LIBRARY 
 
 University of Calif orni 
 
 IRVINE 

 
 ' 
 
 PO EMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY HARRISON 
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL. 
 
 CLAPHAM : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 SETTLE : 
 
 PRINTED BY J. W. LAMBERT, CHAPEL STREET. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVII.
 
 PR 
 
 Af]
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 9^2/&v- - 
 
 J N the present issiie of Poems introductory remarks 
 are scarcely needed. Some, however, may be 
 interested to know that they are entirely the work 
 of my teens, the Prize Poem, which I wrote this year, 
 being the only exceptive composition. Many pieces 
 have been severally published ; but the greater half 
 of the following collection have been in manuscript 
 until now. Although one was the target for arrows of 
 adverse criticism, the just formality of apology in 
 preface has been obviated, I feel, by the outnumbering 
 encomiums on my early exertions which have hitherto 
 appeared. 
 
 I beg to thank, very heartily, all my Friends 
 and Subscribers. 
 
 HY. HARRISON. 
 
 CLAPHAM, YORKSHIRE, 
 
 APRIL, 1887.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Jubilee of Her Majesty the Queen. [Prize Poem] . . g 
 
 To " Clapham" .. .. .. .. 12 
 
 The Boy of Egremond .. .. .. 13 
 
 A Golden Sunset .. .. .. .. 17 
 
 Reverie by the River . . . . . . 19 
 
 SONNETS I. Now the Summer's beauties linger .. 21 
 
 II. The leaves are strew'd in field and wood . . 21 
 
 In Memoriam. Duke of Albany, K.G. .. .. 22 
 
 The Spirit of the Spring . . . . . . 24 
 
 Maurice . . . . . . . . . . 27 
 
 The Moon and Stars . . . . . . . . 28 
 
 A March Retrospect . . . . . . . . 30 
 
 The Battle . . . . . . . . . . 32 
 
 The Mystic Theme .. .. .. .. 34 
 
 Our Christmas Rose . . . . . . 36 
 
 The Legend of Semerwater . . . . . . 37 
 
 Wild Cherry-Blossom . . . . . . 39 
 
 To an Early Primrose . . . . . . 41 
 
 King John and the Barons . . . . . . . . 42 
 
 Mirage on the Sands . . . . . . . . 44 
 
 Christmas : The Old Organist's Return . . 46 
 
 The Wind . . . . . . . . . . 48 
 
 The Albatross . . . . . . . . 50 
 
 Improvisatore .. .. .. .. 51 
 
 Epitaph : Gordon . . . . . . 52 
 
 The Return of the Troops . . . . . . 53 
 
 With Rod and Line .. .. .. 55 
 
 An Autumn Evening . . . . . . . . 57
 
 'S + POEMj. 
 
 THE JUBILEE OF HER MAJESTY 
 THE QUEEN. 
 
 [PRIZE POEM.] 
 
 *= <* +> * 
 BRITANNIA'S voice, from land and sea, 
 
 With praise and triumph rings 
 To Him who wills the Jubilee, 
 
 The changeless King of kings. 
 Our Empire's ancient Throne maintains 
 
 Proudly its laurels green ; 
 For, by the will of God, still reigns 
 
 Our good and noble Queen. 
 
 Victoria ! name borne on high 
 
 By ev'ry breeze that blows 
 From flood and field to vaulted sky, 
 
 A rainbow span now shows,
 
 IO H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Which gathers, in its golden rays, 
 
 The record of her reign ; 
 While million tongues, in thankful praise, 
 
 Bear witness in their strain. 
 
 Great England's liberty and might, 
 
 Her truth and progress wide 
 Won by her sons on plain and height 
 
 And surging blood-stain'd tide 
 Make music strangely soft and sweet, 
 
 Yet loud as restless sea, 
 For Britain's realm, in measure meet, 
 
 Sings of the Jubilee. 
 
 But for a while rejoicing dies, 
 
 And reverence and love 
 And sadness in its place arise, 
 
 Which mem'ry bears above : 
 The sorrows and the fears, long past, 
 
 With bliss now intervene, 
 For saddest memories, bound fast, 
 
 Are cherish'd by the Queen. 
 
 "Exultant gratitude again 
 
 Swells into one great theme ; 
 Our good Queen's days, sung in the strain, 
 
 Like depths of sunlight beam. 
 The Bible for a light and guide, 
 
 And conscience for a stay, 
 Our gracious Queen and Empress tried 
 
 The long unbeaten way.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 From ocean's depth to Heaven's blue 
 Resounds the loud acclaim ; 
 
 A Nation's love, free firm and true- 
 Leaps like a quenchless flame. 
 
 The glories of her spotless name 
 Gleam like a crystal sea, 
 
 While voices, numberless, proclaim 
 Our dear Queen's Jubilee. 
 
 ii 
 
 January, 1887. 
 
 NOTE. The above Poem was awarded the FIRST PRIZE in the 
 competition announced in the T. M. F. S.'s Magazine ; the list of 
 honours being published in March, 1887.
 
 12 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 TO "CLAPHAM." 
 
 ESTLJNG 'neath the heath-clad hill 
 
 Sweet village thou art seen 
 So lovely ! In the sunshine still 
 My dream of thee hath been. 
 
 Thy charms of fell, and scars, and dales, 
 Thy sylvan shades, and waters gleaming, 
 
 Thy wood-crown'd heights, and flowery vales, 
 In my " mind's eye " are brightly beaming. 
 
 The placid lake, and rushing brook, 
 The waterfalls, the Cave, the rills, 
 
 Are printed in my memory's book 
 
 The thought of them nought ever stills. 
 
 The breezy uplands' bracing air, 
 
 The woodland songsters' warbling sweet 
 
 All make a picture very fair, 
 
 Where Nature's pleasures all may meet. 
 
 I may roam far in after years, 
 
 But, all thy quiet rural beauty 
 Will smile upon the doubts and fears 
 
 Of life and cheer the path of duty. 
 
 If, at the end of that stern path, 
 
 In other scenes my Life's walk closes, 
 
 The dearest thoughts my memory hath 
 Shall be thy cots embower'd in roses. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 13 
 
 THE BOY OF EGREMOND. 
 
 jHE Boy of Egremond arose, 
 
 And with the lark's first song 
 When all the landscape brightest glows- 
 
 He blithely tripp'd along. 
 His song a gladsome song of old 
 
 Like woodland whispers sweet, 
 From earth to sky a future told, 
 In Barden's cool retreat. 
 
 At silver daybreak, from his home, 
 
 He rambl'd through the wood : 
 Its crags and steeps he lov'd to roam, 
 
 With hawk secure in hood. 
 The paths of Bolton's lovely vale 
 
 None better knew than he ; 
 They were to him an endless tale 
 
 Of silent victory. 
 
 On Barden Fell he join'd the chase 
 
 Of cry and horn rous'd stag ; 
 Nor halted in the heated race 
 
 O'er valley, height and crag, 
 Until their prey laid on the turf, 
 
 Brought there to die at bay, 
 Hemm'd in by noble, chief, and serf, 
 
 By Wharfe's green, fairy way.
 
 14 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 The early heron, plunging deep 
 
 Within the waters strong, 
 Could not a morning harvest reap, 
 
 And hear not his loud song ; 
 For there young Romille at dawn 
 
 When dewdrops gemm'd the earth 
 In forest garb oft rang'd alone, 
 
 So full of hope and mirth. 
 
 4 A stag is rous'd ! away, my son ! 
 
 Be not the last to see 
 The nimble prey ensnar'd, outrun, 
 
 Last of proud Romille ! 
 The huntsman louder blows his horn, 
 
 Arise, my boy, arise ! 
 Fair is the rosy gleaming morn, 
 
 Bright are the changing skies ! 
 
 'Away, away, and let it be 
 
 A truth, which shall remain, 
 That thou wast ever there to see 
 
 The stag's death on the plain ! 
 The perils dark and deep most heed, 
 
 In all thy pleasures fraught ; 
 And hence may alway thought and deed 
 
 With good intent be wrought ! ' 
 
 Away he rambl'd through the wood, 
 
 And sunny smiling vale : 
 With hound in leash he near'd the flood, 
 
 The outcome of a gale.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 15 
 
 He gaz'd upon the awful Strid, 
 
 But fear'd not gush and roar ; 
 He leap'd, and in a moment bid 
 
 His hound, as oft before. 
 
 Alas ! it backward shrank and drew 
 
 The boy to the abyss, 
 As on the troubl'd waters flew 
 
 With fierce, redoubl'd hiss. 
 And in the narrow gulf they hurl'd 
 
 All that of him remain'd ; 
 The raging torrents downward whirl'd 
 
 All they by force had gain'd. 
 
 The falconer and herdsman cross'd 
 
 Fair Bolton's vale again, 
 And bounded o'er the stones emboss'd, 
 
 Imbrown'd with moss and stain, 
 Where Wharfe by rocks is almost clos'd : 
 
 A bound a leap a stride ! 
 Then on the water-grave they paus'd 
 
 Of the proud mother's pride. 
 
 The lady mourn'd her noble son, 
 
 The last of all her race : 
 Hope's promise had been fleetly run, 
 
 Nor left a mark or trace. 
 ' Upon the banks of Wharfe shall be, 
 
 In Bolton's valley green, 
 A great and stately priory 
 
 That ever may be seen ! '
 
 i6 
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 And thus the weeping mother's woe 
 
 A monument then made, 
 Which stands where Wharfe's clear waters flow- 
 
 The Abbey fair decay'd. 
 They long ago have slept their last 
 
 And sought a life beyond ; 
 But lives the name of Bolton past 
 
 The Boy of Egremond. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 17 
 
 A GOLDEN SUNSET. 
 
 golden light left by the sunken sun 
 Hath cloth'd the dreary walk and mountain mass : 
 The rocks, the peat, the moss, gleam vividly; 
 Soft breezes stir the copse 'gainst sun-lit pass. 
 
 The upheav'd stones disclose some gentle ferns ; 
 
 They, too, are tinged by the saffron hues : 
 The lake reflects now all the rich ton'd shades; 
 
 The rippling river shines like morning dews. 
 
 The quiet village on the plain beneath 
 
 Bath'd in the golden glow appears. The home 
 
 Of all the virtues Happiness and Love, 
 
 Seem gather'd there, under the sky's blue dome. 
 
 The careless children, happy at their play, 
 Look dwellers meet for this Arcadian place : 
 
 This night of sunset grand closes the day, 
 
 And to each charming nook gives added grace. 
 
 The insect world are loth to seek for rest, 
 But hover o'er the deep and darkling pool, 
 
 Where speckl'd trout their haunts enjoy the best, 
 Leaping up, high, above the water cool.
 
 i8 
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 The pretty maiden trips across the meads, 
 Her household duties all so featly done ; 
 
 And following where her own sweet fancy leads, 
 Sings gaily as she views the setting sun. 
 
 The busy ones who live in crowded streets 
 But seldom see a sight so fair as this ; 
 
 They know not all the pleasures each one meets, 
 Nor how each rising morn brings Nature's bliss. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 REVERIE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 I SAT beneath 
 
 The whisp'ring boughs of leafy green-woods near, 
 And watch'd the winding waters, bright and clear, 
 Which ever sing sweet love to list'ning ear, 
 
 On hill or heath. 
 
 The noonday beams 
 Were gloriously blazing from on high, 
 Embathing as they came the speckless sky, 
 With a great flood of golden gleaming dye, 
 
 In thousand streams. 
 
 The far-off hills, 
 
 Touch'd by the richness of the amber rays, 
 Dimm'd by the breeze-stirr'd silver-tinted haze, 
 Sent loudly forth, the while, anthems of praise, 
 
 By crystal rills. 
 
 The feather'd race 
 
 O'er mossy banks pour'd out their happy strain ; 
 And busy insects danc'd across the plain, 
 Where the wild flowerets have peep'd again 
 
 On meadow-trace.
 
 20 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 From bud to bud 
 
 The gaily painted butterfly pass'd on, 
 Through bathing insects where the water shone, 
 Until the crimson setting sun was gone 
 
 Below the wood. 
 
 Above the stones, 
 
 Enwreath'd by matted grass and dark-brown moss, 
 Where bending willows o'er the water toss, 
 The fish arose again but to recross 
 
 The river thrones. 
 
 Shy willow-wrens 
 
 Hopp'd 'neath the overhanging edge and wall ; 
 And ouzels left their nests about the fall, 
 Near where the wild ring-dove did gently call 
 
 Within the glens. 
 
 There, life seem'd bliss - 
 Each grateful to sustain its little part, 
 Led not by frail fatuity of heart ; 
 They truly live their lives ere they depart 
 
 To death's abyss. 
 
 Could we, like them, 
 As well, unthinkingly, fill up our stage, 
 Each moment would be one great volume's page, 
 Until the sacred leaves seal'd all our age, 
 
 A priceless gem. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 21 
 
 SONNETS. 
 I. 
 
 the Summer's beauties linger, 
 Yet how soon they all will die ; 
 Brown and golden leaves and grasses, 
 
 Glowing 'neath the Autumn sky. 
 Gentle breezes waft the wood-land ; 
 
 O'er the lake, a silver sheen 
 Flickers on the ruffl'd surface, 
 
 And the leas and pastures green. 
 Life is like this pleasant moment ; 
 
 Often when so fair and bright, 
 Like the glory of the season, 
 
 Quickly fades from earthly sight. 
 As the leaf falls from the tree 
 Drift we to Eternity. 
 1884. 
 
 II. 
 
 7^ HE leaves are strew'd in field and wood, 
 irsSS^ The glorious vestures of the bough. 
 A little while ago I stood, 
 
 And thought of things which are not now, 
 The beauties which could but exist, 
 
 The dying, frail, and feeble too : 
 They could not Autumn sear resist, 
 
 Or they their life to youth renew. 
 The trees, whose lovely colors shone, 
 
 Are stripp'd of all from stem to stem : 
 The aged and the weak are gone, 
 
 The trying fall hath taken them. 
 Seek now another life and birth, 
 Ere comes the Harvest of the earth. 
 1884.
 
 22 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 Duke of Albany, K.G., died March 28th, 1884. 
 
 iO^-r-f 
 
 )ARCE had the silence of the midnight hour pass'd, 
 When one long sigh was breathed through the air; 
 For death, so sweet and calm, had gather'd fast 
 On Albany's young Duke, belov'd and fair. 
 
 The sun had brightly set o'er gentle Cannes' gay scene ; 
 
 Gladness and mirth had reign 'd in every heart ; 
 They were as happy as they e'er had been, 
 
 Nor dream'd that soon their Chief would life depart. 
 
 With sad and silent thoughts, the dreary morning dawn'd ; 
 
 A murmur echo'd gravely round the place ; 
 And they who join'd that yesterday bemoan'd, 
 
 As they beheld the calm and lifeless face. 
 
 And England again doth mourn and mingle tears 
 With Queen and Widow in their sudden grief ; 
 
 For promise of the unborn happy years 
 Is fled with life, an earthly portion brief. 
 
 They paus'd and listen'd to the heavy bell which toll'd, 
 And heard with woe and pain, how death had brought 
 
 The Duke, a victim to an earthy mould 
 
 How one so good and young had soon been sought.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 23 
 
 But nought can harm or taint his pure faith and trust, 
 Nought dim his conscience by a vain remorse ; 
 
 He sleeps in death, his body turns to dust, 
 
 His watchful soul hath reach'd its heavenly source. 
 
