sa67ft M riHTATi A A CT. ^=== CZ ^^^^ d:j ^^^^ ^ 3 ^^^^ 2 6 7 -n 5 =^= >. 3 5 2 M^^^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES V' TENTATIVE POEMS A COLLECTION OF VERSE WRITTEN DURING THE PAST FOUR YEARS. BY CHARLES FREDERICK JAMES NIGHTINGALE STOTT (S. Boniface Missionary College, Warminster). WITH BY THE AUTHOR OF "FIRST POEMS." " DUM SPIRO SPERO." SUBSCRIBER'S COPY. WARMINSTER: BENNETT & Co., "Herald" Office; AND Mrs. MARTIN, Bookseller, etc. BLACKBURN : " Standard " Office. MDCCCI.XXXIV. Bennett & Co., "Herald" Office, Warminster. TO MRS. R. MARTIN JOHNSON AND MRS. ANGELO W. R. SIMPSON, IN TOKEN OF AFFECTION AND ESTEEM, THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED / 837G7-1. PREFATORY NOTICE. -^^tr^vS^i- Mr. Nightingale Stott's religious muse is already recognised by a large number of readers. His gentle verse occupies peculiar prominence in some influential provincial literary circles. His language and style are unique ; yet his quaintness and solemnity not unseemly suit with Christian requirements. During the last four years, among his friends, he has written many poems ; and, of these, he sets before the public, in the present form, a few favourites inviting a wider patronage than hitherto. It was by his wish that I undertook these remarks. In an introduction he had himself designed, Mr. Stott in his particular, modest way writes thus : — " As a mite in the numberless array of valuable and infinitely more worthy volumes of poetry, which are justly loved by their several possessors, I cannot claim (nor do I wish it) for this little book a place of equal honour." I like these words not less than that verse that, the TENTATIVE POEMS. advertisement of which they form part, would in its designed position have been placed before, and to which recommendatory reference has already been made. In- deed, our author's sentence exercises such fitting sentiment that, if the idea of similarly prefacing my own work with quiet statements were not a bygone one, I would learn of him before embodying that idea in action. In another place Mr. Stott " thanks most sincerely all who have hitherto accorded him their support, and all who may hereafter aid him by reading the verse herein submitted, and he leaves this — the realization of a youthful ambition — not without a hope that it will make rather than mar the prospect of desired future success." " Every author," says Goethe, "in some degree portrays himself in his works, even be it against his will." I like Mr. Stott in this case ; and, as his friends say with the greater poet, our author " is present to us, and designedly, nay, with a friendly alacrity, sets before us his inward and outward modes of thinking and feeling." And, from his opening Dedication Poem, in the which he speaks of early days (see verse i), " . . . xvlien first I heard the voices Of those in whom now every thought rejoices," to his last- written poem of '•'■The Poet^' telling yet of " . . . one whose work is song" is observable much that induces the conviction that " the prospect of desired future success " shall not be marred thereby. Now let me join with my friend the author of these PREFATORY NOTICE. " Tentative Poems " in stating that his satisfaction and my pleasure will be perfect if this should only prove to be the " baby image of the giant mass to come." In conclusion, may Mr. Stott, like Wordsworth, at a time not far distant from their publication, be found to have formed "no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effect of his first poems" ; and to have justly "flattered himself that they who should be pleased with them would read them with more than common pleasure." And, also, in the humbler bard's case, may the result be discovered to differ from his expectation in one thing only, and the announcement be joyous that " a greater number have been pleased than he ventured to hope he should please." CLAUD VINCENT. September 24th, 1883. CONTENTS. Prefatory Notice Dedication Poem To Claud Vincent . To my Mother . May-Day . Christian Unity Separation Reunion . Home, Sweet Home Sunset from Wiltshire Downs . On the Death of a Christian Priest . In a Wiltshire Churchyard Sonnet Sonnet To Elsie Mary . Eva Marguerite To D on her Birthday In an Unknown Hour True as Steel . Messengers from Eden Fragments of Song . PAGE 5 9 lO lO II 12 14 15 i6 17 17 i8 20 20 21 21 22 23 23 24 25 PAGE Sonnet . . . .25 Sonnet . . . .26 On the Departure of a Dear Friend . . . .26 To my Amanuensis . 2^ A Birthday Greeting . . 28 A Stray Thought in Verse. 