'HE GLEANER 3T»;Tr: BY JOHN FAWCETT SKELTOI THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ,c\V^ GL£ V AMp ^ A SELECTION OF BY JOHN FAWCETT SKELTON Enteral ut Shirioncr.-^ Hall. LOXDOX : SIMPKiy, MARSHALL, AXD CO. MANCHESTEE : .TOnX HETWOOT), DEANSOATE, PlilXTEl) BY TJIOMAS fUNLIFFR, TTIR CrAUOIAX STIIAM PRIVi'INU WORKS, OXTORD-STREET, EoI.TOX. y PREFACE. Di:;ak Rkadeks, It is with fccliug.s of a rather pleasurable than otherwise sort of anxiety thai I venture to lay before you, in book form, Avhut I suppose 1 may be allowed to call my poetical works. Tlie writing of them has extended over a period of about a dozen years. A great number of the pieces have already appeared in the several newspapers of Bolton, and it is the simple fact that I am still alive after that, which has emboldened me to present you with those again, together with about as many more original ones, in a more lasting and iingerable fashion. The Poems and Songs of " The Gleamek " do not presume to teach ; for the author himself has not yet learned by heart to put to practical use c(/i' the good moral and social hints they contaiii. Vet he hopes, nevertheless, they will be allowed not only to convey their own lessons, but also to strike them '' home.'' They do, however, aspire to please and amuse you, dear Headers, and if ihej^ do that they do much, and 1 shall feel, amply remunerated thereby. Some were written in Bolton, some in Hawkshaw-Lane, some on the bracing hill-tops and in the beautiful valleys of my native land, some were penned at sea, some in Australia, some in joy, others in sorrow, some in the sunshine, and manj' in the shade. The selection is laid before you respectfully, and without any regard to classification, order, or arrangement. I launch them upon the sea of your intelligence, your honourable criticism, and yonr justice, blended, if so please you, with your lenient forbearance, on the ground that no two men think alike ; and I fondly hope that ioxivz of the poetical waifs may reach the happy haven of your approbation. But each must sink or sviira as it can, and as its merit (or the want of it) deserves. S-iS'.; IV I have nothing further to do with them, except to comiiiciul them tenderly to yon, and to own thcni — they are mine — God bh>ss them ! There are only Unc Thousand copies (all at your service) and whatever prolit may accrue from the sale and disposal of the said nimiber of copies only, 1 shall be glad to hand over to the Inlirmary of my native town of Bolton. Permit me to express especial pride and gratitude to those of yon, dear Readers, whose faith in and friendship for me induced to ])c subscribers for " The Gleanek," and I hope you will not regret presenting me with your autographs, which I beg to preserve. In conjunction with the printer, my dear friend, Thomas Cunlific, 1 have s]iared neither pains nor pelf In make the book presentable, and worthy your acceptance. In conclusion, dear Headers, 1 wish you all, sincerely, a hai)py new year; and beg to subscribe myself Your obedient servant, THE AUTHOE. Hairkshaw-Lane, Tottington, near Bury, Lancashire, New Year'd Day. 1870. CONTENTS. Tlie Ransoiu of tlic Painter ------ 9 ^'y((,S'o;ij— Dash it Do^^-n ------- 131 Flowers _-.----__ 132 In the Shade - - - - - - - - 133 rONTEXT!<. vii PAGE Misfovtunes - - - - - - - 134 The Sun - - - - - - - - 134 A Stanza - - - - - - - - 135 Spring -_-.-.._. J35 (S'o7i.;/— Roll Back, Roll Back, ye Stealthy Years - - - 13G The Troubles of Life - - - - - - - 137 Snowdrops - - - - - - - -138 Song — I would T were a Sunny Boani ----- 130 A Thought at Sunset - - - - - . - 139 An Enigma . . _ . - _ . 1^1 To a Skylark Singing -_..._ X4] Love Lines ,-------_ 142 Guess Again _.-..._ ]43 Ho)i{i — Poor Carlo I ------ . 140 To my Watch ------- 147 John Barleycorn ----_.. 143 A Fable - - - - - - - - 151 Friendship -----_.. 152 Land, Ho ! - - - - - - - - 152 A Charade ----._._ 155 A Nickname _ - _ _ _ _ 155 Les Ombres -----... 15(3 To my Little Sister ------- 153 The Comet - - - - - - - - 159 Song — Have a Care ------- 16O A Temperance Hymn - - -. - - - - 162 A (certain) Maiden's Prayer - . . _ _ 1(53 Sweet --------- 164 Returned with the Glove --___. i65 The ViUage Well - - - - - - - 160 The Album to the Contributor - - - - - 168 A Letter -------_. 169 A Liillaby Song --_-_.. 171 Impromptu Lines on the High -Tor, Matlock - - - . 172 Gloom ---.--._ 172 Our Fortieth Year - - - - - - - 173 Song — The Banner of Freedom ----- 175 The Old Bar-Parloi;r Bell - 175 Rejoicings .--__.__ 177 Silence - - - - - - - - , _ 178 Tears -------- 178 The Throstle _ - - 178 Song-r-Ye Sober Sons of Wisdom - ^ - - - 180 viii I'OXTENTS. I'AGK A Pic-Nic beneath an Oak Tree _ . _ _ _ igl To a Friend on New Year's Day, 1862 - - - - 182 Children's Temperance Hymn ------ 183 Sony — Wliere the Liciuor-Palace Gkreth - - - - 184 Morning --------- 185 To my Grandfather ------- 180 Ask - - 187 An Elegy - - UH Land Ahead ! - - - - - - - - 193 My Native Town ------- 104 Some Bright Ideas (1 lilt lu.t liirt own) ----- 105 ■Ma^ O""^ THE GLEANER. o.d>^ S ffiCL''^ -- THE RANSOM OF THE PAINTER. FROM THE FRENCir. '* Rude sentinel of countless years, How grand tliis rock abi-upt appears ! Metliinks Prometheus here was liound^ While famished vultures wheeled around His quivering limbs, and glaring eyes And foaming month, whence yells arise To scare those hellbirds from his heart, Which throbs as though in twain 'twould part ! Methinks these gloomy caves were built When frail mankind began to sin, To be the hiding-dens of guilt, — Tliey seem so dark and deep within I And yet yon distant sylvan glade Was surely but for angels made, O'erlooked by yon aerial tower. The stronghold of some princely power. glorious landscape ! Beauty's home ! Thy spirit to my soul doth come, To steal me from my load of care. And wean me from my deep despair. O glorious landscape ! if 'twere mine To paint thee as I see thee now, Beflooded in this light divine, Cold Death might kiss my happy brow !" Thus spoke a handsome bright-eyed youth. The child of Genius and of Truth, Struck with the wondrous mountain-spot. High o'er his mean Italian cot. 10 THE GLEANER. So wrapt and so entranced was he In this delicious reverie, He heard not footsteps in the wood Till by his very side there stood A brigand — arm'd with gun and knife, Who liv'd with all mankind at strife. " Your money, signoi', or your life." The youth felt something toiich his cheek, And yet thus fearless did he speak : " My money ? go demand it of The last innkeei^er by the road ; ]\Iy life's the only thing I have — Take it, 'tis but a weary load." What bitterness was in his voice ! What heartfelt sadness in his eye ! The brigand saw he would rejoice To know the moment he should die. Down fell the pistol ; and the blade Was sheath'd deep in its scabbard, Imre : A suff'ring human instinct made A brother of the robber there. '' Thou art unhappy, youth, thy hand ; Would'st like to join our mountain band ? A word, and thou art quick enroll'd To share our freedom and our gold." Sudden there burst upon the scene The lawless rest, led by their q^^een, Who flew into his arms that first Upon the wanderer's reverie burst. " Thou art not wounded, Pietro, dear ?" She anxious whispered in his ear. " Wounded, my Marietta, sweet I 'Tis but an unarmed boy, whose feeb Have thoughtless trespass'd our domain ; Some painter-student from the pbin. For, see, his pencil and his book Are lying in yon rocky nook. " A strong old man now stepp'd between, And changed the aspect of the scene. The chief, he, of the robber horde, And life or death was in his word. " Death, death ! no foolish mercy show ; These painter-dogs come from below THE a LEANER. ll As spies, to reproduce our faces And sketch our mountain hiding-places ; Which cursed works, with open hand, They freely scatter o'er the laud, Till none of us this moment dare Appear at any house of prayer. The holy Virgin holds the list Of all the masses I have miss'd Through fear of pictures up and down In ravine, hamlet, and in town. Death, death ! no (quarter for this one," The chieftain cried in terrible tone. But Pietro said, " The youth doth seem Quite disenchanted with that world From which we all were basely hurl'd Through fighting for our rights supreme. Thon knows't one of our band is dead, Francesco, with the fair young face, His spirit would not all be fled If this young stranger fill his place." " Thanks,'" said the youth, and undismay'd Turn'd to the chief and gently said, " I have no fancy for your trade." " What, art thou not from Naples fled V The monarch bandit sternly growl'd — (His words like muffled thunder roll'd) — " And bear'st thou no revengeful hate Against our Spanish tyrants great. Who persecute Italia's sons And force them into slavish bonds !" " Yea," cried the youth, with kindling brow, '' I hate the Yice-roi more than thou ; And when the time shall come to drive Our tyrants back (be I alive) I'll not be last to draw the sword. Of that take thou my solemn word. But if thou dream'st that imder cloak Of even tyranny's fell yoke Which lays my country bleedmg low, I'd strike an inoffensive foe To rob him of his life or gold, Thoii'rt not so wise as thou art old." " Shoot hun I" the old man yell'd in rage. And none to thwart him dare engage. 12 THE GLEANER. Now many a carbine marks that breast Full and aglow with high desire, While, glancing at their chief, the rest Wait bnt the fatal sign to fire. Tlic woman notes with pitying eye The victim of the chief, uncoutli, But dare not speak, or even sigh In favour of that noble youth. " I ask but one small grace," he said, " Then lay me with the peaceful deadj Let me but once again behold This glorious landscape bathed in gold, For, see ! the sun, like beauty, proud. Throws off the veil of yon white cloud, Illumines, with his bold briglit eye. Earth, ocean, and the azure sky. Oh, let me, for the last time, trace The lineaments of Nature's face !" " Tliou shalt," the softening chief replied ; " 'Twcre meanness to refuse thy prayer, Go to yon beetling mountain side, And for thy speedy doom prepare. Thou canst not if thou wouldst escape, — ]Make but one step beyond, and thou Hast lost at once all human shape, Smash'd on the spiky rocks below." " Thanks," said the youth, with glistening eye, '•' Sweet lady, thou canst after tell That, all content, I went to die. Farewell, sweet lady ; friends, farewell !" His pulse made not an extra beat, As calmly there he turn'd his feet Towards the fatal mountain sj^ot. Nor cruel did he think his lot ; But thus he spoke on bended knee, While gazing on that bright creation, Nor thought of sudden death, for he Was lost in holy admiration : — " Oh, heaven, how shall I thank thee that mine eyes Have looked again upon these glorious skies ! This earthly paradise of hill and dale. With golden river twining through the vale ; While giant rock, and sombre, deep ravino THE GLEANER. 13 Add further beauty to the charming scene. Where'er the i-avish'd eye can piercing reach 'Tis beauty, glory, far too grand for speech ! Voluptuous Nature opening wide her arms While amorous sunbeams revel in her charms ! To gaze a moment on a scene like this, Woi'o worth the longest life of earthly bliss !" 'Twas Providence, sure that bade him bend An humble and a reverent knee, Else had his life been at an end, — His sj)irit in eternity. The I'obbers now impatient grip Their murd'rous instruments of death ; The word to fire hangs on his lip, But, turning, thus the chieftain saith : — •' Stop, comrades, see ye not he prays \ Let us respect his last devotion, 'Tis but a nioment more he stays. Ere laxniched mto the unknown ocean." The moment pass'd, and then another, And many, still the stranger knelt ; Scarce could the robber-captain smother Th' impatience he so keenly felt. " Sacristi ! but his prayer is long, 'Twould serve a dozen at their needs ; I had not thought that one so young Need count so many pious beads." Then stepping where the young man kneels, A single rapid glance reveals The nature of the artist's prayei's, — A pencil gracefully he bears, And in his Ijook with skilful hand Is sketching all that beauteous land. From out a thickly-wooded spot There peeps forth an abandon'd cot Thrown picturescpiely on the swell Of hill that loolcs adown a dell. No sooner did the old man see The sketch upon the artist's knee, Tlipn in quick tones of glad surprise Which from his harden'd bosom rise, — " Our house !" he cried, " our own dear home W^here first I saw the morning light ! 14 THE GLEANER. Red rviin to that roof has come, The soldiers sack'd it in a night !" " Methinks 'twas once a charming place," The youth replied with careless grace. "A charming place !" (and as he spoke, a tear Fell from the old man's eye into the ground j. " A charming place ?" " Yes, twice in every year A thousand roses bloom'd and rock'd around, And fresh and fragrant honeysuckles there The modest, rustic portal thickly bound ; That portal which the rising sun Kiss'd with his first and brightest rays ; More peaceful home he shone not on In those, my young and happy days. My father liv'd there like a king. Contented as the birds in spring. Till failing once to pay a tax Most odious, by our tyrants laid. They came, with soldiers at their backs. And of our home a ruin made. Kill'd was my father by the door ; My mother never look'd up more. I fled into these mountain caves. And oft have changed them into graves, For 'gainst mankind my hate is sworn. My oath re-utter'd every morn. This heart into a stone I turn'd, And laughed at soimds of grief and woe. Full many a noble mansion burn'd And caus'd broad streams of blood to flow. I am revenged ! but yet I feel A tender reminiscence steal Athwart my heart to see once more The ruins of that home of yore." The hard old bandit stepp'd aside, Two glittering, scalding tears to hide ; But quickly turn'd again to see The sketch upon the painter's knee. i''e Gods ! what is it meets his sight, And gives that thrill of strange delight ? No ruin'd hut is lying there To tell of death and blank despair ; THE GLEANER. 15 But in its place a cottage fair, On which a thousand roses shine, And honeysuckles thickly twine Around the peaceful rustic door, With early sunbeams streaming o'er. And all is beautiful and gay, The spot to pass a life away, Without one thought of sin or shame, — Without one prayer for wealth or fame ! Rapid as magic had the youth By genius changed the sketch, forsooth. " Yes ! that is it," the old man cried, " Our cot, before my father died ; The home wherein my mother's joke Was heard, before her heart was broke." He took the painter by the hand. And call'd unto his savage band. Who, wond'ring, gaz'd upon the scene All thought was to have bloody been. They spar'd his precious life, and more, An everlasting friendship swore. And prais'd his talent and his art In eulogies that pierc'd his heart. The youth with sweet emotions rife Then told the story of his life : — Though scarcely eighteen summers old, Strange had his earthly page unroll'd, His father, Antonia Rosa nam'd (A painter, poor, unknown to fame), Would have his son a priest become. And early sent him from his home To live with monks and friars grey. To learn to fast, and preach, and pray. " All well enoiTgh," the artist cried, " Had Nature, too, been on their side ; But soon I felt within my breast I was not born to be a priest. Except when Nature, all divine. Calls me to worship at her shrine. Far dearer than the monk's lone cell Is rock, and mead, and flowery dell ; And, to enjoy this mountain sun, Ye know, my friends, what I have done 16 THE GLEANER. All fearless brav'cl the brigand's gun." " Dear youth/' said Pietro, by whose side Stood Marietta — lovely bride ! " Have thou for us no further fear, For, from to-day, thou'rt welcome here. And our protection shalt thou have Among these mountains thou dost love. I was a painter once, like thee. And inward felt the poet's fre, Dream'd that my humble name would be Sung to an everlasting lyre. Would'st know the reason I forsook The canvass, and its colours fair, And to this brigand-life betook. To dwell in cave and mountain lair V " 'Twas love for Marietta here, The daughter of our chieftan old. Seest thou her eyes so soft and clear I Seest thou her hair in masses roH'd ? Seest thou the featiu'es of that face, Pure as the saints from Raphael's brush I That form that monarch's throne would grace ? Nay, nay, my own, thou needst not blush ; My sacrifice has been but small. In gaining thee, I gained all." '' 'Tis true," the youtliful artist said, " Her beauty would inspire the dead ! No richer ransom could I give Than (by this gracious lady's leave) Her portrait. Say, shall I commence ?" " Ay, ay !" the brigands cried at once. For truer homage ne'er was given To queen or to a saint in heaven Than these rude outlaws gave to her, Pietro's wife, so young and fair. Her sparkling eyes a secret told Of something lurking in her blood. Vain as her mother Eve ©f old. And quite as beautiful she stood. Her stern old father grindy smil'd ; No tender thought had he save what Clung round his young and blooming child. And round his old domestic cot. TTTE a LEA NEB. 17 " Good youtli, thy proposition I At once accept," the old man said, " A thick gold frame for thee shall lie Around the sketch of her fair head ; One day thou shalt be own'd by Fame, And every land shall know thy name ; And pay, ay, for thy lightest touch Of brush or pencil, riches such As now thou would'st not dream to ask, — So get thee now to thy sweet task." Th' inspir'd youth at once began. And o'er the sheet his pencil ran, And quickly caught each noble liiu' Of that grand face, almost divine. Amazement beam'd in every eye Of every robber standing by. Delight, and e'en enchantment sprung, As on the ground their arms they flung, And not one of that rebel band But fondly press'd the painter's hand ; And then down at his feet they rolled A very streani of varioiis gold. Then grateful tears rose bright into his eyes, And with indignant voice the painter cries : — " Oh, paltry brokers of my native town, Ye stole my pictures for a pittance, vile ; No help, no kind encouragement, was shown Until I found these men and mountains wild. Henceforward do I consecrate my life Unto the glorious art ! and as it sav'd Me from a cruel death by stranger's knife, (Whose power, wantonly, perhaps, I brav'd) When next my works are seen, be't soon or later. Each one shall bear the grateful name—' Salvator,"' '• Good," cried the chieftain, conquer'd now complete. While from tlie lady's eyes there gently flows a Sweet stream of tears, " all ages shall repeat Thy name aloud with pride— Salvator Rosa !'' ?:^ 18 THE GLEANUPu THE TINGLE-DINGLE-M^iV^. Oil ne'er go seeking sorrow, for it comes too soon at last, And rather to tlie future look than on the cruel past ; For when I do — but, come, I'll tell my secret if I can, 'Twixt you and me — the postman and the tingle dingle-man. The tingle-dingle-man, the tingle-dingle-man, 'Twixt you and me — the postman and the tingle-dingle- man. Jemima Clementina was a pretty London-lass, A lively hupper 'ousemaid to some folks of hupper class ; And hup and down those winding stairs how joyfully she ran To meet me, in the days we knew no tingle-dingle-man. No tingle-dingle-man, S:c. We were to he united on a certain Monday morn ; A wreath (jf orange peeling by my Jem was to be worn. The golden ring was ready, and a little ^Docket fan, For 'twas in Jiuie he robbed me, did the tingle-dingle-man. The tingle-dingle-man, &c. But Friday (previous) to the gate some evil spii'it sent That tingle-dingle fellow with his grinding instrument. Jemima was a-polishing a co^Dper warming-pan, But she dropt it and ran out to hear tlie tingle-dingle-man. The tingle-dingle-man, &c. Now what bewitching tunes he played I'm sure I cannot name. Bat ah ! he played the hangman with my poor Jemima Clem' ! The solemn vows she made to me are broken every one, For she's off and gallivanting with that tingle-dingle-man. That tingle-diugle-man, &c. What could she see in this Italian loafer on the town ? His eyes were nasty black ones, and his skin was dirty brown. Besides, he spoke a language which she could not understan'. So I blame the drawing organ of that tingie-dingle-man. Tliat tingle-dingle-man, &c. I think she's not in London, though the town's a sti'aggling place, For since her cniel conduct I have never seen her face. Perhaps that dreadful organ's in some foreign railway- van With Jemima — little monkey ! — and her tingle-dingle-man. Her tingle-d««igle-man, &c. THE GLEANER. 19 And now my song is over yon may praise me or condemn, But I cannot love another girl like false Jemima Clem'. That's why my heart's so heavy and my 'wisage ' is so wan, 'Twixt you and me — the postman and the tingle-dingle-man. The tingle-dingle-man, &c. TO A BUTTEEFLY. What art thou but a winged flower ? A two-leaf d blossom blown away ? Where is thy native sunny bower ? Come, tell me, if thou hast the power, Tell, and oblige a friend, I pray. On what sweet bed didst thoii repose, Thou and thy spotted mantled mother ? Thy cradle, was't the rocking rose Or honeys uck', whence nectar flows ? Or swinging blue bell, or what other .' How many eggs in earthy nest Thy caterpillar parent hatch'd I What, silent I Well, thou knowest best ; Forgive my rather rude request ; In wisdom I am overmatch'd. Babe of the sunlight ! to and fro Drifted around by wanton wind. Like single, flying flake of snow. Tempting the schoolboy's stealthy toe, To leave him luckless far behind. Enrag'd, his cap and jacket warm, His satchel, big with book and ball. Are hurled straight at thy fragile form, To do thee grievous, mortal harm. While flitting o'er the garden wall ; 20 ' THE GLEANEll. Or worse the mibcliief , chasing tliee With thoughtless feet through waving wood, Stumbling across some fallen tree, Or tript-up by its branches, he Flops to his middle in the mud ! With smarting knees, and bleeding nose, His spirit drops again to earth, And as he looks upon his clothes. His sentiments of thee are those That sweep away all thoughts of uiirtli. Catch him imagining that thou A living, fairy spirit art. Sent flutt'ring from above to show That pleasures but a moment ilow. Yea, as we taste them, they depart ! A few more years, and he'll regard Thy passing form witli other cye«. The hand of a creating Lord E'en in a butterfly is bared As plain as in the starry skies ! TO THE RlVEl!. How sweet to watch thee, flowing river. So smoothly glide along. And know, too, that thou tunest ever Thy low and liqiiid song To Nature's all harmonious pitch, Above, below, around ; And deaf is he who cannot catch The grand and grateful sound ! 'Tis sweet to trace thee on and far Right to the tiny spring, Up high above yon rocky bar Where moss and lichen clin^' : THE GLEANER. 21 That little fount which gives thee birth, Waveless and clear and white, From whence thou stealest o'er the earth Till lost in ocean-light. That shepherd's hut on mountain-brink Thou cheerest with thy ripple. And fain is he thy wave to drink. Yon poor forsaken cripple, (Which is, whate'er old topers think. The sweetest, safest "tipple.") Then sec thee as thou flowest past That good old English farm, 'Twould make one think that thou hadst cast O'er it some fruitful charm. And as thou mo vest proudly down. Enlarged by flood and rain, Perchance thou passest through a town Which gives to thee that stain Thou carriest to the main. Like erring maid whose one false turn For ever causeth her to mourn And_weep, but all in vain ! And when at last thy mighty arms Embrace a thousand sails. Thy beauty and thy thousand charms Would till a thousand tales. And yet thou art but little when Thou sleepest in' the sea. Like to the lives of mortal men When in Eternity ! But little I yea, but yet not lost, Thy globules glad the ocean, As souls of good men swell the host Of angels in devotion. THE LOVERS. By a river slowly flowing, Sat a youthful, loving paii', Gentle evening winds were blowing Through the purple, balmy aii'. ^2 THE GLEANER. On a mossy mound they rested, Twin'd each in the other's arms. O'er and o'er again they tasted All a summer evening's charms. Setting was the sun in glory, Shooting upward crimson beams, Giving thus my simple story What bright spirits give to dreams. Golden-fringed clouds were creeping, Creeping slowly on the sky, And, afar, 'twas twilight peeping From the east with dusky eye. Happy hour for youth and maiden ! Each to each a treasure sweet ; Bosoms, theirs, Avith rapture laden, As they closely, warmly meet. Then he tells in accents winning. O'er and o'er again his love. How he felt its strange beginning, Wand'rmg once in shady grove. How her eyes, like stars, bedazzle, With their full and melting light. How their rich, deep tint of hazel Haunts in dreams his every night. How her brow is like white marble, Lightly bound with faint blue ties, And her voice sweet as the warble Of the birds of Paradise ! How her hair, of colour golden, Woven is into his soul, Hair the richest yet beholden Since the seasons 'gan to roll. How her lips are like to roses ; How her hands are like to snow ; How her heaving breast discloses Tender secrets hid below. THE GLEANER. 23 How her breath hath all the sweetness Of the garden-hauntuig air, And her form a ripe completeness Which is far beyond compare. How the trees have richer colour, And the streams more tuneful glide ; How all things with joy are fuller When she sits thus at his side. How hvv beauty that bewitches Is but half her maiden worth, For her heart and mind have riches Rarer than the gems of earth. How her presence ever bringeth What his inmost soul doth crave ; How his love is that wluch springeth Fresh, and blooms beyond the grave. ]Iappy as an angel dreaming Listens she to all he says, For she knows his heart is teemii.j With the love which ne'er betraj'S. He, with true, yet timid, courage Asks her, oh, to name the sun Which shall set upon his marriage With his well-beloved one. In his breast she hides her blushes. Tells him, though with coy delay, And the breeze its sighing hushes As she names the wedding day. Soon it came, with music laden, And kind words from eveiy mouth, Then they sail'd, that youth raid maiden. To the warm and sunny south. ooc^Q(^^Q^^^^.> 24 THE GLEANER. SONG. THE SIGNATURE IN BLOOD. We stood beside a waning fire, I and a casual friend ; A midnight moon clomb high and higher, Our heax'ts did meet and blend. Fair-spoken was he, and polite, And soon my sorrowing soul Laid bare itself unto his sight. He read my secrets all ! 'Twas then and not till then I knew Who at my ell^ow stood, — The Tempter, and his words were few — " Thy signature in blood !'' And then he slowly did unfold A parchment, broad and fair, Would give me fame, and health, and gold. If I would sign it thei-e ! T paus'd — and fought a silent fight, How long I never knew, Then bade my friend begone that night And take his parchment too. He'll offer it, perchance, to thee. When in a fitting mood. Then striij/gle, but ne'er let him see Thy signature in blood ! For do thou sign, and soon or late. With eyes that fearful roll, He'll ask and have, without debate, Thy everlasting soul ! That is his modest price, forsooth. For gold, and health, and fame. With which he tempteth age and youth And good and bad the same. Then with thy forfeit he descends Into the fiery flood, And tosseth to his laughing fiends Thy signature in blood ! THE C4LEANEH. 25 BEECH'S HOTEL. THE BOLTON " LOCK-UPS. How useful all over the world, to the rover, Are inns and hotels when away from one's home, On business or pleasure, you g(j at your leisure. Quite certain of comfort wherever you roam. For a few paltry guineas, no Royal Prince in his Own palace so cozy as you, up or down, — • But one that is local, now Lids me be vocal, That's Beech's Hotel, in a Lancashire town. Of all the queer shops that a traveller sto^is at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. Though one of the oddest, the building is modest. With windows and carriage-gates bolted aiid barr'd ; 'Tis no feudal castle of lord and of vassal, .But stiU it can boast of a stony court-yard. And though no high turret, no battlement o'er it, No broad, sweeping terrace, nor vista in view. Ye find, should ye enter, m summer or winter, An awful bad " keep," and a " donjon " or two. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. Rich soup or fresh tish is ne'er seen on its dishes. Its joints and its game will not give you the gout : Its piidding and pies, sirs, to tell you no lies, sirs. Are quickly digested withoiit any " stout." Your simple reclining-room, making your dining-room, Boasts of few luxuries, good heaven knows well ! And folk that go oftest, say, none of the softest Are the eider-down couches in Beech's Hotel. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. The servants are numerous, drowsy and humouroiis, Dress'd all alike, but still not in neat blacks. Their livery's a blue one, and every year new on, Provided it has not been ripp'd off their backs. For they sometimes delight in rude squabbles and lightin' With poor peaceful citizens, here and there, 26 THE GLEANER. But if they're not eaten, these servants get beaten, And sent home to Beech's with knobs in their hair. