, — ^who but for me had left
 
 the Groodwin Sands. 25 
 
 ' In open boat, to whom the angry waves 
 
 ' Would sure have been more merciful than I : 
 
 ' The mate with only four now live to tell 
 
 ' That they escaped ; ' Plenty of room,' they said, — 
 
 ' Aye, truly there was room, but I said ' No ' : 
 
 ' I would have dro^^^led them too, I pleaded sore 
 
 ' For their return. — Why ? think you, why ? ' 
 
 " He paused ; 
 Each eye was turned on him with wond'ring gaze, 
 But no one ventured in the silence drear, 
 Expostulation, soothment for reply. 
 
 « < Why? ' he said, once again, and then the word 
 
 Swelled in it's import to a threat'ning roar ; 
 
 For well the shrinking Harbour-master felt 
 
 Impeachment, and his sentence too were there 
 
 Biding an answer ; and he met the eye 
 
 Of the Deal pilot with the cow'ring dread 
 
 That dastard souls at sight of Justice feel. 
 
 c
 
 26 Eoutine ; or^ a Tale of 
 
 " ' Come Heav'n to witness though I did the deed,' 
 Johnson then said, and raised his hand on high : 
 ' It was to save them ; — wherefore risk our Uves 
 ' Upon that raging surf in open hoat, 
 •' When safety would be brought us well I knew, 
 ' By the brave Sando^vn far-famed Boat and Crew. 
 ' This was my fault, I paid it with my life ; 
 ' But list, they manned the Boat, — do you deny 
 ' They manned her?' 
 
 " And he gasped out, ' No.' 
 ' You say the word that slew us ; when the men 
 ' Impetuous flew to aid, (0 gallant hearts, 
 ' I well might trust them,) — when they filled the Boat 
 ' And would have saved us, Master, you said, ' No,' 
 ' That word our death : we waited on and on, 
 ' At first in confidence, as high and bold, 
 ' As if already, on the raging sea, 
 ' We had beheld the white-winged Harbinger, 
 ' Of safety well assured ; as time wore on
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 27 
 
 ' We drooped to hope, — our misery was great, 
 ' To agony it grew, — the hours went by, 
 ' Till suff'ring lashed us into wild despair, 
 
 • And then the final End, when all went down ; 
 
 ' Our last breath sharper dra^n, with keener woe, 
 ' That none had tried to save us — e'en ourselves 
 ' Had thrown away a latent chance of life — 
 ' In this, where rests the blame ? Is it on me 
 ' Because I trusted English hearts and hands, 
 ' And with my own life testified my faith ? 
 ' Or is't on thee, who cruel to the last, 
 ' Denied aU help, yet art alive and free ? 
 
 " ' For one whole year upon my soul has lain 
 ' The feai-ful cry of these poor murdered men ; 
 
 * I come to right myself, to let them know 
 ' That I had waiTant for my confidence 
 
 ' In these my fellows, who had manned the boat, — 
 
 ' To let them know that Johnson never lied 
 
 c 3
 
 28 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 * To them, but was himself, in evil hour, 
 
 ' Betray'd by thee — the most accurst of men ; 
 
 * Who for no motive, but a stiff-necked pride 
 ' Of office, for the ivhich thou wert not ft, 
 
 ' Sent me, thy fellow-countryman, and these — 
 ' Who being strangers were more sacred still — 
 ' To such a death as e'en brave men may fear. 
 
 " ' This is the man, drowned Germans, but for whom 
 ' Ye had been safe as any on the sea.' 
 
 " The Harbour-master shi'ank as ev'ry eye 
 Of that weird, spectral crew turned full on him. 
 It was a ghastly sight ; yet close his eyes 
 He could not, while that fearful stony glare 
 Was on him. 
 
 " ' You will know him once again ?' 
 The Pilot said ; the sailors muttered ' Ja ' 
 In strong assent, and to each other turned,
 
 the Croodtoin Sands. 29 
 
 Their foreign clamor wild'ring all around 
 
 As, with hoai'se voice, they judged him and condemn'd. 
 
 " ' Hast aught to say in thy defence, O man ? ' 
 Said the stern spokesman of the twenty-sis. 
 
 " So called upon, he moved, and tremhling said : 
 ' I sent the Boat, although it came too late. 
 ' No fault of mine was that. They showed no Light 
 ' From off the Beacon Head, to ask for aid, 
 ' Till nearly nine, and then I sent the Boat. 
 ' From Deal to Samuel Perrin message came 
 ' Full two hours earlier, true ; — but what of that ? 
 ' 'Twos not official — therefore not for me. 
 ' And that I did no wrong all men may see ; — 
 • I acted upon orders, and am here 
 ' As Harbour-master still. — No mm'derer I.' 
 
 " His self-accusing speech the German crew
 
 30 Routine ; or^ a Tale of 
 
 Received with mocking laugh, with gibe, and jest. 
 
 Amongst themselves, with fearful scorn, they said, 
 
 That to foul murder he joined suicide : 
 
 And then sat silent, with attentive mien. 
 
 To watch their leader ; — soon he spoke again: 
 
 " ' You sent the Boat in time for them to hear 
 ' The Death-shriek, of the six-and-twenty men 
 
 * They pleaded hard to save. Their own dear lives, 
 ' As nothing in the balance held, they risked 
 
 ' For us ; and as for hours they cruised about, 
 
 * Passed and repassed our pallid corpses o'er, 
 ' As they lay strewn at bottom of the sea. 
 
 ' Not one e'er visited the English shore, 
 
 ' To be in churchyard laid with Christian prayer. 
 
 * Our graveyard, sacred to ourselves alone, 
 
 ' With ocean-flowers to deck it — not cold stones 
 ' That scare the passer-by, like convict gangs, 
 ' Sending a shudder through the stoutest heart :
 
 the Q-oodwin Sands. 31 
 
 ' And for our In Memoriam, — ev'ry weed, 
 
 ' With ev'ry shell cast idly on the beach, 
 
 ' Tells our sad tale, and touches to the core 
 
 ' The many who have loved us. Years to come, 
 
 ' When my poor childi'en send their little ones 
 
 ' To play upon the coast, mayhap they'll say : 
 
 ' ' Go, seek what Grand-dad sends you from the sea ! ' 
 
 ' And if the tears wrung from me at the thought 
 
 ' Of what their orphaned childhood must endure, 
 
 ' Like oysters, turn to pearls, the tiny hands 
 
 ' WiU oft take home a treasure from their sire. 
 
 " ' Poor miserable driv'ller ! who could doom 
 ' With solemn pomp of power ; and stop to con 
 ' What was the strictest letter of the law 
 
 * While human life was in the balance held. 
 
 * Has no one judged thee ? — not the public voice 
 
 ' Of brave old England ? Was the Press struck dumb, 
 
 * And uttered forth no protest in the ears
 
 32 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 ' Of the whole Nation, when so foul a wrong 
 ' Was told throughout the land ? I tell you — yes ! 
 ' And has been heard on high, mingling with ours ; 
 ' And as annihilation cannot be to aught, 
 
 • It dies not, but is echo'ng through all space ; 
 ' Nor will stay its cry till thou inhale it 
 
 ' With a breath, that sobbing, asks forgiveness 
 
 • Fi-om thine offended Country and thy God ! 
 
 " ' Never again will mine accusing voice 
 ' Sound in thine ears, till at the crack of doom ; 
 ' Then, if Repentance have not stirred thy soul, 
 ' Shudder to think this visit was in vain. 
 ' In judgment, mercy is remembei'ed still ; — 
 
 • Yet on each New Year's Night there is for thee 
 ' A fearful penance, that will never cease — 
 
 ' Will never fail to claim thee, till the hour 
 ' When, with just loathing for thy heinous sin 
 ' 'Gainst all humanity that cleaves to thee,
 
 the Goodwin Sands. 33 
 
 ' Thou shalt be Harbour-master here no more. 
 
 ' Yet not in malice is the sentence passed — 
 
 ' As a reminding call to thee, — ' Kepent,' 
 
 ' That I but bring to thee as instrument 
 
 ' Of One who errs not when he deals with men. 
 
 " * Each New Year's Night, on board a Phantom-ship, 
 ' By name the ' Untergang,' thou wilt be wrecked ; 
 ' Thy fate most dismal — thou wilt die alone, 
 ' And at the bottom of the sea wilt find 
 ' Our tell-tale bodies ; — thou to each wilt say : 
 * • God give thee peace, my brother ! ' and pass on 
 ' To live amongst thy fellows ; yet return 
 ' To do the like again — else we sleep not : 
 ' Each year, till ye repent, and office yield 
 ' To one more worthy, this shall be thy doom!' 
 
 " Noiseless as they had entered, these strange men. 
 So did they now depart ; — the rigid look,
 
 34 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 The stony, ghastly stare, returned again. 
 
 With all attendant horrors of the scene ; 
 
 For as each one passed from their lifeless Life 
 
 To deathless Death, by calm and passionless 
 
 Transition, they took up the Pilot's words 
 
 In parrot-like rotation ; — for to them 
 
 They had no meaning, save that to their ear 
 
 There had been menace in the tone of him 
 
 Who spake ; so each one said, with threat'ning look 
 
 And foreign accent, ' This shall be thy doom ! ' 
 
 Then sat immovable, in seeming dead : 
 
 The Pilot's cahn Amen confirm'd the words 
 
 In all their feai'ful import, and he groaned 
 
 Aloud, the only living man the room 
 
 Contained, — for so it seemed awhile to him : 
 
 Yet when he looked again, he knew them all ; 
 
 His own friends compassed him about, and laughed 
 
 That he had slept so long. 
 
 " But he smiled not.
 
 the Goodivin Sands. 35 
 
 For he was puzzled in his sleep to Imow 
 
 How this could be ; nor did it seem to him 
 
 That he had dreamed ; — he felt he must have lived 
 
 And acted out the drama on this earth — 
 
 The keen reality was still so fresh. 
 
 Yet when they swore that they had never changed, 
 
 But only he had slept, he 'gan to doubt, 
 
 And dreamed that he had dreamed. 
 
 " Tis passing strange, 
 These errant moods in sleep, when our poor selves 
 Become the objects of our vain regard. 
 And we can speculate in mystic thought 
 E'en in our dreams, if we have dreamed or no. 
 
 " They told him he had slept, and his crazed brain 
 Accepted it for truth, feehng relief, 
 Yet ever and anon misdoubted it ; 
 And shudd'ring said, 'Next New Year's Night will 
 prove.'
 
 36 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 " So he woke not — but in his vision lived— 
 Thought — spoke — and acted out a year — that seemed 
 To him the ordinary length of months 
 A year should be. 
 
 " For in our dreamy sleep, 
 We weave from out the woof of Father Time 
 Or much or little, as it seemeth good 
 To us — of minutes we make months or years — 
 Or we compress these last to atomies — 
 Living long lives, and fashioning events. 
 That waking, we have never dared to hope 
 Would rise upon our path to make us blest ; 
 Or conjuring such wild, despairing sights, 
 As even the dread mystery of Life 
 (We thank our Heavenly Father) fails to bring ; 
 Yet open our 'mazed eyes to find that we, 
 So often duped, misled, betrayed, hoodwinked 
 By others, must ourselves befool with dreams : 
 One little hour we scarce have slept away—
 
 the Groodwin Sands. 37 
 
 Yet oh ! to think that the whole tide of life 
 May never bring to fever-parching lips 
 So sweet a draught of nectar as the gods 
 That wait on Sleep in di'eams oft hand to us ; 
 One that the roughnesses of daily toil 
 Can never dash away — it once was ours ; 
 What matters it that we deceived ourselves, 
 If it brought happiness that real seems 
 As aught our waking hours can give to us, 
 When we are building equally on sand 
 Trusting our fellows ? 
 
 " So we marvel out 
 That to our God a thousand years should seem 
 As one short day, or that the smaller space 
 Of four-and-twenty hours to thousand years 
 Should lengthen out, when his own gift of Sleep 
 Lays gentle hand on us, and almost works 
 A miracle as great, 
 
 " And New Year's Day
 
 38 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Received its breath of life, — another wave 
 From the unfathoraable, shoreless sea 
 Of God's Eternity broke on the shore 
 Of this our little world, and kissed our feet. 
 As if with hope to strengthen for the toil 
 It knew lay hid behind. 
 
 " But the bright light 
 Of this same New Year's Day with agony 
 The Dreamer shunned, — declared it was not morn. 
 And closed his eyes — in vain — his mind had seized 
 Upon the fact — the lids but shut it in, 
 And banishing externals, gave full scope 
 To its vague terrors, working for itself 
 Such problems for the ending of the day, 
 That he e'en blessed the light he cursed before, 
 And prayed it not to leave him. 
 
 " But the world 
 Eevolved, as was its wont, and darkness fell 
 On land and sea, but on his spirit most ;
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 39 
 
 As the light waned, he sickened in his fear 
 
 To abject cowardice, prayed to bare walls 
 
 To witness, he would oflSce hold no more, 
 
 That he resigned — had meant to do long since — 
 
 Would Harbour-master never be again 
 
 While he drew breath ; his terror came too late 
 
 For saving pow'r ; each minute only brought 
 
 His punishment the nearer, and his wild. 
 
 Excited effoi'ts to escape but made 
 
 His frame the feebler, to endui'e the doom 
 
 That gUded toward him, till he felt its fang, 
 
 As the envenomed serpent's deadly gripe, 
 
 Deep — deep — and then the poison's mad wild gush 
 
 Through all his veins. He started up, 
 
 And gasping forth, ' My doom, my doom,' rushed out 
 
 As though he fled from demons. 
 
 . " To the pier 
 He went, when, as he neared the end athwart 
 His path, stood Samuel Perrin, — in the flesh
 
 40 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Was lie, stalwart as ever, yet he said 
 Words of strange import. 
 
 " ' If you're wrecked to-nigh 
 ' No Life-boat leaves the port, you're best at home ; 
 ' On New Year's Night, while you are master here, 
 • There's not a soul dares man her, mark you this— 
 ' We've all been cautioned of the Phantom-ship 
 ' That haunts the Goodwin, and not one will stir 
 ' To save you ; 'twas e'en on such a night as this 
 ' The ' Untergang ' went down : yet there she rides 
 ' As waiting for a Pilot.' 
 
 " Then he saw 
 'Twas even as the other said, the ship 
 Awaited him ; and he shrieked forth, * My doom ! ' 
 And onward went to meet it. 
 
 " * Pilot I 
 ' On board the 'Untergang'?' No, never; Death 
 ' Were welcome rather. I defy my doom, 
 ' And all the fiends that forged it.'
 
 the (xoodwin Sands. 41 
 
 " With these words 
 Into the raging sea he sprang ; the waves, 
 With forked white tongues, licked round the pier, and 
 
 threw 
 Their giant arms wide open to receive 
 And huffet him ; 't would comfort be to toss 
 Amid their grim caressing — so he thought ; 
 But even as he fell, a little boat 
 Shot forward, seemingly propelled by chance, 
 And so received him that he had no hurt, 
 And seemed to have no fall ; it was as if 
 He had stept in from off the Harbour stairs 
 In quiet mood. He cursed the boat, and swore 
 Many a fearful oath, which helped him not. 
 But wicked rage, when impotent to harm, 
 Will vent itself in curses : on he went. 
 Or curse, or bless, it had been all the same, 
 For no one heard him ; he made not the air 
 Pestiferous for others e'en to breathe 
 With his foul language, only for himself
 
 42 Routine; or, a Tale of 
 
 Was it so loaded ; and the shrieking wind 
 Made fitting symphony as it gushed hy 
 On deeds of vengeance. 
 
 " Still the little boat 
 Lived out the waves, and steadily went on, 
 As though in mid-day and the deadest calm 
 That ever settled on the changeful sea ; 
 Eode high upon their crests, and then dived down 
 To nestle in their hollows, rose again, 
 And ever and anon he heard the oars 
 In mellow time-kept stroke ; yet saw he not 
 
 The hands that held them. 
 
 " Soon they neared the Ship, 
 
 And he no longer wrestled with his fate. 
 
 But clomb her side obedient as a child. 
 
