THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 •7 r-X
 
 GILBEET MAELOWE, 
 
 AXD 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLTAM WHIT MO RE, 
 
 WITH PEEFACE BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND ^3, HEXRIETTA-STREET, COVEXT GARDEN. LONDON. 
 
 1859.
 
 ?K 
 
 uTfc 
 
 7 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The author of this little volume of poems is a young 
 man, a house painter by trade, who has earned his bread 
 by daUy labour since he was ten years old. He has since 
 that age had no education (in the common sense of the 
 word) except what he could get at a Sunday School. The 
 poems will speak for themselves as to how he has used 
 such opportunities for study as fall within the reach of 
 men in liis position. He has ah'eady earned an honour- 
 able name for himself m his own neighbourhood. His 
 friends think that this name has been lionestly earned ; 
 that the author ought to have a larger audience ; that he 
 is one of those to whose speech it will be well for his 
 countrymen of all classes to listen ; and so, at last, after 
 the usual difficulties which have to be overcome in all such 
 cases, his book is published. 

 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 'No one is likely to be surprised now-a-days at finding 
 that a painter can write Englisli fluently, gracefully, and 
 forcibly, and that he has been exercised by the same 
 problems which are puzzling the wisest of oiir learned 
 doctors. The novelty of the thing is past. Not to speak 
 of the giants of their order, such as Hugh Miller and 
 Livingstone, we have had books in verse and prose by 
 tailors, postmen, weavers, and a score of other mechanics 
 and artizans, all showing great command of language, 
 some of wliich would have placed their authors in a 
 high rank as writers had they lived a few years earher 
 in the ccntuiy. But there is no longer any excitement 
 on the subject, and people will not buy and read the 
 work of a mechanic simply because he is a mechanic. 
 He has to come down into the lists, and win his spurs 
 side by side with those who have had every advantage 
 of training and social position. Tf ho cannot hold his 
 own lie will be shouldered back at once ; for the au- 
 dience are used to his garb and weapons, and will no 
 longer shout for him to stay on simply as a strange sight.
 
 PEEFACE. V 
 
 This social equality is a healthy sign of oiu- day, and 
 a most liouonrable fact for those who have won it for 
 their class. I should be the last man to say anything 
 against it. I may think that the public has been a little 
 over hasty, that there ought in fairness to be still some 
 handicapping. But I am too glad to welcome any sign 
 that the great mass of my countrymen are beginning to 
 triumph over all hindrances, and are rising in iuteUigence 
 and all noble and gentle culture, to have much sympathy 
 to spare for a few of them, who may not have had quite 
 fair play from IMrs. Grimdy. Nevertheless, I beheve, 
 that, for the sake of getting to Tinderstaud our own times, 
 and oiu" own land — that we may be able, each in liis own 
 small way, to help England, instead of hindering her — it 
 may be sometimes well worth our while to buy, and read 
 carefully, and think about, a book by a working man, while 
 we might only hire from Mudie's, and glance at, a more 
 perfect book on the same subject by a Master of Arts. 
 
 And this brings me to my reasons for writing a preface 
 to these poems. I want people to read them. I may be
 
 Vi PEEFACE. 
 
 mistaken as to their merits as poems. I don't pretend to 
 be a judge of the artistic worth of such matters. But I 
 do know something of the pubhshed works of men of tlie 
 author's rank — I know what the tone and spirit of the 
 most popular and ablest of such works have been. The 
 great — the almost u'resistible temptation of such men, 
 when they begin to write, is to appeal to class differences 
 and class hatreds ; to work up and over-colour the suffer- 
 ings and the vu'tues of the poor ; to preach a sort of 
 vague worship of glorious humanity, to which phrase they 
 will let you attach any meaning you please, so long as you 
 allow it to remain an abstraction ; to rail at old creeds, 
 and sneer at the believers in them. AU tlais has been 
 mixed with very mucli that was noble, and no one can 
 wonder who knows anything of the case, that such 
 temptations have been too strong for many. I beUevc, 
 myself, that a sounder and better time is near for our 
 country. At any rate, the present volume will prove that 
 though such temptations may have been felt strongly, yet, 
 that a man of Whitmore's class, may, by patient and
 
 PKEFACE. VU 
 
 honest dealing -with himself, and all that he sees around 
 him, master them, and learn, that in order to love and 
 serve his own class it is not necessary to hate or rare 
 against all others ; that what every true poet and true man 
 ought to be seeking for, is, a common ground for himself 
 and every other human soul ; upon which the poor and 
 rich, the weak and strong, may rest side by side. If he 
 cannot shew us glimpses of such a ground, the most 
 musical words that man ever uttered will reach no depth 
 and meet no yearning in om' hearts, however they may 
 please our ears j if he can, the rudest utterance will not 
 hinder us from drinking in his words, for in them will be 
 drops from the fountain of life. 
 
 The price of tliis volume will keep it, for the present 
 at least, out of the hands of poor men. We, who have 
 money to spare for luxm-ies, who have had all the education 
 which money could buy for us, who know not what it is 
 to depend for food, and house, and clothes, on the labour 
 of the day, shall form the first audience of the workmg 
 painter. That we may profit by what he has to say let us
 
 vlli FEEFACE. 
 
 try to realize liis life as well as we can while we read. 
 Few of us can do it as we ought. The gi-ira reality of 
 such a life cannot be really known to us. But, making 
 such effort as we can, let us read : and, as we read, I 
 think we sliall thank God for training amongst our poorer 
 brethren men who can think, and feel, and write, as 
 this man has done. Shall we be wrong in taking it as a 
 sign that He has noble work yet in store for us English- 
 men, when such voices as William Wliitmore's are rising 
 more and more frequently and earnestly out of the most 
 sorely tried portion of our great family, to teach tlieir 
 bretlu-en what the work is which they are sent into tlie 
 world to do, in such words as these. 
 
 Oil be it tliine 
 To gladden and exalt their sad poor life ! 
 Be tlieir true brother, on thy forehead hearing 
 The morning of their hope. Oh do thou seek 
 To win this world for them ; but seek still more 
 To win back Heaven, now faded from their sight. 
 Nourish thy soul in reverence and truth. 
 Be thou God's workman, zealous to build up 
 In poor men's heai'ts a temple unto Him.
 
 GONTEiNTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface ... ... ... ... ••• i" 
 
 Dedicatiox ... ... ... ... 3 
 
 The Tex Days' Queen ... ... ... 5 
 
 St. Anthony .. ... ... ... 11 
 
 Martin: Part I. ... ... ... ... 14 
 
 Part II. ... ... ... 34 
 
 November Song ... ... ... ... 62 
 
 The Resukeection of Eome ... ... 63 
 
 The Gold-Seekees ... ... ... ... 66 
 
 Wandering Fancies of a Summer Day ... 70 
 
 Shakspeee's Birthday ... ... ... 81 
 
 Our Possessions ... ... ... 84 
 
 Gilbert Marlowe : — 
 
 Part I. — The Night ... ... ... 89 
 
 Part II.— The Morrow ... ... 106 
 
 The Malcontent ... ... ... ... 126 
 
 Memorials of the Crimean War ... ... 131 
 
 To M. Kossuth ... ... ... ... 136 
 
 The True Man's Departure ... ... 138 
 
 The Penitent Magdalen ... ... ... 149 
 
 A Worker to a Worker ... ... 150
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Co lilrs. i. I. ioUings. 
 
 Peocdlx I turn away when scornful Pride, 
 In some auspicious season, condescends 
 To make me feel how graciously it bends 
 Over the gulph between us. But, o'erjoyed, 
 My heart beats to the hearts that chmb up through 
 The cold conventional bars ; and homage true 
 I yield thee, Lady ! For thou art as one 
 "VMiose presence is a constant benison ; 
 Whose liberal grace like simshine freely falls 
 On common days as well as festivals, 
 And cheers dim paths of strugglers httle known. — 
 A blessing on thee, and on him, thine Own ! 
 Ye twain made one by generous sympathies. — 
 I count it much that thou regardest these 
 My lowly lays, and woiild that their desert 
 Were worthier thy favour. But apart 
 
 From meaner gratitude, I bend to thee 
 As to a nature beautiful and good. 
 
 Unfolded in ftie gentle dignity 
 And queenly charm of cultured womanhood.
 
 ^T.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE TEN MIS' QUEEN. 
 
 On past the village, with its humble spire — 
 Its quiet cots along the valley winding ; 
 And thence among old woods, and rocks ar.tiqne, 
 And mellow fern-glooms, kindling with the glow 
 Of gorse-flowers golden, to a ruin grey 
 O'ergreened with trailing ivy, and o'evliung 
 With broodiiio- shadows of the times of vore. 
 
 'Tis Bradgate's noble seat— a desejt-pile 
 
 Slow mouldering in sun and wind and rain ; 
 
 But sacred in its ruin ; since of old 
 
 'Twas graced by one who was a i)C'erless Queen, 
 
 And more than royal Woman — ever blest. 
 
 Our Lady, sweet Jane Grey. Her gentle name 
 
 Is the sole glory of a lordly race ; 
 
 But her dear fame is hallowed in all hearts 
 
 That bow before Misfortune's majesty, 
 
 And worship Goodness, Womanhood divine. 
 
 B
 
 THE TEN DAYS QUEEN. 
 
 She was a marvel of all pei'fectness — 
 
 Fair as a flower, and gracious as a star 
 
 That shines on earth, untouched by earthly taint. 
 
 The faith and fervour of a holy saint, 
 
 The treasured wisdom of a grey-beard sage, 
 
 A hero's soul, and all a woman's heart, 
 
 Blended with beauty of her maiden youth. 
 
 And here she dwelt, unspotted from the world. 
 
 In lofty converse with the wise of old. 
 
 In pious meditation morn and eve. 
 
 In watching and in prayer. 
 
 Alas the day, 
 When the grim Duke, her father, came in haste, 
 And hailed her Queen of England ! Then a cloud 
 Arose before her eyes ; yet looking up, 
 She calmly said this evil must not be. 
 For that she sought no earthly diadem, 
 Nor less felicity than there to reign 
 Among the shining company of Saints 
 In Christ's own Kingdom. But he heeded not. 
 He urged his policies, his cherished hopes, 
 His house's glory, and the Nation's weal. 
 In her concentred — fairest of a line 
 Of monarchs mighty over land and sea. 
 Then much she pleaded to be spared this doom :
 
 THE TEN days' QTTEEN. 7 
 
 She was too weak — she was too young — unschooled — 
 The world was old, and grey, and full of snares ; 
 And rather would she dwell in peace with heaven, 
 Amidst her own free thoughts, than rule a realm. 
 To read and meditate thro' quiet days — 
 To sit at Plato's feet in large content — 
 This were more blessed than to mount the throne : 
 Therefore she prayed him that she might have peace. 
 But he waxed warm, and in his eagerness. 
 He bade, besought, entreated ; till at length, 
 Uro-ed by her duty, by her love constrained. 
 Reluctant, yet resigned, she bowed to him 
 As 'twere to Fate ; and like a victim sad 
 To stately sacrifice she straight was borne. 
 They decked her beauty with a regal robe ; 
 Upon her gentle head they placed a crown. 
 And set her on the seat of mighty kings. 
 With her calm eyes she heeded not her pomp, 
 Yet much it wearied her : it vexed her rest — 
 It dulled her days with heaviness and gloom — 
 As 'twere a dead man's hand, it touched her heart. 
 Cold, freezing cold, forbidding her to smile. 
 A shadow darkened o'er her, 'neath whose frown 
 Her spring of youth seemed withering into age. 
 And all its flowers were falling, leaf by leaf. 
 
 b3
 
 THE TEN DATS* QTIEEN. 
 
 T>ni when unburdened from her royalty, 
 
 Albeit by men most cruel, she arose 
 
 As from a troubled dream, and saw once more 
 
 The heaven's clear face, and felt her spirit strong. 
 
 In liigh majestic meekness she went forth 
 
 From the state-palace to the dungeon drear, 
 
 Which her pure presence hallowed to a shrine ; 
 
 Thence to the scaffold, where stern, bearded men, 
 
 Wrinkled with treason, mailed against remorse. 
 
 Were wont to quail beneath the headsman's stroke — 
 
 There in the cold grey of the winter-morn, 
 
 She stood unblanched amid the blighted bloom 
 
 Of her brief eighteen summers. Calm, composed, 
 
 With heaven on her lips, and in her eyes, 
 
 The pain of patience, and the peace of faith, 
 
 She looked upon her doom, and saw no fear. 
 
 Some words she uttered to the pitying crowd, 
 
 Touching their hearts as if an angel spoke. 
 
 Then unto God her praying looks she turned. 
 
 Then bowed her head, and yielded her white soul. 
 
 And thus she died for evermore to live. — 
 
 In form of one so gentle and so young, 
 
 A mind so rich with lore, a heart with love. 
 
 So brave a martyr, and a saint so true. 
 
 The world hath seen not these three hundred years.
 
 THE TEN BATB' QTTEEN. 
 
 Three hundred years have silvered the hoar walls : 
 These desolate chambers have been bright and dim 
 With all life's shine and shadow. They have heard 
 Loud shouts of revelry, low sighs of grief. 
 Old lords in silence died ; old servants wept 
 And shook their grey heads in amazement dumb, 
 Seeing that power and high nobility 
 Could stoop to death. But young inheritors 
 Came gaily, with the morning on their brow, 
 And sable sorrow blossomed into smiles. 
 Gay pageants passed in at the arched gate ; 
 Banquets were spread ; bright dames and damosels 
 Lit the dim hall with sunshine of their looks ; 
 Up in the merry morn, a gallant train 
 With hawk and hound forth issued to the chase, 
 And with their shoutings, hill and valley rang. 
 At eventide retired, soft voices low, 
 And eyes, the stars of twilight, made discourse 
 Most tender-sweet, most eloquent of love, 
 While the swift hours in ecstacy stood still 
 Till the pale moon surprised them from mid-heaven. 
 All now are less than shadows. Naught remiiins 
 But silence, and these ruins, and the charm 
 Of her, the young, the beautiful, the blest. 
 The ten days' Queen ; whose memory enshrined
 
 10 THE TEN days' QUEEN, 
 
 Is like a consecration on the ground. — 
 
 Time wears to dust the boastful monuments ; 
 
 He frowns upon the Proud and blots their names. 
 
 But o'er the memories of the Good he broods, 
 
 Like Night o'er all the glories of the stars, 
 
 Keeping them bright for ever. Tenderly, 
 
 With reverent care, he cherishes her fame, 
 
 Even as a lover cherishes the charms 
 
 Of his dead love, and fills his yearning soul 
 
 With the great image of her grace divine, 
 
 That shines more glorious thro' the darkening years. 
 
 Here, too, Time lingers, touching lovingly 
 
 The crumbling walls, the turrets, and the towers ; 
 
 Turning to beauty their old stubborn use. 
 
 Smoothing their rude strength into gentle grace.
 
 11 
 
 ST. ANTHONY. 
 
 Stout Saint, thy strife is grievous sore 
 
 With bumau hands 'gainst hellish hosts ; 
 
 Thy peace is grievous, plagued with ghosts 
 Of buried sins that sleep no more. 
 
 The world oft creeps 'twixt heaven and thee ; 
 
 Old passions still retain their fires, 
 
 And still thy most devout desires 
 Are touch'd with carnal leprosy. 
 
 By day, earth's beauty, like a wauton's lure, 
 
 Prompts to forbidden joys. Temptations teem 
 ^ On every side : the sunshine is a snare ; 
 The flowers a smile of sinful joyance wear; 
 And all thy years of penance seem a dream 
 Of death-iu-life ; and Heaven no more is dure. 
 
 But oh, what nights are thine — what shuddering nights I 
 What unimagined sounds, what fearful sights. 
 Shatter the silence and the gloom ! What doubts 
 In tempests shake the soul — what fiendish routs
 
 12 
 
 ST. ANTHONY. 
 
 Encompass thee around, to tempt or daunt 
 
 Thy spirit's truth, with wile, and threat, aud Ian tit 
 
 E'en now the time of trial is renewed : 
 
 Again must thou maintain the lingering feud 
 
 With powers malign ; and spite thy mailed will. 
 
 Thy heart beats loud, thy blood creeps thick and chill. 
 
 The air is heavy with a weight of dread, 
 
 And o'er the face of things a shade is spread 
 
 Of hovering evil. Now bursts the mad thunder 
 
 Over thy naked head ; the earth reels under 
 
 Thy feet ; and far above the tempest's swell. 
 
 Leaps forth in mingled hiss, and shriek, aud yell, 
 
 The jubilant cry of liberated Hell. 
 
 Wings of foul demons flap the midnight-air ; 
 
 Thy murky cell is lighted with the glare 
 
 Of baleful tiendish eyes ; and myriad shapes 
 
 Swarm round, of bearded pards and grinning apes, 
 
 With fascinating stare and filthy leer ; 
 
 And dragonish creatures, breathing fire, flock near, 
 
 And nearer still ; and all obscene abortions 
 
 That e'er mocked life with friglitfuUest distortions 
 
 Of form aud feature, shrivel up thy sight 
 
 With horrid mouthings, and shoot out their spite 
 
 In howls that shiver thro' thee. —
 
 ST. ANTHONY. 13 
 
 Yet unshook 
 In spirit, thou bear'st all. Forth dost thou look 
 Unto the end, and with calm fortitude 
 Still thou bear'st. all. And tho' temptations, strewed 
 Like flowers of summer, veil grim terror's thrall. 
 And thy cave grows into a palace hall. 
 Outspread with banquets fit for emperors. 
 Heaped with the choicest of earth's teeming stores. 
 The first of every clime and season's growth ; 
 While all the laughing juices of the South 
 Ripple in golden goblets, and bright trains 
 Of smiling servitors wait round, and strains 
 Of most delicious music fill the air ; 
 And bevies of sweet maids, surpassing fair, 
 With languishing graces and enthralling looks. 
 Woo thee to dalliance in soft twilight-uooks : 
 Yet still, brave Saint, thou staudest firm and true ; 
 Tho' with strong wrestlings thou canst not subdue 
 The evil heart entirely. Stern and hard 
 Is the long strife, yet albeit soiled and scarred 
 By the thick onsets of besetting sin. 
 Thy soul may rest assured, and trust to win 
 The blessed goal at last. The Saints defend. 
 And hold thee in their keeping, till the end !
 
 14 
 
 MARTIN. 
 
 PART T. 
 
 Within the shadow of the city's splendour, 
 
 A race of injured men toiled wearily. 
 
 And bowed their heads, and hid their faces pale 
 
 Prom the proud world, and from the pitying heaven. 
 
 Early and late, in one accustomed place. 
 
 O'er one dull task, with one dead finger-touch. 
 
 They laboured, and still laboured, and almost 
 
 Forgot they lived. No respite, no relief ! 
 
 To-day passed by them e'en as yesterday, 
 
 And yet the coming morrow brought no change. 
 
 They seemed enchanted, never to escape 
 
 The whirling engines and the evermore 
 
 Satiety of sameness ; or they seemed 
 
 For some great sin to penal woe condemned. 
 
 Drearily treading round, and round, and round. 
 
 In circles narrowing unto utter death. 
 
 Nor did they know their evil plight, nor dream
 
 PaBX I.] MARTIN. 15 
 
 Of nobler destiny, nor did they dread 
 
 A darker doom ; but cowed and spiritless, 
 
 Without the heart to hope or to despair. 
 
 Subdued to what they suffered, they endured, 
 
 With a strange apathy whate'er befel, 
 
 As 'twere the infliction of remediless fate. 
 
 Thus as they dwelt apart, before their eyes 
 
 Each day a tide of glory came and went 
 
 Unheeded : Noons of splendour, nights of stars, 
 
 Deeps within deeps of mystery and beauty, 
 
 Around, and underneath, and overhead. 
 
 Opened in vain. Sweet Spring, with all her smiles 
 
 And songs and blowing blossoms, cheered them not ; 
 
 Summer they only knew by length of days, 
 
 And glare of smirched sunshine ; Autumn's pomp 
 
 They ne'er beheld ; but Winter's cold they felt. 
 
 And cowered in the keen wind. For them in vain 
 
 Had deathless poets sung, and sages taught. 
 
 Around them glorious was the world of books. 
 
 Wherein were peaceful continents, wide waving 
 
 With harvests of all time, and where serene 
 
 'Mid seas of calm and tides of sunsets grand, 
 
 Lay faery realms and islands fortunate 
 
 And gardens of delight. But all in vain.
 
 16 MAT?TiN. [Part T. 
 
 Still raoiliiig on, and on, thoy nothing saw 
 Beyond the fing-er's point, or the hour's need. 
 
 Amid this toiling throng, younii; Martin stood : 
 
 He yearned to lift their darkness to the light ; 
 
 He yearned to be their guide and minister ; 
 
 To set the mark of Godhead on their brow, 
 
 And wake the slumbering Angel in their heart. 
 
 That they might rise in perfect manliness. 
 
 For he was quickened with exalted thoughts. 
 
 Was bravely kind and loving chivalrous ; 
 
 Would raise his arm for the oppressed and weak ; 
 
 Would make his heart a refuge and a home 
 
 For all the wretched, and there shield them all. 
 
 Not in the dreariness where poor men dwell 
 
 Was his youth nurtured. As he grew in years, 
 
 Fortune came tovv'rds him with a golden prize, 
 
 And wooed him smiling. But he turned from her — 
 
 He turned from paths of world's jirosperity, 
 
 And urged by fine ambition, cast his hope 
 
 With men that suffer — aiming to arise 
 
 Among them, not above them, and advance 
 
 In their grand onward march. A devotee 
 
 Of love and freedom and fraternity. 
 
