mm,^ 
 
 m*^
 
 /
 
 1^
 
 PR 
 
 To D'EWES COKE, Esq. 
 
 Of Buookhill Hall, and Kirkby, Notts.. 
 
 IX EEMEMBRAXCE OF 
 
 HIS ENCOURAGEMENT WHEN FRIENDS WERE FEW, 
 
 THIS PAGE 
 
 rs GRATEFULLY AND RESPECTFULLY DEVOTED BY" 
 
 TIIE AUTHOE. 
 
 942173
 
 ^1
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The lay of the linnet i3 not less welcome because the lark fills the 
 sky, or the thrush the woodland, with louder and richer melody 
 Neither will another strain from "The Sherwood Forester" be 
 disregai-ded by his friends because many poets of gi-eater power and 
 sweetness are engaging pubhc attention. He feels happy in being 
 cast on an age in which almost every village has its poet or its lec- 
 turer, manifesting abilities that a centui-y ago would, on account of 
 their rarity, have gained a national reputation. He sees the dawn- 
 ing of a better day for his race with unspeakable joy; and 
 i fervently hopes that the time is not far oflF when the good and true 
 and beautiful shall so have taken possession of the general mind, 
 that the sending forth of an interesting book by a man in any 
 sphere of hfe shall have ceased to be a novelty, and when such book 
 will be bought and appreciated for its own sake, according to the 
 instruction and delight it may afford those into whose hands it may 
 fall, irrespective of fame, or of that factitious notoriety which is 
 sometimes mistaken for it, and which too often draws the popular 
 eye from what is more honest and estimable because at the same 
 time it happens to be more modest. It is only in the advance of 
 such a genial day that the flower can cease to blush unseen and to 
 waste its sweetness, — that the humble daisy can cease to be despised 
 because it is not a rose, or the willow because it is not an oak, — 
 that a reflex of God's love can be perceived in all his works, and his 
 image respected everywhere, but especially in man, howsoever 
 liumble his sphere or his powers.
 
 And this is one reason why the author of these simple effusions • 
 has observed with growing dehght the unfolding of other intellects • 
 in his own locality, in addition to those whose thoughts have longer 
 leavened the populai- mind. Since (as will be seen by their dates) 
 many of the following trifles were composed, our wonder and re- 
 verence have been arrested by the bold yet classical genius of the 
 Author of "Festus;" the names of Thomson and Plumbe have 
 grown into household words thi-oughout the Forest and beyond its 
 borders ; John Gibson, hke a caged nightingale, has been singing 
 the songs of the greenwood bower in the midst of London, — as John 
 White, more free, is doing in the vale of the western Wye ; and 
 many others of the homely sons of old Shei-wood, without neglect- 
 ing a single duty of their ordinary callings, are living or striving to 
 live "the life of the soul," and to imbue with its effluence the world 
 beyond them. 
 
 Hopeful and earnest self-development, under the impulse 
 of the holier and purer principles to which the mind of every one 
 ought to be made obedient: this all men ai-e entitled and called to ; 
 and are no more bound to ask leave because it chances to be " the 
 season" of some louder man, than the redbreast or the wren are 
 bound to ask leave to sing, or to wait, because "the ci-y of the 
 cuckoo is still heaixl in the land." 
 
 With these sentiments to introduce it, another leaf is here 
 added to our growing Forest Library; another note, albeit a 
 feeble one, to the universal hjinu of the times— times in which 
 there are many kindly hearts, doing all they can to hasten better. 
 
 Wilford, near Nottingham, 1847.
 
 t 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Vignette— The Upland Hamlet, near Sheffield. 
 
 Poems. 
 
 The Upland Hamlet 1 
 
 Friendship's Pilgrimage 5 
 
 Burns and his Fame 10 
 
 Stanzas, &c 13 
 
 Not Words but Flowers 16 
 
 Ehymes on Hardwick 20 
 
 Flowers from Kyle 25 
 
 The Voice of Truth 26 
 
 Rural Influences— in February 28 
 
 The Same— in March 29 
 
 The Same — in Summer 30 
 
 Song — Eobin Hood and Maid Marianne 31 
 
 To , on a Visit to her Native Scenes 35 
 
 ,To a Wife, &c 37 
 
 The Dying Maniac 38 
 
 The Goldthorpe Miller 40 
 
 Derby Arboretum 42
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Thoughts on being called to magnetise an Invalid 44 
 
 To the Same Patient, after her Recovery 45 
 
 Sherwood Forest 46 
 
 Epitaph for Sidney Giles 48 
 
 Wilford 49 
 
 To my Father 53 
 
 To Mrs. Sarah Oldham 55 
 
 To George Woolley, Esq 56 
 
 Thanks for Flowers 57 
 
 Wordless Sorrow 58 
 
 To Bernard Barton 59 
 
 To my first Grey Hairs 60 
 
 Changes at Home 62 
 
 The End of Grief 64 
 
 The Rectory 65 
 
 The Sightless One 67 
 
 Evening Thought 68 
 
 Notes 71 
 
 Errata. 
 
 Page 18, line 13, for "were" read " where." 
 
 Page 30, last line, for "tcrapt" read "rapt." 
 
 Page 63, for " Stopt is the path" read " Tuni'd is the road." 
 
 Page 81, for " castle and its spires" read " its castle and spires."
 
 POEMS.
 
 I 
 
 THE UPLAND HAMLET, 
 
 THE UPLAND HAMLET. (D 
 
 Little old Hamlet! thou'rt a favoiu'd place, 
 A nest within a nook beloved of Nature, 
 A dimple on the landscape's smiling face, 
 Where dwells beside full many a pleasant feature 
 So genially, that members of one creature 
 In sunshine joying do all objects seem — 
 The hills so lofty and sublime in stature. 
 The fields that thrill with life, the brooks that gleam 
 ^nd sing to wake the woods from theii- long winter-dream. 
 
 -^
 
 THE UPLAND HAMLET. 
 
 And do the woods not wake at that sweet call, 
 Which countless other hidden voices swell ? 
 Hark! while the thorn-bud bursteth from its thrall, 
 How the glad news the thrush begins to tell 
 To his old friend the blackbird of the dell, 
 Recalling last year's warblings to his ear, 
 When, in the blossom'd bush that bower'd the well, 
 They chanted bridal hymns in music clear 
 For all blest things that wed when Spring's bright day^ 
 appear ! 
 
 How happy, loitering on this quiet hill. 
 To feel one's heart the centre of all love 
 And joy and beauty, which the landscape fill 
 
 From the deep vale to the calm sky above I 
 
 List ! is that sound the murmur of a dove, 
 Or the low gurgle of some rivulet lone 
 That tln-ough wild hazel-dells delights to rove? 
 Or yonder busy town's unceasing tone, 
 By distance mellow'd till 'tis softest music grown?—
 
 THE UPLAND HAMLET. 
 
 Little old Hamlet ! dearly do I love thee: 
 Thy cluster of grey homes and gardens green; 
 And woodland waving solemnly above thee, 
 With hooded well and muttering rill between; 
 And children gambolling round housewife clean; 
 Or patriarch, sunning at his open door 
 And reading news from many a distant scene 
 To gathering gossips, who admire his lore, 
 Thinking each fresh event more strange than all before ! 
 
 I love thee in all seasons and all hours — 
 From this, when Spring walks blithely fortli at morn, 
 Sti'ewing the lane-side banks with tenderest flowers 
 Or greening yonder fields with fresh young com; 
 To that when Autumn's evenings heaven adorn 
 And roll o'er hai-vests ripe their golden light; 
 Or hoary Winter weaves for bending thorn 
 A frosty mantle, beautiful and bright 
 Ls that it wore when May pass'd from our raptured sight! 
 
 b2
 
 THE UPLAND HAMLET. 
 
 How dear this cottage, too, that singly by 
 Stands with its chimney-clump in iTy drest — 
 Its smoke-wreaths curling far into the sky, 
 Solemn and slow, before they join the rest! 
 Awhile now hovering o'er a scene so blest 
 Those fading films, all silent in their motion, 
 Wake gentlest aspirations in the breast, 
 And then dissolve in the etherial ocean. 
 As in Eternal Love absorb'd is man's devotion ! 
 
 Little old Hamlet! ever may'st thou be 
 Retired and happy as thou seemest now, — 
 From avarice, idleness and luxury free, — 
 Thy children's peaceful arms the spade and ploughl 
 And may they ne'er to wrong or meanness bow, 
 But, loving one another, strive alway 
 Heav'nward to turn an open, honest brow! 
 And O, while oft they muse or praise or pray, 
 May God reign in their heai'ts andbless them night and
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Glow ! deep thanks glow ! that I am here at last — 
 That yonder tower-crown'd village, calmly peering 
 Over the landscape beautiful and vast — 
 So sabbath-like and still — my eye is nearing! 
 ! to my heart how peaceful, yet how cheering! 
 How oft have hope and memory hither stra/d ! 
 But, more than all beside the scene endearing, 
 Is this lone house, that from the waving shade 
 Advanced to greet me seems in Spring's glad bloom array'd. 
 
 Hail! long-left home of one who from thy hearth, 
 And life and scenes around, true learning drew! 
 Whose genius in thee gently budded forth — 
 In thee, too, nourish'd by the kindly dew
 
 FRIENDSHIP 8 PILGRIMAaE. 
 
 Of Nature's love, into full ripeness grew, 
 And round it shed that sweet refreshing power 
 With which one mind wUl kindred minds imbue, 
 As flower its fragrance breathes to kindred flower. 
 Or sun and moon-light blend in evening's heavenly hour ! 
 
 Dear to me art thou for his sake ! for though 
 He seldom went the jarring crowd among. 
 Because he quiet loved and hated show, 
 Deep joy he oft would give to those among [Song : 
 His friends whose hearts could vibrate, touch'd with 
 Master of all its magic power was he, 
 To wake the electric thrUl with feelings strong, 
 Or pour a gentler tide of extacy. 
 Fresh as a Junetide rill slow murmuring o'er a lea. 
 
 Yet was he vii-tuous: — Never would a word 
 One thought impure in his kind soul betray: 
 His tale or jest no evil passion stirred; 
 And modest, though enchanting, was his lay :
 
 FRIENDSHIP S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Oft have I known him, innocently gay, 
 Set our small gathering in a jovial roar; 
 Then with the fancy and the heart so play, 
 That eyes, which spai-kled wild with mirth before, 
 Would when he will'd it melt, and tears of pity pour! 
 
 And I have known him, too, in converse sweet. 
 Where twilight brooks sang hymns to Solitude, 
 With tenderest thoughts the ear of friendship greet. 
 Till friendship, by such intercourse renewed. 
 Became more friendly, ripening to a mood 
 Of love, almost like that which angels know — 
 Who, with etherial purity endued, 
 Through Heaven's unfading glades of glory go. 
 Communing each with each till in one soul they glow! 
 
 For often have we stroll' d away together 
 Among wild scenes, remote and rarely trod, 
 In Nature's wonders teaching one another. 
 Or silent lingering, to be taught of God :
 
 n 
 
 8 friendship's pilgrimage. 
 
 Who, breathing life alike through cloud and clod, 
 And star and flower — through all creation's plan — 
 Bids truth and beauty spring in every sod 
 And fall in ever)' drop, and gives to man 
 A passion and a power His glorious works to scan! 
 