 To act as Pilot for the unseen crew ; 
 
 His ev'ry word responded to with ease 
 
 By them, who, silent-working, noiseless stept. 
 
 Till his whole soul was so appalled and stung 
 
 To such a sense of weariness and awe.
 
 the G-oodioin Sands. 43 
 
 Combined with, heav'n only knows how much 
 
 Of supemat'ral mystery and fear, 
 
 That though he knew the danger lurking there 
 
 Boding destruction, if he hated aught 
 
 Of his keen watchfulness, he closed his eyes ; 
 
 And the next moment on the Goodwin Sands 
 
 Lay the doomed ' Untergang ' a cloven wreck, 
 
 While round him passed a long, low, mocking laugh, 
 
 And six-and-twenty forms flashed out as light, 
 
 Each in a Lifeboat floating from the Ship. 
 
 " 'Twas then no feint the warning he had had, 
 And he must die alone — a hideous death ! — 
 
 " Not the slow wane of worn-out tissues, 
 
 That to the blood no longer could supply 
 
 The needful aliment ; not the decay 
 
 Of nature's forces drooping to a grave ; 
 
 Nor the more cimningly devised approach 
 
 Of the Pale Monarch, when he strikes us down, 
 
 D 3
 
 44 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Giving no time to urge a single plea 
 To lengthen out existence ; a fierce voice 
 Yells out the summons, we but hear and go ! 
 
 " Would God that any one of these had been 
 His fate in mercy sent ; he waited hours 
 For certain death, in a full flush of life, 
 .And ardent wish to live — with ev'ry pulse 
 In vig'rous prime of manhood — as he tried 
 To summon him assistance from that shore 
 On which he stood, when he denied the aid 
 Of Lifeboat to the shipwrecked crew. 
 
 " They sued 
 In vain for help ; their Beacon-lights were seen 
 As his from far, wild streaming to the sky ; 
 As vainly his burned on,— the lurid flare 
 But added horror to the frightful scene, 
 And showed the waves as they grew fierce and strong, 
 Surging and moaning, roaring, clamoring. 
 Like a mad mob for a detested life.
 
 the Goodwin Sands. 45 
 
 Then terror-stricken, penitent too late, 
 He realized the doom to which he sent 
 His fellows, but one short year ago. 
 
 "Ah! 
 What would he then have given to recall 
 Those dead men back to life ? To place them there — 
 There — where he suffered ; not that they might die, 
 But time be given him in which to save : 
 It was too late. 
 
 " His heart was not the first 
 That has succumbed ; his life was not alone 
 In paying forfeit at the stern command 
 Of words so pitiless as these — Too late ! 
 Did ever language coin them with the thought 
 That human hearts could hear them and live on ? 
 
 " Too late to make repair ; too late to beg 
 Forgiveness from dead lips ; too late to see 
 Undone the evil we made haste to do : 
 Then break sad heai't, it is too late to live ;
 
 40 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Snap, cords of life, as does the tuneful harp, 
 When cold ungenial air upon its strings 
 Makes mournful inroads, and in breaking — die ; 
 If so, sweet hai-mony may be restored : 
 Better a thousand times to yield the soul, 
 Than make discordant soimds with a marred life, 
 Tliat will but tangle and knot up the threads 
 Of kindi'ed lives, that otherwise were free. 
 
 " And all too late would our lost dreamer here 
 The German crew to life recall ; in vain 
 Would he his own soul give for those who sleep 
 Beneath ; e'en as he thought upon their fate. 
 His own commingled. 
 
 " With despairing shriek 
 He was submerged, yet struggled fierce and strong : 
 His efforts fainter grew — the pang passed by ; 
 And with returning life he saw around. 
 In peaceful sleep, the Pilot and the Crew, 
 That in the ' Untergang,' at his command,
 
 the Goodwin Sands, 47 
 
 A wat'ry grave had found ; he passed each by 
 With heartfelt sori-ow as he wept the words, 
 ' God give thee peace, my brother.' 
 
 " All around 
 Were shells and tangle, flow'rs in tender wreaths 
 Twined o'er their hands and heads with loving fold. 
 And they looked blissful in their Ocean tomb. 
 Biding a judgment that he dared not face. 
 
 " He walked full carefully when — O horror ! — 
 Stumbling he fell, and yawning to receive, 
 The quicksand earth with jaws wide open stood, 
 He fell — down — down. 
 
 " The pit was fathomless; 
 He passed through all the layers of the Earth's 
 Encrusted surfaces, and then he felt 
 From one vast chaos rush the liquid fire ; 
 The glowing element at furnace heat 
 Roared towards him ; madness came on, suggesting 
 How, in volcanic stream, his calcined bones
 
 48 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Should with fierce lava blend, and be cast forth 
 From out the centre of the earth, to bring 
 Death and destruction on his fellow-men, 
 Kejected e'en by her who brought him forth. 
 
 " The white heat sprang with fierce velocity, 
 And wrapped him round in one vast coil of flame ; 
 He shrieked, and moving as he writhed in fire, 
 Struck on the chair, and striking, he awoke. 
 
 " Low — ^low — had burned the fire, 
 As it had been a fun'ral pyre ; 
 Sob — sob — the moaning wind. 
 As it had left the dead behind ; 
 Weep — weep — the falling rain. 
 As hoping to efface the stain. 
 
 " Die fire — pale ashes fall. 
 Fittest emblem for a paU ;
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 49 
 
 Sob wind — most surely you 
 Stricken mourner for the crew ; 
 Weep rain — with secret dread, 
 Tearful o'er Despair's soft tread. 
 
 " Neither fire — wind — nor rain, 
 Ever could assuage his pain ; 
 He might never live to be 
 From that fearful vision free. 
 
 " Strange the Vision — as it sped, 
 Each one looked in fear and dread ; 
 Stranger still what then befel, 
 Scarce believe you what I tell; 
 As I speak your sceptic face 
 Hardens, leaves of faith no trace ; 
 But more marvellous than all 
 Was the judgment then to fall." 
 
 Pausing here, the Ancient Man 
 Communed with himself a span.
 
 50 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 Older looked and more bowed down, 
 With an ever-deep'ning frown, 
 Yet it seemed as born of thought, 
 Not by vengeful passion wrought. 
 
 Inward pond'ring o'er his theme. 
 Suddenly there shot a gleam ; 
 'Cross his dark'ning visage passed 
 Fire of youth that could not last, 
 Bright'ning up and flaming there. 
 As the Night "Wind stirred his hair. 
 
 And forget I never can 
 Figure of that Ancient Man. 
 
 When he once more spoke again, 
 One hand he stretched o'er the main. 
 One hand he waved toward the plain ; 
 
 Lifeless they fell down again.
 
 the Croodwin Sands. 51 
 
 Still less ■will his story fade, 
 From the strong impression made : 
 While the billows round us played, 
 
 He his tale once more essayed. 
 
 " Think you that the INIaster dreamed ? 
 Hath not Truth for ever seemed 
 Far more troublous, weird, and wild. 
 Than strange Fiction's flighty child ? 
 How much was truth I will not say, 
 But somewhat on his conscience lay. 
 
 " Look toward the Goodwin — ^weep to know 
 The sLx-and-twenty sleep below ; 
 Look toward the plain — and sigh to think 
 That we are standing on the brink 
 Of a dead City's nameless grave, 
 Where lived the cowai'd and the brave. 
 
 " The Harbour-master erred because 
 He blindly followed out the laws ;
 
 52 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 For by the letter he was led, 
 The spirit of the text lay dead ; 
 Not brains enough had he to see 
 That, in such dire extremity. 
 The knowledge that he had obtained 
 Was quite as good as if he'd gained 
 From Beacon Head the fearful news, 
 Of stranded ships and sinking crews. 
 
 " But some men surely are born fools, 
 And can but work as senseless tools. 
 The blame attaches then to those, 
 Who place them where each wind that blows 
 May turn them wrong as soon as right. 
 The misery on others light ; 
 But least of all their plaything be 
 Of Human Life upon the sea. 
 
 " The Lord Koutine was dastard worse. 
 And on him heaviest fell the curse ;
 
 the Croodwm Sands. 53 
 
 For though he Imew the Master failed, 
 
 He felt he was himself assailed ; 
 
 He must uphold his puppet, — or, 
 
 Where would he Dignity and Law ? 
 
 And no drowned seamen rose to claim 
 
 From English Jury, in the name 
 
 Of their lost ship and submerged crew, 
 
 The justice to their mem'ry due ; 
 
 The thing was hushed, as babe to sleep, 
 
 But in some hearts it rankled deep. 
 
 " While he with red tape bound their brains, 
 He might as well have spared his pains. 
 For as he ambled o'er his task, 
 From off men's minds there fell the mask ; 
 And seeing as they ne'er had seen, 
 They recognised the Lord Routine : 
 Reproached him with his creeping pacej 
 That let men perish in the face 
 Of their brave comrades ; and with means at hand. 
 Had thrown so deep a stigma on the land.
 
 54 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 " The Harbour-master was removed, and then 
 In quiet slept the six-and- twenty men ; 
 The phantom ' Untergang ' was seen no more 
 For Pilot waiting, as she neared the shore : 
 Although some say, 
 On New Year's Day, 
 That you may hear the wail 
 Of German fraus. 
 On lifeboat prows, 
 And see a German sail. 
 
 " The Lord Eoutine, they starved to death 
 Within his castle here ; 
 Not one looked pity'ng on his fate. 
 Not one ere shed a tear. 
 
 " The City seemed as a disgrace, 
 A monument of shame ; 
 And so they razed it to the ground, — 
 Buried the ghost of blame.
 
 the Groodwin Sands. 55 
 
 " And Heav'n with favor viewed the deed : 
 For when the winter snow 
 Fell lightly, and dissolved again, 
 Gone was the scene of woe. 
 
 " As a magician's wand had been 
 
 The winding-sheet of snow. 
 For not a stone was left behind 
 
 Save on the beach below ; 
 The Harbour silted up with sand 
 And merged into a pebbly strand. 
 
 " The Castle as a curse was left. 
 And Lord Eoutine of life bereft 
 
 Found there a lonely tomb ; 
 But once a year returns to life, 
 And hears the shriek of wailing wife 
 
 Above the waters' boom. 
 
 " Only once has he been seen, 
 Only once been heard ;
 
 56 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 You alone with, his corpse have been. 
 Or have his spirit stirred. 
 
 " Ev'ry century a ghost 
 
 Leaves for landmark on the coast ; 
 I am one and I bide here. 
 Castle Sandown is my bier. 
 
 '• Lifeless I, but for your call, 
 I have answered once for all : 
 None on earth o'er me have pow'r 
 Dead am I as strikes the hour. 
 
 " Lord Eoutine's expiring voice. 
 Dies with me beyond all choice ; 
 I for ever silent cower. 
 Lonely as Martello Tower. 
 
 " Oft to Castle Sandown come, 
 Often ponder o'er the ' Doom.'
 
 the Goodwin Sands. 57 
 
 Come ye often to my bier 
 None will ever find me here ; 
 Spirit only none can see, 
 And such only I shall be." 
 
 Slowly vanished into air, 
 I alone was standing there ; 
 But forget I never can 
 Figure of that Ancient Man. 
 
 Silence fell on all around 
 
 As I paced the haunted ground, — 
 
 Weird and spectral all things seemed ; 
 
 Eound about the Castle gleamed 
 
 Lights as from a city fair, 
 
 Yet nor house nor light was there ; — ^ 
 
 Busy hum of human kind 
 
 Was borne in upon the Avind, 
 
 But no voice of man came near, 
 
 Desolation's self was here ; 
 
 E
 
 58 Routine ; or, a Tale of 
 
 And tlie ever murm'ring sea 
 Chavinted sad and low to me ; 
 In its naournful accent said, 
 * Moan as I do for tlie dead.' 
 
 King ! ring a doleful knell, 
 Let us hear the Passing Bell, 
 
 For a Hundred years have flown. 
 Sing ! sing a merry song 
 No one dreams that we do wrong, 
 
 For the world has wiser grown. 
 
 Sleep ! sleep in trustful peace 
 We have taken a new lease, 
 
 And our lives are free and glad ; 
 None haunt the Goodwin now. 
 No wrecked vessel's phantom prow. 
 
 Looming, drives our sailors mad.
 
 the Croodioin Sands. 59 
 
 Laugh ! laugh e'en at the grave, 
 Surely none would try to save 
 
 Such a wretch as Lord Eoutine : 
 Shout ! shout to think that we 
 Are from his dominion free ; 
 
 'Tis a thing that once has been. 
 
 Ne'er again will England hold, 
 Or for silver or for gold, 
 
 Eed tape trappings high ; 
 Generations passed away 
 May have thought that they looked gay, 
 
 Flaunting in the sky. 
 
 But our men of heart and hope 
 Care no more than for the Pope 
 
 For their swathing bands ; 
 Past alike and torn aside 
 From our pathway, though we died. 
 
 By English hearts and hands. 
 
 e3
 
 60 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE " SAMARITANO." 
 
 SABBATH-DAY sliould tell of quiet rest, 
 And chiming bells make winter months seem 
 blest ; 
 Yet dark'ning at the fall, and moaning loud. 
 The pregnant wind rouses the threat'ning cloud : 
 The suow-squalls, white as infant's winding-sheet, 
 Blinding as sand, as Arab horse moi-e fleet, 
 Are borne along to deck the sable night, 
 While shutting out dark scenes from human sight. 
 Moan winds — weep women — down upon your knees. 
 When morning dawns blood shall as water freeze ; 
 Send up your prayers to Heav'n — God only knows 
 How much He will abate of human woes ;
 
 The Wrech of the " Samaritano." 61 
 
 Use ye the means, and leave the rest to Him : 
 
 Such nights as these make hearts and eyes grow dim. 
 
 Go forth " Eclipse," and seek, 'midst sand and shoal, 
 
 The vessel fated ne'er to reach the goal ; 
 
 She is a Spanish brig from Antwerp bound, 
 
 But will Santander never reach, — she found 
 
 A treach'rous death-bed on the Margate Sands : 
 
 They swallow up the cargo other lands 
 
 Once deemed their own ; and threaten e'en her crew, 
 
 Who, with Capt. Modeste Crispo, look to you. 
 
 At half-past five, 'mid wild and madd'ning din. 
 
 Boats were put off — oars broken — boats stove in. 
 
 While running for the Brig they speak a Smack, 
 
 Take two men and her boat, — the tide runs slack. 
 
 And ebbs with sullen gi-oan ; they board her then,' 
 
 And hoping when the flood shall make again 
 
 To ease her off, they leave sLx Margate men ; 
 
 Add the two Whitstable — in all nineteen. 
 
 But with the rising tide the sleeping gale
 
 62 The Wreck oj the'-'- SamaritanoP 
 
 Eenewed its fury, and with long, low wail, 
 Sent up the angry waves to seize their prey. 
 And wreck at once the vessel as she lay ; 
 They take her in their large dark arms with force. 
 They dash her on the Sands with murm'rings hoarse, 
 They break across the deck — they crush the boat — 
 Force up the hatches — and the cargo float — 
 The rigging's cut — the mainmast crashes down — 
 Still the winds whistle — still the waters frown ; 
 In mock'ry decking them with wreaths of snow, 
 Garlands of spray, and foaming columns flow ; 
 While drowning men by slipp'ry shroud hold on, 
 And shaking foremast topples to its doom : 
 Hour after hour with frozen hands they cling, 
 While round them roars the angry storm's wild din. 
 A vsreck — a wreck. Hail ! to the rescue, hail ! 
 And Margate teems with life despite the gale. 
 That slackens not, and wearies not, but sends 
 The great White Horses up, and stooping bends, 
 And reins them in till they take forms of Death,
 
 The Wreck of the " Samaritano." 63 
 
 While lookers-on from shore hold in their breath. 
 The smaller Life-boat first goes out in vain, 
 She cannot battle with the angry main ; 
 Excitement had o'er-mastered watchful care, 
 She filled with water where there should be air ; 
 Her gallant crew at first took little heed, 
 Not prone to snatch alarm for their own need ; 
 A four hours' battle, and in Westgate Bay, 
 The Boat ashore, the men exhausted, lay. 
 More strength must be put forth ; — soon as they saw- 
 One boat disabled coming back to shore ; 
 They man another, drag her round the Pier, 
 And launch her forth without one pang of fear. 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! " laugh forth the giant waves at play, 
 " ' Friend of all Nations ' be our sport to-day ; 
 " We'll teach thee that we're rather rougher now 
 " Than when we toyed and kissed yon vessel's prow 
 " In times gone by ; see — we have changed our tack — 
 " We break thy tiller — to the shore go back."
 