 Right true was he ; and all his heart and brain
 
 Part I.] mabtin. 17 
 
 And soul and strength were fused into one fervour 
 Of aspirations glorious. — Yes, (he deemed) 
 The world hath gone wrong these six thousand years, 
 But Eight will come most surely. Man is one, 
 And he hath one great heart. The time will come I 
 The rich shall hear the pleadings of the poor; 
 The strong shall stoop to elevate the weak ; 
 And God shall reign, and men shall brothers be, 
 One Father in heaven, one family on earth. 
 But 'tis the People must awake tlieir lords. 
 The People's strength is like the primal rock, 
 Lowest in earth, yet piercing all above. 
 The People's Atlantean shoulders bear 
 The weight and pressure of the empired world, 
 And when this Giant rouses, all is stirred. 
 Then live the People ! Live to higher life — 
 Live brave and truthful, blest and elevate. 
 With lofty thoughts in noble deeds exprest, 
 And faith divine in earth regenerate, 
 Witli the clear heavens beyond ! O live the Poor 
 • Strong in their sufferance, great in lowliness. 
 Stronger and greater in their love and trust. 
 O live they hand to hand, and heart to heart. 
 Sworn in the covenant of brotherhood. 
 And rule the world, and turn it to their light !
 
 18 " MABTIN. [PAET I. 
 
 It shall be mine to serve these weary ones. 
 
 These men that are but breathing monuments 
 
 Of buried souls — say rather, these poor souls 
 
 Not buried, but unborn — I'll call them forth, 
 
 And feed them with high thoughts and glorious hopes, 
 
 And clothe them with dominion. I will touch 
 
 These dark, dumb hearts with love's omnipotence, 
 
 And they shall rise like monarchs of the world, 
 
 And climb the heavens in joy. — To this intent 
 
 He spake : — 
 
 " rouse ye, and lift up your brows, 
 For God doth reign, and ye are all his sons — 
 Dear brothers of His Christ ! Still He doth reisrn — 
 And tho' ye turn unheeding from His grace. 
 And tho' ye hide your faces from His glory. 
 In pain, and worse despair, — He reigueth still ! 
 Arise, prepare ye, for Redemption comes ! 
 But ye must conquer darkness for the light, 
 Fighting with sword of thought and shield of truth. 
 And ye must tread all baseness 'neath your feet. 
 And make the circle of your life entire 
 As one heroic act ! Ye must combine 
 In high nobility of brotherhood — 
 In a grand Chivalry of love and faith ;
 
 [PaET I, MARTIN. 19 
 
 And each must be the champion of All, 
 And All must stand for each." 
 
 Thus did he speak 
 To those pale workers — but they heeded not ; 
 Or failed to apprehend. Then he resumed : — 
 
 " Lo ye are lords of earth and heirs of heaven ; 
 And there two Spirits like bright Angels wait 
 To lead ye on to your high destiny. 
 Knowledge is one : she cometh like the morn 
 O'er land and sea triumphant. Backward rolls 
 In dire confusion, Night's old Anarchy, 
 With troops of demons foul and sprites unblest, 
 Phantasms of Error, Ignorance, and Fraud, 
 Of Blight and Famine, Pestilence and Plague, 
 And Death himself, nigh vanquished. At her feet 
 A new world wakes rejoicing ; in her hands 
 She bears the first-fruits and the flowers of time. 
 In light and joy she comes. Soft fall her steps 
 As snows upon the night ; yet 'neath her tread 
 Grim bulwarks built of piled centuries 
 Totter to their foundations. Thrones and Powers, 
 Ancient as Evil, and once strong as Fate, 
 Turn pale at her approach, and quake like Fear. 
 She makes the tyrant tremble in his pride ;
 
 20 MARTIN. [Part C. 
 
 But unto you, poor toilers, unto you, 
 
 With all her kingdoms round her, and lier glory, 
 
 She Cometh, stooping like a suppliant, 
 
 Your weary life to gladden and to blcsp. 
 
 The other Spirit is pure gentleness, 
 
 And Beauty is her name. Yet she completes 
 
 The circle of all power, and the grandeur 
 
 Of Knowledge softens into her sweet grace. 
 
 Her halo is of sunset and the dawn, 
 
 Her garland woven of the seasons four ; 
 
 And in her mien and mould are all the charms 
 
 Which Art hath e'er conceived, or Nature shaped. 
 
 She smiles on ye so kindly, day and night : 
 
 Her love fails never. In your dreary homes 
 
 As gently as a sunbeam she would glide. 
 
 And smiling, smooth your gloom and soothe your pain, 
 
 And lead ye upwnrd, higher and still higher. 
 
 From star to star of heaven-aspiring hope. 
 
 O brothers, follow these twin Spirits bright, 
 And they will take ye along pleasant ways 
 To worlds whereof ye dream not — goodly realms 
 Of power supreme, of wonder and delight, 
 And nearer, nearer, to the blissful mansions
 
 Part I.] iiAETiif. 21 
 
 Of the eternal home. Yea, to the verge 
 Of the sweet Land of Promise they will lead. 
 Where radiant Faith, their elder sister, waits — 
 0, follow, follow !" 
 
 Still they heeded not ; — 
 Or as a dim thought flickered thro' the film 
 Of their poor eyes, and faded, vacantly 
 They gazed a space, then o'er their labour bent 
 So sullenly, that if high heaven had ope'd 
 With all its splendours, and bright angel-forms 
 Had issued thence with tidings of great joy. 
 It seemed they scarce would look. Yet one there was, 
 A young man, wrinkled with unquiet thoughts. 
 Who turned, and thus his discontent outpoured : — 
 
 " 'Tis bootless effort. Thou may'st teach and preach 
 Till doomsday, all in vain. For not the might 
 Of Knowledge, nor of Beauty, can prevail 
 Against the misery which devours our days. 
 Labour is life ! But the dull stagnancy 
 Of weariness — the droning, droning motions 
 Kepeated without end, while toilers pale 
 Grow more and more like that they work withal— 
 This is mere death ! And o'er this desert-doom 
 Knowledge falls fruitless as the gentle rain
 
 22 MARTIN. [PaET I. 
 
 Upon Sahara's sands ; and Beauty beams 
 
 As barren-cold as borealis splendours 
 
 Over the Polar snows. Oh, I can speak 
 
 With bitter emphasis upon this theme ; 
 
 For I have known what 'tis to chafe and fret 
 
 'Gainst an oppression which the loathing thought 
 
 Shaped to a demon, deaf as Destiny, 
 
 And blind as Fortune, with a cruel scourge 
 
 And grasp relentless. I have worked and worked 
 
 'Gainst Nature's grain till it is grown awry 
 
 And warpt and shrunken. I have borne a load 
 
 And an infliction — not of things that pass, 
 
 But of a pressure, equable as air. 
 
 Continuous as time, and yet withal 
 
 Intolerable as torture. No surcease, 
 
 No intermission of the weariness. 
 
 Which came and came, as 'twere a slow drip-drop 
 
 Of water falling on a naked nerve 
 
 Until it worked like madness ! It may be 
 
 My o'erkeen mind its misery creates ; 
 
 Perchance I cannot bear what happier men 
 
 Less sensitive, regard not. Yet I know 
 
 The curse of thousands is their grinding toil — 
 
 The load of joyless days — to which opposed. 
 
 Their spirit's force is weak as feeble breath, 
 
 Sighing itself away 'gainst duugeon-bars."
 
 PaET I.] MAETIl?. 23 
 
 So spake that INfalcontent, then turned aside ; 
 And Martin pondered long, and stood perplext. 
 As if arrested by unwelcome truth 
 He could not gainsay, yet could scarce believe. 
 And still the fated toilers plied their task 
 In their accustomed place. The long, long day 
 Their life went round, unchanging as the wheels ; 
 Then through the night in discontent they pined. 
 Or by necessity for mere relief 
 They blindly rushed to violence and vice. 
 
 But now a swift change overwhelmed them quite. 
 There was devised a marvellous machine. 
 Which seemed a thing of fine intelligence. 
 With hundred-handed force. So cunningly. 
 So wondrous cunningly, it plied its wheels, 
 That now a thousand men might fold their hands,   
 For all their work was ended. On the instant. 
 From the world's movements they appeared disjoined, 
 Loosed from life's hold, and sternly cast adrift. 
 Outside of all things. Now from their long trance 
 Sorely they waked ; and each in other's face, 
 Bewildered, stared ; for their calamity 
 They could not comprehend. No help, no hope. 
 No calling for them more ! And to increase 
 
 c2
 
 24 MAETIN, [PaBT I. 
 
 All other sorrows, Winter with his scourge 
 Upon them fell like tyrant merciless. 
 
 A bitter season — bitter keen it was : 
 Storms beat their limbs ; black frost ate in their bones ; 
 The east wind pierced them like a whetted knife ; 
 And from the desolate region where they dwelt 
 Came moans and doleful cries and curses dread, 
 Such as might come from lost ones in the Pit, 
 And turn the angels pale. There, drearily. 
 They sank unshielded from the darts and fangs 
 Of the envenomed and unpitying cold. 
 
 Here lay a woman dying in slow pain, 
 Her husband gazing on her with hard eyes, 
 In apathy of grief. When all was o'er, 
 And. she had blessed God's mercy for the close 
 Of her long suffering, he started up. 
 And felt a sudden sense of loneliness ; 
 And yet he felt that it was well with her. 
 Since she would never faint nor hunger more. 
 
 'C3^ 
 
 In the next chamber were a married twain, 
 Scarce more than boy and girl. He stood aloof, 
 Sullen and stern, while two poor wretched things,
 
 PABT I.] SIAETIK. 25 
 
 That should be children, clung about his knees, 
 
 And with their piteous and unchildish looks 
 
 Asked why he brought them into life to weep. 
 
 She, forlorn mother, miserable wife. 
 
 Crouched by the fireless grate. So desolate ! 
 
 Like a lost creature in bewilderment 
 
 Of woe uncomprehended. Pitiful 
 
 'Twas to behold her with her white young face, 
 
 And the dull pathos of her vacant look. 
 
 Pain-stricken, withered into worse than age. 
 
 In fear and pain she crouched, nursing her babe. 
 
 And when it cried she held it to her breast, 
 
 But nature's founts were dry, and then she swooned 
 
 Out of the hearing of its feeble wail. 
 
 Alone in dreary privacy of sorrow, 
 
 A widowed mother hung over her child — 
 
 A delicate girl, too gentle for this world. 
 
 Poor thing ! in anguish she had worked and worked 
 
 Against the labouring cough and bating breath, 
 
 Till this hard winter all her task was done. 
 
 Wrapt in an old rug, on the floor she lay, 
 
 Consumed with hectic fever. Beautiful, 
 
 Fearfully beautiful, consumption burned 
 
 Thro' the transparency of her thin cheeks,
 
 26 MAETIN. [PaBT I. 
 
 And in her large eyes lustrous. Beautiful, 
 
 Serenely beautiful was her repose 
 
 When the last sigh had parted from her lips. 
 
 'Twas like heaven's peace in that forlorn abode : 
 
 Life's wretchedness by holy death redeemed. 
 
 And consecrated with a grace divine. 
 
 The dead lay there in such untroubled rest. 
 
 That the bereaved mother could not mourn, 
 
 But gazing on that placid face, she wished 
 
 That she were also dead, to be so blest, 
 
 To sleep so softly and ne'er wake to weep, 
 
 A group of sullen men their discontents 
 
 Told each to other. Fiercely one exclaimed : — 
 
 " Why what a life is this ! what is't to be, 
 
 And suffer so, and never see an end ? 
 
 Would they would kill us by a sudden stroke. 
 
 Not starve us piece by piece ! Would they would use 
 
 Fire, sword, or poison, or the hangman's cord. 
 
 Not gnaw our hearts away with famine's tooth. 
 
 Which is not deemed plain murder !" 
 
 " Yes, forsooth," 
 Exclaimed another, " Better 'twere to die 
 Than to sit here in darkness, while our babes 
 Perish before us, and our poor wives pine, 
 Stabbing our hearts with their pale patient looks !"
 
 Part I.] martin. 27 
 
 " And yet the preacher cries, ' Believe in God !' " 
 Another muttered with a bitter laugh — 
 " Why, what is God to us, or we to Him ? 
 Doth He not sit there as in mockery 
 Of our distress — doth He regard our cry ? 
 Are we not men grown even envious 
 Of the stalled beasts, and of the fowls of air ? 
 And yet the preacher cries — ' Believe in God !' " 
 
 " Nay, nay, blaspheme not !" cried a hoary sire, 
 
 " For after all our troubles, sure and swift 
 
 Comes death, and then the judgment. What are we. 
 
 That we should question Him ! And yet, and yet" — 
 
 The old man prayed in anguish — " God, O God, 
 
 Thou know'st our weakness. Thou behold'st our woe — 
 
 Wilt Thou not stoop to us ? if indeed 
 
 Thou art our Father, make our cause Thine own ! 
 
 If we're Thy children, help us in our need ! 
 
 O do Thou help us ere we turn from Thee, 
 
 For our poor hearts are hardening !" 
 
 Thus the poor workless suffered and complained. 
 And cursed and prayed forlorn. And day by day 
 Their discontent increased, with bodings dire. 
 For Hunger, the bold Anarchist, will force
 
 28 MABTIN, [PaET I. 
 
 Thro* all allegiance with his rebel-thoughts, 
 
 Turning respect and honour to contempt ; 
 
 And so it chanced that as the faces sad 
 
 Of the desolate poor grew leaner, they assumed 
 
 A fearfuller expression, fierce comprest 
 
 To lawless meanings, glooming ominous ; 
 
 Till one drear night, their pining numbers pale, 
 
 Kipe for revolt, they gathered, in such mood 
 
 As gives no truce to patience. From their depths — 
 
 Their chambers foul, and subterranean glooms — 
 
 They issued ghastly, like a spectral host. 
 
 From regions of blind alleys and dim courts. 
 
 They came in darkening mass, which larger swelled 
 
 At every turn, with noises like the surge 
 
 Of many waters mingling. On they rolled 
 
 Thro' lanes and by-ways, on thro' streets and squares, 
 
 Pouring along — a deluge of distress — 
 
 As if to whelm all comfort in the land. 
 
 At length they came unto an open space. 
 
 And there they stood, — so lost and desolate. 
 
 They seemed a people from some lower world 
 
 Of unknown darkness, or an outcast tribe 
 
 Blasted by heaven's judgments. Pale and lean. 
 
 Pinched, puny men, with manhood nigh outworn. 
 
 And in their poor marred faces no least sign
 
 PaBI I.] MAETIN. 29 
 
 But mere despair grown reckless — there they stood, 
 
 (What could they more ?) a tragic spectacle 
 
 O'er which the gods might weep ! There stood they stiU, 
 
 Hungry and cold, and knew not their intent ; 
 
 Till One sprang boldly in their midst, and thus, 
 
 With fierce wild looks and frantic gestures, shrieked — 
 
 " Why stand we here agape, with folded hands, 
 As if our miseries rained down from heaven ? 
 Look, there's our demon foe, whose iron limbs 
 Grind us to powder, and whose breath of steam 
 Blights us like pestilence, and drowns our cries 
 In hissing laughter ! Lo, how wondrous well 
 The marvellous machine speeds on its way ! 
 Always it toileth with a hundred hands, 
 And needs nor food nor rest. Poor wretched slaves, 
 There is no need for ye, whom this new power 
 Hath superseded quite. There is no place 
 In the full world, nor function in its work. 
 Ye are but ' surplus' ! O unfortunate, 
 Ye are mere ' surplus' ! Whither will ye go ? 
 What will ye do ? Your spirits are bowed down — 
 Your feeble sinews naught avail in fight 
 With cold iron pitiless. Go to your graves ! 
 There ye will pine no more, nor feel the smart
 
 30 MABTiN, [Part 1. 
 
 Of want and insult. There ye will liave room, 
 Nor overpopulate that fair confine. 
 Go — for your lordliugs bid ye. Mark the sneer, 
 The brutal scowl which says — What do you here? 
 Go to your pauper grams ! Hah, hah ! 'twere well 
 Would the earth yawn, and tomb us where we stand, 
 For we are ' surplus,' and our hungry looks 
 Afflict the proud and lofty. What, ye slaves. 
 Will ye not die ? then starve no more, but live ! 
 Up, up, and show them that your hands, tho' weak. 
 Can win redress, and even yet strike home !" 
 
 Stung by this frenzied speech, the multitude 
 
 O' the instant felt their misery, and at once 
 
 They started up to do some desperate deed, 
 
 They knew not, cared not, what. But they would make 
 
 The tyrants feel their wrath — yea, they would burst 
 
 In Mammon's gloomy holds, and scatter wide 
 
 His devilish enginery — they would bring down 
 
 The boasted triumphs of man's cursed skill 
 
 In heaps of wreck. " Down with new-fangled arts 
 
 Which cheapen flesh and blood ! Down with the crew 
 
 That revel while we pine !" Thus shouting hoarse. 
 
 Quick tow'rd the whirling factory they sped ; 
 
 When suddenly young Martin with bold front 
 
 And fearless words opposed them.
 
 PaET I.] MARTIN, 31 
 
 "Madmen, hold!" 
 He shouted : — " Fierce and helpless, will ye rush 
 Headlong to ruin ? will ye aggravate 
 Tenfold your misery ? Ay, because ye pine, 
 Because ye suffer, will ye for that sin 
 Heap hell on your own heads ? "What boots this stir, — 
 Can your weak hands bind strong Necessity ? 
 Dream ye this idle fury will avail 
 Against the forces which upheave the world, 
 And run fresh life-blood thro' his million veins ? 
 As well go fight the wind, or chain the sea ! 
 As well oppose earth's motion, or rebel 
 'Gainst the spheres shining in their ordered rounds. " 
 
 These words their steps arrested. Fixed they stood 
 In the act to strike. And now his vantage seizing, 
 Martin sought farther to restrain their hands, 
 And in their faces dash the light of truth. 
 With power remedial. But in haste arose 
 The man of strife, the spirit of unrest, 
 Who first aroused them. Eagerly he sprang. 
 Flinging fierce words, like firebrands, in their midst. 
 Stinging their spirits with their wrongs and shames ; 
 And then denouncing all the rich and great, 
 With such immitigable bitterness.
 
 32 MAETiK. [Part I. 
 
 As if his very veins, instead of blood, 
 
 Ean burning gall and poison. His wild ways 
 
 Compelled the crowd — they kindled with his rage — 
 
 They fed their misery with his venomous words — 
 
 They rallied round him, and with loud acclaims, 
 
 Hailed him their chief and champion ! *' Up, away !" 
 
 He ended, furious : — " Now, for a brave deed ! 
 
 Let our enkindled wrath flame out in fire 
 
 To illuminate our tyrants, and emblaze 
 
 Upon this night, black as our misery, 
 
 The story of our wrongs and our revenge !" 
 
 Some desperadoes in the mob now sprang, 
 
 Like fiends broke loose. Eascality and crime 
 
 Mixed their foul leaven with despair and want, 
 
 And all was one wild ferment. Wrath waxed mad, 
 
 Example was contagion. Instantly 
 
 An uncontrollable impulse — a desire 
 
 For some great mischief, even were it merely 
 
 Their own destruction, seized them ; and they rushed 
 
 Swift to the mighty mill. IMore huge and grim 
 
 Than ten baronial castles, now it towered, 
 
 Beaten on all sides by a fearful wind 
 
 Of yells and curses : such a storm of sound 
 
 Pouring and roaring from ten thousand throats —
 
 PaET I.] MABTIK. 33 
 
 Infinite roar — mere cliaos of mad noise ! — 
 
 Strokes followed shouts — the doors were burst, some hand 
 
 Applied a light — the building was a-blaze ; 
 
 And round the flames the exulting spoilers reeled 
 
 Like frenzied maniacs in a devil's dance. — 
 
 Ah ! it was fearful 'mid that lurid glare 
 
 To see those whirling faces without end 
 
 Contorted wholly to one baleful look 
 
 Grim-fierce as famine, reckless as despair ! — 
 
 And thus they triumphed, while the eager flames 
 
 Sprang thro' the windows, leapt unto the roof, 
 
 And driving upward, like a mighty wedge. 
 
 Pierced thro' the solid darkness. All at once 
 
 Arose the dreaded cry — " They come ! they come !" 
 
 And fifty soldiers, with drawn sabres gleaming 
 
 In the fierce glare, broke on them. That mere gleam 
 
 Of cold steel dashed them into utter rout. 
 
 Dismayed they fled, by howling fear pursued — 
 
 AU, save their leader ; — he, poor rebel-chief, 
 
 Was left folorn, to cool his fevered blood. 
 
 Loaded with irons in a prison-cell.
 
 34 
 
 MAE T I N. 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 " Were ye not mad to figlit with Destiny ? 
 
 Were ye not blind, so brutislily to mar 
 
 That new-made engine, ere ye had o'erwhelmed 
 
 Genius and thought and all successive growths 
 
 Of human skill ? for that was but the fruit 
 
 And outcome of them all." So Martin spoke 
 
 To those who late in frenzy's fit outburst 
 
 To burn and to destroy. Now, mute they stood- 
 
 Cowed, helpless, hopeless, abject as mere worms ; 
 
 And to his questioning they hung their heads 
 
 And answered not. Then, earnest, he resumed : 
 
 " Not curses deep nor violent hands can shake 
 Great Nature's sovereignty, or touch the height 
 Of her calm order, which in season due 
 Brings all results to pass. The humble wheel 
 Plied by our grandames at the cottage door. 
 And the new engine, with its hundred hands.
 
 PaET II.] MABTiy. 35 
 
 Both sprang from one necessity supreme. 
 
 Changes will come, for ]\Iind must on, and ou. 
 
 Devise, construct, arrange, and new create. 
 
 For ever, without rest. The present change 
 
 Is but the second birth of changes past. 
 
 Blent with to-day's addition. The great world 
 
 Is buUt on change, and its solidity 
 
 Is wax iu the mind's mould. Changes will come. 
 
 New arts will rise, and fresh appliances 
 
 Of power and skill will overtop the height 
 
 Of this day's proud achievements. Yet even now 
 
 The giant Conqueror, with breath of steam. 
 
 And limbs of iron, strides across the world. 
 
 And walks the waves rejoicing. 'Neath his steps 
 
 Else populous cities. Desert-solitudes 
 
 Quicken with busy life ; and bloodless fields 
 
 Are strewn with trophies of ten thousand fights. 
 
 Kings are his vassals, and old monarchies 
 
 Own him their master. He restores the prime 
 
 Of falling states, and spreads an empire wide 
 
 O'er the unpeopled place. All climes and zones 
 
 He intertwines in close-drawn harmony. 
 