 But Time along the fields of life hath pass'd, 
 And reap'd the flowers and sown the tares of years, 
 Since o'er this scene he fondly lingei-'d last, 
 Then took his farewell in a gush of tears: 
 For in his native haunts no more appears 
 The gentle poet now: — 'tis his to roam 
 Far, far away; yet distance but endears 
 His memory more ; and therefore do I come 
 Affection's pilgrim here, and hail again his home. 
 
 Thanks, then, glad thanks, that here once more I stand! 
 Thanks for this impulse sweet that swells my breast, 
 And makes my wamiest sympathies expand 
 Till on all pure and kindly things they rest!
 
 FBIENDSHIP S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Thanks for all charms in Nature's page express' d — 
 For all thafs wonderful or fair in Art! 
 Nor less than these, for Friendship's glowing zest 
 I thank thee, Heaven! with an o'erflowing heart, 
 And faith that kindred sonls no time nor space can part! 
 
 Such were my thoughts as I, some time ago, 
 
 From Sherwood Forest up to Heanor went — 
 
 My mind with beauties round me all a-glow. 
 
 But not on other landscapes unintent. 
 
 Its bright course through the vale the Erewash bent; 
 
 Yet to my heart the Yarra floVd as near; 
 
 For one with whom glad hours I here had spent, 
 
 Was with his herds and flocks sojouming there 
 
 But, lo! he now comes back, thrice welcome, and more 
 dear!(2) 
 
 r 
 
 j^
 
 BURNS AND HIS FAME. 
 
 Recited to a meeting of Scotsmen, in Sheffield, on tlie 
 Anniversary of their Poet's Birth, 1841. 
 
 Men of the laud of "flood and fell," 
 
 And deathless song, and matchless story! 
 Men who, where'er ye roam or dwell, 
 
 Point hack unto a home of glory ! 
 Though in Old England's heart my home — 
 
 A lone and lowly hrown-thatch'd cot — 
 To-day in Burns's name I come. 
 
 And feel myself with you a Scot! 
 
 Burns — Burns ! O, not in name alone 
 Is present here that spu-it hright: — 
 
 In many a song we hear its tone. 
 And feel its throb and see its light
 
 BUKNS AND HIS FAME. 11 
 
 In many a heart and many an eye; 
 
 Nor is it to our circle bound, 
 But, far as fancy can descry. 
 
 Is cherish'd, reverenced, and renown'd ! 
 
 Wide over Scotia's rugged land, 
 
 This hour ten thousand ingles blaze, 
 Round each of which a heart-warm band 
 
 In rapture chants his glorious lays; 
 While the lone packman,(3) far away. 
 
 Toiling his evening inn to gain. 
 Starts on remembrance of the day 
 
 And chords in fancy with the strain. 
 
 Remote, in wild Columbian woods. 
 
 The emigrant, with moistening eye, 
 Sees "Burns" in those vast solitudes 
 
 Upon his "big ha' Bible" lie: 
 He takes the book — the "wee things" thi-ong 
 
 Around, and list with deep delight. 
 As in his thrilling native tongue 
 
 He reads the Mossgiel "Cottar's Night."
 
 12 BURNS AND HIS FAME. 
 
 And where, by some Australian stream 
 
 That sweetly lulls the drowsy noon, 
 The unplaided shepherd loves to dream 
 
 Of wmding Ayr and bonny Doon; 
 His brother herdsman, wandering by, 
 
 Perchance the day to mind will bring; 
 And Scotland to their hearts comes nigh 
 
 As "Days of auld langsyne" they sing. 
 
 Yes! gather'd here or scatter'd there, 
 
 Britannia's sons, the wide world o'er, 
 Will hail him each returning year 
 
 With oflferings worthier than before : 
 Yet, though more tuneful each acclaim 
 
 And richer in poetic flowers. 
 No lay names Burns's dear-loved name 
 
 With more devotedness than ours !
 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Written on first hearing of the young Author of "Mornings in 
 June," " A Hymn to Sunset," and other beaxxtiful poems. 
 
 They tell me o'er yon Forest wide 
 
 There lives a man, like me, 
 Who loves to watch the river glide. 
 While wandering on its grassy side, 
 And mirror' d in its gentle tide 
 
 All natural forms to see ; — 
 
 Such as the pearly clouds that lie 
 Far scattered o'er an evening sky; 
 
 Or shadowy hawthorn bower; 
 The willow bent, or poplar tall ; 
 The old bridge -rail that fain would fall, 
 
 The shrub, the rush, the flower.
 
 14 
 
 They tell me that he loves the Spring 
 
 For music and for bloom ; 
 The Summer for its rich, warm glow; 
 The Autumn for its plenteous show ; 
 And — such his sympathetic flow — 
 
 The Winter for its gloom. 
 
 And, ! 'tis said the magic light 
 Of Song hath burst upon his sight, 
 
 And lit his way to Fame ; — 
 That Wordsworth can his spirit charm, 
 And Bums a cm-rent wild and wai-m 
 
 Send thrilling through his frame; — 
 
 That when he through Creation strays 
 On what is good and fair to gaze, 
 
 He plies the tuneful art; 
 Embodies in his living lays 
 The awe, the rapture, and the praise 
 Creation never fails to raise 
 
 Within the poet's heart.
 
 15 
 
 I 
 
 They tell me, too, liis wit is rare ; 
 
 That warmth of soul has he ; 
 That he another's joy can share, 
 Or cheer a drooping son of care — 
 Can comfort for the woe-worn spai-e, 
 
 Yet richer, happier be. 
 
 Now, — if 'tis true that such a man 
 Lives by the Forest, and I can, 
 
 m find him out ere long; 
 And o'er the hills, or by the stream, 
 Or thi-ough the woods, we'll rambling dream, 
 Until with joy our hearts o'erteem. 
 
 Then pour it forth in song ! 
 
 183*
 
 NOT WORDS BUT FLOWERS. 
 
 Thou tellest me thou canst not write 
 
 Thy feelings with the pen, 
 Though poetry gives thee delight 
 
 Thou fain would'st give again. 
 Bring then to me a poem, love, 
 
 Not writ in words but flowers, *" 
 
 Gather'd from lane and field and grove 
 
 In May's delicious hours! 
 For I full oft have known thee show 
 
 Poetic taste and skill, 
 In making wreaths of wild-flowers glow 
 
 Harmonious to thy will.
 
 NOT WORDS BUT FLOWERS. 
 
 Yes ! hither bring, a poem bring, 
 
 That to the heart will bear 
 Whate'er of blossom-bursting Spring 
 
 The memory holds most dear! 
 Let its first verse be golden broom, 
 
 Its next a white-thorn spray, 
 Its third a wildrose in full bloom 
 
 From some old bowery way:^ 
 
 For these will mind me much of thee. 
 
 While from the future turning 
 To long-gone hours of extacy, 
 
 Ere thou wert wan with mourning; — 
 Ev'n Hope itself will backward steal, 
 
 Charm'd by such emblems gay. 
 And brightlier smile as they reveal 
 
 Thy own life's lovely May! 
 
 Bring, bring me daisies from the hill, 
 And cowslips from the valley; 
 
 Primroses from the woodside rill, 
 Where ringdoves love to dally;
 
 18 NOT WOKUS BUT FLOWEBS. 
 
 And bluebells from beneath the boughs 
 That o'er the warm bank spread, 
 
 Where violets breathe their sweetest vows 
 And bine and bramble wed ! 
 
 Bring from yon blackbird's choral shade, 
 
 Wliere gladdest sounds are bom, 
 A branch of blossomy crab array'd 
 
 In hues that mock the mom ; 
 And fetch the full-orb'd kingcup bright 
 
 And meadow-lady, while 
 I stand and watch tliee with delight 
 
 From this old village stile. 
 
 And hie thee were broad chestnuts flower- 
 Where oft, in life's young day, 
 
 We felt the rapturous evening hour 
 Melt our fond thoughts away: 
 
 Then pull me down the wax-like cone 
 That blooms o'er that dear spot; 
 
 And thence bring, too, for joys far-flown, 
 The sweet forget-me-not. 
 
 I
 
 NOT WORDS BUT FLOWERS. 19 
 
 O ! tender is the charm of flowers. 
 
 By thy light fingers strung 
 In sunny fiekls or shadowy bowers 
 
 When the glad year is young; 
 And 'tis most sweet with thee to treatl 
 
 Wherever they abound, 
 And catch the extacy they shed 
 
 On everything around: 
 For wide o'er mountain, plain, and dell, 
 
 Their countless little blooms 
 Are stars, that sparkle to dispel 
 
 Life's sad and weary glooms ! 
 
 Then thanks to thee, loved Poetess ! 
 
 This wreath thou hast entwined 
 Appeals in words of blessedness 
 
 And joy unto the mind: 
 For flowers, dear flowers! I love to greet 
 
 Their hues from spray or sod; 
 They are the language, mute though meet, 
 
 When Nature worships God ! 
 
 ca.
 
 RHYMES ON HARDWICK,^ 
 
 As SEEN FROM CoCKSMOOR ONE OF RoBIN HoOD'S 
 
 Hills. 
 
 Lo ! where upon the plain appears 
 Yon fabric dim of other years — 
 Grey sentinel o'er all the scene 
 Old Sherwood and the Peak between ! 
 How, — as I gaze upon that place, 
 The ancient pride of Hardwick's race, — 
 How free in fancy could I stray 
 WTiere hoary History leads the way, 
 Forgetful of my passing prime. 
 The being of a by- gone time. 
 When warder's blast or htmter's cry 
 Awoke wild echoes far and nigh ;
 
 BHYMES ON HARDWICK. 
 
 Or warriors met in mimic fray 
 
 To celebrate some festal day ; 
 
 While peasants plied their hardy sports 
 
 Right merrily in the outer courts ; 
 
 And minstrel's lay or jester's joke 
 
 That mirth prolong'd till morning broke ! 
 
 What precious hours away have flown 
 Since first I wander' d there alone, 
 Child of reflection and of joy — 
 A thoughtful yet a cheerful boy — 
 The while I felt my mind expand 
 With visions of my native land, 
 And long'd its dear-loved scenes to paint 
 Without alloy, without restraint ! 
 And scarcely now less warm I feel 
 As on my heart again they steal ; 
 For pleasures such my bosom sway 
 As gladden'd it in life's young day, 
 And to imagination bring 
 The presence of my youthhood's spring !
 
 22 RHYMES ON HARDWICK. 
 
 Lo ! where once more, from Sherwood's downs, 
 I gaze upon its fields and towns ! 
 Its dusky wilds of gorse and wood, 
 With now a lakelet, next a flood! 
 Its hoaiy halls, or villas fair, 
 With humbler dwellings clustering near I 
 Its oaks so stately, that adorn 
 At inteiTals each brake of thorn; 
 Or bending willows that embower 
 The brooks that through its vallies pour ! 
 Its lowlands green and uplands grey. 
 Threaded by many a winding way — 
 Here merging into bowei-y lanes. 
 There branching off" o'er flowery plains — 
 Now through the pastures faintly traced. 
 Then — lost upon the heathery waste ! 
 While farm, and spire, and tufted height. 
 Complete the vast enchanting sight ! 
 Yet in the landscape, far or near, 
 Thou, Hardwick ! hast not one compeer ! 
 
 Then why do I begin to mourn 
 As here to thee again I turn ?
 