 64 The Wreck of the " Samaritano." 
 
 Both wrecked. It miglit be sport to the wild sea, 
 But it wrung human hearts with agony. 
 Hope, which had once beat high in ev'ry breast, 
 Changed into moaning, cried itself to rest ; 
 In vain two luggers, two of goodly name, 
 Put forth to save, their fate was still the same ; 
 The " Nelson " soon came back in a sad plight. 
 The " Lively " too was worsted in the fight : 
 They could no more — Margate had done her best, 
 Her gallant seamen well had stood the test ; 
 Let the stout hearts at Kamsgate only learn 
 How sore the need, and they will take their turn. 
 
 At Eamsgate, from an early hour, the pier 
 
 Was grouped with boatmen, knowing danger near ; 
 
 A visitor or two strays forth to see 
 
 How wild — ^how grand— the elements can be ; 
 
 With eager glance and keen they strain their eyes. 
 
 Between the snow-squalls sadd'ning visions rise ; 
 
 In the far distance vessels run for life.
 
 The Wreck of the " Saniaritano." 65 
 
 Before a gale with fell disasters rife ; 
 The booming wind deceives the landsman's ears, 
 Who, shudd'ring, thinks the signal gun he hears ; 
 The hardy sailor shakes his knowing head, 
 The Light-vessel for guide, he's not misled. 
 
 At nine the tidings came, a Brig on shore 
 Upon the Woolpack Sands off Margate, — more 
 They know not, but with wild excitement wait 
 To learn the issue ; some in grave debate 
 About the Margate Life-boats, — they will go, 
 But 'gainst such fearful odds, wind, wave, and snow. 
 
 Twelve of the clock ; the men to dinner go, 
 A few are left on watch, time passes slow ; 
 But there is one who hies with utmost speed. 
 Bringing intelligence of sorest need, — 
 A coast-guardsman from Margate hurries by. 
 He tells in haste how most disastrously 
 Their efforts have been crowned; he craves from them
 
 66 The Wreck of the " Samaritano." 
 
 Swift help ; the boatmen lose their wonted phlegm. 
 Scarce from the Harbour-master's lips the words 
 To man the Life-boat pass, but these wild birds 
 Are on the wing ; and if the race had been 
 Their lives to save, not risk, you had not seen 
 A hotter contest ; honor be to those 
 Who lost the race, yet gave the winners clothes, 
 Which in their hasty flight they failed to take. 
 But which their coming hardships needful make ; 
 Cork jackets soon ai'e thrown into the Boat, 
 Put on by those who are well used to float : 
 The pow'rful steam tug, " Aid," that night and day 
 In Eamsgate harbour puffs her life away ; 
 Snorted with all her might, and her full pow'r 
 Put forth, as conscious of that stormy hour; 
 With gallant Daniel Reading in command, 
 Took Boat in tow and bid adieu to land ; 
 James Hogben, chief among that hardy crew 
 Of Life-boat Volunteers, his duties knew.
 
 The Wreck of the " Samaritano:' 67 
 
 Now winds, as fiends shrieking, do your worst, 
 Black clouds that fall in white, come up and burst, 
 Gigantic waves fling up your angiy crests, 
 Drench these devoted men, they've bared their breasts 
 To the wild fuiy of the vengeful three, 
 And they defy thy dark-browed Trinity ; 
 Yes, come and see the victory God gives, 
 When men go forth to save deai* human lives, — 
 When self-forgetting glorious Love shines out, 
 And clears our mental mists of sin and doubt ; 
 For a short time by its bright light we see. 
 In Angel's garb, our maimed humanity. 
 
 The men bend foi-w^ard with a firm strong hold. 
 The mittens frozen to their hands with cold ; 
 The Steamer makes headway against the storm, 
 Clear of the pier they gallantly pass on. 
 Cud Channel, Black and White Buoys too are passed, 
 When heading towards them, riding on the blast.
 
 68 The WrecJc of the " Samaritano.'' 
 
 Comes a most fearful sea ; it met and broke, 
 The Steamer buried in the great foam-stroke ; 
 The Life-boat rose and then, plunging stem on, 
 One moment buried, sure the men were gone, — 
 But no, they still are there,— a fearful strain. 
 And the brave Boat is sent a waif upon the main ; 
 The tow-rope broken, she is left to be 
 On broadside swamped, at mercy of the sea. 
 
 " Oars out ! "—They labor, labor but in vain. 
 The Boat's head to the wind they cannot gain. 
 The gale more forceful is than they ; for fast 
 To the Brake Shoal they drift, as if at last 
 The heavy-beating sea, the snow and wind. 
 Burying them, Avould leave no trace behind. 
 The Boat athwart the sea in peril lies. 
 The Steamer to the rescue swiftly hies ; 
 A yard or two to windward, and they throw 
 Hawling-line and hawser, she's soon in tow : 
 The tide still flowing, rises as in wrath,
 
 Tlie Wreck of the " Samaritano." 69 
 
 Making a deeper, blacker, deadlier path ; 
 
 The threat'ning wind comes fiercer and more fierce, 
 
 While blinding snow and sleet, that almost pierce 
 
 Marrow and vitals, freezing as they fall 
 
 Upon these sturdy heroes, make large call 
 
 For faith and courage ; see — we must look twice. 
 
 And then be doubtful — are they men or ice ? 
 
 They could not look to windward ; drifting snow. 
 
 High running seas, shut out the scene below ; 
 
 But yet not one regrets he gained the race. 
 
 And in the Eamsgate Lifeiboat took his place. 
 
 Off Broadstairs suddenly the Boat stops way, 
 " Again the rope is broken," in dismay 
 Is the first thought ; but worse than this they see, 
 In its full force, their sad calamity : 
 The steam-tug " Aid " stops, she is bi'oken down. 
 And they despair to save. 
 
 Does Heaven frown ? 
 Does God doom all those men aboard the wreck.
 
 70 TJie Wreck of the'"'' Samaritano." 
 
 Spite tlieix' brave efforts, Ocean's bed to deck, 
 And strew with their dead bodies, — sink or swim 
 As the wild waters list, and at their whim ? 
 
 But while they question, hope is bom anew. 
 More cable is let out, — this is the clue 
 By which they know 'twas fear of such a break 
 Made them precautionary measures take : 
 Brave Beading knew an enemy was nigh, 
 And so prepared for battle manfully ; 
 Struggling an hour before they reached the field, 
 Determined not to budge an inch or yield, 
 They gain the Foreland North, and there the gale 
 Spread with wild random fury, snow, spray, hail. 
 
 Early, and yet the light is darkened down 
 On such an afternoon to a dull frown ; 
 The captain of the Boat looks forth in vain, 
 He sees around naught but the angry main : 
 And from the " Aid" they look with straining glance,
 
 Tlie Wreck of the " SamaritanoP 71 
 
 Feaiing the Boat has met with some mischance. 
 
 But nothing can they see ; she may be there 
 
 Freighted with human life, a thing of care ; 
 
 She may be there, and ev'ry man asleep 
 
 In Ocean's bed, many a fathom deep : 
 
 One hundred yards apart yet cannot tell. 
 
 If Fortune with the other dealeth well. 
 
 Passing the Foreland North the snow-squall clears, 
 
 FuU many a triumph of the storm appears ; 
 
 A Lugger, foremast gone, two Life-boats wrecked. 
 
 With such sad trophies is the scene bedecked ; 
 
 And then they leana, prize to the full extent, 
 
 'Gainst what fierce odds the Margate men had bent. 
 
 Where is the Wreck ? Are they indeed too late ? 
 Have the poor drowning wretches met their fate ? 
 To windward rolls a mass of cloud and snow, 
 But not a sign to tell them where to go ; 
 In doubt and indecision now they stand, 
 At last decide upon the Woolpack Sand ;
 
 72 27^6 Wreck of the " Samaritano." 
 
 Yet scarce have done so, ere a sudden break 
 Shows them the Wreck for which they wish to make : 
 But for this help from Heav'n, ev'ry soul 
 Had wrung from Mother Church a passing toll. 
 
 Oh 1 but for God's good help, how many more 
 Of Ocean's sons in death would strew the shore. 
 
 The Ensign, Union downwards hath a voice, 
 But how to reach her ? They have little choice. 
 Bound or across the Sand — which shall it be ? 
 Short wavering in such extremity : 
 They take across the Sand, the dang'rous path, 
 They face the elements in all their wrath ; 
 With a tremendous jerk the tow-rope parts, 
 Rejoicing they set sail. On, gallant hearts ! 
 
 Harder the gale, and the wild rush of sea. 
 
 Mad with theh- own pow'r, drunk with their own fuiy.
 
 The Wreck of the " Samaritano.^^ 73 
 
 Join with the hlinding snow, and on they drive. 
 The storm was at its height. Can the Boat live ? 
 
 And who shall tell the grandeur of that scene, 
 Who can imagine it that ne'er has been 
 A helpless child nursed in old Neptune's arms, 
 And seasoned well to all his dire alarms ? 
 
 See, when he's kind, the little craft at play 
 
 Upon his heaving heart, — he seems to say : 
 
 " Sport children — gambol here and work your wiU, 
 
 " From my exhaustless patience take your fill; 
 
 " Upon my broad expanse you shall not see 
 
 " One hannful fro^^'n, naught but tranquillity." 
 
 But his mood changes. Hark ! what says he now, 
 
 What fate's in store for gallant barks that plough 
 
 Upon the troubled waters ? Loud he pours 
 
 Wild threat'ning words forth from his angiy jaws, 
 
 His mmTn'rings hoarse to a fierce menace turn ; 
 
 No longer mutt'ring, his children learn 
 
 F
 
 74 The Wreck of the " Samaritano:' 
 
 From the broad chest of many a beating wave 
 How frail is human life — how hard to save. 
 The Monarch Ocean in his stonny wrath 
 Said : " Dare ye float your cargoes on my path, 
 " And venture forth your precious freights of life ? 
 " I anger at your folly, I am rife 
 " For mischief, ey'ry throb of my great heart 
 " Shall shake your fibres — soul from body part." 
 
 The whistling wind in triumph shrieking flew. 
 Caught up the spray, made mocking wreaths, and threw 
 Columns of foam it raised, then tore them down ; 
 While the waves heaved and dashed with angry frown. 
 
 A cry — " Look out, my men ! hold on, hold on ! " 
 
 One moment later and the men had gone ; 
 
 Breast downward on the thwart, arms clasped around. 
 
 They wrestle with the waves that o'er them bound ; 
 
 The gallant Boat half-buried in the sea, 
 
 Like sea-gull rises in her buoyancy ;
 
 The Wreck of the " SamariianoJ^ 75 
 
 Not once or twice, but many a time and oft 
 This scene repeated is, when from aloft 
 It seems the giant breakers heading come, 
 To draw down men and boat to the same doom. 
 
 Clear of the Sands more freely they take breath, 
 As those who have passed close to sudden death ; 
 Once in deep water, the huge, rolling wave. 
 By such comparison e'en comfort gave ; 
 Before the wind they put the gallant Boat, 
 And for the Wreck each man on the look-out. 
 
 Again by Heav'n's favor the storm breaks, 
 
 She's half-a-mile to leeward, and it makes 
 
 Their stout hearts shudder, their bronzed faces pale. 
 
 While the wind sighs a long, low, answ'ring wail ; 
 
 So sad a sight it is — stem on the Sands 
 
 She'd settled down, while Neptune's busy hands 
 
 Made over her a breach ; the starboard bow 
 
 Alone is visible, from stem to prow : 
 
 F 3
 
 76 Tlie Wreck of the " Samaritano" 
 
 Foresail, foretopsail, mainmast, all were gone — 
 There's little left for the wild, reckless storm 
 To reek its fuiy on. 
 
 Oh— is it so ? 
 Lives — there are lives who feel the keen winds blow, 
 Whose ev'ry breath is pain, see — one, two, three. 
 The rigging's full, think on their agony ; 
 How slow the hours have passed to tortm-ed men. 
 Who never think to reach the shore again ; 
 Whose freezing bodies desperately cling. 
 Each wave to them an Emblem of Death's sting : 
 That tangled rigging with its freight of woe, 
 Obscurely seen through a thick veil of snow, 
 Is calculated well to touch the heart, 
 And from it drain its inmost selfish part. 
 
 They pass a Margate lugger lying near, 
 
 " Eight of our men on board," — sad words to hear. 
 
 Foui' hours the Boat has battled with the sea ; 
 Eight hours have the men stayed in jeopardy.
 
 The Wreck of the " Samaritano." 77 
 
 At last the moment has arrived, — no word 
 Beyond a whispered order can be heard, 
 Kisk and suspense are terr'ble ; out they pay 
 The cable, yard by yard, no word they say; 
 The waves break over them, submerge the Boat, 
 Bush towards the vessel, o'er the "Wreck they gloat ; 
 They hoist the sail helping the Boat to sheer, 
 A huge wave lifts them, they are very near, 
 A yard or two more cable by the run. 
 She is alongside and the race is won. 
 Three men jximp in, and then a rolling wave 
 Threat'ning, they quickly haul the rope they gave : 
 They watch their chance, alongside once again, 
 More lives are snatched from off the hungry main. 
 
 Are they all saved ? No, three are hanging there. 
 In such a state as well-nigh prompts despair ; 
 Their frozen limbs they scarcely can unlash 
 They suffer so, those cruel waves that dash 
 And mouth about the Boat, — the peril's great,
 
 78 The Wreck of the " Samaritano:' 
 
 A few more minutes it will be too late ; 
 They must go close, the men too weak to leap 
 Are lifted as we take up those who sleep ; 
 And all are saved but one poor cabin boy 
 Entangled in the shrouds, — it is his toy, 
 A little bag of trinkets meant for home, 
 Has caught the rigging, and he cannot come ; 
 His small cold fingers powerless to free, 
 A strong hand grasps him, ere Eternity 
 Lays claim on all. 
 
 See, a tremendous wave : 
 " Hold anchor, cable hold ! if it but gave 
 " One yard," there would have risen up to Heav'n 
 The parting cry of souls from bodies riv'n. 
 But no, it passes, and upon her keel 
 She settles down, each man as true as steel ; 
 Thirty-and-two now form her precious freight, 
 One moment for the captain's word they wait ; 
 " She draws away, pay out the cable, quick, 
 " The hatchet forward pass, quick, my men, quick."
 
 The Wreck of the " Samaritano." 79 
 
 One moment's short delay, they gash the rope, 
 One strand is severed, but they cannot cope 
 With such a fearful gust of wind as this, 
 Which now is borne along the wild abyss ; 
 A crash is heard — behold the mast and sail 
 Are blown from out the Boat by the fierce gale. 
 Moment of peril ! 
 
 Towards the Wreck they drive, 
 On they go swiftly, helplessly they sti-ive ; 
 Let them but hit the Wreck, and all go down. 
 Let them but touch it, ev'ry one will drown ; 
 But God remembered mercy at that houi'. 
 The cable taughtens with a new-born pow'r. 
 They haul away, and from the Wreck escape, 
 When yet again Death seems with eager gape 
 To open wide his jaws, — the severed strand 1 
 Against the fearful strain will but two stand ? 
 A thrill of joy passes through ev'ry heart. 
 They hear with ecstasy that the cut part 
 Is in, — but they have more to do ; the mast 
 Is heeled anew and rigged, and thus at last.
 
 80 The Wreck of the " Samaritano." 
 
 Prepared once more to battle with the sea, 
 They hoist the sail, the cable cut, they're free. 
 