 We can indeed but yield to death's cold touch so given, 
 For tears and sorrow cross the path we tread ; 
 
 Yet while we strive, our looks can turn to Heaven, 
 That we may not forget our cherish'd dead. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 1884.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE SPRING. 
 
 jjH ! the woodlands and the mountains, 
 With their silver flashing fountains, 
 
 And the meadows, and the hedgerows, are now drap'd 
 with mantles green ; 
 
 Yea ! the sunny banks and bowers 
 Are reclad with ferns and flowers, 
 
 Where the snowflakes, and the icicles, so latterly hath 
 been. 
 
 See ! the sun his disc is rearing, 
 And the dawn of morn is peering, 
 
 And there comes a universal song from wood and ditch 
 and vale : 
 
 Hear ! the gentle lambs are bleating 
 On the uplands, to the meeting 
 
 Of the clear and peaceful waters, from the greening 
 bank and dale. 
 
 Hark ! the bees are loudly humming, 
 Flitting to and fro in coming, 
 
 From their drear abode of Winter, in their journey to 
 the flow'rs ; 
 
 And the starling and the swallow, 
 In the pasture and the fallow, 
 
 Twitter, in the silver morning, on the old barn's broken 
 tow'rs.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 25 
 
 Sing the blackbirds and the thrushes, 
 In the dew-bespangl'd bushes 
 
 Hanging o'er the wand'ring river, in its hurry to the sea ; 
 And the violets and daisies, 
 Sweetly breathe their modest praises, 
 
 ' Neath the shadow of the hillock, and the leaflet-laden'd 
 tree. 
 
 Now the lark is skyward soaring, 
 And his melody outpouring, 
 
 With a happy swelling bosom, as he leaves the dewy 
 plain ; 
 
 Seeing all the wide world's beauty 
 Singing hope, and joy, and duty 
 
 Joining in the morning chorus, from the forest, field, and 
 lane. 
 
 All the blossoms and the roses, 
 Where the peaceful valley closes, 
 
 Throw a rich and swelling perfume through the silver- 
 tinged sky : 
 
 Through the foliage yet tender 
 
 Come the songs the milkmaids render, 
 
 As they leave the clover pastures where the silent 
 cattle lie. 
 
 Oh ! what hope and love are blending 
 In the strains their lays are sending 
 
 Tripping o'er the pathways cover'd with a garb of 
 velvet green ; 
 
 And how sweetly dies the gladness, 
 From the hearts now free from sadness, 
 
 Filling all the air with sweetness, where their footsteps 
 light have been. 
 
 c
 
 26 
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Then when these delights are spreading, 
 Growing old with Summer's treading 
 
 O'er the year's changing pathway, shall my thoughts be 
 of the hours 
 
 When the sunshine, like a fairy, 
 In the woods and valleys airy, 
 
 Glimmer'd on the lovely landscape of new grasses, 
 leaves, and flow'rs. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 27 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 , H, Maurice ! little golden locks 
 
 Thou lovely winsome sprite 
 How full of life and airy grace 
 Thy infant footsteps light ! 
 
 Expressive eyes of dark grey-blue, 
 
 Thy features wont to smile ; 
 Much love and thought beneath abound, 
 
 Much cunning and much wile. 
 
 Rose-tinted cheeks and teeth of pearl, 
 
 Thy beauty is most rare ! 
 Thy yellow curls are signs of love, 
 
 Oh ! little Sunshine fair. 
 
 A pleasant mouth, a dimpl'd chin, 
 
 And fairy hands and feet : 
 A bonny child a living gem 
 
 A human flow'r most sweet. 
 
 What shall I wish for thee dear child ? 
 
 May all good things be given ; 
 A useful happy life on earth, 
 
 An endless one in Heaven. 
 
 1883.
 
 28 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE MOON AND STARS. 
 
 r i LL bright and lovely in the cloudless sky 
 
 The moon her light spreads o'er the azure vault. 
 In courtly state the beauteous stars shine high 
 So infinitely grand ! without a fault ! 
 
 The night rack and the whistling winds have pass'd ; 
 
 Shines o'er the tranquil lake the placid light, 
 And through the giant pine trees there amass'd, 
 
 Which are reflected in the water bright. 
 
 And o'er the highland, the unclouded rays 
 Waketh the drowsy from repose serene, 
 
 To tread the path of hope in future days, 
 And brightly live the fleeting hours between. 
 
 Across the valley thick with pastures brown, 
 
 Where rear the homes of honest lab'ring swains, 
 
 Effulgence awe-inspiring beameth down ; 
 
 The Queen of night with all her host now reigns. 
 
 The home bound ship upon the pathless sea, 
 Bearing the glad and lonely o'er the deep, 
 
 The light around her glimmers ceaselessly, 
 Limning, as sunbeams limn the flowery steep.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 2Q 
 
 The frozen river like a silver sheet, 
 
 Winding past many a filigreed post, 
 Gleams as the pebbly shore where billows meet, 
 
 When surging tides have left a glistening coast. 
 
 And every sea and clime the spanglets veil, 
 Each shedding brilliancy from its own sphere ; 
 
 A message cometh from each orbit pale, 
 Another radiance that guideth here. 
 
 The orb-lit firmament, a depth for thought, 
 Studded from east to west, bears other light 
 
 Into the awe-struck soul, with wonder fraught, 
 In which is read the great name Infinite. 
 
 1884.
 
 30 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 A MARCH RETROSPECT. 
 ?HE rain fell fast, but softly wet 
 
 V; J 
 
 snowdrop pale, 
 And root of fragrant violet 
 Within the vale. 
 
 The rain fell fast 
 
 The trees among : 
 Of visions past 
 I heard a song. 
 
 Upon the highest barren twig 
 
 The thrush sang loud 
 Where building blackbirds chirp and dig- 
 In light and cloud. 
 Still fell the rain, 
 
 Sang on the bird ; 
 The glad, sweet strain 
 I love I heard. 
 
 Intent upon a song of love, 
 
 It heeded not ; 
 Its music floated far above 
 The hall and cot, 
 
 And warm'd the thoughts 
 
 Of feelings gone 
 
 With cheerful notes, 
 
 Tho' rain fell on. 
 
 The sun was shining clear and fair 
 
 The clouds above ; 
 The sweetness of that spring-tide air 
 
 Was hope and love.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 31 
 
 But fear and care, 
 
 And troubles new, 
 Refill'd the air 
 
 Thro' skies of blue. 
 
 The vistas of the future years 
 
 Were borne away 
 By, what in retrospect appears, 
 A passing play 
 A time of rain 
 
 That worked ill ; 
 A sorrow vain 
 
 That frowns not still. 
 
 The aerial fancies made 
 
 On shifting sand, 
 Lay tempest-riven and decay'd 
 On Life's great strand. 
 Shaken by the rain 
 Do they survive, 
 And sing a strain 
 With hope alive ? 
 
 Ah, no ! when blighted by some deed 
 
 They sing not on ; 
 
 Unlike the thrush, the storm they heed, 
 Tho' soon it's gone. 
 
 What would have been, 
 
 Are ne'er again 
 The happy scene 
 Of song in rain. 
 
 1885.
 
 32 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 ffixJ ~* rjt ^~ 
 
 ||||OME on ! ye Scottish sons, come on ! 
 
 Push to and gain the bridge ; 
 Ahead ! ahead my men ! and none 
 Shall reach the mountain's ridge ! ' 
 
 As on they flew his voice was heard 
 
 Above the battle's din : 
 The foaming steeds, the riders spurr'd, 
 
 Which drew the culverin. 
 
 They could but think of home and all, 
 Who cheer'd and lov'd them most, 
 
 As on they flew. The cannon's ball 
 Broke up the foemen's host. 
 
 The shining squadrons press'd ahead, 
 
 Ten thousand loyal men : 
 A tear was in his eye who led 
 
 Them on through brake and fen. 
 
 Not yet dismay 'd, for fearless they 
 Fought for their freedom's right, 
 
 While gallant comrades pass'd away 
 Beneath the fierce sun's light.
 
 1884. 
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 33 
 
 The clash and dismal shouts of war 
 
 Urg'd on the soldiers brave ; 
 They fought for home, and better far 
 
 Their standard will'd to save. 
 
 And just in time to reach the bridge, 
 
 They gallop'd o'er the heath 
 They stay'd the foes who sought the ridge, 
 
 Each soldier earn'd a wreath.
 
 34 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE MYSTIC THEME. 
 
 |||HE evening breeze was sighing low 
 
 Through bowers from the west ; 
 The fair lands 'neath a golden glow, 
 
 In quiet seem'd to rest. 
 I saunter'd slowly up the way 
 To column'd aisle, as died the day, 
 
 At Love's behest. 
 
 Sweeter than breezes' gentle hymn, 
 
 The organ faintly swelling 
 Now loud and shrill, now soft and dim, 
 
 Its harmonies were telling. 
 To tender depths of list'ning hearts, 
 
 Like prison'd sunbeams quiver free, 
 Like midnight wind at dawn departs 
 
 So fell this heav'nly melody, 
 With dream-like voice of sweetest love, 
 As if appealing from above. 
 
 Away from earth then seem'd to float, 
 With trembling wails of deep regret ; 
 
 And, as wild sea-waves, silence sought, 
 Which, O, I never can forget !
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 35 
 
 My Memory was wand'ring fast, 
 But with these changing chords it sped ; 
 
 The ling'ring sounds and feelings past, 
 Soon in triumphant peace were fled. 
 
 The last strain, like an Angel's song 
 
 Accompanied by unseen hand 
 Rose softly to the sky of Hope, 
 
 And pictur'd all the promis'd land. 
 So beautiful and rich and free, 
 
 It wafted to the realms of peace : 
 It left my weak, enraptur'd thoughts 
 
 On high, where themes of love ne'er cease. 
 
 1885.
 
 36 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 OUR CHRISTMAS ROSE. 
 
 lassie ! golden light 
 Sparkles in her eye ; 
 Falling tresses, tinged bright, 
 On her shoulders lie. 
 
 Hidden in a quiet nook 
 
 Of the leafy shades, 
 Lissom form and rosy look 
 
 Fit for Fairy glades ! 
 
 Skipping round in mirthful play 
 
 Dancing on she goes ; 
 Like a sunny Summer day 
 
 Shines our Christmas Rose. 
 
 Comes the season of goodwill. 
 
 May a brighter ray 
 Christmas Eve's sweet moments fill- 
 
 'Tis her natal day ! 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 37 
 
 THE LEGEND OF SEMERWATER. 
 
 Raydale, after Romans sought 
 A hearth and home in Britain bright, 
 A thriving town of wealth and note 
 
 Stood on Lake Semerwater's site. 
 Its people, rich with many lands, 
 
 Gave not a mite of alms away ; 
 They grasp'd their overflowing hands, 
 
 And kept their gold from day to day. 
 Food gave they not to beggars blind, 
 
 Or money to the poor in need : 
 Proud were their looks, their hearts unkind- 
 
 Their greatest traits were hate and greed. 
 One hoary-headed beggar worn 
 
 With tramping hills and valleys o'er 
 In dusty garments ragg'd and torn, 
 
 Begg'd on for help from door to door. 
 These gave him nought, but harshly bade 
 
 Him quickly leave their thresholds great ; 
 And cried, ' Why should our glory fade 
 
 By giving alms, without the gate ! ' 
 On silently the old man pac'd, 
 
 Beyond this city's halls so fair ; 
 And to a cot a pathway trac'd, 
 
 And ask'd again for something there. 
 They brought him food, and gave him rest, 
 
 And pitied all his cares and woes ;
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 He was to them a welcome guest, 
 
 Though wealthy people were his foes. 
 He rose and thank'd his host next morn, 
 
 And left to climb the hill ahead ; 
 He look'd less wearied and less worn, 
 
 And near'd the top with measur'd tread, 
 Then cried, as he stood pointing down, 
 
 " O, Semerwater, rise and sink, 
 Save yon li'le house, flood all the town, 
 
 For they but gave me meat and drink ! " 
 The water higher rose and spread, 
 
 The open earth receiv'd the proud, 
 And number'd them among the dead, 
 
 Without a sculptur'd tomb or shroud. 
 But on the wayside, near the flood 
 
 That hid the city's spires and domes, 
 The little cottage after stood 
 
 The last of Semerwater's homes. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 39 
 
 WILD CHERRY-BLOSSOM. 
 
 H|HEN warbling songsters caroll'd in the dell, 
 
 And thwart the gleaming water showers fell 
 Lying between two pathways soft and green 
 A haunt where oft the nightingale hath been 
 They pass'd, to gather cherry blossoms wild, 
 The matron, and the maiden, and the child. 
 
 As in their bliss they blithely mov'd along, 
 
 The welkin trembl'd with a ceaseless song ; 
 
 The golden west was deep'ning, and the light 
 
 Was mirror'd in the water, golden-bright. 
 
 With outstretch'd arms they clamber'd up the side, 
 
 To break the blossoms for the April bride. 
 
 Each with a bunch so fair, so comely white, 
 Returned to the hall in full delight ; 
 Unfetter'd youth and wrinkl'd age between 
 The stage of womanhood, in modest mien 
 Rac'd on alike with eagerness to meet 
 The patter of the others' restless feet. 
 
 The nuptial morning saw the bride array 'd 
 
 And deck'd with wreaths of cherry blossom made, 
 
 Upon a flowing robe of primrose pale, 
 
 Beneath a lovely, emblematic veil ; 
 
 And in her hand she held a snowy spray, 
 
 A branch of blossoms from the hedgerow way.
 
 40 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 The chosen wayside flowers, the bridal crest, 
 Borne to the altar on a stainless breast, 
 Kiss'd by an unseen tear, as there she stood, 
 Crown'd by the first fair offering of the wood- 
 Are pure as snow which falleth from above, 
 And bud and die in spotlessness and love. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 41 
 
 TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. 
 
 HERE now hast thou to hide thy yellow cheek, 
 
 Thy tiny stem, and leaves of beauteous green ? 
 The bitter wind, which pities not the flowers, 
 
 Comes whirling from the East with tooth most keen ! 
 
 There might have been, 'neath shade of some grey ash, 
 A warmer nook for thee than by that rock ; 
 
 But thou lifts up thy bright and smiling face, 
 
 Nor fears the frost and snow's cold wint'ry shock. 
 
 Although the sunny beams shine not on thee, 
 And lags upon the way the wizard white, 
 
 Thy head is rear'd towards the far-off sky, 
 
 Heedless of tempest frown or dark'ning night. 
 
 Oh, may we learn a lesson from thy life, 
 
 To bear with patience adverse times and blasts, 
 
 And look up cheerful when the storm is gone, 
 Nor heed the clouds misfortune round us casts. 
 
 1885.
 
 42 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 KING JOHN AND THE BARONS. 
 
 <pli||HE Barons, clad with mail and plume, 
 <.ss3 i n f a i r array stood round 
 The crowned King and Courtiers, 
 With glitt'ring corselets bound. 
 The stately ring of Nobles met 
 
 To firmly keep their cause ; 
 And vow'd, that neither King nor Men 
 Should change their ancient laws. 
 
 What-e'er their great resolve might. bring, 
 
 They made its purpose high : 
 Their rights, they swore before the King, 
 
 By greater age should die. 
 Their liberties should not be cast 
 
 As arrows from the bow ; 
 But long should grace the flag and mast, 
 
 And brave the guilty foe. 
 
 Their just defence will evermore 
 
 Claim praises from mankind ; 
 Likeunto wave upon the shore 
 
 It leaves a print behind. 
 A tower is rais'd which battles storm, 
 
 In the great sea of Time, 
 And skyward rears its hoary form, 
 
 With majesty sublime.
 