 RHYMES ON HARDWICK. 23 
 
 Why should a scene so fair impart 
 
 One sad sensation to the heart ? 
 
 'Tis not because the day is past 
 
 That heard thy watchful warder's blast; 
 
 'Tis not because thy hunter's cry 
 
 No longer wakes the echoes nigh; 
 
 Nor that thy pageantries no more 
 
 Eecur, as they were wont of yore ; 
 
 Nor that the chilly wind complains, 
 
 "Where swell'd th€ minstrel's thrilling strains 
 
 In thy old hospitable dome, 
 
 The jovial hunter-chieftain's home ! 
 
 'Tis not for these 1 feel so sad 
 
 Amid a scene so fair, so glad. 
 
 Ah, no ! it is the thought of one 
 
 Who having own'd an ancient throne, 
 
 Had yielded to a ruthless band 
 
 Her sceptre and her rightful land. 
 
 And come, an exile in despau*. 
 
 To wail her hapless fortunes here ! 
 
 'Twas hard to leave that silken seat 
 Where Gallia worship'd at her feet. 
 
 _5^
 
 24 KHTMES ON HABDWICK. 
 
 Upon old Scotia's rugged strand, 
 
 Amongst a still more rugged band 
 
 Of martial minds, to waste her years 
 
 In strife, and misery, and tears: — 
 
 But, oh ! 'twas harder far to be 
 
 The dupe of England's treachery; 
 
 And from her regal home be borne 
 
 To dwell defenceless and forlorn 
 
 Amid strange scenes, and hearts as strange, 
 
 Dai-keniug her doom in eveiy change; 
 
 Till murder seal'd at length her fate 
 
 To gratify a rival's hate ! 
 
 Poor Mary Stuart! 'tis not mine 
 To gild each wanton fault of thine; 
 I would not hold thee uj) to fame 
 As one unworthy of all blame. 
 But let the world consistent be, 
 Nor its own errors charge on thee; — 
 Of all — let not the abject things 
 Who hold that ivrong is right in kings, 
 To thee impute thy courtiers' crimes 
 And ti'umpet them to future times !
 
 RHYMES ON HARDWICK. 25 
 
 A nobler age — a lowlier sphere — 
 No flatterer to pollute thine ear — 
 And then methinks, devoted Queen, 
 Better and happier thou hadst been ! 
 
 1837. 
 
 WITH FLOWERS FEOM KYLE. 
 To A Friend in Sherwood Forest. 
 
 Here, Friend ! I send thee flowers, sweet flowers, 
 
 From Ayrshire's banks and braes, 
 \Miere Bums enjoyed his sunniest hours 
 
 And sang his bonniest lays. 
 Twine them with leaves from Birkland's bowers 
 
 And sprays of Budby's heather, 
 That Kyle and Sherwood in thy sight 
 
 And heai't may bloom together !
 
 THE VOICE OF TRUTH. 
 
 Oft in the storm's inconstant sweep 
 
 A solemn voice I hear; 
 And in the foaming cataract's leap 
 
 It strikes my soul with fear. 
 
 I hear it in the morning gale 
 
 Upon the bloomy lea; 
 And in the streamlet's evening tale 
 
 It sweetly comes to me. 
 
 I hear it in the song of birds 
 
 That yonder woodlands throng — 
 
 The bleat of flocks and low of herds. 
 The pasture-fields among.
 
 THE VOICE OF TRUTH. 
 
 And when the storm no more is heord- 
 No cataract thunders by — 
 
 No leaf is stirr'd where sleeps the bird- 
 No kine are browsing nigh — 
 
 Alarm'd I hear it — in my breust — 
 
 If from the right astray; 
 But whispering love, and joy, and rest, 
 
 In Virtue's heavenly way. 
 
 1835.
 
 RURAL INFLUENCES 
 In February. 
 
 Most mild, though dim, comes February in; — 
 Soft lies the snow upon the misty plain ; 
 
 The little streams make one perpetual din; 
 And scarce from singing can the birds refrain: 
 
 Nay, hark ! the blackbird now I hear begin 
 A timid answer to the robin's strain; 
 
 While fluskering sparrows in the old pear tree chatter, 
 
 And from its branches make the moisture patter. 
 
 Welcome ! sweet influence of the opening year, 
 Waking the pulse of hope in every breast, 
 
 The old to renovate, the young to cheer ! 
 Joyous announcement of a pleasant guest, 
 
 Who, though not present, is so very near. 
 We almost feel as with her presence blest ! 
 
 I thank thee, Spring ! that thus thou wilt impart 
 
 A foretaste of thy gladness to my heart !
 
 THE SAME 
 At the end of March. 
 
 look and listen ! 'tis the awaken'd Spring ! 
 
 How mUdly blue the skies, the j&elds how green I 
 And countless birds their varied wild-notes bring 
 
 Exultantly to hail the glorious scene ! 
 
 Loud shout the floods for joy ; and through the dean 
 The lesser rills are warbling pleasant strains ; 
 
 While vegetation bursts where it has been 
 Long-prison'd in the winter woods and lanes! 
 The young flocks merrily gambol on the plains, 
 
 Wild with delight beneath the kindling sun 
 That cloudless o'er the laughing landscape reigns ; 
 
 While Nature triumphs o'er her victory won, 
 And calls to Man with music in her voice, 
 Bidding him come and in her joy rejoice !
 
 THE SAME 
 In Summer. 
 
 To stroll at stintless ease through some wild dell, 
 
 Companion of the brook whose song ends never ; 
 Or climb and rest by the clear mountain-well 
 
 Of that rejoicing brook the joyful giver ; 
 
 Then gaze far, far abroad, on rock, and river, 
 And wood, and field, and all the manifold charms 
 Perfecting England's beauty ; — clustering farms, 
 
 And villages with heavenward-gleaming spires, 
 And happy animate things that move in swarms 
 O'er scenes the softest summer- sunshine warms ; — 
 
 O ! this is pastune sweet that never tires ; 
 But more enjoyed, tlie enjoyer more excites 
 To revelry in its sublime delights — 
 
 Waking and gratifying ^rapt desires !
 
 SONG : 
 
 Showing how Robin Hood^') first met with 
 Maid Marianne. 
 
 ['ll sing a song of Robin Hood, the Forest King of yore, 
 'iVliose like hath never since been known, nor e'er was 
 
 known before — 
 Who hated tyranny and guile, but loved and help'd the 
 
 poor, 
 Like a fine old English Patriot, the glory of all tmie I 
 
 'I tiethinks I see him standing now in dignity and pride, 
 Vith Little John, his faithful friend and servant, by his 
 
 side, 
 "ontriving how some slave to free, some tyrant how to 
 
 chide, 
 .ike a fine old English Patriot, the glory of aU time !
 
 ^ 32 
 
 
 For 8uch was oft his noble will, in days when Might an« 
 
 Wrong 
 Walk'd hand in hand o'er all the land, bound by a compac 
 
 strong ; 
 And for this cause his name shall live in story and in son) ' 
 As the fine old English Patriot, the glory of all time ! 
 
 Once as bright morning o'er the earth her canopy nnroU'd 
 And silver'd all the streams below, and tipp'd the hills witl 
 
 gold. 
 Bold Eobin left his woodland bower, and through th> 
 
 forest stroll'd. 
 Like a fine old English Patriot, the gloiy of all time ! 
 
 When, passing by a lowly cot, he heard a wailful moan 
 Break forth so piteously it would have pierced a heart c 
 
 stone ; 
 So in he entered that its cause might to himself be known 
 Like a fine old English Patriot, the glory of all time ! 
 
 '^.
 
 33 
 
 Lud there upon his humble couch a wounded peasant lay, 
 Vho said that but the night before a Baron stole away 
 lis daughter, beautiful and young, his only hope and 
 
 stay — 
 jike an ancient Norman plunderer detested through all 
 
 time ! 
 
 ?hen Robin summoned all his men, a strong and hand- 
 some band, — 
 
 lo skilful and so hardy were no other in the land, — 
 
 Lnd soon the capture of that lord, that maid's release he 
 planned, 
 
 iike a fine old English Patriot, the glory of all time ! 
 
 lis men all waited in the woods tliat round the castle 
 
 waved, 
 i?ill quick the Baron in his hall, through stratagem, he 
 
 braved, 
 ind with his faithful followers' help, the lovely maiden 
 
 *jike a fine old English Patriot, the glory of all time !
 
 34 
 
 He took her to his forest bower, — her name was Marianne : 
 Her father, too, of his free will, soon joined the gallant 
 
 clan: 
 She Robin loved, and he loved her — till death a faithful 
 
 man 
 And a fine old English Patriot, the glory of all time ! 
 
 Then let us keep his memory dear in story and in song. 
 Alone as in his woods we walk, or join the festive throng; 
 For while whate'er was right he loved, he scom'd whate'er 
 
 was wrong. 
 Like a fine old English Patriot, the glory of all time !
 
 TO 
 
 On a Visit to her Native Scenes. 
 
 Hail to thee, darling of my heart — 
 Thou of myself most cherish'd part! 
 Warm from my eyes the tear-drops start, 
 
 While thoughts of thee come o'er me : 
 For thou in those dear haunts art roving 
 Where first I saw thee, graceful, moving — 
 Where first I felt the joy of loving 
 
 In tenderness steal o'er me ! 
 
 There, loveliest ! flit from scene to scene. 
 And happiest thoughts and feelings glean, 
 Where thou wert on me wont to lean 
 While life's soft charm fell o'er us, —
 
 36 
 
 Where breast in concert beat with breast, 
 As fondly each the other prest, 
 When evening wam'd the world to rest 
 And threw its mantle o'er us. 
 
 But, dearest thou of womankind ! 
 Sometimes a moment lend thy mind 
 Unto the one thou'st left behind, 
 
 The one who does adore thee, — 
 Whose soul, at thy beloved name, 
 Will ever glow with that pure flame 
 Which kindled through his youthful frame 
 
 The while he first hung o'er tliee ! 
 
 1836.
 
 '^ 
 
 TO A WIFE 
 On the Anniversary of her Wedding-Day. 
 (1836.) 
 
 When first you met, the fading year 
 
 Sad semblance bore of thee : 
 The flower was shed, the leaf was sere, 
 
 And pale thy cheek to see. 
 
 Still sweetness linger' d in thy tone, 
 
 And mildness in thine eye ; 
 And rather than be left alone 
 
 He wish'd with thee to die. 
 
 But years since then have fled full fast 
 
 With joys and cares away ; 
 And Time hath noted as he pass'd 
 
 Your second wedding-day. 
 
 M
 
 38 TO A WIFE. 
 
 And now there's bloom upon thy cheek, 
 
 And brilliance in thy gaze, 
 And melody when thou dost speak, 
 
 And grace in all thy ways ; — 
 
 And fervent hope thy husband hath 
 That long, to cheer his hours, 
 
 Thou'lt be his partner in a path 
 Sti-ewn with domestic flowers. 
 
 THE DYING MANIAC. 
 
 " I'll not believe it ! though with madness 
 My poor brain be rack'd and riven ! 
 
 Or believing — I'll forgive them, 
 As I pray to be forgiven ! 
 
 " More than life itself I loved her! — 
 Hope of heaven and fear of hell 
 
 Were not with my soul more woven 
 Than my love of Isabel!
 