 Near and more near. He gives the teeming South 
 
 Unto the hungry North ; and hastes the time 
 
 ^yheu earth shall be one happy neighbourhood
 
 36 MAETIN. [PaET it. 
 
 Of linked lauds and peoples, O my friends. 
 This power ye curse is your great champiou 
 For right and freedom." 
 
 Thus, as he discoursed. 
 They rose in anger, shouting, " Give us bread, 
 And spare thy preachings vain !" And when he told 
 How skill and genius worked for general good. 
 Strangely they laughed, as if 'twere a brave jest 
 To hear amid their woe how blest a boon 
 Had so undone them. " Nay," they said, " Go to : 
 Forbear this mockery. What have we to do 
 With triumplis of man's genius, while our toil 
 Is cheap as aught unneeded ? What to us 
 The growth of change in more transcendent forms 
 Of might and splendour, while we pine and die. 
 And have no help, no hope ? 'Tis a brave World ! 
 It rolls on in its pride of skill and power 
 And leaves us here to perish." 
 
 "Nay, my friends," — 
 Martin spoke yet again : — " Is't well, is't fit. 
 That man should rest his infinite faculties 
 On one frail fleeting chance, and when that fails 
 Straight sink into despair, or helpless wait 
 What the next wind may blow ? Why stand ye here,
 
 PaBT II,] MAETIN. 37 
 
 As if enchanted in iliis narrow bound ? 
 
 Why do ye swarm, and sort with mere machines. 
 
 And herd, and breed, until your very babes 
 
 Are your competitors? Awake, arise ! 
 
 For your redemption drops not from tlie sky, 
 
 But must be wrought witli your own hands and hearts. 
 
 Away with weak complaining-, and put forth 
 
 The mighty will commanding ! The proud World 
 
 Turns his broad back upon us when we mope 
 
 In sullen gloom, but soon as we uplift 
 
 A clear bold brow, a heart to do and dare, 
 
 Then he comes round us with smiling face, 
 
 And serves us like a vassal. O my friends, 
 
 O men, my comrades, let us join our hands. 
 
 And pledge our faith in a fraternal bond ; 
 
 Like brothers let us labour each for all, 
 
 And all for each. Then these afflictive powers 
 
 Will be our ministers beneficent ; 
 
 The tyrant steam will be our mighty slave, 
 
 And iron engines toil and never tire 
 
 In our behoof. The old way is outworn — 
 
 Carve a new path. Let cogs and senseless wheels 
 
 Perform all soulless labours, that the soul 
 
 May so be urged unto more noble work. 
 
 Worthy itself. For undiscovered worlds
 
 38 MAETIN, [PAET II. 
 
 Of noble work yet wait our enterprize, 
 
 With depths of wealth unknown, and heights on heights 
 
 Of suraless elevation. Know ye not 
 
 The time will come when earth shall be renewed. 
 
 And want grow fabulous, and fraud and wrong 
 
 Fade into dim tradition ; when all boons 
 
 Of art and nature all mankind shall bless, 
 
 Freely as sun and rain ; when open faith 
 
 And honour shall have sway ; and even Trade 
 
 Become heroic, and dispense its gifts 
 
 To man with God-like magnanimity, 
 
 Blessing yet boasting not ! The time will come 1 
 
 Then shall your sorrows cease, your hurts be healed. 
 
 And you, and I, and all of us rejoice. 
 
 O let us toil like brothers with one heart ; 
 
 So shall we bring that jubilee of love — 
 
 So shall we go forth, heralds of great joy. 
 
 And all the pomp and glory of the world 
 
 Will follow at our heels. Rich men shall learn 
 
 They also are our brothers, and no more 
 
 Tn selfish splendour, eating their own hearts. 
 
 Supinely revel, but rejoicing rise 
 
 To be our captains in the grand em prize 
 
 Of blessedness for All — making their names 
 
 The themes of honour, and their piles of gold 
 
 The pedestals of greatness."
 
 PaET II.] MABTIN. 89 
 
 He ceased ; and many, as if roused from sleep, 
 Sprang up, and turned their faces to the light, 
 Hungry for that fair future. Wide before them 
 It rose in its first brightness — a new morn — 
 A growing hope — a blessing undefined — 
 A shape of light, with hands innumerable 
 Outstretched to aid them. Sudden eagerness 
 To band like brothers — instantly to share 
 The prosperous issues of fraternal toil 
 Now fired their spirits ; and still Martin urged them 
 With love's own fervour and untiring zeal. 
 In preparation of their glorious hope. 
 He taught them lessons of heroic truth. 
 Of faith and sacrifice ; and he went forth 
 Pleading their cause before the mighty ones, 
 As earnest-ardent as a young apostle 
 •Baptized with fire from heaven, and with power. 
 'Mid throngs of worldlings in the chaffering mart, 
 He told that dear love should precedence take 
 Of gold, and lands, and lordships. 'Twas foul sin 
 For selfish greed to hoard all benefits — 
 Nay, 'twas blind folly, and a wiser thrift 
 Would work far nobler, since the gain of each 
 Is in the weal of all. Therefore he urged 
 They should abase their pride the poor to exalt, 
 
 d2
 
 40 MARTIN,   [Part IT. 
 
 Like brothers true. Incredulous, they stared, 
 
 And passed him by, with measureless contempt. 
 
 It seemed a solid wall of scornful looks, 
 
 With Mammon's utmost forces — hosts on hosts, 
 
 In plates of gold impenetrably mailed, 
 
 His championship opposed. Still paused he not. 
 
 The faith of brotherhood incorporate 
 
 Grew with his very being, and possessed him 
 
 Like a strong inspiration. Yet, alas, 
 
 What room for love fraternal and heroic. 
 
 Where men are foes, and struggle as they swarm 
 
 In such close huddle straining, it might seem 
 
 The land had narrowed underneath their feet 
 
 To this one point, and they were now reduced 
 
 To fight for room to stand ? What hope for love 
 
 Where hate is traffic'd in, and trade is fraud. 
 
 And all the marts are glutted with grim death ? 
 
 Where hell's let loose upon the public ways. 
 
 And in the dreariness where want abides, 
 
 Vice, plague-like, spreads, all life is but disease ? 
 
 Where is redemption ? Shall God's kingdom come 
 
 Out of Gehenna and the Pit ? I know not, 
 
 "But it shall come," said Martin. " I will toil 
 
 And strive and sweat for it, and never rest 
 
 Until I die ; for in a world like this.
 
 PaET II.] MARTIN. 41 
 
 Comfort is sottish ! Doubtless there is room 
 
 For love's great fellowship beneath high heaven, 
 
 But not here, in this ordered anarchy — 
 
 Not here, where ancient evils have the dues 
 
 Of reverend customs, and hard selfishness 
 
 Grows from the earth of England. No, not here 
 
 'Mid these o'erswarmiug towns and their old wrongs. 
 
 But in the wilderness across the wave. 
 
 Striking its roots into the virgin soil. 
 
 The Tree of Life may grow, with fruits of love 
 
 On broad world-shadowing branches. There supreme 
 
 In his true grandeur, bursting from the webs 
 
 Of old conventions, forms, and usages, 
 
 Enfranchised Labour, like a new-waked Giant, 
 
 For absolute dominion may outstretch 
 
 His mighty arm — his feet on the free earth. 
 
 The morning on his brow, and in his hands 
 
 The crowns of unborn empires." Thus persuaded. 
 
 He turned to those his new associates : — 
 
 " friends, we are too many in the land, 
 But there's a ' world elsewhere' ! Across the wave. 
 On tow'rd the sunset, stretch savannahs vast 
 Where no man dwells. Wide continents wherethro' 
 Eoll sea-like rivers, whose broad bosoms heave
 
 42 MAETIK, [PAET TI, 
 
 To bear the argosies and prosperous sails 
 Of nations yet to be. There may we raise 
 The standard of new hope. There sow the seed 
 And reap the harvest, build the city-walls, 
 Ope ports of commerce, marts of merchandise. 
 Shaping our energy to grand results 
 Whereof we dream not now. — Lo, I foresee 
 A paradise far blooming in the wild — 
 The small beginnings of love's pioneers 
 Increasing wide with process of the suns 
 To happy kindreds and communities, 
 Eejoicing realms and singing continents, 
 By peaceful seas embraced and blissful skies ! 
 O, let us hasten from this prison-house 
 To the broad liberty of those fair regions 
 That wait for our possessing 1 Let us forth 
 To win the Good Estate where all shall thrive 
 By common toil enriching common stores ;. 
 Where undivided fields with harvests bright 
 Of our high hopes- shall bloom, and years increase 
 In blessings endless o'er our joys fraternal ! 
 On let us march— I'll guide ye — yet I aim 
 To no cold isolation of renown — 
 I seek not to be chief, but only one 
 In a brave band of brothers. And my hope,
 
 PaEX II.] MAETIIf. 43 
 
 My love, my faith, I pledge ye ; and in trust, 
 My better fortunes shall be yours withal. 
 Then join with me, and on for victory —   
 On for dear freedom and the Good Estate — 
 Comrades, hurrah for Labour's Commonweal!" 
 
 Hurrah ! they cried rejoicing. And right soon 
 
 A goodly company as eagerly 
 
 Over the western ocean stretched their gaze. 
 
 As Israel's children in captivity 
 
 Turned tow'rd the blessed Canaan. Even now 
 
 Spring laughed away the clouds, and hid the scars 
 
 Of all earth's winters with gay greenery : 
 
 Spring broke the bondage of the ice-bound streams, 
 
 And through the meadows, leaping in the sun. 
 
 Full merrily they ran ; and round the roots 
 
 Of the old trees new-leafing ; and now loitered 
 
 In loving dalliance with the fair young flowers 
 
 That stooped to kiss them in sweet nooks embowered. 
 
 Spring touched those poor men's hearts and stirred their 
 
 blood 
 With motions of new life ; and in their spirits 
 Another spring-time, full of budding hopes 
 And shoots of promise, started. Wide aloof 
 Some wise heads shook with prophecies of ill ;
 
 44 MAETIW. [PaKT II. 
 
 But some large noble hearts stretched hands of help. 
 And soon a fair ship, with those toilers freighted. 
 Fronted the West, with Hope upon her prow. 
 
 Fresh blew the breeze ; the vessel spread her sails ; 
 And o'er the deck the eager voyagers 
 Crowded with glowing looks and bounding hearts. 
 Free on the heaving billow, each arose 
 Dilating into greatness ; and all felt 
 Like heroes bent on mighty enterprise. 
 Sailing in glory from tlie dead old Past 
 Unto the nobler Future. Blythesome songs 
 Of hope they sang, and talked right cheerily 
 Of coming days, and wonders to be wrought : 
 Clear rang their voices on the freshening wind ; 
 Quick throbbed their pulses, and their bosoms beat 
 Exhilarating music. Then arose 
 Solemn and sad, the feeling of farewell, 
 As Britain's shores were fading from their sight. 
 " And yet" — they said — " 'tis hard to leave our home- 
 That home to love and freedom consecrate — 
 The England of our fathers — the dear land 
 Girdled with strong affections, surer far 
 Than the encircling waters ! Yes, 'tis hard 
 To leave our country, tho' she nurtured us
 
 PAET it.] MAETITSr. 45 
 
 To toil in tears. But patriots are we, 
 And duty turns us from our mother-land 
 Since she's o'erburdened with her numerous sons. 
 We but depart to ease her of her woe ; 
 And we shall ne'er forsake her, but full soon 
 We'll stretch our hands to her across the sea, 
 And help her need from our prosperity. 
 Parewell, dear mother England ! — Hail, all hail. 
 Land of the Future — wide world of the west ! 
 Over the rolling deep we go the way 
 Of the old sires of freedom, and perchance 
 Our destiny is no less glorious 
 Than e'en was theirs, the wilderness who sowed 
 With cities fair and continents o'erspread 
 With thriving states and blessings manifold. 
 Yea, though unnoticed is our going forth, 
 'Tho' 'tis a day of small things, it may be 
 The birth-day of an empire, and from hence 
 May date new epochs in earth's history. 
 
 Thus with anticipated glories crowned, 
 They reached Columbia's shore ; and tarried not ; 
 But sailed far onward up St, Lawrence' stream, 
 Thro' wilds of beauty and magnificence, 
 Until the place of their new home they gained.
 
 46 MAETIN. [PAET II. 
 
 It seemed the seat of Nature's sovereignty, 
 
 Where she sat throned amid all elements 
 
 Of grandeur and of vastness. There for ever 
 
 EoUed large and luminous waters between banks 
 
 Of lavish bloom and waste fertility. 
 
 Forests immense of immemorial pine 
 
 Girdled unbounded prairies, smoothed o'er 
 
 With the long grass of silent centuries. 
 
 And mountains seemed the pillars of high heaven, 
 
 Left from some mighty past to be the guides 
 
 Of some far mightier future : fitting land 
 
 To nurse a race of heroes ! " O, my friends," — 
 
 Said Martin to his comrades, gathered round 
 
 In hushed wonder — " Surely we are cast 
 
 In this grand region for a purpose grand. 
 
 The solitude now liveth — lo, our voice 
 
 Doth end the silence of a thousand years ! 
 
 Let not the jars and frets of that old world 
 
 We've left behind us enter this retreat. 
 
 But here, beneath this heaven, in the sight 
 
 Of these eternal mountains, let us live 
 
 A new and nobler life. Here join our hands, 
 
 And pledge our faith that by our hopes of bliss — 
 
 By the great Nature which embosoms us — 
 
 By the dear God of all— we'll brothers be, 
 
 And share in love one blessed destiny !"
 
 Part TI.] maetin. 47 
 
 Soon as he ceased, the company joined hands 
 
 To pledge their service to the Commonweal. 
 
 And there some moments did they stand sublime. 
 
 As on the threshold of a glorious doom, — 
 
 Then with good heart their labours they began. — 
 
 They were to merge all personal interests, 
 
 All selfish preferences of mine and thine. 
 
 In fair equality — there side by side 
 
 Toiling in concert with one common aim 
 
 To one result of good. — So they began. — 
 
 They felled the trees to build their dwelling-place, 
 
 And o'er the patient spade aud peaceful plough 
 
 Eight manfully they bent ; and gardens wide 
 
 They planted with fair fruits : and swelling fields 
 
 With promise sowed of harvest without end. 
 
 Among the rest, toiled Martin, soon and late ; 
 
 Cheering his mates with animating words, 
 
 Breathing his ardours o'er them — ready ever 
 
 With happy counsel, or with helping hand. 
 
 He was their strength, their shield, and their defence ; 
 
 And oft they would have faltered, but beholding 
 
 His countenance bright with hope invincible 
 
 And patient courage, they took heart again 
 
 And kindled into bravery. — 
 
 So 'twas well. — 
 Till in one mind, and then another, crept
 
 48 IVIAETIN. [PaET II. 
 
 The serpent thought, -that though they work'd and work'd, 
 
 The expected blessing came not. Each had built 
 
 A commonwealth in his own phantasy, 
 
 But the reality took not the form 
 
 Of their particular dreams, and thence arose 
 
 A general discontent. Beneath their new 
 
 Fraternal vesture, the old selfish heart 
 
 Still unregenerate lived. And tho' somewhile 
 
 They were uplifted, and their bosoms burned 
 
 With an unwonted fervour, yet what seemed 
 
 The fire of holy zeal, was but the flush 
 
 From change of air and action. Day by day 
 
 Illusions melted in the sun and rain : 
 
 The solid world thrust on them its old look ; 
 
 Long had they waited, they had travelled far. 
 
 And still their freedom and felicity 
 
 Were out of reach, like cities in the clouds. 
 
 Then Nature's grandeur, now familiar grown, 
 
 No longer touched them ; or her loftiness 
 
 Did taunt their littleness. They saw no charm 
 
 In their hard toil — no beauty in the clods 
 
 Which day by day they tilled ; and Heaven itself 
 
 Looked on them with a stern taskmaster's eye. 
 
 Anon came o'er the Commonweal a cloud 
 Of evil days, which 'fore the healthful face
 
 Past IT.] mabtin^, 49 
 
 Of Eesolution would liave vanished swift 
 As shadows frotn the sun. But those compeers 
 Were barren of the faith which breeds the courage 
 That can strike down impediments opposed, 
 And tug with Fortune and outface her frowns. 
 A gnawing weakness ate away their hearts ; 
 Mistrust and doubting paralyzed their hands ; 
 Confusion seized them, and in pale dismay 
 They sank like cowards, quelled by their own fear. 
 Then Martin, half-indignant, half-beseeching. 
 Urged new endeavour :—" What, and do ye think 
 To walk on roses to the Promised Land ?" 
 He cried in ire : " Nay, there's a wilderness 
 Wide, waste, and wild, before us ; but strong Will 
 Can force a wav, and Faith shall reach the end 
 And smile at perils past. Take better heart, 
 Take higher hope, ray comrades ; and 'bove all 
 Believe ye one another. Faith alone 
 Preserves our unity ; and wreck will fall. 
 And Chaos come again, when Faith is gone !" 
 
 Silent they heard, and slightly re-assured, 
 Eesumed their broken labours. But 'twas vain. 
 They were half-hearted, unbelieving men, 
 And could achieve naught worthy. Still pale Fear 
 Did paralyze their strength, while dark Mistrust —
 
 50 MARTIN, [PaET II. 
 
 A growing shadow, crushed them with the weight 
 Of piled mountains. Darker, and more dark. 
 The shadow spread : — a darkness palpable 
 With evils old renewed — fell greed of self. 
 Doubt, envy, jealousy — familiar fiends. 
 That curse all Commonweals, all Edens mar. 
 The bond fraternal was a heavy burden, 
 A hard oppression grievous to be borne. 
 Awhile they bore it, those half-hearted men. 
 Sullen and silent, with stern clouded brows. 
 And first the evil eye ill thoughts revealed ; 
 Then evil tongues were loosed, and murmurs rose, 
 And whispers of dark import, swift increasing 
 To hubbub of fierce jars. Then waxing bold. 
 The strong man claimed precedence of the weak ; 
 And every one his selfish ends proclaimed 
 The ultimate of social blessedness. 
 The discord swelled ; each bosom seemed a nest 
 Of snakes and scorpions, darting poisonous tongues 
 To sting all others ; till in bitter rage 
 They burst the thraldom of their fellowship 
 And free to work their sorrow, stood divided 
 In attitude of battle, each with all. 
 
 Now Martin, faltering, paused : poor tender heart 
 Whose love was turned to mockery ! Sad, downcast.
 
 PaET II.] MABTIK. Si 
 
 Amid the wreck of his high purposes 
 
 He bowed his head, as might a devotee 
 
 Lonely and weary in a ruined fane, 
 
 'Mid shattered forms of fallen Divinities, 
 
 Now might be meditate on chance and change, 
 
 And popular movements leading unto naught ; 
 
 Weighing his wisdom who doth build his hope 
 
 On shifting sands, or on unstable men. 
 
 TYithin him rose a voice — " What cheer, what cheer ? 
 
 Thou seest how multitudes are drawn by dreams. 
 
 And cast adrift by every wind that blows ; 
 
 Thou seest how their diversities combine 
 
 As oil with water, or as brass with clay : — 
 
 With eager championship thou dids't aspire 
 
 To set this wrong w^orld right, and thou hast sped 
 
 Like many another famous architect 
 
 Of airv castles. Still the world rolls on, 
 
 And goes its wonted way, and heeds thee not. — 
 
 Wilt thou not yield, and cease from efforts vain 
 
 For what hath never been, and ne'er may be ?" — 
 
 Then he looked up, and heart and hope retui'ned 
 
 To quell the thought of yielding ; and he said : — 
 
 " No, I may never yield. I've worked and worked 
 
 With all my heart and brain, and soul and strength. 
 
 And though to-day my labour seemeth vain.
 
 52 MABTIN. [PaET II. 
 
 It is not vain — it is not all in vain. 
 I trust the future : mighty is my Faith , 
 And evil days, mischance, defeat itself, 
 Can touch her never, nor can doubt impair. 
 The years to come are her sure heritage ; 
 And forth she goes, a conqueror uncrowned, 
 Eiding like Destiny on winged Time. 
 When all beside is gone, I still have faith, 
 ^^And faith is patience." — But this patience calm 
 Was troubled now by manifold regrets 
 For errors past — for high aims that o'erlooked 
 And overleaped success — o'erhasty zeal 
 To win the world, with its six thousand winters 
 Of iron selfishness at once dissolving 
 In love's perennial summer : — glorious dream, 
 He trusted with so large belief, e'en while 
 His faith was lesser than a grain of seed 
 Wliich is content to grow. Witlial, the voice 
 Of his own spirit woke, and urged austere 
 His aim was vanity, and could no less 
 Than come to naught : for there's no good Estate 
 Apart from God's high governance and grace ; 
 And till they are His sous, in very truth, 
 Men ne'er can be true brothers. — Self- rep roved, 
 Humbled in spirit, he arose and went
 
 PaET II.] MABTDJ-, 53 
 
 To those his late associates, where they stood 
 In enmity forlorn, and he besought them 
 With much entreaty, yea, almost with tears. 
 To turn with him again. — 
 
 " We all were wrong,'V he said, *' We all have sinned 
 
 And come short of heaven's blessing. Poor and weak. 
 
 We could not stand upon our empty dreams — 
 
 We could not be true brothers, so unheeding 
 
 Of our great Father, who in pity stooped 
 
 To bless us, but we would not. Oh, before Him 
 
 Let us bow down, and jdeld to His high will — 
 
 Making our common weakness the new bond 
 
 Of our communion. If no Good Estate 
 
 Of undivided fields and common stores 
 
 Be ours to accomplish, still may we be rich 
 
 In commerce sweet of kindness and good works — 
 
 Living, if not as brothers of one blood. 
 
 Yet as God's children all ! So may we reach 
 
 With lowlier hope a loftier destiny. 
 
 So lay a State's foundations in the heart 
 
 Of simple truth and faith. So raise the world 
 
 Nearer to heaven, and make it worthier 
 
 Of the pure stars' beholding."
 