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. And Beech's fine fellows are awfully jealous Of every hotel in the town, good or bad. And after each closes, they poke in their noses To see if there's any more drink to be had. Though soapy and civil, they lie like the devil. And mortally hate every decent man's brow ; But if you would please 'em, just steal an old besom, Or lie in the street drunk as David's old sow. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at. The queerest and dearest is Beech's hotel. The switches they dandle are stout to the handle, And ring like a bell, on a pavement — or skull ! O blest is the city knows none of their pity, And happy the hamlet where their trade is dull ! Their nicknames are " nobby " — some christen them " Bobby," Some, " Rabbit-pie-Warriors," "Bluebottles," and " Sneaks ;" While some call them " Peelers," and some simply, " Stealers," And some give new names to them every three weeks. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. And yet " Robert's" trade is (whatever'his grade is) No loitei'ing pastime, nor much of it play ; We are apt to imagine his work is but " cadgin','' While strutting full dress'd, like a peacock, all day. 'Tis through the small hours of night, 'mid the showers Of lightning-lit tempests he guards your repose 'Gainst robber and flame ! then methinks 'tis a shame To stop the " two-pen-'orth " he takes for his woes. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. Mr. Super. Beech now is renown'd for his prowess As landlord and chief of this famous hotel ; He's shapely in figure, and plump as a nigger, And brave, or he'd be a bad egg in the shell. Though handsome his face is, beware his embraces ! He's not too polite if you go there to sleep ; THE GLEANER. 27 His chambermaid's crusty, and though you be histy, The sight of your bed strikes you all of a heap ! Of all the queer shops that a ti'aveller stops at, The queerest aud dearest is Beech's Hotel. Despite your excuses, he you introduces Next morn to some Magnates of this " glorious land," Who sit upon " benches " to " try " lads and wenches. And gentle folk, too, if before them they stand, And should their big ph;uton for you be in waitin', It's good-bye, my pippin, for many a sad day ; It's " Jacob's long ladder," or (what makes one sadder) A trip o'er the fluke-pond to Botany Bay. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at, The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel.'' So now more's the pity, if, from my rude ditty You don't glean a warning to keep you from wr®ng ; In every large town, sirs, there is to be found, sirs, A curious hotel like this one in my song. Whatever you're doin', look shy on "blue ruin," Or else these " Bluebottles " will cork you up tight. And blown out with " skilly," you'll look rather silly. Though you should leave Beech's in freedom at night. Of all the queer shops that a traveller stops at. The queerest and dearest is Beech's Hotel. PEEL'S MONUMENT. Now let your fancy leap and show her skill, From '' Stanley Rake " to top the " Holcombe Hill,' Where for a while we wait to catch our breath. To see the gorgeous picture spread beneath. But ere we sweep the vale with ravish'd eye, A moment mark the masonry hard by. And let your hearts, if not your bodies, kneel Before the monument to glorious Peel ! Noblest and best of all the lordly band. 28 THE GLEANER. WLo sway'd the stomuclis of a starving land. How well lie knew by heart and boldly said, — " My countiy needs it, and nuist have cheap bread Cheap bread I despite the nation's angry strife ; Cheap bread ! for is it not the ' staff of life ' I Come, help me, and we'll wrench away with scorn The crushing crown with many an iron thor)i, That tyranny hath welded to be worn Upon the Aveeping brow of golden corn !" And he had '' help " from man and from his God, And eas'd his country of her shameful load. Then let your hearts, if not your bodies, kneel Before this shrine to great Sir Robert Peel ! Long may it lift its stern commanding head, And lofty column from their " wimberry'' bed; Long may the nibbling sheep in safety swarm, Wrai^t in its shade from sunshine, rain and storm. And should some freak of Nature overthrow, And playful hurl it to the plain below. May grateful sons of many a grateful sire But build it all the bolder and the higher, To tell to generations yet unborn Wlio took the devil's tax oft" bread and coin ! A MORNING SONG. See ! the sun is in the sky. And his beams like lightning tiy, Chasing with their, glorious light Lingering remnants of the night. Hark ! tli' aerial songsters gay Hail with hymns this new-born day ! And the hum of golden bee Fills the air for thee and me. Come, then, come ! Leave for awhile thy couch of sorrow And bid our bonnie earth ' ^ good morrow THE GLEANER. 29 IMisty mantlo spreading there Soon will quit the fresli'ning air, And the breath of thousand llowers Brightly peeping shall be oiu's. Jealously the amorous sun Bids the dew-drops all begone ; Haste, and we will, ere 't be past, Catch the glory of the last. Come, then, come ! Leave for awhile thy couch of sorrow. And bid our bonnie earth " good morrow !" o^ Twinkling brooks go laughing by Blue-bell knolls where we may lie, And from off their summits see Distant ocean, broad and free. Then with mycroscopic ej'e Watch the insects as they fly ; Or (though we our folly learn) Seek for fairies through the fern. Come, then, come ! Leave for awhile thy couch of sorrow. And bid our bonnie earth " good morrow !" a^ E'en the glad leaves on the trees Mui'mur, joyous, in the breeze ; And the rugged rocks themselves Smile from out their barren shelves. Yea, yon deep, dark-cavern'd grot, Where the sunbeams enter not, Feels the joy from all around. To its core of gloom profound. Come, then, come ! Leave for awhile thy couch of sorrow, And bid our bonnie earth " crood morrow !' --^Q^f^f^i)^^^ 30 THE GLEANEB. SONG. THERE'S A HOPE IN THE FUTURE FOR THEE, BROTHER. Tune : — " There's a light in the window for thee, brother." There's a hope in the future for thee, brother, There's a hope in the future for thee, For in spite of our fall There is mercy for all — There's a hope in the future for thee. CHORUS : A grand reformation is nigh If drink thou wilt promise to flee, A promise unbroken to lie. Then there's hope in the future for thee. Though degraded by drink to a brute, brother, And thy case as forlorn as can be, Yet look up again. For we firmly maintain. There's a hope in the future for thee. A grand reformation, &c. Then cheer thee, for all is not lost, brother, Thou yet mayst escape and be free ! Come and sign us the pledge, And in truth we allege There's a hope in the future for thee. A grand reformation, &c. Be thou faithful to that, and to God, brother, And whatever thy destiny be, In sickness or health, In want or in wealth, There's a hope in the future for thee. A good reformation, &c. THE GLEANER. 31 ANTI-TOBACCO. To Mr.Wilbraham Stead, in ans\yer to his "Lay of Tobacco," March 1875. Your twenty verses — *mon cher' Stead, (Thanks to our friend A. C.) I have with cir'ioxis jjleasure read — Your charming ' jcu d'esprit.' I know you for an artist rare, With pencU, paint and brush. And now Uie Muses too declare The poet's pen you push. A rhyming artist ! Bless my soul ! How clever some men are ! But verses pay a heavier toll Than pictures do by far. So, brother rhymester, 'bide a wee,' That we may have a run at Your poem with a pen, d'ye see ? Or point a pistol-pun at. I'll don the critic's ' seedy ' gown, And jot with critic ink A few uncurb'd opinions down By way of what I think. Now verse is like your oakum stuff — The more its worth increases. The more 'tis ripp'd up in the rough, And pick'd and pull'd to pieces. But, coming to the point and cream Of your sublime efiusioii, * Tobacco's ' but a doubtful thenae — Its ' sweetness ' a delusion. For my poor part, methinks wt "re more Indebted to Charles Halle, Whose music floods our peaceful shore, Than to Sir Walter Raleigh. That doughty knight I'd rather praise In true tin-pot afflatus That he was first to plant and raise In Ireland, new potatoes ! 32 THE GLEANER. The scrumptious ' tater ' — blessed ' spud/ Ripening in fields and bogs, Whose wondrous virtues all are £cood For kings as well as hogs. But ' bacca/ bah ! tis useless niiick, Except to swell the taxes, And set one dreaming in ' the nook,' While every sense relaxes ; Till apathy o'erwhelm the soul ; Till duty be forgotten. Till every breath grow rank and foul, And every tooth be rotten I Till every screen and curtain fade, And every carpet smell ; Till all the house the stink pervade Far worse than I may tell. Till e'en the fairer, softer sex Are happiest when they miss you. And, tho' your arm be round their necks, Would rather slap than kiss you. Till all your manly strength ooze out In vile expectoration ; Till sharp diseases, worse than gout. Bring death, if not damnation ! Now think it over, calm and cool , And don't get in a passion ; I'm sure you'll say a man's a fool To act in such a fashion. To set on fire some bitter leaves. And then through pipes to suck 'em ! The thought alone my spirit grieves : Out on the dunghill chuck 'em ! Of all the monarchs of the land Our James the First was first To mark with his destroying brand This foreign plant accurst. Ay, James the First was first and last Of all earth's kings indeed, sir. Who blew a i-oyal ' counterblast ' Against this dangerous weed, sir ; THE a LEA NEE. 33 For smoking dryetli up the throat, Then throat it hjngs for liqnor ; Then jumps the devil in the boat, And steers it all the qiiicker. Now therein James the King was wise, For smoking's a disaster ; Tn hell its reeking fumes arise All sanction'tl by its master, Not that I've been down there to see, (Nor ever hope to go,) But if there /■•>■ a misery. They'll have it down below. Now misinterpret not, dear Stead, This grim Plutonian joke ; I merely mean what I have said, That hell is tilled with smoke. Not rising from Ralph Winward's ' shag ' Or Kelsall's ' Limerick roll,' sir. So valued by the high ' tag-rag- ' And-bobtail ' of the ' bowl,' sir ; Nor Johnson's ' rough cut,' nor, ' returns,' Nor ' golden-leaf,' nor ' twist,' — All, no ! ' tis something worse that burns — 'Tis a ' iire-and-brimstone ' mist ! ' INIais revenons a nos moutons' — oui — Tobacco and its history. There's not a shore beyond the sea Wliere smoking now's a mystery. But in old times 'twas e'en forbid Your public men to use it ; The nasty pipe or filthy quid ! Can common sense excuse it \ Tliis was a rule Of Chigwell-school (Built ' sixteen twenty-nine,' sir) ; I nothing add Of good or bad, The rhythm alone is mine, sir. 34 THE GLEANER, ' The schoolmaster must be a man Of sound religious savour ; Nor Papist be, nor Puritan, Yet of a grave behaviour. To sober speech and labotir given ; Of honest conversation ; A man of conduct good and even, As any in the nation. No haunter of the alehouse door, No lover of old Sack, O ; These must he be, and furthermore, No puffer of tobacco.' You see, sir, in that wiser time, How solid sense outspoke. Half hinting that the way to crime Was through tobacco-smoke. Grave teachers and brave public men. The free, the patriotic. The stalwart Saxon, and the Dane, Eschew'd the strong narcotic. But now, in this degenerate year Of eighteen seventy-five, sir, Tobacco filthifies the air, Half poisoning men alive, sir. Yea, in this most enlightenM age Of folly, sin, and waste, Tobacco-muck is all the rage 1 So much, alas, for taste I A vicious taste, for I maintain With no man it agrees ; Pro tem. it stupifies his pain, Bat sows some fresh disease. And be he hale, robiist, and strong, ^ In sloth and sleep it wraps him ; Beclouds his brain, chains up his tongue, And into debt entraps him. I do defy ye, every one, Slaves of the ' ethereal weed,' sirs. To tell me any good it's done The body of man, indeed, sirs. THE GLEANER. 86 It serves the State (and hell) I know, Like drink and other evils, — (Your smoke and drink together go — Two most successful devils!) But, barring this — and, well, we'll add, Helping the sale of matches — There's nothing iu't but what is bad — Down with it under hatches ! O, yea, there is — the precious stink ! That keeps away the vermin ; So far, so good — but that, I think. Is all I can determine. Go, count the yearly millions lose Through this j)ernicious smoking ; Go, sum up its enox'mous cost. You'll have no time for joking ; Go, think if all this wealth were spent On food in place of folly. How grand would be the great event ! How general and how jolly ! Go, Stead, but take the hand I hold ; Forgive this friendly peltiu' ; My ' pipe is out' — my tale is told — Yours truly, John F. Skbltox. TO AN ORDINARY SEA BISCUIT. WRITTEX AT MELBOURNE, 1862. To thee, Mat mockery of " our daily bread " To thee, fit food for Egypt's mummied dead, (For 'twould just take a thousand years to chew One of thy tribe, and to digest it, too), To thee, these half sarcastic lines I give To warn those of thee who " at home '" do Ure. 36 THE GLEANEB. ZIc^tA j^^/it-'.jUbly tLtj'l! ru'j ■^.vitli stinging jowl, Which erst munch'd blissfully hot breakfast roll, If for thy wither'd carcase they forsake Sweet inuitin, crampet, and divine sxHce-cake. Dry subject thou, for poesy orpn)se ! At thee a beggar would turn up his nose In horror, and the most refined disgust, That God should send thy petrified old crust As punishment for all his lazy sins. Much rather had he had two wooden sliins, Or that his Poll had brought him thumping twins. Stale subject for my sentimental verse ; Thou art not Avortli a human's honest curse, Yet cursed art thou, and hast been by scores Whom Fate hath driven from their nati^-e shores. The dimples in thy brown and oven-burnt phiz, Possess no charms — create no jealousies. No palate dost thou please, no stomach cheer. E'en starving wretches tackle thee with fear. Small damage would be thine were I to roll Thee rudely o'er the earth from pole to pole ! Cohesion proudly chooseth thee to prove and show His mighty power upon the atom world below. Full many a white tooth hast thou ruthless turn From its companions, that for aye must moiirn The lost link from their snow-enamell'd chain, With them to feast and smile, ah, ne'er again I Through man^^ a gaping breacli in walls of pearl Queen A'anity doth down upon thee hurl Her stony maledictions as her duty, For tliou didst rob her face of perfect beauty. Foul waste of water pure, and golden grain ; Delicious as a 1)rick of clay and rain ; Sapless and tasteless as my leatliern poui-li, And as nutritious, too, I safely vouch. May I again, nor friends have need to sweat In swallowing thee, but soft provisions get If they should leave the comforts of their home To sail to lavids where comforts rarely come. There's just one use to which thou mightstbe put With px'ofit and with ornament to boot, — Let streets of busy towns with thee be pav'd, And tens of thousand pounds will then be saved. For rolling wagon- wheels and trampling crowds, THE GLEANER. 37 Will never hiinii thee ! nor the bursting clouds, Big with luud rain, thy round proportions melt,- Thou'lt over-wear macadam or asphalt. How much I love thee I may not express, Yet, though no Catholic, this much I confess Thy very shadow makes my jaws to ache, JNIucli less thy substance, O infernal cake ! Ho now with joy 1 bid thuo an adieu. Thou beastly food, unlit for man to chew. UPON THINKING OF THE AMERICAN WAR. When shall the nations of the earth From east to west, from south to north. Unanimously raise above The flag of iiniversal love I Convert the sword and murd'rous spear Into the pruning-hook and shear '. When* shall their grasping passions cease ? Their love of bloody power decrease I When shall the black man and the white (Heirs to the one Eternal light) Embrace on earth ? for soon or later They will before their great Creator. When shall man own each man his brother As tho' twiun'd from the self-same mother, And not assault with deadly steel As if he were a flend from hell ? When shall the last dread cannon volley (Foul argument of sin and folly) Peal to the blood-reflecting sky And echoing once, for ever die 1 When shall this glorious advent dawn ? And when the silver trump be blown Declaring to each conscious wind Peace and good-will to all mankind I Nov. 1863. 38 TlffE GLEANER. SONG. PADDY AND THE PIG. " Oh phat'U I do?" says Paddy, Says Paddy to me one day, " For the pig that was the glory Of us all is gone away ! Oh wirra ! wirra ! murther ! Sure I'm sinking in despair, For the childer all are flying, Disconsolate and crying. And my poor ' old woman ' sighin ' Oh where's the pig, oh, where ] ) >) " He slept inside the cabin Wid the childer and us all ; Where the ducks and perchin' poultry Have their nests by ev'ry wall, The best mimber of the family Was the purty pig I ween ; But by the childer nor their mother, Nor myself (and that's another), For many's the day together. Has the pig at all been seen." Then says I to troubled Paddy, " Sure it's curious out and out ; Have you got suspicious persons, Or any thieves about ?" " Go along !" says Pat, indignant, " Sure there's nothing of the kind ; Ours are all most dacent naybours, And it's useless is our labours, For I tell you, sir, by jabers ! That the pig we'll never find." There was in the tone of Paddy, Struck me that Paddy knew. More about the missing porker That was causing such ado ; So^ says I, " Now, Paddy, tell me, Where's the pig ? you know, I'll swear." THE GLEANER. 39 " Ah, sir," says ho, " how funny It should slip my mind, my honey ! Sure I sold him, and spent the money In whisky at the fair !" "Ah, Paddy," says I, in sorrow, " You well may Wush red hot. And the pig may well be missing Down the throat that you have got ! But when next you go to mai'ket Remember this with care (While the money-bag you jink it), Sure you cannot, though you think it, Both keep a pig and drink it In whisky at the fair ! THE FLY. A FACT. WRITTEN AT BALLAAKAT, 18G5. A sultry January sun had, glaring, sunk Behind the gum-clad ranges of a land Between which, and mine own beloved one Distance itself and space terrestrial come, T'an end abrupt. No farther can they stretch. I was alone withm my little room. With window open'd wide, from which I lean'd. And,, thoughtful, gazed into the deep, dark night, Th'. iking a thousand unconnected thoughts Which in the aggregate, made up a life. My tiny lamp of crystal Kerosene (Jvist newly trimm'd) illuminating stood ; Alluring with its netted rays the moths And flying insects of the warm night air. And, certes, swarms had ended their career In flames, save that the tall transparent glass, (A tower they see not) shields them from all harm. All heedless of them, and while wrapp'd in thought, A something " buzzes" by my affrighted ear, 40 THE GLEANER. e And, whether bent upon its own destruction, (Perchane an exile from its world of wings), Or come t'investigate the light mysterious, I know not ; but, as t'were a knight in arms. Dashes itself against the guardian glass Which, ringing, totters at the rude attack. Aud now I see what the intruder is, (Insensible upon the table lying), A fly but not like those that lively swarm In myriads when the day is In-ight and hot. Revelling incessant in the safiVon sun. Or trembling round each dangerous light at eve, But a gay giant of the insect race. Sure ne'er was seen a fly so gorgeous, nor So curiously and wonderfully form'd ! His large but graceful wings ai'e golden gauze. And o'er his body, rainbow-colours, rich. Harmoniously blend ; and his strange eyes (The chief attraction of theVondrous thing) Shine with a startling lustre all subdued, Like lights within thin horn, and red as blood. The open window and the door I clos'd And made a prisoner of my winged prize, "SVhich, now reviving, flew the room around. Not caring to attempt a second rush Seeing his first had such a hard reception. But how secure him to preserve intact His beauties and proportions evermore ? Methought of various plans and methods uew. All harmless, but the Devil, ever ready To act and to suggest for wavering minds, Said — " Pin him to the wall and let him die ; " 'Twill soon be o'er — a trifling pang or two — A few convulsions he will barely feel, — See, here's the very thing you need, and then The envied curiosity is yours." I turn'd my sickening eyes, and lo ! there lay Within my reach a long, straight, sliiuing pin, With broad, smooth head, and point tine as the sting Of the arch-serpent, whose insidious words. Tingling like syren-music o'er a gulf, Had made my bloed to boil and brain to burn. My heart within me sank e'en at the thought ; My mind revolted at so cruel a deed ; THE GLEANER. 41 But ho alas ! " that hesitates is lost" When Satan's at his side. Poor doomed fly ! I caught him carefully, and laid his wings With hollow tenderness down his smooth form, And, v;'l!i averted head, took up the pin The Devil had surely made upon the spot. But no ! I Ctjuld not do it there : the light Of my small lamp was an accuser keen ; And with its glistening eye was searching through And through my heart for some soft place of pity, But found none, for the prompting Fiend was there, And drove the light of mercy from my soul. So, to a far-oft" gloomy dell I fled With my already trembling, beauteous fly, And — pinn'd liim to a tree ! Kind heaven forgive I For oh 1 the thrill that simultaneous ran Of anguish, through us, t1 at poor fly and me, As, crash I the murderous weapon sought his heart, Is punishment suthcient and for ever. I heard his cry— 'twas little short of hmnan And felt his powerful pinions beat my hand. Again I fled, but left him there " to die," E'en as the non-compunctious Prince had said. 'Twas Saturday night. A noble action, truly. Was mine with which to close the passing week, And well did I repay by such a deed The flowing blessings of my God to me ! I sought my couch, but where to find sweet sleep That falls l)ut on temples of the good ? Yet o'er mine eyes there fell a film of pain Through which perturbing dreams broke on my sight, And kept me tossing, hke a ship at sea. I thought the fly was pinn'd upon my brow, And felt his powerful pinions beat my face : Then crucified upon each hand and foot. Next, falling loose, would ring into mine ear The cry when I impaled him in the dell. 'Twas dreadful ! and I rose to rest no more That night. All Sunday saw me pale and sad, Though calmer, for I knew that he was dead ; But with the night perturbing dreams retum'd. At early daylight and with beating heart, I slowly wander'd to the fatal spot. There was my victim. Not one sigii of life ! 42 THE GLEANER. No fluttering of those graceful gauze wings now, They droop in death across those flabby limbs : Nor with them will he woo again the breeze That linger'd longest round the fairest scenes ; Nor proudly dart into the bright blue sky To flaunt his charms to the admiring sun. His sufi"ering's past. And yet those rainbow-hues Harmoniously blend, and his strange eyes, CThe chief attraction of the wondrous thing), Shine with a startling lustre all subdued, Like lights within thin horn, and red as blood. I touch'd the murd'rous pin, — merciful powers I He lives — he did not die — he is not dead — Oh horror ! do I 3'et dream ? no, for I feel Again his powerful pinions beat niy hand. Again that thrill, all simultaneous runs Of anguish, through us, that poor fly and me. For six-and-thirty hours thus had he liv'd In torture, and fur what / (oh shame !) to glut A wish ignoble, and a foul desire To buy a pleasure with the blood of pain. I snatch'd him from the tree, and with my foot Swept him to atoms — not a limb remain'd. Nor Vestige of that t)nce most gorgeous thing, And not an agony — except mine own. Long afterwards, when morally reflecting On this, alas, too true and sad event, I pinn'd this golden truth close to my heart. And happier dreams, thereby, enrich'd my sleep : — 'Tis folly to expect a prize, or treasure, Or aught, indeel, that's worth the careful keeping By violating Nature's simple laws. Which, in His love and wisdom, one Good God For all things made — for insects as for men. ¥^-->^p— v^- ^ j-^r^^-, •■-o^C^'3^^^ The gleaner. « SONG. i'OLLY DORNING. Come, clearest, thou slialt have a song, Though years Imve we been mated ; 'Tis not the wiue-cup red and strong My soul makes so elated ; 'Tis looking back on our long life Of love in every stage — 'Tis seeing thee, my darling wife, Thus happy in thy age. Then true unto the faith I swore To thee, one blight May-morning, As years roll on, I love thee more And more, my Polly Doming. I don't forget the golden times We pass'd in summer bowers, When mellow came the evening chimes In those young days of ours. Thy virgin form again I see Fair as the forms above, But oh, how dearer now to me Through years of mutual love I Then true unto the faith I swore To thee, one Ijriglit May-morning, As years roll on, I love thee more And more, my Polly Doming, Not always has our path been strevrn My Polly, dear, with roses ; How many a thorn and flinty stone. More than the world supposes 1 And oft, methinks, 1 had rebell'd And scowl'd up to the sky, Had not thy gentle voice withheld — Hadst thou not, love, been by. Then true unto the faith I swore To thee, one bright May-morning, As years roll on, I love thee more And aiore, my Folly Domicg. U THE GLEANER. A DxlEAM. WRITTEN AT 15ALLAAliAT, 186-4. I dream'd 1 had been far abroad And many weary years had fled, Since last I meditative trod The ever-green, tho' gloomy sod Where lay my native dead. A beauteous land that burial ground, Soothing the sorrowful heart and eye And as I pac'd it slowly round, Keen glancing at each rising mound, I ask'd myself with love profound, Where does my mother lie ! I knew 1 follow'd, clad in woe, Some years agone her coffin'd clay, And saw her laid, ah me ! below. While tears of anguish freely flow As dust upon her dust they throw. IVt that the yard is alter'd so I cannot find as on I go, Or stepping quick or loitering slow- Where is her grave to-day I 1 sought, 1 may not say how hmg, But all in cruel vain T sought, Those melancholy tombs among Where souvenirs of affection hung In garlands, or in simple song By loving lone ones wrought. Here bronzen statues mournful bent , Above the world's once wealthy race, And, with the speckled granites blent White emblematic marbles lent An air of rich embellisliment Unto that solemn place. THE GLEANER. 46 And there u simple wooden cross, l>cgirt by simpler wooden rails Arises from its bed of moss To speak to men of some one's loss,- (Perchance as good as any of us) ; And sans proud ostentation's gloss, In rudely home-cut letters, thus, Some sad bereavement tells. Name, after name, I, starting, saw Of friends but lately left in life, And stood transfix'd with sudden awe As tho' I felt Death's clammy claw, Piercing my vitals like a knife. None seem'd forgotten — even whom Where poor and scorn'd whiles in the flesh, (God's chosen at the Day of Doom) Had some kind liand to chase the gloom From oft' their insignificant tomb With a lone rose, or whatever bloom The seasons bring afresh. And then I smote my heavy breast, And, weeping, wond'ring, asked me what She, whom her little world confest Was of all mothers, wives, the best, Had done, while our dear earthly guest. That she was thus forgot. "Were drops of blood, but drops of gold, I'd pierce my throbbing heart that 1, When here again I lonely strolled Through Bolton's burial acre, cold, jMight know Mithout the being told Where does my mother lie. And yet there is a strip of soil Trampled by crowds of impious feet, From which instinctive I recoil, With loudly-beating pulse the while, As though before some sacred pile Ablaze with precious, holy oil, For there, freed from all grief and toil, Jlethinks she lies in winding-sheet. 46 THE GLEANER. And there I crouch'd me low and laid Deep in my hands my burning face, And though the bitterest passions stray'd Adown my bosom's deepest glade, Like spirits in th' eternal shade, I wrestled with myself and prayed. And when I raised my aching head. All changed was the place. A Heecy vapour floated where Was hitherto that barren ground, And as it left the perfuui'd air A Mausoleum, (oh, how fair. And far beyond this world's compare I) Rose o'er my mother's ashes there : And hark ! a low, sweet sound Across my spell-bound senses steals. For 'tis her thrilling, tender tone That with a heavenly rapture fills JNIine inmost heart, as it reveals The where her body peaceful dwells, And in reproachful accents tells, A nobler duty to her son. How calmer, wiser, better I Awoke from that celestial dream I Which will life's dark futurity Illumine, sweeten, beautify. Until in fated turn I lie, Shut out from earth, air, sea, and sky. But o'er them all my soul shall fly (If God do not the boon deny) With my good mother's to enjoy An endless bliss supreme. THE GLEANER. CRISPIN AND THE MONKEY. A village cobbler lived alone On this terrestrial ball ; Besides himself there was not one To guard his vyiw stall ; So 'twere an easy task, I own, To rob him of his awl. But Crispin \\v. was all awake, Was witty, wary, wise ; A clever human would it take To take him by surprise ; Or (vulgarly) to do a " fake" Before his open eyes. Now Crispin had a neighbour, and A soldier-man was he, Who'd fought on many a foreign strand 'Till wounded in the knee — Discharged, had brought t' his native 1 nd A monkey o'er the sea. A monstrous and unruly brute That plagued poor Crispin sore, For mischief far beyond compute It did him o'er and o'er. And spoiled him many a handsome boot Through grinning at the door. A shoe he could not cut and frame, Nor give his " last " a crack, Nor light his morning kitchen flame, Nor cook his breakfast snack, But " Jacko " 'd do the very same When Crispin turned his back. 