 THE DYING MANIAC. 
 
 " And for him — my friend ? — don t fire me 
 
 With surmises base as those ! 
 What ! — you still say I'm mistaken ? — 
 
 Have my hopes been such dread foes? — 
 
 " More than my own soul I loved her ! — 
 
 As a brother loved I him ! — 
 Bring me water — I am burning ! 
 
 Bring me light — my eyes are dim !" 
 
 Frantic thus, — with no friend near him 
 Such wild language to explain, — 
 
 Talk'd the wanderer unto strangers, 
 Dreaming o'er past thoughts again ! 
 
 Then upon the pillow heavily 
 
 Dropping down his wearied head, 
 
 With a deep, deep groan of anguish 
 Pass'd he to the injured dead! 
 
 847.
 
 THE GOLDTHORPE MILLER. 
 A Sketch from Life. 
 
 To Goldthorpe Mill, if you've a mind 
 
 With me to take a drive, 
 The master-miller there you'll find 
 
 The friendliest man alive ; "^ 
 
 And in an hour as much good sense 
 
 You'll from that miller hear 
 As many men with more pretence 
 
 Would utter in a year ! 
 
 Now, Goldthorpe Mill ! we presently 
 Shall reach the pastoral vale, 
 
 Where tells thy wheel so pleasantly 
 Its long, industrious tale ; —
 
 THE GOLBTHORPE MILLER. 41 
 
 Where sweet thy waters come and go, 
 Through woods and meadows green, 
 
 With gushes soft and murmurs low, 
 And silent stops between ! 
 
 Here, Goldthorpe Mill 1 on thee we look — 
 
 Thy buildings old and grey — 
 Thy pastures fresh, and shining brook 
 
 That glides through them away — 
 Thy bridges twain, and hamlet nigh, 
 
 And villa gay apart — 
 "While larks with music fill thy sky. 
 
 And swallows round thee dart ! 
 
 .\nd here comes one, who to no pitch 
 
 Of splendour strives to soar, 
 Although the adviser of the rich 
 
 And guardian of the poor — 
 The Goldthorpe Miller! Let us greet 
 
 This second " Man of Ross !" 
 " For why," when men like him we meet, 
 
 " Should great ones praise engross ?"
 
 42 THE GOLDTHOBPE MILLER. 
 
 Just as the dew-drop of the power 
 
 That call'd it into birth 
 A reflex is — for its brief hour 
 
 A little sun on earth ! — 
 So man his Maker's likeness lives, 
 
 However small his sphere, 
 "When for his kind his all he gives, 
 
 As doth the miller here ! 
 
 DERBY ARB0RETUM.(6) 
 (Written in the Album there, 1846.) 
 
 Blest be the man who here hath shrined 
 In Nature's works his liberal mind — 
 Whose history's told by whispering bowers ; 
 Whose epitaph is writ in flowers ; 
 Whose cheerfulness the wild-birds sing 
 To all who come in bloomy Spring ;
 
 DERBY ARBORETUM. 
 
 Rich emblems of whose love and care 
 The Summer sun and shower prepare ; 
 Whose generous hand laid out his stores 
 As Autumn forth her plenty pours ; 
 While ev'n by Winter's frost is wrought 
 Fit mantle for his pure, bright thought! 
 
 Yes ! here " the seasons tribute pay," 
 And all they gladden for him pray — 
 Both rich and poor, and great and small — 
 Since this is common ground where all 
 May come and feel to Nature near. 
 While Strutt through time becomes more dear 
 For teaching Man's great brotherhood 
 " The luxury of doing good ! "
 
 THOUGHTS 
 On being called to magnetise an Invalid. 
 
 There is something about her not moulded of clay — 
 A life and a spirit not earthly are with her — 
 
 And her look, mildly questioning, seemeth to say 
 
 "Why dost thou, my friend, to recall me come hither ?" 
 
 There is peace shining forth through her face from her 
 heart; 
 
 And I would not recall her to care and to sorrow, 
 If all that this fast-fleeting world could impart 
 
 Were to be my reward for the eflfort to-morrow. 
 
 But if He, the Great Source of all goodness and truth, 
 Hath will'd that her strength our dear friend shall 
 recover, 
 
 My hand I will oflFer to heal and to soothe 
 
 Whilst He, my best guide and director, looks over.
 
 TO THE SAME PATIENT, 
 After her Recovery. 
 
 I would not call tby thought away, 
 
 By light or power of mine, 
 From that far brighter, stronger ray 
 
 Within, of light divine. 
 All things, dear friend, for use are given, 
 
 And thou this %ise hast tried ; 
 But let no aid through man deriven 
 
 Turn thee from God aside : 
 Rather to Him and his dear Son, 
 Give thanks for all to thee that's done !(^^
 
 SHERWOOD FOREST. 
 
 O ! the fern-clad hills of Sherwood, 
 
 How beautiful are they, 
 When morning hangs on dappled wing, 
 
 Calling the dews away I 
 I love to bound along their tops, 
 
 \Mien breezes, mild though free. 
 Play o'er the bloomy fields below 
 
 And bear their sweets to me! 
 
 O ! the woody plains of Sherwood, 
 Outspreading far and wide, 
 
 Where peeps the low pretenceless cot. 
 The palace towers in pride !
 
 SHEKWOOD FOREST. 
 
 How glorious 'tis to wander there 
 When the mid-clay lark up-springs — 
 
 A tiny speck in the boundless sky, 
 That with its music rings ! 
 
 O ! the deep, lone dells of Sherwood, 
 
 So quiet yet sublime, 
 Where with the wood-bird's mellow voice 
 
 Is heard the streamlet's chime ! 
 How sweet their winding paths to thread, 
 
 When twilight's tender hour 
 Subdues and melts the musing heart. 
 
 Yet gives the spirit power ! 
 
 Dear native scenes of Sherwood — all! 
 
 Hill, woodland, plain, and dell I 
 I view you with a lover's eye — 
 
 A lover's heart, as well ! 
 For, from my boyhood's joyful hours, 
 
 Hath it been mine to roam 
 Amongst you far away, yet still 
 
 Feel everywhere at home !
 
 f^ 
 
 EPITAPH FOR SIDNEY GILES.(8) 
 
 Come, Nature's lover! let thy teai- 
 
 Fraternal on this verdure fall : 
 A poet's hones are mouldering here — 
 
 His mind earth could not keep in thrall ! 
 Oh, truest love poor Sidney hore 
 
 For all that's nohle, pure, or kind; 
 And we may search the wide world o'er, 
 
 But not a friend more faithful find. 
 How warm his heart! his wit, how hright! 
 His thoughts, what beams of morning light! 
 Alas, that here so soon was run 
 A course with so much hope begun ! 
 
 1847.
 
 WILF0KD.(9) 
 
 WiLFORD ! when first I gazed on thee 
 
 Whilst leaning o'er an upland stile, 
 Thy flooded meads were one vast lake 
 
 And thou a little bowery isle ! 
 The lovely view upon my mind 
 
 Impictured then I bore away; 
 And thou to me attractive ground 
 
 Hast been from that enchanting day. 
 
 Time pass'd, but left me not at rest 
 Until a pilgrim I had been, 
 
 All pensive 'neath thy grey church tower- 
 All cheerful on thy rural green;
 
 50 
 
 Nor even since have scenes more famed — 
 More vast or solemn, rich or gay — 
 
 Nor all the dreary cares of years, 
 My feelings won from thee away. 
 
 When town-enticements other youth 
 
 From Nature di'ew, — than they more grave, 
 I wandefd where thy whispering elms 
 
 Held converse with the passing wave: 
 While, fed with oil from Nature's urn, 
 
 Within me glow'd the extatic flame 
 That sent its gleam through future years 
 
 To something better far than fame. 
 
 And still, when every nerve and vein 
 
 Was by love's thrilling charm jiossess'd; 
 With its dear object here I came, 
 
 Again all blessing and all blest; — 
 And though events have treacherous been 
 
 To the fond hopes I cherish' d then. 
 So genuine were the hopes themselves 
 
 Ev'n now I'd cherish them again ! 
 
 I
 
 WILFORD. 51 
 
 Wilford ! wliichever way to thee 
 
 We come from thy snrroxmclmg plains, — 
 Whether by Clifton's wood-walks dim, 
 
 Or Bridgford's gipsy-haunted lanes ; 
 Or from yon spired and castled town, 
 
 O'er meads where flowers in myriads blow ; 
 Thy scenes so beautify the rest, 
 
 That all, through thee, more lovely grow ! 
 
 Dear Village ! I have wander'd far, 
 
 And much have known and felt and done. 
 Since first from Lenton fields I saw 
 
 Thy waters mock the setting sun, 
 As uj) they sent to heaven again 
 
 The beams it shed o'er them and thee, 
 While Spring went softly forth and touch'd 
 
 With mellower brightness tower and tree ! 
 
 From northern seas that dash and foam 
 
 On Caledonia's rugged shores, 
 To where at courtly Brighton's feet 
 
 The south its gentlest wavelets pours —
 
 52 
 
 From Lincoln's towers to Cambria's hills — ^ 
 From Durham dark to fair Carlisle — 
 
 I've linger' d 'mid the loveliest scenes 
 Of this, the ocean's noblest isle ! 
 
 Trade's proudest seats and throngest ports- 
 Great London's wonders, glare, and noise- 
 Dear Edinburgh, sage Learning's haunt — 
 
 With all their social hopes and joys — 
 These may, perchance, my mind have built 
 
 Upon a larger, loftier plan ; 
 And yet methinks contentment here 
 Had almost made a better man ! 
 
 Wilford ! how sweet once more in thee 
 
 Awhile to rest this wearied heart, 
 As holy Peace and Hope and Truth 
 
 Draw near, fresh solace to impart; 
 While leaves are whispering o'er my roof, 
 
 And waters whimpling softly by ; 
 And thoughts within from sounds without 
 
 Are thus obtaining fit reply !
 
 53 
 
 1846. 
 
 ! when far hence once more I go, 
 
 On duty's earnest mission bent, 
 Christ ! with thy presence comfort nie. 
 
 And strengthen well each pure intent ! 
 And should I e'er again return 
 
 To scenes as these so fair and calm. 
 In their deep quiet let me find, 
 
 As now, for all my griefs a balm ! 
 
 TO MY FATHER.(W) 
 
 Dear Father ! a volume I'm going to print. 
 And wish to have in it some mention of thee ; 
 
 So my muse, being at the poetical mint. 
 Has of filial verses just coin'd two or three. 
 
 The first is of thanks for whate'er thou hast done 
 In teaching me, since life's young lessons began, 
 
 All truth to delight in, all falsehood to shun, 
 
 And honestly speak out my thoughts like a man.
 
 54 TO MY FATHEB. 
 
 The next is with sympathy fraught for the dead — 
 Thy wai-m-hearted wife and thy second-bom son : 
 
 A mother more tender no father e'er wed, 
 An end more instructive no brother e'er won. 
 
 And now comes a wish doubly earnest for thee : — 
 It is that, as passeth thy own life away, 
 
 So like to a calm simimer-eve it may be, 
 
 That its light shall but fade in a new- dawning day ! 
 
 Once more, dear old Father, before I conclude : 
 
 'Tis a prayer for us all, that — our pilgrimage o'er — 
 
 We may gather again with our being renew'd 
 To live in the Light of the Lord evermore ! 
 