 With one long pealing cheer, they send to Heav'n 
 Bright thanks for the deliv'rance it has giv'n, 
 With grateful hearts, and proud they look around 
 On those who but for them had ne'er been found 
 Amongst the living ; then proceed in search 
 Of those who have been anxious in their watch ; 
 The Steamer for the Life-boat still looks out. 
 And welcomes her with long and joyous shout. 
 Th' 'Eclipse,' too,comes in chase, "Are her men saved?" 
 Three cheers they give the crew, those men who braved 
 And had endured so much ; then comes the Smack, 
 Speaks them and is content, for land they tack. 
 
 The poor exhausted men the Steamer takes, 
 With Boat and crew in tow, for home she makes ; 
 'Twas no light work to reach it, but at last 
 North Foreland, Kingsgate, Broadstairs, all are passed ;
 
 The Wreck of the " Samaritano.'^ 81 
 
 The Ramsgate pier-head light shone forth to say, 
 That they were welcome who had won their way 
 Through such a sea — it was a prosperous close — 
 Cheer after cheer for the hrave crew arose. 
 
 The Spanish captain scarce had words to tell 
 How gratitude and wonder mingled well ; 
 Pale Death had stared at him a certainty. 
 No boat he thought could live in such a sea. 
 The artist's pencil will help forth to show. 
 With all the glory of true feeling's glow, 
 How this could be and was. 
 
 Mr. Ifold 
 The painting made ; in Spain hearts will tiim cold 
 And faces pale to look at it ; but here 
 With pride we hail it, for we know not fear. 
 How can we while the British sailor lives, 
 And brave old England to her seamen gives 
 Such Boats as these ? The trust we have is such 
 We tremble not, — we cannot praise too much
 
 82 The Wreck of the " Samaritano.''^ 
 
 The Boat, or those who man her ; and our thanks 
 Are due to those, who, foremost in the ranks 
 Of kindly hearts, press forward with their gold ; 
 What if the good they do remains untold ? 
 We do oui' part when we the means supply, 
 Else were our sailors helpless at the cry 
 Of shipwrecked mariner — hut join the two; 
 Give seamen Boats, — give Bravery its due. 
 
 But whUe we give all honor to the hrave, 
 And laud the Life-hoat that went out to save. 
 Forget not the good God, without whose aid, 
 Vain had heen ev'ry effort that was made. 
 At best our deeds are weak — to us is giv'n 
 Grace to know this — and send our thanks to Heav'n. 
 
 A prose account of the Shipwreck of the " Samaeitano," 
 under the title of "■ The Eamsgate Life-boat," appeared 
 in " Macmillan's Magazine," for June 1860 ; from 
 which source this description has been taken.
 
 83 
 
 CHARLES. 
 
 .AY it again — 0, say once more to me 
 
 That sweet, melodious name. It hath a pow'r 
 In its full swell of sound to stir my soul, 
 To leave me wond'ring what hath struck its chords, 
 And sent so rare a music trembling home : 
 Repeat it to my list'ning, thirsty heart, 
 That drinks each letter as the droughty earth, 
 In hot, parched summer, sucks the falling rain ; 
 Let it float past me toward the Spirit-world 
 To which it half belongs, and then come back 
 In eddy'ng reflux o'er my yearning brain : 
 Ennobled by the wreath the Angels threw. 
 When they turned mortal letters into pearls. 
 And robbed two spheres to form so rich a word.
 
 84 CJiarles. 
 
 It takes the noblest attributes of man, 
 
 And makes them patent when you say but " Charles ! " 
 
 List ! all the sweetness of the Seraphs' lyres, 
 
 In melody are chanting forth the strain ; 
 
 Hush ! they are singing. Hush — they whisper — 
 
 " Charles." 
 Let gentle Love put in a tender word 
 To humanise the sound, and bring it down ; 
 So let it live with us within our homes, 
 And linger in our hearts, and on our tongues ; 
 The most beloved of all names under Heaven, 
 The sweetest, purest, noblest, and the best.
 
 85 
 
 ONE THOUGHT. 
 
 CLAIM from thee a thought, love, 
 I worship at thy shrine ; 
 But little will content me, 
 I dream not thou art mine. 
 
 Thine eye that glances from me, 
 
 Although it gives me pain. 
 So noble is its movement, 
 
 I can but look again. 
 
 My wild delirium gone, 
 
 In which I craved thy love : 
 
 The pang I weU remember. 
 When speech for mast'ry strove.
 
 86 One Thought 
 
 Yet cold silence reigned supreme ; 
 
 The courtesies of life 
 I longed, yet dared not, pay thee 
 
 In that dread hour of strife. 
 
 My soul, -while list'ning to thee, 
 Was trembling lest a word 
 
 In accent should betray me — 
 I'd rather die unheard. 
 
 Fire was raging in my heart, 
 Yet cold as ice I seemed ; 
 
 Neglectful too you thought me — 
 I was as one who dreamed. 
 
 I would have counted for thee 
 My life-drops one by one, 
 
 And watched them ebbing from me- 
 Glad when the last was gone.
 
 One Thought. 87 
 
 But not for countless treasure 
 Would I have had thee guess. 
 
 My heart was nestlmg to thee, 
 Waiting for thee to bless. 
 
 Not for Golconda's riches, 
 
 Nor California's gold, 
 Would I shadow forth to thee 
 
 What must remain untold. 
 
 Yet I blush not now to say, 
 
 That ever while I live, 
 Strong, and firm, and true to thee, 
 
 Each beat my pulse shall give. 
 
 I love thee. Thou art noble, 
 Its impress on thy brow 
 
 Is noted well by others — 
 Its presence all allow.
 
 88 One Thought. 
 
 Determined, stem, resisting, 
 And firm at Duty's call, 
 
 No opposition baffles, 
 Nor dangers tliee appal. 
 
 In counting o'er thy virtues, 
 Love doth myself exalt ; 
 
 Had I not known thy value, 
 This had not been my fault. 
 
 In rend'ring homage to thee, 
 I do but faintly show. 
 
 That solid worth sinks deeper 
 Than falsehood's easy flow. 
 
 Thy mantle falls upon me. 
 My selfishness is dead ; 
 
 Hope points not to a future, 
 'Twas not in vain I bled.
 
 One Thought 89 
 
 The dross has turned all golden, 
 Purged by the fire of pain ; 
 
 Asking not thy love to win, 
 I give thee mine again. 
 
 When thought is busy, dearest, 
 A kind one wing to me ; 
 
 Dearly I buy the right, love, 
 To claim as much from thee. 
 
 The keenest pang I suffer, 
 Is the one racking thought, 
 
 In pain I mny not soothe thee ; 
 Ever to thee as naught. 
 
 I gloss the old wound over. 
 My love is happy now ; 
 
 I can meet thy piercing gaze 
 With fearless, open brow.
 
 90 One Tlwught. 
 
 My inmost heart asks nothing 
 But the hurden of my song ; 
 
 One favor only grant me — 
 To be remembered long. 
 
 My soul wiU not release thee, 
 Asking but what it gives ; 
 
 The earth-born part dies slowly, 
 But thought for ever lives.
 
 91 
 
 A POOR MAN'S WISH. 
 
 iS 
 
 ^N pale Consumption's grasp the poor man lay, 
 
 The lamp of life flickered from day to day. 
 
 And then went out in night, — and so he died. 
 
 He was a poor man, but his heart was bright, 
 
 One of the sons of toil and not well taught. 
 
 Rough on the outside ; so I scarce could tell 
 
 If I were welcome, but with gentle touch 
 
 I strove to win him to a better mind ; 
 
 And when by chance I went not for some time. 
 
 Came message, " Did it irk me much to call 
 
 And read a little to the poor sick man ? " 
 
 So from that day I knew there was a bond 
 
 Between us two, by kindly feeling wrought ; 
 
 g3
 
 92 A Poor Man's Wish. 
 
 And I was proud to be the " Laborer's friend," 
 
 As honored by his faith and trust in me, 
 
 As he was comforted when I was by. 
 
 It pained me sore to see him waste and fade, 
 
 To hear him cough, and pause between his words 
 
 Lab'ring for breath ; to see his patient air, 
 
 His silent confidence that I was grieved. 
 
 And would have spared no trouble if by aught 
 
 I could have eased him, — ^powerless I. 
 
 So, — nearly closed was his earth's pilgrimage 
 
 Ere to my list'ning ear he breathed the wish, 
 
 That as I had been kindly for the sake 
 
 Of One who lives above, it might be giv'n 
 
 To him, to welcome and pour forth to me 
 
 In Heav'nly regions, hov/ he blessed my help, 
 
 And loved and honored me. 
 
 " In Heav'n to meet"- 
 This was the poor man's wish ; for he had come 
 In simple, trusting faith to look on high, 
 And deem his Home not built with human hands.
 
 A Poor Man's Wish. 93 
 
 Nor won by any merit of his own, 
 Was waiting him ; and then he loved to think 
 That for his helper the same door stood wide, 
 And in some future he the welcomer. 
 
 The churchyard reached, each Sabbath-day I look 
 Close on my left, there lies his grass-grown grave, 
 That opened to receive the earth- worn part, — 
 The flame was quenched, and " earth to earth " dealt 
 
 out ; 
 While spirit unto spirit had gone up. 
 'Twas if, at break of day, the waning lamp 
 Had sighed its last, and the pale light went forth 
 To mingle with the sun, and rise again 
 In radiant splendor. 
 
 Oft do his words return 
 To urge me fetraightly on when I would verge 
 To by-paths ; and at my last hour, maybe, 
 I shall trace back to echo of those words. 
 As great a debt of gratitude as he
 
 94 A Poor Man's Wish. 
 
 Was pleased to pay me, if he owed it not. 
 He was beyond my thanks ere I knew half 
 The kindly thoughts and hopes he had for me, 
 He was so truly delicate in mind : 
 His weeping mother, whose bruised heart still clung 
 To one who had soothed him, this was our bond, 
 Oft loved to tell me how he would keep watch, 
 Then failing that, too weak to sit, would ask 
 If I were coming, and would say with warmth, 
 " God bless her." It is with true pleasure now 
 I clasp that mother's hand — she has wept sore ; 
 His little child went nestling to his side 
 Ere many months were past ; his widow once 
 Is wife again ; but his poor mother's heart 
 Will still look back, and give me smile for smile : 
 There 's not a noble's hand the wide world through. 
 For which I would give up her loving clasp. 
 
 Ye who would happy be, go forth and sow, 
 
 With bounteous heaxt, broadcast amongst the poor,
 
 A Poor Man's Wish. 96 
 
 Not scatt'ring money with a heavy hand, 
 
 Damping their honest toil, — independence, 
 
 Our common birthright, take it not away ; 
 
 But go ■v\'ith loving heart and tender hand, 
 
 To weep with them when grief stands at the door ; 
 
 Smile sunny smiles when they are glad with hope, 
 
 Showing respect for their own privacy ; 
 
 For no more right have we upon their hearth 
 
 Than they on ours, if they invite us not. 
 
 Sow love, — and in their hearty blessings reap 
 
 So sweet a happiness as will repay 
 
 A thousandfold to thine own world- worn self ; 
 
 For who knows not the poor are the best type 
 
 Of what oui' Saviour was ? His legacy 
 
 To usward. 
 
 'Tis as a guardian angel 
 In the heart, an oft-recurring strength, 
 To have the blessings of the loving poor 
 FoU'wing thy footsteps, sounding in thine ears ; 
 Thou canst not stray while they are looking on,
 
 9Q A Poor Man's Wish. 
 
 Surely thou wilt not err, when they will know 
 
 And come to doubt all goodness, if they see 
 
 The one they rev'rence falling into sin; 
 
 And more than all, thou canst not mock the dead ; 
 
 It is impossible to let them rise in judgment 
 
 Who so have left us, nothing doubting but 
 
 In Heaven they vrill surely welcome give : — 
 
 Not all the world from evil rails us round, 
 
 As the dead poor man's wish, — " To meet in Heav'n."
 
 97 
 
 LINES ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON THE SUDDEN DEATH BY ACCIDENT OF AN ONLY SON. 
 
 'Wffi^EEP mother, weep! send forth to the dark 
 ij night 
 
 A bitter cry, " Let there be no more light : " 
 For Nature hath reversed her own decree ; 
 Blighted the sapling, spared the parent tree. 
 Now fast approaching are the feet of those 
 Who bring to thee one of life's keenest woes ; 
 Did ever hour of midnight seem so wild, 
 So strange, so lonesome, desolate, defiled? 
 And yet, O gloom, continue, deepen do^vn 
 To murkiest darkness, let all nature frown, 
 For now a mother looks on her dead son,
 
 98 Lines addressed to a Friend. 
 
 The fearful reign of Anguisli has hegun ; 
 
 The tender human voice is pow'rless here. 
 
 And agony denies her e'en a tear. 
 
 So sudden and so fearful was his end, 
 
 They could not even murmur " God defend !" 
 
 For ere the thought of danger could arise, 
 
 His soul had winged its flight heyond the skies ; 
 
 And the poor empty casket home they bring, 
 
 God ! how the sight his parents' hearts must wring I 
 
 Was there no ministering Angel near, 
 
 Who could have saved a life to them so dear ; 
 
 If only to have sent him safely home, 
 
 That he might wither gently to the tomb ? 
 
 Of aU the hosts that Heav'n retains, not one : 
 
 And so he died. A loved, an only son ! 
 
 In the calm summer night, toll forth, bell, 
 With a sharp sudden clangor, a death-knell ;
 
 Lines addressed to a Friend. 99 
 
 Float past us on the air, return again 
 
 And moan, as one who writhes in mortal pain ; 
 
 Ring out a fierce note for a bitter woe, 
 
 Muffle thy tone, weep now in accents low ; 
 
 In turn be tender and be hai'sh in turn, 
 
 The varied moods of a great sorrow learn ; 
 
 And as a thing of life, proclaim aloud 
 
 With mom-nful voice, " They wi-ap him in his shroud." 
 
 Lament, O bell, ever lament his fate. 
 
 Strike into human hearts, as if in hate, 
 
 A dagger sharp and keen ; so let them know 
 
 By sudden intuition, that a blow 
 
 But seldom equalled in our careworn world. 
 
 Has on two Parents' hearts this night been hurled. 
 
 Eing till thy notes grow hoarse with grief and pain, 
 
 Stay not to measure out what they contain. 
 
 But send them forth unthinking ; let us hear 
 
 Confusion wild, distress, and nervous fear. 
 
 Then give Monotony her long, dull reign. 
 
 Rock in her arms her fretful sister, Pain ;
 
 100 Lines addressed to a Friend. 
 
 And let the air vibrate for miles around, 
 With the same mournful, dreary, heaving sound ; 
 'Twill echo in sad hearts for many years. 
 And be repaid thee well in falling tears. 
 
 Sad Mother ! never yet upon this earth, 
 In any tongue, has language given birth 
 To words of comfort for a grief like thine. 
 Or I would study it and make them mine ; 
 The will to do it only I possess. 
 And panting sympathy makes small pow'r less, 
 Takes from me what lies trembling on my tongue. 
 Leaves me a throbbing heart, but words, not one. 
 I seem to look upon thy deep'ning grief aghast, 
 As one who trembles at the tempest's blast. 
 And with prophetic vision sees afar 
 How its wild fury unrestrained will mar. 
 And desolation grasp with eager hand
 
 Lines addressed to a Friend. 101 
 
 The goodly vessel lab 'ring on the strand, 
 Making a total wreck. What is it to thee, 
 That the bright sun sporting makes jubilee ? 
 'Twill never bring his shadow to the Hall, 
 Its summer beam can only gild his pall. 
 The calm smile of the soft and silv'ry moon, 
 Can bring to thy tired heart no greater boon 
 Than that it bore to him. 
 
 For evermore, 
 Lone ]\Iother, ever and for evermore, 
 
 Sorrow hath cast her cankered meshes round thee : 
 
 In vain appeal to Time, no helper he ; 
 
 Thy troubled aspect he will make more calm, 
 
 And thoughtless tongues will say, " He brought thee 
 balm 
 
 Upon his healing wings," but I say, " No," 
 
 He never yet assuaged a real woe ; 
 
 He'll sink it deep and deeper down, each day 
 
 Instead of weak'ning, strengthening its sway ; 
 
 To sight of others lost, never to thine,
 
 102 Lines addressed to a Friend. 
 
 Hiding as darkness hides within the mine. 
 