'Twould imitate him day by day Minutely to the least. And jump and jabber, pluck and play To Crispin's woe and waste ; Till he at last hit on a way To rid him of the beast. 48 THE GLEANER. He sat before the looking-glass And latlier'd all his chin, Then on a hone with rapid pass Whet up his razor keen ; (The monkey, for its fate, alas 1 Awatchingall the scene.) His head upstretch'd, with secret gloat He drew the razor's harl: A time or two across his throat With swift and skilful knack, Then left his stall awhile to note The upshot of the qnack. The meddling monkey in a trico Leapt through the ojDeu door, Sat down l>efore the tempting glass And soap'd its face all o'er, Then slashed the razor right across As Crispin did before ! Off went its no, no, not its head, To that I cannot swear, But its poor monkey throat instead Was cut from ear to there ! • For, by the skin its skull, 'tis sad, JQ.{\a^ Hung dangling in the air ! MORAL. Ye mischief-makers, men and apes, Seldom your handy work escapes Self-retribution's deadly scrapes : Yea, to be brief. Though it assvime no bloody shapes, 'Twill come to grief I Ye little envious critics, too, Ye " nattle," peevish, monkey-crew, Come, let us see what ye can do With blade or pen ; Ye'U ape your betters, that is true, But ah ! what then ? I TJIE GLEANER. 49 A PROLOGUE. Spoken at an Entertainment given on behalf of tlie Edgworth Temperance Brass Band, in the Congregational Schcjol Koom, Edgworth, January 30th, 1875. It was the fashion in the good old days. To write some kind of preface to their plays — Some pointed prologue, like a herald sent To trumpet forth the coming great event : Some introduction — some keen rhyming scout To clear the way for the performing rout, In order that the people, far and near, Might not be taken by surprise and fear ; And that the pompous usher might declaim On the grand purpose of their play, or game ; Leaving their gracious audiences to be Best judges of the things they hear and see. So, please you, like those done in ancient time. Take this your Chainnan's speech, done up in rhyme. Seizing th' advantage of this kind of " chorus,'' To tell you why we're here, and what's Ijefore us. We all, to-night, most clearly imderstand We've come to help " The Edgworth Temperance Band." Now if that's not a woi'thy object, why On earth you cannot find one, far ov nigh : For music is and ever was a charm, In voice, or brook, or string, or trumpet form : A subtle, soothing something undefin'd That lifts the drooping heart and cheers the mind. When Sorrow and Despair are prowling round (Like skulking thieves) our bosom's open ground. But sweetest is the melody that floats Into our ears from sober human throats. Or through what instrument soever knowii — Or by whose mortal breath soever blown Free from the fiery fumes of ale and rum. Though but the man's who blows the mighty drum ! 'Tis true your " wine" excites both fool and sage In frenzied flights of music to engage ; But ere 'tis e'en begini, the music's o'er, — Another glass — and all is rant and roar ! 50 THE GLEANER. But water-drinkers' music, band or voice, Is steady to the end, cheap, chaste, and choice. Its morning echoes bring no pangs of pain : We curse it not but long to list again. And yet there's nought so dismal in the land As young beginners in a new " Brass Band !" What dire and dreadful nosies iill the air ! Enough to fright a vestal from her prayer. Or make St. Peter quit his easy chair ! Or set a troop of ghosts with envy grinning, 'Tis such a thoroughly unearthly dinning ! Who can forget th' excruciating tune Pump'd from the belly of a big bassoon At th' edge o' dark I or the Satanic groan Push'd from the stomach of a long trombone ? Who has not heard at peaceful eventide The frightful sounds of some fat ophicleide ? Or, on the breezes of the midnight borne, The doleful ditty of a deep French-horn ] And who, I ask, once hearing, can forget The learner on his wheezing clarionet I Or on the screaming cornet ? or the fife ? Mercy upon us ! no one during life ! Some or another of these brazen fiends Haunts every nook of Edgworth's fairy scenes. No matter where, in twilight hour you roam, — Up, round the rocky precincts of her " Home," Or down her ferny glens, or by her lakes. Some innocent infernal echo wakes (To which a bullock's bellowings were sweet. Dying by inches for the want of meat) To scare the living wanderers back to bed. And give a rude turn over to the dead ! But, by-and-bye, there comes the happy day When each performer's told that he can play ; Then right into a march, in measure smooth. Together are they led by Leader Booth. And now yoar Band, of six months old (no more) Might lead to victoi'y on, from shore to shore, A Tolunteer or brave militia corps ! Most favour'd Edgworth of all hamlets near ! Thy joyful satisfaction should appear To own a band to glad thee with its strains Heard from thy hill-tops and well-water'd plains. THE GLEANEE. 51 Oft shall tJiy children inin with boisteroua glee To track its echoes over rock and lea ; Thy men and matrons strong, with moistened eye Oft cheer it as it,jplaying, passes by ; Oft shall thine aged sit o' summer eves In cottage-porch, festoon'd in climbing leaves, Or amble down their little garden-patch, Thy Band's most dear though distant sound to catch, Hinting of sweeter harmonies of love Soon to burst on them in the realms ^ above : Oft shall the wide-spread country round be luU'd To drink its music over lake and wold. Then, Edgworth, stretch thine own parental hand And pat the back of thy young Temperance Band, For thou wilt feel most of its magic power Borne by thy zephyrs of the evening hour. Most generously its patrons great and small Promptly have answer'd to its infant call ; And soon it hopes to count the needful sum To purchase trumpets, note-books, and big drum ; For 'tis its ultimate approv'd design No man to say "that drum" or " trumpet's mine." And now, concluding, let th' ambitious Band Th' attention of the world at large command A moment, that its gratitude and pride Be spoken and proclaimed on every side. Loudly and proudly shall its ready ranks Blow out to all its friends right hearty thanks For all their gifts of money, prayer, and praise That help it, in their several useful ways, To grow to be, to Bacchus's vexation. Most useful in its day and generation. Our duty's done. But where the " Prologue" ends, The " Programme" of the evening but begins. So now we ask the Band with heart and soul, To strike up for us, — " As the moments roll," JLS19, 52 THE GLEANER. VOTES. A ring of changes on the " Bells " of Poe, Presented to our Borough Mayor and Co. i6th November, 1875. I. Here they come ! and with their votes — Precious votes ! What a world of consequence their hubljubbub denotes I How the people push and push For the booths of Bolton town ! While the cabs all madly rvish O'er the populace and crush Many a man and woman down In the slime, slime, slime, At this busy Boro' time, Wh en a million horrid noises, in a single clamour floats From the throats, throats, throats, throats, Throats, throats, throats, Of the owners and the donors of the votes ! II. Here they come ! unworthy votes — Sneaking votes ! What a world of rottenness their humbugry denotes ! Lift but up the flimsy mask. How they savour of the cask, And the broth-of-barley butts. All drunk and soon, What a demon's ditty floats Past the Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly-Twins (see Astronomic notes) To the Man a-picking sticks or planting oats In the moon ! Hark ! on every passing air What a mass of music's murder'd meanly everywhere ! 3+^aV Heye it rise To the skies ! On the breezes how it flies "- Laden with emphatic lies To the scandal of the land all Of the votes, votes, votea. Of the votes, votes, votes, yotes, Votes, votes, votes. To the blame all and tlie sham© all of the voteu ! i THE GLEANER. 53 m. What's tlio valuo of a vote I G(jlclen vote ! What a string of instances in answer could I qnote ! See yon lady, proud and bright, From her family-coach alight — 'Tis to kiss yon farmer's snotty child off-hand ! For her husband means to be At any cost, a great M.P. Of the land. And their tenants — ah, their tenants, For their votes must she do penance By command ; And who smiling, smiling, smiling, Takes the ploughman's horny hand. While with honeyed words beguiling Which he scarce can understand, (0 that clever, clever woman, She's a topper, she's a rum 'un !) Wins the day ! And to her lord she drives away Light and gay, gay, gay. Gay. As a pauper in a coat, New, that cost him ne'er a groat. Or a wild young mountain-goat ; And it's eaay to believe She is laughing in her sleeve All the time, time, time, Keeping up a rolling rhyme For the vote ! Keeping up a running rhyme All the time, time, time. For the vote, vote, vote, vote. Yote, vote, rote, For the " setting" and the getting of the vote. IV. Here they come ! the noble votes — Glorious votes ! What a sense of truth and joy their presence now promotes In the bosom of the land ! What a mottt important band ! 54 THE GLEANER. Ever dignified and proud It thunders loud and loud And condemns. With what earnestness appealing to the wisdom of mankind — With what wonderful persuasiveness to every thoughtful mind ! Leaping higher, higher, higher, Flames the patriotic fire, With a most determin'd meaning. To demand a thorough cleaning In the " houses " now or never, Where the members are so clever, — In those architectural gems On the margin of the Thames. Oh such votes, votes, votes, Are the surest antidotes Of disease ! How they i^robe, and purge, and cure. When the nation is impure. And there's treachery abroad upon the seas ! And the Queen but truly knows, By beholding Their unfolding Which her friends and which her foes. How the honest workman gloats, In a manner, O'er the banner Which politically floats O'er the country now embellish'd with untrammell'd ballot-votes ! Priceless votes ! Sacred votes, vetes, votes, votes. Votes, votes, votes ! He will die before he'll traffic with his votes ! -^^©^f^iS^^©^-'- THE GLEANER. 55 MY MOTHER. ■WRITTEN AT SBA. Calmly thou slcepest in thy tomb profound, Lightly above thee lies the sodden ground ; Truly we mourn thee with a grief unfeign'd, Yearly thy worth and loss are more explain 'd. Meekly thou borest thy cross of cares below, Brightly "thou wear'st thy crown and robes of snow. Daily thy mission on the earth was love. Nightly tliy conscience might thine acts approve. Goodly thou w ert as on the earth there be. Lovely, confiding, faithful, tender, free. Humbly thy virtues, true and rare, I sing. Dearly thine image to my heart doth cling. Kindly, and ever feeling, towards thy race. Sorely we took thee to thy resting-place. Sadly no weeping willows o'er thee wave. Richly no mouldering art surrounds thy grave. Nobly no chissel'd stone above thee towers Simply thy name is writ in wild field flowers. Only tliy kindred know where thou dost rest, Lowly in dust which God and man havi. ')lest. Sweetly we dream of thee, and hear thy words. Clearly like notes of spring-time's happy birds. Lonely I feel without thee, Mother mine. Coldly all loves do burn compar'd with thine. Gladly would I thy beckoning hand obey. Closely beside thee evermore to stay. Firmly I know thee glorioiis there on high. Holy thou livedst, and holy didst thou die. WOMAN'S FINGER. FROM THE FRENCH. God took His finest heavenly clay And made a fragile jewel then. And how mysterious none can say It wheedleth and cajoleth men. The finger of a woman ! O, August and charming work of love ! God's masterpiece to touch and show The soul — and firmament above ! 56 THE GLEANER. What light celestial there remained From young Aurora's diadem, With smile divine and joy unfeigned He added to this beauteous gem. The shadow of the sorrowing veil, And tremors of the cradle, are Moulded within this finger, frail, With sometliing of tlie bird and star. And very firm and spotless white Yet tinted with cerulean blue Our Father made it that it might Be ever tender, pure, and true. And very soft, so that it can Perform no evil o'er the sod And made it to resemble man, The little finger of his God. He with it deck'd the hand so chaste Of virgin Eve — that hand, which now Like some sweet dream is ever plac'd Upon the bui-ning human brow. This humble and untutor'd hand. Guide of uncertain man to he. Doth trembling and transparent stand Upon the lamp of destiny. An angel, thou, with downcast eyes, O, Woman, in thy holiness ! Thy beauty, is not all we prize And not sufficient is thy grace. Love, love we must ! for all things sigh, The wave — the flower — the bird of peace- Beauty and grace may fade and die. But love immortal shall increase When rose Eve's faiiltless form and face, On our rude path by God's command, For love He made her soft caress, For her caress — her softer hand. THK GLEAN Eli. God, when this linger (choicest theme) ! Had triumph'd over clay, thought fit ^ T'applaud Himself, for the 4upreme O Is proud to create what's exquisite. When finished was this vTork of His, God to the angels said "^Behold !" Then sank into the blest abyss Of heaven, to slumber — so 'tis told. But while He there in shade repos'd Leaving that rosy finger, frail. Black from the east the Devil rose. And, smiling, fix'd thereto — A Nail. RAIN-DROPS. They're coming, they're coming, those bright, welcome drops ! See ! heaven's face full with her tears, As though she were weeping to see the parch'd crops And the green grain hang low its young ears ; But now they prick up as it jiatters and falls ; The rain, oh, and what can surpass In beauty or brigtness those sweet little balls That roll down the blades of the grass ? Those little round globes, if we look but anear. Contain all the tints of the sky, Ay, e'en the gay shades of the rainbow appear Surprisingly plain to the eye. Each drop is itself a small mirror of truth. For note as yon black cloud comes on, A deep shadow falls on it, like sin on our youth. And its beauty and brightness are gone : But not till the cloud in the distance has burst, And blest with its riches yon plain, That rain-drop of oui*s, begloom'd and accurst. Shines out in its glories again. For the sun has moved up the blue steeps of the sky, ^ And is blessing the earth with his rays ; yyy^ So Js^youth, should the dark cloud of sin but sweep by. How the sun of joy brightens our days ! 58 THE QLEANER. THE SOUTHERN CROSS. WRITTEN AT BALLAARAT, AUSTRALIA. How beauteous are these clear nocturnal heavens ! These skies of Australasia wrapii'd in night ! Where nests of stars and constellations strange, And curious nebvilse 'mid " milky ways," (Stretch'd like thin veils of silver far and wide. Through which those twmkling eyes look still more bright,) Make it a constant joy to gaze thereon ; And, gazing, see the Hand that loving made Those grand mysterious orbs, sustaining now. And in sweet order gently moving all ! Oh, how I wish my British friends could look Upon these glories, sans the painful price Of breathing " Fare-thee-well, my native land !" Or braving death, under its ghastliest forms, Amid the billows of ten thousand seas ! But ever do mine eyes turn to the gem Of all celestial the most glorious, and The most befitting the imperial brow Of Southern night, so soft, so warm, so fair ! Four lovely stars, large, lustrous, and serene, Set with strange accuracy i' th' upper air, And truly named for their peculiar form, " The Southern Cross" — Nature's resplendent jewel, Out-shining all the firmament besides ! My fancy fills the space from star to star And draws the golden lines, until a cross As true and palpable hangs down the sky As ever blest the martyr in his dreams. To give him strength to meet the coming fire. Which but releas'd his heaven-awaiting soul. And there, above it, in their snow-white robes I see the bright angelic spirits hovering ; And as they chant in low, melodious strains Their ceaseless and triumphant hymns of praise. They strew tlie garlands of Eternal Flowers Around " The Southern Cross." THE GLEANER. 59 SONG. LITTLE CLARA KING. I know she'll scold me, but I m\»st confess The joys that hi my bosom hide, For she, my love, hath softly whisper'd, " Yes, I will become thy bride." But who my charmer is there's none would know Did fondest love not bid me sing ; Then list, ye zephyrs that do gentlest blow, It's little Clara King. Ye gods, ye know I tell no lies, I scorn the coward thing. The fairest maid beneath the skies Is little Clara liing, 'Twere nothing but a perfect waste of time To seek with what she doth compare. There's nothing like her in terrestrial clime. In sea, or land, or air. Romantic lovers with their light guitar Of moons, and stars, and flowers sing, But sweeter than a host of these, by far. Is little Clara King. Ye gods, ye know I tell no lies, ('Twere better not to sing) The fairest maid beneath the skies Is little Clara King. But though she's fair, she's good, and kind, and true, Which is, alas ! not always so. For oft the fairest maid turns out a shrew — Her temper hot as — no, I will forgive them all for her sweet sake. For whom I bought this wedding-ring, And best of earth's sviperior wives she'll make, Wm little Clara King. Ye gods, ye know I tell no lies. How would my conscience ring ! The fairest maid beneath the skies Is little Clara King. 60 THE GLEANER. TIT I\.:: TAT : Oii TAZ COCKEY-MOOR PARISH CLERK. A FACT. There liv'd, 'twas once upon a time, On " Cockey-Moor" a parish clerk, Whose life was blameless and sublime As any in the self-same work. As oft as Sabbath sun arose. Whether he show'd or hid his face. Our hero, John, in spotless clothes, Was ever in his wonted place ; A slightly elevated station Just 'neath the parson "a wagging chin, Whence he could see his congregation, And snuffle out his loud Amen ! Whatever else, truth must be told, That we be put not to the blush, — Though genuine, and good as gold, John had his leanings toward the " flesh." This frail and faulty flesh of ours. Which perisheth like summer grass ! He lov'd the *' Maypole," with its flowers. His stomach and his pipe and glass. One Sunday was the annual " wakes," Where merry " morris-dancers" hied. And nut-brown ale, with meat and cakes Wei-e oft'er'd freely, far and wide. In all his life, this kind of " spree," Of " rush-bearing," or wedding-feast, Clerk John had never miss'd, not he ! — In snowy tie and fancy vest. Fate will'd it that he doubly longd, With smacking lips and greedy tooth. This year to join the festive throng. And eat and drink with giddy youth. But fickle fate had will'd it, too, That ho should long, but long in vain ; The parson had a trick in view Which overturn'd John's rollin" train. THE GLEANER. 61 The sports were to commence at " one," Precisely as it struck the hour, The clerk to start the village fun, As was his wont in times before. In vain the rustics call and search, Clerk John is nowhere to be seen, Alas ! he's still within the church. The parson preaching, all serene ! The turret-clock at length struck " one," And slowly chim'd three-quarters in ; Still went the solemn sermon on. Much to th' impatient clerk's chagrin. 'Tis striking " two ! " the sermon's done ! His sleeping flock the priest surveys ; A]id, smiling, bends to whisper, — " John, Give out the usual hymn of praise." Uprose the clerk, in nowise vex'd. For he'd been adding this to that, — And, looking just beyond the text, He saw and smell'd the parson's rat. John's education was but slight, His speech full rude, but void of cant ; And now he spoke with all his might, Thus giving out the daily chant : — '' Dear hungry friends, all good and calm, Sing (and fro' sinful thoughts be clean'd) The hundred and the nineteenth psalm — And sing it reet fro' eend to eend." " John, John," the parson cried, aghast At what his clerk so boldly states, " That chapter will to tea-time last. And, up at home, my dinner waits.'' " And so does mine, you well may say," Said John, "but mine is spoil'd complete ; Why mon, yo'ii preich'd o th' blesse'd day, So now we'll sing o th' blessed neet." 62 THE GLEANER. FORGET THEE? Forget thee I But not till the Spring Has forgot to come after the snow. And from her sweet bosom to fling Her yovmg leaves and bright flowers below. Forget thee ? But not till the hymn From yon woodland grove cease to be heard When the sun from his life-giving rim Throws his light on the wing of each bird. Forget thee 1 But not till yon bow Of the Lord spreading out in the sky, But one colour to mortals can show, Or its curve horizontally lie. Forget thee ? But not till the ocean Hath cast its last wave on the shore. And its wild and incessant commotion. Be still'd as if frozen all o'er. Forget thee ? But not till the hand Of beauty be lifted from earth. Or the sea-star depart from its stand, Upon high at the motionless north. Forget thee ? But not tiU the sun Has forgot in the heavens to rise. Forget thee I Death, baffled, shall own. He but sends us to meet in the skies. iscz: A BOWTON TROTTER'S LOINES UPO' TH' SLAVE QUESTION. What ? what ? what's that yo sen ? That eawr Admiralty men Sez that slaves are noan free when they gett'n on board Onny vessil that sails Fro Greit Brit'n or Wales I W^hy aw never yerd nowt i' mi loife so absurd ! Good God ! mun a tothri hard-hearted foine folk Because they'rn greit Lords, trample deawn an' revoke Eawr grand English laws, f nil o' freedom an' love 1 Never, Betty ! up, Britons, an' give 'em a shove ! THE GLEANER. G3 Oh, bi far t' breetest spot That eawr standard has got, As it floats o'er its millions on lond an' on wave, Is that vvheero aw read I' goold letters indeed That under its shadow treids never a slave ! An to lern that some thickyed has gin it for law That a slave that creeps under it is noan free at ©' ! Nay, a hinsult so certin to shame an' degrade To eawr grand Constitution theere never wur made. Yo poor slaves ov o' londs, Di'op yor uplifted honds. An' cover yor faces an' weep o' yor days ; For sin eawr flag is furl'd Yo'n no frend ith woide world, An' no ship '11 protect yo that swims upo th' says ! Full twenty good million o' money we paid To free yo' an' cut ofl'that horrible "trade." But it's o' gone for nowt ! So let's e'en watch an' pray For t' slave cliap may come an' tak' us onny day. An' yo singers o' sungs Yo may cut eawt yor tungs — We'n done wi bowd, national sungs o' the wave, For eawr preawd British Flag Is ript up to a rag, An' we'n freedom no lunger to ofler a slave. Hang yor yeds deawn an' snivel some funeral tune. An' howl at yor Queen, loike a dug at th' full moon ; But durn't sing no moore, except i' yor graves, Sich sungs as " Britannia-a-roolin'-the-waves." There's nowt that aw kno That's gin sich a bio To eawr country, an' caused so mich blushin' an' bother ; Mon, aw'd just as soon yer Ov a new civil war. Or freish Mon-o '-war-ships runnin' t'one again t'other. Eh, folk, but it's razzort me gradely to read That eawr Lady Britannia's fair bosom mun bleed Through cowardly stabs fro eawr Admiralty Lords ; But we'll make 'em reet fain to eight o' their feaw words. 64 THE GLEANER. AwVe axed for his name That's nioast to blame, An' a bonny fotne foo an' a traitor he is ! So yo Britons durnt stop Till he's eawt ov his shop, An' if he demurs, pur 'im eawt wi' a whiz. Yen no need to tell me to moind what aw say. For awm better nor thuse sort o' chaps onny day. Had it bin yo an' me that 'ad meddlt, awm dang'd If lung afore this toime we shouldn't a' bin haug'd. An' sarve us reet too, Ay, an' onny ship's crew That would turn a slave up to his owners again When he fled for his loife From the whip an' the knoife From the bully and bloodhound, the dungeon an' chain. An' mun England put up with this breach ov her law 1 An' swallow for gospel this " circular " saw ? If it wur but one gradely to cut him i' bits That had gin sich a border, 'twould nobbut be quits. Neaw aw think that Ward Hunt Just desarves to be brunt In blazin' fat efligies every wheere ; He's noan fit, is he hec ! To walk onny ships' deck, Mich moore to be t'yed o'er o'th' mariners theere. Aw'd just pitch him i't' say in a howd prato bag If he'll not poligize to eawr sorrowful flag — That beautiful banner o' red, white, an' blue, But whoever disgraces it surely shall rue. ^?fVN',.i--;— , ""^^t^^^^^^'^V^ 77//'; (iLi:AyKii. dr. A LETTER TO LIBERTY. ( )li, Liberty ! whore art thou liidiug tJiy face ? Come, let all tliy national thnnders resound ; Tby castle's besieg'd, ami tlie enemy base, His CANNON liath tixM on thy heavenly ground. His regiinejits f — " rowdies" and ruinous " roughs," The " tag-rag-and-bob-tail " of every " slum ;" For weapons they ril1e tlie gutters and soughs, And lioivdw false courage from beer and inm. Come, and " do" for our magistrates, every one ; Despatch them to glory, or send them to pot I Thou canst but despise them for wh.at they have done, And Ko does tlie world. Let us have a new lot I We cannot have worse — should the worst come to pass They could do but as these who have broken the failli. And shamefully shiver'd the Temperance glass While e'en at our lips — and have stoned ns to death ! For is not to prevent such a barbarous scene They who had all the time and the power to do't, Not morally worse than that each should have been Caught in the I'ed act 1 Let the nation refute. Oh Liberty I lilow them thy loudest alarms, And '• drum" them far " out" of thy Tem[)le of State; Retain undishonour'd tJiy glorious charms, The worship and pride of the good and the great. How dart' they have Tiiry or Radical views When mischief is brewing the bor(nigh about / Me thinks when his judges their power abuse 'Tis time for a Briton to arm and turn out. Oh give a new leader, sweet Liberty, do, To rule o'er Boltonians with justice for all. Sharing freedom alike to the '•' red" and the '' l>liie," To play with the peaceful political ball. Oh gTant a new conclave to sit oa the " bench,-' For this is unworthy an Englishman's praise ; Its features are hideous, its breath is a stench, Its vitals are rotten, its head is acraze. 66 THE GLEANER. Then, Liberty ! rouse thee, the foe is at hand, A cowardly army of killers-by-night ; Its leaders, one-sided J.P.'s of the land, Who should be the champions for God and the Right ! Come, and drive every tyrant far back into hell Who would tie up the tongue of his fellovrman free : Again o'er the earth let thy melody swell As high as the mountains, as broad as the sea. Great Spirit ! resplendent in garments of fire, Assume, we beseech thee, mortality's mould, That thy face and thy form may thy cliildren inspire, As thou rid'st on the cloiuls in tliy chariot of gold. Bolton, January, 1872. SCHOFIELD, THE MARTYR! Slowly the solemn, sombre, Sabbatli train, A tlirobbing avid an almost endless chain, Bears to " God's acre " the most foully slain, Schoiield, the Martyr ! A thousand sympathising Liberals glide In grand procession at the victim's side. For one of them he liv'd, and one he died, Schofield, tha Martyr ! Woe, woe unto thy murderers, even Avoe 1 Tliy l^lood sliall follow them where'er they go ! Tlie liand is witliering now that laid thee low, Schofield, the Martyr ! Whom liad.st thou wrong'd that they should spill thy blood ? Thy Queen ? thy town I thy neighbour .' Ah, thy God Knows thou wert far too lionest and too good, Schofield, the Martyr \ Ye moiuTiers weep ! Init let j'our jewels fall Rather in joy than sorrow o'er his pall, Whose name sheds glory round the Temperance Hall. Schofield, the Mariyr ! For politics, sobriety, and truth, Shall all be gainers by his death, forsooth. And thougli entombVl, shall speak witli scathing mouth, Schofield, the Martyr ! THE GLEANER. 