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 Since it happens I am better acquainted with your heart 
 than your pocket, and since in order that I may live to work, I 
 still must work to live, I have prepared this Popular Edition 
 of my Third Book, hoping, like the Parson, to extract from 
 the Ideal and Spiritual, somewhat of the baser (yet solid) 
 u Material." 
 
 The Studio, 
 
 59, Drury I^axie. 
 
953 
 
 DAJM 
 
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 To thee, whom unrelenting Fate hath thrown 
 Unfriended on a heartless world alone 
 My sister, brother, whosoe'er thou be 
 I humbly dedicate this book to thee. 
 
 910 
 
The hardy nurse of philosophic 
 
 thought, 
 
 Since from dead carrion oft sweet 
 flowerets grow, Much Wisdom is by stern Misfortune 
 
 taught, 
 
 So, from the saddest depths of human 
 woe 
 
 As Iron is by forge and anvil wrought. 
 
 Our sweetest, holiest thoughts, do oft- 
 times flow. 
 
 But Wisdom does not always come 
 with years, 
 
 And there be asses which have not 
 long ears. 
 
Truth still is struggling to be free, 
 From Error and from Bigotry. 
 
Ere perfect rest can be enjoyed 
 The panoply of wealth and pride 
 Must first of all be laid aside. 
 
 You'll never find, true peace of mind 
 With such a heavy weight behind. 
 
Fame lightly lends her laurel crown, 
 Her titles, rank, and dignity : 
 
 Tis only when a man is down 
 She shows her true malignity. 
 

 Bound by Society's narrow code Can you tell me why 
 
 Of dull conventionality, 
 
 Old women do fly 
 
 Thy figure fashioned a la mode On broomsticks up to the moon in the 
 
 Sans individuality. s ^ v 
 
 Oh ! yes, in a minute, 
 
 Thy hairy brother, Esau, on the tree, Up through the infinite 
 Hath greater liberty by far than thee. They soar like the linnet, 
 
 Because, don't you know, therms a 
 man in it. 
 
Life is a garden fair, with many bowers, PI <*sure, thou rainbow-tinted bubble, 
 
 But all must dig ; 
 It is the lot of few 
 
 To rest, or glean the flowers. 
 
 Froth from the foaming tide of human 
 trouble 
 
 So keenly clutched, 
 
 So rarely caught 
 For, being touched 
 
 Thou turn'st to naught. 
 
 Pleasure in participation flies, 
 And happiness in realisation dies. 
 
 LABOURS AUREOLA. 
 
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Snow and tempest, 
 Wind and shower, 
 Tell us Spring is born. 
 
 * -it- 
 
 Dreary Midnight's 
 Darkest hour 
 Ushers in the morn. 
 
 Leaves of Autumn, golden red, 
 Tell us Summer days have fled ; 
 Winter draweth near. * 
 
 * * * 
 
 Sunset, glowing golden red, 
 Tells us that the day is dead ; 
 Night will soon be here. 
 
Humanity's curse, 
 
 Calamity's nurse 
 
 Care dwelleth in an empty purse. 
 
 The great physician of the human 
 heart, 
 
 Time, heals the deepest wounds of 
 Cupid's dart. 
 
 " Revenge is sweet," but only wait- 
 'Tis like the book the Apostle ate. 
 
Were Glory her rewards to yield 
 To such as have a right to them,, 
 The skull upon the battle-field 
 Would often wear a diadem. 
 
 The Hero is not always he who wins a throne ; 
 'Tis oftener he who, fighting, dies unknown. 
 
Much noise was made, 
 
 The world wondered ; 
 What had come to pass ? 
 
 After it had gravely pondered. 
 Lo ! it was- an ass. 
 
 The world goes round, 'tis no doubt 
 true ; 
 
 But wait your time, 'twill come 
 round too. 
 
 Truth shines mid vice with fairer 
 light, 
 
 As stars shine clearest in the night. 
 
HOMELESS 
 
" The flower that's born to blush 
 unseen," 
 
 Hath still a happier fate I ween. 
 
 Than those which decked in colours gay 
 
 Are seized, admired, then cast away. 
 
 Who through Life's tangled forest go 
 
 With lowly tread, 
 Avoid the thorny briars below 
 
 And boughs o'erhead. 
 
 Love is not Love that's given for gold ; 
 True friendship is not bought nor sold. 
 
When Age comes even Hercules must Of thy attainments have a care, 
 
 k w > Thy greatest charm may prove a snare. 
 
 And his once doughty club his staff is 
 
Who bring the world's false idols low, 
 Oft perish in the overthrow. 
 
 The rock which wrecks the vessel, 
 May also save the crew. 
 
The wrangling Rule of Parliament 
 
 Though neither learned, wise, nor 
 witty, 
 
 Hath yet an ancient precedent 
 
 Some gabbling geese, once saved a 
 city. 
 
 Even in the most unlikely spot 
 
 Some good unlocked for may be got. 
 