 1885. 
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Six hundred years have pass'd away, 
 
 But, still there shines the light 
 That kindl'd at the Charter-Day, 
 
 Illum'd the Barons' Right. 
 Dust are the Knights, but never fade 
 
 Their deeds on olden page ; 
 A tower stand they undecay'd, 
 
 Unchang'd by spoil or age. 
 
 43
 
 44 H - HARRISON s POEMS. 
 
 MIRAGE ON THE SANDS. 
 
 towards evening when a traveller reach'd 
 Cartmel a village on the western coast. 
 He gave his horses drink and set ahead, 
 Bidding ' good-night ' to servant and to host. 
 
 Inquir'd he not about the high tide's state, 
 But drove at once along the shining sands ; 
 
 A journey common to the people there 
 
 Who oft, at periods, cross'd in numerous bands : 
 
 And sav'd quite fifty miles by going thus, 
 Yet, always had a charter'd guide to lead ; 
 
 But he, without, had gallop'd full half way 
 Ere he had check'd, at all, his horses' speed. 
 
 Now here midway he saw the tide return 
 
 And roll behind him. Then he saw the land, 
 
 And drove his chargers faster than before 
 
 O'er unknown tracks, and beds of shifting sand. 
 
 But, ah ! what had deceiv'd him ? for he near'd 
 The open sea, whose billows hurried on : 
 
 Sea ! sea ! on ev'ry side instead of land, 
 
 Around him, with high swellings, brightly shone,
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Destruction seem'd to stand each way he turn'd, 
 Till through the rising haze a mounted guide 
 
 Came with uplifted hands, and fearful voice, 
 To save him from the cold, life-seeking tide. 
 
 Wave after wave roll'd on him as he fled, 
 And hid the sunken hoof-marks on the sand ; 
 
 But from the wild sea's grasp he struggl'd free, 
 And thank'd the timely guide upon the land. 
 
 1884. 
 
 45 
 
 [The incident of the above Piece was taken from Dr. Smiles' " Life 
 of George Moore," Merchant and Philanthropist.]
 
 46 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS: 
 THE OLD ORGANIST'S RETURN. 
 
 PPJ STOLE in the dusk through the bow'rs near the 
 $& church, 
 
 And I heard the organ, sweet and low ; 
 And soft were the chords of the choristers' hymn 
 
 They struck my heart with a loving awe. 
 The beeches were still as I pass'd in their shade, 
 
 The wind of the night stirr'd not the trees ; 
 Thus the glorious tones of soft music burst, 
 
 And swell'd on the gently blowing breeze. 
 No footstep was near, save mine own silent tread 
 
 O'er the gravestones, and worn belfry floor ; 
 The arches re-echo'd the anthem, the hymn, 
 
 Which pierc'd my soul as I clos'd the door. 
 I remain 'd in the aisle, and fear'd to approach, 
 
 Entranc'd with sounds of a bygone strain : 
 I sought for a seat in the first gloomy pew, 
 
 And remember'd the bright days again 
 When Summer was loveliest, so fair and sweet, 
 
 And when Autumn adorn'd Nature's scene, 
 When early Spring's sunbeams were pleasant to meet, 
 
 And the Winter was cheerful I ween. 
 Their morns usher'd in by the sweet Sabbath bells, 
 
 Had a genuine charm for my heart ;
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 47 
 
 Their varying moments were precious and free, 
 
 And pass'd quietly by to depart. 
 How glad yet I felt, in my thoughts of the past, 
 
 Playing symphonies over again, 
 And hearing the voices which once charm'd mine ear, 
 
 And thrill me now o'er memory's plain. 
 The seedtime, and Summer, and harvest have gone, 
 
 Succeeding years have long roll'd away ; 
 And withal the blest Christmas-tide coming on 
 
 Brings reminiscences back of the day. 
 The dear friends of the times of vanished years, 
 
 Separated on Life's rugged way, 
 May blessings attend them, that each know not fears, 
 
 But a happy and bright Christmas-Day ! ' 
 
 1883.
 
 4.8 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 "The wind bloweth where it listeth." St. John's Gospel, Hi, 8. 
 
 PPJT cometh from the rosy East, 
 t 1 ^ Over the sleeping wave ; 
 And heaps the foaming billows high, 
 In ragged forms across the sky, 
 And fills with fear the brave. 
 
 It cometh from the glowing West, 
 
 O'er paths of unknown land ; 
 While fathoms off, but yet in view, 
 Is welcom'd by the craft's small crew, 
 
 Who wish to reach the strand. 
 
 It travels from the dreary North, 
 
 Over the Maelstrom pool ; 
 And with its strong, and eerie feel, 
 Nips the woodman, ear and heel, 
 
 And children at the school. 
 
 It wanders from the sunny South, 
 
 Murmuring o'er the seas ; 
 And gently stirs the cornfields bright 
 Rich and fair in the morning light 
 
 And blossom-laden'd trees. 
 
 Most mightily it roars around 
 
 The ruins bleak and brown ; 
 And whistles through the turrets high, 
 Standing against the dusky sky, 
 
 Across the open down.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 49 
 
 It meets the shepherd, tired and faint, 
 
 Plodding the ling-drest hills, 
 And wrestles with him all the way, 
 Mocking the brightness of the day 
 
 Upon the mountain-rills. 
 
 Aloud it moans through wood and grove, 
 
 And lays the fir-trees low ; 
 It makes the strong bows bend and creak, 
 Just as the branches young and weak, 
 
 Are torn from where they grow. 
 
 It whizzes o'er the quiet lake, 
 
 And curls the winding brook ; 
 It spins the rotting leaves which lay 
 So thickly carpeting the way, 
 
 And wails in ditch and nook. 
 
 It whirls the feathery snowflakes 
 
 From the jessamine bloom ; 
 It pinches all the garden flow'rs, 
 And drives away the drizzling show'rs 
 
 Which cloud the sky with gloom. 
 
 Where hath it not been in its flight 
 
 Of gentleness or strength ? 
 From pole to pole o'er land and sea, 
 The spirit of the wind is free, 
 
 Throughout earth's breadth and length. 
 
 A type of Him who holds its might 
 
 Within His holy hand ; 
 Where loss is wrought, it worketh gain, 
 Its mighty pow'r is good and plain, 
 
 On ocean, and on land. 
 1885.
 
 50 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE ALBATROSS. 
 
 away on the rolling waves, at night, 
 He gently sails on the crest of the sea, 
 Dipping his wings and his breast in the foam, 
 Travelling as winds of a boundless degree. 
 
 Anon, when the kingly billows uprise 
 
 With avidity's grasp he mounts on high ; 
 
 But his harsh scream falls on the sailors' ears, 
 To the yawning depths through the darksome sky. 
 
 And when the air calms, with a greedy swoop 
 Making his large hollow wings seem a cloud 
 
 He sails in a trice on the restless deep, 
 With another scream thrilling and loud. 
 
 The hapless creatures that gracefully spin 
 On the quivering ocean's silver'd breast, 
 
 Are hook'd in his bill, ere they move below, 
 And he is flying away to the West. 
 
 The weather-beat men in boats toss'd about 
 Find a pure friend in this bird of the main, 
 
 That hovers around, with a patient watch, 
 
 In silence which whispers their home's sweet strain. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 IMPROVISATORE. 
 
 ARK the bubbles on the stream, 
 
 In the pool below the weir ; 
 Bright they for a moment seem, 
 In the brooklet clear. 
 
 Sailing flimsily along 
 
 Where the brook runs calm and still- 
 In the color'd stones among 
 
 Near the crumbling mill. 
 
 Half scarce round the narrow pool 
 Beauteous balls one moment old, 
 
 Born upon the waters cool, 
 And the surface bold. 
 
 As they eddy round the hole 
 In an earnest chase they whirl ; 
 
 Half are carried down the fall 
 By the water's curl. 
 
 Water-ousels dip their wings 
 Resting, flying quickly by 
 
 In the pretty water rings 
 With a thrilling cry.
 
 52 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Shine the little globules fair, 
 In the mid-day hot and bright, 
 
 Sparkling, bursting ev'rywhere 
 In the glimm'ring light. 
 
 Born and nourish'd in the sky, 
 
 Fram'd within the leaf and flower, 
 
 Their pureness reflect the High 
 Almighty Power. 
 
 1884. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 G-REAT Christian Chief of heathen thousands ten^- 
 O-n duty's watch slain in the wide Soudan 
 R-ipe faith, that worlds' vain pomp can never ken, 
 D-ied in him battle monarch noble man. 
 O-blivion his life will never pen 
 N-ay, for he rests in God now mourn'd by men. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS, 53 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE TROOPS. 
 
 Summer, 1885. 
 
 fUSTER ! muster, Britons true ! 
 
 See ! the men of war advance ! 
 Thunder welcomes o'er the blue, 
 To the leaders of the lance ! 
 
 Welcome back the soldiers brave 
 
 From the red and burning sand, 
 From a dark and unknown grave, 
 
 Far away from Motherland ! 
 
 Gather on the southern coast, 
 Pour your gladness on the main, 
 
 They will feel your welcomes most 
 Now on furlough once again ! 
 
 Leave the city's rampant din, 
 
 Leave the fields of labour too : 
 Rouse and cheer the squadrons in 
 
 Cheer the whole land through and through ! 
 
 Princes, peers, and peasants cheer 
 They who come with features worn ; 
 
 They who fell not by the spear 
 Who their yokes have nobly borne ;
 
 54 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 They who far from Freedom's Isle 
 Bravely held the flashing steel, 
 
 Treading o'er a dying pile, 
 
 And whose hearts still see and feel ! 
 
 Rouse! attest your love and joy 
 To the men who now return ! 
 
 Time indeed will not destroy 
 
 Beacons in the land which burn. 
 
 Heroes, they have left behind, 
 On the war plain sleep their last ; 
 
 Treasure then in heart and mind 
 All the annals of the past. 
 
 While, upon the heights of fame, 
 You may read each noble life, 
 
 Sing a song to ev'ry name 
 Resting from the battle-strife. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 55 
 
 WITH ROD AND LINE. 
 
 the waving meadows' pathways wet 
 The fisher strolls, with rod, and line, and net ; 
 And in a moment nears the flashing brook, 
 Then gazes up and down with earnest look. 
 The flood rolls on, and bends the willows low ; 
 The swallows twitter as they come and go ; 
 And plovers sweep upon him with a cry, 
 While stock-doves from the marshes quickly fly. 
 He feels quite merry as he looks around 
 To note gay life and hear each varied sound. 
 Around, far-off, and overhead, the song 
 Of birds is full : close by, up, from among 
 The yellow reeds, the magpie flies and screams, 
 Where waterhens splash in the meeting streams 
 To hide beneath the roots : the shy snipes haste 
 By fence and ditch, and settle on the waste 
 In quietness ; the herons slowly go 
 Across the neighb'ring woodland lying low, 
 Shrieking, as passing over from his sight, 
 The branches flapping in their clumsy flight. 
 With these on all sides, hours unnotic'd pass 
 In wading knee-deep through the meadow grass. 
 
 Soon afterward the floods run swiftly down,
 
 56 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 Revealing moss-grown stones and sand-banks brown 
 
 The bright sky is reflected in the pool 
 
 Outside the landmark of the shadows cool, 
 
 Where lazy cattle stretch on clover mass, 
 
 And startl'd hares in quick succession pass. 
 
 Skylarks are up and sweetly sing aloud, 
 
 But specks against the great white rolls of cloud ; 
 
 From the near copse the cuckoo cries his name, 
 
 The blithe thrush seeks to keep his well-won fame ; 
 
 And finches warble on the distant hill, 
 
 Also, in concert, there the blackbirds trill. 
 
 Great dragon-flies, with golden wings, flit by ; 
 
 And humming bees are culling honey nigh 
 
 From flower slopes and richly scented meads, 
 
 And where the hidden corncrake slyly leads. 
 
 The beams which flash upon the water clear 
 
 Become less bright as hours of evening near. 
 
 The silver-spotted trout are hook'd and caught, 
 
 And with long hours of patience duly bought. 
 
 His many-color'd flies have all been tried 
 
 Until success hath met his dearest pride. 
 
 The hamper has been fill'd with well-fed fish, 
 
 Thus realising now his morning wish. 
 
 A pleasant load he bears as dies the day, 
 
 And pleasant memories of field and way. 
 
 Exultant ! he returns through fields of kine, 
 
 Fill'd with the pleasures of the 'rod and line.' 
 
 1885. 
 
 4*<
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 57 
 
 AN AUTUMN EVENING. 
 
 HE musky evening calls the flowers to rest, 
 And droops their petals in the dewy reeds : 
 (The day declining in the golden west ) 
 
 The kine come bellowing o'er the distant meads. 
 
 The twilight faintly creeps along the hill ; 
 
 The shepherd crosses o'er the brook below ; 
 The curlew's scream re-echoes from the ghyll, 
 
 Where moss-cups* in their beauty spring and grow. 
 
 The rill in endless song flows by the wood ; 
 
 The modest daisies close their eyes in sleep ; 
 The insects, all, have hush'd their merry mood 
 
 Until the sun shines o'er the mountain steep. 
 
 The turtles gently murmur in the west ; 
 
 The deep'ning twilight lends a soften'd lull ; 
 The twittering thrush has left the fields to rest ; 
 
 The bee has ceas'd the honey sweet to cull. 
 
 The lofty steeple tops the thick dark firs, 
 
 And there behind the peaceful graveyards lay ; 
 
 The unshorn cornfield mellow beauty wears ; 
 And sleepy odourous flowers adorn the way. 
 
 I saunter home, and leave the shades of night 
 To close across the dying sunset sky ; 
 
 And full of earnest thoughts, wish that I might 
 
 Find like repose, nor breathe one murmuring sigh. 
 1883. 
 
 * The local name for the " Scarlet Pezizas," which, in wood and 
 dell, strike out of decayed pieces of sticks before the dawn of Spring.
 
 58 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 1883. 
 
 SONNET. 
 TO "ENGLAND." 
 
 ^NGLAND, fairest is thy fame, 
 
 And sweetest to the free ! 
 A thousand songs to hail thy name 
 Thou Sister of the sea ! 
 
 Live Queen of isles, deck'd with the Rose, 
 Long bear thy flag above thy foes 
 
 Of strength and unity ! 
 Thy mountains, clad in purple sheen, 
 And lovely vales, with gentle mien 
 
 Shall e'er belong to thee. 
 
 Ye English sons, your standard wave 
 O'er seas and mountains grand ; 
 
 And long may freedom, faith, and love, 
 Entwine your rock-bound land. 
 
 "V*
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 59 
 
 TWO LITTLE MAIDENS. 
 
 if||pWO little maidens, bright and fair, play'd round 
 s-A^a their moor-land home ; 
 
 Their golden hair in tresses wav'd, as o'er the hill they'd 
 roam ; 
 
 Their cheeks were tinted as the rose, the blushing rose 
 of June ; 
 
 I walked along the river-side and heard their sweet low 
 tune. 
 
 I felt that glorious touch Divine which beats within the 
 mind, 
 
 To see live in humility the fairest of their kind ; 
 
 To see them blossom on that wild, in happiness and love, 
 
 I inly thought their fairy forms were fresh from Him 
 above. 
 
 Their voices ever haunted me, singing in sweet content, 
 Who alway there in solitude a blissful life had spent. 
 
 And day by day has come and gone ; I cross the heath- 
 clad hill ; 
 
 The little sisters come not, now, along the mountain rill. 
 
 Lovelier than the flowers they lov'd, they dwell among 
 the blest, 
 
 And bloom and join the Saints who sing in Paradise 
 at rest. 
 
 1884.
 