 To all in oiu- old homely circle convey 
 
 These affectionate words of thy wandering son ; 
 
 And tell them my hopes glow more brightly each day, 
 As strengthens my love for you every one ! 
 
 1847.
 
 ■^ 
 
 TO MRS. SARAH OLDHAM. 
 
 More love I and revere thee every day, 
 My dear, dear Sister ! for the patient part 
 Perform'd with all thy strength of mind and heart : 
 
 Of thy own family, and our Father grey 
 
 And crippled Brother, chiefest earthly stay — 
 Wife, mother, daughter, sister, all thou art. 
 
 And true in each to duty's natural call ! 
 
 O ! Sister dear ! whate'er may thefe hefall 
 
 Of this world's suffering — pain, grief, or cai-e, 
 
 Such as would minds less firm and pure appal — 
 Thy self-devotion is perpetual prayer. 
 
 And Heaven will surely thee preserve through all, — 
 Will to the end thy burdens help to hear, 
 And in its holiest bounties let thee share !
 
 TO GEORGE WOOLLEY, ESQ. 
 Isle of France. 
 
 Whilst lately wandering in the Old Bath Wood, 
 
 A glimpse I caught of the blue lakelet nigh, 
 
 That bright and calm lay, like a nether sky ! 
 
 And falling there into a dreamy mood 
 
 (In which all present sense became subdued) 
 
 Before my mind old things pass'd newly by ! 
 
 Then seem'd it from the shade two brothers leapt, 
 
 One of them tall and of a manly port, 
 
 With whom the other, as for safety, kept; 
 
 And near the water's edge they lightly stept 
 
 To a poor boy, who, more for thought than sport. 
 
 Would as an angler to that scene resort: — • 
 
 A brief description, George ! though unto thee 
 
 Thy brother Alfred it will bear, with me 1
 
 THANKS FOR FLOWERS. 
 To Mr. and Mrs. William Fisher, of Sheffield. 
 
 Dear Friends ! I thank you for the flowers: 
 
 Though gather'd in the year's decay, 
 Long will they gladden future hours 
 
 With all the kindly charms of May ! 
 For gifts are memories: — yours so dear. 
 
 Grafted in the receiver's heart, 
 Will freshly grow and flourish there, 
 
 Never to wither or depart 1 
 
 Nor is this that the posy's fair, 
 
 Though lovelier ne'er for me was strung; 
 Nor that it represents the year 
 
 From whose all-bounteous lap 'twas flung :
 
 58 THANKS FOR FLOWERS. 
 
 It is because of friendship's feeling, 
 Fresh, sweet and free as rural rivers 
 
 From quiet natural fountains stealing, 
 With which 'tis hallow'd by the givers ! 
 
 1842. 
 
 WORDLESS SORROW. 
 
 On hearing of the sudden death of a Friend, the 
 Victun of Slander. 
 
 Poor Sufferer! Slander's hateful tongue 
 
 Has done the worst it could for thee ; 
 But I thy virtues will remember, 
 
 And all thy kindness shown to me ! 
 What can I say of thee to thine i 
 
 More than I could the theme would claim : 
 Alas ! I feel a sad emotion 
 
 For which no language finds a name K"^ 
 
 1846.
 
 TO BERNARD BARTON. 
 
 Bard of the Gentle I mine is not 
 The free and constant flow 
 
 Of Terse in which thy sentiments 
 So calmly, purely glow. 
 
 My fitful song is as the bird's, 
 
 That in a sunny hour 
 Sends forth its note, then deep retires 
 
 When skies begin to lour : 
 
 But such a sunny hour has been 
 The one I've pass'd with thee ; 
 
 And in my memory to the last 
 As bright and glad will be.
 
 60 TO BERNAKD BARTON. 
 
 For I have faith that, should long years 
 
 Our friendship duly test, 
 'Twill not be less in looking back 
 
 Than looking forward blest ! 
 
 New Years Eve, 1846—7. 
 
 TO MY FIRST GREY HAIRS. 
 
 Blossoms of Death ! why here so soon, 
 Startling and sad as snow in June ? 
 My summers are but thirty- three; 
 Why come ye then so soon to me ? 
 
 Blossoms of death ! whence do ye grow ? 
 Why do ye come and never go ? 
 Winter's white flower gives place in Spring- 
 You to the last in your place cling !
 
 TO MY FIRST GREY HAIRS. 61 
 
 Blossoms of death ! then why so soon — 
 Why to me come before life's noon ? 
 Few years — how few ! — have pass'd me by : 
 Why come to one so young as I ? 
 
 Blossoms of death ! although to me 
 Solemn your early mission be, 
 ril take it friendly, since your bloom 
 Bespeaks a life beyond the tomb ! 
 
 AU things have use: — as snow-drops bring 
 Some tidings of a coming Spring, 
 Blossoms of death! ye say — "Prepare 
 To leave this dull, cold scene of care !" 
 
 And as, when Spring breaks on our gaze, 
 The snow-drop withers and decays. 
 Blossoms of death ! so your decay 
 Shall come, but with a brighter day ! 
 
 Thus whether, blossoms pale ! with me 
 Your season short or long may be, 
 Still let me trust, as ye grow rife, 
 The fruit wUl be immortal life !
 
 CHANGES AT HOME. 
 To John Whitehead, Esq., British Consul at Archangel 
 
 Allwood's Croft-stile is gone, my Friend, 
 
 Wliere once you frolick'd with such glee ; 
 Stopt is the path to Smedley's-end, 
 
 And fell'd my Father's cottage tree ! 
 Starch-yard is " Starch-yard" call'd no more ; 
 
 In Windmill-lane there's now no mill ; 
 The Tithe-bam's doors were closed before 
 
 The Siinday-school on Oates's-hill. 
 
 A change has come o'er all the town ; 
 
 The Cotton-works in ruhis stand, 
 And Unwin's-hall is coming down, 
 
 Although to last for ages j)lann'd ! 
 
 If_
 
 CHANGES AT HOME. 63 
 
 Cowpasture-hills are levell'd low, 
 And Maple-wells are all closed in ; 
 
 The Forest-side few ffowers can show — 
 Its streets grow thick, its woods grow thin ; 
 
 'Tis ti'ue the Church still rises nigh ; 
 
 But even that is not the same 
 (Since our old neighbours round it lie) 
 
 As when in childhood's day we came ! 
 And now a fine new School they rear 
 
 — That's one good sight I'm glad to see — 
 Yet all such change, however fair, 
 
 Makes home less homely seem to me ! 
 
 But something still, dear John, imparts 
 
 A charm to our old native spot : 
 Our love of many living hearts, 
 
 And many gone but not forgot, — 
 A tender and an infelt power, 
 
 Strength'ning as outward things decay, 
 Linking the past and i)assing hour 
 
 With a less changeful coming day ! 
 attou-in-Ashfield, 1847.
 
 THE EKD OF GRIEF. 
 
 Oh ! what a meekener of man is grief! 
 It melts the pride which other passions harden, 
 And breaks the spirit nought beside could bend ! 
 Dear Saviour ! sanctify its work in me, 
 So that it be a minister of thine, 
 To humble and to melt my stubborn nature, 
 Till thou canst mould and fashion me anew. 
 According to thy mercy and thy love, 
 And fit me for companionship with thee ! 
 And give me faith to hold this end in view, 
 That I may be forgiving in my heart — 
 Through all that brings me pain, or care, or sorrow- 
 As in my hope of thee I'd be forgiven ! 
 Thus shall "the life within a life" be mine. 
 And unto me, ev'n here, God's kingdom come !
 
 THE RECTORY. 
 
 Written on returning from a Visit, in Lincolnshire. 
 
 How pleasant here in those calm days 
 
 When Autumn in the landscape lingers ; 
 When skies are melted by her gaze, 
 
 And leaves turned golden by her fingers; 
 When morning dews are loth to go, 
 
 And noontide sounds are few and tender; 
 And the far western uplands grow 
 
 More bold in evening's glowing splendour ! 
 
 Lo ! where old trees yon lordly seat 
 
 Half screen from these fraternal neighbours- 
 
 The Church and Rectory, quaint and neat, 
 Where the good Pastor lives and labours :
 
 66 THE BECTOBY. 
 
 Sure, love auti j^eace and hope dwell here, 
 Though haply not unmix'd with sorrow; 
 
 For hearts that reign in that glad sphere 
 From woes beyond it oft will borrow. 
 
 Come but with me in winter time, 
 
 When all the scene has lost its glory, 
 Save where the woodlands rise sublime 
 
 And silent in their mantles hoary ; 
 When earth is shrouded by the snow ; 
 
 When heaven by one vast cloud is hidden ; 
 When thy own spirit's fire burns low, 
 
 And thou to hope hast been forbidden I 
 
 Come then ! and thou slialt solace share, 
 . Within that pastoral home so pleasant, 
 Tliat soon will banish wintry care 
 
 And to thy soul make summer present ! 
 For here — though priests too oft are found 
 
 Whose lives their zest from luxury borrow — 
 Is one whose parish has no bound. 
 
 Except the bound of human sorrow !
 
 THE SIGHTLESS ONE. 
 
 Forloni and thoughtful, there she sits all day, 
 
 Sightless, yet skill'd in needlework most fair ; 
 And though not old, her head is very grey — 
 
 Grief's ashes, not the frost of time, being there. 
 'Twas not so once ! I knew her in the hour 
 
 When other eyes were prompt for her to see ; 
 When other tongues, hands, hearts, were in her power, 
 
 To do her thought ; — oh ! how bereft is she ! 
 Yet still, God ! preserve her from despair, 
 
 Though all her pride of soul — so long her stay — 
 Her courage to defy, or strength to bear. 
 
 Should i^ass, like to her blighted hopes, away ! 
 Still let her feel the more secure in Thee, 
 As less secure her hold on Time may be !
 
 EVENING THOUGHT, 
 While walking in the Forest, near Newstead.^^^' 
 
 O'er Annesley Hills the sun retires, 
 
 Far-distant scenes to cheer ; 
 The moon from Harlow Wood aspires 
 To glad us here. 
 
 Yes 1 day hath set ; yet still on high 
 
 Its golden beams delay, 
 Soon in a calmer, cooler sky 
 
 To fade away. 
 
 'Tis thus the charms of pleasures past 
 
 Will linger in their flight 
 Till others rise ; then fade the last 
 In new delight.
 
 EVENING THOUGHT. 69 
 
 And as each hour of earlier day 
 
 More warm and bright will glow ; 
 While each successive evening-ray 
 
 Will milder grow ;- 
 
 So early life with hope is bright; 
 
 But, manhood's noontide past, 
 
 In calm reflection's evening light 
 
 We walk at last ! 
 
 And yet again, as one pale streak 
 
 On eve's far verge will stay, 
 Till round upon the east shall break 
 Another day; — 
 
 So life to life ti-ue faith shall link — 
 
 The coming and the gone — 
 A glory o'er time's farthest brink. 
 To cheer us on !
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 1. Page 1. — The Upland Hamlet, &c. 
 