 He'll find it only time mis-spent, 
 Who would convince by argument. 
 Yet scraps 'of knowledge idly thrown 
 May benefit some mind unknown. 
 
Both rich and poor alike their nakedness display, 
 
 The poor because they must, the rich because they may* 
 
When the arms are filled I wis, 
 Much we lose we do not miss. 
 
 Genius the penalty must pay 
 Of being scoffed at in its day. 
 
 The space twixt parted friends that lies, 
 Indifference soon occupies. 
 
Alas for human enterprise ; The best that's in us oft must be 
 
 The mighty plans which we devise, Thrashed out by sheer calamity. 
 
 Our lofty schemes 
 
 Are mostly dreams 
 Which we can never realise. 
 
 He is a wise man who begets 
 
 For one good seed which comes to fruit, Some profit out of vain regrets. 
 
 A Million never have a root. 
 
 
 
 BY DEATH 
 
 WE 
 OBTAIN 
 
 CROWN 
 
The bough may break with its own Old friendship, like a mantle old and 
 weight ; gray, 
 
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 We cast off lightly in the sunshine 
 
 The ship may sink with its own freight. K a X> 
 
 But both are welcome on a wintry 
 day. 
 
That Faith has surely gone amiss 
 Which asks to be upheld like this ; 
 
 Salvation's hardly worth the taking 
 That's so mixed up with money-making. 
 
 They make the Truth a lie, the Faith deny, 
 Who Judas, thus, with Christ identify. 
 
 THE BROKEN BRIDGE. 
 
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We raise a dust and hope to make 
 A cover for our own'_mistake. 
 
 'Trail up a child in the way it should n't go, and when it is old it will not 
 depart from it." 
 
The lightning the great oak destroys : Riches are a burden, the wealthy tell 
 
 us so : 
 The thunder only makes the noise. 
 
 But none seem ever willing to let their 
 
 burden go. 
 
 We fojlow Fashion, not because <we "A bird in hand" is good to have, 'tis 
 may, true, 
 
 But that it hurts to pull the other But he with none may catch the other 
 way. two. 
 
The door which leads to Rank and Royal Courts' is low, 
 And he must learn to stoop, who in thereat would go. 
 
 Behold in this grim Fortune's fickle ways, 
 }Iow one man's fall another man doth raise. 
 
The ancient spirit is still close akin to ours, 
 That decked the victim for the sacrifice with flowers. 
 
 To find an honest man in sight 
 In vain searched old Diogenes ; 
 
 But even by electric light 
 
 He'd find it harder now-a-days. 
 
TIME'S DUST SHOOT, 
 
The man who asks a favour and the man who grants one. 
 
 Death ever comes, alas, too soon ; 
 
 Good Fortune tarries late ; 
 We wait for some ungotten boon, 
 
 And Death comes while we wait. 
 
The lowly floweret of the vale 
 Heeds not the fury of the gale ; 
 
 The lofty pine tree waving high 
 Meets every blast that sweeps the sky. 
 
 True grief requires no outward show, 
 Its depth the heart alone can know. 
 
 It now is worn, you will perceive, 
 Not in the heart, but on the sleeve ; 
 
 And, fitting symbol of a widow's mind, 
 She wears her sorrow thrown behind. 
 
Even the meanest of us may 
 
 Have some rare chance thrown in his way. 
 
 Without the hand to guide the string, Men's faces are like open books ; 
 The harp's a dead and useless thing. Our lives are written in our looks. 
 
Pride oft parades as Piety ; 
 And Vice likes good society. 
 
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While half the world with anxious quest 
 Its surplus wealth seeks to invest ; 
 
 The other half, unclothed, unfed, 
 Is crying out for daily bread 
 
How soon the man your bounty shares, 
 Forgets to whom he owes it ; 
 
 Takes each new favour as a right, 
 And scorns him who bestows it. 
 
 You need not come to me, poor man, When grief and fears assail the heart 
 There's nothing I can do ; Tis oft a doubtful question, 
 
 I spend so much upon myself, Whether 'tis Love or Sorrow's smart, 
 I've nothing left for you. Or only Indigestion. 
 
That which seems fair unto the view The Saint himself goes oft astray 
 
 May yet be rotten through and through. When strong temptation blocks the 
 
 way. 
 
 IU1 IUI 
 
 When all goes well, then Vigilance The world looks dark and dim, alas, 
 
 doth flag ; when seen through Sorrow's clouded 
 
 'Tis Discontentment makes the world glass. 
 
 wag. 
 
We rail at Fortune, call her saucy Nature still strives with stern persis- 
 dame, tence 
 
 When oft -'tis we ourselves should have To hide each trace of man's existence, 
 the blame. 
 
 As Icebergs, on the ocean's surface show 
 But little of their magnitude below ; 
 So of the real depth of human woe, 
 From what we only see, we little know. 
 
GENIUS AND PROSPERITY. 
 
Who gazes ever at the skies, 
 
 Sees not the good which round him lies. 
 