 60 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 MONASTIC RUINS. 
 
 jr'SL?TAND lonesome, yet pompous, the hoary remains 
 
 $111$ of the temple's lofty walls ; 
 
 The mouldering fragments, one desolate pile, the musing 
 
 artist appals. 
 Sunk fabric ! while the sacred aisles rang with the 
 
 saintly midnight song, 
 The vocal choirs, and the organ's sound, the monks 
 
 would list and their stay prolong. 
 Beneath the weight of revolving years, and a region of 
 
 shadows and storm, 
 The rueful memorials, dismantl'd of all, to this state of 
 
 solemnity form. 
 E'en now, the crumbling stones and gates teach a 
 
 strong and more dignified grace 
 Than the venerable hall, with its sculpture first rob'd as 
 
 a residentiary's place. 
 No marble swell of projecting steps, no carv'd majestic 
 
 doors ; 
 Yet honour abides in the prostrate towers, through which 
 
 the wild wind roars. 
 And the alarming tempests, of seasons, of years, play 
 
 through its cells in a gale, 
 Where once the saints their vigils kept by the midnight's 
 
 taper pale, 
 Where once the virtues lent their grace, and religion 
 
 adorn'd the abode, 
 When the sanctified halls, in beauteous heights, some 
 
 wondrous trophies show'd. 
 Before its columns and turrets were broken, by Nature's 
 
 invisible hand of decay, 
 Its arches were tun'd by the lute's silver sound, while 
 
 the choristers pour'd forth their lay.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 61 
 
 Now ! levell'd with dust ; and over the ruins creep the 
 
 rude ignoble weeds ; 
 A vesture they form for the fallen roofs by long years' 
 
 wind-toss'd seeds. 
 Its remaining domes are ivy-bound where sainted statues 
 
 rose so fair ; 
 Its batter'd walls are clasp'd with thorns, that in our 
 
 Fathers' time were bare. 
 Where now the lark in the morn awakes o'er the 
 
 residue, shrouded in gloom, 
 The chaunters' voices echo'd long around the spacious 
 
 room. 
 The owl in some solitary cleft of the wall utters her 
 
 hissing cry ; 
 Through moon-lit glade or alley dark her screams now 
 
 pierce the sky. 
 Where once its rising towers were seen and pinnacles 
 
 nearing the clouds, 
 The swallows now twitter their loving adieu, on the 
 
 ruins perch'd in crowds. 
 Fair abbey ! where now are the forms of those, once hid 
 
 in thy cloisters from the earth ? 
 To dust return'd ? death's valley pass'd ? their gain a 
 
 heavenly birth ? 
 " Who build beneath the skies build low." Is vain the 
 
 life of man, 
 When lives and dies, with part unplay'd, his time's 
 
 transitory span ? 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Our grandeurs we possess not long ; we lose whate'er 
 
 we learn ; 
 
 We leave behind what we amass behind the grave- 
 yard's urn : 
 
 Our habitations fall awaste and crumbling fall around, 
 And, as the blossom from the rose, must wither on 
 the ground. 
 
 1883.
 
 62 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 .=_, -3>-~V~a 
 
 jjjg TRAVELLER wander'd through the wood 
 
 Where shadows thickly lie, 
 And sat upon a fern-clad stone, 
 And gazed at the sky. 
 
 ' Alone within a forest strange 
 
 As one without a friend ; 
 Will nothing good,' the tired man said, 
 
 ' My wand'ring life attend ? ' 
 
 A bitter smile pass'd o'er his face, 
 
 As if a thought beguil'd 
 Some new intent. He look'd again, 
 
 And still in anguish smil'd. 
 
 An avenue of princely oaks 
 
 Was brown'd by noon-tide hours ; 
 
 And withering lay along the slope 
 A plat of wayside flow'rs. 
 
 ' They lose their loveliness and life,' 
 
 The traveller slowly said ; 
 ' And yet again they'll freshly bloom 
 
 And live in beauty's shade.
 
 1884. 
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 63 
 
 ' Why should I not so share my fate, 
 
 And look up high in hope ? 
 I may again forget my lot, 
 
 And with all trials cope.' 
 
 And up he rose and left the glade, 
 
 With noble pride renew'd, 
 By promise speaking in his mind, 
 
 By something new he view'd. 
 
 A land with milk and honey blest 
 
 Had cited heart and mind : 
 With firmer step he strode away, 
 
 With heart subdu'd and kind. 
 
 His plan was good, his mind was true ; 
 
 He bore his banner long ; 
 And laurels deck'd his hoary head, 
 
 Above a striving throng. 
 
 "Strive for yourself!" the precept says, 
 
 And like the traveller bear 
 Earth's trials sore. For such as he 
 
 A honour'd crown shall wear.
 
 64 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 CATTERICK FORCE. 
 
 MONO the dark rocks and entwining a vale, 
 Past the heather-grown hillocks around, 
 The silvery stream, 
 With a frown and a gleam, 
 Wanders on by the hollow and mound. 
 
 And it rolls along with a glittering speed, 
 
 And bespirts the arch'd bridge with its spray, 
 And bears in its might, 
 All the wreck of the night, 
 As it rests on the banks by the way. 
 
 Redoubling its power now nearer the edge, 
 O'er the rocks of Catterick it bounds, 
 And leaves to us nought, 
 But an awe-stricken thought, 
 Of its hollow and murmuring sounds. 
 
 Over a second and third fall it rushes, 
 With a thundering crash and a roar ; 
 Then peacefully flows, 
 Through the valleys' respose, 
 Till it reaches the lowland and shore.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 65 
 
 The flower-deck'd banks e'er inhaling the spray, 
 And the loveliest scenes in the glen, 
 The water's rude song, 
 In the air borne along, 
 Whisper many rare themes for the pen. 
 
 When sunset hath cover'd the fall's angry sides, 
 Or dews at the dawn are departing, 
 
 Where the ousels cry 
 
 As they haste quickly by 
 When the lark the sky is athwarting, 
 
 The poet, inspir'd, might sing in their praise, 
 As its charms are an unfading star 
 
 Which mem'ry shall store, 
 
 With its own evermore, 
 When wander'd from Craven afar. 
 
 1883.
 
 66 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE NEST. 
 
 3 
 
 |N leafy bough within the greenwood shade 
 
 Where zephyrs, undisturb'd by sounds of mirth, 
 Blow sweetly soft the pretty nest is made 
 
 Of mossy stalks, and feathers white, and earth, 
 Woven together deftly as the bee 
 
 Fashions, within the honeycomb, the cell. 
 As spider's web, which swings from tree to tree, 
 
 It is a much unnotic'd work done well. 
 Next it is fill'd with eggs, so snowy white, 
 
 Or blue and brown, or yellow ton'd and grey ; 
 A harmony most perfect to the sight ! 
 
 Lit by the brightness of a sunny day, 
 Sought by some little hands that cannot reach 
 
 Some mind whose thoughts are hopeful for a time 
 The lofty branches of the bending beech ; 
 
 Though near the nest no further can he climb. 
 Then are the broken shells thrown on the ground ; 
 
 The young birds have appear'd and fill the nest, 
 And flap their wings, and make a chirping sound 
 
 With outstretch'd gaping throat, and shaking breast. 
 Cometh the time the fledgelings leave their home 
 
 No more protection need it make or lend 
 And, in their train of flight, the woodlands roam, 
 
 Till seasons of another year attend. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 67 
 
 MAY. 
 
 [E trees put forth the gentle buds 
 Which Nature bids and needs ; 
 New tipp'd with green appear the woods, 
 The pastures, and the meads. 
 
 The flowers burst and throw around 
 Their odours rich and sweet : 
 
 We hear the bee, whose humming sound 
 The child has learn'd to greet. 
 
 The songsters of the air join in 
 The gladsome tune of Spring ; 
 
 The song of life they now begin 
 In thrilling notes to sing. 
 
 The cuckoo with his mellow voice 
 
 Gladdens the bursting dale ; 
 His lovely lay makes hearts rejoice 
 
 Which echoes through the vale. 
 
 The finches and the linnets sing 
 
 Their ballads all-day long : 
 We see the skylark on the wing, 
 
 And hear his warbling song.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 The thrush pours forth his lively strains, 
 
 Far past the close of day ; 
 The hills, and woods, and lonely lanes, 
 
 Resound a song of May. 
 
 Flowers of the field and dusty way 
 Now stud the grass-clad ground ; 
 
 The daisy and the orchis gay 
 In beauteous groups are found. 
 
 The anemones and bluebells 
 Bloom in the oak-tree's shade ; 
 
 And 'mong the dingle in the dells, 
 They grow, and bloom, and fade. 
 
 The cowslip and the marigold 
 
 A lustre bright disclose 
 Along the groves, where they unfold 
 
 Their petals in repose. 
 
 The gentle breeze wafts ev'rywhere 
 
 The perfume of the flow'rs ; 
 And May's sweet music fills the air 
 
 From morn to sunset hours. 
 
 1884.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 69 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF CHARLES I." 
 
 This is my second marriage day," said the King ; " I would be as 
 trim to-day as may be. Before night I hope to be espoused 
 to my Redeemer." 
 
 gHEY wait without the multitude to see the 
 Sovereign pace 
 
 Through Whitehall's stateliest chambers, the head of 
 Stuart's race. 
 
 The serried phalanx on each side he calmly passes by ; 
 He leaves his kingly portion here without an utter'd sigh. 
 
 The halberdiers march to and fro, their colors too they 
 bear; 
 
 Along the line he hears the drums resounding in the air. 
 
 Unmov'd and calm he now appears upon the scaffold 
 high; 
 
 And silent are those gazing men ; a sound ne'er stirs the 
 sky 
 
 Save when a few hearts, loyal yet, aloud are heard to 
 pray 
 
 For doomed king, that he may rise to an immortal day. 
 A troop of cavalry dash on, to guard on either hand 
 
 The black-trimm'd stage and dismal block, and where 
 the headsmen stand. 
 
 The drums' heart-rending beat is heard, and colors fly 
 o'erhead ; 
 
 The infantry, with glittering pomp, along the front is led.
 
 7O H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Outspeaks the undaunted monarch, with all a soldier's 
 pride 
 
 " I have a cause, and gracious God, by which I will 
 abide." 
 
 He doffs his George and doublet, and in one moment 
 more, 
 
 The Royal head is held aloft bespattered with gore. 
 
 Those who had fought with hand and heart for ever for 
 the Crown, 
 
 Now deeply wail to see the state of monarchy cast down. 
 Forbidden, yet they cry aloud, defying Roundhead law, 
 
 But cannot save the Gartered Knight from his avenging 
 foe. 
 
 And Rupert's men where are they now ? Where are 
 the Cavaliers ? 
 
 They come not hither to allay the Royalists' sad tears. 
 
 Time passes on, and all is still : a king hath left his 
 throne, 
 
 Nor hail'd with triumph as they wish, but with a direful 
 groan. 
 
 No vain approval shew they now but true and loyal 
 love, 
 
 To " Charles the Martyr" now who wears a living crown 
 above. 
 
 1884.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 j LOVE to see the sunny flowers 
 *^* Wave in the summer breeze, 
 Along the blossom-decked grass, 
 
 Beneath the spreading trees ; 
 
 The pretty fern with bending grace, 
 The foxglove tall and proud, 
 
 The simple daisy's sweetest face, 
 The blushing wild rose bow'd. 
 
 I love the queen of flowers the rose, 
 
 The fuchsia meekly bent, 
 The aster, and the daffodil, 
 
 The pink exhaling scent, 
 
 The sweet retiring violet, 
 
 The lily-of-the-vale, 
 The bright and cheerful primrose, 
 
 The snowdrop pure and pale. 
 
 Praise be to the All-Father 
 
 Who sends these precious things, 
 
 And cares and watches over all 
 Peasants and peers and kings. 
 
 1883.
 
 72 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE KING'S GARDEN. 
 
 the gates of brightest pearl, 
 Under one King and Fold, 
 A garden blooms with many a flow'r, 
 
 Whose paths are shining gold. 
 However frail and wayward they 
 That in dark pathways spring, 
 Each are replanted in the Light, 
 And tended by the King. 
 
 Others drooping and declining, 
 
 Withering o'er the land, 
 Ever watch'd, are gently lifted 
 
 By the Gardener's Hand. 
 Within His Palace borne and plac'd 
 
 Immortal fruit to bear ; 
 Uprooted from a tearful way, 
 
 To feel His loving care. 
 
 Flowers, there, far lovelier grow 
 
 Than those we ever see 
 Which bud and blossom, here below, 
 
 And wither constantly. 
 Even the weakest, set in ill, 
 
 Pass through His open gates : 
 For those, without, ungather'd still, 
 
 A place prepar'd now waits. 
 
 1885. 
 
 U*
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 73 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 What is true happiness 
 So pure that in the bosom of the heart 
 Alone can find its throne, and place of rest ? 
 Go ! ask the gleesome boy, whose sunny curls 
 Are fleeing in the air and making love 
 With the soft breeze, that fanning meets 
 His noble form, as on he laughing speeds 
 O'er the green turf, to catch a matron's hand, 
 And win her smile. Ask of the youth, to-day, 
 Launching his vessel on the boundless sea, 
 And dreaming of its golden, heavy freight, 
 With which she will be burden'd to the brim, 
 When on her last great voyage she'll return 
 To peaceful waters, in the harbour home. 
 The maiden ask, who singing fills the dell, 
 Whither she roams as freely as the dove, 
 In raptures with the beauty all around, 
 W 7 hile musing on some epoch in her life, 
 Which dazzles in the landscape fair she views. 
 Or ask the soldier, scarr'd with many a wound, 
 Escap'd from battle-strife, where comrades fell, 
 And from a grave upon the warfield thick 
 With dead and dying men, who by his side 
 Had bravely fought and bled returning home 
 To greet a welcome from a voice, to him, 
 The sweetest upon earth. Entreat the man 
 With silvern locks and deeply furrow'd brow, 
 
 F
 
 74 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 For he must know the best in his great age 
 
 Reviewing all its stages and events, 
 
 With a keen eye that measures grief and bliss 
 
 As each have had a place within his heart. 
 
 Who can pretend to paint with idle breath 
 
 The heart's best gift, amid this vale of tears 
 
 Unstable as the Summer's floating clouds? 
 
 For, when possess'd once, who can calmly say 
 
 It is within his keeping evermore ? 
 
 To gather fruit from earthly trees costs much, 
 
 And soon its fragrance in the breeze is lost ; 
 
 What can it then be worth to those who thirst 
 
 For higher things ? Bright as the beams of noon, 
 
 Or shining stars in Heaven's mighty dome, 
 
 Is bliss, which is born oft' of worldliness. 
 
 But like the fruit that brightens, so it fades, 
 
 And throws a shadow, greater than before, 
 
 Upon the path of life. How much unlike 
 
 The Rose of Sharon and the Tree of Life 
 
 That yield the fruit of everlasting joy, 
 
 Of which we little know but feel to be 
 
 The Amaranth of Heaven ! Memories, 
 
 Which trembling rise and in the mind yet play, 
 
 Reflect the meaning of past happiness, 
 
 Revealing all the fibres of the cord 
 
 That bound the great word with fallacious strength. 
 
 Its morrow of existence shews its worth, 
 
 And proves it evanescent as a dream. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 75 
 
 THE SONG OF THE STREAM. 
 
 born in a cave, in the mountain pass, 
 
 And fed by falling clouds of rain ; 
 I'm heap'd in the dark, in a depthless mass, 
 And wait my journey to the main. 
 
 I whirl about in my cavernous nook, 
 And music make on crystal rock ; 
 
 Where the quivering sunbeams never look 
 I sing, and toil, and rage, and mock. 
 