67 Tho nation mourns the man and hails his cause Which renders liomage to her peaceful laws, And he shall have her pity and aiiplanse, Schotield, the Martyr ! Sec I how they wind along with muffld tread, And near the confines of the gather'd dead ! I3ut thine shall be the most illustrious bed, Scholield, the Martyr ! And now the Cemetery's alive again With thousands of the town's deep-thinking men, Who execrate thy Tory brother — Cain — tSchofield, the IMartyr I Anon, the mighty, rolling, human wave Drops its ten thousand tears into the grave Dug by the blatant bully for the bravo b'chotield, the IMartyr '. But ere they leave the trebly-trampled sod, A prayer, unanimous, they breathe to God That He avenge thy death with flaming rod, Schoticld, the Martyr I And so He will ! Already His decree Worketh within the minds of millions, free To glorify the Liberal cause, and thee, Schofield, the Martyr I When Mayor and Magistrates are dead and gone To answer God the deeds their flesh hath done. Thine honour'd name shall rise with every sun, Schofield, the Martyr ! And now his little tale of life is told, A deathless, mighty moral to luifold ! Freedom, and all her patriots cry—" Behold, Schofield, the Martyr ! " Peace for his ashes — pardon for his soul, fe'chofield, the Martyr 1 Bolton, December, 2l8t, 1871. 68 THE G LEA NEB. TO MY FEIEND, Oil liiE BIKTH OF A SON. A year ago, thou plautedst in tliy breast A virgin rose of beauty antl of worth, To shed around thy path a perfume blest. And make tliy home the happiest home on earth. And now to greet thy raptur'd eye tlierc springs A fair young bud to grace the parent bloom, To breathe Eolian zephyrs o'er the strings Of tliy fond heart and dissipate thy gloom. To be thy jn-ide, beyond the pride of gold, Beyond the pride of title or of fame ; To be the lambkin of thy guardian fold, And a bright honour to thy roof and name. But oh ! 'tis gomething more than thing of joy That Ood to thee and tlune hath lately given. A someting full of awe surrounds thy boy, 'Tis an innnortal soul— an heir of heaven 1 And thine the jharge to tit it for above. Or thine the cur.-ie to start it on the iKilh That leads to Avhere is neither hope nor love. And where the greatest mercy would l)o death I Oh, train it in the proper way, and then As it shall grow it shall not thence depart. And though its fate (like Daniel's) be a den ( If deadly snares, it shall escape nnliurt. Never withdraw thy tender hand ami kind From its young head, nor husli tliy loving voice, And on the pure page of its yearning mind Stamp words of truth, and ye shall both rejoice. Oh, teach him that the world is full of sin, With but few joys to keep us from despair, And that a conscience, pure and white within. Is what alone can ward off every care. TffE GLEANER 69 Oil, teHt;li liiiu t(i do right, \i'hate'ei' the cost, Right to himself, to man, and to his God ; 11' thou neglect, perchanc* he may lie lost, *\nd thou be stained with his guilty blood. And tell thy sinless dove before it wing Its way across life's waters, deep and dark, There is no rock of peace to which to cling Till it return to whence it flew — the ark. The uric ! yon heaven, the one bright home of all, The starting point, the mid-way house, the goal, Oh, may thy son, when ruthless death shall call. Find that the home of his immortal soul. Accept the blessing of a humble friend. It shall not fruitless rest with you entirely, And oft as fondly thou dost o'er him bend O'ive my wann kiss to Walter Henry Bricrley. SONG. SWEET PEARLY EYES OF BLUE. Sweet pearly eyes of blue, They haunt me every hour ; ^\'hose eyes they are need never wish For other earthly dower. Bright pearly eyes of blue, I think I see ye peep Tlu'ough every inch of yon blue skj' Spread o'er the tranquil deep. Cruel pearly eyes of blue, Why burst ye on niy sight A moment, like yon falling star, Then left me lost in night ? Rare pearly eyes of blue, Farewell, a long farewell, VHiiie I can feel v,'ill ye reveal Your fascinating spell. 70 THE GLEANER. A SERENADE. Lady, lift thy lattice high' That thy lover standing by Send to thee the tender sigh On wings of love. See ! the moon, with silver eye Looks out above. But methinks his silver rays Fall not where yon fountain plays, Nor upon the watery maze Of streamlet there, Thee they seem to kiss and praise lady fair ! Thee night's silence seems to woo, And each drop of diamend dew Shows, methinks, thine eye of blue Upon its breast. Cast thine eye upon me, too, To make me blest. All is hush'd at this sweet hour Save where from yon darkling tower WfeileJi^wfe cry above the bower With jealousy. For there they saw me pluck this flower 1 hold for thee. This sacred, fragrant, blushing rose Whose leaves are folded in repose. It can a tender tale disclose To thy lone heart — l^oiir balm upon its secret woes And sooth its smart. Then, love, oh step thee from thy stair, And we will walk i'th' moonlit air Sweet, yet nothing to compare With thy sweet breath ; Come, and hear me fondly swear. My faith till death. 77/ A' GLEAAPJU. 71 ST. VALENTINE. St. Valentine may now be seen Triunipluuit riding o'er the land ; Our gracious lady Vic. the Queen Holds not such absolute command. His are most gorgLous, glittering pages, With words that make ye maidens weep, And, tluttrving round his gilded Cages Ye tliinl; them dear that cost so cheap. What lovely Howers ! what quaint device Where, hidden, chubby angels lie ; What dainty shells and mosses nice To lure the imsuspecting eye. What landscapes beautiful abound With jasmined cots where love might d\\ ell With, or without the base " five-pound " A year," that peevish poets tell. Thill", too, on marge of cozy nest — M(>dels of faith for me and you — Soft turtle-doves with breast to breast Their songs of bliss for ever coo. 'Tis polish'd all, perfumed and bright, Nothing of vulgar, rough, or rude ; Well-pleasing, truly, is the sight, 'Tis nature as by fairies viewed. See, little churches 'mid the trees Tempt one to tie the fatal knot ; The more one looks, the more one sees That nothing, nothing is forgot Except reality and truth ! No longer keep thine eyelids shut Thou fond and over-trusting youtli, 'Tis bx;t a shell without the nut. And ye fair maids, too, ye may start, Yer Valentines are ropes of sand ; Fools, if ye think them from the heart — They're manufactured but by hand. And this the simple reason why I'd let such hollow things alone, — Though e'en so poor a poet as I, 'Twere better, far, to make one's own. 72 THE GLEANEIi. But yet I rue me that I wrote Si;ch saintly blasphemy as this, - For Valentine, thy scented note Oft brought me joy and many a kiss. Forgive me, Cupid, and ye jades ; Forgive me, postman, knocking now Forgive me, Muses, modest maids, If not, therll be a jolly vow. February Uth, 18(;!>. A STORINIY FKACJMENT. The cracking thunder deep and sharp, Booms basso on tliu wild st(jrm-harp, While piping winds, l 80 THE GLEANER. SONG. DREAMILY AT EVE EECLINING. Dreamily at eve reclining On the white sand by the sea, Sweet and sad is the divining Where thy home on earth may be. Leagues of billows roll between ns Crown'd with many a snowy crest, Worlds of cruel Avaters screen us From each others wounded breast. Oft I ask the whispering ocean, Rolling, rippling to my feet, Where art thou, my youth's coinpanidii Whom I never more may greet I Can it tell me art thou living I — Art content and blest and gay I — Dost thou still betimes remember Thy lone friend so far away I Were I free as yonder sea-gulls T would skim the ocean o'er ; Or mine eyesight like the eagle's, At a glance see every shore ; Till I found my more than brother, (Be he hidden where he may) For I ne'er can love another With the love he took away. Friendship, though, is ever scorning Fate and distance, time and tide. Human hearts and lives adorning Till into the tomb we glide. Dreamily at eve reclining On the white sand by the sea. Sweet and sad is the divining Wliere thy home on earth may 1 e. 77//'; GLEANER. 81 THE DYING YEAR. (Written at Ballaarat, Australia, 18G6). The oltl year lius a-dying. Poor old year! \'v hat tortures indescribable are his, As, with his little load of Time, he steps Beyond the earth, to swell tli' already grand Great aggregate of full Eternity ! The poor old year ! whose limbs invisible stretch From pole to pole, and round whose ample loins Th' imaginary equatorial band Is fast and indisseverably tied. What an anomaly must be his couch Of final dissolution, when the hands Of all the earth in simultaneous grief Bedeck't as is with each his nation's wont. You, in cold Britain, hang it round with snow Through which your glittering icicles protrude And pierce the quivering moribond within ; And on his pale blue forehead firmly set Your prickly holly, with its scarlet tears. While shivering minstrels with blue noses chant His requiem 'neath the frosty, star.lit sky. Not so with us, hot-blooded Australasians ; Half naked crowd we round Ms blistering form. And for his sweltering brow in sorrow weave A garland from the sun's most scorching rays, And make his dying bed a furnace, that The spots and l^lemishes of his short life Be burnt away, that he, all purified May shine for ever in the long to come ! And Nature, too, here all consistent mourns Around the " stretcher " of the dying year. The "hot winds" from th' interior, sighing, rush Across the arid land, and, all spontaneeus. Woods and high mountains light their farewell fires. Hiding the burning sun so fierce they shine Like mighty torches blazing round the bier Of him. Time's dearest, latest-born, now dying — dead ! sdisS^S'. 82 THE GLEANER. SONG. THE OLD DRIPPING WELL. The old dripping weU in tlie garden at home I can never forget, tho' the wide world I roam, For my childhood's sweet visions it opens to me And a bright panorama again do I see. Many an hoiir would I sit where its green mosses grow Till the stars twinkled down on its waters below. And my innocent bosom with rapture would swell As I sat all alone by the old dripping-weU. And the quaint oaken-pail, with its iron-bound side, Which at pleasure I dropt in the crystaline tide. Gave my heart warm emotions too dear to reveal. As it fell with the rope from the rude wooden wheel. But the broad willow-tree hanging gracefully o'er With its treasur'd bird-nest shall enchant me no more ; Yet deep down in my soul doth a joy ever dwell When I think of my home and the old dripping-well. Oh the world with its cares hath entangled me now And hath darkened with sorrows my once happy brow ; I have found a fell thorn under life's blooming rose And the hard hand of Fate hath destroyed my repose. But it cannot, thank God, drive bright mem'ry away Which beams o'er my life like a heaven-born ray, And whispers in secret, " No power can dispel The fond charm round thy home, and the old dripping- well." HAPPY HOURS. There are some hours in which we own That after all, this life's delicious ! Around them, like a diamond-stone, A halo circles, bright and j)recious. We set them from the rest apart To be our blessings and our guides, — To sootlie and cheer us Avhen the heart Refuses evei'ything besides. THE GLEANER. 83 Ye happy hours ! mysterious stars That shine in spite the day's proud King ; This hfe has not a cloud tliat mars Your higtre, — strange but glorious thing ! O Memory, what a treasure thou ! Best spirit of tliis workl of ours ! How oft wc see thee bind the bi"ow Of lov'd ones, gone ! with living flowers ! And though thou strangely storest all Pell-mell Avithin thy little room, Thou pick'st the Ood-illumin'd wall On which to hang those hours till doom, Like pictures, faithful, fresh and fair. In colours from the world of joy. No accident can reach them there, — No touch of Time their lines destroy ! We close our eyes, and lo, they come ! Those pictures of past happy hours, — The loves and lights and lays of home, (That garden of the sweetest flowers) — The floods of friendship and of love, — The times of social mirth and glee, — The bosoms, warm, to which we cleve In childhood and in infancy, — The musings of a higher state Of grandeur, purity and bliss, — The moments of a heart elate With thoughts of better worlds than this,- Communion with undying souls Of men and women of the past, Whe gave the world their varied scrolls Of burning treasures, deep and vast, — Gay fancy's flights to fairie-land, Where beauty reigns supreme and rare. Whose spirits take us by the hand To show the changing wonders there : — And when — t' obey the will of God, An evil spirit touches whom We love, and with its mystic rod Entices them nigh to the tomb. ^4 THE GLEANER, Oh happy hour to meet again The conscious eye — the grateful glance — To see the brow releas'd from pain And smoothly placid as 'twas once ! And that in which (each season come) We gaze enraptur'd o'er our isle Now dimpling 'neath a silver dome, Now golden 'neath a sunny smile ; Betimes enwrapt in sparkling snow, — Anon enrich'd with fruit and flowers, — Again — but not for me to show All things which cause us happy hour!?. The gentle word, though, gives ns one When dropt into the troubled heart, — The kindly look, — the fi'iendly tone, Can place a happy hour apart. But when we have a wrong forgiven, — A sin atoned, — abate suppi'oss'd, Oh such are as the hours of heaven — Such peace and joy they give the breast ! SONG. W I N T E E Methinks, O Winter ! thou art fairer far Than Spring and Suxiimer with their flowers are : Thy breath is chilly, but thine eyes are bright, Thy cheeks are glowing with a rare delight. Thy pearls what are they, vain and wealthy maid, To those that hang from yon congeal'd cascade 1 Thy purest diamonds dull, compared with these Old Winter scatters on his rocks and trees ! O Winter cold ! O Winter old ! Yet young as when Time's wheels flrst roU'd ! O Winter rare ! O Winter fair ! O Winter welcome every year ! THE GLEANER. 85 'Neath tliy red holly and pule mistletoe What hopes are fostered and what bosoms glow ! What happy faces crown thy Christmas cheer For friends thou mak'st of whom were foes all year ! Thy greatest glory is thy spotless snow Which veils thy breast, and warms the earth below ; And yet 'tis but the dust by angel-hands Swept from the threshold where their palace stands. O Winter cold ! O Winter old ! Yet young as when Time's wheels first roll'd ! Winter rare ! O Winter fair ! O Winter welcome every year ! THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK, Mysterious man ! how his unhapjjy tale Touches with pity every listening soul ; How oft his phantom rises dim and pale, Wrapped round with wonderment and matchless dole ! Few are the simple facts that history gives This nameless victim to an unknown ire ; But, though for centuries dead, his memory lives Smouldering, ne'er to outburst in tongue of jSre. I well nigh weep, oh, '' L'homme au masque de fer," To read in French his most romantic story ; It may be 'twas his native language, dear. Which lends it, let me say, more ghostly glory. But all's enwrapt within the densest cloud — His very name, his nation and his blood ; A living man already in his shroud — A mortal all unknown but to his God ; And yet faint whispers from high places fell His face bore semblance to the kings of France, And that the reigning Louis knew full well The why and wherefore of the sad romance. That great and glorious Louis call'd " Le Grand," Who (when his long, long reign was at its close. And all triumphant Death stood nigh at hand Waiting this goodly Monai'ch to depose^ 8S THE GLEANER. Tvim'd to the mourners round his royal bed E'en ns his soul passed through the icy j^ortal, And with sweet, dying voice distinctly said, — " Why weep ye I did ye deem I was immortal ]" But whatsoe'er the king in secret knew, If aught he knew indeed, was never told ; And now each curious century wondereth who The mystery of " the mask " Avill e'er unfold. Was he some royal prince 1 some patriot good ? Some pirate king, or envied naval chief ? Some mei'chant Cro3sus ? some dread man of blood? Some lordly lunatic, or high-born thief ? Or was he snatch'd from every family scene, Cruelly bemask'd and thrust in dungeon dim To satisfy some fell imperial spleen. Or pamper some unnatural lordly whim 1 Or did he nobly give himself to death As hostage for another, like a God ] Qui salt 1 for what and whence he was beneath Are things o'er which oblivious ages nod. And yet conjecture, ever on the wing, Made of him this and that illustrious man ; Now, own twin brother to the reigning King — Now, English Oliver Cromwell's exiled son. Then Duke of Monmouth, and one Matthioli, Count of Mantua, who through State affairs Of plot and crime, or some ambitious folly. Was doomed thus to breathe his dungeon prayers. But whosoe'er he, these few facts are all Upon the page of history sublime Concerning this distinguish'd son of thrall — This man or victim (which X) of nameless crime. We know not when they 'gan, but dreary years Chased dreary years — the slowest of them fleet — And still he lay shut out from human tears In island dungeon of St. Marguerite. Peering athwart the Mediterranean sea To catch the distant sail upon her wave, Or listening to her waters loud and free Lashing the pillars of hia living grave ; Or gazing from the loophole of hia cell With longing eyes, like saint up to his God, THE GLEANER. 87 Up to the lovely hills of Esterel, Whose -winding paths dissect the sloping sod : These, or to watch some sea-bird cut the air Or note the fleecy clouds steal on above, Were all the outward joys fell to his share. Cut off" from human sympathy and love. And yet his life within las prison-walls Was all a guilty (?) captive could desire ; His jailer but with cap-in-hand ne'er calls His every wish to do and to enquire. Except that he, poor prisoner ! was compell'd To wear a mask of metal night and day, And pen and ink and parchment were withheld, And every hope of freedom swept away His treatment was as kind as kind could be. His viands dainty and on silver served As though to one of prmcely pedigree Whom fulsome meed of honour had deserved. But ah ! how bitter were the richest feast Of rarest morsels and of nectar drinks If Liberty be not the honoured guest. Beneath whose eye the eye of Sorrow sinks. There came a day the captive's love for men Would have them know his history and his doom. And though deprived of parchment and of pen Sought and found out the means within his tomb, Would all the world have made as wise as he. His name divulged and all his curious tale Had not some treacherous spirit of the sea Cast back again his story to the jail. And this the manner. With a pointed knife He scratch'd upon a silver platter bright. The leading items of his chequered life And threw it, unobserv'd, with all his might From out the window of his lonely cell , And though into the greedy deep it fell, 'Twas lost not, for a fisher, in liis net Receiv'd the curious tell-tale. But, anon, (Unskill'd in th' magic of the alphabet) Eeturn'd it with its secret pattern done To stern St. Mars, the jailer of the " The Mask," And barely 'scap'd imprisonment for his task. 88 THE OLEANEB. Soon after was tlie victim ta'en and thrust Down in the Bastile's deepest dungeon den, And left alone to die, to rot, to rust Unsought^ unseen, unsung of mortal men. In seventeen-eighty-nine, a terrible year When Frenchmen for their freedom fought and won. They stormed that stronghold to their tyrants dear. And puU'd the dread and dismal Bastile down Then, as with yells of wildest rage they tore The ponderous stones from the foundation deep, And smash' d the locks from every prison door. Oh God ! what sight makes all their flesh to creep t A skeleton in chains ! fast to the rock From whence was hewn the chamber, dark and dull, And, starting forward, see, with horror struck, An Iron Mask still on its crumbling skull ! This tale is awful. But more awful are The life and times of him, who, to o'erglaze His rottenness of soul, to cheat and mar Self-dons and wears a moral mask all his days. More hideous, for its comeliness betrays. But God, who knows and doeth all things well, Will rip the metal and the moral mask away ; That lift to heaven, perchance, this cast to hell. After the solemn sentence of the Judgment Day ! SONG. FANNY'S FIB. I waited 'neath the trysting tree. But had not waited long Before fair Fanny came to me. My Fanny gay and young. But ah I a gloom spread o'er her, A tear dimm'd her bright eye. And I stood so mute before her That she thought I was not by. That she thought I was not by to give One sigh with her, my pride. As she told in tones of anguish'd love She was another's bride ! Tin-: (ILR.WEIi. 80 " Another's bride I" ah ! imno can tell The woe that wniiij^ my breast, Those words fell uii lue like a knell From her whom 1 luvM best. i chisped her wildly to me, To stay my breaking heart, — () ! that laugh's yet I'inging thr. Though physic is bad, 8till premature dying is wo.'se ; Then Ileal us, and I shall \>.- glad To pay for yourself and your horse. There's something uncommonly nice In your treatment of me and of mine, Who follow yoiu- able advice, And swallow your physic and w(h)ine 1 As early as safety permit, Please send mo yonr visiting bill. Oh joy, once again to l)e ut suc-h as T place on my rockery stones. At the base of my hobby, through winter's inclemency, Dozens of bonnie birds flutter and feed, And, whatever flne ladies and grand city gem'en say, Th' investment gives rare satisfaction indeed, ^'ou may chafl' as you please, skit, scott", and bamboozle, too, Deeming it childish to feed little birds, But I love the robin, the thrush, aiul black-ousel, too. Which, with my sparrows, give me my rewards. T(i the right is a large leather-leaf 'd rhododendron, A stumpy green willow, and prickleless broom, To the left, a young i^oplar, a tall and a slender 'nn. An ash, and laburnum all golden w^ith bloom. 'Tis backed by an ivy luxuriantly evergreen. Hiding a cottage for lumber and coals, And numberless articles such as were never seen Elsewhere between the terrestrial poles. You perceive in these rhymes there is something eccentric, And your pardon I crave if that troubles you much, For I'm partly compelled to resort to a pen-trick That twists the Queen's English almost into Dutch. If I write about daffodils, snowdrops, and pansies. Moss-roses, carnations, and purple auriculas. And squeeze huge bouquets int' a few stumpy stanzas, Then what can I do but say something ridiculous i THE GLEANEK. 99 1 prosunio 'twould iinnisc you to see me at wurk ( >ii my linl)l)y, witli every couceivuble iiiiiilcineiit, j\iy wife looking on with a smile ;iii(I ii fcinii'k, The whieh 1 opine, U) encoiirage is simply meant. For mi)io, you must know, is a sensible niate, Proverbial for goodness, and taste, and eivility, And knows, (piite as well as King Alfred the Great, The wisdom of work and liavd-labour's utility. 'J'here is that in tlieselines my two friends, Dick and Tomiiij', call Rather original, pleasing, and pat, And say if ;/on too see not where it is comical, Dullard you arc, and as blind as a bat. 8o now, patient reader, I bid you adieu, And if this etfusion you should not think capital, I'm heartily sorry, and this you maj' do. Drive my pastoral JMuse back again to her " rappit-hole I'' .SO^G. HALF-PAST SEVE^, I'm longing for that happy hour, That slow-foot half-past seven, I'm longing as the opening flower Longs for the dew of heaven. I'm longing for't, for I shall press Her tell-tale hand in mine. Who stole my heart so merciless, Yet smil'd a smile divine. I'm longing for't, for I shall hear. That tender voice once more, That, music-like, low, soft, and clear. Stole to my bosom's core. I'm longing for't, for I shall meet Another melting glance. So passion-full from eyes replete, With something to enti'ance. 100 THE GLEAN EH. I'lu lunging f(>i-"t, for caiv will Hy, .\iid sorrow from iii_y l)reii8t, Xi>r wliik' )iiy lovu is staiuling Ky Will they v_'t\iin to rest. I'm longing for that happy honr, Tliat Idesse'd half-past seven : Yea, as the oi>ening, tender tlower Longs f<)r the dew of heaven. NK.HT. r saw t\\o Sisters, fair ;nid fonil. W'h'iiii lifi- will not foi-gct : HIanche was a sweet, bewitching "' liloDde \\"\i\\ teiuperanient to correspond. IJut P:dith— a "liriniette.'' Jlaidens more beaxitifnl were none Cast in our mortal nionld ; Blanche w;is a daughter of the sun, A thing of light and joy and fun, With hair of gle:\\\s Kditli, it was tliee, aloiie I wiirsliifijMl lit" the two. So glorious 2siglit I 'tis unto thee 1 dedicate uiy lay, For when thy myriad gems I sec, Oil, thou art more belov'd by me Tliaii tliy ji.de sister, Day— 'I'hat noisy, hiughing, romping jade Whose tongue has never done, Until thou I'isest from thy shade, 8\vcet Niglit I my nielancholj'' maid I After tlie setted sun. She and the world confess thy power. And eiiuquer'd fall asleep ; Yet, in thy soothing nudnight hour, There's otw who walks the moonlit tower. Or by the nuirnnu'ing deep. 'Tis then that sorrow seems to ily, And tunuilt sinks to rest, \Miile thy lit lamps illume the sky. And gentle, fragrant zephyrs sigli In Avafting o'er thy breast. Thj^ sleeping roses scent the air From mountain-top to dell ; Tliydews are falling everywhere, As if to-morrow's burning glare Somehow they could foretell. The deep-niouth'd mastitf, nov\^ and then, Bays thee with peaceful howl, The nightingale from yonder glen His anthem rings o'er field and fen. To flood my ravished sold. Thou I'aisest my desponding heart, And pliickest out its thorn ; But though thy wondrous healing art Awhile vomovcs the burning smart, It pricks again at morn. i02 THE GLEANEk. But that is not a fault of thine, My sombre-hooded friend, Thou workest out a deep design, Obedient to the will, Divine, We cannot comprehend. The world may love the golden Day, That lights the land and sea, But oh I the starry " ndlky-way" — The moon, the oceans all obey — The splendid Night for me ! For then my soul is overjoyed. And thought is her delight, And, with her IMaker for her guide, Exploreth all the teeuung void Of grand and glorious Night I A NAME. A name I ah, yes, there is a name, A short, but sweet as virgin honey. And, as I tell it, do not blame Me that I love it more than money. riiering of which may, for a time, Seduce my heart from care and sadness, But this dear name — oli, thought sublime ! Will ever till )ny soul witli gladness. I breathe it oft when all alone Across the barren mountain straying, And to the winds I trembling own It leads me, like a child obeying. I tell it to the stars at eve, And to the early morning planet : Ah, though you're laughing in your cleeve, Your heart can never blame me, can it ? 77//; ChF.AXEU. W.\ For what were life but drear and dull, Without some sentiment to cheat it > With this one name my heart is full, But yet T must not now repeat it. An angel rings it in mine ear, When noisy f)'iend3 around are pressing ; And loud o'er all, but richly clear, This name falls on me like a blessing. At night wlien sleep has bound my eyes, Witli siift, transparent, curious covering, Bright legions o'er my pillow rise, And speak it tiiir.s ui the lands Beyond the billov\'d deep blue sea, Of mjrtle groves and coral strands Where pearls and queenly diamonds be Where fadeless tiowei's bloom and throw An all-eternal fragrance round, And sparkling streams of crystal go Meand'ring, singing o'ertlie ground — They speak of cloudless azure skies Which canojjy Enchantment's plains, Where heavenly harmonies arise, And peaceful Bea\ity ever reigns : Where night is but continued day In robes of silver 'stead of gold, And fairies in the moon's soft ray Their merry, magic revels liold — They speak in raptures of the lauds Beyond the billow'd deep l>lue .sea, But oh I there is a spot demands A sweeter, holier love from me : Kichest in treasures of the soul To comfort " man that's luade to laourn, It is the dearest of ihem all — The land, the land where T was born I Then, come, I'll i)iedge thee, land of mine, With bounding blood and hand on high. And quatt' to thee a cup divine — Yea, though I were to diink and die I For after heaven's, thy name would most My lips of life or death adorn ; This, then, my sung, and echoing boast, — The land, the land where I was born ! 