 The scene of this little sketch is one of the many clusters of rural 
 homes abounding among the hiUs around Sheffield — is on the 
 Derbyshire side of that town — and was once, for about twelve 
 months, the author's residence. In all Britain he has not met 
 with spots more primitive and romantic than some in that neigh- 
 bourhood. The traveller on business might easily pass through 
 Sheffield, and cari-y away few of its associations beyond those of 
 cutlery and soot. Not so the poetical loiterer, who may take leisure 
 to trace to its source any of the five streams that converge there 
 and feed its thousand wheels. In such a ramble heA\'ill often step 
 witli the feelings of an original explorer into rocky nooks and bushy 
 dens, or find himself suddenly obstructed by trout-pools and natm-al 
 waterfalls of indescribable beauty. But stay— this perhaps is an 
 error : for there is one man who has described them, who has given an 
 undying poetical interest to the entire locality — Ebenezer Elliott, 
 in his "Village Patriarch," "Ranter,'' "Ribbledin," and other glow- 
 ing and graphic emanations of his pictiu-esque yet practical mind. 
 Indeed Elliott may be truly said to impersonate the genius of the 
 district; for his soul is a reflex of all its features, from the most 
 •wild and stern to the most gentle and tender Thus there is not 
 one of its streams that does not palpably fling itself from the dark 
 mountains and rugged rocks into the green dells and meadows, and 
 so revel and shout, or sink into a low pathetic moaning in his verse, 
 as he adapts it to the illustration of his argument and pours it with 
 a resistless chai-m into the soul of his reader. Of these five 
 streams, though several are more headlong and wild in their course, 
 none are more beautiful than the Pokter, "Nature's thwarted 
 chUd," as it murmm-s from wheel to wheel through the woqds, at 
 the distance of from a quarter to half a mile below our " Upland
 
 72 
 
 Hamlet," with a voice just loud enough to grow familiar there in 
 the still hours of the night, the sabbath, or a summer holiday. 
 With his dog and staii' — or frequently with a dearer companion to 
 whom it was his chiefest delight to point out the wonders and beau- 
 ties of such scenes — or sometimes all alone — the author would at 
 one period wander amongst them, to indulge in 
 
 " the still communion that transcends 
 The imperfect offices of prayer and praise," 
 until there seemed not another such paradise on earth. Then 
 would he return and write down some of his— probably minoi^ 
 reflections : for he ever marvelled at the impossibility of giving full 
 expression to those nobler and warmer emotions which, for lack ol 
 such expression, would sometimes almost burst his bosom. Perhaps 
 it was to indicate what he was thus unable to develope that " The 
 Upland Hamlet" was thrown off on returning from one of these 
 rambles. 
 
 Note 2. Page 9, 
 
 The Erewash is alittle stream dividing the counties of Nottingham 
 and Derby. The Yarra is a river of the wilds, in Southern Aus- 
 tralia.— See " Impressions of Australia Felix, during a Four Years' 
 Residence, Sfc." By Richard Howitt. London : Longman & Co. 
 
 Note 3. Page 11. 
 
 " Whilst the lone packman far away, 
 Toiliny his evening inn to gain," &C. 
 
 Wordsworth's great poem, "The Excursion," has invested the 
 travelling packman -ivith a beautiful clissical interest in addition to 
 the original adveuturousness of his chai-acter. Born, perhaps, in 
 the Dale of the Annan or the Nith, or even much farther in the 
 counti-y than these, and turned early upon the world to shift for 
 himself, though possessed of no fortune beyond the simple elements 
 of a Scotch education to aid his natural eagerness, — with these, and 
 the memory of his native scenes and songs, he makes his way 
 southward under the ruling idea of 
 
 " Gathering gear by every wile 
 That's justified by honour." 
 And that some of them occasionally deviate fi-om the line of recti- 
 tude, either in the getting or spending of gain, ought not (as in
 
 many minds it unfortunately does) to militate against the entire 
 class. We know very weU that some men by their conduct will 
 degi-ade the highest profession, as others by the contrai-y will en- 
 noble the lowest. Thus it is far from an uninteresting sight, that of 
 the solitary Scotchman, toiling with his pack, from village to ham- 
 let, and from hamlet to lonely farm' — not unfrequently with a book 
 in his hand to beguile the time between, or to gratify a taste above 
 his calling. And in truth, to some of our dull, sleepy-minded little 
 towns the pei-iodical dropping in of one these active and intelligent 
 men is a perfect boon .' In a place of the kind, where the autlior 
 resided prior to the establishment of the penny postage, nothing 
 could surpass the interest with which he looked for the fortnightly 
 ari-ival of the intelligent and tasteful WilUam Davidson, a native of 
 Annandale, who, with his sample pack under his arm, acted as a 
 sort of courier from one thinking and reading man to another along 
 the borders of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire — where the pecu- 
 liarly Scottish names of M'Latchie, Campbell, Macgarr, Broadfoot, 
 &c., are well known in the same calling ; as once were those of 
 M'Quhae, M'CaUa, and many others, most of whom have so "won 
 their way" in the country-side as in time to estabUsh themselves there 
 — some of them marrying into the famihes of rural innkeepers and 
 tradesmen, or even higher than these, and so interfusing into our 
 Midland population a leaven of their own practical and enterprising 
 but'poetical spirit. It is one of this class of adventurers that Words- 
 worth has invested with the beautiful reflective qualities of his own 
 jnind, and made a leading hero of his poem, after supposing him to 
 have acquired a competency by his calling and to have retired upon it 
 to contemplate at ease the scenes of his past toils and hopes among 
 the mountains of Westmoreland and Cumberland. Nor would the 
 description, \vith some slight alterations, iU befit one the author 
 has just now in his thought, who is stiU engaged in the vocation on 
 the edge of what once was Sherwood Forest, and with whom he has 
 had many a pleasant hour's converse about Bums and Scotland 
 when accompanying him a few miles on his way from town to town. 
 Whilst writing this however, a friend reminds him that the calhng 
 of the class he is thus describing induces habits of improvidence, 
 and other moral evils, among our poorer population, by causing 
 them to take goods, often not at all needful, for which they are 
 afterwards compelled to pay at ruinous prices to make up for length 
 of credit. But to tlds it may be repUed that there is a corrective
 
 74 
 
 principle at work by which all bad systems soon become modified j 
 or annihilated. Indeed, the entire system of society is evidently ' 
 undergoing a great and rapid change ; and none is more hkely than 
 the pi-actical yet far-seeing and kindly Scot to do business on a 
 more sound and enlightened plan as facilities are afforded him. 
 Railways, with their collateral or contingent institutions, may in 
 due course, pei-haps, do away with the " lone packman's " vocation 
 altogether ; but Scottish enterprise and effort will still remain, and . 
 will doubtless, like everything else, adapt themselves in a great > 
 degree to the spirit of the times. 
 
 Note 4. Page 20.— Rhtmes on Hardvpick, &c. 
 
 There are two Hard wicks seen from Cocksmoor — one an old re- 
 ligious house, on the borders of the parishes of Kirkby and Sutton- 
 in-Ashfield, at which Cardinal Wolsey slept on his way to Leicester 
 Abbey, at which latter place he died. The other is a deservedly 
 famous seat of the Duke of Devonshire, inherited by the Cavendish 
 family from John Hardwick, through his daughter Elizabeth, the 
 celebrated Countess of Shrewsbury ; and the magnificent house 
 built by her, with the ruins of an older one by its side (forming in 
 the distance, as it were, one vast and single pile) is the hoary 
 " sentinel of all the scene" alluded to in these rhymes. It would 
 be useless here to enter upon the debated question as to whether 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, ever was a prisoner at Hardwick. If she 
 were, it must have been in the old house, as the new one was not 
 built when she was in the custody of the Earl of Shrewsbui-y. But 
 whether she were actually confined there or not, the place has 
 become so associated with her in the popular mind, and the new 
 house contains so many vestiges of her custody in the family, that 
 few who have heard her sad story, ever view it from a distance, as 
 it peers over the varied and wide-stretching landscape, withovit in 
 some wav associating one with the other. Mary is known to have 
 been with the Earl's family at nearly aU his other seats, and Mrs. 
 Jameson appears to think it probable that she must have made a 
 brief stay at Hardwick. It certainly would be strange, considering 
 that she "was confined at various periods at the four points of Work- 
 sop, SheiReld, Wingfield, and Chatsworth, if Hai-dwick, so central 
 to tliem all, should never have been touched at. But be this as it 
 may, assuredly nothing can ever disassociate the memory of Mary
 
 from Hardwick in the minds of poets and tourists, or even of the 
 BUi'rounding peasantry. 
 
 Note 5. Page31.— Robin Hood, &c. 
 
 The author has in this song embodied an idea for which, although 
 it may harmonise Avith the general attributes of Robin Hood, he 
 does not pretend to have even the authority of tradition. It was 
 thro-wTi off playfully and extemporaneously for a festive occasion in 
 the Forest, and intended to be sung to the tune of " The fine old 
 EngUsh Gentleman ;" but it mil be seen that each of its stanzas is 
 a line shorter than the stanza of that popular song. As to whether 
 there ever was a veritable Robin Hood, or whether he is merely an 
 ideal character in the old Saxon mythology, is a question which it is 
 impossible to discuss at length in this note. The author has, how- 
 ever, no hesitation in expressing his conviction, that even if the 
 name and chai-acter had an origin far more remote, in the old my- 
 thology, they were assumed and boldly impersonated by one of the 
 patriots who fought against the eai-ly Anglo-Norman tyranny, and 
 who afterwards found a retreat in the A\'ilder parts of the Midland 
 district. The old chroniclers say that after Robin Hood's death 
 many of his followers returned to tiieir homes. And it is a remai-k- 
 able fact that there is even yet, in the neighbourhood of SheflEield, 
 one of the cleai-est vestiges of the existence of such a band, now 
 knoAvn by the name of the " Hallamshire Hunt." — The members of 
 this " hunt" are nearly aU poor working men. Those of them who 
 cannot afford to keep hounds subscribe a certain sum to assist those 
 who do. In this way they support a first-rate pack, with which 
 they occasionally sally forth into the counti-y, all on foot, led by a 
 huntsman in (ireen and gold, and bearing a small bugle. The 
 author has often met, and sometimes run with them, in the A\ild 
 dells and mountain fastnesses of the Derbyshire and Yorkshire 
 border. On one of these occasions the huntsman told him he had 
 no idea how the hunt was first organised; but that it Avas vei-y old, 
 and that he had himself heard or seen the names of his predecessors 
 in the leadership of it for at least two hundi-ed years back ! One 
 thing is very clear, that such a regular organisation of gi-inders, 
 peasants, &c., for such a pui-pose, is totally opposed to the genius 
 of the game laws, and could only have been first estabhshed by a 
 band of men for which those laws, however stringent, were too 
 weak— and that must necessarily have been many ages ago. And
 
 76 
 
 since the Eobin Hood who fought under Simon Montfort at thfl 
 TJattle of Evesham is said to have been a native of Locksley neai 
 SheiReld, and to have returned to the neighbouring forests aftei 
 that event, — since many of his followers, (inheriting the spirit 
 of their ancestors who but about a century before, under Ear' 
 Waltheof, resisted the Normans later than any other people ir 
 England,) would probably have been drawn from the same district 
 — why should not they, on returning home, still retain many ve» 
 tiges of their gi-een-wood Ufe, and transmit them to their posterity 
 as we see in " the Hallamshire Hunt ?" The author here ventures 
 this question chiefly as a suggestion to antiquaries and critics 
 more able, whilst claiming to exercise upon it for himself the righ1 
 of private j udgment. That such a band as that he now describes if 
 in existence any one who cares may easily prove to himself; and 
 that he has, when residing at "the Upland Hamlet" been awakened 
 by the huntsman, who came round with his bugle at day-dawn, to 
 caU the pack together, and has hunted with them in the wild vallies 
 of the Rivelin and Locksley, is just as time as that he is making 
 this simple record of the facts. The grave of Little John (possiblj 
 a jocular corruption of John Le Tall) is still pointed out in the 
 church-yard of Hathersage, only three hours' easy walkfr om Sheffield 
 and the author knows several people who can remember Ms cap 
 and bow hanging in the church, until they were removed, in a most 
 tasteless manner, to a private mansion, where their interest must 
 necessarily lessen if it be not entirely lost. Thus it will be seen 
 that the traditions of Eobin Hood, however much exaggerated, are 
 not altogether independent of the support of facts. See theAulhor'i 
 two works "The Forester's Offering" and "Rambles in the 
 Country" for further remarks on these subjects. 
 