 54 MABTIN. [PaKT II. 
 
 They heard, and apprehended. Weary grown 
 Of barren wrath and conflict, they took thought 
 For reconcilement ; and with mediate aid 
 Of Martin's counsel, they again joined hands — 
 Not standing now among the shining clouds. 
 But on the brown soil, which its sober hue 
 Gave to their thought and hope. — Again they turned 
 To till the ground, to ply their several crafts — 
 No longer equal ; but each man distinct, 
 With his free capabilities around him. 
 Hither and thither, branching in fruition 
 Of liberty and power. Now from the world 
 Passed the dark shadow ; and there was new light 
 New hope, new charm in all things ; for right well 
 With every stroke of toil, the toiler knew 
 He was achieving somewhat ; so his spirit 
 Throbbed with the pride of Labour, while his heart 
 In love drew nearer unto mother Earth, 
 And the great heart of Nature. Yea, to him 
 'Twas proud delight, 'twas grand to be — to feel 
 His footing firm beneath him, and his place 
 Pixed to the centre, while he stood erect 
 Beneath the kindling glory of the heaven, 
 Prouting the duties, that like earnest friends. 
 Pressed round to help him, and to urge him on 
 To conflicts brave, and migth, and victory.
 
 Part II.] martin. 55 
 
 In their old life in England, crammed and pent, 
 'Twas not sharp want, nor cold, nor nakedness, 
 That gave the keenest smart ; but 'twas the sense 
 Of stifled power — the hunger of their souls 
 For some far nobler fate, they knew not what. 
 Save by dumb cravings and unshaped desires. 
 Now that unspoken misery was past ; 
 And each man felt, in his particular, 
 He had a place and function, and a work 
 Worthy his manhood, with results of might 
 On his right arm depending. Thence proceeded 
 Self-trust, and dignity, whereby they stood 
 Lords of the present ; while the great To-come, 
 Shaped by their hand, shone glorious afar. 
 Now they 'gan revel in their conquering force. 
 Making their toils their pleasures. Some rude wills 
 Stampt all their rudeness on the things they wrought. 
 While some fine natures fashioned their high thought 
 To lovely forms and graces manifold. 
 Turning to beauty what they did for use. 
 These sought high labours for the soul's high need. 
 But they learned also, as the little seed 
 Draws vigour from the clod, and cleaves its way. 
 Budding into summer ; so the soul 
 May grow thro' earthiness of coarsest toil, 
 
 e3
 
 56 MABTIK, [PaET II, 
 
 To gain therefrom a finer element 
 And reach its crown of light.- — Then as the time 
 Increased in fulness, many grew devout 
 'Neath admonition of the absolute heavens. 
 'Twas even, as say old prophet and new sage, 
 By God's own hand, in sunbeams, it is writ — 
 True work is worship ! For the sure results 
 Of labour's process pain and doubt disperst, 
 And nourished pious faith in laws supreme 
 Whereby God also worketh, now and ever. 
 
 Meanwhile, on Martin the kind heaven smiled : 
 
 A glory shone around, and he beheld 
 
 One that might be an angel, were she not 
 
 More blessed, being a woman. 
 
 Love looked from her sweet eyes, and simple truth 
 
 Clothed her in light, and shone in all her ways 
 
 With a most winning charm ; and glowing there. 
 
 For him amid the wilderness she bloomed — 
 
 The Flower of all the world. 'Twas the old tale — 
 
 The maiden's heart flushed open like a rose. 
 
 The lover drank its fragrance from her lips. 
 
 She was his spirit's bride — his bosom's Own. 
 
 To her by strong compulsion he was drawn. 
 
 And she leaned o'er him, so tenderly.
 
 Paet it.] maetin. 57 
 
 Her face so radiant with her open soul, 
 
 So gracious kind, that he was wholly blest ! 
 
 And strange it seemed, that with her love compared. 
 
 His late high aims and swelling purposes, 
 
 Freedom, Equality, the Good Estate, 
 
 And brotherhood, and general blessedness. 
 
 Were but of small concern. — In converse sweet, 
 
 " Dear love," said he, " Methinks I'm like a bird 
 That thro' strange skies hath flown and o'er wide seas, 
 And perched on pyramids, and come at last 
 Within the shadow of a lowly roof 
 To build its humble nest. For I did wander 
 Thro' airy regions, among clouds of dreams, 
 Soaring so far to stoop unto my home, 
 E'en to thy nestling bosom, my Beloved." 
 
 " And wilt thou bide in thy dear home ?" she said, 
 " Or wilt thou wander more, as doth a bii'd 
 That sings and revels thro' bright summer days. 
 And flies from winter's frown ?" 
 
 " O, trust me well. — 
 Love knows not winter's name ; nor frowns nor fears 
 Can ever come where thou art" — he replied
 
 58 MARiiN. [Paet it. 
 
 With kindling ardour; — " for with thee is light. 
 And joy, and peace, and all that is not evil. 
 And I am rich in thee, yea, I am great ! 
 Thy love doth crown me with a glorious crown. 
 Far nobler than an Empire's diadem 
 Be-gemmed with kingdoms ; and upon the swell 
 Of thy true breast enthroned, I reign so grand 
 This world hath room for no felicity 
 Nor greatness beyond mine. 'Tis sumless joy. 
 The rapture of content ! 0, thou dear heart, 
 I cannot speak what I have found in thee — 
 I cannot name thee in thy priceless worth. 
 Nor count thy rare perfections ; but believe it, 
 Thou art my very friend, and next to God, 
 I give thee reverence true. No more I'll roam — 
 But here beneath the blessing of thy smile. 
 And of these liberal heavens, will I bide. 
 Once I did dream of world-wide jubilee — 
 Once in young eagerness and passionate zeal, 
 I could have folded all men to my heart. 
 But now I can clasp thee — and rest content !" 
 
 "No, not content !" — returned she, with a look 
 Sweetly reproachful — " Thou wilt surely love 
 All men the more because thou lovest me.
 
 Part II.] mabtin. 
 
 59 
 
 Thou sbalt not rest content, but rise aspiring ; 
 
 Thou shalt be rich by gaining while thou givest ; 
 
 Thou slialt go forth among thy brother-men, 
 
 A teacher of the new love thou hast learned — 
 
 A champion of the heart, the poor worn heart, 
 
 Long bruised with hardness and estranging thoughts. 
 
 No, not content ! Thy days are full of hope. 
 
 And thou hast energy for mighty deeds. 
 
 With soul to kindle in heroic blaze. 
 
 Yet I'd not have thee glorious in the power 
 
 That starts abroad like Lightning, hurling fate ; 
 
 But in the love which worketh like great Light 
 
 That greens the earth and glorifies the year. 
 
 And makes no stir obtrusive. Even thus 
 
 Shalt thou work, Dearest !" 
 
 " Thanks, sweet monitor," 
 He answered ; " Yes, unto my uttermost 
 I will love all, and work for human weal, 
 Tho' not with heart-leaps of my younger zeal, 
 For I have learned of high fraternity 
 My former theories were shadows merely 
 Of a truth which they contained not. Cold and thin, 
 They touch'd not life, yet round about it hung 
 Like fleeting ghosts upon the skirts of morn. 
 And I will teach my lesson — I will teach
 
 60 MAETIN, [PaET II. 
 
 That there is no redemption without faith, 
 And faith must come of love, and woman's love 
 Alone can win men to love one another 
 In true fraternal kind. I will proclaim 
 E'en by thy gentle self, that he who loves. 
 As I do thee, for noblest brotherhood 
 Doth more than he who draws a multitude 
 To work and feed together." 
 
 Forth he rose, 
 Cheered by her proudest smile, and turned again 
 To hail his friends and fellows. Deep regard 
 Constrained them, and they pondered well his words. 
 He told them he had read new revelations 
 Of life and duty in sweet woman's eyes ; 
 And he had learned they never should have boon 
 Of certain peace or prosperous days assured. 
 Save by her guardian care. No Good Estate, 
 Till hallowed by her ministry each hearth 
 Became an altar, and each home a shrine. 
 He told of love which should renew the earth — 
 Told how that image of their fairest hope 
 Had been adored with centuries of prayer — 
 The Mother and the Child ! Divinity 
 Of glorified Woman, bearing in her arms
 
 Part TI.] maeti??. 61 
 
 The new-born Saviour of the suffering world. 
 And in their blindness the significance 
 Of that old worship had escaped them quite. 
 Still Woman was the angel-minister, 
 To bless the weary Present, and inspire 
 The bright redeeming Puture. They must turn 
 From their hard ways, and learn such reverence, 
 With love so lofty for her as should make 
 Her influence religion. In such kind 
 Bowing their strength before her gentleness. 
 Their separate manhoods should be knit together 
 In common chivalry ; and since naught base 
 Might stand in her clear presence, they would grow 
 Out of all selfish grossness ; honour's star 
 Would shine upon their brow, and noble deeds 
 Become their daily customs. Then erelong, 
 The shrine of Family made consecrate. 
 Fraternity's grand temple might be reared, 
 Eoofed by the general skies. And then might come 
 The Good Estate and Commonweal divine. 
 With God in heaven, and the God-like People 
 His ministers on earth, sublime and free.
 
 62 
 
 NOVEMBEE SONG. 
 
 The hills are hid in chilly mist ; 
 
 Cheerless and bare are the forest-bowers ; 
 Drearily wanders the moaning wind ; 
 
 "Wearily droop the doomed hours. 
 On the sodden ground, by the sullen streams, 
 
 The flowers welter and wither ; 
 And sad boding thoughts the falling leaves 
 
 Waft silently hither and thither ; 
 And the dull dark sky and the bare bleak earth 
 
 Are rolled and mingled together. 
 
 But amid these dreary days, good Friends, 
 
 Let us look before and after ; 
 And shake oft' the load of the leaden clouds 
 
 And stifle the storms with laughter. 
 Let us raise a shout to pierce the sky — 
 
 Like a dungeon-arch bent o'er us ; 
 Let the full fresh tide of our life gush forth 
 
 In a mad and merry chorus. 
 Till the woods again seem filled with song, 
 
 And flowers seem strewed before us.
 
 THE EESTJEREOTION OF HOME. 63 
 
 And round the bright fire for many a night 
 
 Let us gather, and charm the time, 
 Eight royally feasting on glorious thoughts 
 
 Of sages and bards sublime. 
 With song, and with story, and high discourse, 
 
 The hours will flee lightly away. 
 And the glad glad light of the cheerful night 
 
 Will shine thro' the gloomy day ; 
 And fresh buds will blow in our spring's young glow 
 
 'Mid the drooping year's decay ! 
 
 TEE EESUERECTION OF HOME. 
 
 After centuries of shame, 
 
 Eternal Eome awakes sublime. 
 
 And clothes her new-born majesty 
 With glories of the olden time. 
 
 With more than royal attributes 
 
 That made her great ere power was crime.
 
 64 TITE EESTTRBECTIOK OV HOME. 
 
 Grandly rise the sovereign people — 
 On in triumph, on they roll ! — 
 
 In every noble face transfigured 
 Ardent shines a hero's soul, — 
 
 They stand, they shout, and lo, once more, 
 The Tribune in the Capitol !— - 
 
 Koraans ! — he saith — deeds have ye done 
 Like those enshrined in records hoary : 
 To-day our country hath renewed 
 
 The greatness of her ancient story- 
 All grandeurs of her sunsets gather 
 Into this new dawn of glory. — 
 
 Tyrants ! — aliens, mitred, sceptred. 
 
 Leagued in falsehood, cursed with gore, 
 Away 1 — the Heavens are weary of ye. 
 
 Earth will bear your crimes no more ! 
 Despite your craft, the world yet moves. 
 
 Yea, your own kingdoms are in motion. 
 Behold, Eome's noble Italy 
 
 Is girdled with the Alps and Ocean ! 
 
 Her sky is starred with splendid names ; 
 Her earth is all heroic dust ;
 
 THE EESUEEECTION OF KOME, 65 
 
 Her proud souls wear like regal robes 
 The memories of their sires august ; 
 
 The spirit of a mighty future 
 Throbbeth in her very stones : — • 
 
 Lo, freedom comes and Victory, 
 Seated on a pile of thrones ! — 
 
 Romans, patriots, where we stand. 
 
 Equal brothers, brave and leal, 
 We now decree the liberty 
 
 Of the ancient Commonweal — 
 And here proclaim by Earth and Heavenj 
 
 And by the holy martyr-graves. 
 That never more shall Eoman mothers 
 
 Stoop in tears to suckle slaves ! — 
 
 He ceased mid tumult of acclaims : 
 
 Ten thousand voices joyous ring ; 
 Ten thousand men join heart and hand. 
 
 In their freed country glorying ; — 
 And every citizen of Eome 
 
 To-day is greater than a king !
 
 66 
 
 THE GOLD-SEEKEES. 
 
 Up ! comrades up, from plough and loom- 
 Behold the Golden Age is come ! 
 A new-born hope springs like a lark. 
 And our world turns out o' the dark. 
 Into the dawn of fortune's smile ; 
 And wealth and glory wait our toil. 
 A splendid future lies before us. 
 
 Ever greatening as we go ; 
 Kindly the blue heavens bend o'er us ; 
 
 Blithe and brisk the breezes blow. 
 Let us away, O brother-band, 
 Over the sea to the Golden Land I 
 
 Thus One spake to his yoke-fellows, 
 And they lifted up their eager brows. 
 Like men just waked to a purpose brave ; 
 And gaily they sped o'er the ocean-wave. 
 Speeding the ship with songs of glee, 
 Loading the winds with jubilee ; 
 Until, at length, the sails were furled,
 
 THE GOLD-SEEKESg. 67 
 
 And they came to a land like an infant world, 
 Swathed in silence and slumb'rous light, 
 And lying calm in iingrown might. 
 
 there was a vision golden ! 
 
 The sky seemed Fortune's scroll unfolden. 
 
 And writ all over with fortunate stars ; 
 
 And the sun-rays glowed like golden bars ; 
 
 And the rare gold, through the ground it gleamed 
 
 And glittered in the streams, and teemed 
 
 In thousand places yet unseen ; 
 
 And the clink of gold awaked the serene 
 
 Old solitude, that seemed forgot 
 
 Till now, in its repose remote. 
 
 And with one will, one aim, one thought. 
 
 Eight eagerly the toilers wrought 
 
 To gather the shining stores ; and they told 
 
 Exulting joy as they grasped the gold : — 
 
 Ha ! this is better than to moil and moan, 
 
 To suffer and to sweat for bread alone. 
 
 Lo, here we stand in unimagined worth. 
 
 With skies auspicious crowned, while subject Earth 
 
 Spreads at her feet her tribute-treasuries ! 
 
 Dim fables turn to splendid verities ;
 
 68 THE GOI-D-SEEKEES. 
 
 And purple blooms of mellow old tradition 
 
 Fade in the fulness of a new fruition ; 
 
 And El Dorados of our boyish dreams 
 
 Grow poor beside the waking truth that beams 
 
 Eight in our faces. — O, this is the top 
 
 Of all our toil, and harvest of our hope ! 
 
 We clutch the magic prize which all men seek ; 
 
 And we have equal place with those that wreak 
 
 The wrongs we late endured. — We're level now 
 
 With our old taskmasters ; and with haughty brow 
 
 'Tis now our turn to lord it ! — Once we wrought, 
 
 In darkness and in dearth, and were as naught ; 
 
 But now we are grown somewhat, and we blaze 
 
 With sudden glory in men's reverent gaze ! 
 
 Yes, we've been slighted and cuffed aside, 
 
 But here are the keys that will open wide 
 
 The gates o' the world ; and we'll enter in 
 
 Like kings and conquerors ; and we'll win 
 
 Eegard and homage, hour by hour, 
 
 Since wealth is wisdom, and honour, and power I 
 
 And still they wrought and wrought ; and still their store 
 Waxed greater daily, as they gloated o'er 
 The piled heaps ; and 'mid their growing gains 
 Huts turned to palaces, and savage plains
 
 THE GOLD-SEEKERS. 69 
 
 Were strewed with shining cities, full of jars ; 
 
 And seeds were scattered of swift-coming wars. 
 
 At length, these men grew grey, but not with years ; 
 
 And some exclaimed, half-choked with sordid fears, 
 
 " We'll rest, and count our gains." And so they told 
 
 Their treasures o'er ; but there was naught but gold. 
 
 Gold they had found in place of life — poor dupes ! 
 
 Their loftier thoughts, their loves, their holier hopes, 
 
 Yea, even their souls were molten down, and fused 
 
 Into hard yellow gold ; and thus abused, 
 
 They sat in a drear shadow far apart 
 
 From life's true glory ; while a dull dumb smart, 
 
 The sense of a huge want, they knew not what. 
 
 Consumed them, and their days did slowly rot 
 
 Out of their hands, and drop into the earth, 
 
 'Mid heaps of splendour turned to dole and dearth. 
 
 And the gold-glitter cast a lurid glare 
 
 Upon the ending doom and grim despair. 
 
 Which darken'd near, and nearer, cold and bare.
 
 70 
 
 WANDERING FANCIES OF A SQIMER DAY. 
 
 After long nights of feverous unrest 
 
 And clays of weary pain, I rose restored ; 
 
 And forth I hasted with a hungry heart, 
 
 To meet the glowing breeze, and feast again 
 
 On the broad blessedness of earth and sky. 
 
 It was a morn in August. Even yet, 
 
 Tho' budding spring was o'er, and summer's prime. 
 
 There was such freshness, such a spirit of youth, 
 
 Such newness of delight in everything, 
 
 As if the jocund seasons had come back 
 
 To pleasure me that morn ; and in my sight, 
 
 So long beclouded with the four bare walls. 
 
 Such beauty shone beneath, such glory above, 
 
 As of a new earth under a new heaven. 
 
 Nature held festival to honour me. 
 
 And gathered all her charms into one smile 
 
 Of gracious welcome ; and to cheer me more, 
 
 After my suffering, she also seemed 
 
 To revel in the luxury of life 
 
 Eeleased from pain : no shadow on her face,
 
 WANDTIKIKa FAXCIES. 71 
 
 No sorrow in her heart ! It might have been 
 The birthday of the world, with yet no trace 
 Of wrong or misery, and no black thoughts 
 To eclipse the glorious sun. So on I fared 
 Abandoned to all blessed impulses, 
 Among all things rejoicing in my joy. 
 Where'er I turned, some touch of sympathy 
 My spirit thrilled. The daisy never smiled 
 In old Dan Chaucer's eyes with more delight 
 Than now in mine; and every wayside bloom 
 Brighten'd at my approach. The grasshopper 
 Chirrup'd a livelier note. The musing herds 
 Grazed in my face with happiness sedate. 
 The very crows among the tall old elms. 
 About a quaint old hall, wheeled round and round. 
 Cawing their joy with pleasing dissonance ; 
 And as I passed a cottage, from the eaves, 
 A small wren caroU'd blithe, while at the door 
 An infant in its mother's arras, held out 
 Its little hands to me, with tiny laugh. 
 I could discern where all the flowers had been. 
 And still their sweets remained; and still for me 
 All gladsome birds between the swallow of spring 
 And autumn's redbreast, left their melodies 
 To gratulate this memorable morn. 
 
 f2
 
 72 WANDERING FANCIES 
 
 Awhile I rested on an upland knoll, 
 To mark the scene. Around me, and beneath, 
 Were rich green meadows, sprinkled with still flocks. 
 Varied by slopes and swells of waving wheat, 
 Golden for harvest ; and in merry bands 
 Were sun-burnt reapers scattered here and there 
 Among the early barley. Mansions white 
 Gleamed 'mid dark trees, and lowly cottages 
 Smiled through their woodbines ; and some village spires 
 In the blue distance joined earth to heaven. 
 And laden wains along the green old lanes 
 With musical motion winded ; and brisk girls 
 Tripped lightly over paths from farm to farm ; 
 And yonder, glorious 'mid grime and smoke. 
 The giant city sweltered in the sun. 
 
 Beauty was everywhere, and pleasure's smile 
 Common as sunshine ; but my chiefest joy 
 Was when I reached the shade of an old wood 
 Skirting a proud old park. It is a place 
 Of sylvan pleasaunce called the Happy Vale. 
 In midst thereof a gentle streamlet winds 
 Adown a stair of falls from rock to rock, 
 With many murmurs ; and on either side 
 Stand goodly companies of stalwart elms,
 
 OF A StTMMEE DAT. 73 
 
 And oaks right royal in the state and pride 
 
 Of full five hundred summers. 'Neath these trees, 
 
 Are nooks of nestling calm and dear delight. 
 
 Sweet sanctities of soul's peace and heart's ease. 
 
 Cool brooding shades wherein the spirit dwells 
 
 Of green Antiquity. When to this spot 
 
 I came, the dance and tumult of my joy 
 
 In a great Sabbath of still happiness 
 
 Subsided soon. For unto him who yields 
 
 Allegiance to Nature, there is that 
 
 In her wild woodland presence which subdues 
 
 The soul with exaltation. It is good 
 
 Within the forest-temple to bow down. 
 
 While she bestows the grace and benison 
 
 Of her most holy peace ; and it is good 
 
 To worship in the temple made with hands, 
 
 Beneath the Gothic pomp of pictured pane 
 
 And blossomed stone, and sacred imageries 
 
 Shaped out of pious thought by toiling Faith. 
 
 The hallowed quiet of the olden church. 
 
 And the dim silence of the solemn grove — 
 
 Each has a voice, which to the weai-y man. 
 
 Hot from the streets of turmoil, whispers clear — 
 
 Why all this strife and fret ? Then on his brow 
 
 Fall cooling thoughts — his worldly cares subside 
 
 As bubble breaths in an eternal calm.
 