 I eddy out with a laugh and a groan, 
 And on me smiles the broad daylight ; 
 
 How I love the change, to the sunny stone, 
 From calm unchanging years of night ! 
 
 While I make a stay in the woodland cool 
 Whose waters join me in my flight 
 
 I bask in the depths of passage and pool, 
 And dance in gleams of bursting light. 
 
 In the realm of shades my murmurings blend 
 W T ith sounds of woodland ancient lore ; 
 
 And my endless work, as I onward wend, 
 Sings of its beauties evermore.
 
 76 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 In the haunts of men I labour for all, 
 
 As they to my waters appeal ; 
 In well-worn depths, at the foot of the fall, 
 
 I render my strength to the wheel. 
 
 Through the fallow-land and the cornfields' gold 
 Where Summer's sweet low winds do pass 
 
 All that is beautiful there I behold, 
 
 And mark their splendours mass on mass. 
 
 I flow by the peaceful home of the swain, 
 
 And roam in the meadows at hand, 
 And rest where the kine, from the broad bright plain, 
 
 In the cool of my hollows stand. 
 
 My fancy dwells in the heart of the glen, 
 Whose wondrous stillness tempers glee, 
 
 For the gulf of its ages baffles ken, 
 And whispers of Eternity. 
 
 My pathway is ever towards the shore, 
 And peace comes not till I reach the sea ; 
 
 But each time my measur'd mission is o'er 
 I struggle again to be free. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. , 77 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 MT ;OW are the laughing hours of bonny June 
 
 
 
 Fill'd with an ever-flowing flood of tune, 
 Which passes o'er the mountain to the nook 
 Of coppic'd glen, whence runs the babbling brook 
 To murmur by each village to the sea, 
 And join the strains of universal glee 
 Upon the flow'ry slopes and valleys near 
 Clad in the freshest garb of all the year. 
 The avenues, where hum a thousand bees, 
 The kine-fill'd pastures, and the growing leas, 
 The bluebell banks in woodland, and the way 
 Gemm'd on each side by lovely blossom-spray, 
 Give strength to the great song of earth and sky, 
 Which seems to softly float, breeze-like, on high. 
 
 1885. 
 
 fit 
 
 d> d) d) ig> j
 
 78 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 SOMEWHERE. 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 fHEN the chestnut blossom falls, 
 On the pathway soft and green- 
 When at eve the mavis calls, 
 
 Somewhere may my love be seen, 
 Treading through the dewy blades, 
 In the quiet fragrant shades. 
 
 From the silver dawn of day, 
 
 When the eastern star is seen, 
 All the gladness of my lay 
 
 Ever shall be of my Queen, 
 Flitting through the grove and dell- 
 Bright and gleesome fairy belle. 
 
 When the sun has deeply set, 
 
 Leaving but a deeper sky, 
 Then, ah ! then I'll not forget 
 
 Somewhere that my love be nigh, 
 Pacing gently through the grass, 
 And the clust'ring bluebell mass. 
 
 E'er though varied feelings rise, 
 Other voices charm mine ear, 
 
 Shall my joy mount to the skies, 
 Somewhere in the fieldways near. 
 
 Yea ! the joy of all my lays 
 
 Shall be in my maiden's praise. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 79 
 
 THE SOLDIERS' MARCH. 
 
 HE falchions gleam'd ; a thousand rows 
 
 Of hardy men mov'd into sight ; 
 A quicker pace again they flash'd 
 
 Like a million rays of light. 
 They never feign 'd a rest or stay, 
 
 But spurr'd the more their weary steeds ; 
 They wish'd no halt at hot noonday, 
 
 But wish'd at home to tell their deeds, 
 And fight again their battles o'er, 
 
 And sadly tell to list'ning ears 
 The deeds of valour on the field. 
 
 (Fast rose and fell the hearers' tears.) 
 And, yet, their hearts beat high with pride 
 
 To welcome, from the war's dread blast, 
 The men who, fighting side by side, 
 
 Had safely reach'd their homes at last. 
 And tears are shed for comrades slain, 
 
 Who march'd from home with this gay band, 
 And dying on the battle-plain, 
 
 Pour'd out their blood for Fatherland 
 For home and country, freely given 
 
 Their hopes and all the light of life. 
 Peace to the memory of the Brave ! 
 
 God comfort father, mother, wife,
 
 8o H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 And dry the tears and cheer the hearth, 
 
 Left vacant by those heroes' death ; 
 Nor be in vain the loss of men, 
 
 Who pray'd for friends with their last breath. 
 The crowds had cheer'd, as squadrons pass'd ; 
 
 But, victory shouting counts not cost 
 Of those who, weeping bitter tears, 
 
 Are mourning o'er the lov'd and lost. 
 The desolation in their homes 
 
 Should make us all, with one accord, 
 Join, heart and soul, our Church's prayer : 
 
 " Give peace in our time, O Lord." 
 
 1883. 

 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 81 
 
 WINTER-RAIN. 
 
 east tne wm d, and bears the rain 
 Which beats with dropping sound ; 
 And weary seagulls from the main 
 Incessantly fly round. 
 
 The leafless trees sway to and fro ; 
 
 Decaying branches creak ; 
 The streams with force redoubl'd flow ; 
 
 And redbreasts shelter seek. 
 
 The steel-grey rocks are black with wet ; 
 
 The cattle shiv'ring stand 
 Beneath two friendly juttings met, 
 
 A soak'd and speechless band. 
 
 Cling blackcaps to the ruins' side, 
 
 By changeful seasons worn ; 
 And in the eaves the sparrows hide, 
 
 All drenched and forlorn. 
 
 The bullfinches perch in the yew, 
 
 Whose boughs are ever green ; 
 The kindly cov'ring seemeth new, 
 
 Its bending trunks between. 
 
 Upon the bower-shaded gate 
 
 Two lonely blackbirds sit ; 
 And in and out the smooth blue slate 
 
 The chirping starlings flit.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 The pathways are a stream of rain, 
 
 And ev'ry pebble's bare ; 
 And quickly fill the pools again 
 
 By streamlets ev'rywhere. 
 
 The yellow jasmine hangs its head, 
 
 Toss'd by the angry wind, 
 Yet bloometh fair while now is dead 
 
 Its lovely kith and kind. 
 
 The holly leaves and berries shine 
 With raindrops fiercely blown ; 
 
 And ev'ry green-garb'd fir and pine 
 Bend in the strong wind's moan. 
 
 The pheasants shy crouch in the grass 
 
 Unseen by heedless eye ; 
 They seem afraid the fields to pass, 
 
 To reach the copse hard by. 
 
 The gentle hares are lurking too, 
 
 In coverts on the heath : 
 Cold is the glen the blast wails through, 
 
 And cold the ground beneath. 
 
 The morn may bring a clearer sky, 
 And cheer the feather'd flocks, 
 
 The clouds of gloom fast drifting by, 
 Above the rain-swept rocks. 
 
 The human life hath rainy days, 
 
 No sun the clouds to break, 
 But soon it sheds its brighter rays 
 
 And bids sweet hope awake.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 83 
 
 Feeling the smile of Nature's face 
 
 Far other thoughts arise ; 
 The woes forgotten of the race 
 
 They think of sunny skies. 
 
 Then in the hearts by sorrow bow'd 
 
 A newer feeling strives ; 
 And happy thoughts the bosom crowd ; 
 
 Beams sunshine on their lives. 
 
 1884. 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 J-oin'd to the Saintly throng who serve above 
 O-mnipotence, with Angels' bliss and love. 
 H-is genius was lit by Heaven's flame 
 N-ow, still, which blazes round his living name. 
 
 M-an's disobedience, and his life's great part, 
 I-nspir'd the feelings of his pious heart. 
 L-ost Paradise, he neath affliction sung, 
 T-hat from his holy harp Divinely rung. 
 O-nward for aye his muse, celestial, sings 
 N-ow in the presence of the King of kings. 
 
 1885.
 
 84 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE SNOWDROP. 
 
 ||HE name ! how fit to mark the pure 
 
 And modest flow'r of Spring 
 The harbinger, in ways obscure, 
 
 Of Nature's gathering 
 Of all her loveliness and guise 
 Warm'd by the brightness of the skies 
 
 And every offering. 
 A silent breather here below, 
 And spotless as the unstain'd snow. 
 
 The little speck, the drooping bud, 
 
 Is moulded to the flow'r 
 Of purest white. To field and wood 
 
 The dying Winter's dow'r. 
 Like frozen dewdrop here and there, 
 In garb of snowy- whiteness fair, 
 
 It springs in lawn and bow'r ; 
 And in the garden nestles near 
 A message whisp'ring sweet and clear. 
 
 Budding upon drear Winter's tomb 
 
 It whispers of the past, 
 The moments of the fading gloom 
 
 The dying season's last.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Around its bending stem of green 
 A halo of bright days is seen 
 
 Through chilling storm and blast- 
 A promise of the sunny hours, 
 And future golden-laden'd show'rs. 
 
 A silent hope in wind and snow, 
 
 A flame of faith and trust, 
 So frail ! yet strong to undergo 
 
 The clouds of March-blown dust. 
 It sends a lesson to the sky, 
 And murmurs not of trials nigh, 
 And ills that round it thrust. 
 An emblem of the King above 
 Of Peace and Purity and Love. 
 
 1885.
 
 86 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 __* 
 
 the tie of Friendship true 
 
 That binds, with one consent, 
 The hearts which in its halo move, 
 And, by their modest presence, prove 
 That they have good intent ? 
 
 Is it a vision, vain and faint, 
 
 That sinks in slow decay ; 
 Or yet a beam of silver light, 
 Which lingers to the dark'ning night, 
 
 Then quickly fades away ? 
 
 Is it a star with lustre dim 
 
 Forgotten in its flight ; 
 Or flower blooming on the lea, 
 Whose petals wither constantly 
 
 In darkness and in light ? 
 
 Is it an empty dream of bliss, 
 
 Imprison 'd in the mind, 
 That charmeth Fancy's peaceful sleep, 
 Then leaves the dreamer 'lone to weep 
 
 In castles far behind ?
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 87 
 
 It is a sacred love, which shines 
 
 'Neath Heaven's azure dome, 
 And lessens storm and gloomy cloud, 
 Whose cold and dreary darkness crowd 
 
 Around the social home. 
 
 Though strong the fetters of this pow'r 
 
 When faith within beats high 
 Its tend'rest chords, that haunt the mind, 
 Are brittle as the glass refin'd, 
 
 And changeful as the sky. 
 
 1885.
 
 88 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 I. 
 
 a, 
 
 russet ruin'd hall, its towers near falling, 
 Adown beside the dingle stretching 'gainst the east, 
 Its cladded walls the old white owl hath chosen, 
 And there in lone remoteness hath his feast. 
 
 II. 
 
 The browsing cattle in its porches shelter, 
 
 That once were thresholds where the monarchs stood : 
 
 The fetter'd bars and drawbridge are no more ; 
 No more the monk we see in dark grey hood. 
 
 III. 
 
 But there a mark'd decay rude work hath left, 
 
 That this though noble once is, since, a faded scene ; 
 
 Yet now, a sombre loveliness is kept 
 
 By these old stones, that o'er the gateway lean. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Where are the gallant knights and ladies fair 
 That erst adorn'd the garden and the lawn ? 
 
 Where prancing steeds ? the falconer and hawks ? 
 Where gentle hound, and deer, and timid fawn ?
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 V. 
 
 89 
 
 All, all are vanish'd, and the quiet hall 
 
 Resounds no more with music, song and mirth. 
 
 'Tis thus all earthly beauties fade and fall, 
 But there's another and a better birth 
 
 VI. 
 
 Another land whose beauty ne'er will fade, 
 Lovelier beyond compare than this below, 
 
 Where nought will change nor ever will decay ; 
 A land of rest where all who strive may go. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 1883. 
 
 PLEASURES. 
 
 |HE coppice o'er the rough bold rocks 
 
 Where breezes never chill'd 
 'Twas there I roam'd, and sat so oft 
 To watch the ring-doves build. 
 
 They brought the tiny broken sticks, 
 Where mountain hawks ne'er stay ; 
 
 'Twas there they shap'd and built their nest, 
 And lin'd the edge with hay. 
 
 The pool amid the darken'd shrubs, 
 Where wild ducks stay to rest 
 
 'Twas near these happy haunts I sat, 
 Nor scar'd each feather'd guest. 
 
 I often soiight this shelter 'd nook 
 From sunbeams in their might ; 
 
 Or linger'd with a favourite book 
 Till fell the shades of night.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 |NE morn I miss'd the sailor's skiff, 
 
 On the gleaming ocean blown ; 
 Yet the sun was high and the coast was clear ; 
 And the warning bell, from the lighthouse near, 
 
 Boom'd out its solemn tone. 
 How they cheer'd my heart, and lay as a calm 
 On my troubl'd mind with a heavenly balm 
 The lighthouse bell and the wild sea's moan ! 
 
 I pac'd ahead to the breakers, 
 
 In hoping silence to know 
 Had he lost his way, or stay'd for a rest, 
 In the shaded creek, on the wavelet's breast, 
 
 Where often he would go. 
 But the tide came in with a mighty sway ; 
 And the golden waves rush'd on in their play; 
 
 And a corpse on their bosom I saw. 
 
 One moment more, the billows laid 
 Their perish'd freight on the sand. 
 
 All that was left in the fisherman's boat 
 
 By the angry tide, was his dark blue coat 
 With message from his hand. 
 
 On ! on ! the blue waves of the main roll'd on ! 
 
 Breathing aloud 'the sailor's soul is gone 
 To the clime of light the better land!' 
 
 1883.
 
 92 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THOUGHTS. 
 
 JHAT peace of mind have they who dwell 
 
 On things they most desire, 
 Who of themselves in thought think well, 
 And kindle fancy's fire ? 
 
 What love have they who think the best 
 
 Of their own feeble frames, 
 And in their blindnesses self test, 
 
 Then think it first of names ? 
 
 What hope have they who cannot look 
 
 O'er dark and rolling seas, 
 Who pierce not further than the nook 
 
 Of luxury and ease ? 
 
 What trust have they who cannot hold 
 
 A promise good and true, 
 Who cannot in their hearts, once cold, 
 
 Rebellion subdue ? 
 
 What bliss have they who stand apart 
 
 Withholding all their own ? 
 Such have a stain'd unfeeling heart, 
 
 Whose joys are e'er unknown.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 What faith have they who throng the earth 
 Which is not faith through love ? 
 
 Can they behold a second birth 
 And endless home above ? 
 
 They who have these possess a heart 
 
 Of purity and peace : 
 Like blessings great are but a part 
 
 Of Life which ne'er will cease. 
 
 93 
 
 1885.
 
 94 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 HYMNS. 
 I. 
 
 rti iEATHkuler of the earth and sky 
 
 To Thee our hearts we raise, 
 And own Thee Sovereign King Most High, 
 
 In songs of thanks and praise. 
 Bow down Thine ear to us below, 
 
 Prince of the Saints above, 
 Whose attributes like rivers flow 
 From depths of Light and Love. 
 
 With pity look upon our lives, 
 
 For short and frail their span ; 
 Though 'gainst great sin all purpose strives 
 
 Weak is the heart of man. 
 Then lead us Saviour with Thine Hand, 
 
 And cheer the lonely way, 
 And guide us to the promis'd land 
 
 Of Thine eternal day. 
 
 Could we but love Thee as we ought, 
 
 Who for us liv'd and died, 
 And know aright Salvation bought 
 
 By pierc'd Hands and Side, 
 Our songs of praise, and joy, and love, 
 
 Would never dim or cease ; 
 Their theme would be to Thee above, 
 
 O Prince of Rest and Peace.
 