 Note 6. Page 42. — Derby Arboretum. 
 
 This beautiful and ample botanical garden and promenade was 
 given to the town of Derby by the late philanthropic Joseph 
 Strutt, Esq. — a name that mil be held in reverence so long as 
 Derby retains a single inhabitant. Under certain regTilations the 
 poor have access to it as well as the rich ; and in the lines to which 
 this note refers, the author lias only expressed a universal senti- 
 ment. 
 
 r
 
 Note 7. Page 45. 
 
 The practice of "Magnetising" or "Mesmerising" asitis vai-iously 
 called, and as referred to here, is one that has deeply engaged the 
 writer's attention for some years, and for his earnestness in which 
 he has suifei-ed almost evei-y degree of encouragement and blame 
 fi"om its friends and opponents. Nor has he been altogether free 
 from occasional conflicts on the subject in his own mind, — not that 
 he doubts, or ever doubted, the existence of the power ; for that is as 
 e\adent to him as the existence of his o^^^l body; — but because of 
 the difficulty he found in coming to a conclusion as to the spirit in 
 which alone it ought to be employed. His impression at present 
 is that it may be applied with as little hesitancy as any other cura- 
 tive agent, in any case wherein it is right to attempt medical treat- 
 ment at all ; — that it ought not to be monopolised by one individual 
 or class, but exercised by the healthy, sagacious, and well-disposed 
 of every rank, for the benefit of their suffex-ing fi-iends ; — that any 
 one who by the process changes the condition of another, until it 
 becomes obedient to his own will, ought never to forget that he 
 is responsible for the consequences to God and the patient, in 
 proportion as the Arill of the latter becomes thus subdued ; — and 
 that it is exceedingly wrong to employ it merely for the gratification 
 of an idle cui-iosity, or for divination, or for any sensual or selfish 
 purpose. Like every other element in nature over which the Deity 
 has allowed his creatures to share controul, it is a blessing or a 
 curse according as it is put in operation by a virtuous or a vicious 
 will ; and can never be applied so well as witli a pure feehng of 
 dependence upon, and responsibility to, the Great Giver, and of 
 humanity to the suffering receiver. Exercised in this spirit, 
 and in the observation of these conditions, it becomes a contagion 
 of health (as the author thinks), which the operator no more loses 
 by impai'ting, than one diseased loses his complaint by infecting 
 another : for the agent is vitality, which, when the operator is in 
 proi^er condition, is replenished, as fast as expended, by his own 
 respiration and pulsation. The names which the practice bears are 
 open to much objection ; but those who do not Uke them can use 
 it without them, and call it, if they like, a fiiendly act. The case 
 by which these remarks are suggested is one as interesting as it is 
 unostentatious, and will long be referred to in the town of Derby 
 as a proof of the use of such operations.
 
 78 
 
 Note 8. Page 48.— Sidney Giles. i 
 
 Sidney Giles was one of tliose in wlioin gentleness and tenderness 
 of spirit are associated with the most fervent, honest and pure af- 
 fections, and an active imagination. Consequently, the thrift and 
 strLft of the world consumed his body early, that a soul so sensitive 
 might not be trammelled and harrassed longer than was needful to 
 school it for a better life. He was born in Mount Street, Notting- 
 ham, in 1814 ; married at Leicester in 1 841 ; and is buried (with the 
 "Infant Son" of the following poem,) in the yard of Gallowtree-gate 
 Chapel, in the latter town, where he died himself in the autumn of 
 1846 — leaving a widow and two children to cherish the memory of 
 his fidelity, genius, industry and general worth. His modesty 
 prevented so wide a knowledge of his powers and virtues as they 
 deserved ; but he vnll long be remembered by the few who knew 
 him best with love and veneration. As he ever lived the " life 
 within," his visible career was fraught with but few incidents for 
 the biogi-apher ; though, doubtless, a full reflex of his mind and its 
 internal manifestations would be both beautiful and impressive : 
 for it was one on which Nature deUghted to inscribe her fairest 
 forms. Among the few incidents in his career to which he was in 
 the habit of occasionally referring with more than ordinary interest, 
 was that of his first becoming acquainted with Richard Howitt, — 
 an event that gave an additional stimulus to the cultivation of liis 
 faculty for poetry. He subsequently became a contributor to 
 " Dearden's INIiscellany," scattered through which may be found a 
 considerable number of his sonnets, some of them scarcely sur- 
 passed in beauty and purity of sentiment, or harmony of expression, 
 by those of the most popular writers. He had read, with the eye and 
 heart of an enthusiast, all our best poets ; and his field-walk and 
 fire-side discourses on their merits were as rich and tasteful as they 
 were earnest. There were — or rather are — a few occasions ever 
 jDresent with him who writes this brief memorial, on which Sidney's 
 deep, soft and tender tones conveyed more than usual evidence of 
 his natural pathos, wit, and fervour. The first was that of a long 
 summer evening ramble, through Colwick Woods and over Carlton I 
 Hill, to Samuel Plumbs cottage. The last was that of a gathering J 
 round his own hearth, when William Latchmore (in whom he had i 
 found a faithful neighbour and a truly kindred spirit,) with the i [ 
 writer and one or two besides, were added to his own limited family ' *.
 
 circle. Little was it then thought how soon that well- spring of 
 poetry and good nature would be closed to the world ! It was un- 
 derstood that upon the death of his infant son, alluded to before, 
 and ere either of the two surviving were born, he had written some 
 verses which he was now desired to read. He complied; they were 
 IS follows, and the last the author ever heai'd from his truthftil and 
 hieniUy hps :— 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT SON. 
 
 " We cannot choose but weep : 
 He was our dearly loved, our only one ; 
 Ajid brightest hopes and joys ai-e with him gone 
 
 Within the grave to sleep. 
 
 " We hoped to hear his voice 
 In accents sweet Usping Ins mother's name ; 
 We thought when summer flowers in beauty came, 
 
 He'd pluck them and rejoice. 
 
 " We hoped he would have knelt 
 With us, to ask a blessing on our home, — 
 That cUscord might not ever near us come. 
 
 Nor woe be ever felt. 
 
 " We thought he would have trod 
 With us the fields where we deUght to rove ; 
 And we had planned to guide his thoughts to love 
 
 Nature, and Nature's God. 
 
 " We hoped he would have proved. 
 For many years, our help and joy and pride ; 
 Then taking to himself a happy bride, 
 
 Love, e'en as we have loved. 
 
 " Yet let us cease our sighs : 
 For he has pass'd from darkness into light, 
 And is united with the Infinite, 
 
 The Eternal and Allwise." 
 
 .Tie joy and glory he saw for his little one he the departed poet's also !
 
 80 NOTES. j "' 
 
 Note 9. Page 49.— Wilford. 
 
 Wilforcl, (a village on the south bank of the Trent, about a mile 
 from the ancient and pictui'esque town of Nottingham,) is famous 
 for its quiet and rm-al aspect, and not less so for its having once 
 been the favorite resort of Henry Kirke White in his hours of 
 relaxation, and of many poets since. The Church is a neat 
 and retired little temple, much visited by tourists, who at present 
 find an obhging guide in old Mr. Bui-nham, tlie parish clerk. 
 There was in time past a favorite tree of Kirke White's, neai* 
 the chancel-end ; but it has been long felled, though the spot where 
 it grew is still pointed out in association with his name ; and 
 from the end of the Village-green to CUfton Grove (the scene 
 of his best known poems, and of the popular story of " The Fair 
 Maid of Clifton,") is one of the most delightful walks imaginable 
 — having the river on the north side, \rith a regiilar and majestic row 
 of elms on the other, extending the whole distance. Of the view 
 from this walk a picture was painted by Barber, which has been 
 lithographed ; and an old house, which the artist has iutroduced 
 with excellent effect, on a terrace .jutting into the water as it grace- 
 fully bends round at the Lower Ford, is where the author of these 
 
 desultoi-y passages has himself occasionally resided, iu the scanty 
 
 RT 
 
 hours of repose snatched from a life of toU and endeavour- 
 
 " Hours more dear than drops of gold." 
 Mr. Robinson, the schoolmaster, who has a superior artistic taste, 
 has also made sketches of several of the most interesting points of 
 Wilford scenery, some of wiiich have been published. Wilham and 
 IMai-y Ho\vitt, probably, wrote part of that beautiful work, " The 
 Book of the Seasons," in one of its cottages; and Thomas Miller 
 and other distinguished writers have made it an occasional retreat 
 for the sake of its quietude. As the river has no bridge here, and 
 the ferry-boat ceases to ply at an early hour of the night, the rural 
 manners of the inhabitants have been preserved in a gi-eat degree ! 
 from the contaminating habits of the tOAvn ; and nothing can be \ 
 more striking than the contrast of hfe in so short a transition, i 
 There is nothing in the village itself to denote its proximity to a ' 
 town, except the great nmnber of daiiymen and boys, who, mounted 
 with their mtlk-pails on ponies, and dressed in the grotesque style 
 of ancient days, foi-m curious and primitive looking groups in the 
 lanes and meadows, as, morning and evening, they depaat for and
 
 81 
 
 \ turn from Nottingham. Wilford, to have full justice done it, 
 A tuts a Mary RusseU Mitford, who, to a native heart and a poet's 
 Luucy, could add a limner's skill : for it has much of the character 
 3uch a writer would love to delineate. The author spent two days 
 there in the February of 1846, and left it one morning when the 
 ivhole landscape was wi-apt in snow and mist — the trees were with- 
 ; jj out fohage — the river " dark and drumhe," as Bm-ns would say, its 
 U opposite hank scarcely distinguishable ; — and if a solitai-y wayfarer 
 were met in the meadows, it would seem more like the passing of a 
 ghost or a shadow. His return was on Wliit-Monday — a bright, 
 warm and beautiful hohday as ever shone on the creation. Standing 
 Ln front of his dweUing, over which the trees, now in full fohage, 
 waved their leaves in the hght, and threw theu- trembhug shadows 
 on the wall and -nindow, he became awai-e of a boat, moored under 
 the out-flung tresses of a wiUow, at one corner of the terrace ; while 
 do^vn at the other coi'uer a number of viUagers were washing their 
 sheep. The Church reared its venerable head among the elms at a 
 bend of the stream below; and, from the rooks congregated there, 
 were occasionally sent such deliberate calls, it seemed as they 
 were at perfect ease and keeping hohday also. On the other side of 
 the river might be seen here and there an angler, too far from the 
 rest for conversation but near enough for companionship, as ever 
 and anon glanced his line on the sparkling water, or a fish leaped 
 up in mid-stream and sent the light eddies circling to the shore. 
 In the meadows opposite, hundreds of froUcksome children were 
 scattered among the flowers at their games; a hundred pairs 
 were wandering about in maturer commmiion. Nottingham, with 
 castle and its spu'es ; Lenton, WoUaton, Beeston, Bramcote, with 
 their villas and woody uplands, stretched away beyond. Fai-ther 
 off stm shot up the spire of Sawley "like a rocket" towards the 
 sun ; and down over all came a flood of clear but soft and golden 
 light, that gave every single object in the landscape its due distinct- 
 ness and effect. Just at tlie moment when all this had taken 
 its fuU possession of the soul, was it that a thrilling and extalic 
 finish was imparted to the whole, by what in painting would be 
 called "an accident." The writer was lending his attention for a 
 moment to a herd of cattle, crossing the river at the ford and slowly 
 followed by a rustic on horseback, when his ear unexpecteiUy caught 
 a strain of music from a contrai-y quarter; and turning his eye up
 