 14, 
 
 WANDEEINa FANCIES 
 
 I love to wander thro' cathedral aisles, 
 'Mid their rich glooms and many-coloured lights, 
 And wilderness of stony foliage. 
 But more I love the forest sanctitude, 
 The cloistral shade of immemorial trees. 
 Their massy trunks are columns of support 
 Whereon I lean, and draw from mother Earth 
 Such nurture bounteous that my Tree of Life 
 Grows firmer rooted than the central oak. 
 And in its branches, 'mid blue peeps of sky, 
 Dwell thoughts, like quiring birds, that sing sweet hymns 
 And take the heavens with music. In the woods, 
 'Tis there I lay my hand on Nature's heart. 
 And feel its pulses throbbing thro' mine own. 
 With joyful awe I pause to contemplate 
 The silent life, and miracle of growth. 
 The pillared grandeur of the grey-green trunks. 
 The wonder of the overarching boughs. 
 The mystery of the many- voiced leaves ; 
 And casting off the coils of worldliness, 
 I feel the soul within me, and I feel 
 More near the Soul of All. 
 
 While in such mood 
 Devoutly rapt, a herd of deer swept by ; 
 And as one stopp'd to drink out of the stream.
 
 OF A SUMMEB DAY. 75 
 
 My fancj'' wandered, and forthwith I gazed 
 
 On Shakspere's Arden. Melancholy Jacques, 
 
 And the poor stag upon the swift brook's verge ; 
 
 The motley fool who moral'd on the time ; 
 
 The good Duke, royal 'mid his careless court 
 
 " Under the Greenwood tree." These I beheld — 
 
 And sweet it were, thought I, to live such life, 
 
 Or in a nook like this to dwell apart, 
 
 And let the world go by. Philosophy 
 
 Might meditate upon the passing hours. 
 
 Untroubled by men's jars, or Fortune's frown. 
 
 Or schemes of sordid thrift. Ah ! could we leap 
 
 The limitary fences round our lot. 
 
 And gain the liberties of forests old. 
 
 Far better were such life, with summer's boons 
 
 And winter's buffets, than to moil i' the dark 
 
 For bread of bitterness, or to eat toads 
 
 At rich men's tables — to do reverence 
 
 Where the heart yields no homage, and so pass 
 
 In self-coutempt to unregarded graves. 
 
 But now 'twas mid-day. Thro' the languid hour, 
 I laid me down beneath a spreading elm. 
 Pleasant it was in that cool shadiness 
 To linger, conscious of the noontide heat.
 
 WANBEEINft PANCTES 
 
 And yet to feel it not ; to mark o'erhead 
 
 The sunbeam trickling thro' the depth of leaves. 
 
 Kindling their greenness to a thousand dyes 
 
 Of ever-changing glory, and to hear 
 
 The lulling murmur of the waterfall 
 
 Flow thro' the audible stillness. There I lay 
 
 Like Idlesse drowsing in the lap of dreams 
 
 With happy half-shut eyes. Lo ! all at once, 
 
 A little faery barque with magic sails 
 
 Glided towards me on the stream beneath ; 
 
 And into it I stept, right glad of heart, 
 
 And flush'd with new desires. On, gaily on, 
 
 It flash'd along then, like an eager thought. 
 
 Over the shining water. On and on. 
 
 Thro' woodlands wide and depths of country cheerj 
 
 Thro' vales of cornfields and white cottages. 
 
 And past the hoary hills and merry meads. 
 
 Far past the iields of daisies lingering bright, 
 
 Like a winged thing it bore me. Now the stream 
 
 Glittered into the glory of a lake. 
 
 Spotted with sunny islands, and all round 
 
 Girdled with grand old forests. Now it winded 
 
 'Long twilight avenues of dreaming trees,' 
 
 And now thro' caverns full of mingling murmurs ; 
 
 And then 'twas lost amid the gentle swell
 
 OF A SXTMMEE DAT. 77 
 
 Of Ocean, lying blessed as a bride, 
 Smiling to heaven with heaven in its smile. 
 And still the light barque, like a shape of life. 
 Or vision of the air, skimm'd o'er the wave 
 Bearing me on and onward, till at length, 
 'Twas by a lulling breeze of music borne 
 Unto a wondrous shore, where golden sands 
 Gleamed under lustrous shells and pebbly pearls. 
 It was a land where endless morning slept 
 On fields of amaranth and asphodel 
 And ever-blowing roses. Kivers large 
 Kolled tides of crystal amid woods of palm, 
 Of olive, date, and orange ; and clear rills 
 Wandered about the roots of lesser plants 
 In silver threading mazes. Gentle airs. 
 Breathing of spices and Hesperian fruits, 
 Kippled o'er lucent lakes, yet ruifled not 
 The swan's down-plumage; while the joyous bees 
 In every flower, and birds on every bough. 
 And mingling sounds of woods and waters made 
 Melodious confusion. This might seem 
 A suburb bright of Milton's Paradise. 
 But farther onward, over mountains blue. 
 There was a pleasant faery realm, wherethro' 
 Dear dreaming Spenser and beloved Keats
 
 78 WANDEEING FANCIES 
 
 Might wander, singing evermore new songs 
 
 Amidst enchantments, thick as flowers in June. 
 
 On every side were Gardens of Delight, 
 
 Where fountains overwrought with legends old, 
 
 For ever played, and sculptured Graces glowed 
 
 Thro' mists of bloom and fragrance. Winding paths 
 
 Led unto sylvan bowers and Druid groves, 
 
 And glorious plots of all the sunny South, 
 
 And unto vales where pastoral Quiet lay 
 
 Lapt in a vision of the golden age. 
 
 Eadiant amid this goodly realm appeared 
 
 The forms of lovely fables, plain to sense ; 
 
 The marvels of old story ; the divine 
 
 Creations of high poets. There I saw 
 
 White beauties in green glooms, and groups of shapes, 
 
 Like animated sculpture ; Bowers of Bliss 
 
 Crowded with faces of immortal charm. 
 
 And sweet tales eloquent with throbbing life. 
 
 Entering that land, in music and in joy. 
 
 The waters of rejuvenescence flowed. 
 
 From whence a throng of maidens bright emerged. 
 
 Fair as a galaxy of new-bathed stars 
 
 From ocean's foam ; and in the glowing air 
 
 They sang out jubilant, or jocund danced 
 
 Over the emerald sward, with flying feet
 
 OF A SrirSIEE DAT. 79 
 
 In winding mazes endless ; or on banks 
 
 Of flowers they reclined, wreathing their hair, 
 
 Sleeking- their rounded charms, and lightly smiling 
 
 At thought of distant graves. As on I passed, 
 
 I saw where men and maidens lived their life 
 
 After the use of mild antiquity. 
 
 Before dear love became commodity. 
 
 Over the plain, or on the mountain side. 
 
 Or in low vale embowered, they hand in hand. 
 
 Fleeted the time, and in each other's eves 
 
 Clear stars of honour's constancy beheld. — 
 
 Here gentle shepherds, as they watched their flocks. 
 
 Made hill and valley vocal with their song ; 
 
 And now a merry rout, with vine-leaves wreathed. 
 
 Piping and dancing, brought the vintage home. 
 
 While nymphs and dryads gleamed among the trees, 
 
 And glimpses were half-caught of radiant spells 
 
 And lovely mysteries, in circles woven 
 
 With limbs entwined of bacchantes gay. 
 
 Amid this scene, suddenly a fresh breeze 
 From English cornfields wafted on my cheek. 
 At once I ope'd mine eyes : the old elm tree 
 Branched overhead, and underneath, the stream 
 With many murmurs flowed. All was the same
 
 80 WANDERING FANCIES. 
 
 As when T sailed away an hour ago. 
 Yet, as I waked, metliought I could discern 
 A new intelligence in Nature's face, 
 As if I had surprised her unawares 
 Without the mask, before she could o'erveil 
 Her more divine regards. But what I saw 
 I may not speak, unless I could describe 
 All that the lover sees in the beloved, 
 And all the endless charms a mother finds 
 In her babe's face, and all the child beholds 
 In the large yearning of its mother's eyes.
 
 81 
 
 SHAKSPEEE'S BIRTHDAY: 
 
 IN THE rUTUKE. 
 
 The " dear, dear land" rejoices with proud joy. 
 Joy thrills the souls, and dances in the veins, 
 Of noble crowds that boast the lineage' 
 Of England's Shakspere. Cities and fair towns 
 Are garlanded with flowers and greenery. 
 
 The public squares and galleries are strewed 
 With forms of grace, and breathing majesties 
 Of thought and passion, which o'ermastering Art 
 In their supremest moments turned to stone. 
 Or stamped on canvas. And the eager throngs 
 Seize wealth of beauty there, and feast their souls 
 On sculptures moulded in the poet's thought. 
 And pictures glorious with his fancy's glow. 
 The throbbing theatres o'erswell with triumph 
 While later Keans and Kembles grandly comCj 
 Taking all hearts with royalty of power.
 
 82 shakspeee's birthday. 
 
 It is a bright particular festival ; 
 And spirits of more than mortal potency 
 With Earth's own children join in jubilee. — 
 Fair rainbow fancies girdle the great world ; 
 And delicate graces float in the still air. 
 While gusts of song in dreamy murmurs fade. 
 And human sounds are music ; and men breathe 
 A finer element, and move in glory ! 
 And now, thus spreading with a choral swell 
 Of voices glad, the poet's praise is borne : — 
 
 O thou, the first among the sons of light, — 
 
 Thou who encirclest life in living music, 
 
 Full of heart-throbbings, and the electric words 
 
 That thrill thro' all the ages — Thou who seest, 
 
 As thro' a glass, the secrets of the world. 
 
 And the soul's inmost workings : Poet-chief, 
 
 Fresh-laurelled heir of ever-growing fame, 
 
 Marvel of men, great Eepresentative 
 
 Of all Humanity — we consecrate 
 
 This day to thee; aud magnify thy name. 
 
 Highest of kings, above all crowns and thrones, 
 
 Above all poet-palms and dignities ! 
 
 Our bosoms glow with thee, O Bard beloved ! 
 
 Our voices lift thy praise, our spirits leap
 
 shakspeee's biethdat. 83 
 
 To thine with pritle and lofty sympathy, 
 
 Yea, with the pulse of brotherhood, for thou art 
 
 Our own dear England's Child ! Thy fame is ours, 
 
 Our dearest boast, our richest heritage. 
 
 Our life is quickened by thy light ; our thoughts 
 
 Grow unto thee, as Howers unto the sun. 
 
 Thy glory clothes us like a purple robe, 
 
 And we are great thro' thee ; and evermore 
 
 This day is thine, and hallowed in our hearts !
 
 84 
 
 OUR POSSESSIONS. 
 
 TO JOHN ROEBUCK. 
 I. 
 
 Smooth your brows, good yokefellow ; the clouds go by ; 
 
 the heavens endure ! — 
 Into sunlights bloom the shadows — we are not so veri/ 
 
 poor ! — 
 When stern Day, our hard taskmaster, turns, and leaves 
 
 our pain behind. 
 Night comes like a tender mother, bending o'er us loving 
 
 kind, 
 With her heaven on heaven she crowns us, plumes our 
 
 feet with peace, to climb 
 Where, like stars in mighty stillness, earth's Immortals 
 
 reign sublime. 
 From their heights of fame they stoop, stretch to us 
 
 fraternal hands. 
 Lift us up to their communion, seat us 'mid their skiey 
 
 bands. 
 then are we rich and glorious — brothers of the wise 
 
 and great,
 
 orR POSSESSIONS. 85 
 
 Heirs of all the worlds they conquered — lords of time 
 and kings of fate ! 
 
 IT. 
 
 We've the might of stem old Winter's crown of gloom 
 
 and sceptre hoary ; 
 We've the glow of Spring's young gladness, and the 
 
 prime of Autumn's glory. 
 Then what Summer joy is ours, when upon a welcome 
 
 (lay, 
 llevelling with June luxurious, forth we hasten far away ! 
 In the blessed Sabbath sunshine, 'mid the deep rich 
 
 meadow grass, 
 The happy herds, in groups of quiet, give us greeting as 
 
 we pass. 
 Among the green old lanes and alleys, bowery nooks and 
 
 leafy places, 
 The birds sing to us blithe. Good-morrow ! and the 
 
 flowers laugh in our faces. 
 A general burst of welcome comes from thousand thousand 
 
 D 
 .. ^^>iipi*n1 liii ret 
 
 gladsome voices. 
 
 All Nature, as once more she clasps us, through her 
 
 mighty heart rejoices ! 
 Thus we go to our possessions ; power and joy upon us 
 
 wait ; 
 
 G
 
 86 OTTE POSSESSIONS. 
 
 Countless things of bloom and beauty like true vassals 
 swell our state. 
 
 'Mid fair pastures, white with daisies, mixed with flush 
 of king-cups golden, 
 
 Woodlands gay, and green young cornfields, and quaint- 
 gabled mansions olden, 
 
 Pleasant downs, and breezy uplands, proud parks, and 
 ancestral towers — 
 
 Like rich inheritors we go, and look on all, and count 
 them ours ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Where the gilded great ones lord it, we have all the charm 
 
 and worth ; 
 All, except the trees' mere timber, and the earthiness of 
 
 earth. 
 Bounteous Nature is our own — we possess her wide 
 
 domains ; 
 Ours are all her growing glories, ours are all her richer 
 
 gains. 
 And fair Art, the still enchantress, yearningly doth us 
 
 embrace 
 In her immortalities of breathing grandeur and of grace ; 
 For us she opes her storied treasures, wins her triumphs, 
 
 counts her spoils;
 
 OITE POSSESSIONS. 87 
 
 For us her ministers, high chosen, give their cares and 
 
 pains and toils. 
 "We may not own the stone or canvas, but we gain the 
 
 shapen thought 
 Of the picture or the sculpture — we have all the Artist 
 
 wrought. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Amidst a crowd, one holiday, I entered in a mansion 
 
 stately 
 Of a proud Peer, yet good tho' proud, with soul to keep 
 
 his greatness greatly. 
 I wandered thro' his princely halls, strewn thick with 
 
 sculptured forms divine. 
 And marvels wrought with colours, wherethro' spirits of 
 
 rare artists shine. 
 I walked beneath a sky of glass, where in fragrant, 
 
 slumbrous calm, 
 Grew luxuriance of the South — stately pine and plumy 
 
 palm. 
 And olive, date, and fig, and orange with its leaves of 
 
 glorious green — 
 Plants of every form of foliage, flowers of every colour'd 
 
 sheen. 
 Thence, along goodly terraces, and winding noble avenues 
 
 G 2
 
 88 OrE POSSESSIONS. 
 
 Of old patrician trees that led to bursts of park and 
 
 forest-views ; 
 And where full many a cool cascade thro' mossy rock and 
 
 wild grot breaks, 
 And fountains leap into the sky and ftiU in rainbows o'er 
 
 the lakes. 
 Boundless wealth and lavish art with loveliest nature 
 
 there combine 
 To make a scene of brave enchantment — and that day it 
 
 all was mine ! 
 
 V 
 
 smooth your brows, dear Friend and comrade ; look 
 
 around, above, below, — 
 Wide extend our fair possessions — we are richer than we 
 
 know ! 
 There is store of wealth exceeding lands and lordships, 
 
 gems and gold ; 
 There is value deeper, greater than the worth that may 
 
 be told. 
 Look with eyes that let pale truth in, flushing it with 
 
 splendid story, 
 As rich-dyed cathedral windows turn the common light 
 
 to glory !
 
 89 
 
 (tILBERT MARLOWE. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 The Night. 
 
 A Voice of passionate plaint — a mighty Cry, 
 Wrung from the souls of multitudes untaught, 
 Arises thus in wail perpetual : — 
 
 Wherefore, wherefore must we bear this curse, 
 To wander darkling, outside of all good. 
 Aliens from heaven, and strangers upon earth ? 
 Why must we stoop our foreheads to the dust 
 Before the haughty World— the tyrant World, 
 That heeds not our dumb pain, but turns in scorn. 
 And bars his gates against us, without ruth ? — 
 Our days are like a story that is told. 
 Life hides us from her worth ; Fortune slips by. 
 And turns away her face ; and when, elate.
 
 90 GILBEBT MARLOWE : [PaRT I, 
 
 We would spring forward for her grace and boon, 
 We are dragged helpless down. We must stand back, 
 While fortunate men in smiling mastery- 
 Win every prize, and mock our empty hands. 
 We toil in tears ; we grind our bones for bread, 
 And perish while we eat. We come and go 
 As things of small account, and there is left 
 No trace but nameless jrraves. 
 Yet gleams of gi'andeurs, hidden in our souls, 
 Sometimes break thro' the darkness. Oft within 
 We feel the motions of an unborn Might ; 
 And sometimes thoughts, like angels unawares. 
 Come all in light and bear us back to God. 
 
 Wherefore, O wherefore must we bear this curse ? 
 
 Ye nurture flowers and add unto their glory : 
 
 Ye culture fruits to richest perfectness : 
 
 Why are we left to spring up into life 
 
 As worthless weeds spring in a ruined palace ? 
 
 Why must we pine uncultured, as harsh fruits 
 
 Pine in dark forests, and in bitterness 
 
 Drop silently, and unregarded rot ? 
 
 Ye train right well your horses and your hounds — 
 
 Why not train m ? O had ye cared to nurse 
 
 Our budding powers, so blighted now, what rich
 
 Pabt I.] THE laaHx. 91 
 
 Harvests of blessing our full life had borne 1 
 Had ye but cared for us, as for your hounds, 
 Your horses, flowers and fruits, what aching cares. 
 What wretched errors, what self-scourging thoughts, 
 AVhat sharp experiences, we then had 'scaped ! 
 Help us to live ! O ye with minds more rich 
 Than treasuries of empires — yet to whom 
 All worlds bear tribute — help us ; plead for us 
 With flame-tipt tongues and passionate eloquence — 
 O give us light, that we may live our life I 
 
 This Cry outpoureth from ten thousand spirits ; 
 
 And all their pains were rankling in the breast 
 
 Of Gilbert Marlowe, as he watched alone 
 
 "With many thoughts, amid the silent night. 
 
 Pale by his side, Hope stooped unto the ground ; 
 
 TN'hile Memory held to him an open scroll 
 
 With all his errors writ in fiery flames 
 
 That burnt into his heart and blood and brain. 
 
 'Twas a sad record ; tragic, yet not strange ; 
 
 Since he was burthened witli high power untaught ; 
 
 Since life thus forward had been mere privation 
 
 Of helpful guidance, nurture spiritual. 
 
 In childhood's years, he was a thing o'erpassed. 
 
 Not worth a care. And his great human soul,
 
 92 OILBEET MAEXOWE : [PaET I. 
 
 Whether it grew and flowered unto heaven, 
 
 Or rotted into earth, without a sign, 
 
 'Twas of no moment to the bustling world. 
 
 In dangerous youth, as in a helinless ship, 
 
 'Mid waters wild and strange, he drifted on 
 
 Tow'rds yawning death, in every wind that blows. 
 
 But some stray waifs of knowledge in his breast 
 
 A mighty yearning woke, and made him feel 
 
 Like those old voyagers on seas imknown, 
 
 When wandering birds and floating forest-boughs 
 
 Brought tidings of new worlds, with shores outspread 
 
 Of golden sands and regions fortunate 
 
 And El Dorados glorious without end. 
 
 He touched those happy shores, but found no home. 
 
 On perilous roads, in wildering mazes lost. 
 
 Chasing mere shadows, cheated by vain hopes, 
 
 He wandered — guided by no hand of help. 
 
 No voice of counsel ; and from youth misused 
 
 To sudden manhood unawares he came. 
 
 But still youth's dreams befooled him ; and withal 
 
 Sin nestled in his heart ; and clods of earth 
 
 Grew round his soul ; and darkness blotted heaven. 
 
 He dreamed, and sinned, and life slipped 'neath his feet. 
 
 Till now he wildly waked. 
 
 And 'twas a pang more bitter than remorse
 
 PaKT I.] THE NIGHT. 93 
 
 To count the barren years, and feel the smart 
 
 Of all he might have been ; — to feel his heart 
 
 Bursting with great dumb yearnings, mighty thoughts, 
 
 Unspoken, stifled ; and the spirit's fire. 
 
 That should have blazed like sunrise o'er the world, 
 
 Now like a lamp within a sepulchre. 
 
 Burning to sullen waste. 
 
 This misery bowed his head upon his breast ; 
 
 It weighed him down, like withering old age 
 
 On young years fallen with strange calamity. 
 
 His life all seemed a desert-dreariness — 
 
 A level waste beneath a leaden sky ; 
 
 And his fair title to the fields of light. 
 
 And heights of power, and proud prerogatives 
 
 Of spirits endowed with nature's opulence 
 
 Of glorious faculty — that title, sealed 
 
 By God's own hand, was like a folded scroll 
 
 Burnt up by irremediable wrong. 
 
 And he felt nothing but an aching sense 
 
 Of huge privation, which so wrought on him 
 
 That no addition of extreme pain, loss, 
 
 It seemed could touch him more. The world was void. 
 
 And life and time were empty. Like a stain 
 
 On night's pure darkness, a black shadow spread :
 
 04) aiLBEET MAELOWi: : [PaET I. 
 
 Therein he mourned, and nursed his discontent ; 
 
 And scourged his spirit with self-torturing thoughts ; 
 
 And magnified the evil and the woe 
 
 Within him, and without ; in mood perverse, 
 
 Adding worse features to ill-favoured things, 
 
 Till all was grim distortion, glooming stern. 
 
 Upon the past he looked with pale dismay ; 
 
 Then crimson shame rushed burning thro' his veins, 
 
 And smote his heart for many an error -sad. 
 
 Fair lost occasions stung him with keen taunts 
 
 Of guerdons still ungained ; thick-crowding hopes 
 
 That seemed as flush as flowers, now bare as stones, 
 
 Fell heavy and dead ; and he was left alone, 
 
 All, all alone — abandoned to the strife 
 
 Of the soul's anarchy and tempests raging. 
 