 Truth, from her well, cold water flings 
 On all our gay imaginings. 
 
 Of human bliss, behold the sum ; 
 Our joys are ever " still to come." 
 
'Tis well the P^uture is concealed, 
 
 'T would break our hearts if 'twere revealed. 
 
 We bask one brief hour in the world's The next, are overwhelmed in its 
 light ; night. 
 
We fondly think the world is blind Even the great soled, tender brother, 
 Because we cannot see behind. May wound, unwittingly, another. 
 
 The wisest man may prove a dunce, 
 Who tries too many things at once. 
 
Who weds unwisely beauty's daughter, 
 Ne'er gets his head above the water. 
 
 Man's charity is like his dying breath 
 It comes reluctant from the jaws of Death. 
 
REASON AND YOUTH, 
 
At night we wake in dread and fear, 
 And all our troubles vast appear. 
 
 But with the dawning of the day, 
 Our sorrows vanish all away. 
 
 Virtue is oft a circumstance, 
 We do not vitiate the senses 
 Because we do not get the chance, 
 Or that we fear the consequences ; 
 
 We're kept within the narrow way 
 For want of room to go astray. 
 
Our actions do themselves confess, 
 That oft our vaunted godliness, 
 Is nothing either more or less 
 Than overweening selfishness. 
 
Ah ! tender flow'rets on the grave, See how in this the soul's best aspt- 
 
 Ye little show ration tends > 
 
 The story of the wearied heart The harder 'tis struck down the higher 
 
 it ascends 
 
 That lies below. 
 
 Tho' Youth from Age be distant many 'Tvvas ever thus since ever man was 
 
 a year, born. 
 
 Yet childhood's memories are ever We grasp the flower, and only get the 
 
 near. thorn. 
 
\Vhen Care sits heavy on the brow, Our best resolves are lost or thrown 
 
 Then wrinkles thou shalt have, I trow. aside, 
 
 Because we fear to venture in the tide- 
 
 The wise man with a telescope 
 Will nearer bring his friend. 
 
 But when he sees a relative, 
 He'll take the other end. 
 
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When tempted forth by sunshine, 
 By showers we're overtaken ; 
 We never blame the sunshine,. 
 We only blame the rain. 
 
 Fire useful is 
 
 When held in check, 
 But uncontrolled 
 
 The house 'twill wreck. 
 
Even from the very earliest ages, 
 
 The axiom has been ever true : 
 That oft the wisest of our sages 
 Has been overridden bv a shrew. 
 
 Forget not, while Life's lofty pathways you tread, 
 The higher the mountain the cooler its head. 
 
Those whom the worst calamities 
 befall, 
 
 Are oft the least deserving of them all ; 
 
 While brutal arrogance and worthless- 
 ness, 
 
 Wallow in wealth and revel in excess. 
 
 Be wise in time, too soon 't may be too 
 late; 
 
 Remorse is hopeless at the churchyard 
 gate. 
 
Impudence, 
 Makes loud pretence ; 
 
 Excellence, 
 Shows diffidence. 
 
 But sorrow stands behind Experience. 
 
 How oft we find the lofty mind 
 By narrow prejudice confined. 
 
 Experience does not make the Sage, 
 Anil years alone make not Old Age 
 
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When skies are blue, 
 And all is fair, 
 
 And friends seem true 
 Ah, then beware ! 
 
 The load of life is light to bear 
 
 When Love and Friendship take a share. 
 
The faculties which we have lost, 
 In others we admire the most. 
 
 He only heaps up slush and mire Doctrines opposed too oft converge, 
 
 Who builds a snow man by the fire- As East and West together merge. 
 
How hard not to have won it 
 When so little might have done it. 
 
 Pride, pomp, and palaces, farewell, 
 I go with lowly folk to dwell. 
 
 Gaudy Fancy's dream dispeller ; At midnight on a sable horse, 
 
 Time's the truest fortune-teller. Around the town rides dark Remorse. 
 
How often in life, when we have]gone 
 
 astray, 
 It has been our own shadow that Though ever on the topmost bough, 
 
 darkened the way. The fruk seems best of a ,, . 
 
 The higher up the tree we climb, 
 The sorer is our fall. 
 
 Nature our vanity respects, 
 And blinds us to our own defects. 
 
 The last support of age. 
 
Sorrow waits 
 At palace gates. 
 
Alas, "It is not always May" 
 'Tis very often Must. 
 
 HERE UES 
 
 ONEWHODfEQ IN 
 THE VAIN SEARCH 
 FCFR HAPPlNFSS 
 HAVING LOKD 
 
 FOR U IN THE 
 
 WRONG PLACE 
 
 The universal epitaph. 
 
Ye cross-grained critics who do sneer for bread, 
 And narrow bigots, superstition fed, 
 ; Twas not for you, forsooth, this book was writ, 
 Nor has >our stilted judgment shaped my wit; 
 Nathless for you I make one symbol more, 
 A symbol you perchance have met-a-fore. 
 
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