 82 
 
 the river, in the direction of Clifton Grove, he saw gaily comin{ ^ 
 thence, over the fair broad bosom of the waters, a processioi 
 of beautifully decorated craft, with the crews di-essed in sailors 
 uniform and streamers floating fi-ee, as they returned triumphantl: 
 witli a band of musicians from a boat-race at the Ey elands. Somi 
 of the earlier companions of his youth were amongst the rowers 
 Brightly sparkled the featliery spray at evei-y dip of their oars 
 swiftly shot each prow dovni the stream and out of sight below 
 softly and sweetly died the music and their voices in the distance 
 the sheep-washers were gone, and their flocks were at rest ; the 
 mantle of evening descended gently on the scene ; and aU at length 
 was hushed, save the river's hght ripple and the louder beat of his 
 own swelling heart, as he retired for the night to his quiet room. 
 
 Note 10. Page 53.— "To my Father." 
 Samuel Hall, of Sutton-in-Ashfield, is the man to whom the authoi 
 here makes allusion \\ith fihal reverence. He was the first to 
 call pubhc attention to the fact (now almost tmiversaUy recognised' 
 of the advantage of pressure on light soils to the groAvth of gi-ain and 
 turnips ; and many years ago pubhshed a treatise on the subject. 
 He is also author of a few religious tracts, one of which is entitled 
 " Samuel Hall's Legacy to Professors and to the Profane." He 
 remembers when the only coaches between London and Leeds 
 crossed Sherwood Forest at the rate of three miles an hour; and 
 when it required nine hours for the carrier's waggon to get from 
 Sutton to Nottingham— a distance only of fifteen miles— altliough 
 afterwards, at the age of sixty yeai-s, he was able himself to perform, 
 on foot, a journey of sixty miles in one day. Adverse circumstances 
 checked his self-developement, or he would not now, at the age of 
 nearly foui- score years, be living in obscui-ity. Yet it may be some 
 consolation in his declining days to know tliat his efforts, however 
 unavailing for himself, have not been fruitless for others, and that 
 they are not unappreciated in the hearts of his children. 
 
 Note 11. Page 58. 
 " a sad emotion 
 
 For ukich no language Jinds a name." 
 A strange, sad feeling, not yet shaken off, came upon the writer
 
 83 
 
 with the news of the stidden death of the friend adverted to here — 
 one to whom he was indebted for many kindnesses. He was a man 
 of refined sensibilities and unworldly disposition — desirous of 
 distinguishing himself by merciful deeds and an intellectual Ufe. 
 Though bred to the law, he disliked its practice; so gaveit up 
 betimes, and became a preacher, for which he thought himself 
 - better suited. He loved poetry too, and 
 
 Walking oft with Nature hand in hand, 
 Tum'd on her when she spoke a raptured eye, 
 And then retiring to his inmost heart. 
 There pondered all her teachings o'er again. 
 But he loved his friends and mankind more than all ; and hoped 
 for the love of mankind in return. The grievance was that without 
 this return ia fuU he could not live ; yet to many his eai-ly death 
 was stai-tling and moui-nful as the faUing of a beautiful star from 
 the firmament. Pillowed be his wearied head on thy bosom, 
 Jesus I 
 
 Note 12. Page 68. — "The Forest near Newstead," &c. 
 
 Beautiful, yet solemn as the hour of twilight, are the writer's recol- 
 lections of the Forest around Newstead. Every place, like every 
 man, has a spiritual as well as physical being and influence, pecu- 
 liarly its owa, and appealing to corresponchng principles in the 
 hmnan mind. The scenes and associations of Newstead impart a 
 tenderness and solemnity to the feeUngs — a calm reflective light 
 to the heart — that afterwards, go wherever we may, can never en- 
 tirely forsake us. Of this evei-y one who has visited them wiU feel 
 more or less conscious, according to the degree of his own natural 
 susceptibility ; but something of it must have been experienced 
 even by the most obdurate. It is a place in which the past still 
 loiters as though it could not depai-t. True, the young and gi-ow- 
 ing woods — the ever fresh and shining waters — the newly added 
 towers, and modern culture all around, — ^these are of the present, 
 and make us aware that our own life is also in the present and the 
 future. But how much of the past is mingled with these, to make 
 us feel as though old Time himself had i-etumed amongst them to 
 contemplate them in comparison with his former doings ! How- 
 ever true it is, that God, who created the whole world, pronounced
 
 r 
 
 84 
 
 it all good from the beginning ;— however true that haunts newly 
 opened to us may possess more of the wild or vast, the beautiful 
 or sublime, than many that nestle in the bosom of antiquity,— </tej-e 
 will ever be a peculiar charm about a spot that has a history ; and 
 where, in Sherwood Forest, is the place that has a history more 
 varied, more interesting than that of Newstead ? Its suns rise from 
 woods and set among hoUs that are touched with the hues and called 
 by the names of old romance. It has been equally, though at vari- 
 ous periods, the haunt of outlawed patriotism, chivalry, religion, 
 learning, poetic genius, and philanthropy; and though — like much 
 of the rest of the world— it is not without its stories of devilry and 
 darkness too, even these ai'e but as milestones on the brightening 
 path of Time, whereby we mark the progress of humanity to a more 
 perfect day. Were it not that the motive might possibly be mis- 
 understood, a word could here be said of the tear of humanity 
 which the writer himself once saw sparkle amid these scenes, that 
 were aforetime those of the monkish cowl, the feudal frown, and 
 the skull-drawn draught— the tear of a man who, "scorning alike 
 to be or have a slave," has had the moral courage to advocate the 
 emancipation of our black brethren on his own estates in the 
 Indies ! Newstead, Newstead ! Bom on thy verge, and oft in boy- 
 hood the lonely haunter of thy dells and wood-paths and solemn 
 ruins — or the glad companion of thy rejoicing brooks and ruminat- 
 ing flocks — " the Sherwood Forester" bears thy memoi-y into the 
 life within him. Wherever he may wander — ^whatever be his des- 
 tiny — ^thy picture in his affections will stUI remain !
 
 THE EAKLIEE WORKS OF 
 
 SPENCER T. HALL, 
 
 "The Sheewood Fokestek," 
 Are now under revision, with a view to their early re-publication. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 The Forester's Offering. — London: Whittaker & Co. 1841. 
 
 " A volume of sterling good sense, pure English, and native poetry, the result 
 of a combination of misfortunes and obstacles which would have broken many 
 spirits and quenched more— -appealing, howcA^er, not to oiu' charity, but to 
 our perception of excellence."— Tj-ne Pilot. 
 
 " A work of which not only o\u- own county but the counti-y may be proud."— 
 Nottingham Mercm-y. 
 
 " It has a sparkling richness and graphicness of description, which riyet the 
 attention and delight the mind. In its author we meet with the genuine poet, 
 the faithful chi-onicler,— the child of nature ra^^ished by the profusion of her 
 boimties. The appearance of this work at the present time is a striking and 
 flattering characteristic of the age.— Sheffield Iris. 
 
 " A veiy pleasing book, descriptive of forest scenery, and of many charming 
 rui-al rambles— none the worse for being the production of a seif educated 
 young man."— Tait's Magazine. 
 
 " The effusions of a healthful fancy and a kindly heart, worthy of a wide 
 celebrity. "— Spectator. 
 
 "IMi\ Hall's sketches are well written: his ramble in meiTy Sherwood is 
 worthy of Miller. The life of Robin Hood is a piece of literai-y justice. The 
 poems are conceived and executed in a beautiful spirit. ' My Native Cottage' 
 is written from and to the heart. * » We recommend Mr. Hall's book most 
 heartily."— Sunday Times. 
 
 "He possesses a fine natiu-al taste and great abUity, and gives utterance to 
 his thoughts with such truthful earnestness, that, by this one little work, he
 
 holds no inconsiderable place in the ranks of living authors."— Sheffield 
 Independent. 
 
 Eambles in the Country: By the Sherwood Forester. 
 London: T. Miller, 1842. 
 
 " ' Rambles in the Covintry' are described with the enthusiasm of a genuine 
 tourist. Mr. Hall is no common observer of things and men— he sees mth the 
 eye of a poet and philosopher— and liis descriptions of scenes and characters 
 are worthy of special attention. He has faith in the strength as well as in the 
 beauty of goodness, and all his literary efforts are directed to the promotion of 
 right feeling among his fellow-men. * * There is a sincerity and fervour in 
 his communings with Natiu-e that cannot fail to be impressive— -he writes as 
 if his heart were in his pen."— Leeds Times. 
 
 " His description of the sea is tnily sxiblime. He is glorious by the ocean as 
 in the forest."— Derby Reporter. 
 
 " One of Nature's gentlemen, springing up by the sheer force of original 
 inspiration. We can well answer for this little work that, imlike many costly 
 vanities of the day, it is well worth reprinting. It is thoroughly a country 
 book— full of the sunshine of free thoughts and pastoral existence, breathing 
 of the heather and the honeysuckle, and fraught throughout with strong poeti- 
 cal emotion. * * The confession of his experiences at the end reminds us of 
 Fi-ankUn, and has a noble and impressive moral."— Atlas. 
 
 Recently Published, pi ice 2s. Gd. 
 
 MESMERIC EXPERIENCES. 
 
 By Spencer T. Hall. 
 
 London: H. Bailliere, 219, Regent Street; J. Ollivier, 59, Pall Mall. 
 
 '' The style is rich, pure, and vigorous, as befits a nan-ative. * ' Every 
 description is graphic, evci-y sentence pregnant with thought. * » AVe • -lose 
 this valuable contribution to science, heaitily commending it to all Avho seek'- 
 an insight into the truths of nature. It is a book that must make the most' 
 thoughtless think, and startle the most sceptical into enquiiy."— Critic. 
 
 *^* For a INIemoir of the Author's Eai-ly Life, see Chambers'Sj 
 Edinburgh Journal, Jan. 22, 1842. 
 
 Stevenson and Co., Printers, Nottingham.
 
 ^
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below.
 
 13DNVS( 
 
 B 000 000 924 
 
 Mta. 
 
 PR 
 
 4725 
 
 H375U