 At length, his weak and passion-beaten breast 
 Swelled overcharged ; when looking up, he saw 
 The still broad Night, with all her starry eyes, 
 Eegarding him with pity, or perchance 
 With infinite surprise ; and as he looked. 
 The inward tumult, by that mighty calm. 
 And the benignant aspects of the stars, 
 Was soothed to milder mood. Still, as he gazed. 
 Came softer thoughts, less selfish, tho' yet sad, —
 
 PaBT I.] THE NIGHT. 95 
 
 Thoughts, ranging 'mid the shining infinite; 
 Then by necessity of sympathy. 
 Lone broodius: o'er the nioht-side of this world — 
 O'er wrongs concealed — the dumb, dread tragedy, 
 The deeper darkness folded in the gloom. 
 So the dead pressure of his personal pain 
 Awhile grew lighter, o'er wide space diffused, 
 With contemplation of the grief beneath. 
 And all the glorv above. And thus in front 
 Of the heavenly hosts, he pondered long : — 
 
 How calm, 
 How awful calm, they shine — unmoved, untouched. 
 Amid the tempests of poor human thought ! 
 There they have watched this weary earth grow old, 
 And still they beam as fair as at the first, 
 In all their radiant youth ! Still they keep watch 
 O'er the great march of life, and time, and change, 
 And even o'er me they bend ! Alas, alas ! 
 Meek, silent witnesses of sin and shame, 
 How much do they endure to look upon ! 
 Now in the byeways of the lonely night. 
 Love wanders with her one child, Misery, 
 And cannot see the heavens thro' her tears. 
 Moaning, she wanders with slow fainting steps, 
 And bends her dying eyes upon the ground
 
 96 GIL'BEBT MAELOWE : [PaRT I. 
 
 To find a welcome grave. 
 
 Now passion revels ; and hot lusts leap forth 
 
 Like unleashed hounds, with all hell at their heels, 
 
 Chasing them thro' this shadow of the world 
 
 To shades far deeper. 
 
 Kiot holds festival in gay saloons, 
 
 Ablaze with light, and clouded with perfumes. 
 
 Dazzled with serpent-charms and painted smiles, 
 
 Ghastly as sunshine in a charnel-place. 
 
 But vulgar Vice and hungry Wretchedness 
 
 Sink in their stifling dens or roofless courts, 
 
 Hid from men's eyes, where only a few stars 
 
 Shine unregarded thro' the rents of night. 
 
 There human things are writhing in the dark 
 
 Like trampled worms, or heaps of outcast souls 
 
 In pits of reeking torment. There they lie — 
 
 Mere clotted heaps of festering misery. 
 
 They curse the night, and they will curse the moru : 
 
 They curse all things ; for their humanity 
 
 Is bruted, blasted by a fearful curse. 
 
 On distant battle-grounds, the watch-fires gleam 
 Till the first peep of day ; when swift upstarting, 
 Two clouds of life will meet and melt away 
 In a red rain of death. Curses and yells,
 
 Part T.] tue night. 97 
 
 Groans, shrieks, and sliouts, and blare of clarions, 
 Cleaving the smoke of rolling thunderbolts, 
 Will hail the smiling morn. No hope for Mercy ! 
 She shrinks in horror, blinded by the flash 
 Of the sword's lightning, and her pleading voice 
 Is drowned amid the thunder of the cannon. 
 And roar and clash and tramp of storms of men. 
 With foaming lips, and hell-fire in their eyes — 
 A maddened ocean rolling — wave on wave. 
 Bruising the earth, and battering the high heaven, 
 Till Kuin cry, Enoiujli ! and Desolation, 
 With glutted maw, lie silent as the grave. 
 Ah ! 'tis a dreadful horror wild. And yet 
 There's worse destruction nestling in the heart 
 Of this most peaceful city, even now, 
 While comfortable men sleep in their beds, 
 And dream that all is well. The demon War, 
 Eushing upon the whirlwind of his wrath, 
 AVith bolts of ruin flashing from his hands. 
 And all the dogs of carnage at his heels. 
 Stamping proud cities into dust and ashes. 
 And o'er a thousand battle-fields exulting 
 'Mong heaps of trampled slain, in mire of blood — 
 Yes, he is cruel, but less terrible 
 Thau the unnamed Perdition v.'hich devours
 
 98 GILBERT MAELOWE : [PaET I. 
 
 So many round me, this fair quiet night, 
 While all goes well with the unheeding world ! 
 
 I hear light footsteps in the silent street, 
 
 And forced gay talk, and hollow laughter, 
 
 That sounds more sad than wailing. — 'Tis a band 
 
 Of outcast women wandering forlorn. 
 
 Poor fallen sisters ! on their midnight rounds, 
 
 Outside the doors of comfort, still they roam. 
 
 Bearing the burden of a misery 
 
 Too fearful to be named. Alas, alas ! 
 
 Those fairest flowers of earth, like foulest weeds, 
 
 Trampled and spurned beneath the feet of men — 
 
 That bright divinity of womanhood 
 
 Profaned, abased, in wreck unspeakable. 
 
 Which the soul aches to contemplate ! No curse 
 
 Of war, or plague, or famine, could compare 
 
 With that pale Misery lavgliiwj in the street. 
 
 One of the wretched sisterhood to-night 
 Hath made her bed within the dreary river. 
 She is before me now. — I see her face 
 That once was sweet, and still is beautiful — 
 I see her streaming hair, her frenzied eyes 
 Upturned in desperate appeal to heaven ;
 
 PaET I.] THE NIGHT. 99 
 
 And her last look pierces me like a knife — 
 'Tis turned in keenest agony of reproach 
 On me, on all the world, that left for her 
 No rest, no shelter, but this dark cold death. 
 
 Methinks I know the story of her life : 
 
 Some years of maiden whiteness, bloomed witli hope. 
 
 Till blighting shame came on her unawares. 
 
 Constrained by hunger, or by love beguiled. 
 
 Then was no kindly help, no refuge near — 
 
 Naught but worse evil, and cold loveless looks 
 
 That beat her down like blows. So lower, and lower. 
 
 She sank in sin and shame, and constantly 
 
 Thro' the streets wander' d, homeless as the wind 
 
 That goeth moaning over dreary moors 
 
 Thro' dark November nights. And still she sank 
 
 Lower and lower, till at length o'erwrought 
 
 By one wild pang of memory and despair. 
 
 With madness in her brain, she rushed to death 
 
 To hide from loathsome life. 
 
 O, I am sad to look on ye, you heavens, 
 And think of all the strange sights ye behold 
 Where we inhabit ! And are ye not sad 
 To look on this poor world, that blindly spins
 
 100 GILBEET MAELOWE : [PaBT I. 
 
 Among your splendours, as if all that dome 
 Were but a tinsel theatre, lit up 
 For its dark tragic shows ? Ay, ye kind heavens. 
 Do ye not grieve to gaze on such a world ? 
 Is't fit with all your stars ye watch our ways, 
 And o'er us bend so loving-tenderly. 
 While from your light we turn, to play our pranks 
 Heedless and darkling ? What have we to do 
 With your exceeding glory, without stain ? 
 Methinks 'twere well had such as I no place 
 Amid your glimpses. O regard us not, — 
 For ye are mighty — ye are pure and grand 
 Beyond our thought ; and we are mean and base, 
 Unworthy your beholding. 
 
 Thus he complained unto the listening stars ; 
 And stung by thoughts more keenly personal. 
 He yet broke forth anew : — 
 
 Ay, there ye shine, 
 Beyond the touch of passion or remorse. 
 Ye have no feeling for me — ye are cold — 
 Yea, cold as Destiny, that with the stare 
 Of awful eyes, filmed o'er with mysteries 
 Of dim eternities, sits stony calm, 
 Uuinovcd by mortal breath, or tcarS; or prayers.
 
 Part I.] the night. 101 
 
 Would I could hide my weakness from your strength, 
 So ye no more might mock or pity me 
 With that untroubled gaze, so coldly bright ! 
 Oh, if my griefs were noble, if my soul 
 Approved the cause, then I could smile at Fate, 
 And front ye all serenely ! Then, methinks, 
 I could stand forth in dauntless fortitude. 
 And all the frowns and terrors of this world — 
 All adverse things should press on me as light 
 As morning mists upon a mountain's brow ! 
 
 For there is blessedness in noble grief : 
 It is right royal to be crowned with thorn. 
 The Titan, with the vulture at his breast, 
 Exults o'er conquering Jove. 
 The martyrs in triumphant agony 
 Are glorified for ever. I behold them — 
 Their eyes of patient suffering, and their brows 
 Beaded with bloody sweat, yet very calm. 
 In sevenfold bondage, where one line of light 
 Pierces the dungeon-grate and cleaves the gloom j 
 Upon the rack, in fiercest torture lapt, 
 Their lips comprest by pangs of fortitude ; 
 'Midst curses nailed unto the tree of shame ; 
 Beaten with cruel rods, or bruised with stones,
 
 102 GILBERT MAELOWE : [PaKT I. 
 
 Or clothed in flames of fire : — I see theru all — 
 The Noble Army ! Silently they march 
 In the world's shadow, while the nations sleep. 
 They gird their spirits' loins, and speed right on — 
 They trample fear and darkness 'neath their feet — 
 They grapple with grim Death, and, overthrown 
 In worst defeat, they're more than conquerors. 
 Eight on, they climb the uttermost ascent 
 Of mortal pain ; and lo, upon the top 
 They are transfigured in celestial splendour ! 
 
 So they are blessed, and for ever blest : 
 
 They won the crown when they had borne the cross. 
 
 And their extreraest pang was lighter far 
 
 Than this which now I feel. 
 
 Why, Martyrdom were easy — 'twere light labour 
 
 For noble ends to leap into the Pit, 
 
 And beard the very fiends ! But who can live 
 
 To suffer and to shrink — to creep in fear 
 
 'Twixt dim to-morrows and dark yesterdays — 
 
 To fight with shadows, grapple with the clouds, 
 
 And fall with nothing won ? So round and round. 
 
 Dwell in the circle of one dreariness 
 
 Of empty days, with darkness at the close ? 
 
 What tho' 1 know the chosen ones sublime
 
 Part T.] the night. 103 
 
 Have risen like stars upon the skies of fame, 
 
 And that T, too, should wrestle with the world, 
 
 And throw it from my path, and mount those heights 
 
 Where they abide above the smoke and noise ! 
 
 What tho' I feel an eager soaring spirit 
 
 Pining within me, preying on itself, 
 
 Crushed down to languish, like a prisoned eagle 
 
 Chafing his wings against the iron bars, 
 
 And with blind impulse feeling tow'rd the sun ! 
 
 Or what avails it that in Fortune's spite. 
 
 Nature endowed me with rich, elements. 
 
 And strength to suifer, and to perish not — 
 
 Since I have grown beneath the heaven's reproach, 
 
 Kobbed of my youth, of manhood's hope despoiled, 
 
 Till now I feel the wrinkles in my soul. 
 
 While yet my brow is smooth ! would the accurst 
 
 Invisible power, that eats away my life. 
 
 Take shape, approach me, tho' with all the terrors 
 
 Of men and demons fell, that front to front 
 
 I might oppose it bold, and trample it down. 
 
 Or be myself o'erwhelmed — and there an end ! 
 
 Thus having fumed, and wailed, he calmer grew ; 
 His violent woe subsiding like a storm 
 That had outwept its rain. Then, audible. 
 In the deep stillness woke this calm reproof — 
 
 H 2
 
 iOi GILBERT MAEIOWE : [PaRT I. 
 
 Behold Queen Night, be-diademed with worlds, 
 And robed in silence ! Is't a mournful sight ? 
 Or is it well thy feeble woe to thrust 
 Into this awful presence ? 
 
 puling child of man, take hope, take heart 1 
 Complaints are vain, but Will is destinj' ; 
 And faith is mighty in the mightiest. 
 
 If thou hadst faith in God, and in thyself. 
 And a brave will to struggle, and ne'er yield — 
 Then might'st thou conquer all things ; or at worst 
 Thou should'st endure, endure, and still endure. 
 With spirit strong as Patience, calm as Strength — 
 Waste not repentance in most vain remorse, 
 Nor sigh and whimper like the fool of fate. 
 Bowing in every wind ; but be a man. 
 Erected in thy manhood like a tower. 
 That braves the onset of all storms that blow. 
 There, where thou standest, throw off the dead past. 
 Life is before thee — Heaven is yet to come ! 
 
 Again broke out his sorrow, and he plained : — 
 
 Ah ! if 'twere so, then 'twould be well indeed. 
 Oh, I could bear the inflictions of worst doom — 
 
 1 could walk thro' the furnace and the flame — 
 Methinks in thought I could endure all hell
 
 PaKT I.] THE NIGHT. 105 
 
 To win far less than Heaven ! But I fear 
 
 That fair immortal heritage is lost. 
 
 That glory, of more worth than all the worlds. 
 
 Like other dreams doth pass. Bright faith departs — 
 
 I linger by its fading gleam, like one 
 
 Beside a dying watch-firej chill at heart 
 
 Amid the hungry Night, that grows and greatens, 
 
 And presses round him with forebodings vast 
 
 Of coming woe, in thousand shapes unknown. 
 
 At length, enfevered sleep his murmurs hushed, 
 And a brief space the world's oppressions all 
 Upon his folded eyelids lightly lay.
 
 106 
 
 GILBERT MARLOWE. 
 
 PAET IT. 
 
 The Morrow. 
 
 Next morning 'twas the Sabbath. Gilbert rose, 
 And a strong impulse urged him to go forth. 
 'Twas in the prime of autumn. The brown Earth, 
 After the heats of harvest, lay at rest. 
 Amidst her stores, in measureless content. 
 How quietly she lay in that still noon 
 And sleeping sunshine, looking up to heaven. 
 With happy smile, and dumb with thankfulness ! 
 How tenderly on Gilbert, too, she smiled. 
 Like a kind mother on an erring child 
 Keturning for her blessing ! On he went. 
 Before him far, a line of ancient hills, 
 Eugged and bold, stood out against the sky. 
 And grand old woods, in many-coloured robes
 
 PaET II.] THE MOEEOW. 107 
 
 Right royally stood round, and stretched away 
 In darkening masses, kindling into bursts 
 Of golden splendour thro' their purple shade. 
 
 O ever welcome are the grand old woods, 
 
 Fresh in young April, quick with shooting green ; 
 
 Or rich in June, with luxury of leaves : 
 
 Eight lovely are they in their growing pride, 
 
 But lovelier in their glory of decay. 
 
 Eight joyous are they when the happy birds 
 
 Salute the morn with thousand-throated songs, 
 
 Or pour soft vespers to the setting sun, 
 
 Singing the summer day to balmy rest. 
 
 Or when alone the cuckoo's monotone 
 
 Lulls drowsy noon ; or when sweet philomel 
 
 Trills passionate music to the listening night, 
 
 And wakes the dreaming rose-buds with her song. 
 
 fair and joyous are the woods in summer ! — 
 But when the birds are still, and faded leaves 
 Fall in the silence silently and slow. 
 Then their solemnities have deeper joy, 
 Tho' less of rapture. And it is the prime 
 Of the year's growth and prodigality. 
 Of ever-new delights, to linger long
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 108 GILBERT MAELOWE : [PaRT TI. 
 
 When Queenly Autumn, laden with the wealth 
 Of all the seasons, passes in her pomp. 
 
 Somewhat of this proved Gilbert, as he walked. 
 
 The calmness of the meditative skies 
 
 Brooded most soothingly upon his soulj 
 
 The silent mountains in their grand repose. 
 
 The sylvan solitudes, the ancient trees 
 
 Standing so stately with no sound or stir — 
 
 Spread over him a mighty peacefulness 
 
 Of tender-shaded thought. Great Nature's self 
 
 Poured on his head her choicest influences. 
 
 She smoothed his brows, anointed his dim eyes. 
 
 So that he saw the wonder of her face. 
 
 And all its sweetness and its sacred charm. 
 
 Then his poor griefs, retiring, veiled their eyes, 
 
 Ashamed to stand before her ; while her stillness 
 
 Spoke clear unto his heart — Why shouldst thou mourn ? 
 
 The heavens bend low to comfort the old Earth, 
 
 And thee to comfort also ! — Thus assured, 
 
 A quiet feeling, growing tow'rds content. 
 
 Stole in his spirit, and forth on he trod 
 
 With pensive steps along the woodland ways. 
 
 Full in his path, a ruined castle hoary 
 Stood mouldering in state — a lordly power
 
 PaET II.] THE MOKKOW. 109 
 
 That stooped to Time its battlemented pride, 
 But from its conqueror new honours gained — 
 A mantling beauty and a crowning grace. 
 
 There lingered he, like pilgrim at a shrine. 
 For all the reliques of the crumbling Past 
 Were unto him religion. Mid the ruins 
 Of towers and fallen temples, he would stand 
 With shaded face, as in a mighty presence. 
 Or he would sit in twilight of dim thought 
 Among the broken walls, and fill the haunt 
 With all the life of vanished centuries. 
 And crowding fantasies of his own brain. 
 
 'Tis good in silence of these Autumn hours 
 To muse on the great past. For when, as now. 
 Old Earth is listening with a solemn hush 
 For the light footsteps of departed days, 
 When dreamily o'er buried Spring she broods. 
 And feeds on happy thoughts of Summer's bloom, 
 Then unto thee the time is consecrate, 
 O Memory, rich with sunsets ! 
 
 And Gilbert, lingering in the ruined castle, 
 Was over-filled with meditations mild
 
 110 GILBEKT MAELOWE : [PaET II. 
 
 On things that were, but are not. Eloquent 
 With mortal fate, a breathing charm lay o'er 
 The turrets fallen, and the desert-halls, 
 And level floors of swarded silentness. 
 And the old woods with fading pageantries — 
 All Nature, veiling her immortal youth 
 With fleeting pomp and symbols of decay, 
 Told how the fashion of this world doth pass — 
 How like the leaves, men vanish from their place. 
 And drop into their graves, when no wind stirs. 
 The old, old truth ! With new-subduino: might 
 It moved him overmuch, and thrilled his soul 
 As with a voice of soundless awfulness. 
 As with remembered tones of buried love. 
 Waking rich feelings that had slumbered long. 
 Musing on forms that peopled these grey halls. 
 Then passed like shadows to their place beneath ; 
 And on the common doom which draws the living 
 To all the mighty kindreds of the dead — 
 He felt most deeply human — not deprest 
 With mourning o'er inevitable fate, 
 But by a gentle melancholy touch'd, 
 That nourished kind affections, and unsealed 
 The fountains of unspoken tenderness 
 Deepin the heart's recesses. Then perforce
 
 Part II.] the moeeow. Ill 
 
 Thoughts of mortality woke memories 
 
 Of forms familiar vanished from his sight : 
 
 And there was one, so loving, so beloved ! 
 
 His sweet, sweet sister, in her early grave : 
 
 He needs must think of her, when flowers and leaves 
 
 Are fading o'er the scenes she loved so once. 
 
 She drooped in autumn, with the drooping flowers. 
 
 Her face became so fair, so passing fair. 
 
 That all who saw her grieved ; and day by day 
 
 She wasted, pining like the ghost of youth 
 
 O'er the sad urn of hope. Some weary weeks 
 
 Pale pain crept slowly thro' her delicate veins, 
 
 Freezing life's currents. Then the hectic fire 
 
 Burned crimson in her cheek, and that strange light 
 
 Which flatters hope in mockery, came and went 
 
 With startling beauty in her soft sweet eyes. 
 
 She knew she never would behold the spring, 
 
 Yet she complained not ; and it was most hard 
 
 That one so good and gentle should so soon 
 
 Fade from the bright world — yet she murmured not ; 
 
 But suff"ered in meek patience till the end. 
 
 Then shrouded in white sanctity she lay. 
 
 Her eyelids closed, her hands crossed on her breast. 
 
 So like a holy saint in dreams of heaven,
 
 112 GILBDET MAELOWE : [PaET TI. 
 
 That whosoever looked upon Ker face, 
 
 Should never more fear death. So sweet, so fair, 
 
 So lovely calm, as if she knew God's peace 
 
 And was content beyond desire or thought. 
 
 Thus was she borne, and laid in the cold earth. 
 
 But thenceforth he beheld her, ever young, 
 
 And ever fair, and good ; and in his mind 
 
 She grew more lovely, with a dearer grace 
 
 Than when she lived — more blest, more beautiful, 
 
 ]\Iore perfect always. And 'tis ever thus. 
 
 The charms which life concealed, kind Death reveals ; 
 
 And all the priceless worth of those we love 
 
 We know- not till they've left us. Then we sit 
 
 In the great silence of their vacant place, 
 
 And sum up their perfections. Then we feel 
 
 How close we are upon the other world. 
 
 For in the watches of the night, they come 
 
 Gently as holy thoughts, and o'er us bend 
 
 With an immortal yearning ; and while yet 
 
 With dumb beseeching looks, to them we turn, 
 
 Leaving a trail of light, they glide away. 
 
 And still our arms are empty. But from thence 
 
 They are our hope, our refuge, our defence, — 
 
 They guard our wandering steps in darksome ways 
 
 And watch and guide us, as the kind stars watch 
 
 Night-wandering Earth, and lead her to the morn.
 
 Part II.] the mobroW. 113 
 
 His sister's memory ia Gilbert's soul 
 Held a pure place for aye. Oh, 'twas not strange 
 That men heroic in the ages old 
 Went to their graves, and grew up into gods, 
 Since in this later time, on3 gentlest girl 
 Died like a flower of summer, and became 
 A spirit of love, a seraph-minister, 
 Yea, even a saviour blest. Aud such was she : — 
 A gracious presence, sacred from the world — 
 A shape of light that hung about his steps 
 And saved him from perdition, deep as hell. 
 Oft in the night-time of his lonely pain. 
 She grew o'er him, like moonrise o'er the dark ; 
 Oft 'mid the tempests of his heart aud brain, 
 She soothed him with still thoughts, or when he lay 
 Bare to the naked heavens, her gentle grace 
 Fell on his sin-scarred spirit, soft as snows 
 Fall on the bruised and blackened wintry earth, 
 O'erspreading it with silence and white peace. 
 But ne'er as now had her pure ministry 
 So soothed, so softened, so subdued him quite, 
 So won his spirit from its evil use, 
 And left it on the angel-side of life. 
 Bowed with exceeding tenderness and love, 
 
 'Tis good beneath this sympathetic sky
 
 114 GILBERT MARLOWE : [PaRT TI. 
 
 To linger with the memories of the dead ; 
 Not like pale Sorrow in a wilderness 
 Of withered leaves, thro' mist of blinding tears, 
 Looking for vanished faces ; but like Faith 
 Clear-eyed and calm, who trusteth her beloved 
 At God's right hand — who reacheth thro' the dark 
 To pluck the rose of sunrise — who discerns 
 The glories hid behind the loftiest heights. 
 And gems at bottom of the dreariest deeps. 
 