 But is the ship less lost hecause each wave 
 
 Sinking her lower, makes our power to save 
 
 Less and still less, till the insidious sand 
 
 Closes around her its relentless hand ; 
 
 Its myriad fingers clasping round her form, 
 
 As though with care to shield her from the storm : 
 
 Is she less lost, I ask, hecause she lies 
 
 Engulphed in changing quicksands from our eyes ? 
 
 And shall we say we have outlived our grief, 
 
 Because, despairing to receive relief, 
 
 We hury out of sight of human eye 
 
 Our lost, wrecked happiness, our misery ? 
 
 Calm, calm, a long, dark, silent, weary calm, 
 A dreary nothingness, nor good, nor harm, 
 Come near us with a living homely touch,
 
 Lims addressed to a Friend. 103 
 
 The deep despair and aching gnaw are such 
 
 We cannot feel, life is no longer life ; 
 
 Oui' shudd'ring heart declines the farther strife. 
 
 It has closed over the fell wound, and left 
 
 Existence blanlc, of all its flow'rs bereft. 
 
 Poor panting, struggling, pang-tom, human heart ! 
 
 Will no one to the rescue come, and part 
 
 Thy woe with thee, too great to bear alone ? 
 
 See with what grace descending from a throne 
 
 Comes the All-pitying, in our hour of need 
 
 His tender hand soweth immortal seed. 
 
 Low fall at his dear feet and bruised be, 
 
 Lest past thine hour of choice He fall on thee ; 
 
 A crushing fall, a stony, fearful weight, 
 
 Who ever lived and looked upon his hate ? 
 
 Who ever looked Him back his love again, 
 
 And was not eased of more than half their pain ? 
 
 His heart divine, yet human, understands 
 
 What eager suff'ring looks for from his hands :
 
 104 Lines addressed to a Friend. 
 
 The great physician He, appeal to Him, 
 And when thy cup of woe fills to the brim, 
 He'll take it gently from thy trembling palm. 
 Staunch the fresh wound, pouring in oil and balm. 
 And is it full, dear friend, thy cup of woe ? 
 Indeed, I marvel not thou thinkest so ; 
 Each in his own sorrow sadly seeing 
 How warped and tangled is his thread of being, 
 Waiting the day when all will be made clear — 
 Thinks, " Sui-ely, I'm the greatest suffrer here," 
 And laiows not many a familiar face, 
 Casting aside the veil, would take his place, 
 And gladly 'scape the cold and chilling blight, 
 Which makes his seeming joy one long, dark night. 
 
 Ah ! weeping Mother, bitter is the cup 
 Thy trembling lip refuseth to drink up ; 
 But other cups there are of larger size, 
 Which have been spared thy tear-dimmed, aching eyes
 
 Lines addressed to a Friend, 105 
 
 God's o"wn hand took him, not a stranger hlow 
 
 Struck at him in the dark, felHng him low ; 
 
 No dastard hand upUfted took his life. 
 
 Nor perished he by friend in mortal strife, 
 
 Nor did he wilfully his soul set free : 
 
 An angel whispered " God hath need of thee." 
 
 Mother ! comfort take. We all must weep 
 
 And sorrow, that he sleeps unwaking sleep ; 
 
 We weep for thee, and thou for him. Weep on I 
 
 Let fall the flowing tear for one that's gone ; 
 
 Yet when they cease, that dull, void, voiceless pain. 
 
 We hoped we had escaped from, comes again 
 
 And bides with us. 
 
 " Father, thy will be done," 
 
 Thou seest by what martyrdom is won 
 
 The strength to feel these words, — we strive to see, 
 
 While quiv'ring from the stroke, thy kind " need be." 
 
 Pity our darkened vision as we kneel, 
 
 Praying to feel no more the probing steel. 
 
 H
 
 106 Lines addressed to a Friend. 
 
 And to these sorrowing Parents ever send 
 Such comfort as most heavenward shall tend ; 
 As to the tomb they take their destined way. 
 May " strength be granted equal to their day."
 
 107 
 
 SONG OF THE BLIND GIKL. 
 
 )H ! my poor heart, and why so sad, 
 Whence do these mists arise ? 
 Why must thou look on happiness. 
 Ever through others' eyes ? 
 
 Blind, blind, alas ! they little know, 
 
 Who have the gift of sight, 
 That when they say, " How beautiful ! " 
 
 I feel my long dai'k night. 
 
 And wonder why some things they call 
 
 Fair and of roseate hue ; 
 
 In vain they speak of colors bright. 
 
 Dark crimson, purple, blue. 
 
 H 3
 
 108 Song of the Blind Crirl. 
 
 Hot tears lie trembling in my heart 
 But rise not to mine eye ; 
 
 Poor darkened orb ! in vain I raise 
 It, sightless to the sky. 
 
 " Never to look upon a friend," 
 This is my meed of woe : 
 My fingers glide their face across, 
 Touch sensitive and slow. 
 
 Be still, sad heart ! the shadow rests 
 With heavy, drooping wing ; 
 
 And never will its blight depart, 
 Until in heaven I sing. 
 
 ^
 
 109 
 
 GARIBALDI FOR EVER. 
 
 » 
 
 S.OR ever? " Garibaldi for ever ! " 
 
 So shout the people, and the English heart 
 Becomes an echo to the merry chime 
 Rung out by fair Italia's wak'ning life. 
 Go on, Deliv'rer ! ev'ry noble beat 
 Of thy gi-eat heart, is bringing free-bom health 
 To worst of slaves, is striking off the print 
 Of mind-worn fetters, deadliest of all. — 
 Time dies at thine approach — Eternity, 
 That only can embrace thee, stretcheth forth 
 Caressing — with, " For ever, my son." 
 Joseph, the youngest born, upon thy brow 
 The vastncss of its might has settled down ;
 
 110 " aarihaldi for Ever.'' 
 
 And may the hand-writing, unseen by all 
 Save thine own glorious self, now guide thee on. 
 " Garibaldi for ever ! " Ever on, 
 Noblest of nature's nobles, who ne'er errs 
 In crowning. Kingliest of kingly men, 
 Exhaust we aU the epithets e'er coined 
 In lavish haste, we yet must miss the word 
 That could enrich thee aught, for thou hast won. 
 By force of thine own worth, a better cr6wn 
 Than Earth can gem from out her hidden hoards ; 
 The wealth and title of a King would take. 
 From off thine honored brow, its brightest wreath 
 And make thee poor indeed — in spirit poor ; 
 Thou who art now so rich ! For thine own love 
 Of liberty and nobleness, a wealth 
 That drops not from thee in a lowly state : 
 Then add to that the blessings of thy race, 
 To whom the name of Garibaldi stands, 
 When they would speak of honor, virtue, fame, 
 Or love of country, bravery, and all
 
 « aaribaldi for Uver." Ill 
 
 That dignifies, ennobles, elevates, 
 
 And renders godlike. A world-wide hero 
 
 Thou, whUe history holds its course, — thine Empire, 
 
 The countless millions who shall people earth, 
 
 To bless the man who freed them from their chains, 
 
 WhUe they bear on the echo to its goal. 
 
 The rising generations ; and the words 
 
 In never-ending cycles rise around : — 
 
 " For ever ! Garibaldi for ever ! "
 
 112 
 
 KINGCUPS AND DAISIES. 
 
 ?HE kingcups are flow'ring around thee, 
 Glistening with golden sheen ; 
 But they gild not the daylight to me, love, 
 They but brighten the grass so green. 
 In vain they hold 
 Their cups of gold, 
 To one whose thirst is slaked. 
 
 The daisies are blossoming near thee. 
 
 Eyes of gold in silver set ; 
 But they win not a smile from my lip, love, 
 They but spangle the grass so wet. 
 In vain they hold, 
 Silver and gold. 
 To one whose eye is closed.
 
 Kingcups and Daisies. 113 
 
 My tear-drops are falling upon thee, 
 
 Bedewing thine early grave ; 
 But they give no fresh life to thy heart, love, 
 They but show that they could not save. 
 In vain they fall. 
 Bitter as gall. 
 For one whose life has fled. 
 
 My heai-t is mth'ring, breaking for thee. 
 Bursting with groans in anguish deep ; 
 But its life-throbs reach not to thine ear, love, 
 They but rock thee to sounder sleep. 
 In vain I lie, 
 "With bitter cry, 
 By one whose ear is sealed. 
 
 The kingcup of gold, the daisy bright. 
 That close round my failing heart,
 
 114 Kingcups and Daisies. 
 
 But blossom and fall in weariness, love, 
 They but whisper my soul, " Depart." 
 So fading here. 
 They'll come next year, 
 Finding a two-fold grave.
 
 115 
 
 TO MY ANONYME. 
 
 'HE winds have answered thee, nohle Bard ! 
 The birds have thy behest obeyed ; 
 And flow'rs of rarest beauty at thy call, 
 Around my head in wreaths have swayed. 
 
 The softest breathings of a first young love, 
 As murm'rings of the mild south wind. 
 
 Roved o'er my cheek as ye invoked the spell, 
 Leaving a teU-tale blush behind. 
 
 A bird came as from Paradise to me, 
 And sang, methinks, as sweet a song 
 
 As e'er to mortal ears was warbled forth, — 
 My mem'ry doth its notes prolong.
 
 116 To my Anonyme. 
 
 Fresh perfumed flow'rs in wild profusion sprung. 
 
 E'en as I read the blissful call, 
 That was to place them on my aching brow. 
 
 From which that wreath shall never fall. 
 
 Thy wishes bore fruition as thy pen 
 
 Traced them on paper, for to me 
 Their sweetness brought, on fancy's gilded wing, 
 
 All that of happiness can be. 
 
 And for the last sad chord upon thy lyre. 
 That would have others mourn me dead ; 
 
 Enough, sweet poet ! if thou shouldst lament 
 When my last spark of life has fled.
 
 117 
 
 MY DOG "FEARLESS." 
 
 ^ONE love me as I once was loved, 
 My faithful dog to me 
 Gave, what no living mortal could, 
 Unwav'ring constancy. 
 
 His wild free glance that dared defy, 
 
 While at his truant play, 
 Would oft return my leave to ask. 
 
 Waiting the words, " You may." 
 
 Would almost disohey to hear 
 My voice raised in command. 
 
 And then droop low with bashful mien, 
 In full obedience stand.
 
 118 My Bog '<• Fearless:' 
 
 My pretty one, it irks me now, 
 
 That I must walk alone ; 
 The tears well up to think that thou 
 
 Art to the dark grave gone. 
 
 Thou wert so lightsome and so free, 
 With such an endless grace, 
 
 So ever new and yet the same, 
 Of weariness no trace. 
 
 Thine eye was Beauty's bright-bom self. 
 
 As seeking to meet mine. 
 Thy brown orbs sent such rays of love, — 
 
 'Tis for that love I pine. 
 
 Yet bright and piercing as they were, 
 
 Sure thou wert very blind ; 
 My goodness quick enough to see. 
 
 My faults were cast behind.
 
 My Bog « Fearless^ 119 
 
 And if I grieved, — then nestling close, 
 
 So tender and so true — 
 Thy gentle tongue would lick my hand, 
 
 And fondle it anew. 
 
 The turf is green above thee now, 
 
 And winter's cold white snow 
 Has fall'n and melted oftentimes, 
 
 Since my hand laid thee low. 
 
 And often have I thought to pen 
 
 The love I bear to thee, 
 As often have I failed, because 
 
 For tears I could not see. 
 
 No other dog thy place supplies : 
 
 I mock not my own heart 
 "With a vain semblance, that would be 
 
 At ev'ry turn a dart.
 
 120 My Bog « Fearless:' 
 
 To stab and rankle and remind, 
 How great my loss in thee ; 
 
 I need not prompting, my dog, 
 Oft it recurs to me. 
 
 I would give many treasures that 
 
 Are precious in my sight. 
 To have thee gambol at my side, 
 
 In ever fresh delight. 
 
 Thy long hair streaming in the wind, 
 
 Thy pace almost as fleet, 
 When my voice urged thine onward path, 
 
 Or thou hadst come to greet ; 
 
 When on return from visit long. 
 Thou wouldst from far espy 
 
 Her who was all the world to thee ; 
 Then almost thou didst fly.
 
 My Dog " Fearless:' 121 
 
 O " Fearless " thou liadst many names : 
 
 " Dog-fiend," and many more ; 
 But 'twas in love I called thee so, 
 
 From out my houndless store. 
 
 And thou didst understand me too, 
 
 We knew each other well ; 
 If I had fault thou wouldst not see. 
 
 If thou, — I will not tell. 
 
 Our bond remains unbroken still. 
 
 Each to the other true ; 
 Our grief and love together blend, 
 
 As \\y on a yew. 
 
 I loved thee for thyself alone, 
 
 And thou didst make to me 
 Ketum so ample, that thy loss 
 
 Can ne'er replaced be.
 
 122 My Dog " Fearless:^ 
 
 My own hand wrapped thee in thy shroud, 
 
 And lowered thee to hed ; 
 And for each tear that I have dropt, 
 
 A daisy lifts its head. 
 
 And they are tipt of carmine hue, 
 
 In very truth they know 
 What mingled with the falling show'r. 
 
 For him who slept helow. 
 
 Cynic — have I said too much ? 
 
 'Tis hut my dog I weep ; 
 And is it bitter in thy mouth. 
 
 That so fond watch I keep ? 
 
 Then my offence is done. For thou 
 Canst join in my reply ; 
 " Show me two mortals who have loved, 
 As did my dog and I."
 
 123 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 PVE — O Love — coming with step so gentle, 
 Thy gracious feet bathed in the morning dew, 
 To my hot heart as the large drops of rain, 
 
 "Which summer sheds from Heav'n's mystic blue 
 To the parched earth. Sweeter art thou to me 
 Than is the bean-made honey to the bee. 
 
 My being shadows forth a nobler end, 
 
 As thy warm breath, Love, darts through my soul; 
 Like nature wak'ning at the touch of spring 
 
 I trembling lie, yielding to thy control. 
 
 whisp'ring Love, more sweet art thou to me 
 
 Than music sighing o'er a moonlit sea. 
 
 I 3
 
 124 Love. 
 
 Bide witli me, gentle Love, go not away ; 
 
 Dark would the world be shouldst thou leave me now, 
 For ev'ry bright'ning hue which thou hast shed, 
 
 Would deepen into shadow on my brow. 
 Go not away — dearer art thou to me 
 Than prattl'ng childhood on its parent's knee. 
 
 Sweet wand'rer, though I asked thee not to come, 
 Yet thou art welcome, as the sun at noon 
 
 To dungeon captive, — willing slave am I ; 
 Hugging my chains, craving no greater boon 
 
 Than to be thine. For dearer thou to me 
 
 Than fairest penitent at priestly knee. 
 
 A.y — think not we will part — an' thou must go, 
 I take my trav'lling staff and with thee start. 
 
 By mountain, hill, and vale I follow thee, 
 The world's Sahara powerless to part ; 
 
 Better to journey, O sweet Love, with thee 
 
 In painful toil, than separate to be.
 
 Love. 125 
 
 Rather than live without thee, gentle Love — 
 
 Infatuated, I would follow on, 
 Till, failing thy swift footsteps to o'ertake, 
 
 I e'en must sink, still hlessing thee alone, — 
 One 'mongst the many martyrs that have bled for thee — 
 When dies the last, ends the world's history.
 
 126 
 
 TO EMMA K. 
 