 1885. 
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 95 
 
 Lend us Thy breastplate, while on earth, 
 
 That we may well withstand 
 The arrows of sin's night and dearth, 
 
 And wait the better land. 
 Light of all souls, Thy people bless, 
 
 And give them grace to bear 
 The fruits of only righteousness, 
 
 In trial and in care. 
 
 To look for other life than this 
 
 Lord give us Faith like Thine, 
 Which can alone complete our bliss, 
 
 And make it All-Divine. 
 Help us to tread the thorny path, 
 
 And gently bear our strife, 
 That we may taste the after-math 
 
 Beyond this restless life. 
 
 II. 
 
 asr 
 
 L3.OD the Eternal Son 
 
 And Prince of Peace and Love, 
 Praise be to Thee who won 
 For sinners grace above. 
 
 Confirm and strengthen us, 
 To love and serve Thee more ; 
 
 We pray Thee suffer us 
 Forgiveness to implore.
 
 96 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 Protect us righteous Lord, 
 That we may in Thy sight 
 
 Live by Thy holy word, 
 And Thy redeeming might. 
 
 Lord grant us Faith to see 
 The brightness of Thy face, 
 
 And power to lift to Thee 
 Songs by Thy saving grace. 
 
 Eternal Fount of Love, 
 
 Thy name Thy works adore 
 
 Praise be to Thee above, 
 Both now and evermore. 
 
 1884.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 97 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 HEAR the gentle music of the bells, 
 ^^ Borne by the breeze along the shelter'd grove, 
 Borne where the magpies whisper in the dells, 
 Borne to the hills where grazing cattle rove. 
 
 The voices of the husbandmen are still ; 
 The scenes of toil around, on every side, 
 
 Deserted now appear : 
 To cot and stately hall, to wood and hill, 
 
 Out-bursts a peal of faith, and love, with pride, 
 Which echoes far and near 
 
 Inviting to the house, of praise and pray'r, 
 The highest and the humblest to obey 
 
 God's just commandments, and to honor there 
 The day of rest the peaceful Sabbath-day. 
 
 1884.
 
 98 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE THRUSH. 
 
 EAR songster of the sunny hours, 
 
 I hear thy lovely song again, 
 Here with the fair and early flow'rs, 
 That fill the greening hill and plain. 
 
 Perch'd on the ivy-twined beech 
 Touch'd by a gleam of sunlight dim 
 
 Up to the clouds there seems to reach 
 The theme of thy glorious hymn : 
 
 Warbling of Spring's elysian bow'rs 
 Stirr'd by a softly-breathing wind 
 
 Of coming sounds, and blushing flow'rs, 
 Which charm the nature-loving mind. 
 
 From early hours to twilight grey, 
 Thy lay awakes a nameless spell, 
 
 And leaves behind a sheeny ray 
 Within the woodland and the dell. 
 
 The leafless forest, wide and long 
 The birthplace of the shining rill 
 
 Re-echoes with thy sacred song, 
 And leaves the poet with his will.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Thy strains divine inspire delight, 
 
 Like mystic springs that cravings cloy ; 
 
 Thy voice, reviving seasons bright, 
 A world of hearts will e'er enjoy. 
 
 Thy thrilling chords of future time, 
 
 Blend with my passing boyhood's choice, 
 
 Which, as the vapours upward climb, 
 In skies ethereal rejoice. 
 
 The language of thy silver notes 
 
 Gilds the heart with an unknown love, 
 
 And consecrates the inmost thoughts, 
 Which muse upon the realms above. 
 
 1885.
 
 100 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE PASSING BELL. 
 
 p 2ROM the ancient tower's top one doleful sound ; 
 To ask, ' Who's not ? ' one chilling space is found, 
 
 Again and yet again : 
 
 Knell after knell wakes echoes in my breast, 
 Whisp'ring the fulness of a wanderer's rest 
 
 The bell, the passing bell. 
 
 Stirs not the air ; no sound is near, save one ; 
 
 The woodland songsters pause as though they'd gone 
 
 To bowers of nightly rest. 
 Stillness is o'er the hills the kine now climb, 
 Though it is mid-day in the summer-time 
 
 As tolls the passing bell. 
 
 The muffi'd chime are truly solemn notes, 
 
 But not more full of awe than that which floats 
 
 Alone from earth to sky. 
 The organ softly raising to the arch 
 A mournful symphony, or dying march, 
 
 Vies with the passing bell 
 
 But cuts not to the heart like its great thong, 
 Whose sadness, in the still sky, lingers long 
 For dead and dying lives.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. IOI 
 
 A messenger of Death through wooded vales, 
 And verdant hills, and stretching plains, and dales, 
 All hear the passing bell. 
 
 Who now hath cross'd the stormy sea of life, 
 And landed on that shore where is no strife 
 
 But everlasting rest ? 
 Is it the grave and old, or fair and young, 
 Hath answer'd to their Maker's summoning tongue 
 
 That peals the passing bell ? 
 
 We only know a soul hath wing'd its flight, 
 And pass'd for ever from our mortal sight, 
 
 And feel that we too must : 
 Others will listen to the mournful sound, 
 Which soon may tell we've trod the allotted round 
 
 The bell, the passing bell. 
 
 1883.
 
 102 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 WINTER SCENES. 
 
 I. 
 THE CHIP GATHERERS. 
 
 HE meadows were brown and silent ; 
 
 The herds were gather'd in ; 
 The woods were bare and lonely ; 
 The trees seem'd gaunt and thin. 
 
 And near the pathway on the hill, 
 
 Where fallen trees were laid, 
 I saw but two, yet quickly they 
 
 A bulky faggot made. 
 
 Rejoic'd they in their hearts of hope 
 
 The woodman and his boy : 
 They heap'd a round of yellow chips, 
 
 And sang a lay of joy. 
 
 The red-breast on the frosted bough, 
 As the sun gleam'd out behind, 
 
 Came near the place and hopp'd about, 
 Nor seem'd the two to mind. 
 
 The rabbit bounded o'er the crag ; 
 
 The woodcock rais'd a cry ; 
 A mountain brook ran down the steep, 
 
 And swiftly gurgl'd by.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 103 
 
 How full of life this drear place was 
 
 Without a leaf or flow'r, 
 As the chippers rested in content 
 
 Beneath the fir-tree bow'r. 
 
 But soon they started down the hill, 
 
 Bearing a fragrant load, 
 And left this scene of love and life 
 
 To reach their dear abode. 
 
 And now a brighter fire sheds light 
 
 Upon their cottage wall : 
 They gather round the cheerful blaze 
 
 As night's deep shadows fall. 
 
 1884. 
 
 II. 
 THE SKATERS. 
 
 ~..(3 9 
 
 ROSS the fields that skirt the frozen pond 
 
 The pasture by the wood not far beyond, 
 .Where stare the cattle o'er the iron gate 
 Amaz'd there comes the loud ring from the skate, 
 And mingl'd sounds from voices, weak and strong, 
 As far and near they swiftly move along ; 
 Children, whose mirth is doubl'd, as they flee 
 From side to side with fair capacity ;
 
 104 H - HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 The maiden who rejoices as she nears 
 The style attained by her male compeers, 
 Who quickly pass, in attitudes of grace, 
 While others join and follow in a chase. 
 Some with an awkward gait impede the way, 
 Yet, by themselves unseen, feel quite as gay 
 As the adepts, who leave no marks behind 
 To mar the sight of an observing mind. 
 
 One from his home in warm attire goes, 
 And battles with the wind that westward blows, 
 Eager to reach and try the frozen sheet, 
 And in the race his comrades strive to beat. 
 The day is spent in gliding round and round, 
 In gentle motion and fantastic bound. 
 The wind to him blows lightly, and the cold 
 Upon his gladsomeness lays not a hold. 
 To him as Summer fair are landscapes dim, 
 And Winter music as a Spring-tide hymn : 
 Admiring friends speak of his last success, 
 And they at home join in his happiness. 
 ***** 
 
 Another firmly saunters through the snow, 
 Following on where others come and go. 
 His imprints on the ice by all are seen ; 
 Each nook or turn is trac'd where he hath been. 
 How fine his steel-marks on the glist'ning mass ! 
 While many leave no impress as they pass. 
 Onward he goes and soon is out of sight, 
 A flitting figure in the pale moonlight 
 Unnotic'd and unknown . The biting air 
 In silence is enshrouded ev'rywhere
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 105 
 
 Just for a moment, when one long loud crack 
 
 Is clearly echo'd in the stillness back. 
 
 A few behold the floating corpse ahead, 
 
 But little is to do and to be said. 
 
 A household mourn, and trembling strangers weep 
 
 For one who now sleeps calmly his last sleep. 
 
 No vestige leave the shadows in our lives, 
 For never long the saddest truth survives, 
 But like the lovely tints in nourish'd flow'rs 
 They pass away next morrow's early hours. 
 Forgetting things behind, the world looks on, 
 And numbers not the vast impressions gone. 
 Realities, which trouble once the heart, 
 Though slow to pain are ready to depart. 
 Example's tide is strongest, so men say, 
 Whatever earthly will may strive to stay 
 Its precepts by reproving voice or hand. 
 Besetting ills upon Time's changing sand 
 Are for a short while on the world impress'd, 
 But soon, alas ! Oblivion hides the rest. 
 
 1885.
 
 io6 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE RIVER WENNING. 
 
 |RIGHTLY gleaming, joyous seeming, 
 Gently winding Wenning flows 
 
 On through meadows and green bowers, 
 Fill'd with elder and wild rose, 
 Where in silence herons pause 
 
 On the banks of flowers. 
 
 Wildly dancing, frowning, glancing, 
 
 Silver Wenning hies through woods 
 
 Where e'er dwelleth love and beauty, 
 Troubl'd oft by rushing floods, 
 Changing grasses, leaves, and buds 
 
 Heeding nought save duty. 
 
 Bounding, playing, racing, straying, 
 Through the rocky glen it flees 
 
 With a loud and constant roaring ; 
 Flash its waters neath the trees 
 Bended low by rain and breeze, 
 
 Gladsomeness outpouring. 
 
 Working, sleeping, hiding, peeping 
 In the Fairy haunts and glades, 
 
 Where a thousand notes are ringing 
 From the giant oak-trees' shades ; 
 Minstrelsies the river aids, 
 Softly, sweetly singing.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. IO"J 
 
 Brightly onward, brightly forward, 
 Graceful Wenning flows along. 
 
 Bards may fully paint its beauty, 
 But to them does not belong 
 Power to paint the water's song, 
 
 Murmuring Life's duty. 
 
 1884. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 K-new not a world they slew a precious life ? 
 E-nough ! His gentle heart could not endure 
 A-tittle of the baseness and the strife 
 T-hat hover'd round his mind, so noble, pure. 
 S-uch wrong the broken heart could not outlive. 

 
 io8 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 A WOODLAND CONCERT. 
 
 ^JEPTEMBER late yet all the flow'rs 
 
 Were full and looking gay : 
 The songsters of the woodland bow'rs 
 A concert would display. 
 
 And in the coppice they begun 
 
 A chorus all to sing : 
 And brightly shone the Autumn sun, 
 
 As brightly as in Spring. 
 
 Perch'd high, upon a stately tree, 
 
 The thrush was there to lead, 
 That he the company might see, 
 
 And they his movements heed. 
 
 And every crag and grassy steep 
 
 Were full of joyous life ; 
 And where the gentle hare-bells creep 
 
 The bunting's song was rife. 
 
 The linnet then would give a song 
 
 In his refined style : 
 Being applauded, by the throng, 
 
 He sung again awhile.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 109 
 
 The next a glee full vocal score 
 
 By blackbirds, redbreast, wren : 
 And heartily they got encore, 
 
 Which echo'd through the glen. 
 
 The bullfinch too would give a piece, 
 
 With chorus by the rest ; 
 Nor willingly they let him cease 
 
 While some declar'd him best. 
 
 A trio formed by the lark, 
 
 The starling, and the thrush : 
 Their well-known voices made a mark 
 
 In ev'ry tree and bush. 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west ; 
 
 They soon must form a close ; 
 And maybe" they requir'd a rest 
 
 O'ercome with the applause. 
 
 A final chorus then was heard, 
 
 Which made the welkin ring ; 
 For all had join'd, and ev'ry bird 
 
 His uttermost did sing. 
 
 Remember'd well afar and near, 
 
 (And truly so it should) 
 By ev'ryone, who chanc'd to hear 
 
 The ' Concert in the Wood.' 
 
 1884.
 
 IIO H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 A SUNSET MEMORY. 
 
 >HE sun in glory set behind 
 
 The abbey in the west ; 
 The gloaming's fairy soothing wind 
 
 Hush'd all around to rest. 
 In that sweet hour of solitude, 
 
 I would that I alone 
 Might cross again the pathway rude, 
 And feel myself unknown. 
 
 The low wind whisp'ring through the trees 
 
 Old memories made new ; 
 Their music floated in the breeze, 
 
 And fell as mystic dew. 
 The sinking streams of light above 
 
 Enwrapp'd in golden shrouds 
 Wore then an emblematic love 
 
 Of silver-lined clouds. 
 
 The soft glow of the closing day 
 
 Spread o'er the silent tow'rs, 
 And wing'd my fancy far away 
 
 To past and blissful hours. 
 The stillness of the ruins grey 
 
 Endear'd me to the place ; 
 The sunset mark'd the pale decay 
 
 With harmony and grace.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. Ill 
 
 The spectres of that happy scene 
 
 Are still within my heart : 
 Transcendent charms, what can they mean, 
 
 That do not yet depart ? 
 They murmur of the glory gone 
 
 Into the depths of earth, 
 And lead the musing spirit on 
 
 Toward the second birth. 
 
 1885.
 
 112 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE LAST LOAD OF CORN. 
 
 P|1|T was the hour when the soft purple clouds 
 ^^ So daintily flecking the western sky 
 Were warm'd by a mellow and tranquil light, 
 And in myriad shapes sail'd grandly by. 
 
 September was waning ; the sun was too ; 
 
 In turn the beauties of earth mantl'd o'er ; 
 The night-shades, hiding the woody hillside, 
 
 Bid gleaners rest and their Maker adore. 
 
 From valleys below came echoes of song ; 
 
 Wearied, yet mirthful, the binders of corn 
 Were singing success to Harvest nigh done, 
 
 And thankful look'd back on fields closely shorn. 
 
 The rustics indulged the children's whim, 
 Last load on the waggon to let them ride : 
 
 As the grain lay flat, and the urchins laugh'd, 
 On the wain they seated them, side by side. 
 
 The farm-stead they reach'd in their noisy glee, 
 And took their share of the good harvest-cheer 
 
 Round the groaning board, while their elders thought 
 The harvest-home was the best of the year. 
 
 When Winter comes as the Autumn retires 
 
 In the merriest mood of leisure born, 
 The delighted children invite their sires 
 
 To tell the ride on ' the last load of corn.' 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 113 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 blackbird's thrilling voice we hear, 
 fi ne full-throated cadence sweet : 
 His vesper song is rich and clear 
 Happy the crimson west to greet, 
 Though the other songsters raise 
 Fitting strains of glee and praise. 
 
 What deep-ton'd melody of love 
 
 Fills now the peaceful evening air, 
 As if so utter'd from above 
 It seems to warble ev'rywhere ! 
 And as shadows darker fall 
 Still we hear his sweetest call. 
 
 How dear his loudly piping voice 
 Awak'ning all around to bliss ! 
 Why does he on the ash rejoice, 
 Sing in the fading light like this ? 
 Warbles he with shaking breast 
 Thankful for a time of rest ? 
 