106 THE OLE A neb: THE SONG OF THE kSEA. I am widely spread o'er my rough rocky l)ed. And my feet run all around : In liow many a place, to the plummet's disgrace, My depths it cannot sound ! I leap and I roar the round earth o'er, And I ripple on every strand, And beautiful sliips, that stars eclipse, 1 hear to every land. Deep down in iiiy hreast are hid all the best Of pearls and coralsand stones, And bleach'd with my salt, in their waiery vault Lie quiet the mai-iner's bones. And shining shells, in slippery cells, 1 hoard with tender pride, Fm' my pets are they below the spray Of my bounding, I'estless tide. And the beautiful weeds my ricli brine feeds, I hang in garlands above The mermaid's nest by Neptune caress'd In his melting hours of love. My lullaby waves through grottoes and caves Their cadences ever ring, And my l)illows at times, with their hoi-rible chimes Appall each living thing. O'er my boundless face the wild winds (;hase And lunit each other in play ; Both slow and fleet are their millioii f(>et Whioh kick up mj^ snowy spray. I laugh at the rock which giveth th<^ shock ( )f death to stoutest keel ; Around him I thread, leap high o'er his head, And make the proud giant to reel. My forehead is crown'd with icebergs rouml That cut tlie clouds wandering by. Of crimson and gold and all colours unroU'd [s the woof of my northern sky. And there do they grow, right outtlirough the snow. Strange trees no mortal hath seen, And the dread polar-bear, from his icicled lair Bays loudly the lunar qiT^":!, THE (4 LEA NEB. lOT WlioiL'N IT 1k" run lln' print of the sun Falls \v:\rni on my liosom of light, Anil r\ ri y uiurn liis hrnw I ;ulorn W'itli ln';iutii;s I riHe :it iiii^'lit. An'l till' innoii l)i-i.fht as l)rass, in my crystalline glass Steals a glance at her monthly face, Ami when the stars peep, bounic diainiuils leap ( >n my surface from place to place. How short is your life, and that full of strife, O ye sons of the children of men I What are ye to me — the everhisting sea, And your wealth what to mine but a grain ? Yet oh 1 what am I, befoi-e the Most High, Creator of ocean and land ; With my thousands of miles girting thousands of isles, — With my winds and my waves, and my rocks and my caves, - With my numberless dead on their cold, slimy bed ? A (Irof) in the palm of His hand I THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. There's one more contemptible object in life Than the man that is henpeck'd at will by his wife. And only one more, or I'm willing to be Tarr'd, feather'd, and toss'd headlong into the sea ! And that is the lady herself, be it known, Whose name to a butt and a byeword has grown. Poor fellow I his life is the life of a slave, A mute and a dummy, instead of a brave ! He cauudt [lass nver his threshold, I ween, But ]Madam must quickly know where he has been, And whom he has met, and to whom he has spoke. With whom had a laugh, or a glass, or a joke ; For jealous as jealous can be is his wife Who has henpeck'd her husband, and poison'd his life. Ah 1 has he presumed to exchange a bank-note For a pair of new boots, or a hat, or a coat, Without her permission ? the lash of her " jaw " Cuts deeper, I trow, than the " cat " of the law. And if he account not for every cent. He has toss'd, lost, or won, bovrow'd, given, or spent, 108 THE (iLEANER, r!ic '■ l' imdei-i nf Siiuii " were music beside Tlie gentle coiuphiiuts >i hi; loveable bride ; But if lie luis dared to have suppM with a friend, 'Twere better his life had been bvouglit to an end NVith a ri>pe. ur a pistol-shot under his hiu'. Or a razor to skilfully sever the '"iuy," Or a long draiight of laud'nnm to sleej) in his A'eins, Or a river U) leajt into out of his pains ! The double-tongued Jezebel calls him "' My dear," When persons of wealth and importance are near, Yet lays down the law-niatrimouial so plain, Tliat these i)lainl3- see slie's tin' cock of the twain, And laugh in lier face, while despising at heart The woman for playing the Ini.sbau'l.tiian'.i part I To the world she appcareth as sleek as a cat, As mild as new milk or rew ale in a \:\t : 'Tis only to him th.at her temper is shown, To liim that her whims and her Innnours are known. He smiles like a man on Ids way to Ihe '• Idock.'' (.)r like a new criminal plac'd in the do!;k. Or like a vile traitor about to b'j hung. Or like a rich Jew bloody bandits among. Oh. yes I his exuV^erant spirits ;\rise. And laanl}' ennttions .shoot out of his eyes, For hi' knows lies a Lord of Creation, you see, Willi a si_)ul like ;!n e.-igle, nntV'ttci-M and f i I'O I (That's if he ask Madam may it be allow'd To soar, for a nxjineut, alone to a cloud : Or to think for him.sclf independent of Jicj', But Madam's reply is- -" Ay, do, if you ilarc ! ") I*oor de\il of a man ! He i.s feeting Die flame On earth of the place \\\' hail better not name ; So when he's reprifA^'d "■'"'' "n oi'I'T I<> 'li' , He 11 go, happy widower, singing on high ! While she, " the grey-mare, the best horse" of the pa;r, Shall sink to her father's, below, and live there A century or two. After which; I've uo doubt, The King t)f tho^e noi.sy dominions will shout— " Oatch that tulnaiiv^^ uohmn, and iumhh \«t*o«<." TITE (i LEANER. l09 HONOUR. (Jivo iiir flic iiKiii wlioso sense of lioiiour, strong, Om'dotli in every ilionglit and word and deed, Anil Im sliall liave the glory of my song, And I, in loving liiin, my more than meed. His is the only safe and glorious creed Refitting men for brethi-en here below ; And s<«nls at heaven's liigh gate in vain shall plead Admittance fi"om a world of sin and woe. If Honour, by the threshold, say not — " Let them go." Oil, \vli;it a sensitive and fragile flower This Ii(inonr-l)lossom in the hearts of men I Sliglit its existence for a single hour, And a wliolc life may be embitter'd then ! It sliiiieth more through trivial things than in The great " denouements" of our eax-thly plav. For these are only *' few and far l>etween," While those, unnumber'd on our mortal way, Shine out, like lanijjs, to light us to eternal day. For licing only lioni;st, small the praise ; Tlie law will largely interfere in this, And give a man, in spite of him, a glaze Of goodness, which the world translates amiss. But honour is a sentiment of bliss Too fine and fair a thing for hinnan law. Like love, it lighteth up the dark abyss Of fleeting life, and aideth us to draw The golden grains of wheat from out a world of straw I Men of the tunes, well may ye envy hini, Whose honour walks with conscience, hand-iii-hand Free from the slavery of imbridled whim. Or selfish pi-ide. A blessing to the land Which claims him, and his fellows understand, Yea, to the hiunblest creature of his ken, His word with him's an ever-sacred bond ! Oh, for a nation of such glorious men ! But search where'er you will, yoli find btit one ia ten. 110 THE GLEANER. THE MIDSHIPMAN. The sad event told iu the following verses happened on board Money AVigram's ship, "' Lmcohislure," of the Bhickwall Line (Captain Charlton), during her homeward passage from ]\I.ell)c>uruc to London, 18G6, and was witnessed by the Author. A " three-week "' out, far on the main, From Melbourne homeward bounds Trusting in God to see again Old England, safe and sound I Soft was the bracing, briny breeze ; Glorious the morning sun ; Our noble vessel o'er the seas, White winge'd, scudded on. J Abaft, within the gay saloon. Were peace, and joy, and hope ; While, " for'ai-d," many a measured tune O'ercame the stubborn rope. 'Twas " eight bells," and the bo's'n's pips The "starboard watch" had roused, 'Mong which was many a manly type As e'er the sea espoused. Earth boasted not a nobler form Than our Midshipman's there, — A youth of eighteen summers warm, And features tine and fair. His disposition, sweet, had won The hearts of all on board ; So fi'ce, so fi'ank, so full of fun, — Almost he was adored. « Sudden as blasted oak is rent, Up rose a furious gale : " All hands aloft !" and up they went, To reef tlT o'erwhelming sail. The merry " middy," 'mong the rest, Upon the main-yard stood, While wrestling, roaring winds contest Above the seething flood. rill': a LEAN hi:. m The whistling cordage strongly strained, And bent was every ni.ist, As though ten thousand devils, chained. Were tugging on the blast I 'oo' But brave and skilful were the ci-ew, The captain, and his mate, To bring the plunging vessel " to,'' But, oh ! not till too late : Loos'd from its thongs, one flapping sail, Though monstrous in its size, Seem'd but a ribbon in the gale Which hurried through the skies. One corner, with a single blow. As strong as giant's ai'e, Fell on uur middy's head, and lo, [t shuck him from the spar ! But not at once the yawning sea Clos'd o'er the gallant lad ; Ah ! were it but for him and me. I would to Clod it had ! Right out, down ivoiii the sloping " yard," With single hand he hung. And then from every breast aboard, A cry of horror riing ! How well he held out for a while ! (Eternity to me !) But, ere the ship had made a mile, He dropt into the sea 1 My God ! if Thy red lightning keen. Had shewn a yawning hell, My horror had not greater been Than when the middy fell ! Just as the loosen'd anchor shoots Down-darting 'neath the wave, His heavy clothes and ocean boots Pown-dragg'd him to hia grave I 112 THE (ILEANEB. Or when into the sea yon hurl, By hand, a cannon ball — A hiss, a globule, and a swirl — Oh God ! and that was all ! No swinnner's stalwart arms were spread No sign of life I ah me ; He sank, as sink the shotted dead, — As those who die at sea I Now, from a hundred tongues was heard The deeply-thrilling shout ; — " Man ovei'board ! man overlioard ' Quick ! get the lifeboat out I "' Til on e'en as is the flying horse Turn'd round with bridle rein. So was our vessel in her co\irse Turn'd round upon the main. An albatross, with wings at rest, Asleep upon our lee, And rock'd upon the ))illow's breast, Mov'd on as much as we. Meanwhile the Ca2:)tain from the poop, A seaman worth his rank, 'I'hivw ut all in vain ! The huoy tlioy fiml, I'ut. not. of flesh and blood, Koi' him, alas ! they leave behind, Honeath tlu> fatal flood ! Now slowly do the rowers di]i. And linger in the storm, As though they fear'd to near the sliip Withont the middy's form. O'er every bosom, old and young, Throughout the voyage "home,"' In that ill-fated ship, there hung A cloud of sorrowin*; ylooni. Thon brave young sailr>r, fare ihee well ; Down in the ocean vast ! Tliou wilt within my memory dwell. While life and mem<»ry last. Thy kith and kin of nearest tie .Shall weep for aye for thee, And ask — but who sliall tell them— why Theii- bov was lost at sea I SONO. WHY WANDER WEARILY THRoTTlH LIFE i Why wander wearily through life, And keep a downcast eye ? Why probe thy bosom with a knife '. Or heave the wrenching sigh ? Thy cai'es, like egg.s, are wholesome when New laid in Fortune's nest, And should be " cook'd '" while fresh, and then Of food they are the best. 114 THE GLEANEB. Best food for body and for mind, Of rich and poor and all — Best nourishment thou e'er canst find For thy immortal soul. But, brood upon them, and, like eggs, Though sweet and still before, Cares start to life with armfed legs, And scratch thy heart the more. NO SOLITUDE. Oh, live not alone in the land, Kor bury thyself, like a hermit, alive ; Nor be, like a drone, the contempt of t)ie hive — The butt of the busy, brown band. Oh, kee}) not thyself all aloof, For solitude fitteth not mortals, I know, And pride of seclusion's a temble woe — The print of Old Somebody's hoof ! And tliink not that thou art too good. Too clever, too learned, rich, noble, or grand, To give to thy fellows thy heart and thy hand While stemming mortality's flood. The braver, the brighter art thou, '1 he more shall thy brethren look upward to thee For love and for sjuidance on life's stormy sea, Majestic and firm on the prow. Should thine be the riches of books. The sciences, travels, the arts, and the rest, How selfish to keep them locked up in thy breast. Like waters locked u]i from the brooks ! A fig for the fellow — the fool — Wlio, with every advantage of person and mind. Deliberately shuts himself up from mankind, Nor listens to reason or rule. THE GLEANER. us lie need not go into the woods To dig him ;i dwelling, like Timon, alone ; There's many a carpeted cavern in town, Where none l)ut a hermit intrudes. Thy sold heedetli not thy excuse ; No trouble can sanction desertion of men ; For each bears his burthen of sorrow and pain, And much undeserved abuse. "^ A pitiful coward is he Whom earthly misfortune drives into a cell ; The voice of mankind in his ears a knell, Cut oft" from the happy and free. 'I^hen mingle with men and ha wise : Thy presence, commanding, shall stimulate all, Thy fears and fetters shall go to the wall, And love be the light of thine eyes. Thou dost not expect at the last To live all alone in elysium or hell. Or in any mid-way whei'e the spotted ones dwell, Awaiting the heavealy blast i Ah, no ! there's no solitude there, In the fiery glens of the bottomless pit, Where millions of lost through eternity iiit, Incessantly crying — " Despair ! " Ah, no ! there's no solitude yon, In the beautiful plains of the City of Love, Where angels unnumber'd, sing praises above To God and the glorified Son I Alone on eternity's shore i Ah, no ! pass away from the earth, and you go To myriads of spirits I Then practice below To live with your like evermore ! LI 6 The ULEANEtt. EVEN:>:r; in the country. Dnwit ill the watery west, Cover'd with beautiful skies, Siiiketh the siui tu his glorious rest, Closing jiis tiery ej^es. ."^liorii uf liis Iniriiishiug l>e;uiis, Fatal though golden and grand, Then his right round, ruddy frontispiece seems Like the lov'd face of a friend. .Slowly the bellowing kiuc iShipponward gratefully tread ; Crows in a black, but irregular line Ely to their nests overhead. Tv.inkling starlights appear, Waiting the Queen of the Night ; iSee '. she ariseth, majestic and clear, Planet of beauty and light ! Zig-zag the leather-wing'd mice Flit o'er the deep purple sky. Goggle-eyed sleepy gray om'Is they entice From the old belfry high. Few are the sounds that are heard — All of them mellow and sweet — Now 'tis a love serenade ; now a bird Sings from its hidden retreat. Stiller and quieter yet Groweth the evening hour.s, Gentle deXvs droppeth, perfumed, and wet All the sweet slumbering flowors. Memory waketh, and brings Back again scenes that are fled ; Happiest moments, and loveliest things llise from Oblivion's bed. TFTE (4LEANRR. ilT EVENING IN THE TOWN. Up in its shaky old cell, (Jovered with cobweb and dust, Ringeth the welcome-ton'd '' six-o'clock-bell," Rousing up many a host. Grimy and dirty and dark, Dripping with honesty's sweat, Gliding by thousands all home from their work, Thr(High tJio wide factory gate. Horribly bad German-band, Miu-ders our popular airs ; Why for did you leave your belov'd Faderland ? Back ! you old duffers of players ! Carriages rattle along, Fill'd with the gaudy and gay ; Dancing awaits them, with supper and song. Till the broad break of the day. 'Stead of the glorious sun, Gas doth its glimmer diffuse ; Merry-mouth'd, rosy-cheek'd, wild urchins run, Crying, " The Evening News" Constables' echoing feet, Drawn out in Indian file. Tramp o'er the pavement till " Bob " on his " beat " Restcth from duty awhile. Now is the time when arise Children of Sloth and of Sin, And with much evil intent in their eyes, Dark depredations begin. Little it mattereth where People are scatter'd and born ; Let them but finish the evening witk prayer, Peacefully breaketli the morn. 118 THE GLEANER. A VISIT TO "TH'-HALL-I'TH'-WOOD" PAPER MILL. Refresh'el witli pale and rosy wine, In which, 'tis said, the gods do lurk, We rose at Andrew's friendly sign, To see his Paper-Mill at work. Oh, would I were an engineer, And undei'stood the use of steam. My willing Muse should not appear To^^labour on as in a dream. I'd show the why of this and that, The wherefore, too, of all display, And how they did it, ay, as pat As though I were John Hick, and gray. But poets have but little sense In joiners' shops or foundry yards ; Loud laughs are rais'd at their expense, So foolish are their fancy words. So, do not deem I can describe A paper maker's rolling gear, Which is of that uncommon tribe Justly denominated " queer." Old rags, and ropes, and cotton waste Are first into the " duster " dropt ; Then sorted out, and then in haste, Sent to the " devil " to be chopt. (A fell machine, with iron gums, In which are fix'd a hundred teeth ; A moment ! and its food becomes A million- atom'd mass beneath !) Thence taken to be boil'd, in what You seldom see in any hotel — A huge revolving iron pot — Fill'd full of steam as hot as — Well. The pudding is then wash'd quite clean ; Next into pulp all smoothly ground ; Then run into a long machine On which^ at last, is paper found. THE GLEANER. 11 « 'Tis then cut into shape and size, That you, as customers, require, Who, if you pay for your supplies, May set them, if you like, on fire ! That's paper-iiiiikliig in a pill, The process simple, ahort, and funny ; All that you need to start a Mill Are patience, tact, and brains, and money ! A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. Thou grey-beard alchemist, shaking and old. While bending thy furnace and crucil)le o'er, I'll tell thee of something more precious than gold. Or the gems and the jewels that Solomon W'fe. As sudden as lightning it darts in the soul, Its exquisite essence from Paradise caught ; 'Tis born, and- then writ on Eternity's scroll For ever ! -old man, 'tis a bemitiful thouriht. Thou youthful adorer just starting in life, While leading thy love through the midsummer glade, I'll tell thee what give her before she's thy wife. To add a new charm to the eyes of the maid. 'Tv.ill make her more lovely and dear to thy heart When she to be thine to the altar is brought ; 'Tis this — while as lovers ye wander apart, Just whisper her, sweetly, a beautiful thought. Oh ! is it indeed not a beautiful thought. That a beautiful thought when embodied in speech For ever and ever with pleasure is fraught, And of death and of devils far out of the reach ? 'Tis the breathing of God in His dwelling of love — A lesson bj^ angels all iDurified taught — A courier despatch'd from the palace aboA'e With a letter of peace, is a beautiful thought. 120 THE GLEANEB. It smooths the dark brow, furrowed over with strife, And calls up a smile to the languishing lip ; It sweetens the dull occupations of life In the mill or the meadow, the shop or the ship. Wealth, honour, position, and glory and all Such things may depart j^ou, so eagerly sought ; Great monarchs and kingdoms may tremhle and fall, But lasting as love is a beautiful thought. It pierceth the firmament, sprinkled with stars, And down to the core of the earth it descends ; It throweth a veil o'er the bloodiest wars, And mercy with murder mysteriously blends. It lighteth betimes, and it lingereth where A thousand to one you would think it was not ; For e'en o'er the dungeon of dirt and despair Are seen the white wings of a beautiful thought. It leadeth the soul gently out from the flesh Into far fairer fields of enchantment and joy, And shows it unlimited regions afresh Where never a sorrow was known to annoy. Then prize it, and scatter wherever you can O'er threshold of castle, and cabin, and cot ; For sweet in the mouth of a child or a man Are the wonderful words of a beautiful thought. TO MY COMPANIONS IN ENGLAND. WRITTEN AT MELBOURNE. 1862. Bi'ight is the link which binds ye to my soul, Companions dear of youth and early prime ; Not all the waves of ocean deep, that roll In scornful gi'andeur o'er the brow of Timo Can dim its lovilliancy, or dash the l)owl Of memories sweet, undying and sublime, From my warm lips, whence daily leaps the prayei' That I again your heai-ts and joys may .share. THE GLEANER. 121 Some of ye know the secrets of my heart ; Its thoughts of purity and shades of sin ; Can trace the rocks of temper on the chart Of my poor nature, wlicro sad wrecks have been ; But, 1'^ ! ye wei'o so kindly that tlic smart Of censure and reproof stung not within. Far distant sods may yield me bread and gold, But none can give me friends like those of old. With some I trod the bracing mountain-height, And cull'd the gems from Nature's rich bouquet ; With others, wonder'd why the pale moonlight Should kiss the waters of yon treacherous bay ; Or golden stars rain down their bliss at night Into the eyes of those who never pniy. And from full many a breast I've drawn relief When my best blood ran thick with gall and grief. Have ye not shared with me the wild romance Of early love, and headstrong passion, both ? And felt with me the rapture of a glance From eyes asparkle both with love and wrath ? And been my second self in many a dance 'Mid maidens blooming with red health and youth ? How can I, then, forget ye, comrades dear ? Or think of ye without a rolling tear ? For we knew all things {() when a dozen met, To smoke and chat around the private fire ; The world-at-large we caught as in a net. And knew its shape was rounder than 'twas square. O ! ne'er was known so triily wise a set As we, since Babel tower'd high and higher ! Love, Music, Law, the State, the Stage — each came in turn, To make us angry, silly, or with rapture burn ! The arts and sciences ; all secret signs — All things mysterious, pooh ! we knew by rote — The virtues (?) of all spirits, ales, and wines, That e'er bepainted nose or burnt a throat ; Knew where (to hear us talk) the richest mines Yielded the mare-spur gold and big bank-note ; Could build the loftiest castles (in the air) ; And tell you what to woo — of what beware ! 122 THE GLEANER. But, oh ! those days were happy ones indeed ! Fate had not laid his hand on us to sever Our social ties, nor caus'd each heart to bleed, By whisp'ring we should meet again, all, never ! Oh, cruel Fate ! why didst tliou thus exceed Thy mission, parting us, alas ! for ever ? Yet we'll forgive thee, if thy thorny rod But whip and guide us to the home of God. Though dwelling friendless in a foreign land, 'Tis sweet to think I shall not be forgot, But feel, in spirit, the warm heart and hand Of each of ye, whatever be my lot, And catch a gleam of friendship's pearly wand, WTien eyes of mine are dim, and brain is hot. Farewell, dear comrades ; one and all farewell ! My heart is full ; but, oh ! I may not tell All my deep grief to leave ye far behind, Where England's queenly rose perfumes the wind. CHURCH AND STATE. All hail to the latter, the glorious old State, The pride and the prop of Britannia the Great ! Where riseth as powerful a throne, and as pure As God in His wisdom to man would secure. But the Church ! by my faith ! that's another aftair— An edifice built not at all " on the square ; " 'Tis the talk of the times and the nations around. As a thing quite unjust — like a crown in the pouud. Now the Church and the State, in these honester days, Is a very unfair and a sorrowful phrase, And cuts at the routs with unchriatianlike sword Of other good Churches belov'd of the Lord. Come, here's an amendment, as simple as love, And a name that should every one's grievance remove - The glory of God and broad Britain were great, If ye make it and call it, " The Blbk and State !" THE GLEANER. 123 For the Cluircli is a harden'cl and selfish okl Dame, Who deems that to heaven she alone has the claim. On her runaway children (Dissenters at lai'ge), Who could not sail on with the Dame in her barge, She thunders anathemas worthy a Pope, And robs them of almost all heavenly hope. Oil, what a grand change in her breast W(nild create This national watchword, " The Bible and State !" " The Bible and State !" what a beautiful pair ! What a river of love ! what a power were there ! What a din of delight in the ear it rings Of the Protestant Briton wherever he sings ! For the State is his property granted at birth, While the Church and himself may be strangers en earth. But the Bible is every man's friend and his fate. So singeth he heartily " Bible and State !" Let that be the point universal agreed, The one, only solid foundation indeed. Where Churchmen and he who is not one may raise Any altar he please for his prayer and his praise. Think not that the smile of our God only falls. To bless the proud dome of imperial St. Paul's ; He is just, and appointeth it only its share, According to genuine worshippers there. Ten-fold would the f ivoiirs of heaven dilate, Were the song of the country " The Bible and State !'' How rich is the soil, and how wide is the room. The Bible unfolds for all flowers to bloom ! From the grand, but the gaudy cathedral rose. To the primitive daisy divine as it grows In the highways and byeways all modest and pure. The comfort and guide of the ignorant poor ; Then pray the Almighty to hasten the date, When the shout of the land shall be " Bible and State ! " The Chui'ch's hard (h)articles, thii'ty and nine, Should be prun'd to the ten plain Commandments divine ; Yet add the eleventh, the Christian obeys, (We give it verbatim in Testament plirase), 124 THE GLEANER. " AnoLlier conimandiuorit I giA^e unto you, That ye love one another '' (that's what we should do) But how that command has been slighted of late By brethren whose text should be " Bible and State !" Instead of a brotherly feeling and kind, With a charity chastening the heart and the mind — Instead of devotions at eve and at matin, One curses another for using bad Latin, While trying to prove through his careful research That Christ upon earth was no priest of the Church, As if that were the grand theological test To know whether Walter or RoherVs the best ! How few would engage in ignoble debate Were the cry of their consciences, " Bible and State ! " If this were the sentiment, principle, word, Then light were the labours of love for the Lord I All God-fearing mortals together would gain A title and power resistless. Amen ! The nations of earth would rejoice and be glad That Britain at last was with charity clad ; Regarding the Cliurch and the Chapel her twins, Extolling their virtues — bewailing their sins — Far-sweeping behind her all envy and hate While unfurling the banner of " Bible and State ! " God give it to Gladstone, the great " Merrypebble," A clean disestablishment all for his trouble. Bid the Queen and hei' Ministers go hand-in-hand To deal out impartial their gi-ants o'er the land, That Thy good Christian vessels (whoever has got 'em) Stand, each on its own individual bottom ; But that shall not be, though for ages we wait. Till this be our motto— The " Bible and State ! " THE CiLEANER. 125 THE B(JLTON N]*:W TOWN HALL. Hurry ! toilers, brave and good men, Labouring at my royal feet ; Hurry ! masons, and ye woodmen, For I long to be complete. Hurry ! painters and designers, Sculptors, architects, and all ; Workers rough, and ye refiners. Hurry me up — The Grand Town Hall ! " Now 'tis finish'd ! Let us cheer it ! Drop the hammer, tool, and knife !" — That will be the (when I hear it) Proudest moment of my life. Take my word, I shall not shame ye. Mayors and Corporations bold ; Heed them not, the few that blame ye That I've cost a mint of gold ! Tell each rate-complaining Burgess Briefly this, without disguise : 'Tis the times that strongly urges Buildings such as mine to rise. Present ages pay the fiddler, That the future free may dance ; But why and wherefore is a riddler Hard for me to solve at once. From my tall cathedral tower Fitted with gigantic clock. Proudly shall I chime the hour O'er my busy Bolton flock. How I long to hear the ringing Of the complimentary bells. In each native turret swinging, As the grand procession swells, With the men of every station, Clergy, lay, and rich and poor — Every honest occupation Represented at my door. 126 THE GLEANER. Odd and Mason-Fellows shining With the symbols of their craft, All fraternal, intertwining Arms and banners gay aloft ! How I long to ope my portal, To his Worshipfvil the Mayor, And the merry crowds which hurtle Round about me everywhere ! How I long to feel my people Thronging through me glad and gay. O'er my basement — up my steeple. On my glorious opening-day ! Oh, my builders, 1 beseech ye, Ere ye leave me every one, Hfearken to this truth I teach ye From my melting heart of stone : — Man, himself, is frail and fleeting, 'Tis his works immortal are — Good, or bad, or both repeating, These must answer at The Bar ! Leave good monuments behind ye. Works that men can understand. Whatsoe'er your genius find ye. Fit for head, or heart, or hand. When, within my finished temple. Ye, my townsmen, proudly move. Set the woi'ld a high example By your justice and your love. Soon shall every hand so gifted, Raising now my princely dome, By the waves of time be drifted Into the forgotten tomb ! Hurry ! then, ye great designers, Finish well each ample wall ; Workers rough, and ye refiners. Hurry me up — The Grand Town Hall ! Bolton, January 1st, 1873, THE GLEANER. 