 ,0T when the adulation of the world 
 
 Is hov'ring round thee, and uplifted praise 
 With myriad tongues is chanting forth thy name, 
 Can I come near thee ; I am backward then, 
 I fall behind and seem no more a friend : 
 I sit beside thee silent and abashed, 
 To feel what others can so glibly say. 
 My swelling heart can coin no words to tell 
 How one emotion fights another down, 
 And all is chaos as I look and love. 
 Yet have I often thought thine eye hath seen 
 And noted, in my kindling mien, the flame 
 That dieth never. Yes, it hath whispered me, 
 That 'mongst the babbling of the silver-tongued,
 
 To Mmma R. 127 
 
 And far beyond their loudest trump of praise, 
 E'en higher than then- widest flights of speech, 
 The silence of my soul hath reached to thine, 
 And the mute stricken one who had no words 
 Spoke in a language more akin to thee, 
 Striking a deeper chord more pure and clear. 
 Only when others, jesting, dare to say 
 Aught in dispraise, can I uplift my voice ; 
 Then from the quiver of my rankling heart, 
 I take the keenest arrow ever winged 
 And send it twanging from the bended bow, 
 To see them bleeding, wounded unto death, 
 At feet of her who laughs to see their pain. 
 Bright Emma ! there are depths within thine eye 
 Unfathomed by my wistful, tender gaze, 
 Eluding ever as I thiuk I grasp ; 
 "While clutching at thy thoughts I drowning, sink, 
 Down, down, into the troubled waters, where 
 A dark uncertaiaty flows over all. 
 I cannot reach thee, but I sit and wait
 
 128 To Emma R. 
 
 With mournful patience, I abide my time, 
 
 I smile my anguish hack into my heart 
 
 While watching for the boon that may not come, 
 
 And wildly, vainly yearning for thy love. 
 
 But now in midnight hour while others sleep, 
 
 I lift my voice and weeping call to thee ; 
 
 What I have stifled when I feared thy glance 
 
 By Heav'n's messenger I send. Oh ! see. 
 
 It is a costly gift, a human heart. 
 
 They come not often flutt'ring to our feet, 
 
 Even to thine, not often, O my friend ! 
 
 An' if thou wilt reject it, say but so. 
 
 And I mil slay it as it kneels to thee ; 
 
 Will kill the better part, its hopes and fears, 
 
 Making but one vast dreamless, dreary tomb. 
 
 Where thou mayst walk for hours, yet never find 
 
 One blooming flow'r to gather to thy hand. 
 
 The time has come when thou canst make a choice, 
 
 It passes by thee into the endless space, 
 
 For losing once the thread, thou wilt not find
 
 To Emma R. 129 
 
 The subtle clue by -whicli to lure it back ; 
 Evading one who meted out but scorn, 
 Or meaner still, a cold indifference, 
 For such a wealth of love, as should have rung 
 A heaven-made echo in thy spirit's home. 
 Praise thee as others do? No, not for worlds. 
 Why vaunt the diamond ? Why tell pure gold 
 It is not dross ? Why gather up sweet pearls 
 Babbling their beauty? Or the precious stones. 
 Saying, " They are not glass ? " And why of thee 
 Pour forth vain words that cannot even tell 
 One tithe of the rich treasures of thy brain, 
 Or semble in the faintest type to me 
 Thyself, with all thy bright belongings ? 
 Perish the pen that so could mar thy worth. 
 Or think to model crown for thee, when Heaven 
 Sent down its best, — Natuee's Nobility.
 
 130 
 
 TO CHAELES WESTERTON. 
 
 [ Written October 1859, during his one year's respite from the Chwreh- 
 wardenship of St. Paul's, Enightsbridge.2 
 
 ■HARLES WESTERTON! it is a name beloved, 
 And all true hearts leap to the sound of it ; 
 A warrior leaning on his sword awhile, 
 A mariner at rest upon his oars ; 
 But as the war-horse champing on the bit, 
 His spirit urges to the conflict still. 
 And he will not be wanting, when the fight 
 Is hottest, fiercest, — you will find him there. 
 True Englishman, stout Protestant, brave heart ! 
 An honor to thy Country and thy Church, 
 We know thou dost but bide a fitting time 
 To be what thou hast been, the foe of those
 
 To Gharles Westerton. 131 
 
 Who would our freedom crush, and bow our necks 
 
 Beneath a tyranny, that takes its root 
 
 In basest falsehood, and bears poison-flowers. 
 
 Watch by us, good old friend I we look to thee, 
 
 Our champion thou, stand by us to the last, 
 
 And we will back thee 'gainst thine enemies. 
 
 The Nation's cause is thine, and anxious eyes 
 
 Look on thee, hearts are list'ning for thy voice. 
 
 Thou hast braved much, and yet we ask for more ; 
 
 Thy giant soul will answer to the call. 
 
 Already on thy brow the victor's wreath, 
 
 (For England placed it there,) but not his rest. 
 
 Again we urge thee to the battle field. 
 
 Though bloodless ; yet not all the hounds of war. 
 
 If banded to one spot, could equal those 
 
 Who track thy footsteps, their hate spurred hy fear. 
 
 God guide, God guard, God speed thee on thy way, 
 
 And may the star that in the East arose. 
 
 Descend on thee, " Time-honored Westerton."
 
 132 
 
 TO CHAELES WESTERTON, 
 
 lAs eight years Churchwarden of St. Paul's, Knightsbridge, calling 
 upon him, after a lapse of but one year, to resume his arduous 
 duties in defence of the Non-Confessional Church of England 
 against her aggressors, on Easter Tuesday, I860.] 
 
 , WAKE ! brave friend, there is no rest for thee, 
 Toil on strong heart, fierce will the conflict be ; 
 Now in the hour of need with firm, clear tone, 
 Conies a united call for " Westeeton I " 
 God wots of all things : we can only guess 
 The stern hard strife, the utter weariness 
 To which we summon thee ; yet not a doubt 
 Of failure mars the triumph of the shout. 
 He comes and who will second him? " All, all," 
 Our cause is his, with him we stand or fall. 
 Are his hands weak ? We press to bear them up.
 
 To Oharles Westerion. 183 
 
 Is the draught bitter ? We will share the cup. 
 Come to his aid all ye who love the right, 
 Ere the dark shadow of a cowl-black night 
 Fall on us. See, he grapples for dear life, 
 Support him lest ive perish in the strife. 
 We called him to his post, and now he turns 
 Looking on us ; within his eye there burns 
 The martjT's light. Woe to us if we shrink 
 Or idly waver, standing on the brink 
 Of so dark futui'e, that I fear to tell 
 What his keen glance has fathomed but too well. 
 Look on us. Friend. We are no dastard crew, 
 Our hearts are of good metal, they ring true ; 
 The air is heavy with the tramping of our feet ; 
 Our name is Legion, we have come to meet 
 Oppression, Ignorance, and Priestly Pride, 
 With other nameless evUs, side by side. 
 We quail not, looking on thy manly face. 
 We feel the right man stands in the right place. 
 Retracing all the worn-out past, we say,
 
 134 To Charles Wesferton. 
 
 " He bore the heat and burden of the day ; " 
 The pregnant future facing us with stare 
 Of ghastly import, *' You will find Jiim there," 
 We say with cheery voice, and off we go 
 To our day's toil ; to thee we leave the foe. 
 What shall thy guerdon be ? A nation's love, 
 A murmuring that shall echo from above. 
 And vibrate as each generation comes, v 
 
 A " household word " in all our happy homes. 
 The old, the young, the brave, the faint of heart. 
 Will mingle vdices, " Well he bore his part 
 For us the people. Ah ! 'twas nobly done. 
 No name so dear to us as Westerton ! "
 
 LONDON : 
 
 FEINTED BY GEOEGE PHIPPS, 13 & 14, TOTTTTTX STREET, 
 
 WESTMINSTER.
 
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 PUBLISHED BY MR. WESTERTON. 
 
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 " Replete in its development with womanly tenderness." — Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 " We congratulate the authoress upon having gained -this high literary prize." — 
 The Review. 
 
 " Not unworthy the fertile brain of Dumas." — The Critic. 
 
 " The many characters which are introduced, and the animated scenes wherein 
 they figure, denote a close observation of life." — News of the World,
 
 New Works Published by Mr. Westerton, 
 
 VII. 
 
 In One Vol., price 10s. 6<f. 
 
 Luxima, the Prophetess ; 
 
 A TALE OF TNDTA. 
 By LADY MORaAN. 
 
 " Most powerfully drawn and the untimely fate of botli gives a deep interest to 
 the conclusion of the tale." — Morning Advertiser. 
 
 "The unvarying phases of the Eastern character, superstitions and customs, im- 
 part to this novel an ever-enduring freshness. The story is one of exceeding 
 interest, and will he much admired by the lovers of the romantic and the senti- 
 mental." — Sunday Times. 
 
 " It is one of the hest works of its clAi^."— Morning Chronicle, 
 
 " Powerfully drawn." — Illustrated London News. 
 
 " There is much imagination in the scenes of the story and luxuriance of de- 
 scription ; one of the best specimens of a literature which nevertheless exercised too 
 great an influence on its age and country to be forgotten." — New Quarterly Reiiew. 
 
 " There is a picturesque freshness about some of its descriptions, which wovild 
 not be easy to excel."— Critic. 
 
 " A charming tale." — Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 " Replete with soul-stirring incident and deep interest." — Country Gentleman's 
 Journal, 
 
 " It is interesting as having been one of the earliest productions of the lamented 
 authoress, and the very latest on which her pen was employed before her death." — The 
 Critic. 
 
 VIII. 
 In One Volume, price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 Emily Morton ; a Tale. 
 
 WITH SKETCHES FROM LIFE AND CRITICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Contents : 
 
 SIR E. BULWER LYTTON's PRINCIPLES OF ART IN FICTION. 
 
 A LECTURE ON POETRY. 
 
 THE SHAM FIGHT IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 CAPTAIN ACKERLEy's LECTURE IN ST. JAMES'S PAEK. 
 
 By CHABLES WESTERTON. 
 
 " A little, but a good book. We have very seldom perused a pocket volume of 
 miscellaneous matter more interesting and entertaining, from the simplicity of 
 style and graphic power with which the several subjects arc treated. In the tale 
 of "Emily Morton" the author displays a power of pathos and efi'ective delinea- 
 tion of character, which impress us with the conviction that, were he to devote 
 his pen to novel vriting, he would i-ank among our most favourite authors Its 
 appoaranct some years since in a periodical of the day, elicited the marked appro- 
 bation of one of the justest and acutest of literary critics — the late Charles Oilier ; 
 •whose favourable report of ai)y production was a sure stamp of its excellence." — 
 National Standard. 
 
 " A novellctte by Mr. Westerton is an unlooked-for fact. It is interesting to 
 mark that the principles which have led to Mr. Westerton 's notoriety, were his 
 Jixed guides years back. Mr. Westerton's book is thoroughly healthy and English 
 throughout." — Litei'aiy Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Westerton is willing enough to show how books should be written as well 
 as published, and in this little volume makes a fair enough demonstration of talent. 
 The leading tale is simple and obvious, but pathetic in tieatraent and sentiment. 
 Among the critical essays is one on ' Sir B. Lytton and his Principles of Art in 
 Fiction," which is argued with considerable acumen, if not always *ith accuracy." 
 — T'u Leader;
 
 27, St. George's Place, Hyde Park Corner. 
 
 " Of tho other papers, ' Captain Ackerley's Lectures in St. James' Park," in 
 which that eccentric individual with his ' Lamp of Glory ' is capitally described, 
 holdin;; forth to a motley audience ; and ' A Sham Fight in Hyde Park,' are highly 
 humourous sketches. ' A Lecture on Poetry,' delivered at the City of London 
 Mechanics' Institution, and an extremely sound and well-written article on ' Sir 
 Edward Bulwer Lytlon and his Principles of Ai-t :n fiction,' complete the volume. 
 Mr. Westerton has done well in presenting these few eft'usious of his leisure in a 
 collected form. He will do even better to resume the pen which he wields with 
 facility and skill, and add the hiurels of authorship to his other deserved claims 
 upon public estimation." — National standard, July 2. 
 
 " Mr. Westerton has shown nearly as much strong sense in this book, as he has 
 manifested in his political conduct. His purpose is earnest, and his manner of 
 fulfilling that pui'pose highly creditable to his natural talents."— ^eii'i Messenger. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Third Edition, 2 vols, price 12s. 
 
 Italy and Her Revolution in 1831^ 
 
 BEING THE ADVENTUIIES OF CASTELLAMONTE. 
 By ANTONIO GALLENGA, Member of the Sardinian 
 
 Legislature. 
 
 Author of " The History of Piedmont," " Italy in IS48," " Era 
 
 Dolcino," " Country Life in Piedmont," &c. 
 
 " M. Gallenga writes with the feelings, tastes, experience and knowledge of an 
 Englishman ; but on writing of Italy he writes of his native country. He has 
 an independent mind, sound judgment, and plenty of common sense." — Saturday 
 Review. 
 
 " Castellamonte is excellent ; few fictions are equal to it in mournful excite- 
 ment." — Westminster Review. 
 
 " Signor Castellamonte has a good deal to say, and an amusing way of saying it. 
 A good deal of zest is given to the narrative from first to last, by the introduction, 
 in the midst of highly coloured and exciting pages, of ironical touches and 
 grotesque reflections which leave the reader, for a moment, in doubt, whether 
 the whole is not intended as a satire. . . . The scenes among students, their 
 bombastic proposals, the ludicrous incongruity of their ideas, their open-air 
 conspiracy are here painted admirably. . . . The ride to Reggio, the encounter 
 with the priest, and the mad race back are related in a lively manner. . . . The 
 author contrives to keep us, from beginning to end of his nai-ratire, in a state of 
 cheerful vivacity." — Athemvum, Feb. 4. 
 
 " One of the most instructive and amusing works of the season. The 
 Daguerreotype of Life in Italy." — Britannia, Feb. 13. 
 
 " An historical romance of the time of the Revolution of 1831. A striking 
 picture of the revolutionary period." — Literary Gazette, Feb. 18. 
 
 " In these well-written and highly interesting volumes, a graphic sketch is 
 presented to us of a great number of startling incidents which marked the 
 progress of the great movement to which they refer, and they convey, at the 
 same time, an idea by no means exaggerated of the lofty sentiments, noble self 
 devotion and adventurous daring of Italian patriotism. Its pages are deeply 
 characterised by an attachment to Italy — a desire which no reverse can damp of 
 seeing her one day triumph over foreign thraldom, and a confidence alike in tb<> 
 justice of her cause and the worthiness of her people, which sustains the hope of 
 her ultimate success. . . . Among the numerous stories with which the book 
 a'oounds, that entitled ' Catching a Bishop,' is extremely entertaining. The 
 incident is uncommonly well told. . . . The book will well repay the trouble of 
 reading on historical considerations, whilst its literary merits are sutBcient lo 
 recommend it to the higher classes of English readers." — Morning Advertiser 
 January 25. 
 
 " In the narrative itself there is great variety of incident, and the scenes in the 
 state prison at Conegiaiio, the skirmish at Forfnzola, the capture of the Bishop 
 of Guastella, the watch at the city gate, and lastly the escape of the author 
 out of the power of the Austrian soldiers, are told with great vivacity and effect." — 
 Morning Post. 
 
 " Alas, poor Italy ! Twice has hope towered up to tho sky ; twice was it 
 dashed to the ground. Must wc resign it? Oh.' who would not die that Italy 
 may live I " — Author's Fareicell.
 
 New Works Published hij Mr. Westerton, 
 THE LATE GENEEAL SIR WILLIAIM NAPIER. 
 
 The death of a good soldier aud a great historian cannot be 
 allowed to pass without special record. Had William Francis 
 Patrick Napier been simply a titled survivor of the Peninsular war, 
 he would have figured ■\rith some note in the obituary of the year, 
 but his ser^'ice in the field, gallant as it was, has been eclipsed by 
 his labours in the study, and he now stands, and will stand for 
 ages, in the eyes of his countrymen, as the chronicler of their 
 countrj''s greatest exploits. 
 
 The supremacy of Napier's History soon became incontestable. 
 The truth is, besides the genuine nationality of its object and its 
 tone, there was a dignity in the treatment and a living verity in 
 the descriptions which led the mind unresistingly captive. Never 
 before had such scenes been jjortrayed, nor with such wonderful 
 colouring. As event after event was unfolded in the panorama, 
 not only the divisions and the brigades, but the very regiments 
 and regimental officers of the Peninsular aiTny became familiarized 
 to the public eye. Marches, combats, and battles came out upon 
 the canvass vdih the fidelity of photographs, while the touches by 
 which the effect was produced bespoke, not the ingenuities of his- 
 toric art, but the involuntaiy suggestions of actual memory. The 
 shrillness of Crawfurd's scream at Busaco as he ordered the Light 
 Division to charge, was probably ringing in the author's ears as he 
 wrote ; aud the whole scene upon the Coa, mth the little drummer- 
 boy beating the charge, the French officer, " in a splendid uniform," 
 leaping on the bridge, and the sirrgeon tending the wounded in the 
 midst of the fire, must have risen before his eyes as he drew it. 
 For the sake of painting like this, — for the sake of an eloquence 
 unknown before, and devoted unreservedly to the recompense of 
 British valour, people readily forgave the prepossessions or defi- 
 ciencies of the work. When the magnificence of its diction cul- 
 minated into subhmity in the stories of Albuera and Badajoz, 
 every reader felt that the theme and the treatment were consistent 
 mth each other. 
 