 Oh, how he longed for that calm, clear-eyed Faith 
 
 To lead him to her heaven, where in midst 
 
 Of the white circles of regenerate souls 
 
 He might behold his sister on him smile 
 
 Serene assurance of his own great joy, 
 
 When freed by Death, and cleansed from mortal stain. 
 
 For what availeth Love uncrowned by Faith ? 
 
 What if this boundlessness of lavish life, 
 
 Swelling in fine affections, be dispersed 
 
 Like bubbles into air, and leave no trace ? 
 
 What if the ocean of the mighty heart 
 
 Must heave, wild, wasteful, under sun and moon 
 
 And all the stars, and beat upon no shore ? 
 
 Or if the soul, with its aspiring thoughts 
 
 That roam the realms of morning, and o'erspread
 
 PaET II.] THE MORKOW. 115 
 
 The brooding twilight, mingling earth and heaven, 
 Must drop to darkness without hope of day ? 
 
 Faith come quickly to thy sister. Love ! 
 
 Weary and sad, she wanders to and fro. 
 
 Bewildered in the dark, with many fears : 
 
 She calls to thee- -she stretches forth her hands, 
 
 And strains her lieart, which swells as it would burst : 
 
 O come to her that she may lean on thee, 
 
 And go rejoicing on her forward way. 
 
 So Gilbert fervent prayed — and faith will come, 
 
 For even now, in this still sanctity 
 
 Of Nature's presence — in this Sabbath-day 
 
 Of serene Autumn, Sabbath of the year — 
 
 But more, in this great Sabbath of his soul, 
 
 When all thoughts, feelings, are dissolved in love, 
 
 And soft as wax to take the seal of God — 
 
 'Tis the auspicious season, and the hour 
 
 For a life's consecration. Even now 
 
 The preparation of the blessing comes 
 
 In peace that may be felt. Long had he walked 
 
 Through mists of wildering doubt, when heaven was hid 
 
 And all things earthly were distortions strange ; 
 
 And uiiught was firm and certain. He had borne
 
 IIG GILBEUT MARLOWE : [PaRT TT. 
 
 Doubts, as of mountains piled upon the brain, — 
 
 Doubts, of worse agony than rends the heart 
 
 Of lonely voyagers in nights of storm, 
 
 When shifting beacon-lights, and sea, and sky, 
 
 Are whirled together, and the ghastly waves 
 
 Yawn thro' the blackness like the mouth of hell 
 
 For spirits doomed and lost. But these were o'er. 
 
 And oh, how holy from those perils past, 
 
 This peace which now possessed him ! Happy portents 
 
 Of coming faith, like angel-presences, 
 
 Shone round about, and kindled aspirations 
 
 Budding with wings for immortality. 
 
 And unseen hands, in loving beuison, 
 
 Seemed spread above him ; and almost he heard 
 
 A voice of heavenly promise, passing sweet. 
 
 And he went onward, like one led by signs 
 
 And favouring stars to meet a joy unknown. 
 
 A band of village children, hand in hand, 
 Came speeding lightly on the way he walked. 
 Gladdening the sunshine, gleaming in the shade, 
 Hither and thither, backwards, forwards, swaying, 
 Graceful as wild-flowers with light breezes playing — 
 They came in all their innocent glee — a sight 
 To charm grey autumn with a dream of spring.
 
 PaET II.] THE MOEROW. 117 
 
 And as they wandered, flowed their happy thoughts 
 In streams of rippling smiles, with bubble-bursts 
 Of tiny laughter, into the still air. 
 Lightly they tripped among the withered leaves — 
 They knew not of decay — new-crowned Immortals, 
 With all God's benedictions on their heads, 
 And round them Eden, guarded from the world 
 By flaming swords, which men may never pass. 
 He looked on them, and linger'd, and still looked. 
 And gazino- still, he blessed them from his heart. 
 Ah ! Childhood only is the absolute lord. 
 And men are vassals weak. Those little ones 
 Were heirs of heaven supreme. No doubts, no fears. 
 Beclouded their young souls ; but blithe and free, 
 With fresh pure hearts and smiling confidence 
 They came, and owned whatever they beheld. 
 And trusted all they saw not. The new grace, 
 The unworn beauty of all things, were theirs. 
 - And there they went along their separate path 
 Which lie must never tread. — Oh it is good 
 To have been once a child ; when all things fair 
 Were round about, and God was over-head, 
 'Mid throngs of radiant angels, even there. 
 Above the bending blue. And it is good 
 Still to have Childhood's reverence and truth, 
 
 I
 
 118 ©ILBERT MARLOWE : [PaET II. 
 
 When with the certain, disenchanting years, 
 The heavens go farther off; and then the stars. 
 That were but gems to decorate the night — 
 The kind familiar stars that were so near — 
 Eetire to awful distance, cold and dim. 
 And Gilbert prayed that he might be in heart 
 E'en like those little ones, with simple trust, 
 With soul wide open to all influxes 
 Direct from Nature's self, and God's own spirit. 
 He prayed to have that fortunate faculty 
 Which gildeth common things with light divine, 
 As sunset turns the leaden clouds to gold ; 
 That pure large faith, as liberal as the air. 
 That fills all spaces between us and heaven, 
 And still sustains the world. 
 
 Now with slow steps 
 Contemplative, a mountain's brow he climbed. 
 And looked far round him, where amidst the deep, 
 Great Sabbath quietness, in breadths of shade 
 And still benignities of sunlight, lay 
 White scattered cottages and red-ploughed fields, 
 Brown solitary wolds, fair pastures green. 
 And winding waters gleaming 'mong the trees, 
 And spires of distant towns, and far away 
 A belt of grey hills and dark purple woods.
 
 Past II.] the morhow. 119 
 
 Beneath him, spread the many-coloured floor, 
 Mosaic, and o'er him, the cloud-fretted dome 
 Of God's own temple. On this altar-peak, 
 With his great yearnings, his diviner thoughts. 
 Accordant with the mingling harmonies 
 Of Nature's silent hymns and unvoiced prayers — 
 He was constrained to worship — even thus : — 
 
 Great God 1 I look on Tliy eternal heavens. 
 And on Thy glorious earth ; and I am sad 
 To feel Thy presence, yet to know Thee not. 
 Shall I not know Thee, rise to Thee ? O Thou 
 Who in all livest and o'er all dost reign, 
 
 Thou who art whate'er I cannot speak 
 
 Of good and beautiful — Thou who art Love, — 
 And may I name Thee Eather ? — wilt Thou not 
 Stoop to Thy Child, and scatter his weak fears, 
 And clear his darkness, fold him in Thy light ? 
 My heart yearns to Thee — T would clasp Thy feet — 
 
 1 would cling to Thee, as a drowning man 
 Clings to the hand of help. — I would fall down 
 Before Thy face, and lose myself in Thee, 
 Even as now my troubled breath is lost 
 
 In this still general air. Alas 1 how great 
 Hath been my peril, hidden from Thy grace ! 
 
 I 2
 
 120 GILBERT MARLOWE: [PaRT TI. 
 
 Thou know'st the errors of my days — Thou knowest 
 
 All the extenuations of my fate — 
 
 How in the garden of this world I sprang 
 
 Like a wild weed, to grow without regard, 
 
 Or to be rooted up, or trodden down. 
 
 In younger years, I looked, and in Thy place 
 
 Beheld a phantasm of pale Mystery 
 
 Enthroned o'er all things. Stonily she sat 
 
 With eyes turned inward, thoughtful lips comprest, 
 
 And brows of brooding shadow. In her hands 
 
 She held a sealed urn, a folded scroll. 
 
 I came with questionings importunate, 
 
 And sought in agony of earnestness 
 
 To wring her secret — but in vain, in vain : 
 
 She answered not, nor heeded my unrest. 
 
 Then in the darkness did I wander wide — 
 
 Heaven was but vapour, earth but shifting sand, 
 
 Tea, all the vital universal frame, 
 
 A lovely loathly corse, alive with worms. — 
 
 All ! what a weary misery was there ! 
 
 Not all the griefs and heart-aches of this world, 
 
 Mingled in one great agony, could match 
 
 A doom so utter dark. But, O my God, 
 
 I bless Thy guiding mercy that thus far 
 
 I have ascended by slow steps of pain.
 
 PaET II.] THE MOEaOW. . 121 
 
 Out of the shadow of that black despair. 
 
 may I rise yet higher and still higher, 
 Till all misgivings pale, and lingering doubts 
 Fade brightly in assurance absolute 
 
 Of immortality, and heaven, and Thee ! 
 
 May I mount upward, the' with many tears 
 
 And much exceeding travail, till at length 
 
 The steep Ascent of Purification gained, 
 
 Kejoicing in Thy glory I may stand 
 
 "With ail eternity about my brows ! 
 
 Joy, joy beyond all thought ! It must be so — 
 
 1 live by faith, altho' I know it not. 
 
 Per if this boundless feeling in my breast. 
 Which like a mighty sea would deluge heaven, 
 And swell thro' all the eternal infinite — 
 If this were walled and narrowed in by time. 
 It must o'erwhelm me quite. Yet here I stand, 
 And lift my forehead, in the pure serene. 
 I feel Thee at my heart, and in ray soul. 
 Thou touchest the hard rock of centred self. 
 And 'tis dissolved in fountains of live waters 
 That over all things flow. Thou raisest me 
 Above the common cares of common days. 
 And I will trust the present blessedness, 
 And all the grandest possibilities
 
 122 . CHLBEET MAELOWE: LPaET II. 
 
 Of the eternal future, — Tliee beseeching 
 That ill my spirit may Thy kingdom come 1 
 
 As if a load were lifted from his life, 
 
 He now arose. He breathed with large relief; 
 
 And Nature seemed more fair than she was wont. 
 
 And Earth seemed nearer Heaven. In soul composed. 
 
 Leaving the lonely mountain-top, he sought 
 
 The neighbour-village, with its human homes. 
 
 Sweet day of hallowed calm ! sweet tranquil scene ! 
 
 The very houses stood in Sabbath rest. 
 
 And in their midst, the venerable church, 
 
 Clothed in its grey antiquity of peace : 
 
 A simple pile, sublime in humbleness, 
 
 Hallowed by prayers of generations gone — 
 
 Dear home of Taith, from age to age preserved, 
 
 From sire to son bequeathed ! Its aspect hoar 
 
 Constrained from Gilbert reverent regard. 
 
 And by the lowly porch he entered in. 
 
 Joining the worshippers, who sat devout, 
 
 A goodly concourse pleasant to behold : — 
 
 The reverend grandsires, stooping their grey hairs ; 
 
 Young men sedate, and tender maids demure 
 
 With drooping eye-lids, and sweet little ones 
 
 Smiling in silence while their parents prayed :
 
 PaBT II.] THE MOHROW. 123 
 
 'Twas fair to see that goodly company ! 
 
 Iq the low-voiced confession of their sins, 
 
 Their penitence professed, and prayers for pardon, 
 
 He also joined, with meek submission due. 
 
 But 'midst the chanting of the Litany, 
 
 A strange affection moved him ; and when rose 
 
 The solemn psalm, that feeling was too deep — 
 
 He bowed his head and wept. 
 
 Oft had he lingered while the choral swell 
 Of voices sweet, and organ's pomp of praise 
 Thro' grand old temples rolled, like pageants proud 
 Thro' cities full of triumph; and some moments 
 He soared aloft with those high harmonies 
 That seemed to take the heavens, and roll thro* 
 The everlasting gates, and fade away 
 'Mid hallelujahs of the seraph-choirs. 
 But not by anthem, with all stately sounds 
 Pealing in glory 'long cathedral-aisles. 
 And proudly lingering in the fretted roof 
 With echoes from the very bourn of heaven. 
 Was he so moved as by the simple psalm 
 In this old village church. For lowly sweet. 
 Sinking with human weakness, humbly rising 
 With faith divine, yet trembling, 'twas the voice
 
 124 6ILBEET MARLOWE : [PaET II 
 
 Of his dumb feeling which could talce no shape 
 
 But inarticulate music. And withal 
 
 It was a spell that waken'd blessed hopes 
 
 Shaded with brooding memories, all mingling 
 
 In swelling joy to soberness subdued — 
 
 Glee touched with tender gloom — a sad delight, 
 
 Yet most delightful sadness. 
 
 The singing ceased. The good old minister 
 
 Stood forth, in eloquence of simple truth. 
 
 As a kind father midst his children stands. 
 
 And speaks from his heart's fulness. Earnestly 
 
 He bade the husbandman prepare for harvest 
 
 Of the eternity now sown in time : 
 
 He urged the proud man to abase his pride. 
 
 Nor deem himself aught greater than the least 
 
 Of all his brethren ; and the humble ones — 
 
 The poor, the afflicted, and the weary-laden, 
 
 He comforted with kindness, words of pity, 
 
 That on their drooping spirits fell as sweet 
 
 As falls the gentle rain on fainting flowers. 
 
 " Thou, too, pale sufferer," spake the good old man, 
 
 Aiming a gentle shaft which Gilbert caught ; 
 
 " Thou who wert tossed in anarchy of doubt, 
 
 Yet 'mid the tempest didst not shake the reed
 
 Part II. J thk morkow. 125 
 
 Whereon they weakest brother leaned in faith — 
 
 Thou also take good comfort, with great hope ! 
 
 For thee Christ suffered on the bitter cross ; 
 
 And all the noble host of martyrs died 
 
 To conquer Heaven for thee ! O'er thee now bend 
 
 The spirits of the just, who wear serene 
 
 Their crowns of light and shining sovereignties 
 
 In realms of endless morning. O'er us all 
 
 Bends Love Divine, with yearnings infinite, 
 
 To bless us evermore. Oh, let us now 
 
 Turn from the evil path, to seek out God ; 
 
 Let us so walk in reverence and truth 
 
 That we may enter thro' Death's gloomy porch 
 
 To endless life, and joy unspeakable. 
 
 In the fair mansions of our Father's House !" 
 
 Now richly blessed, the congregation rose, 
 
 And parted slowly to their several homes ; 
 
 And Gilbert also took his homeward way. 
 
 Filled with high purpose to redeem the waste 
 
 Of vanished years, and build his future days 
 
 In reverent duty as a pillar erect, — 
 
 With great and tranquil thoughts, he took his way : 
 
 Life was before him, Heaven was yet to come.
 
 12G 
 
 THE MALCONTENT TO HIS FEIEND. 
 
 'TwERE something wondrous if the happy theme, 
 A ncient as life and truth and poetry, 
 After all bards have sang it, should at last 
 By me be sounded. But poor instruments, 
 Touch'd by a master's hand, will give some tones 
 Of unaccustom'd sweetness, and even I, 
 Albeit unworthy, by great Love attuned. 
 May of its power discourse. 
 
 There have been men 
 Who dwelt amid the shadows of outworn 
 Or unformed being, till inspired by Love — 
 And then the scatter'd chaos of their lives 
 Took shape, and rounded into worlds of light 
 That went rejoicing thro' the infinite deeps. 
 And I can tell of one whom Love redeemed 
 From a perdition dread. He was but young, 
 Yet life was sad as sunshine to the blind. 
 There was in him a void, a vacant shrine 
 Fit for bright angels, but since none possessed it, 
 Foul things of darkness came, and blurred its beauty.
 
 THE MALCONTENT TO HIS FEIEND. 127 
 
 The morning faith of ardent youth went down, 
 And left him groping amid twilight doubts 
 Unto a midnight of despair. His thoughts 
 Like famished vultures ate into his heart, 
 And darken'd o'er his days with evil omens. 
 Around, life's glory was but dust and ashes ; 
 Above, the heavens were marble ; and beneath, 
 The grave-yard earth was glass, wherethro' he saw 
 Decay's drear mystery as the end of all. 
 
 But Love dawned on the darkness, and these fears. 
 Phantoms, and terrors, faded like foul vapours ; 
 And Life was lovely then, and Heaven benign. 
 And all things wore the smile of one sweet maiden. 
 she was fair to him as morning light 
 Unto the night-mared dreamer. She came lightly 
 Like Spring with blowing buds and breezy motions 
 And bursts of song and sunshine, and his heart 
 Put forth new hopes and joys, as a bare tree, 
 Peeling the vernal season, laughs i' the sun. 
 And puts forth leaves, and shelters happy birds. 
 
 But thou discernest 'tis ray own poor self 
 Whom Love hath so translated. dear friend, 
 The weary past is dead — great joy is mine.
 
 128 THE MALCONTENT TO HIS FEIEND. 
 
 A happy chance hath wrought a blessed change 
 
 In nie and everything. The shadow is swept 
 
 From the world's face, and from ray human heart. 
 
 The old unrest and bitterness are gone. 
 
 And I am folded in supreme content. 
 
 Whose very depth is passion. Heretofore 
 
 My life was one great want, but now I've found 
 
 That which I sought, yet knew not that I sought. 
 
 Even the love of this most peerless maid. 
 
 She was the goal of my unfilled desires ; 
 
 And now I know ray former bitterness 
 
 Was but the aching of the o'erfraught heart. 
 
 And love's blind yearning for its loving mate. 
 
 When sad and lonely as a starless night, 
 I bowed in silence, brooding o'er great wrongs 
 And griefs and secret sins, thou like a star 
 First beamed upon ray path ; but she in peace 
 Grew o'er me like the moon, and overflowed 
 My depths of darkness with her holy light. 
 And made me glorious with transfiguring smiles. 
 
 very fair and lovely is my love, 
 
 Tho' 'tis a creature easily pass'd by 
 
 In the unobserving crowd ; for she presents
 
 THE MAICOXTEXT TO HIS FRIEND. 129 
 
 No sacred charm to unaaointed eyes. 
 
 It is the beauty of the soul that shines 
 
 In the perfections of her form and face. 
 
 Her beautiful nature every day unfolds 
 
 In newer charms and features of delight, 
 
 So that each look hath radiance of its own, 
 
 And every motion hath peculiar grace. 
 
 All lovely thoughts are native unto her, 
 
 As flowers to summer; and her presence bright 
 
 Is as a blessed sunshine in my path, 
 
 And constant benediction. She translates 
 
 All my life's grossuess and dull work-day cares 
 
 To noble purposes, and makes the sphere 
 
 Of common duties a great sanctitude 
 
 Where nothing mean can enter. Yet, and yet. 
 
 With all her gifts and goodness, my sweet love 
 
 Is not an angel, but a very woman. 
 
 And 'tis her highest glory. She's so rich 
 
 In woman's grace supreme, aftections pure, 
 
 And in her gentleness so absolute, 
 
 That none coukl choose but do her reverence. 
 
 When first I met her, suddenly I felt 
 
 Blithe as a captive, from the dungeon's gloom 
 
 Brought to free air and sunlight. Forth she came
 
 130 THE MALCONTENT TO HIS FRIEND. 
 
 Like a new revelation of God's love 
 
 To win an erring spirit unto heaven. 
 
 I marked the softness of her yearning eyes, 
 
 And her cheek's tender bloom, and her vvhite breast, 
 
 Until delight was saddened with the thought 
 
 Of my unworthiness. She was so good. 
 
 So far beyond me, that I dared not love, 
 
 Tho' I could worship her. Oh, but her smile 
 
 Enriched my poor desert, and made me bold ; 
 
 And she is mine — for ever, ever mine ! — 
 
 My heart is a proud palace — she its queen ; 
 
 My soul a shrine — and she is its dear saint.
 
 131 
 
 MEMORIALS OF TEE CRIMEAN WAR. 
 
 THE WAKT OF THE TIME. 
 (AViXTEE OF 1855.) 
 
 The hour awaits the man, who shall o'ermaster 
 Our evil stars ; aud turn this huge disaster 
 Of war to Victory. Our lords have played 
 With arts unholy in the dark, and made 
 A circle of curses round our country's altar ; 
 And now, poor wizards, they start back afraid 
 Of the demon they have raised. They shrink and palter- 
 But the strong Nation does not faint nor falter ; 
 Its pulse leaps up to the high heroic mood ; 
 And million bosoms share the hardihood 
 Of those who met the battle's desperate odds, 
 And strode to triumph like flush'd demi-gods. — 
 Come forth, Captain-Chief 1 We wait for thee 
 To mount the swell of our great English heart. 
 And take this grand occasion by the beard ! 
 Come forth, and carve our path to victory ! 
 Eepair our waste : and tliis dear land shall be 
 A pedestal, whereon thy fame, upreared, 
 Shall rest among the Names that stand apart. 
 Like marble gods fronting Eternity !
 
 132 
 
 THE DAY ON WHICH WE HEARD THE NEWS 
 OE THE FALL OF SEJBASTOPOL. 
 
 Tis grand to live on so proud a day, 
 
 When a miglity Nation's doubt and pain 
 Melt into air, and growing gay, 
 
 It feels like its old self again ! 
 And the tumult of triumph rolls and swells 
 From the roar of guns to the anthem of bells. 
 
 And the People's great heart greatly rejoices, 
 And throbs like the cannon, that suddenly booms ; 
 
 And ring to the heavens their million voices 
 In chorus of boundless jubilee. 
 Mid peal of trumpets and beat of drums, 
 Shouting Victory I 
 
 Victory ! Victory ! great is the joy. 
 
 From mire of death and misery, 
 The rose of conquest flames to the sky 
 
 And blooms blood-red o'er land and sea. 
 Behold, we've burst thro' the triple bar; 
 We've crossed the blazing threshold of war; 
 
 And hence from triumph to triumph we tread. 
 
 With the hopes of the world around us spread ! 
 Long have we waited to hail this day ;
 
 arEMOBIALS OF THU CEIMEAN WAR. 133 
 
 But now that our conquering march begins, 
 We can half forget the weary delay, 
 We can half forgive our rulers' sins. 
 
 Glory to our British host ! 
 