127 THIS "FUNNY WORLD." Dear Albert, what a funny spot This workl is, to be sure ! Where some are rich, and some are not, And some both rich and poor ! Where some are fair as fair can be, In person, heart, and mind ; While some, 'tis veiy plain to see, Are nothing of the kind. Where some are soft, and others hard, While some are just between ; Where some can't live unless the card They play be King or Queen. Where some can tell in honey'd tones Their thoughts of lore or love. At which the very sleeping stones Almost are made to move. While others utter not a word In kindly mood or speech. And listening, all our blood is stirred As bit by poisonous leech ! Where passions burn, and boil, and rage. And mild affection glows — The charmer of our youth and age. And soother of our woes. Where white is black, and black is white. And green a common shade ; Where true-blue friends are rare to cite, As is a constant maid. Where bad men prowl about, and keep Their sinful eyes in play, To wrong and rob while others sleep. And when 'tis broad noon-day. Where good men, as one single man, Are striving to convert, But, somehow, 'tis as if they can Do neither good nor hurt ; 128 THE GLSANEE. The precious seed by storm is blown, And little taketli root ; Not e'en a tenth of what is sown Beareth its flower and fruit — Except the deil's, his nervous hands With searching seeds are full, And wide he spreads them o'er the lands Round every human soul. And should one fail to germinate From out a thousand sown, It is that God, the Good and Great, Hath pity on His own ! Here heaven with hell incessant strives, And blood like water runs ; Here husbands j)ut away their wives, And fathers curse their sons ! Here liberty and the rights of men Are cut down by the few "Who call themselves "' the upper ten " — Ye millions, rouse ye ! do ! Good folks and bad each year we miss, And both come daily hither ; We've often pain, and seldom bliss. Except they're both together. But do not ask the how and why — God chooseth not to tell — But rest assured that in the sky He doeth all things well. Here king and beggar, sage and sot, And dames with stinking pride, With these I've named, and those I've not, Are jostled side-by-side. Some speak the truth, and some all lies. And some nor one nor t'other ; While some with tears and heavy sighs Our poor hearts almost smother. Here Vice, upstretcheth like a lord, A tyrant, and a strong ; While Virtue, with its own reward, Back-shrinketh from the throng. THE a LEAN Eli. 120 Here Gold is made a very god, And Brain almost a drab ; Hero some are covered with the sod, And some the marble slab. All things of beauty and of joy Seem ever floating near The hateful things of gross alloy That lill us full with fear. But, Albert, were I e'en to write From June to New Year's Day, I could not tell each funny sight I meet with on my way. SONG. OH, TELL ME, SWEET OJS E. Oh, tell me, sweet one, tell me true. Do you love me as I love you l For flame like mine can bear no doubt, It must burn bright, or must burn (mt. I give thee all and would give mure ; My love wells out at erery pore. Then tell me, sweet one, tell me true, Do you love me as I love you ? As crown of dew to daisy-bud — As angel-face 'neath sombre hood^ As sparkling wave to barren beach — As food and warmth to starving wretch — As these and more that I could name Would be to me thy loving flame. Then tell me, sweet one, tell me true. Can you love me as I love you '. I see a something in thine eye That gives my breast a hopeful sigh ; A rosy cherub on thy cheek There bids me manfully to speak. I feel a thrill of love to flow Through mine from thy soft hand of snow I feel, at last, you love me true, You love me, ay, as I love you '. 130 TEE GLEANER. TO MY FIRST GARDEN SNOWDROP, 1875. Sweet welcome from me, Lovely snowdrop for tliee. The first of my favourite flowers ; How many clays past I've been ont in the blast. And look'd for thee hours and hours ! For is not thy form A sure sign that the storm Is halting and falling behind. Which scattered its woes, As well as its snows, O'er the hearts and the homes of mankind ? But art not too l)old ? For 'tis yet mighty cold. To rise from thy bed by the path ; If Old Winter — my eye ! But thy blossom espy. He'll roar again round thee in wrath ; And he'll deluge thy bed Till thy poor shattered head Droop again to its prison of clay, And he'll swear at the snow, To fall on thee, I know, As thick as a wagon of hay. For he's awfully " riled " When a flowery child Like thou art, his power defies. And the sight of thy cuj-) Cuts so dreadfully up. That his terror he cannot disguise. But, Beauty, fear not, For I'll shelter thy spot From his blast that is now on the wing, Till thy ai-my of blooms All arise with their plumes, To fight for their monarch — the Spring. THE GLEANEtt. 131 Thy sovereign so fair, With thy gems in her hair, Oil, how she's belov'd on the earth I For iier presence is rife With the beauties of life , And her footsteps are music and mirth. No anguish defies The light of her eyes — No pain but she sootheth the while ; Life takes a new lease, And its sorrows decrease. When the earth is bewitch'd with her smile. Lady Spring comes along With her exquisite song, ivu-echoed i"i chonis by birds, And wo catch from afar The dear din of her car, And the scent her sweet bosom ailbrds. She hath sent thee to say She is not far away, And my heart is delighted to hear ; So, sweet welcome from me, Herald Snowdrop for thee, And my love, with a kiss, every year. SONCx. DASH IT DOWN. Dash it down ! down ! down ! if thy goblet contains The drink that destroyeth soul, body and brains ; For the drunkard ne'er hopes to sing glory ! in heaven. With his flesh and his mind to low revelry given. CHORUS : Dash it down ! down ! down ! if thy goblet contains The drink that destroyeth soul, body and brains. Wine, spirits, or ale. Brown, bittter, or pale, For such liquors but sorrow and ruin entail. 162 THE GLEANER. Qh, Cod ! nuiat it he to the finish of time That this drink shall appall with his folly and crime ! That like some fell Goliath whom devils attend, He shall ruthlessly stalk o'er the earth to the end ? Dash it down ! down ! down ! &c. Or shall we soon see the broad banners unfurled Of temperance and love ? conquering kings of the world ! God grant it ! for then we may welcome the blast Of the trumpet of Heaven and our Saviour at last ! Dash it down ! doAvn ! down ! &c. Then my dear fellow-mortal and brother to love, Come and help us to rear these grand banners above ; Thy joys will increase, and thy future be bright, If thou join the teetotalers and march to the fight. Dash it down ! down ! down ! &c. FLOWERS. Ye are stars of the earth ! And white winter to you Is as day to yon gems In yon casket of blue. White winter and day Hide ye both from our sight, But wait till they pass And ye burst into light ! Sweet flowers ! to me Ye are dimples and smiles On the fair cheek of Nature That in loving beguiles. Ye are voices from heaven Speaking low to the breast That harbours one wish To be happy and blest. To the wi-:e ye are thoughts Far too lich for confession Yc arc balms for the heart In its saddest condition. Ye are liveried spirits That usher the soul Into God's holy presence, The llesse'd ones' goal. THE GLEANER. 133 Ye are eyes of the earth Looking ever above Through tears of dew Which are tears of love. Ye are checks to the vain Be they never so fair. For with beauty like yours What is to compare ? Ye are pearls scatter'd free O'er the rock and the sod By the hand of a friend — By the hand of a God ! Almost are ye rents In the veil that enshrouds The face of your Maker That smiles through the clouds. And the lessons ye teach To the willing to learn, Are many and full ^ With the highest concern. Fair flowers ! I love ye, And shall till I die. I wonder do flowers Bloom up in the sky ? IN THE SHADE. A sea of sorrow floods my soul, Its billows dash against my face ; Its winds downrusliing from the pole, Enw]-ap me in their chill embrace. Beneath me yawns a watery grave ; Above, the skies are wild and drear ; Ah ! none may guess the pains I have — How many an inward foe and fear. 'Tis Icnown but to myself and Him Who gave and who may take my breath ; My cup is bitter to the brim : " And mine," each fellow-mortal saith. 134 THE GLEANER. MISFORTUNES. Misfortunes rai'ely singly show Themselves to wretches here below, But round the first a score alight To hasten on despair and blight : As when upon the wounded steed One vulture swoops with fiendish greed, A score are seen to dot the sky Ere his strong, sweeping pinions lie Around the carrion form. And mark ! Ere he hath well begun his work Deep in the luckless, quivering flesh, Black legions now to glut afresh From every quarter quickly come And give the beast his terrible doom. THE SUN. I love to see the morning sun. Like a virgin in her youth, Peep out above yon mountains, dun. Yon margin to the heath. 1 love to see his full round face, A foot above the ground. Before he dons his fiery dress To rxm his daily round. I love him as he biirning glides. Through noon-day's molten hour. When all with life 'neath heaven hides From his imperial power. I love him in the mellow eve. When thought subdues our mirth, To see him gently, richly weave. That purple veil for earth. And last, to see him slowly dip Crown'd with his glorious light Beneath the sea — then soon they clip The world, those arms of night. THE GLEANEB. 135 A STANZA. Would you behold a sight sublime, Your soul with tranquil joy to fill ? See yon full moon in glory climb The rugged bro^ of Holcombe Hill. And tlioughts, perchance, athwart your breast, Of Plenty and of Peace may steal, While gazing on its towering crest — The monument of deathless Peel. SPRING. Rude Winter hath bade us his last cold farewell ; His last sickly snow-child hath died in the dell ; His icicles keen have been dripping away, 'Neath tlio lireath of a stranger this many a day. His mantle hath fallen — and now may be seen The bosom of Spring, full, fruitful, and green . See ! on her fair bosom, like gems for a bride. Rise myriads of ilowers in beauty and pride ! Her face is aglow with the beams of the morn ; Her thousand bright eyes laugh all sorrow to scorn ; Ten thousand wing'd minstrels are perch'd on her hand. But the lark takes the lead in that heavenly band. With his silvery pipe so mysteriously loud That 'tis heard though the piper be lost in a cloud ; Yet his musical mates as they catch the grand strain. Re-echo from earth all his gladness again. Tliy gay garments flutter, sweet Spring, in each breeze, And gracefully hang on the hedges and trees ; 1 lie gentle rains falling, low whispering meet. And in murmuring brooks kiss thy beautiful feet. The broad glassy lakes look alive in the sun ; The mighty streams flow with new majesty on. The little lands laugh, and like children rejoice, And the rough mountains smile at thy long well-known voice. Straight from Heaven thou com'st with thy breath of perfume. That snatches the sick from the jaws of the tomb. To list yet awhile to the voices they love, And give one chance more to make peace with above. 136 THE GLEANEE. SONG. ROLL BACK, ROLL BACK, YE STEALTHY YEARS. Roll back, roll back, ye stealthy years ! How dare ye crowd, upon me so ! But yesterday I was a boy, And yet 'tis thirty springs ago ! But yesterday, when, like a bird I caroU'd out my simple song, As light as was the thistle-down — " As happy as the day was long." Roll back ! or give again to me The guUeless and the trusting breast, That sweeten'd every passing hour And charm'd each childish woe to rest. In evei-ything I something saw That made my little bosom swell, Down from the shming stars of heaven. To daisies in the dingle dell. I little knew the human heart. Or guess'd the wiles of worldly men. Their plots and passions strong and deep. Their snares and sweet temptations then. No grief I knew beyond the loss Of bounding ball or soaring kite ; These, soon replaced, my life again Was one unspeakable delight. How sound my sleep ! how bright my dreams ! How lov'd the early-breaking morn ! I reck'd not that beneath each rose There lurk'd the everlasting thorn. But fleeting Time tore off the veil That hid the world's disfigured face. And I, perforce, was made to take Among mankind my selfish place. There's little now to cheer the heart, Save Nature in untamper'd guise ; Most lovely ever with the light Of living truth within her eyes. THE a LEAN Ell. 137 Roll Ijiifk, inll l^ac-k, ye stealthy years ! Keep down your overAvlielming wave I Why heap your numbers on my head ? Wliy haste me towards my waiting grave? THE TROUBLES OF LIFE. Come open thy bosom, my excellent wife, And let me creep in frf)m the troubles of life, Which bother me, tantalize, plague, and molest, But flee at the sight of thy conquering breast. They tlee, but like bravoes, in ambush await Tlie time I shall bid thee adieu at the gate ; Then cowardly rush to their kennel again, Deep down in my bosom, and there they remain, For they knov/, cunning spirits ! when thou art not by, They can do as they like with such mortals as T. Despite all xwy efforts they keep up a revel, Kick up a round " rumpus," and play up the devil ! These cares and anxieties, woes and chagrins, With doubts and regrets, and a few petty sins ! But Lord ! how they fly, like to storm-driven chafi". If they catch but the eye of my mild " better-half !" They sliun the fair face and ati'ectionate eyes Of a man's faithful spouse^the best gift from the skies ! They hate her sweet voice and her arguments too, Wliich spring from good-sense, and a heart ever true. They cannot compete with a wife's fond embrace, But give up the siege of the soul in disgrace, And rush to the bachelor's unshielded breast To eat up his heart in revenge for the rest ! Then who in this daily haid battle of fate Would not have the arms of a fond, wedded mate. To show her clench'd fists o'er his shoulders so tall, And drive all his troublesome foes to the wall ? He's certain to gain. If his foes be too strong He can join in the chorus of this marriage song: — "Come, open thy bosom, my excellent wife. And let me creep in from the troubles of life." 138 THE a LEANER. SNOWDROPS. Snowdrops M'liite and snowdrops eaily, Welcome to the earth again, "Witli your little faces pearly, First of all the flowery train. With your soft, sweet emerald bosoms Shaded l)y white, leafy arms ; Eden had no fairer blossoms, Perfect in its earthly charms. ]'ale bells ringing '' consolation '' On the lea and in the lawn , Hoping on in every station Fur a soon and sunny dawn. Spring hath waged a war with Winter, And between his glittering eyes. Sticks a snowdrop, like a splinter, And his stormy rage defies. tSnows anew descend and thicken ; Wilder winds, more copious rain ; But the snowdrop is not stricken , — All their fury finnes in vain. Winter — roaring gladiator — Bleedini/, weak and fainter grows, Youthful Spring hath provd the greater In tlio liattle of tJie snows. Soon the blasty monarch dieth. And the Spring is crowned (Jnoen. Every vernal zephyr hieth To the coronation-green. Every waving tree's a banner ; Brooks and birds sing o'er the plain ; Flowers be her maids of honour, Snowdrops leading in the train. Thousand blessings fall upon her. Bright and happy l)e her reign ! 77//; (:li:am:i:. 139 soxo. 1 WOULD 1 WERE A SINNY BEAM. 1 would 1 were a sunny beam To kiss tliy snowy brow, I wfiuld 1 were a pleasing dream, I'll liaunt tliec, lady, now ; i wimld i were the peeping rose ■ Iti^t o'er thy chamber blind ; I \\ uuld I were the breeze that blows Thy jetty curls l)ehind. i would 1 Were the chirping bird That hops beneath thine eye ; 1 would I Avere the touching word That robs thee of a sigh ; I would I were the speaking iiTiill Thy lingers move along ; 1 wovdd I wei'e a mountain-rill To charm thee with my song. But ah I I know I'm none of these ; I'm ]mi a faulty man Before thee wooing on his knees To win thee, if he can ; ^'or beam nor di'eani nor ro;sc that glows, Xor breeze that passes ])y, 2v or bird nor word nor (|uill nur rill Woidd constant be as I I A THOUGHT AT .SU^'SET. Another and again a glorious sun Is sinking in the western sattVon sea, — (.)nce more the heavens their purple garments dun. And kiss adieu to him in majesty. Methinks there's no less beauty now than when At first he painted Eden's blushing skies, While they, the Mother and the Sire of men, Sat in their bridal-bower in paradise. Not one iota less his face is grand — Not one iota less his kisses scath, Than vrhen he, blaiiug out at God's command. First started on his tiimamental path. 140 '^'ifJ^ GLEANER. As fast ]i(3 ripcneth earth's dulicious fruits, And breetls liis maggot-pestilences foul ; As far his arrows, golden-tipp'd, l;c shoots Eight o'er the laughing globe from polo iu pole. As soon he ristth from his eastern bed To gild as many nioiuitains with his rays ; As late he boweth his imperial head Amid as many western clouds ablaze. As nu'.ny flowers drink in his precious light — As many Avceds, alas ! spring where he lies — As many insects revel in his sight, Like winged diamonds 'thwart the glowing skies. U, then, for six long thousand years at least, For man but gucsseth when the world was made, His glory, heat, and power have not dccreas'd, Nor e'en one single of his beams decay'd, — Mcthinks so shall it to the end of time, Hovv- far soe'er or nigh that end may be, And thoughts of men range down from Christ to crime, When dread millennium rock the land and sea. Till then, nil sign, no graduating scale In things of earth or heaven — sun, moon, or stars, .Shall o'er anticipate the awful talc Spoke through the trump th' Almiglity Angel bears. Above, the sini shall rise at morn — at eve Be turu'd to bl(_>(id— the srars shall reel and drop — The blackcn'd moon licr wonted station leave. And like a scroll the heavens be ndlud u}>. Below, one moment earth shall jog along In its accustom'd manner, unperplex'd, rnheeding, unsuspecting that the gong To shake tlie universe shall i^esonnd the next. If this be so, the trump may sound to-day ; The crash to-morrow ; or a million years All intervene before that final fray Fix for eternity (.)ur hopes and fears. A word, then, fellow-mortals and the last My trembling muse on wings of love shall bear : — Come soon or late the Resurrection Blast To startle you in life oj death— xkeiap.i, 1 THE a LEAN EM. Ill AN ENIGMA. \Mierc am 1 '. what am 1 .' coiiif, tell it to mo, When I'm not in tlio cartli, or the sky, or the sea i Yet 1 lurk on the momatain, and lie on the plain, Am hid in the skies, and I sink in the main. I hold not Avith truth, for I revel in lies. Yet fools I abandon to mix with the wise. I care not for pleasure, I cling unto pahi ; I live not in clouds, though I fall with the rain. In the heavens above I am not to be seen, Though I shine in the firmament bright and serene. I am never in tears, bnt am always in smiles ; In no church am I found, though I sleep in the aisles. With the gay blooms of summer I never appear, Nor with autumn's sad verdure all yellow and soar ; But in winter you'll find me congeal'd into ice, And in spring walking boldly with virtue and vice ! Ye seek me in good, but in'evil I'm found, Yet the darkness I shnn, for in light I abound. Ye seek me in morn, noon, and eve, but 'tis clear In twilight alone does my double appear. In commerce, peace, war, glory, shame, or in prayer. Ye seek me in vain — yet ye find that I'm there I I breathe not in heaven, I gasp not in hell, Yet with saint and with sinner I constantly dwell, And with them at once and for ever shall sit hi paradise high, and the bottomless-pit. TO A SKYLARK, SINGING. We hear thee, we feel thee, we drink thy sweet sound, But wclook not, we think not where thou mayst be found, For we deem thee (or should) when thy melody'.s heard Something more than a mere little soft-singing bird. Thy song is to Him, thy Creator and Joy, Who gave thes that music so free from alloj\ The air is entranced — the green vallej' beneath Sends upwards its thanks in its free, flowery breath The shepherd-boy hails thee, but knows, though he tries, 'Tis useless to seek thee, thou speck in the skies ! For the 5un-cloud is thine, thy haunt and thy home, And with it thou flvest 'neath heaven's blue dome. 142 THE GLEANER. The child on the meadow, as it catches thy mirth, Thinks an angel from heaven is singing near earth, And instinctively smiles as it tlioughtlessly turns Its young eyes to the spot whence thy symphony burns. And the sun-hidden planets that glitter on high All know as thy soul-thrilling praises lloat by, That their light and existence with thee and thy song Are but tributes of glory to Him they belong. Sweet skylark ! oh, mayst thou be sacred to all Who have tasted the grief of our tirst parents' fall, For thy lay is a soothing that hovers above, A joy and an innocence whispering of love. A pointer thou art to yon pure peaceful spot, Where the good are admitted, but the wicked are not. LUVE LINES. \\ KITTEN AT JlELBOUllNE. Ah ! dear gii'l, wouldst thou but heed mc As my words of love I pour. Like a captive mightst thou lead me Earth's gay garden o'er and o'er. Wouldst thou but in pity hearken To my stricken bosom's lay. Clouds which now my spirit darken Would be rent and swept away. Yes, I truly, deeply love thee, I'^or thou kindly art, and fair, And l)y yon bright heaven above thee True will I remain, I swear ! Oh, be thou to me but plighted. And thy hand be placed in mine. To remain, till Death hath blighted Either my life, dear, or thine — Not a care, or pain, or sorrow Shall approach thee with my -will ; Koou and evening, night and morrow, Through them all I'll love thee still. THE HLKANKT;. u:; Never a weed, but ever a flower Will 1 pluck for thee to wear. Till )uy hand hatli lost tho power, And my tongue its tender prayer. Say then, maiden, wilt thou bless me With thy faithful hand and heart, And as my sweet bride caress me ? Or, oh God ! arc via to part \ GUESS AGATX. When we be sick with weighty matters That drive us wcUnigh to despair, Pulling our pcace-of-mind to tatters, Then welcome " trifles light as air." Ere now a king hath thrown his power And crown (as 'twere) slap out of doors. To spend an luidistracted hour, And ride his children on "all fours." Ye overbm'den'd worldly wretches, Whose heads are turn'd with making " brass,' Your gold's but worth the joy it fetches, Far smaller than a feed of vetches Brings to the pulling, patient ass. I only ask your lolling time, sir, To pull nie out, dead or alive. From underneath this heap of rhyme, sir. A simple word of letters five. A something used by marksman good. To help him to obtain his food On hill and plain, in stream and wood, When nothing deadlier is at hand To hunt the sea, or &ky, or land. But if I have not told you plain, Please further read, and guess again. A curious and poetic eye. If it be patient and do try, May o'er a dozen things discern As my " five letters" twist and tarn From one on to another object. Just like a parson from his subject. 144 THE GLEANEB. Yes, o'er a dozen strange transpositions, With but my letters five (or less) And as we make no catch additions, Nor (if you have such-like suspicion) Use any letter's repetition, — Soon every item you may guess. 1. Gulden fruit, like stars of eves. Hang against a sky of leaves ; Or they in the Avicker rest As dessert for host and guest. 2, A name by children spoke with joy, But most when bringing home the toy. That gloated o'er will be by them As though it were the costliest gem. 3. Food dried up in poi'tions small. Good for th' " feather'd songsters" all. Charming this sad world of ours, Warbliiig from a thousand bowers. 4. A snake, whose keen envenom'd bite Its victim dooms to certain death. A tall green tree, whose leaves so light Ceaselessly quiver without a breath. 5. Things which men and quadrupeds Carry always with their heads To be useful everywhere, Else they had not been put there. 0. A beautiful bisaltic column, Sparkling, wonderful, and solemn. One of those tough and taj «ring things To which they pin a ship's br jad wing?. TlfF. a LEANER. \i:> 7. A thing whoso teeth, thouyh dead (a wonder !) Doth bite the metal bar asunder ; Or yon may find it if yon dio)) Into a bnsy joiner's shop. 8. A continental place of pleasure, Wliere nobles spend their time at leisure, And fortunes win or lose at once By ganiblin,r(-games of skill and chance. 9. Luscious seeds of brightest green, Sometimes set before the Queen, By the side of water-fowls In tureens or china-bowls. 10. IMonkeys with their grinning faces, Curling tails and strange grimaces, Spring from out my letters five. Though some are dead and some alive. 11. "Wild and roaring ocean lies Still and noiseless 'neath your eyes ; Tliat's if you are good at twigging What is meant by all this rigging. 12. Closer look, and you perceive That doth make all herbage live. Drawn like milk from mother Earth, That her bosom may put forth Buds and leaves and flowei's too, Of every odour, shape, and hue. 13. Heinous crimes of brutal men Startling e'en my veiy pen, Stare yovi in the face to shock Hearts of adamantine rock. 140 THE GLEANER. 14. Postmen at your portal leave them ; Boxers give, ay, and receive them. Each, if yon are not a ninfl', Is a hint quite broad enough. There's not another clue to tell What doth this long enigma mean ; At least there's none I choose to spell. My love to all. God save the Queen ! Of lettei's five composed am I ; So now, dear patient friend, Good-bye. SONG. POOR CARLO ! Poor Carlo's dead ! My noble hound, More faithful far than human creature. Each bounding limb, each speaking feature Is dearly to my memory bound. But now he's gone, my Carlo brave. And I lament above his e-rave. tD^ He was my true, sagacious giiide When night upon the hills descended, And fearless on our path we wended. Like valiant wari'iors, side-by-side. But now he's gone, mj' Carlo brave. And I lanient above his grave. 'Twere vain to seek 'mong brutes or men, On earth there is not such another ; Dear as a fi'iend, lov'd as a brother. Would I could bring him back again ! But now he's gone, my Carlo bi'ave. And I lament above his grave. TIIK (I LEAN Ell. 117 To MV WATCH. With thee, my friend, I'll have a word, And tell to thee the thought, Thy ticking has within mc stirr'd,: — It may be worth a groat. 'Tis midnight hour. Long have I sat, My elbow on the table. For what with this thought and with that To sleep I a\\\ not able. Like thee, could but my lingers trace Th' emotion that's within My living, yet concealing, case Of bone, and flesh, and skin ; Oh ! could but something outward tell Of works that deep are hid Beneath my face — the fleshy veil — The warm, mysterious lid ; How constant, then, would be the flow Of feeling clad in rhyme ; How easy, then, like thee to show A thought or two in time ! Thou hast but one sole end and aim To tell to careless man Quick must he build his tower of fame. For life is but a span ! Quick must he heap his riches up If IMammon be his god ; Quick must he drain the pleasure-cup Ere dash'd upon the sod ! Quick must he make his peace with heaven If he would reign in bliss In th' other w^orld with God — forgiven — For life is short in this ! One sermon only dost thou preach, One warning only cry, But to the poles the echoes reach : " Mark how the moments fly I" And oft methinks 'twere almost best For man one sole idea, For then his brain would be at rest. And never try to see a Thousand things a thousand ways 148 THE GLEANEB. In a thousand shades of light, Which makes a thousand thorny days To end in thorny night. Wouhl I coiild ope' myself and see The sinful dust conceal'd, "Which plagues the works of thee and me Until it be reveal'd. Would I could give myself to Him, My Maker, to be clean'd ; My soul (the mainspring), life, and limb AVould then from sin be wean'd. And what's to hinder mc, friend watch ] God made, and loves, my soul ; Then let me take it that His touch May heal and keep it Avliole. I daily press thy airy spring Vv'hich gives thee power anew To count the moments as they sing : " Adieu, adieu, adieu !" But ah ! if once life's brittle chain Run down until it stop, No careful hand can wind auain That chain up to the top ! No eye may gaze with mute delight Upon our speaking face. For then has come death's dawnless night. And run our earthly race ! But ere that be, my golden friend, Remind me night and day, If I would have a peaceful end. Always to " watch and pray." JOHN BARLEYCORN. Tliou art a miglity one, John Barleycorn ! Wliat mischief thou hasl doiu-, John Barleycorn ! Where dost thou not intrude. With thine infernal brood ' Who hath thy power withstood, John Barleycorn \ TJIE a LEA NEIL 1 1;» Few, all, too few ! 1 trow, John Barloycovi) ! Who ne'er before thee bow, John Barleycorn ! But I'll be one of them Who to the world concleuiu Thy every^stratagem, John Barleycorn. Thou art a subtle knave, John Barleycorn ! See, how thou dost behave, John Barleycorn ! T'ward whom so serve thee well, Thou hurlest them pell-mell Down to a drunkard's hell^ John Barleycorn ! Thy brandy, wine, and beer, John Barleycorn I Were at a gift too dear. John Barleycorn ! All health it undermines, While intellect declines, And heav'n for tliee resigns, John Barleycorn ! No more I'll sing thy praise, John Barleycorn ! Wine's softest kiss betrays, John Barleycorn ! Water henceforth I'll woo, And all thy work undo, And never, never rue, John Barleycorn ! Yes, with the help of God, John Barleycorn ! I'll break^thy cruel rod, John' Barleycorn ! Me thou shalt not destroy, Nor my dear soul decoy From ev'ry sober joy, John Barleycorn ! 