 His golden bill is open'd wide 
 
 With notes of gratitude and love ; 
 He pours his evening song with pride 
 And gladsome thankfulness above. 
 Though the sinking daylight dies 
 Sweetly louder still he cries.
 
 n 4 
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 When the soft blush of sunset fades 
 
 His flute-like pipings hail the night- 
 On highest bough in quiet shades 
 And whisper of the morning light. 
 While all daily labours cease 
 Trills the merle his tune of peace. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. I If 
 
 THE WEDDING CAKE. 
 
 ^w- 
 
 |N one of July's brightest days, 
 
 When flowers bloom'd in golden rays, 
 A pretty box, tied round with blue, 
 Within the door the postman threw. 
 
 With eager looks they all stood round 
 Amaz'd ; yet neither stir nor sound 
 Until the satin cord was broken 
 Ah, then ! a hundred things were spoken. 
 
 They never thought of Donald's token 
 
 To tell it all, before 'twas open. 
 
 How great indeed was their surprise, 
 A moment more, when one espies 
 
 The silver tassels and the cord, 
 W T hich made all wise without a word, 
 
 Open'd their eyes and bade them wake. 
 
 In truth, it was the "Wedding Cake." 
 
 1883.
 
 n6 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 NUTTING. 
 
 Scarce had the day begun, 
 
 And earth and sky, consenting, thrown the veil 
 Of midnight damp and darkness to the winds, 
 Than, singing through the thick fogs of the lea, 
 And crossing o'er the pebbles in the brook, 
 We reach'd the ripening, full, hazel woods. 
 The cattle look'd bewilder'd as they turn'd 
 To better view the sight they thought so strange ; 
 While thrush and blackbird, in the pasture grass, 
 Feeding on early worm with eagerness, 
 Flew chirping to the fragrant, dying dell, 
 Whose sacred silence is a refuge safe 
 For the mute beings of the rock and soil. 
 Streams running from the East, across the plain, 
 Gleam'd white as Sol's first lustre on them fell, 
 And sparkl'd like first-water diamonds, 
 Which unto silvern landmarks liken'd them. 
 As o'er the vale we hasten'd in loud glee, 
 And saw the vapours curl and float around 
 The summit of the purple clothed hill 
 Betokening a fine and pleasant day 
 Upon the wings of a soft breeze were borne 
 Grey clouds that lower'd to the far-off hills, 
 And cast within the sea of sunshine bright 
 Tinging the blueness of the dewy turf
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 117 
 
 Sharp pointed shadows and long lines of dark. 
 
 The quiet bowers of the nutwoods reach'd 
 
 Where beams of light creep through the yielding trees, 
 
 And fall on tendrils of convolvulus 
 
 The highest branches were bent down and stripp'd 
 
 That arch'd a tinkling rivulet, and serv'd 
 
 To keep its waters cool, wherein do bathe 
 
 The snowy-breasted ousels and wild ducks. 
 
 From bracken cover, on the rising slope, 
 
 The nimble hare sped off with one long bound ; 
 
 And frisky squirrel leapt from tree to tree, 
 
 As on we pass'd, in laughing ecstacy, 
 
 With half fill'd bags, in school-boy fashion hung 
 
 About the neck. A chain of jutting rocks 
 
 Expos'd to view the village, just below, 
 
 In golden splendours of calm Autumn garb'd 
 
 That clustered between the shining roofs, 
 
 Where lines of blue smoke here and there went up, 
 
 Completing thus a scene of beauty great. 
 
 And far ahead the valley dimly shone, 
 
 Beneath the noontide rays which downward fell 
 
 Athwart the southern sky in streaks of gold 
 
 Gilding the landscape with a softness rare 
 
 That crown'd the distant tones so perfectly. 
 
 All through the day a pleasant melody 
 
 Came from the russet masses on each side, 
 
 And blended with the echoes in the plain, 
 
 Bidding us note the joy that Nature gives, 
 
 And know the grandeur of this passing scene. 
 
 The mellow western sky, fring'd with dark clouds, 
 
 A soft mysterious light threw o'er the land,
 
 u8 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 While moonbeams by the dying woodland rose 
 
 And lit anew the gently sparkling vault 
 
 With unreserv'd magnificence. Content, 
 
 We then return'd in caroll'd glee 
 
 Full of the day's enjoyment in the wood, 
 
 Bearing sweet recollections in the mind 
 
 Of beauty universal. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISONS POEMS. 
 
 AUTUMNAL SONNETS. 
 I. 
 
 - r~* A r^KT T-v* 
 
 ^GAIN a power Divine 
 
 Spreads o'er the earth : 
 Great Nature's hearts repine, 
 
 And lose all mirth ; 
 Green beauties fast decline 
 
 Dies now their w r orth 
 As Autumn's splendours shine. 
 
 Life's seasons pass away, 
 
 And pass like these, 
 Filling the span of day 
 
 With toil and ease. 
 When ended is their play, 
 
 And paid their fees, 
 No longer can they stay. 
 1884. _ 
 
 II. 
 
 -4:ROM the grey sky a driving rain descends 
 
 And carries with it leaves that yet are green, 
 And, smiting piteously, the whole tree bends, 
 
 Where long and lately glimmer'd Summer sheen. 
 The evening passes on ; all are at rest, 
 
 'Neath roof, and wall, and trunk's safe sheltering; 
 But wind and rain, now stronger and abreast, 
 
 Are through the grassland and plantation weltering 
 With melancholy moan. Did ever tread 
 
 The Reaper to the fields of shining corn, 
 With ready scythe and downcast hoary head, 
 
 As sure as these first blasts, of Autumn born ? 
 They come not to prepare but come to do, 
 
 And heedless pass the ripe earth through and through. 
 
 1885.
 
 120 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. 
 
 ^*-f 
 
 , with its loveliness, unheeded flies, 
 
 Swift as the homing dove through eastern skies. 
 And all its sweetest forms are like a ray, 
 Which, as approaches even, pass away. 
 Like lustrous roses, in the fairest bow'rs, 
 The softest blush of childhood's gentle hours 
 Grows deeper 'neath the morning's brightest light, 
 Until youth's sunny tints enchant the sight 
 And cast around a charm in fair array 
 Fair as the sunbeams on the hills that lay 
 Bathing, with golden flood, the springing grass, 
 Ere down the valley-head they fading pass. 
 
 Fleet as the gentle swallow on the wing 
 The second age, in beauty blossoming, 
 Crosses the sea of Time, known and unknown, 
 Just as a ship upon the wild waves blown. 
 When in the height and strength of beauty seen, 
 In flashing tints and gentleness of mien, 
 Its freshness trembles o'er the early years 
 Of man. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 121 
 
 AUGUST DAYS. 
 
 = . - 9 
 
 BUMMER days are fleetly passing, 
 August sunlight gilds the earth ; 
 Lambent gleaming tints are massing 
 Dancing to the breeze's mirth. 
 
 Swallows lightsomely are flitting 
 In the depthless mass of blue ; 
 
 Robins near, in tones befitting, 
 Warble of earth's changing hue. 
 
 Boughs' green garbs begin to wither ; 
 
 Summer's choicest flowers die ; 
 Zephyrs waft their fragrance hither 
 
 With a low, uncertain sigh. 
 
 Blades of grass have lost their brightness, 
 All the holm has greener grown ; 
 
 Elder trees have lost their whiteness ; 
 Seeds from wayside flow'rs are sown. 
 
 Parent-birds in brake and hollow, 
 
 Chirping mournfully a call, 
 Flutter that their young may follow, 
 
 Ere the leaves begin to fall.
 
 122 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 And the bees are busy storing 
 In their Winter's dark abode, 
 
 Busy bearing, building, boring, 
 With a zealous will and mode. 
 
 On the wing, from leaf to flower, 
 Butterflies stray, here and there 
 
 Sipping nectar in the bower, 
 
 Now so bright and cool and fair. 
 
 Haws are redd'ning by the river ; 
 
 Wild fruits ripen in the groves ; 
 Nut-tree branches bend and quiver, 
 
 As the leaping squirrel roves. 
 
 Cornfields tremble 'neath the sickle 
 Showy tares and golden grain ; 
 
 Downward to the reaper's strickle 
 Soon will lean the yellow plain. 
 
 Earth's sweet voices through the valleys, 
 Through the lovely fragrant ghyll 
 
 Where the crystal water dallies, 
 Sing their lays of Summer still. 
 
 And they whisper of the morrow, 
 
 When the leaves are brown and sere ; 
 
 But their tones are touch'd with sorrow, 
 As they whisper, 'Autumn's near.' 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 123 
 
 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 and low resonant ringing, 
 Sweetest notes come o'er the hill, 
 Hopeful joy and pleasure bringing 
 O'er the woodland, vale, and rill. 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 
 Pealing notes of love and mirth ; 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 Giving all good wishes birth. 
 
 Echoing clearly from the plain, 
 
 Blending promise in their chimes, 
 Bringing pleasant sounds again 
 Memories of other times. 
 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 
 Bliss and harmony now swells, 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 From the joyous wedding bells. 
 
 When the early morn brings gladness 
 
 Hear the loudly pealing bells. 
 How their joyous chimes hush sadness 
 While to grief their sweet song tells ! 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 
 Trust and love speak in their peal, 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 
 Faith and hope through woe and weal.
 
 124 H< HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Hear the deep-clear toned notes, 
 Strains of joy and rare delight, 
 Mingling with the happiest thoughts 
 Blest anew with streams of light ! 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 
 Love and peace walk at her side ; 
 Aye and ever aye and ever, 
 Blessings rest upon the bride. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 THE OLD AND NEW YEAR. 
 
 I. 
 toll'd our church's bell 
 
 , ..... 
 
 At the midnight hour ; 
 Sweetly solemn came the knell 
 From the time-worn tow'r. 
 
 II. 
 
 Worldly noise and strife were still, 
 
 As in balmy rest ; 
 Not a breeze to stir the rill 
 
 Flowing to the west. 
 
 III. 
 
 In the peacefulness of night, 
 
 Rang the funeral note 
 For the year, whose dark and light 
 
 Are for ever bought 
 
 IV. 
 
 For the golden days gone by, 
 
 Those of peace and love, 
 Those of pain and misery 
 
 Sent from Him above.
 
 ia6 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 V. 
 
 Every moment hath been bought, 
 Time hath seal'd his own : 
 
 Cringe the wicked at the thought 
 How they might have sown 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sown to reap the bounteous share 
 
 Of the fruits of Life. 
 Night soon cometh, with the snare, 
 
 Ending worldly strife. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Loudly rang the bells again 
 
 Hope dispelling fear : 
 Long they pour'd a joyous strain 
 
 To the infant year. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 May the cheery chimes foretell 
 
 Much of hidden good. 
 Gloom departing with the knell 
 
 Greet the blushing bud ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Folded as a new-born rose, 
 Welcome high and clear ! 
 
 Peace attend it as it goes ; 
 Hail ! the glad New Year. 
 
 1883.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 127 
 
 A SIMILE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 [IJALF hiding by the lichen cover'd rocks, 
 
 Upon the brown plum'd hill above the lake, 
 The sweet and early primrose clust'ring grows, 
 
 Where shy March Throstles nests of mud now make. 
 And near the flow'r the fair peziza springs, 
 
 Whose cup is shining with last evening's rain, 
 And warms the ground, and with it sister throws 
 
 A living beauty far across the plain. 
 And oft upon obscure mountain slope 
 
 Are deeply trodden footprints, left by one 
 A genius whose breath is solitude, 
 
 And golden music ever ripples on. 
 What matter it though unseen by the eye ? 
 They not less lovely bloom beneath the sky. 
 
 1885.
 
 128 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 AN APRIL SONG. 
 
 ! now, to meadow and wood in their gladness, 
 The dance of the stream o'er bright mossy stones. 
 Old Winter has flown, with grey locks of sadness, 
 And whistl'd a dirge in his plaintive tones. 
 
 List ! to the songs from the green-bursting bough, 
 The beautiful vale, and the blushing brow. 
 
 The altering pastures are gleaming with dew ; 
 
 The frolicing lambs through springing blades race, 
 Where daisy and buttercup spring out anew 
 
 The fields and pathways in Spring-time to grace. 
 Now ! Nature's voices awake from their sleep 
 To sing their praises o'er hollow and steep. 
 
 The first swallows over the slow river skim, 
 
 And bathe as they fly, with twitterings sweet ; 
 The lark ascends from the moor with his hymn, 
 And worships above with thankfulness meet. 
 Hope's sunlight filleth his quivering breast 
 As he drops beneath to his heath-hid nest. 
 
 The robins, and finches, and blackbirds join too 
 In the tune of the gushing brooks, and woods, 
 And glens, where the minstrelsy runs through and through, 
 And the sweet violet peeps first and buds 
 
 Where the primrose blooms, and the cuckoo cries, 
 And the nesting plovers from downs arise.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Burst forth the frail stems and the tiniest leaves 
 From daisied hedgerow and the furrow'd land, 
 From elms in the groves, where the spider weaves 
 In the morning blush its silvery band 
 
 Where the wild doves coo at the dawn of day, 
 And the screeching owls in the day-time stay. 
 
 Through the shadowy cloudlets of April rain 
 The rainbow's diamond gems are peeping, 
 Until from the brow of the hill to the plain 
 Its mingl'd colors are faintly creeping, 
 
 While athwart the sky falls the sun-lit rain, 
 When the Covenant brighter glows again. 
 
 In the sunny lanes the anemones grow, 
 In the ferny coverts of field and fell ; 
 And in every flower the bee hums low 
 To cull the sweetness and bear to its cell. 
 The short-lived gnat and the butterfly pass 
 From the leafing glades to the fresh green grass. 
 
 The wood, and the brake, the hill, and the plain 
 
 Ring with a great song of life and of love : 
 Responsive the welkin quickens the strain 
 Which swells in the glimmering blue above. 
 Through the sky one chorus is made to ring 
 To the beautiful the blossoming Spring. 
 
 1885.
 
 130 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 WALLFLOWERS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 |ENEATH the leafing beeches on the lawn 
 
 In clusters bud the Spring-time's brightest flow'rs ; 
 Kiss'd by the dew, and early morning show'rs, 
 
 Their wafted balms are rich as hay new mown. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the cot's low wall 
 In groups bewildering gay flow'rets grow, 
 Their rainbow colors in the sunlight glow, 
 
 Whose odours through the trellis'd window fall. 
 
 Among the fairest are the wallflowers tall 
 
 The flower-leaves in brown and crimson shades 
 Besides the cottage or the changing glades, 
 
 Where near the trilling birds in silence call. 
 Whether they bud and blush in view, or hide, 
 These fragrant firstlings are the garden's pride. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 131 
 
 CANZONET. 
 I. 
 
 gentle swallows have bid us good-bye; 
 The Autumn winds as they whirl the leaves sigh ; 
 And a drizzling rain is blown through the sky. 
 
 II. 
 
 The nestling valleys have lost too their hue ; 
 All the landscapes around are drap'd with blue, 
 Where Summer last glow'd and its beauties grew. 
 
 III. 
 
 The robins we hear from every tree, 
 For their lays are twitter'd in ecstacy, 
 From the purple hill and the lonely lea. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And they blithely sing, while the golden grain 
 Is carried away on the homestead wain, 
 From the sunny slope and the smiling plain. 
 
 V. 
 
 Mindful they seem of the storms and the cold, 
 But store not away in garner or fold, 
 For alway shall they be fed we are told.
 