 Glory to heroic France ! 
 Long be they our blended boast, 
 
 Peers in peerless puissance ! 
 But, ye brave, this deed ye've done 
 Is but earnest of battles yet to be won ; 
 
 Up again with a whirlwind sweep, 
 
 And on fresh fields new laurels reap ! 
 Wherever glooms the tyrant Czar, 
 
 Be first to strike, and last to cease — 
 Since Freedom must float on the tide of war. 
 
 And your swords must carve the path to Peace. 
 
 PEACE, AND "THE PEACE." 
 (1856.) 
 
 Blessed is Peace, that turns red battle-fields 
 To fruitful vineyards, and reposes mild, 
 'Mid stores of teeming corn and wine and oil, 
 'Neath shining skies, shaded with wings of doves. 
 
 K
 
 13J. MEMOKIALS OF THE CRIMEAN WAR. 
 
 Blessed is Peace, when o'er the bleeding world 
 She poureth healing dews, " sounds and sweet airs 
 That give delight and hurt not," and men wake 
 As from the oppression of a hideous dream 
 To feel the beauty of the fresh free morn. 
 
 Blessed is Peace, when all the dints of strife 
 Are hid with olive-boughs and wreaths of flowers ; 
 And all the people rise with jubilant shouts, 
 With pipe and dance ; and songs of gladness swell 
 O'er land and sea, and distant shores shake hands. 
 
 Yes, blessed is sweet Peace ; but not this peace : 
 Not this poor semblance — not this sudden lull 
 Mufiling the coming tempest ; — this brief calm 
 Before the earthquake and the blast of doom. 
 
 Our hopes ran high, our hearts beat like a march 
 Of swelling triumph, when our hosts went forth ; 
 And Trade grew chivalrous; and thro' the length 
 Of this shop-keeping England rose the shout 
 Of a great people stirred with noble rage. 
 Oh then did we rejoice, and lift the cry — 
 England and France for Europe and the right 1 
 Then did we dream that Victory on our helms
 
 MEMOEIAia OF THE CRIMEAN WAE. 135 
 
 Should ride and bear young Freedom ; and we said — 
 
 " Lo, now the old Land with a lion-heart 
 
 Shakes off her shames, and rouses for the fight ! 
 
 Take hope, pale nations, your deliverance comes ! 
 
 Heroic Poland, Hungary, Italy, 
 
 Take hope, ye brave, our sottish peace is o'er ! 
 
 War with fell War ! Our crime of peace is o'er. 
 
 We English are a people slow to move. 
 
 But terrible when roused. Thus did we speak, 
 
 Full of high hope that battle's storm would end 
 
 With humbled despots, and the overturn 
 
 Of some vile thrones. 'Tis past, and nothing won 
 
 Save restoration of inglorious peace. 
 
 Peace, where the sword's clash yields unto the knife 
 That stabs and makes no noise ; peace, where the roar 
 Of cannon breaks not thro' the charnel-gloom 
 Where States in silence rot ; peace, that makes glad 
 The tyrant's heart, and swells the jubilee 
 Of fiend-like things exulting o'er the grave 
 Of murdered Liberty. Oh but there comes 
 A day for strife in earnest, which will cut 
 This coil of guilt and shame, and pluck the fangs 
 From war itself, and with sharp shocks of fate, 
 Shaking the world, bring peace which is no cheat ! 
 
 k2
 
 136 
 
 TO M. KOSSUTH. 
 
 (1856.) 
 
 Among the great in glory and in grief. 
 High phice is thine, O Governor and Chief. 
 I look on thee, and something I would speak 
 Of my strong feeling — but my words are weak. 
 And since thou camest victorious from defeat. 
 When with one pulse our British heart did beat ; 
 And Hope came with thee, beaming as the morn ; 
 And 'mid a whirl of welcome thou wert borne 
 Thro' England's cities, in far prouder slate 
 Than e'er was known by prince or potentate, 
 Or conqueror, laden with an empire's spoil — 
 Since then, beholding thy unheeded toil, 
 Methinks 'twere easier to fight for thee 
 Than speak more praise and talk more sympathy. 
 Oh, if great deeds could come of lofty words. 
 If generous sympathies would serve for swords. 
 And burning thoughts could spring up armed men. 
 How soon tliy battle-day would come again, 
 With sure success and brightness without spot !
 
 TO M. KOSSUTH. 137 
 
 And shall it not soon come — Oh, shall it not ? 
 
 Yes ! By to-day's assurance of to-morrow ; 
 
 By the nobility of thy great sorrow ; 
 
 By Freedom's faith and quenchless aspiration ; 
 
 By the grand soul of thy uucouquered Nation; 
 
 By all the Brave that died on battle-plains, 
 
 Or linger still in exile or in chains. 
 
 Looking to thee, thou star amid their gloom : 
 
 Thy truth shall yet prevail, thy day shall come ! 
 
 And tho' poor Statesmen temporise wiih power. 
 
 And give eternity to gain an hour ; 
 
 Tho' fierce exulting despots, blazing forth 
 
 'Mid clouds of curses, smite the suffering earth. 
 
 And lift their red hands 'gainst the patient heaven ; 
 
 Tho' sweet, sad Liberty, bruised, hunted, driven. 
 
 Hiding in secret like a guilty thing. 
 
 Withers and pines with homeless wandering : 
 
 Yet still be comforted, thou noble heart : 
 
 Thy day must come ! Thy triumph is a part 
 
 Of the grand Future's unrecorded story. — 
 
 Oh, like true brothers may we aid thy glory ! 
 
 May the proud watchword in a coming fight 
 
 Be — England's might for Hungary's fair right 1
 
 138 
 
 THE TEUE MAN'S DEPAETUEE. 
 
 The quiet moonlight on the sleeping town 
 
 Lies like the peace of God ; and street and mart, 
 
 Late loud with strife, are hushed and holy now. 
 
 All jars and fumes and frets of yesterday 
 
 Are lost and ended in this depth of night — 
 
 Gone like a feeble smoke against the stars. 
 
 And faded in the infinite serene. 
 
 It is a blessed calm ! And yet, and yet, 
 
 These dreaming houses in the languid light, 
 
 These streets so sacred in their solitude, 
 
 The morn will disenchant ; and here will rise 
 
 Grim piles of sordidness and living gloom 
 
 With the huge clash, the tramp of hurrying thousands. 
 
 And woes of toil, and wiles of chaffering trade. 
 
 So Day comes after Night with noise and rage. 
 
 And desecrates her sanctitude. Yet soon 
 
 Day's noises pass, and sweet Night comes again I 
 
 The bubble moods and thoughts and deeds of Day 
 
 Change with the changing ages ; but the Night, 
 
 The Night, is ever, evermore the same, 
 
 With all her dews of rest and holy calms.
 
 THE TRrE man's DEPAEXrEE. 139 
 
 T love the Night ! I bless this Night divine ; 
 For now the slave is free ; and Labour's sons 
 Forget their toils and sorrows. There they lie 
 In huddled homes, now turned to palaces 
 Of slumber, purple-draperied with dreams. 
 Their little frets are soothed, their tears are dried, 
 And they rest quiet, folded with the love 
 And infinite silence of the yearning Night. 
 
 But 'mid those sleepers there is one who wakes 
 At this dead hour to wrestle with grim Death. — 
 Within a desolate room the moonlight falls 
 On the worn features of a dying sire. 
 And on his son's mute sorrow. Pale, comprest. 
 The youth droops, mournful, bowing low his head 
 As in an awful presence. Silently 
 The old man lies : he yields, yet falters not ; 
 But fronts his conqueror with unquailing gaze. 
 Life's heat and burden hath he bravely borne 
 Unto this hour ; and now he waits to die 
 With a clear courage, like some hero old. 
 Who bore all shocks and battled till the end. 
 Then with his armour on, met shunless Fate, 
 And triumph'd in defeat. He too is one 
 Of the grand race that were not wont to die
 
 140 THE TRFE MAK'S DEPABTUEE. 
 
 Ill peaceful beds, but on red battle-fields 
 
 In front of freedom's fight, or at the stake. 
 
 Or on the scaffold — witnesses for truth, 
 
 Eeaching to immortality from heights 
 
 Of glorious martyrdom ! From year to year. 
 
 He held his course right onward, and still on. 
 
 Struggling thro' days of toil and nights of thought. 
 
 Thro' sufferings keen and errors manifold 
 
 To reach a noble manhood : tempering thus 
 
 His soul in life's white heat, till like a sword 
 
 It leaped i' the sun with flashing eagerness ; 
 
 And forth he went for liberty contending, 
 
 For truth's great glory, and the people's hope. — 
 
 'Gainst giant Wrong, grim-featured Tyranny, 
 
 And all their iron hosts, he boldly fought 
 
 A lingering friendless fight ; and for his meed. 
 
 Storm-shadows, whirling with keen flying darts 
 
 Of wrath and scorn, closed round him. l^et still on, 
 
 The' wounded oft, and smit with many pangs, 
 
 He held his way undaunted. Evil looks 
 
 Gloomed on him stern, and evil tongues assailed ; 
 
 The proud man poured contempt, the tyrant raged ; 
 
 But in the height of his clear soul serene 
 
 He kept his station, steadfast as a star. 
 
 Above the reach of all. And now 'tis past — 
 
 His toils are ended, and his day is done.
 
 THE TRUE man's DEPAETUBE. 141 
 
 Half raised upon his bed, the old man bides, 
 Looking before him with most constant gaze. 
 There, on the threshold of the dim unknown. 
 His thoughts are deep, yet they are calm as deep, 
 Calm as the deepest deeps ; and he reposes 
 Upon their fulness, gently as a swan 
 Upon the swell of tide. Clear faith in God, 
 And the high destinies, sustains him still. 
 Conscience looks back with tender-shaded face, 
 Half mournful, half in joy; while Memory brings 
 The sweets of vanished years, and soothes his pain. 
 Like a kind minist'ring spirit. — 
 
 In this hour. 
 Oh how that humble dying one doth rise 
 Above the gilded things that scorned him once ! 
 When the proud tyrant yields to mocking Death, 
 How poor a slave is he — how utter weak ! 
 'Neath canopies of purple, stiff with gold, 
 Kestless, he rolls and moans— a writhing worm, 
 Trampled by huge Remorse ! Fiend Memory 
 Heaps all the past like fire upon his head ; 
 And Fury Conscience with a scourge of snakes 
 Drives him to outer blackness. — 
 
 Possessed in gentle patience, the old man 
 
 There lingering, breathed no murmur. In his eyes
 
 142 THE TETTE MAN'S DEPARTTIBE. 
 
 A mild intelligence dispelled the mist' 
 
 Of bodily weakness. Eadiauce spiritual 
 
 Broke like a sunburst thro' the gatheri ng glooms, 
 
 And all life's light in this death-hour returned. 
 
 As if the soul, leaving her earthly home, 
 
 Gathered her retinue of glorious thoughts, 
 
 And robed herself to enter Heaven in state ; 
 
 Yet with a pathos, grand in lowliness. 
 
 Subdued and softened like a setting sun. 
 
 Long he reposed in stillness, how profound ! 
 
 It was a deep, deep hush, a silence broken 
 
 By the mind's workings only, and the weight 
 
 Of meditation pressing palpable 
 
 Against the listening sense. — At length, his thoughts. 
 
 Solemn, serene, broke slowly into speech : — 
 
 I go, he said, to ray appointed home. 
 
 Out of the sunlight and the healthsome air. 
 
 Out of the night, and where no star can reach. 
 
 My long, long home ; dark, and for ever closed ; 
 
 A narrow house, whose door would open not 
 
 Tho' all men knocked, tho' worlds were perishing, 
 
 And I might bring deliverance. Yet with Death 
 
 I argue not ; since I have but to meet 
 
 What none may 'scape, and do but go the way 
 
 Which all the numberless dead have gone before.
 
 THE TEUK .man's DEPAETTTBE. 143 
 
 And all the living follow. The proud World 
 Comes after me, with all its pomp and noise : 
 The great ones of the earth, mocking the heavens, 
 And motley multitudes unknown, unnamed, 
 Hither they haste to join me, and from hence 
 Each treads alone his dim and doubtful way. 
 Whither I go 'tis there I shall lie down 
 In equal state with all the mighty ones — 
 Yea, I shall rest in peace, where no man knows. 
 Surrounded with the vanished centuries. 
 With empires old and royalties outworn. 
 And all the nations of the populous grave ! 
 I murmur not ; but will lie down content 
 To wait what may betide. 
 
 The old man paused, and earnest spoke the youth : 
 Father, thou teachest me to tame my grief. 
 And yield to this inexorable hour. 
 Oh, father, in the neighbourhood of death, 
 Perchance thou seest where all to me is dark. 
 Oh, canst thou even now look o'er the verge 
 Whereon thou slandest ? Dost thou aught discern 
 Of the near future from this brink of time-^ 
 A gleam of promise, streak of dawning light, 
 A splendour growing out of this death -gloom ?
 
 144 THE TRUE man's DEPABTtTRE. 
 
 My way is bid — he answered — yet clear faith 
 Exceedeth knowledge ; yea, it doth suffice 
 For all that is unknown ; and I depart 
 In full assurance that this darksome path 
 But narrows to a broad approach of glory 
 And blessedness supreme. Oh, could I shape 
 My strange thoughts into speech, could I unfold 
 That which is most within me, mine would seem. 
 A voice not of this world. Ah ! my faint breath 
 Is but as mist that hides what I would speak. 
 A mighty thought arises, dim and vast, 
 Higher and higher still I feel it rise 
 Within me— higher till it seems to fade 
 In God's light absolute. Then this flesh-fllm 
 Comes like a cloud between me and the heavens. 
 Let it suffice for thee that even here. 
 Outside the curtained mystery, I discern 
 Forms undefined and faint foreshadovviuss 
 Of all which yet is hid. The darkness blooms 
 With thousand uninterpretable signs. 
 Which mingle in a sense of coming joy. 
 Most deep, most full. 
 
 Draw nearer, O my son. 
 So I may lay mine hands upon thy head 
 And bless thee ere I die. Oh, I would speak
 
 14S 
 
 With tongue of flame, and utter my last breath 
 Full as God's bounty on an orphan world 
 To tell how tenderly o'er thee I yearn. 
 But words are weak, and a cold hand restrains. 
 Vainly I strive to speak the mighty love 
 That swells against this hour, as a dumb sea, 
 Breaks on a dead shore, heaving with dim moans, 
 And cannot tell its secret. Yet draw near, 
 And mark me while thou may'st. 
 
 My day is done. 
 I leave ray heart with thee : thou liv'st for me. — 
 I bid thee take my yoke, renew my toils. 
 With thy own best addition, to achieve 
 The weal of all thy brethren. Round us now, 
 Upon Night's pitying breast, they sleep in peace — 
 Would they might wake in joy ! Oh be it thine 
 To gladden and exalt their sad poor life ! 
 Be their true brother, on thy forehead bearing 
 The morning of their hope. Oh do thou seek 
 To win this world for them ; but seek still more 
 To win back Heaven, now faded from their sight. 
 Nourish thy soul in reverence and truth. 
 Be thou God's workman, zealous to build up 
 In poor men's hearts a temple unto Him,
 
 146 THE TRUE man's DEPARTURE. 
 
 The shadow of whose dread eternity 
 Now hides this world of time. 
 
 Thus far, with frequeut pause, the old man spake, 
 
 And now he ceased ; whereat the youth, much moved. 
 
 With faltering accent gave assurance firm 
 
 Of pious duty. By tliat bed of death. 
 
 Like one ordained to noble life, he knelt. 
 
 Swift change came o'er the dying : stains of years. 
 
 And scars of pain from his worn visage swept. 
 
 And left it strangely young. As in a swoon 
 
 Of ecstacy he lay ; and while so rapt. 
 
 It seemed the shifting lights of long-ago 
 
 Were blent with radiance of unrisen suns. 
 
 Sweet memories o'er him streamed of faces kind 
 
 That crossed his path like sunbeams ; gentle voices 
 
 That blessed him once ; and days that shone apart. 
 
 The stars of years ; and scenes of early joys. 
 
 But chief and over all, the thought of her, 
 
 His buried love, dilated till it grew 
 
 To visible form of grace — the same, so fair, 
 
 That died out of his arms. 
 
 She came in saintly beauty, and he lay 
 
 Surrendered to her charm, soothed like a babe. 
 
 Without a wish or thought than so to lie
 
 THE TBTJE MAN'S DEPAETUBE. 147 
 
 For ever tranced and moveless ; till o'erwrougbt 
 By his exceeding bliss, with sweet constraint 
 He 'gan revive, and murmured faint and low : 
 
 Soft, soft, O blessed hour, thou white vision 
 Of my Beloved, my bosom's Own, dost come 
 To lead me to thy rest ? Thou speakest not 
 But o'er me bendest with those yearning eyes 
 That first did bless my life ! And thou dost float 
 O'er me, and round me, with soft-soothing grace. 
 And thou dost smile a slow sweet smile, so sweet 
 That Death relents, and smoothes his frowning looks, 
 And e'en grows kind. Yes, yes, thy presence now 
 Assures me of my great exceeding joy — 
 I feel all will be well ! 
 
 Fainter, and fainter, grew his feeble breath. 
 And utterance failed. But more fair visions bloomed 
 On his rapt gaze, till death and life seemed merged 
 In one great blessedness. The heavens now broke , 
 In sudden glory, thronged with spirits bright, — 
 Fair shining forms that round him circled far, 
 And high above, till they were lost in haze 
 Of splendour undefined. The great and good 
 Of human kind they were, his co-mates blest,
 
 148 THE TETTE MAN'S DEPAETURE. 
 
 Come from their happy home to welcome him, 
 Their humbler brother. Sages, heroes, bards. 
 Loves he had cherished, names he had revered, 
 Bright names of those who worked well for the world, 
 In radiant shapes, with more than kingly crowns 
 About their brows, appeared. Kange above range. 
 Calm in their immortalities they rose. 
 And beamed august, yet kind, as with the blaze 
 Of myriad grandeurs in one light of love, 
 And in that light he passed.
 
 149 
 
 THE PENITENT MAGDALEN. 
 
 [SUGGESTED BY A PIECE OF SCULPTURE.] 
 
 (185^). 
 
 What eloquence of remorse is in that meek 
 And mute expression ! Wanderer forlorn, 
 Poor Outcast, tliou'rt indeed smit by the scorn 
 
 Of the hard world : But thine own heart doth speak 
 
 The heavier sentence ; thine own feelings wreak 
 The keener smart. Dost think of the j'oung morn 
 When life was innocence and hope unworn, 
 
 And maiden roses blossomed in thy cheek ? 
 The promise of that time thou may'st redeem ; 
 
 The gulph 'twixt then and now doth not immure 
 Thy future years, nor hide the heavens supreme : 
 
 Take comfort, stricken one ; hope and endure: 
 The sinful past is but a loathsome dream ; 
 
 Thy spirit's agony hath left thee pure.
 
 150 
 
 A WOEKEE TO A WOEKEE. 
 
 (1852.) 
 
 Why wilt thou sink, with little cares outworn, 
 
 And die away before thou art full born ? — 
 
 Lo, what fair stars and influences benign 
 
 Bend over thee ! What heritage is thine 
 
 Of power and glory present and to be ! 
 
 What worlds on worlds await thy sovereignty ! 
 
 What crowning triumphs and what trophies gay 
 
 Are thine to achieve ; and what a long array 
 
 Of willing servitors thy steps attend, 
 
 And own thee lord, and at thy bidding bend ! 
 
 Look up, look up, the heavens are overhead — 
 
 Look up, and mark the bounties for thee spread. 
 
 Dear Poesy, beguiling thy hard tasks, 
 
 Hides frowning fortunes with well-favoured masks, 
 
 Where'er she smiles, dim wastes and barren sands 
 
 Bloom azure isles, and happy faery lands. 
 
 Where naiads revel in the lucent floods ; 
 
 And fauns and dryads sport among the woods ; 
 
 And mystic shapes and voices haunt the deeps
 
 A WOEKEE TO A WOEKEE. 151 
 
 Of air and sea ; and Freedom's spirit leaps 
 From heiglit to height exulting- ; and great Love 
 Clasps all things round, and under, and above. 
 Sweet Music, yearning over thee, o'erswells 
 The bounded present ; and, enrapt, fortells 
 Great future glories ; while re-wake the strains 
 Of years far gone — songs piped on pastoral plains 
 At morn and eve ; and clarion-peals that fired 
 Brave hearts with martial daring, and inspired 
 Heroic scorn of death ; and melting tones 
 Of lute, soft languishing delicious moans 
 Of love-sick maiden in the twilight dim : 
 These, and the everlasting choral hymn 
 Of woods and winds, and the mysterious hum, 
 Upgathered, of all human voices, come 
 Thro' the sounding caves and down the gentle vales 
 Of mellowing time, and fill the evening gales 
 With meanings strange and throbbing ecstacies. 
 Ministrant spirits, guardian influences. 
 Embosom thee ; and wondrous charms and spells 
 Circle thy steps ; and soothiest oracles 
 Unfold new lore of life in speech replete 
 With olden wisdom : Ever dost thou meet 
 Heralds of coming good : P>en in bare nooks 
 And dreariest depths, bright visions, kindly looks.
 
 152 A WOEKEE TO A WOEKEB. 
 
 Or tones of song, or glimpses of the sky, . 
 Or forms of gentle grace in passing by, 
 Bring gracious messages from sovereign powers, 
 And gild the dark, and cheer the drooping liours. 
 
 Thou wert not born to be thy spirit's tomb ; 
 Thou art not banished to perdition's gloom ; 
 A glorious Presence waits before thee now : 
 The thoughts of Time repose upon her brow ; 
 In her sole form are blended all the graces 
 Of fairest things; the smiles of all sweet faces 
 Beam in her aspect ; Music's thousand tongues 
 She speaks withal ; the charmed air prolongs 
 From earliest time the lovely words she saith ; 
 In her soft breathings is the mingled breath 
 Of all earth's summers ; and the throbs intense 
 Of all true hearts compose the mighty sense 
 Wherewith her bosom heaves ; and she surrenders 
 All, all to thee ; and clothes thee with her splendours. 
 Yea, blends thee with her being ! She is thine 
 And thou art hers — the life and end of her design. 
 
 HEWITT AND MOOEE, PEINTEKS, LEICESTER.
 
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