150 THE GLEANER Bold to thy bloated face, John Barleycorn ! I say thou'rt a disgrace. John Barleycorn ! Aye, and the greatest curse In the broad universe ; Can anything be worse, John Barleycorn I But for thy tilth and vice, John Barleycorn ! England were Paradise, John Barleycorn ! Thou art the serpent vile, Sliming our beauteous isle ! From thee our hearts recoil, J olin Barleycorn ! Feel'st thou for want or M'^oe, John Barleycoi'u ? Or virtue stricken low, John Barleycorn ! Thy heartless jibe and jeer, Tliy mocking laugh I hear ; Love's deadliest mutineer, John Barleycorn ! Hear'st thou our country groan, John Barleycorn ? Her burthen's all thine own, John Barleycorn ! ^^'ert thou but hang'd or drown'd. What joy-bells would resound The " wide, wide w«rld" around, John Bailcycorn ! (.iod help the man who sees, John Barleycorn ! Thy shameful treacheries, John Barleycoi'n ! God give him strength to shun Each guise thou puttest on. For •thou'rt_^a cunning one, John Barloycorn ! THE GLEANER, 151 God snatch us millions move, John Barleycorn ! From thy too tempting shore, John Barleycoi'n ! Till not one soul remains Singing the devil's strains On thy destructive plains, John Barleycorn ! A FABLE. FROM THE FRENCH. One day an old, grey, scurvy owl Flew feebly from his ivied hollow. For foolish whim had seized the fowl, To wed a yoimg and charming swallow, Alas ! She pleaded hard, but all in vain, To wed one of her youthful kind. For love of her had turn'd his brain But had not touch'd his selfish mind. Fond fool ! The birds he then invited all From Philomel to linnet grey, To feast around his wooded hall. And sing upon his wedding-day. They came, But when they saw his ugly head, Affrighted far away they flew, But one remained behind, 'tis said. To wish them joy — the sly Cuckoo 152 THE GLEANER. FRIENDSHIP. Frienclsliip, if we must be candid, Beats your Love to smithereens ; And can ne'er be justly branded With Love's false and fiery scenes. 'Tis the calm and soothing twilight Of which Love's the burning day, And its duties ever lie light As the dew on flowers of May. Of Love's rich and heavy meal 'Tis the wine and fruit and cake. And should Love hei' storms reveal, 'Tis the bay for which we make. Peaceful there our hark we stop ; Fiery passions vex no more, After Love we never mope Landed upon Friendship's shore. Pray don't think me hard and cniel, On Love's sweet, voluptuous head ; If you like Love in your gruel, Take it, and go straight to bed ; Or, to thwart a deadly duel, Don't believe a word I've said. LAND, HO ! ON FIEST SIGHTING AUSTRALIA, 18G2. WRITTEN AT MELBOURNE. " Land, ho ! land, ho ! " Great God, the joyful cry. Thrills every heart and makes its tide to leap In grateful gushes that at last we spy Our home, yet but a film beyond the deep. But, look ! it clearer grows and still more clear. As though some giant-hand, unseen but kind, Were lifting it into the upper sphere From out the main, and brushing with the wind The veil of distance from its purple brow, And giving it a somewhat solid shape, Tin: (iLKANER. 153 Eewitcliing to our eyes who throng the prow- Like captives, wild, that sec a way t' escape. " Laud, ho !'' yes, there it is, all gi-een and brown, And glossy in the mellow Spring sun-shine, Like some sea-monster from his cave adown, Basking at leisnre in the amber brine. We glide along and soon the glowing shore Lies spread before us, rocky, wild, and grand. Steeji grassy slopes that Fancy flowers o'er Run down to kiss the shelled and shingled strand. Bold, jutting headlands, with deep clefts between, Whore many a beautiful cascade is seen, Dropping from crag to'crag in silvery spray. Then winding in a limpid stream away Amid a vegetation all unknown. But not less green and grand than is our own, Yet not so loved. And now we nearer glide. Smooth-parting with deep keel the emerald tide, Where blocks of weeds of rich but sombre hue (A sign that land is near, though not in view), Silently float into the distant blue To glad the eyes of other anxious souls, Beneath whose feet yon treacherous ocean rolls. The day advances and the land draws nigh. Encroaching rapidly on the sea and sky — A pleasing change to whom so long have been Sole centre of that boundless watery scene, Whose only change to break the dread enmu Was lashing storm, or distant sail to see. What melody comes floating o'er the wave As 'twere a Avelcome from a watery grave I The well-known murmiu' of a human hive, With thousand boats and banners all alive. Behold ! a splendid city, rich and gay. Springs on the margin of that lovely bay, Where men of every nation, young and old, Bear cruel exile for the love of gold. What means this merry bustle of our crew ? And what the dutj^ they're about to do I They lift the hatch, and from the ship's deep hold A long and ponderous chain is soon unroll'd, Of seeming strength to keep a mountain firm lo4 THE GLEANEB. Wlien eartliquakes mingle with the iii^per storm. Each mighty link itself a strong man's load, As one by one they leave their dark abode, Each wedded to the other, and at last Unto the faithful anchor wedded fast. Though reeking red with rust, and foul beside, 'Tis far more lovely to the eyes of all Than diamond-chain bedecking noble bride Amid the glitter of a royal ball. List ! the glad captain speaks — 'tis but a word — " All ready V and from lusty crew is heard The loud " Ay, ay, sir." Then, in ringing tone — " Let go the anchor I" and the anchor's gone, With sudden, seething sound, sunk through the sand, rhiiipiii;:;' witli iron teeth Nep's rocky land. Safe, safe I Oh, Cod, we thank Thee, safe at last ! Tlie thousand dangers of the sea are past. Th' insatiate oceanic fiend behind, Impotent loads the mocking, balmy wind With one last disappointed, hollow roar. Just heard and laughed at on the happy shore By friends of ours, who years before have come Across these billows to this foreign home. How little know ye of an ocean storm Who read it with your feet on fender warm. Tn peaceful homes on terra-firma dear, Where wildest winds raise not a single fear. Or guess the billows that like momitains rise In madden'd fx\ry to the inky skies, As if th' Almighty Judge had drawn adown His face The awful black-cap, and upon the human race Was thiuidermg loud His sentence, dread and dire, Sigu'd with His autograx^h^'in living fire ! Bn t yet the slender thread on which the lives Of youths and maidens, men and anxious wives For three long dreary months have doiibtl^esf* hun Has, thanks to Providence, prov'd tough and str And now, light in our all-unbounded mirth, We trip again the green, '^substantial eai'th ; And blush not that we, childlike, kneeling kiss The simple wild-flowers with extatic l)liss, Or feel a lovin" longing to embrace trong. I Each unknown hiiman fonn and foreign face. 'J'JIJ-J alEANEti. lo5 Praise be to (Jod, witliiu wliusc niiglity hand Lie rolling ocean and the solid laud — All holy gratitude, and still may He As safely guide us o'er the troubled sea Of Time, into a bright, new land of peace, Fairer, and e'en more welcome still than this ! A CHARADE. My frd is from my second linely made, On many a manly face to be displayed, Its essence, bitterness — its spirit, fire — Its soul a Avreatli to deck a fairy IjTe. My second falls with tears into the grave Round which the mourners weep, or widly rave. My lohole bleacheth yon ivied cottage floor And greets you as you trip the threshold o'er. Go to you soldier's tent at early morn And watch him dress for duty or review, 1 11 wager I his straps and kit aduni, To add fresh beauty te his rcd-and-blue. A NICKNAME. 'Twere curious here to mention by-the-way The origin of just one soubriquet, Or nickname in our good old mother tongue. Keen and expressive as it flows along. No sect is sacred from a nickname's knife ; Like death it enters every sphere of life. Goodness and greatness, wealth, and pomp, and fame. All are expos'd, and bloodless, bleed the same. The princely merchant and the priest of God, The humble turner of the emerald sod. The grand, the graceful, yea the poor deform'd. Against this coward foe are all unarm'd ; For nicknames, with their train of mountebanks, FolloTT through life all stations and all ranks — E en long-legg'd P.oyalty waa dubb'd " Longshanks.'' 156 THE GLEANEE. Some are, 'tis true, than others far more keen, And some rather an honour than discredit mean ; While some, like vengeances with swords of flame, Hover for ever o'er some guilty name ; While now and then, as 'twere to keep things right. Some savour more of fun than peevish spite. But all, if not bad taste, at least are rude. And by the wise will ever be eschew'd. * Sir Robert's father — Robert, too, by name — The cotton-merchant play'd 'v\ life's grand game, And play'd it with eclat and great success, Like honest, skilful man of good address ; For riches and applause from all the earth RoU'd in upon him to attest his worth. Not only did he weave, but printed, too. His calicoes in colours chiefly blue, Of patterns of the most unique design, But simple as the clusters of the vine. One celebrated pattern (to be brief ) Was nothing but the modest parsley-leaf. Which took and sold so well on market-days That by it princely Avealth did Robert raise, Till, in the end, his " hands" — a witty mob — Baptiz'd their honour'd master — " Farskn Bob 1" ^ Slf Egbert I'eel. LES OMBRES. The sun bestows his merry light On all alike around, And is it not a pretty sight Those shadows on the ground ? The shadow from that mossy wall. The shadow of that oak, The shadow of that chimney tall And the shadow of its smoke. The shadows of the glossy birds That skim athwart the sky. The shadows of the quiet herds That on the fallow lie. TEE GLEANER. 157 The sliadow from that ivied pile, And yon old rustic bridge, Gliding across the water while We linger by its edge. The shadow of the sailing hawk — Now motionless in air, Their shadows where the chickens Avalk, Ah, little ones, beware I The sliadow of brave chanticleer Stalking in anxious mood. He sees the danger hovering near His young, belove'd brood. The shadow from the distant hills. The shadow of the vane That twirls above the roof, and tells The coming of the rain. The shadows in the myrtle grove, And of yon thick, white cloud "NA'hich moves in majesty above Like a beauty mildly proud. The shadow of the dark, green wood, And tall, embattl'd tower. His shadow when the lover stood Enraptur'd in the bower. The shadow from the Minster-spire Deck'd out in curious stones. And the shadow from the tomb and lyre Above the poet's bones ! The sun he throws his mellow light On all alike around. Oh, is it not a pleasing sight. Those shadows on the ground ? ^c^je^J^jg^ftx^. 158 THE GLEANER. TO MY LITTLE SISTER. (three years or age.) Sweet one with the golden hair Shining always here and there, Darling with the rich blue eye, I do love thee tenderly. Fair one with a skin like milk And a cheek as soft as silk ; Pet one, with the perfect form, How thou dost my bosom warm ! Hark ! I hear thy prattle still Like the babbluig of the rill That leaps in laughter down the face Of stern and awful precipice. When thy mother like a light Sank behind the hills of Time, Tliou ATast left t' illume our night And up to our hearts to olimb. Thou art at home a l^righter beam Than those which in the sunlight glance Upon its walls, which, sparkling, gleam In gold beneath their quivering dance. Innocent, thy presence throws Sweetness round us like the rose, For thy little heart we know Swells with feelings pure as snow ; For within thy little breast Affection's birdie builds its nest. See thee with thy heart elate Flying to the massive gate With open arms and eyes so kind, Thy golden hair loose on the wind. To meet thy father, me, or her Whom to the world thou dost prefer. And the miisic of thy hands. Those clapping hands endimpled o'er, Sweeter is than fairy bands That hum along the moonlit shore. Thou art the very soul of each Home-hour that passes o'er our heads ; And Vi'liat in infant life can reach The infant grace that o'er thee spreads ? Tin: OLEANEB. 159 I hope that little " will " of thine And intellect in enibi'yo now, Some (lay will round tliy nature shine, And with a glory light thy brow. Darling, but I love thee well — Love thee more than I can tell, And aye of thy brother's heart Shalt thou have the better part. Sister, long may thy sweet breath Paralyze the arm of Death. But when that monster in his strength Shall lay thee, dear one, at full length, Cold, white, and lifeless as the snow, Oh may thy spirit upward go To greet thy mother's in the sky Now blessing thee and me on high. THE COMET. Long have I gazed upon it. That meteor there on high, That thing we call a comet — That rover through the sky. Thank God, to man is given To throw a thought as far As where in upper heaven Shines out a fixed star ; And when wild Thought is with it It makes of that bright spot A firm and centre pivot To wheel where stars are not ! Then, skies which here spread o'er us. Like frescoed ceiling neat, A carpet is before us, Gem-wrought, for thoughtful feet. But turn we to the comet, With long and fiery tail, And learn the lesson from it, That God's hand doth prevail. His works speak out to tell us His mercy and His might : 160 THE GLEANEIi. WithoiTt them it would kill us, That terror of the night ! And yet it is no terror To the myi-iacl worlds on high, 'Tis man's alone the error, It scorns the earth and sky. Its crooked track is laid it, Precise as is the sun's, By God, The Great, who made it, Accompanying as it runs. Fear not a fell collision Between it and the earth ; 'Tis but in madman's vision Such follies have their birth. God fashions not His wonders To turn them then adrift ; He never maketh blunders — 'Tis man's that awkward gift. There's more substantial danger From Etna's boiling vomit. Than from yon heavenly ranger — The peacock-star — the comet. SONG. HAVE A CARE 1 Oh, brother of mine, have a care ! When thou raisest the goblet on higli. For within it, lo ! lurketh a snare That may cause thee to stumble and die. CHORUS. Have a care ! have a care ! Satan's drink worketh ruin, have a care ! Have a care ! have a care ! There is mischief a-brewing, have a care ! In earnest I sing, have a care ! For the wine-cup but muddles the brain, While it lashes the soul to despair At the loss it can never regain. Have a care, &c. THE OLEAXEfi. 161 T tremblingly sint;, have a cai'e I For the bondage of Bacchus is strong The forfeit of all that is fair And good that to man should belong. H;»vc a care, i^-c. ) If proud in thy strength, have a care ! For the Devil is stronger than thee, And ;inon lie will boldly declare Tliat thy spirit no longer is free. Have a cave, iVc. ■J " No longer is free" — liave a care I To be fettered and Ixnnid to the cup Is to shrink from to do and to dare, And to give thy grand dignity up. Have a care, ttc. Wouldst thou lose self-control ? — have a care ! Be not sport for the fool and the drone ; With the wreck of the drunkard compare Tlie men who drink water alone. Have a care, ifcc. Wouldst be cast into hell '. — have a care ( For wine hath its millions destroyed ; The noble, the brave, and the fair Hath it sunk in that tlery void. Have a care, &c. Then while on the earth, have a care ! Let us drink at the beautiful spring, For nor danger nor death Inrketh thei'e, But all that can happiness bring. Have a care, &c. slQS^, 162 THE GLEANEE, A TEMPERAI^CE HYMN. (Jreat God of love and gladness, And Makei' of us all, Look on our country's madness, Through thirst for Alcohol ! Full many mighty forces Hath Satan nigh at hand, But chief of his resources Is dnvh. in every land. Tliis crowds his gloomy regions With lost and wretched souls, The sport of scoffing legion.s His wicked will controls ; This fills with lamentations All corners of the earth, And robs the proudest nations Of rising sons of worth. Oh, God, in mercy snatch us From such an awful fate, And to Thyself attach us Or ere it be too late ! And 'stead of deeply drinking The cup that sorrow brings, Set all the world a thinking Of sweet eternal things — Of angels, heaven, and glory, And martyrs good and brave, And that all-thrilling story Of Calvary and the Grave, Where died and where was buried The Son of God Himself, That we might not be hurried Into the burning gulf ! All, no, for He would rather That all mankind should be With Him and with the Father Through all eternity ! Then God of every gladness, And Lover of us all. Look on our country's madness, Through thirst for Alcohol ! '/'///•; (tLEAM'J;. 1(1:'. A (CERTAIN) MAIDEN'S PllAYEJl. Uli, would 1 wore '" a rector's wiu-/' And living with lay love, Far from the city's noisy life, Its hurry, skurry, pain, and strife, Amid some rural grove, Through which, with tiny cross becrown'd The ivied spire uprears Of his dear church, upon whose ground The pious villagers are found From infancy to years. How sweet to be their dearest fiieud, The joy of young and old ; To have good food and clothes to send Where poA^erty and sorrow blend, And life itself is cold ; To prop and soothe the achmg head, And cheer tlie heart that bleeds ; To tend the sick or dying bed When hope of earthly life were ilcd — And all such holy deeds. Anon to loiter in the woods, Leaning on his dear arm. When Spring puts forth her emerald budo And birds sing to their nestling broods In eaves and hedges warm. Or 'neath hot Suunner\s glaring sun. Sit near him liy some brook That musically glideth on While lie, in low and loving tone, Reads me some favourite book. Next, when the Autumn leaves all brown And sapless, sear ^ind dry, Come quivering, shivering, fluttering down, And by the cruel winds are blown lu rotting heaps to lie — We'd make up for the cheerless walk, By gathering fruits along, That cluster on the drooping stalk ; Or with the happy gleaners talk And join their grateful song. 164 THE (^LEASER. And when the crispy Winter came With roaring breath, or gentle snow , We'd love and ramble all the same, Kept warm with pure and mutual flame The friends of all without a foe. Thus, like the seasons of the year, So should the changes of our life Be all enjoyed and welcomed here, Till Death himself at last drew near, If I wei'e but " a rector's wife." SWEET. 'Tis sweet to follow in the train of kings On grand occasions when tlic clarion rings, And bells are pealing IduiI, and cannut oh, l)eware ! and go not tlioii ttio near, Or thy adventurous soul may cost thee dear, To learn too late, as on she softly steals, 'i'hat wives, betimes, kick up their booted heels, Regardless who or whence he is behind : >io, foUoirrrfi of your wives or maidens — mind 1 RETURNED WITH THE GLOA'E. If by dark magician's poAver Laws of Nature I could break, For one brief and blissful hour. Tiny glove, thij form I'd take ; To enwrap each small, fair linger Of my darling's hand so warm, And with it to rove and linger Round her soft and graceful form. Who can count the honied kisses I might steal from her ripe lips ? Or the thousand nameless blisses Which would all of earth eclipse > But when fiei-y pangs were fleeting, And when sickly pains would dart. Oh, what joy to still the beating Of that fonel but troubled heart ! When on her soft bosom lying All the world forgot would be, — But how vain is wishing — sighing — Tiny glove, I envy thee. >^3 ^rS^l^"^ 1G6 THE 6LEANE1L THE VILLAGE WELL. Now comes a natural sequence in our talc The change from " bitter" to sweet " Adam's ale ; " In other words, a merry moment dwell Beside a spring of many joys— the well ! Oh, that mankind (myself among the rest) Were but content to drink of drinks the best, The drops condens'd from Nature's harmless still Whose endless worm is coil'd round every hill, Or deep within earth's vaulted caverns lies Until it looketh out with sparkling eyes, A splrlf, free from duties of excise. Sweet water ! from the clear and gushing spring. Wherein the lark dippeth his soaring wing And moist'neth his mysterious pipe, whose strains Fall, Hooding, like a hymn from heavenly plains. The only drink of tish, and bird, and beast, Where man hath not i^oUuted JSature's feast ; The towering trees, the lowly grass, the flowers Live, and are lieautiful, by heavenly showers ; You glorious rainbow-bridge so broad and bright, Is but the work of water and of light. I often wonder how it Avould appear If God had bent it out of sun and beer ; Or would its glittering aixh have been so line Had He constructed it of rays ait^ v:inc 1 Or filter'd from " La A^euve Cliquot " champagne Instead of golden beams and crystal rain I No, nought would serve to make the glorious thing But sun and icalrr from the upper spring I Therefore is water best in heaven and here, 'Twill keep your conscience and perceptions clear. Would ye enwrap ye in a witching spell ? Go jingle friendly goblets at the well, Our village fount where giddy gossips meet, (The younger portion of the she elite) To ease them of their daily load of news, Sometimes to praise, but oftener to abuse. What poison'd scandals date their early flow From this still fountain where the women go Brimful of something, anything to tell, To keep their names up at the village well ! 77//; cDEANhUi. ]t;7 r fain would think they dciil in only truth, But blood and tongues and tales ny (juick in youtli. 'Tis God alone who knows, not me or you, 'i'lie mischief that a thoughtless tale can do. And this may be the reason why, in towns, Scandal amcsng the wonien ne'er abounds ; Oh ! no ! they'i'o absolutely free from this Exclusive countrihcd heartrending bliss ; Oh, yes ! of course ! that's true ! ah, me ! for each one Hath her own well within her own back-kitchen ;'] So her glib tongue hath not a chance to swing Like these (with cans) around the meadow-spring. See ! when the lads approach, each with a kit, How sweet and innocent the lasses sit ! Or llii"t and flatter till th' embolden'd swains Get cutis and kisses for their struggling pains ; Or gaily dance around with circling hands While one shy milkmaid fills their waiting cans. There surely must be some magnetic force To draw and keep folks at this cr3'stal course, For when the servants are for water gone. How many mistresses are left alone To do the kitchen-work, and dust the shelves, And cook the family dinner by themselves ! For though the time be known when maids go out, Returning-time is (^uite a thing of doubt, And much depends who's at or from the well, Tf they return in time for dinner's bell. In vain you scold them, for they all uphold They wait but like Rebecca did of old, Until some thirsty "messenger" arrives Hot on the look-out for some steady wives. They cannot all fall into Issac's arms, But yet not lost shall be their virtuous charms, For some tine fellow, Philip, Frank, or Fred, Already woos them, and may some day wed. ^-cJG^^(24^>^.. 168 THE GLEANER. THE ALBUI\ltTO THE CONTRIBUTOR. Like the soul of a child, Unstained, imdeliled, I open my bosom to thee ; So thine be the sin If thoii leave it therein, One shade of dishonour for me. Like the soul of a child, Bright, eager, yet mild, T look out for thoughts in new guises, And if love but pervade What here be displayed I care not how quaint the devices. I'm a neck for curls — A casket for pearls — A field to be planted with flowers — A beach for shells — A steeple for bells — A thirsty land longing for showers. In colours or ink Bestow what you think Will add a new charm to the rest ; And do not forget As my pages you wet, That I love what is neatest the best. Then, mortal, bewai'e ! Contribute vrith care, For thoughts thou dost herein pourtray By the world will be read When thy spirit hath tied From its cold, earthly prison of clay. i^M^S^^?X\<^f^r shall tell the weight of human woo Down-crushing us betimes on to the sod, Extinguishing e'en hope's pale lights that glow Too faintly to disclose the hand of God '. Or who shall paint the cloud of thick despair That spreads in stifling blackness o'er the heart When fellest thoughts arc brooding, rankling there That men should cast thee like a weed apart To suck existence from the foulest soil — To live uncheer'd by kindliness or love — To be despis'd because a lowly toil \y^ Must earn the bread.makes thy life-tide move. -H/yk^ What matter though thou liast a soul Illumined with the lights of heaven, Or bosom with all'ection full As e'er to noblest man was given, If Mammon lay not at thy feet His godless treasure, red and rare ? Thy misery shall be complete — '' Would I were dead !" thy constant prayer. Wliat though tliy nuud be par witli those Great intellects (jf men of old. Whom God sent downwards to disclose What (;nly angels might unfold ? rilK aiKAXKIl. 173 ^\'lul,t though thine cyu be bright with rarest thought, And keen to penetrate life's niysteries, If thine exchequer be not golden-fraught I Nor thine some I'iches of the earth and seas / What though .' But cease thee, puny pen, to rail, All thy outpourings are of no avail, For stronger passions dwell w)/tc hearts within Thau love of God, or home, or kith, or kin : Passions which keep them on the earth alone, Until they're dead and buried and are gone ! When, 'stead of Love to mourn in glowing gloom. Poor Plt[i coldly glances at their tomb. OUR FORTIETH YEAR. We've touch'd our fortieth year, my friend, We're thirty-nine aU told ; Our youthful days are at an end, And we arc growing old. Dost hear I we're growing old, old "chum,"' As fast as years can make us, And by-and-bye the hour will come When death must overtake us. But ere that clammy, grisly thief Steal on us unaware, May years of joy and ribs of beef Fall to our grateful share. To-day we've all a man could wish, That's not a moral glutton ; We've dainties to our daily dish — What more's my Lord Mayor gotten I How sweet is friendship such as ours ! What with it can compare I Can choicest of our earthly flowers I Or gems or jewels rare ? Nay, e'en huge bars of solid gold So precious were, I ween. As our cheery friendship, blithe and bold Is, and hath ever been. 174 THE GLEANER. No mushroom-sentiment, Albert, mine, But tough and true and strong, For since the tender age of nine We've loving jogg'd along. And never has a bitter word (The prompting of the hend !) From cither's guarded lips been heard, Or quarrel intervened. The world shall separate us not, The flesh, nor yet the devil ; We'll blow up every hostile plot, And in sweet friendship revel. The petty failings of the crowd, Its bickerings and its smarts. An entrance have we ne'er allowed Into our faithful hearts. But now" we're proven heart and mind, Agreed and sworn and true Look we around us, Al., to find Some good that we may do. There's nothing better — naught so grand. So pure and sure to last Through life and in the heavenly land When time and tide are past. So where we may, seize we the chance And do't with holy zest The thing's twice done that's done at once, And more than doubly blest. But what wc do or don't on earth. Oh, may we comprehend The moral and eternal worth Of looking to tlic oid. THE aiEANEn. 17:. THE BANNER OF FREEDOM. Up, lip with the Ijauner of freedom once more, Unfurl it ugaiu over every shore ; Send out your best woodsman beyond the broad sea To find and to fell the most towering tree — The fairest and straightcst and toughest to stand The Avinds of the ocean and storms of the land. And trim it and taper, and kiss it , and then Nail our free British Flag to its summit again. You'may add some joy-sti'eamers of bunting to crack Like a whip in the wind round our Union Jack ; But keep the old Banner itself to the breeze — The boast of the nation, the pride of the seas. 'Tis a century old, but grows fairer with years, Though many a scar on its surface appears, Where the shots of the foe have gone whistling through, O'er the heads of a never-sin-rendering crew. Ye maidens of Britain bring needles and tln-ead, There's a pcttcli to put on our sweet flag overhead ;"' Mark its corners that every nation may see, With an H, and a U, and an N, and a T ; And plump in the middle these words all alive — " One thoTisand eight hundred and seventy-five," In letters like fire to burn in his brain, Who insulted Britannia, the Queen of the main ! Oh Grod ! the protector, and friend of the free, In mercy look down on our flag of the sea ; May it fearlessly float o'er every wave, A terror to tyrants, a joy to the slave ! Then up with the sturdy old standard on high, And down with the men who its virtues deny ; Let us rally beneath it, and come then what may. The Banner of Freedom shall flutter for aye. THE OLD BAR-PARLOUR BELL. Of all tlie things to handle, holding enmity to man Your musket, dagger, firebrand, or monster Armstrong gun, There's none wliich for a moment can be plac'd in parallel With that simple-looking ornanient — the old bar-parlour bell. 176 THE GLEANER. Yoii enter, and j'ou need not cast impatient eyes around, For in some queer shape or otlier, oh ! 'tis easy to be found : Its absence Avould be stranger than sea shores without a shell, For no "snug" is deemed complete with ne'er an old bar-parlour bell. 