 132 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Winter may come with frost, snow, and hail, 
 And threatening clouds in a dark sky sail, 
 But the fruit of the thorn will never fail. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Again will the swallows return in Spring ; 
 Again will the finches and skylarks sing ; 
 And Nature too will her loveliness bring. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The seed will be sown in every land ; 
 The grain will ripen and beauteous stand, 
 And tremblingly fall to the gleaner's hand. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And who soweth the seed of praise and pray'r 
 When his life is coldly barren and bare 
 Will gather the golden fruit to his care. 
 
 X. 
 
 Hopefully sing through the seasons of life, 
 When loads are heavy and stumblings are rife, 
 That peace and bliss be the end of all strife ! 
 
 1884.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 133 
 
 TO THE REDBREAST. 
 
 O ! bird of Autumn time, 
 Warbling untiringly thy little lay, 
 From dewy dawn until the close of day, 
 
 How sweetly into rhyme 
 Of visionary hours thy soft notes flow, 
 And wake true thought that we in self but know ! 
 
 We could not hear thy notes 
 
 When Summer reign 'd a Queen upon the earth 
 Her woods, and hayfields, ringing with the mirth 
 
 Of twice ten thousand throats. 
 Didst thou reserve the sweetness of thy lays 
 For the sad moments of Autumnal days ? 
 
 Dost thou delight to sing 
 
 The more when fall the brown and yellow leaves, 
 And rear, o'er all the land, the golden sheaves 
 
 Of a great harvesting ? 
 Or comest thou to sweeten the sad hours, 
 And sing a love lay o'er the dying flow'rs ? 
 
 We hear thee when the snow 
 To garb the bare cold earth comes softly down, 
 And storm-clouds round the heavens rolling frown, 
 
 And keen winds come and go : 
 When in our homes are blazing Christmas fires 
 To brighten us, we feel thy song aspires.
 
 ;I34 H - HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 To us, in Winter hours, 
 Thy thrilling lore is strangely of the Spring, 
 When silent songsters have begun to sing 
 
 In bursting dewy bow'rs, 
 
 And daisies have, with courtly splendour, spread 
 Upon the lowlands and the valley-head. 
 
 Thy sweet, sad voice of peace 
 Trembles the most when green leaves die and fall, 
 And swallows, ere they go in great flocks, call, 
 
 And bullfinch chirpings cease. 
 No song could better blend with calm decay 
 Than thine, dear Redbreast, of the wood and way. 
 
 1885.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 russet are the beeches, 
 Yellow tints in crimson shades : 
 Simple beauty's spirit teaches 
 As the lovely color fades. 
 
 Golden season ! Nature now 
 Ripens grain and tinges bough. 
 O'er the land a glow pervades. 
 
 Graceful silver-firs are drying ; 
 
 Willow, elm, and birch decay ; 
 Pleasant woodland voices sighing 
 Faintly pass from brae to brae. 
 Ay, a low and mournful song 
 On the breeze is borne along, 
 All the sunny Autumn day. 
 
 Sylvan richness hither, thither, 
 
 Fades by meadow, grove, and hill ; 
 English oak and tall ash wither, 
 Bending, bowing o'er the rill. 
 
 Ay, here reigneth Autumn too ; 
 Red and golden through and through ; 
 Though fast changing lovely still.
 
 136 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 How the dying Autumn's flowers 
 
 E'er remind us of the past ; 
 How the bright though blighted bowers 
 Picture days which cannot last. 
 Ev'ry voice and tip of gold 
 Deeply strike a chord of old, 
 And new thoughts within us cast. 
 
 1884.
 
 ^^m 
 
 AND THE 

 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 141 
 
 Hair atti tfc bm Ifoars 
 
 A JUVENILE OPERETTA 
 IN FOUR PARTS. 
 
 -- WRITTEN FOR MUSIC. -- 
 
 PERSONATIONS. 
 
 GOLDEN HAIR. 
 MOTHER. 
 THREE BEARS. 
 
 HUNTERS. 
 
 FAIRY. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS OF FAIRIES. 
 
 FULL CHORUS OF HAPPY CHILDREN. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 HE school's vacation has been declared. The 
 delighted children are soon ready for home. But 
 Golden Hair prefers going to the wood for flowers, and 
 invites her companions, who refuse. She goes alone 
 although dissuaded by the rest. Her Mother, having 
 missed her since the early school-hours, enquires of the 
 children. Being told that she has gone alone into the 
 wood the anxious Mother fears she will be lost, where- 
 upon a hunting party volunteer to search for the child. 
 Meanwhile Golden Hair, singing and enjoying herself
 
 142 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 by the lonely wayside, wanders in sight of a house. 
 She has previously been warned by the good Fairies to 
 return home, but an innocent curiosity is aroused within 
 her little mind, and she enters this funny house. On 
 looking around she has a strong inclination to touch, 
 taste, and see all that she can. Feeling very tired she 
 also takes a rest upon one of three beds, and is soon 
 asleep. The Fairies, who no doubt have been watching 
 her all this time, sing a lullaby. Presently, the Three 
 Bears (to whom this house belongs), return from their 
 ramble and, almost instantly, find Golden Hair sleeping. 
 She as the fable runs has interfered with everything, 
 and the Bears are just going to devour her, when happily 
 the Hunters, having thought the place suspicious, rush 
 in and kill them. The Mother and children at home are 
 deeply lamenting the loss of Golden Hair and the 
 Hunters, when the rescuers and rescued arrive quite safe. 
 Their sadness is turned into joy, which naturally makes 
 them sing a happy chorus. At last, they resolve to 
 crown Golden Hair with a wreath, in remembrance of 
 the eventful day.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 143 
 
 JFxrst 53 art. 
 
 HOLIDAY : HOME SCENE. 
 
 FULL CHORUS. 
 
 Hurrah ! for the time of our holiday has come ; 
 
 All free and gay, we'll join in play ; 
 
 Hail ! cheerful hearts our joyous day 
 A holiday ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Hand in hand we'll dance and sing, 
 
 Long and loud the air shall ring 
 
 With a gladsome echoing 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Home we'll bound with noisy glee ; 
 
 Our lessons learnt we have no fears : 
 Through wood, and vale, and stretching lea, 
 
 A holiday ! three cheers ! three cheers ! 
 
 SOLO (Golden Hair). 
 I wont go home this sunny day, 
 I'll walk into the wood to play. 
 
 CHORUS (Children). 
 Oh ! in the wood lives the old bear ; 
 Don't go alone dear Golden Hair ! 
 
 SOLO (Golden Hair). 
 Then, who will with me seek the pool 
 Of crystal water, pure and cool ?
 
 144 H - HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 CHORUS (Children). 
 Oh ! do not go, but with us stay 
 And join our merry, merry play. 
 
 She does not care to join our game, 
 The happy girl, with the golden name. 
 We dare not go in the wood to roam : 
 We'll have our play, and then go home. 
 
 SOLO (Mother). 
 Oh, where is my darling Golden Hair ? 
 
 I've miss'd her since the morn : 
 Where can she be, oh ! tell me where ? 
 
 My heart with grief is torn ! 
 
 CHORUS (Children). 
 
 She has gone to the wood to gather sweet wild flow'rs, 
 Close by the Fairies' Well, beneath the tall ash bow'rs. 
 
 SOLO (Mother). 
 
 Oh dear ! she will be lost I fear, 
 That long lone way with no one near ! 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Hunters). 
 Stay ! we will go, be not alarm 'd, 
 We fear nought in the wild wood arm'd. 
 Our friend maybe has lost the track, 
 But we will bring her safely back. 
 
 FULL CHORUS (Children). 
 Success ! Ye Hunters brave and good, 
 
 On a sorrowful duty bound, 
 Smooth be your rough way through the wood, 
 
 That Golden Hair may soon be found.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 145 
 
 We trust no evil may befall 
 
 Your noble purpose, back to win 
 Our dear young playmate, lov'd by all. 
 
 Good-bye ! good-bye ! away ! begin ! 
 
 Away ! to your noble aim away ! 
 
 Good luck betide your mission true ; 
 But bring back Golden Hair, to-day 
 
 Away ! away ! adieu ! adieu ! 
 
 Jtert. 
 
 IN THE WOOD 
 
 TRIO (Three Bears). 
 We are three jolly jolly bears, 
 
 And we roam in the greenwood shade, 
 Heedless of evil, for no one dares 
 
 To pass the forest glade. 
 
 We all live in the hollow tree, 
 
 By the silent stream in the ghyll, 
 And when ought comes near we growl all three, 
 
 From our home by the rill. 
 
 Ha ! we are greatly fear'd by those 
 Who need must pass this lonely way : 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! we heed no foes 
 Long ring our roundelay !
 
 146 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 CHORUS. Oh ! we are three jolly bears, 
 
 For a jovial life lead we : 
 Ha ! ha ! ha! for no one dares 
 To pass by the hollow tree ! 
 
 SOLO (Golden Hair). 
 I love the pretty flow'rs, 
 
 In colors deep and light, 
 That crown the wayside bow'rs 
 
 With simple lustre bright. 
 They make my heart so glad, 
 They make my heart so glad. 
 
 So modest and so meek 
 
 Ye gentle flowers are ! 
 I came a bunch to seek, 
 
 This long lone way so far. 
 Good-bye, sweet flow'rs, good bye 
 Good-bye, sweet flow'rs, good bye. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Fairies). 
 Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
 We are the elves from Fairy-land : 
 
 Come follow, follow us, 
 And trip it, trip it in our band, 
 Dear little maid with us. 
 
 We dance along the sunny green, 
 W 7 here flow'rets wildly grow : 
 
 Come follow us to Mab our Queen, 
 Who holds her court below. 
 
 Our home is in the fair greenwood, 
 Our shade a blue hare-bell :
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 147 
 
 Come, follow us dear maiden good 
 Beside the forest well. 
 
 SOLO (Golden Hair.} 
 I must now go, you're very kind ; 
 I've yet a hunch of flow'rs to find : 
 
 I will return some other day, 
 
 But thank you, now I cannot stay. 
 
 I'm sorry that I cannot go 
 
 To join your happy band below ; 
 To come some other day I'll try, 
 But thank you now, I'll say good-bye ! 
 
 SOLO (Fairy}. 
 Return now home, lest harm may reach 
 
 Thy youthful form of grace ; 
 Tread sure the path which leads to right, 
 
 My love with rosy face. 
 Nor stay along the wild wayside, 
 
 But wisely homeward go ; 
 There soon may come the three brown bears, 
 
 Which roam this wood I know. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Hunters). 
 Have you seen a little girl 
 Come past this quiet way ? 
 
 CHORUS (Fairies, concealed}. 
 Yes ! yes ! we saw a maiden 
 With golden hair at play ! 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Hunters). 
 Was she alone ? Oh, tell us where 
 That we may find dear Golden Hair !
 
 148 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 
 
 CHORUS (Fairies, concealed). 
 We cannot say : we heard her sing 
 Her song made all the wild wood ring. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Hunters). 
 A loving Mother waits in pain, 
 Till she can see her child again. 
 Ye Fairies aid our anxious quest 
 To bring this bird back to her nest. 
 
 We must bestir and haste away 
 To seek her ere the close of day. 
 
 When we her rambling footsteps know, 
 Then, we our hunting horn will blow. 
 
 fart. 
 
 INTERIOR OF HOUSE. 
 
 SOLO (Golden Hair). 
 I'll look within this pretty house, 
 
 It is not wrong I know ; 
 There's no one in I'll only peep, 
 
 Before I homeward go. 
 
 Three chairs ! Three pots ! Three beds ! 
 
 I think I'll try them all. 
 This is too high and this too wide 
 
 I'll sit upon the small.
 
 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 149 
 
 There's too much here for a little girl, 
 
 And this is an ugly cup ; 
 Yet, this seems nice in the little pot, 
 
 I think I'll eat it up. 
 
 How high are these beds! I'll try the next, 
 
 It's not so wide and long ; 
 I'll take a nap, I feel so tired, 
 
 I know it is not wrong. 
 
 SLUMBER- SONG (Fairies, concealed). 
 Peacefully sleep, dear child of the wood, 
 
 The bears are out all three : 
 Rest, rest dear child of the wood 
 
 Sleep dear little one peacefully ! 
 
 Hush ! for the child of the wood doth rest ; 
 
 Softly sigh, O, wind ! 
 Rest lovely child ! rest dear one rest ! 
 
 The Fairies' watch is kind. 
 
 TRIO (Three Bears). 
 Who's been at my chair, can you tell, 
 
 That have misplac'd it so ? 
 Who's been at my pot, that I left well, 
 
 I should like to know ? 
 
 Who's been at my bed, can you tell ? 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! she is there ! 
 Is it you that we have caught so well 
 
 The maid with golden hair ? 
 
 [The Bears spring at Golden Hair. Hunters enter and 
 slay the Bears.]
 
 150 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Hunters). 
 We have sav'd Golden Hair ! 
 
 We now will gladly sing : 
 Our heroine is sav'd, 
 
 The victims home we bring. 
 
 In the merry greenwood 
 A hunter's life is gay ; 
 
 Then, let us gaily sing 
 This happy, happy day. 
 
 , . Freely join our chorus 
 
 In mirth forget we care 
 For one and all are glad, 
 
 We've sav'd our Golden Hair ! 
 
 Jourtlj 
 
 HOME SCENE 
 
 LAMENTABLE CHORUS (Children). 
 No more, no more our dear friend 
 
 Can with us play again ; 
 We shall miss her when the roses bloom 
 
 Our hopes are lost in pain 
 When the gay Spring-time, with all her flow'rs, 
 
 Shall deck the bright hill-side ; 
 We'shall miss her in our little group, 
 
 In our rambles far and wide.
 
 H. HARRISON'S POEMS. 151 
 
 SOLO (Mother). 
 
 They come not back from the fearful wood 
 My Golden Hair, and the Hunters good. 
 
 But, hark ! I hear a distant sound 
 
 I feel my Golden Hair is found ! 
 
 [Hunters, returning with Golden Hair, blow their horn.] 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS (Hunters). 
 We're home again, our work is done, 
 
 The three brown bears are dead : 
 We will rejoice for all are safe ; 
 
 No more the woods we'll dread. 
 
 Sing with us in our joyous song ; 
 
 The wicked foes are dead ; 
 The wood is freed, and now we can 
 
 Its pathway safely tread. 
 
 DUET (Mother and Golden Hair). 
 We shall be happy through the day, 
 
 Our sorrow now is o'er ; 
 Our hearts are gladden'd by the Brave ; 
 
 We learn a lesson more, 
 To yield a sweet obedience, 
 
 Nor tread the wayward path. 
 Who takes the way that leads to right 
 
 A certain blessing hath. 
 
 CHORUS (Children). 
 Bravo ! Golden Hair is saved, 
 
 And the wicked bears are slain ! 
 Bravo ! bravo ! bravo ! bravo ! 
 
 Golden Hair is here again !
 
 152 H. HARRISON S POEMS. 
 
 Let the air resound our praise, 
 To the Hunters good and bold 
 
 They who sav'd our playmate's life, 
 Now within her mother's fold. 
 
 Safe now from the forest glen, 
 And the wicked bears are slain. 
 
 Honor'd Hunters brave and good ! 
 Golden Hair is here again ! 
 
 [The Hunters perform the pleasant duty of crowning 
 Golden Hair with a garland of remembrance, while 
 all sing their happy chorus] . 
 
 FULL CHORUS (Children). 
 How shall we close this holiday 
 
 That gives us back our pet ? 
 We'll crown her like the Queen of May, 
 
 As we're all together met ! 
 
 Our hearts are light we all rejoice. 
 
 Forget the troubles that have been ! 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! with heart and voice ! 
 
 Nine cheers for our little Queen ! 
 
 February, 1884. 
 
 }. W. LAMBERT, PRINTER, CHAPEL STREET, SETTLE.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 697 986 8