 As the Light Division accounts for one period of his life, and his 
 History for a second, so his advocacy of Sir Charles Napier's excel- 
 lence in every capacity may be taken for the business of a third. 
 Sir Wilham's devotion to the reputation of his brother, is almost 
 without a parallel. On this point he woidd brook no question at 
 any hands. In the Ionian Islands, in India, in the command of a 
 home district — wherever Sir- Charles Napier was stationed, and 
 whatever he did ; his acts were right. The historian of the war in 
 the Peninsula even resumed his pen, for his brother's sake, to 
 write the Conquest of Scinde, and so ivholly must his heart have 
 been in the task, that his alleged jyreference of this work to Ms 
 great achievement is not quite incredible. Even when the life and 
 sei-vices of Sir Charles had terminated together, Sir William stUl 
 stood champion over his grave, and at the most critical iieriod of 
 Indian debates, his chief anxiety was for the reputation of his 
 brother, which, in these discussions, he thought might possibly be
 
 27, St. Georges Place, Hyde Park Corner. 
 
 impugned. Sir William never projiosetl to himself an unworthy aim. 
 The image which wUl remain impressed upon the memory of the 
 puhUc is that of a noble soldier wlio did his duty in one of England's 
 greatest wars, and who afterwards redoubled this sei-\ice by raising 
 for liis counti-y an imperishable monument of the gloiy she had 
 acquii-ed. — The Times, February VMh, 1860. 
 
 X. 
 
 A Neio and Cheaper Edition in One Vol., price 12s. 
 
 The History of the Conquest of Scinde 
 
 By Lieut.-Gen. SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER, G.C.B. 
 Written by his Brother, Gen. SIR W. F. P. NAPIER, K.C.B. 
 
 XI. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition, with Illustrations, price 12s. 
 A HISTORY OF 
 
 The Administration of Scinde ; 
 
 AND THE CAMPAIGN IN THE CUTCHEE HILLS. 
 
 By Lieut.-Gen. SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER, G.C.B. 
 Edited by his Brother, Gen. SIR W. P. P. NAPIER, K.C.B. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Fourth Edition, price 7s. Gd. 
 
 Defects, Civil and Military, 
 
 OF THE INDIAN GOVERNMENT. 
 
 By Lieut.-Gen. SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER, G.C.B. 
 
 Edited by his Brother, Gen. SIR W. F. P. NAPIER, K.C.B. 
 
 Dedication. 
 
 " The Author of this Work is dead. 
 
 The care of putting it through the press is mine. 
 
 And to 
 
 The People of England 
 
 It is dedicated; 
 
 Because it exhibits faction 
 
 Frustrating a great man's efiforts to serve the public : 
 
 And shows 
 
 How surely the Directors of the East India Company 
 
 Are proceeding in 
 
 The destruction of the Great Empire 
 
 Unwisely committed to their 
 
 Misgovernmejit." 
 
 W. F. P. :;:?APiKH, Lieut.-Gencral, 1854. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Second Edition, price 2s. 
 
 Wellington and Napier, 
 
 A Supplement to the above. 
 By GENERAL SIR WILLIAM F. P. NAPIER, K.C.B.
 
 New Works Published by Mr. Westerton, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Price Is. 
 
 Napier and the Indian Directors. 
 
 By GEN. SIR W. F. P. NAPIER, K.C.B. 
 
 XV. 
 
 In One Vol., price 5s. 
 
 Six Months at Sebastopol ; 
 
 Being Selections from the Joubnal and Cobuespondence of the 
 late Majoe George Ranken, R.E. 
 
 By his Brother, W. BAYNE RANKEN, 
 
 Contains a valuable narrative of the unfortunate assault on the Redan, in which 
 the writer had the post of honour and of danger, as the leader of the ladder party. 
 " Major Ranken was a most promising young officer, whose fate it was to be the 
 last Englishman killed in the Crimea. His zeal cost him his life, for having to 
 destroy the large White Barracks, and finding that some of the mines did not 
 explode, he entered them to light the fuse again, and remained bui'ied in the 
 luina."— Examiner. 
 
 " Major Ranken evide'^tly thinks the attack on the Redan failed through apathy 
 and bad managemiinl On this question he speaks with great authority. He led 
 the ladder party, and was charged with the engineering operations upon the works. 
 He was one of the first men to reach ttie Redan, and one of the last to quit it. His 
 narrative has a distinctness about it that we have not found in any other account. 
 The account is long, but it is an historical document, and the only one, we believe, 
 that has been published." — Spectator. 
 
 " Respecting the fearful attack on the Redan, in which he took the lead, he has 
 recorded many incidents which have not yet been mentioned, and which it is only 
 right to make as widely known as possible. A more vivid description, or a more 
 trustworthy account assuredly will never be written. We hope we have done 
 enough (inserting two columns of extracts in addition to remarks) to recommend 
 th'^ best memorial of a thoroughly Christian Soldier which has appeared since the 
 publication of the admirable biography of the late Captain Headly Vicars."— .Beit's 
 Weekly Messenger. 
 
 " The narrative given by Major Ranken, who nobly led the attack, is more 
 graphically told, and evidently more reliable, than any which has preceded it. 
 He is almost the first officer who led ' a forlorn hope ' to live to describe what he 
 went through in the performance of so desperate a service. No pen was so com- 
 petent to place before us, and none has so completely succeeded in doing so, the 
 attack and the repulse on that occasion." — Morning Post. 
 
 " Some of the Major's sketches are uncommonly vivid, and being taken from 
 close points of view have a si>ecial value. No man was more identified with the 
 dangers of that terrible campaign. We find he was one of the first to enter, and 
 the last to leave the Redan. In trenches and rifle pits, in the forlorn hope and 
 the midnight battle, this brave young officer, in the fulfilment of his duty, gained 
 the respect of all classes in the army. His own narrative, modest and without 
 effort, is precisely such as a soldier should write." — Atheiiceum. 
 
 " Major Kanken's Journal is an acceptable contribution to the history of the 
 Siege. His narmtive of what he witnessed during that terrible time, ' the Storming 
 of tUe Redan,' is tliH most complete and clear account of the affair that has yet 
 lieeu given." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " His description of the assault brings the scone vividly before us. We must 
 take leave of Major Raukcn's interesting memoir, — it is a valuable addition to our 
 Crimean literature, and the ability stamiied upon its pages adds auother regret for 
 hi» Iqss," — Press.
 
 27, St. Georges Place, Hyde Park Corner. 
 
 *j,* A few copies ouly of the two following works, by Lieut.-General 
 Sii- C. Naijier aud Captain Iving, are to be had ol' Mr. WestertoD. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Third Edition, price Is. 
 
 Volunteer Corps and Militia. 
 
 A Letter on the DEFENCE OF ENGLAKD. Addressed to each 
 
 Member of i'arliament. 
 By Lieut.-Gen. SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER, G.C.B. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Second Edition, price 10s. Plates. 
 
 Campaigning in Kaffir Land ; 
 
 OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES IN TUE KAFFIR WAR 
 
 OF 1851—52. 
 By CAPTAIN W. R. KING. 
 
 " This book is as attractive in style as it is interesting in subject, and in our opinion 
 it has claims upon public attention which cannot be resisted."— J/ottict? Post. 
 
 " Captain King's book contains the best picture that has appeared ol the incidents 
 and hardships which occurred to the troops engaged in the war in South Africa." 
 — Spectator. 
 
 " To the statesman as well as to the general reader. Captain King affords the 
 most valuable information. His graphic style is admirable. We know of no 
 writer who has crowded so much of interest and importance within the same limits. 
 \ye have incidents of campaigning; rapid and forcible sketches of military opera- 
 tions ; graphic descriptions of Katfir tactics ; delineations of their persons, homes, 
 customs, country, and moral graduation, all presented in a style so unaffected and 
 full of honest energy as to well deserve for Captain King the literary honour of 
 ranking a£ one of the first authors of his daj."— London Book Circular, 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 In One Vol., price Five Shillings. 
 
 The End of the Pilgrimage, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 By ELIZABETH MARY PARSONS. 
 
 " Contains some sweet and affecting poetry upon sacred aud serious subjects.'" — 
 National Standard. 
 
 " Exhibiting feminine tenderness and devotional feeling, lighted up and vivified 
 by flashes of poetical 6re."—Chtlmsford Chronicle. 
 
 " Her talents claun for her a favorable notice, and we are induced to hope she 
 will continue to favor the public with her poetical contributions."— £m«x Telegraph. 
 
 " The religious spirit pervading many of the essays is to be commended for its 
 impressive and christian tone. A very acceptable present to the youth of either 
 sex." — Morning Post. 
 
 " We have here a small volume, but it contains some charming Uowersof poetry 
 It is true that they possess the violet hue, and seem to have been written under 
 the shade of the cypress. But what of that ? A pure heart loves to dwell on 
 things in their character sacred, and if Tite End of the Pilgrimage, An Old Man's 
 Tale, and Twilight, reflect a subdued and chastened spirit, they are handled with 
 to much delicacy aud tenderness, and such pretty imaginary is employed to express 
 the mind of the authoress, that a high tribute of praise must he accorded to this 
 little gem."— Daily Telegraph, Oct. 20th, 1859. 
 
 " There is a beautiful and tender feeling in these poems, and a sense of religiou* 
 awe which subdues without extinguishing the iMtural vigor of the poet's imagina- 
 tion ; the melody of the verse is very sweet, and some of the longer pieces mani- 
 festly indicate the power to sustain a higher and wider iiiKht."—JUustrated News of 
 the World.
 
 New Works Published by Mr. Westerton, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In One Vol., price Half-a-crown. 
 
 Christ's Sermon on the Mount, 
 
 AS EECAPITULATED BY SAINT MATTHEW. 
 
 A Perfect System of Ethnical Philosophy. 
 By NATHANIEL OGLE. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Routine ; a Tale of the Goodwin Sands, 
 
 AND (JTHER POEMS. 
 By ELIZABETH MARY PARSONS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Fourth Edition, price Is., with a Postscript and Additional Letter. 
 LADY MORGAN'S 
 
 Letter to Cardinal Wiseman 
 
 ON SAINT PETER'S CHAIR. 
 
 _" Cardiual Wiseman has had a set-to with Lady Morgan in Italy, and may he 
 said to have heeu heaten upon his own ground ; Italy being such, by the way, it is 
 a pity he did not stay there." — Punch. 
 
 " The lovers of our old English style of pamphleteering— that style of which 
 Swift and Junius were the masters, and are now the monuments — will not regret 
 the hour or so required for reading Lady Morgan's Letter." — Athenceum. 
 
 " T} e quarrel is worth nothing, if it were only to show what manner of things 
 those are wliich really do excite the interest and arouse the passions of the new- 
 made cardinal." — Leading Article of The Times. 
 
 " But to doubt the genuineness of St. Peter's Chair, to discredit that holy relic, 
 shakes that manhood which had stood unmoved by all beside, and causes his 
 eminence to give vent to his feelings in language certainly more forcible than 
 elegant."— y7i« Times. 
 
 " The terms ' unblushing calumny,' 'foolish and wicked story,' ' truly profligate 
 waste of human character,' 'assassinating of private reputation,' and so forth, are 
 the mild and gentle reproofs which this meek maji of Westminster has borrowed 
 from those peculiar purlieus wherein he informs us he delights to dwell, for the 
 castigiition and correction of his female antagonist. Norishislogicmuch suierior 
 to his moderation."— Leading Article of The Times. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Also, as a Sequel to the above, 
 Price One ShiUiiiri, with Four Illustrations. 
 
 The Legend of St. Peter's Chair. 
 
 By ANTHONY RICH, Junr. B.A. 
 
 Author of " The Illustrated Companion to the Latin Dictionary and 
 
 Greek Lexicons," &c. 
 
 " Legend, which means that which ought to be read, is from the early misappli- 
 cation of the terms he imports, now used by us as if it meant — that which ought 
 to be laughed at." — Tooke's Diversions of jfurley.
 
 27, St. George's Place, Hyde Park Corner. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Price One Shilling. 
 
 Eiclielieii in Love ; 
 
 Or, THE PROHIBITED COMEDY. 
 By the Author of " WHITEFRIARS," &g. 
 
 "'Richelieu in Love'— uuusual fact I — is entirely original." — Times. 
 
 " Written in a sharp, pungent vein, full of sharp rejoinder and searching irony. 
 Anne and Richelieu, wheneverthey are in contact, maintain a perpetual epigrammati 
 warfare, in which the sarcasms of the (j>ueen are parned by the minister with 
 great dexteritv and address." — Morning Uerald. 
 
 " Many of the points are admirable, and a^ pungent and true as they are witty. 
 indeed, a smarter or more elegantly written play has not been produced for a 
 lengthened period.'' — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " The language is always appropriate to the characters — sometimes even lofty 
 as the exponent of aphoristic wisdom, or the embodiment of Scintilhe of brilliant 
 wit." — Observer. 
 
 " The comedy is written in a brilliant epigrammatic style." — Sunday Times, 
 " The oialogue of this play is smartly written, the diction is antithetic, flowery, 
 and satirical." — Athemeum. 
 
 " ' Richelieu in Love ' is one of the most brilliant pieces of dramatic writing we 
 ever witnessed, and we notice it here in consequence of the savndalous persecution 
 with which the unknown author has been followed. For nine years this beautiful 
 piece has been refused a license ! "—Racing Times. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Price Eighteenpence. With Four Illustrations. 
 
 The Lost Child, and other Tales. 
 
 In Words of Two Syllables. i 
 
 By Mrs. BESSETT, 
 Author of " The Black Princess," &c. 
 
 •* No one has a happier knack than Mrs. Besset of writing stories for little peo 
 pie. She weaves fancy and jjhilosophy together in a most attractive tissue; they 
 inculcate a virtuous moral without the irksonicness ol pedantry." — Morning Post. 
 
 " The history is intended as a warning to all other little girls." — Atlas. 
 
 " It is not difficult to prophesy that these stories will be as great favouritei with 
 the young folks as Mrs. liesset's other stOTiea."—Athena;um. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Third and Cheaper Edition, price Three Shillings and Sixpence. 
 
 Spencer's Cross Manor House. 
 
 By the Author of " TEMPTATION, or a WIFE'S PERILS," 
 " THE NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS, " &c. &c. 
 
 " A charming work for young people — the narrative of the adventures of some 
 children with their attendants at a Slanor House in the country; a book for all 
 seasons, but well adapted lor a present for young people at Clu-istmas or ou Mew 
 Year's day "
 
 Neiv Works Published by Mr. Westerton, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Second Editiori, price 2s. 
 
 My Norske Note Book ; 
 
 Or, A MONTH IN NORWAY. 
 The most recent Book on Norway, and full of information of tlie 
 most iiractical kind for the Traveller. 
 " It is worth while, for those who cau afl'ord to do so, to spend a " Month in 
 Norway," and to take with them, as comiJanion and guide, My Norske Book." 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 " My Nofi'ske Book is a useful and agreeable addition to the publications upon 
 these northern regions. — Eiiglish Churchman. 
 " A pleasant little journal of travel." — Critic. 
 
 " A pleasant and unpretending little book. It is intended not merely to describe 
 what the lady saw, but to be a guide to future tranllars."— Illustrated News of the 
 World. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Price One Shilling. 
 
 The Aim of the Ministry: 
 
 A SERMON 
 Preached in the Chapel of the Holy Trinity, Kuightsbridge, on 
 Sunday, January 15th, 1860, on the occasion of Closing the Chapel 
 with a view to the Erection of a New Church on the same site, by 
 the Rev. John Wilson, D.D., Incumbent, and Head Master of St. 
 Peter's Collegiate School, Eaton Sq[uare. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Price 5s. 
 