'Tis here a most elaborate gong upon the table plac'd, A work of art, of rare design, and exquisitely chased ; And there an ivory knob on which (I know the feeling well) One's thumb and fingers itch to press ! the old bar-parlour bell. Or o'er the very centre of the free and festive board (?) Suspended from the ceiling swings a silken ringed cord, One jerk of which were quite enough to jex'k a soul to hell ! Oh, what a work of mischief is the old bar-parlour bell. You ring it, and there quickly comes the landlord neat and trim, Or a fair, bejewelled barmaid looking anything but grim, No time is lost ; they seem to fly your orders to fultil. Oh, they're wide awake who wait upon tlic old bar-parloiir l)ell. They keep these parlours quite select, that is, they seldom fight, Or let the unwash'd multitude within their dens at night ; But worse than vulgar tapsters are the L jrdling and the swell Who nightly gather round and ring the old bar-parlour bell. Alas ! I have been there myself and played the leading fool. And like full many more became the cat's-paw and the tool ; And seen the oft reflection, with remorse I could not quell. Of my drink-distorted features in the old bar-parleur bell. And yet the mellow music of that little toy at times Right through my sinful soul has rung in thunder-pealing chimes ; And oft the still, small voice within, like a monk from out his cell. Has whisper'd : " Oh, my son, beware the old bar-parlour bell !" Ah ! who shall count the tears and sighs and all the pangs of woe, Of wives and children left alone when fathers join the foe I The foe to truth and love, the foe ! whose sire is king of hell. And whose most obedient servant is the old bar-parloiu' bell. Yea, thanks be to the God of grace, my eyes are open now, And I will on His altar place my sacrifice, and vow To love and honour evermore the sacred, solemn swell Of the Sunday prayer, in preference to the old bar-parloiu' bell. 77//; (ILEAXI'll:. 177 IIEJOICINGS. (I'-ROM TIIK li(U;i(.\ WESLEY C'IRCITIT i;A/,AAll CAZKTTK, Al.BEr.T KAI.L, fX'TOHKR, ]87;">.) Well may yon, Madam Wesley Chapel, crow, Ami cry aluiul for joy and clap yonr liand.s ; Yonr bravo ba/.aar has sot ns all aglow, — An ever-feathor in your cap it stands ! Far future generations shall recall, Its great success in Bolton Albert Hall. Yon dear old Dame, of sober twenty-three, Yon're out of debt at last, you are, you are I From live per cents, (insatiate vampires !) free ! Thanks be to Ood and to yonr grand bazaar. But — 110 fond claims upon our bits of gold,- Ah ! shall we love yon as we did of old ? Your maiden speeches, ^Tadasn Wesley Chapel, Are choice and cheering in each day's ira-xHe, And yonr arithmetic shows how we grapple Boldly with foes by which we are beset. What I fifteen hundred pounds in two short days? And two to come ? it fills ns with amaze ! With patient Super. Vercoe at your head, — Wit'.i pure and gushing Wells down at your feet, — With pleasant Rhodes before you, newly spread, — With nps and Downes like these, yonr joy's complete Jf not, it ought to ijo, — yow understand ? And yon the happiest Zion in all the land. And now, dear Madam, with yonr body free, Higher and brighter may your spirit rise ; Keep up, all round, one joyous jubilee. And let yonr grateful anthems fill the skies. 'Tis grand to work for you and yonr bazaar, But ir'iiiiiiui ,sc(/r/.s' for ('Iiri4 is grander far I 178 THE GLEANEB. SILENCE. Silence ! ali, it were a boon "When tlie battle-demons roar, And the din of hell is thrown O'er the earth beclot with gore. Silence ! merciful it were When the storm is on the sea, Hurling it high in the aiv As it booms in revelry. Silence ! God ! an untold bliss When a wretch is doom'd to hear Thunders from a '' still, small viace," Telling nf a black career. Silence ! proper, when the soul is leaving Earthly tenements to fly and blend Witli the souls above — but, ah ! how grieving Is the silence of an al^sent friend ! TEARS. Tears are the precious pi isms given. Through which we catch a glimpse of heaven. Men's stony hearts they oft prepare That God may stamp His image there. They help to wash the soul from sin, And quench all evil fires within. They drop upon the devil's head, Like on our own would boiling lead. And make him roar and rage and yell Till every devil quakes in hell ! THE THROSTLE. Eh, mon, if theaw'd nobbut a' yerd it loike me. For this last tothri wick abeawt whoam ! An' to loze it at last, theaw'd a' cried, very nee. As theaw'd cry for a friend an' a " chum." Aw've a bit ov a gerdin, an' in it, theaw sees, There's a tothri, but nobbut a tothri big trees, A poplin, a hash, an' aw think it's a barch. O'er shadin' a seot— my own hondy-warch. TJIE GLEANER. ]7;> Aw'iu just one o' tluise sort o' chaps after "' ^ . I What ahnd wroitu o' bii'cls an' o' spring, -^J^^-^Aa) Ftir thccr's not a nion livin' (nor clcod) aAv kno, That's fonder o' yerin' 'em sing. Aw'm surproist, that aw am, at its niusickl neize, An' it sets mo athinkin' t'misel O' th' Abnighty God, an' His ^vonderful ways O' crommin' so niich in a shell ! Aw war preawd as a king, it worn't freetnt o' me. This sowl-stirrin', beautiful brid, As it sung o'er my ycd upu' th' braneh of a tree, Yet it know'd aw wur theere, mon, it did. But these young country-lads, eh, what beggars they are ! They're reet nowt an' i' mischeef o'day ; They'n fun an' Ihey'n stown my brid-nc>est, an' what's wur, They'n clodded mi throsl away. Fust thing ov a mornin' this rare throsl-cock Would sing for a heawr, mon, or moore, An' wakken me up just abeawt foive o'clock, Mich better than puncin' at t' door. An' it sung an' it whistlt ith' sweet morniu' air Till hecho on hecho did ring, An' aw wondert sich melody, gushin' an' rare, Could come fro so little a thing. '&• But its noan o' God's ways to o'erlook little things, If little things do what they con ; A brid does a lot when its praises it sings, But far moore wi" his praise does a mon . But durnt yo go thinkin' it's part o' ma werk To rob t'other brids o' their due ; Ma favrit's a thiush — but a Juv ii\ loud lerlc, CXM)^ An' aw loike every other brid too. Aw'd a ritten some moore, but a fvend droppin' in Saj's aw'm nolibut just wastin' mi toime Wi' a mon, an' a tree, an' a brid, an' a din, An' a foo to record it i' rime. Well, aw may be a foo, an aw'm sorry I spoke, But there's mony a mon liviu' that's moore to blame For th' damage he did wi' his pen an' his joke When he soign'd a bank-check wi' another chap's name. L80 THE GLEANElt. S()I\(i. YE yUiJEll aUNS UF \V18DUM. (Tune : " Jerusalem the yokleii.") Yc sober sous of wisdom. Of temp'raucc, liopc, ami y^y, ^Vaye liigli your Ijlessed banners Of love •without alloj'. (jlrcafc are your saving numbers ; (jlrcat is your Helper, God ; Great is your holy mission, Wherever man luith trod. iJiad u\) the yielding [)laee.-;, And gently raise tlic weak ; ^\'iihout niikiiid reproaches To fallen Inxthren speak, (jiod knows when eaeh mav' need it, A fond and feeling word. To bring ns baek to duty, To temp'rance and the Lord. Ten thousand are the pitfalls 'J'hat Daeehus ami his train Have dug and llower'd over For feet of thoughtless men. Ten thousand, then, my l)rethren, Let our exertimis be To show these hidden dangers, And set the captive free ! Let's rally I'oiind our standard ; Let's pray to God anew ; Lets trust Him altogethei' With souls and bodies too. " No drunkard cnt'reth heaven !" The Scriptures solemn tell ; Then, brethren, let's endeavour To save his soul frum hell. THE GLEANER. , 181 A PIC-NIC BENEATH AN OAK-TREE. Oh, the joys of this life are not many, I ween, The brightest fiDia sorrow not fi-ee ; But yet there is one sweet exception, I mean A pic-nic beneath an oak-tree. Ten youths and ten maidens (I one of the hjt) Took a carriage full ht for an Earl And rode in the sun to the loveliest spot On the face of this beautiful world. The men brought the liquors, the maidens the meats, And jolly fat hampers there were, So fat that they would not go under the seats, So we hung them outside in the air. The ride, though full twenty miles, pass'd like a dream For our loves nestled close to our sides, And we vowed by their eyes and their beauty supreme We woidd soon turn them all into brides. 'Neath that noble wood-monarch, whose wide-spreading arms A murmuring rivulet shade, \\g danc'd and we sung free from care and alarms. Or whispered to listening maid. lUit when the fat hampers were opeu'd full wide, And our napkins spread out on the grass, With one merry voice simultaneous we cried, — '•' This joy none on earth can surpass." There were savom-y tongues and a small foreign ham ; A venison pasty so rare ; A young pige(m pie ami a shoulder of lamb, And of tenderest chickens a pair. Some knick-knacky cakelets and bright marmalade ; A dessert in profusion from Spain ; Some Bass's pale ale and some iced lemonade, And a bumper of iizzing champagne. Soon each couple apart rambles into the wood To build up our castles in. air. And o'er the to-morrow with pleA.jUre w - brood. And snap our Hrst hngers at cai'e. 182 THE G LEA NEB. 'Tis wellit is so, for the curtain of life Too soon is uplifted for all, For there's sorrow behind it, with struggle and strife. And a cup that is bitter as gall. But each cuj) at the pic-nic with nectar I'an o'er. And each mouthful was food for the gods, ^ For we kutw not nor cared what dread fate had in store /^ So the evens shook hands with the odds. Now slowly the couples return as the eve Wraps the earth in her mantle of grey, And, united again, a gay future we weave From the joys and the vows of the day. Then together with satisfied love in our eyes AVe sing many an amorous tune. And not till the midnight, bewitching, arise To ride heme by the light of the moon. Oh, rapturous moments, how rapid they flew But they left their sweet spirit with me, For oft in my fancy I fondly review That pic-nic beneath an oak-tree. TO A FRIEND ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1862. I can but wish thee happiness With this, the New Year's sun, I can but wish it day by day Until the year be gone. List, lady, how the power I'd wield If sucli a bot)n were mine ; How, were mj' wishes but fulfill^!. My wishes would incline. I'd save thee through from misery, Thy feet should joyous tread The bosom of the cnamell'd earth And light should lie thy head . I'd bind thy life with harmony ; The poor should bless thy name. The watchful genii of the good Should keep thy soul from blame. TIfE GLEANEn. 183 A thousand, touching, thou shouklst heal, And lift the heavy woe From oil" a thousand hearts that mourn Their cruel lot below. Each season to thy wondering soul Its beauties should expand, And each in turn should kneeling place Its treasures in thy hand. Thine eye should sparkle, cheek should tclow, Thy step rebound with health ; A joy should nestle in thy breast, To which the miser's wealth Were poor as are the barren stones That leap the mountain down When mighty winds are out and shake't From base to very crown. I can but wish thee happiness With this, the New Year's sun ; I can but wisli it morn and eve Until the year be gone. CHILDREN'S TEMPERANCE HYMN. Children rise ! again united, Sing with brave young hearts and tongues Heaven's own angels are delighted Listening to our temperance songs. Children, we again beseech thee. Hear us, Heavenly Father, now ; Let our simple praises reach Thee While our hearts before Thee bow. Humbly ask we thy protection Travelling through this world of woe. Give us every clear direction That we may the Tempter know. Mark for each his pathway plainly. Show the pits on either hand ; For without Thy guidance, vainly March we toward Immanuel's Land. 184 THE QLEANER. Make us right down earnest thinkers, Though our years and thoviglits be few Make and keep us water-drinkers, Ever fresh as morning dew. Ever sparkling, ever flowing From the hand of God unseen, Keeping hearts and cheeks aglowing, — Keeping nature evergreen. Simple ones are we and lowly, Teach us. Father, to be wise : Thou, Almighty art and holy. Up to Thee oxir spirits rise. SONC. WHERE THE LIQUOR-PALACE OLARETli. Where the liquor-palace glareth O'er the foid and gloomy coiu't ; Where the thief his plunder shareth ! Where the vilest men resort. Where the brandy-serpent creepetli From his dark and slimy bed Where the fell Destroyer heapeth Up his piles of maniac dead ; — There, there the drunkard goes. Goes with imsteady gait, Tliough for his dear soul he knows Satan lieth there in wait. On the other hand — where glistens Home's bright hearth, with love o'ershed, And his wife impatient listens For his firm and manly tread ; Where his children and his neighbours All rejoice to see him come ; Where he rests from daily labours In his dear and peaceful home ; — There, there the wise man goes Goes sober, strong and straight, Smiling at liis worldly woes : Siich a man is truly great. 'I'm: ci.EAMiLii. 18: I\[()RNIN(J. Now the sun, the golden axle Of the silver wheel of Jay C'linibeth cloudless azure heavens -Ml liis "flories to display. Let iho kings of earth togetlicr Move in one procession grand, Swell'd with all the rank and beauty And the wealth uf every land : Royal pageants luight and golden Deck'd witli every gorgeous dye, AVliat be they but paltry tinsel To the monarch of the sky I Xature for Iiis coming panteth, All the earth would catch his smile, Mighty is his burning power, Yet how gentle all the while ! Little hills around are laughing, Mountains, gilded, proudly gleam, Rivers are to andjer turned Bright, yet motionless they soem, Save the golden liglit which dances Ceaselessly atop the waves, Like to myriad fairy spirits Summon'd from their watery graves. Not a bird that is not raising Happy songs of praise to God, For the warmth and joy of morning, And the sunbeams on the sod. All the earth is glad and grateful, Let not man, then, stand apart. But for morns like this be thankful From the fountain of his heart. 18« '/'///•; a LEA NEIL TO MY GRANDFATHER. WRITTEN AT BALLAARAT, 1804. Rare, good old man I full seventy winters shed Their snowy graces on thine honoured head, And hear white witness as they silent tell To the whole world that thou hast lived well. None to reproach thee among all mankind With cruel word, oi- look, or action blind. Not e'en one esil human passion can Say aught of thee but that thou art a man. A man as perfect as a man may he Wlio loves his God and all humanity. Thy virtues many, and thy errors few ; Thy love all uoble, and thy purpose true. With conscience white, and hands all free from stain To \vant(jn wound or wrong thy fellowmen. Thy griefs are those thy God, not man, hath given To make thy soul still worthier of heaven. He takes thy offspring one by one away. Ere yet their lives had reached their summer's day, And leaves thee Init their memory and their dust, ( )'vr which tliou mournest and for ever must. Like to some aged oak which stands alone. Decking some plain beneath the l)cauteous sun, Whose branches, one by one, droop down and fall Ere yet the noble trunk decay at all. Rut something mournful in its vyry air, 'I'ells of the many green l)eivavements there — A silent sorrow inexpressilily profnr melodious and yoiir bnsy pen, llow nianv tlmusands chant vour heavenly strains 77//; (!Li:am:I:. is; To lighten liiirtlic'iis hiuI to soothcMi puiiis To bring tlicui iiiglior to tlic Tliioiio of (jlruuc, And till tht'h' r;ii)tui'(l souls with soiiuds of peace. Xor land nor sea culiiuits your fair fame ; Right round the globe has rung John Fawcett's name. Full oft the proud but unseen tear-drop dims Mine eye while listening to your well-known hymns Out here, on wild Australia's heathen shore — Ten thousand luih's of waves between us roar 1 Farewell, dear grandfather, and mayst thou glide ►Still tran<(uil down life's deep and muddy tide, Till launched in glory on that stormlcss sea Of endless joy men call Eternity! ASK. WKIXri;> i'UK A BAZAAK CAZKTXK I'lKsr DAY. How many thousand ways are there in wliich A man can spend his money .' There's a chance, Thon clever statistician, to enrich The curious literature of the laud at once. NVe simply ask because we want to know ; We're not to9 old to learn if you are, friend, Nor yet too proud to ask, for asking's O, The very shortest route to wisdom's cud ! 1 asked my mam for milk when rather young, But did not ask for what I got — the strap, For freaks of fancy an el unruly tongiie, And tearing of my sit-upous and cap. ' We asked for bat and ball when grown a boy, And tops and kites and marbles and for fun, x\nd our schoolmaster that hs would not toy And tickle with, his cane for what we'd done— 188 THE (iLEANEk. But 'twduldii't oem does not completely fag, N"ou ask again for VVc (hr.dic to-imnTow. SBLO.ND \)\\. (■ood morning, lady dear, and sir, i sec You've asked again for Tltc Gazette. That's well. We hope you'll like your ])enny-worth ami be ConstrainM to buy as oft as it's to sell. 'We thank you. lUit perhaps 'tis not to liii The lid of this, our second pot of verse, '^immering perfumely if you'll take a " snift '' May tempt you to rip up your pregnant purse. The glean En. i89 And let those little golden prisoners free To sport about from stall to stall at will, 31iiiifling and jingling all right merrily Till caught and cramni'd within the groaning till. i^fnw let us ask you with a bow profoiuid, — (For asking is the order of the day, At least the prices of the things ai-ound) — A few old-fashioned questions by the way. I'riend, have you ))ought aught J If you havn'l, go, Yovt stingy old curmudgeon, go and buy ! Don't whisper in my car you're poor — you know Vour conscience tells you that's a wdcked lie. ^Vhat did you do with that last " pot of money " The (;rod of goodness gave yoii last back end, AV'hich you from cotton — you from corn and honey, And you from gifts from your indulgent granny, Put by, and promised God you'd freely spend .' And you in legacies from miser old You never work'd for and you ne'er had got Had ho but had his will with his dear gold. For he'd luue taken it all to hell, red-hot I And you in shares — you, oil and wine whioh fdl'd you, And you fiom iron, wood and cheeses (Dutch) And you with that your shabby parent will'd you, (I know twixt you and me it wasn't much). And you from coal, and croft, and ships, and size, And you from tloated companies, newly started ; You (much) from liquor ; you from law and lies, And you from physicing the dear departed. You ask the cost to pitch this sacred tent '. A good round sum, yet barely more than half Which on yon alehouse t'other day was spent — The " Bowling Green," or '' Bull,"' or " Golden Calf." 'Tis strange it should be so, but so it is. The Devil, than God Himself, seems richer far ; That Black One scoffs at grand aliaira like this, But God, the Holy One, needs our bazaar. I'JO rJI£! GLEANER. Therefore, dear friends, assist Him, fur you can, The rich to give, the poor to pray for all. Kick up a happy fuss, and sweet ran-tan, Think on to-morrow to ask for " Ask " again, And make big purchases at every stall. THIRD DAY. Asking your pardon, we must now return To our primeval verse, to ask if any Has found that thhig out of so much concern — How many ways there are to spend our money. ^Vhat i no one knows \ Then no one needs to ask, Like Mrs. Brown said, with her pail and mop. To keep the swollen sea back from her shop, " My goodness me, the thing's a useless task !" But this you may rely upon, my friend, As true as Grod made sun and moon and stars. You never will regret whate'er you spend (Except it's not your own) in God's bazaars. Then ask again. There's here just what you want. Be you a lord, a lady, or a lascar. Wife, mother, widow, or old maiden aunt, Nor think because you ask you are an askcr. Ask big and little, 'spite of all rebud', To show you every article they've got ; And should you fear you have not asked enougli, Ask everybody what they'll take for t' lot. Now, ere we " put the askings up " for good. We've one thing more to ask, and then farewell ;- Have you Ijcuu washed in the Redeemer's blood. The l)lood which for us all on Calvary fell. To save the sold from sin, and death, and hell .' If not, then go and ask of Christ the way To peace and glory and the Home of Light ; rjo ask at once, while it is call'd to-iktij — A beam which but reveals eternal nighl ! Go, take this promise to thy restless soul, Writ in the only Everlasting Word — " Knock, and it shall be opened unto all, Ai'ii, and it shall be given us." Praise the Lord \ Tin: (ILEAKKJl. TJl AN ELEGY. Great theme of themes, iiud thought of thoughts art thou, Oh Death ! wliose cold and clammy hand Resteth alike upon the royal brow And on the meanest in the land. The great and good are not too good and great — The liad are not too ill— No youthful heart too yoinig — no age loo late For thee to kill I There's not a corner of tlie wide, wide world Where treads a man, or prowls a beast, But thy black banner's there, alas ! unfurbd — Thy worms all busy at their feast ! All this we know ; and, yet, how great the shook, — How startling the sui'prise, — When our pet lamb is taken from the tiock Before our eyes I When worth and wisdom in one youthful form, With all the riches of the heart, Lie, stricken, like a wi'eck amid the storm. By cruel Fate's relentless dart ; — When such a j'outh is our beloved friend — Our brother and our son. Ah ! who shall tell the pangs our bosoms rend When he is gone ? 'Tis then we look on death as something new — • A cloud for us alone o'erspread — That, though we search the world's bereavements thi'ough. Ours is the only real dead ! 'Tis then our struggling souls are most inclined To kick against the rod, And fail to see (for sorrow maketh blind) The Hand of God ! But what a joy is yours, ye weepers, all, For youthful Frederick pass'd away ; For nought but good of him can ye recall. Whose liody now is pulseless clay. 192 THE G LEA NEB. Ye know his now emancipated soul Has hastened to the skies ; Yonr bells of mourning, therefore, cease to toll, And dry yoiir eyes ! Ye shall not hear his slightly stammering tongue, Which made him dearer from his biith ; He shall not join j^on in the holy song And solemn prayer again on earth, — But ye believe his song, and tongne, and prayer Are perfected above. To mingle Avith the million anthems where Is deathless love ! How many slumber in a doiditful tomb To rack some fond survivor's breast ; No face of mercy glimmers through its gloom, — No hope relieves its heart deprest. While waiting, tremblingly, tlie time of Ood Through death to make it plain, And lift (perchance with pai'doning hand) iis load Of doubt and pain ! But 'tis not thus the friends of Frederick fret : A joyous hope of heaven is theirs For him, whose snn of brief existence set Dswn in tlie ocean of their tears. Oh fell Consumption I thou fastidious pest ! A dainty thief, forsooth ! Will nought content thee but the fairest, best, Of mortal youth I Thou mightst have spared a nseful life like this, Tn all its Hush of nineteen Springs, Casting around it seeds of truth and bliss And teachings of diviner things Thou hast ten thousand lovely victims more Than battle, sword and flanie : Oh may the God of mercy we adore Blot out thy name ! Methinks I see the funeral cortege now, Approaching, slow, St. Peter's fane, Wliile sobbing crowds in sterling sorrow bow Around the long, dark carriage train. '/•///•; cLi'.w !■:/:. iic; 1^)11(1 fcllow-twichevs, sclioliii's, :ill arc tluMc, 'I'luir last of love ri> show, Ami. us carli ollbv.s up liis [lartiiiL;' imiyt'i', I'^ivd'.s laiil below I Auvil, IS7L', LAND AHEAD : " Land ahead !" The ery is viiii^ing l''i')iii the ships of life, my friend, Eveiy hour ( )ld Time Is liriuLOUi;' A^essels to their journeys end. Yours and mine, however stroiiL;'. j\ray be nearer to the throng Who have let their anchors go, Nearer, nearer than we know. '■ Land ahead !" Some hear (h-spairlug For the loounng headlands fri^ui ; Not a leaf or IjIossoui bearing. All is darkness up and ihnvn. L!\es of theirs, poor souls ! h.ue b<>i-ii One uid)roken ro\ind of sin. Now, now comes the awful cheek, And t'aeh vessel lies a wreck I " L.md a]ieaeautiful that glitter in the sun. My native fields and walks around are dearer to my breast Than citron-groves and coral strands, and all the golden rest. Yea, e'en the A^ery birds that sing where far away I roam, Seem but clioice pupils to my ear, of the master l)irds at home. I know each street and church and S(piare, each chimney black and Ijrown, Almost eacli stone that sleeps v.ithin my own, my native toAvn ! The guardian hills that r.iund it rise, att'ord ;i keener pleasure. To me, than those grand Al[iine-heights that cleave the crystal azure. And though the rain-cloud woos it, as a bee the sweetest flower. Its wetted roofs I dearer prize than London in its power. Just as a tender mother looks with tears upon her child, Her dearest one, lest on in life by sin it be beguil'd — So, oft methinks, doth heaven's eye on Tiolton look ailown . In moisture, lest in years io come its fSird of Peace be flown. Sweet Providence I for ever hold our town within Tliy hand ; ]\Iay wrong and discord from it flee before Thy mighty wand ! And grant it ever may unfold to the eyes of all maidiiiaii can I'liluck tlio secret lieavt nf aiiv man. To pvescvve a whak-. (Jet your gla.-^s liultl And put it very carefully in ; Then slowly till up to the throttle ^^ ith s))ii-it.s of wine, or '" Uid 'I'imu gin Then e<>rk and seal — and thai is ^\liat'll Kee}i it for ever I Oesli, frame and tin. e. Few per.soUfi are there, a.s a rule, Who spurn (he praises of a fool. Like ocean-waves, however great Our threatening trouhles^ when aiiear, if we he cool, and cahuly wait, Iheak at our feet and disappear 'J'he i\orld \^ith all its Ijoastful ken, Knnus nothiu'' of its greatest men. They greatly err who think to turn Men's thoughts up t(i a wi»rhl of Idiss, By teaching them themselves to spurn, And tlunk all kind nf ill of this. Who sees not at a glance, or so, Will scarce by explanation know. If tlic i::onkuy were only the lion t-.o, Good gracious ! what would he nut do ? 77//; (;li:.\m:J:. I'JT W'liun David swung the simplu sling, (ii)liatli was surprised, and more. At the little Htoue, for such a thing Ne'er entcr'd liis duU head before. A iiiii'aclc till.' (itlicr day Toiik 1'hii.e ;ind was by many pruv'd- A prisoner, strung, was dragg'd away From the Quarter Sessions dock — unmuv'd. A harder thing to get than fame, — A Jew to give yuu his Christian name. You ask me how to cook a goose I Suspend yourself, or sit you down, Without a murmur or excuse. And baste you in your flowing juice, Before a lire, till done 'piite brown. You've persecution '. Never muid ; Kites rise against, not with the wind." Uf all earth's animals, the two That waste most time in toilet-trimmiii', Are (if the French say what is true, And who can doubt it i) cats and women. The lobster of the ocean, some one saith, Is a posthumous vrork — red after death. 198 THE (4LEA^En. Each time a wife her liusbaiid scokls, 8he digs a wrinkle in her face, Which every smile again unfolds And smooths away the augiy truce. •When a .sudden calamity come.s you will lind That true courage consists of a presence of mind. Life's like a idoughman's supper leg-of-mutton^ En joy'd a moment ere lie go to bed ; Or like a helpless bachelor's shirt button, Always a-hanging by a single thread. Your end and the end of a candle's the same^ To give light, never heeding the. size of the flame. This proverb there is no denying, Although it looks so " like a whale," — " There'.s more than one good way of tying A knot upon the devil's tail." The twelfth connnandment's very trite and true, — " J\rind your own business." (That's for me and you.) I wish some one who knows woidd state If this be true or something less, That our Mother Eve the apjde ate In order to indulge in dress. A dog a-playing with its tail, my friend, Alas ! ia trifling with ita latter end. '/'///; (I LEAK Eli. 199 One (lay a loving, wedded pair T{(xlc out to breathe the country air. Loud 1)rayed an ass while passing near. The lady turn'd her in her carriage, '• Ts't one of your relations, dear C " It is, my love," .said he, " by marriage." If the weight of a horse you would put lo the proof, .Tu.st put your biij toe fairly under its hoof. 'Tis easy to say A good word by the way ; But not to speak ill Is easier still. The world's like a watch-dog, so what he or she says, It fawns on you truly, or tears you to pieces. Show me the man pass'd the decanter When there was but one glass within. And I will point you out instanter A hero, spite of kith and kin. If the best man's faults were on his forehead writ, He'd always get a hat liis nose to tit. Truth seeks the reasons of a thing ; But malice ne'er so wisely pauses ; Quite satisfied to make a spring And fix her fangs into the causes. 200 Tllh: dLHAXi:!;. strip majesty of its extremes (m.y.) Aiul it becomes a jest unto tlie eye. Wlien tracking a desert, no matter how liroad, Never give yourself \\\t to despair, For you cannot well starve du the dangerous rn;id, Because of the sand-which-is ihere. ■ Suspended hostilities " ilms uo dctiue ; — \vo tail-tied old tom-cats thrown over a line. The extremes of poverty and rt'ealth, In any land, or time, or season, Were always known to work by stealih. And never found to list to reason. He who in youth makes dollai's lly, Will lietr for farthings ere he die. Pray once if you're going to war ; Pray twice if you're going to .%ea ; But if you going to be married are. Let yoiir prayers be one, two. three. ■■"<^'BS^m^'^> The (liiard'mii Steam Printimj Wurkx, BuUmi. i^ror^' UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles k is DUE on the last date stamped below. tJtsfn JAU Zb iv^^i PormL9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 Skelton - ShS2 The gleaner S64g |IIMIIIIIIl|iniiiiii<. ,,,.,, Mm\\\\\\\\\\\\ 3 1158 00659 8691 PR UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 375 579 o ritr Sm h^£Pm MJuCau