 Descriptive and Explanatory Notes 
 
 ON THE MORNING AND EVENING SERVICES OF THE 
 
 BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. 
 
 By the Rev. J. E. GO LDING, M.A., 
 
 Late Curate of Hindcrday, Suffolk, but Now Vicar Gurtoii, Norfolk. 
 
 " We must speak of this book in terms of praise ; and we think it fills up a 
 niche not before so well occupied. Mr. UolJing's aim has been to aid in 
 rendering the spiritual use of the Prayer Book more effectual through a more 
 intelligent use of it." — Clerical Journal. 
 
 "The conception of the work is good; many of the < notes are excellent." 
 — lAterary Gazette. 
 
 *' The title of this work sufficiently indicates the class of persons to whom 
 it is likely to be useful. The notes are copious and caveial."— Illustrated Newi 
 of the World. 
 
 " A careful and well written commentary upon the Liturgy of the Church 
 Buch as may be put without fear into the hands of the youngest and less 
 experienced of her wm."— Critic. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Price Sixjjence. 
 
 Direct and Indirect Christianity. 
 
 A SERMON 
 Preached on behalf of the London City Mission, by the Rev. Law- 
 rence Macbeth, in the National Scotch Church, Halldn Street 
 West, Belgrave Square, on Sunday, February 13th, 1800. 
 " I have read the Sermon from beginning to end with unmingled satisfaction. 
 It is a clear and most vital contrast, and I hope it will be extensively circulated." 
 —The Rev. Dr. Cumnmg.
 
 27, St. Georges Place, Hyde Park Corner, 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Strength and Weakness of 
 Christianity. 
 
 AN INAUGUKAL ADDRESS, 
 By the Rev. LAWRENCE MACBETH, 
 
 To the Church of Scotland Young Men's Association, West London 
 District, Halkin Street, Belgrave Square. 
 
 C. Westerton has recently published, at the request of some 
 Members of the National Scotch Church, Halkin Street West, Bel- 
 grave Square, as a Token of their regard for their Minister, and 
 appreciation of his Seindces, a Lithographic Portrait of the Rev. 
 Laweekce Macbeth. It is admitted hj all who have seen it, to be 
 a most faithful likeness. 
 Jt is on View at Westerton's Libraiy, where copies, price 
 lldlf-a-guinea, may be procured. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Noiv Ready, in One Vol., price Five Shillings. 
 
 A Hobble through the Channel Islands ; 
 
 Ov, the Seeings, Doings, and Jlusings of one Tom Hobbler, during 
 a Four Months' Stay in Jersey and the Neighl)ouiing Islands. 
 
 By EDWARD T. GASTINEAU. 
 
 " It contains enough useful information to render it of service to the public." 
 — Critic. 
 
 " This is a lively account of the Channel Islands, and enumerates all that is 
 necessary to be known." — Observer. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Price One Shilling, by Post Thirteen Stamps, 
 
 Gen. Sir Charles James Napier, G.C.B. 
 
 AS CONQUEROR AND GOVERNOR OF SCINDE, 
 
 A Lecture delivered in the Theatre of the Royal United Sei-vice 
 
 Institution, on Eriday, March .30, IKGO, 
 
 By COLONEL MACDOUGALL, 
 
 Gomrnandant Staff College. 
 Ills Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, Commander-in- 
 Chief of the British Army, in the Chair. 
 " This is a lecture delivered lately in the theatre of the Royal United Service 
 Institution, by Colonel Mac Dougall. The lives of the Napicrs would furnish 
 materials for many interesting lectures. In discussing the merits and demerits of 
 our military chiefs, injustice is frequently done them ; no doubt, this is inseparable 
 from tlie freedom of discussion ; the leally great, coneciou~ of having discharged 
 their duties faithfully, will iiatiently await the fair v(^rdict, wliiih tim(! and the 
 issue of events will give them. Colonel Mac iJougall has ably set forth in this 
 brief lecture the high qualities of the gallant General. Few lives, indeed, afiord 
 such startling and interesting incidents, continuing from the first action in which 
 he comraiindi^d at Corunna, down to the close of his glorious career." — Lincoln- 
 shire Guardian.
 
 Neiv Works Published bij Mr. Westerton, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Price Half-a-Croxon. 
 
 Mr. Disraeli, Colonel Ratliborne, 
 and the Council of India. 
 
 A LETTER ADDRESSED TO 
 TheRt. Hod. the Lord Viscount ralmerstoii, K.Or. ; the Rt. lion, the Lord John 
 Russell ; the Rt. Hon, Sidney Herbert ; the Rt. Hon. C. P. Villiers; the Rt. Hon. 
 Sir Charles Wood, Bt., G.U.B. ; the Rt. Hon. Sir G. Cornewall Lewis, Bt. ; the 
 Rt. Hon. Sir George Grey, Bt , G.C.B. ; the Rt. Hon. W. E. Gladstone ; the Rt. 
 Hon. T. Milner Gibson; the Rt. Hon. Sir James Graham, Bt., G.C.B. ; the Rt. 
 Hon. Sir E. 6. E. Bulwcr Lytton, Bt. ; the Rt. Hon. 3. H. Walpole ; the Rt. Hon. 
 Sir John Pakington, Bt., G.C.B.; the Rt. Hon. J. W. Henley; the Rt. Hon. Gen. 
 Peel; Lord Henry Lennox; John Bright, Esq.; Richard Cobden, Esq.; John 
 Arthur Roebuck, Esq.; J. B. Smith, Esq.; Thomas Bazley, Esq.; and the other 
 Rt. Hon. and Hon. Members of the House of Commons, in Explanation of a 
 Petition for Enquiry. With a Supplement. 
 
 By COLONEL RATHBORNE. 
 
 "That my statements should be received, in the first instance, with incredulity, 
 can cause me no dissatisfaction. Nay, more; I think that, for the honour of human 
 nature, statements of such a kind ought to be so received. Men ought to be slow 
 to believe that such things can happen and happen in a christian country, the seat 
 of almost the oldest European civilization. They ought to he disposed rather to 
 set down my assertions to fanaticism or folly on my part, than to believe them as 
 an over-true tale of the proceedings of a settled government. But though they 
 ought to be thus disposed at the outset, they will not, I trust, bar their minds to 
 the entrance of the liglit, however painful he the objects it may disclose." — Letters 
 on the State Prosecutions of the Neapolitan Government, by the Rt. Hon. W. E. 
 Gladstone, M.P. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Price Sixpence, by Post 7 Stamps. 
 
 Mr. Disraeli and the ' ' Unknown Envoy. ' ' 
 
 A Letter to the Right Hon. the Lord Viscount Palmerston, K.G., 
 
 FIRST MINLST.'^K OF TIIK CROWN. 
 
 By COLONEL RATHBORNE, 
 
 Collector and Magistrate of Hydraljad,in Scinde, from the Conquest 
 
 of the Provhice by the late Sir Charles Napier to the 
 
 13th of August, 1853. 
 
 " Si ces choses qu'ils m'ont reproch<5;!s sont veritables, qu'ils les prouvent, ou 
 
 qu'ils passcnt pour convaincus d'un mensonge plein d'impudence. Lcur procede 
 
 Bur cela decouvrira qui a raison. Je prie tout le monde de I'observer, et de remarquer 
 
 cependant que ce genre d'homme3,qui ne soufi'rent pas la moindi-e des Injures qu'ils 
 
 peuvent repousser, font semblant de souJirir tres ,patiemment celles dont ils ne se 
 
 peuvent deifendre, et couvrent d'une fausse vertu lcur veritab[e impuissance. C'est 
 
 pourquoy j'ay voulu irriter plus vivemeut leur pudeur, afin que les plus grossiers 
 
 reconnaissent que s'ils se taisent, leur patience ne sera pas un eflet de leur douceur, 
 
 mais du trouble de leur conscience." — Le P. Valewbn, apud Pascal. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Price Sixpence, by Post 7 Stainps. 
 
 Exhibition of the Royal Academy 
 of 1861, 
 
 A FAMILIAR AND USEFUL GUIDE TO.
 
 27, St. Georges Place, Hyde Park Corner. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Now Ready, Price Five Shillings, 
 
 Life of Dr. Orpen, 
 
 Founder of the National Institution for the Education of the Deaf and Dumb at 
 
 Clareraout. near Dublin ; and for some years Chaplain to the first Church of the 
 
 Established Religion of England and Ireland in Colesberg, South Africa. 
 
 By EMMA L. LE PANU, 
 
 " Wherever he went he was sure to leave behind him the traces in his path 
 which tell that -a Christian has passed that way.'" 
 
 " This Volume is carefully and well written, and confers honor on the Author 
 as well as the individual whose life it narrates." — Observer. 
 
 " The career of Dr. Orpen, has been by Mrs. Le Fanu, elaborately chronicled. 
 Far away fi-oin those .\frican realms where Dr. Orjien died, a sanctifying voice 
 comes to us from his graYe." —Illustrated News of the World. 
 
 " Dr. Orpen's Life was a source of beneficence." — Derry Sentinal. 
 
 " Dr. Orpen was an eminent phil.anthropist — a man, who. like Florence Night- 
 ingale, or John Howard, devoted health, stjengfh, and energy, for the relief of an 
 afflicted class of his fellow beings." — Cork Exaanner. 
 
 " Those interested in the amelioration of the condition of the Deaf and Dumb, 
 will read with pleasure this Memoir of the Founder of the first Institution in Ire- 
 land for their instruction and relief; the general philanthropist will find other 
 points of character worthy of admiration. The little volume is full of agreeable 
 anecdotes, respecting the different scenes and incidents of Dr. Orpen's varied 
 career, in addition to the portraiture of a singularly amiable man." — The Globe. 
 
 " These Memoirs are written in a clear, simple, and pleasing style, and indic.ites 
 clearly enough the benevolent spirit of their subject. No wonder th.at the kind- 
 ness of his spirit enlisted the sympathies of all sorts of people in his behalf. 
 Dr. Orpen's own account of his Tiger Hunt, is highly interesting. 
 
 "Men likR Dr. Orpen, would soon Christianise even the Tribes of South 
 Africa." — Educational Times. 
 
 " Dr. Orpen takes a high stand amongst the benefactors of the land of his birth, 
 and of humanity ; and the unspairing efforts, and unflagging energy by which he 
 effected, from the pupilage of one deaf mute, the foundaiion of his school, is worthy 
 of the enthusiastic reverence which Madame Le Fanu has brought to her pleasant 
 t?sk." 
 
 " Crowded audiences attended Dr. Orpen's Lectures ; the exhibition of the 
 attainments of the deaf mute, added to their effect — the audience became infected 
 with the enthusiasm of the Orator." 
 
 " But we have not space to enumerate half the good works in which this 
 Philantropist engaged, but must refer our readers to Madame Le Fanu's most 
 interesting volume, which will richly repay its perusal." — Lady's Companion. 
 
 " Contains a fund of anecdotal matter.'' — Record. 
 
 " His career presented a brilliant example of totally unselfish benevolence. 
 His gxiod deeds are at length embalmed in a biography, which should stand on the 
 same shelf with that of Clarkson or of Howard. 
 
 '• The work ranks high above the common order of such productions. 
 . " In bringing out tlie principal points of Dr. Orpen's character as illustrative 
 of his chequered life, Mrs. Le Fanu has been entirely successful. In style, the 
 volume is unaffected and touching. .Sufficient care has been bestowed upon 
 method in the narrative, and the reader is wisely left to moralise for himself, where 
 occasion arises. Thus, the book is one of the most plc.ising description, and wo 
 cannot see how any member of the Medical Profession especially, can consider his 
 library complete without such a charming tribute to a noble brother." — Dublin 
 Evening Mail. 
 
 " Among the Christian philanthropists whcm our country has given to the 
 world, Dr. Orpen occupies a distinguished place. 
 
 'This noble-minded man'— 'this pious and great-hearted Irishman.' 
 It is, therefore, a source of peculiar gratification tons, that Mrs. Le Fanu has so 
 effectively given to literature the story of this good man's career. The author 
 has manifestly taken great pains with her book. The style is flowing, correct, and 
 vivid. We have not one dull level of circumstantial narration. I,ight and shade 
 are suitably disposed, and the result is a peculiarly iileasing memoir, which wc 
 have not felt surprised to learn that the Irish public highly esteem." — Dublin 
 University Magazine.
 
 New Works Published by Mr. Westerton. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Noiv Ready, in One Vol. Price 8s. Qd. 
 
 Cocbin-Cliina, and My Experience of it. 
 
 A SEAMAN'S NARRATIVE OF HIS ADVENTURES 
 
 During a (Japtivity among Chinese Pirates, on the Coast of Cochin- 
 
 China, and afterwards during a Journey on foot across that 
 
 Countiy, in the Years 1 857-8. 
 
 By EDWARD BROWN, 
 
 AMOT, CHINA. 
 
 " The writer of this interesting narrative states that he was a British seaman 
 'hard up' at Hons Kong in 1856, at the time when hostilities had commenced 
 between the British and Chinese authorities at Canton ; that he obtained a 
 situation in the police force of that place ; and that he subsequently took the com- 
 mand of a native lorcha, with a British registry, hound on a voyage to the west 
 coast, and laden with a cargo of dried fruit and salt. The lorcha was attacked by 
 some pirates off Cape Vcrela in Cochin-China, and, after an unsuccessful resistance, 
 was captured, along with those of the crew remaining alive after the engagement. 
 The writer was separated from the rest, and, upon the whole, was well treated by 
 the pii-ates. Soon after his capture, he was appointed gunner to one of the piratical 
 tymungs,and engaged in several attacks upon Chinese junks. On one occasion, he 
 was attacked by the crew under his command, leaped overboard, and swam to 
 shore, where he was at first hospitably treated by the natives, but was afterwards 
 confined in prison atQuong-foO. After a residence of some time among the people, 
 in the course of which he had many opportunities of judging of their modes of 
 life, habits, and customs, he, at length, rci,'ained his liberty, and once more set foot 
 on board an English brig. In point of personal treatment, he had little to 
 complain of, for, though restrictions were placed upon his liberty at certain times 
 and places, still, he says, they were only put upon him in order to protect him from 
 injury ; and he very consideratebly suggests, that if a Cochinese became destitute in 
 England, and received English food, shelter, and clothing, they would beas strange 
 and incompatible to him as their mode of living, habils, and dress were to himself. 
 He expresses himself well satisfied with their conduct, and to the day of his death 
 he will say, ' That the Cochinese generally areakind and liberal people, and much 
 superior in every respect to their neighbours the Chinese." The narrative is told 
 in an easy and unadorned manner, and affords considerable information respecting 
 a people among whom the French military and naval forces have been, for some 
 time past, seeking to extend the blessings of civilisation, and the knowledge of 
 their freedom." — Observer. 
 
 " The narrative is one of extreme interest, and bears evident marks of authen- 
 ticity, with just that amount of style, or the want of it, that gives such a peculiar 
 charm to travellers' tales, whether by sea or land. Mr. Brown's adventures 
 reminds us that we need not go back to the days of the Vikings or the Buccaneers 
 for startling events, dark .and desperate deeds, .and fearful and horrible scenes, and 
 tales of blood and rapine ; but that they may be found in lands washed by the 
 same ocean that leaves the shores of our own territories." — The Bookseller. 
 
 " This is one of the most interesting and amusing books we have met with for 
 some time. The adventures are narrated in a very spirited manner ; a great deal 
 of acuteness and sagacity in its observation of men and manners is displayed 
 throughout ; and the abimdant stores of anecdote and incident make the reader 
 familiar with scenes and country scarcely known to one in ten thousand, and whoiie 
 political and commercial importance is becoming every day more obvious. What- 
 ever came in his way, worthy of record, the author, who is evidently a shrewd 
 observer, has committed to writing, and the result is a work replete with valuable 
 information, set forth in a very lucid and graphic manner, and as such we recom- 
 mend it to the study of our readers. The volume is extremely well got up, and 
 reflects the greatest credit both on author and publisher."— iieiiew.
 
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