29 Comfort . . . -30 True to the Core . .31 Annie . . . .32 Dina . . . .32 Claude . . . -32 Love — Hate . . -32 In Yorkshire Dales . . 32 Sonnet . . . . 34 The Student's Work . . 34 The Student's Recreation . 35 Sonnet . . . .36 In College Gates . . 36 An Epic Poem . , -37 Thoughts of the Past . 38 The Poet . . . -39 tentative poems* DEDICATION POEM— MY BEACON LIGHTS. "f HE world to me, when first I heard the voices " Of those in whom now every thought rejoices, Was dead to Soul's sweet life in solitary nights, When changing prospects gave me my Beacon Lights. My heart erst sad, without a love to treasure, Soon lost for ever grief, and gave my pleasure A wider scope in Union's blissful flights. And welcomed the dawning of my Beacon Lights. That Love from Heaven above, an earnest shown In those dear hearts, increased my wavering own, And drew my soul to view far happier sights 'Neath Friendship's radiant stars my Beacon Lights. # * To those sweet help-meets to the Christian Hfe 'Mid sadness, failure, and temptations' strife, I dedicate the primal page of this my first endeavour. In Love to both — my Beacon Lights — which fadeth, fadeth never. lo TENTATIVE POEMS. TO CLAUD VINCENT. C ONTROLLED by music be thy soul and mine ! L o, list'ning bent we did our first sounds mend, A nd in intensity of aim combine. U nclouded favour shall that verse attend, D eemed holy, by a gentle toil made fine. V alue the end thereof when bards compete, I n such is born the answer men beseech ; N ew hearts shall learn it and new voices greet : C LAUD Vincent ! in the good time thou shalt teach. E ngage thyself apart, and let us meet N earer than ever in the far years sweet ; T ogether first, to kindred heavens we reach. TO MY MOTHER. Could I write a thousand pages Or exist for endless ages. Yet of thee I might not tell Half of what I love so well. Could my love improve in beauty, 'Twould not then fulfil its duty ;, Could I sing in choicest lays, 'Twould of thee be poorest praise. Then I e'en must cease to chatter On this sweet and sacred matter. For in regions up above Dwells the Fountain of my love. MA Y-DA Y. if MAY-DAY. (Prize P o em.) " Spring ! Spring ! beautiful Spring ! " Welcome, Queen of bright spring-tide, Coming sweet with gentle breath O'er the dewy mountain side, Bursting through the clouds of death. All around in nature's world Visions bright are seen to-day, Blossoms of the thorn unfurled Tell my soul 'tis gladsome May. From the lowly grassy mead, Every flower to mortal ken Shoots its head — as rockets speed — Lighting up its native glen. When in March the glebe was broken Crops were sown which now appear, Telling forth in sweetest token That the Queen of months is here. Choirs of Heaven's winged creatures Swell their throats in joyful strain, Giving tone to noblest features Which on Earth have come to reign. Mortals wake to greet the morn, Which for praise and glory pleads, Honouring its rosy dawn, Laurel deck their faithful steeds. In the well of every heart Ecstasy supremely reigns, And the world to nether part Joins in snapping winter chains. 12 TENTATIVE POEMS. With the merry festal throng Souls unnumbered laud thy sway, As with lightsome dance and song Sport they on the grassy way. Mingled with these pleasures sweet, Inspired memories stir the mind ; " Life is short," and Death comes fleet, Claiming homage of mankind. Not alone we live for pleasure. Ever flowing, never done. But to seek eternal treasure Offered freely through God's Son. In each circle of life's season Let us common blessings share ; 'Tis but law of light and reason. We must thus, in using prayer. To the Author of Creation Raise the spirit's stirring lay. In adoring acclamation, For the glories of May-Day. CHRISTIAN UNITY. '* One Lord, one Faith, one Baptism." Sweetest token of our union With the Source from whom we sprung. Endless bond of one communion Made for ages yet unsung. 'Tis a heavenly inspiration Given to us at our birth, Binding this terrestrial nation. Making one of all on earth. CHRISTIAN UNITY. 13 E'en in Death we cannot sever Ties that bind us here below, Love, O Love ! thou Hvest ever ! Never fades thy radiant glow. " God is Love," we know it, feel it, And our spirits press it home ; If we feel, why not reveal it. Share it fully as we roam ? To the Church, in grace excelling, We are brought by Love Divine ; May we then in every dwelling Reproduce this priceless mine ! To each other give the treasure Which for Him we hold so dear ; " Grace for grace " and " mete for measure," " Perfect Love which casts out fear." In the Realms of Life Eternal, Waiting for the breaking Dawn, Joined to the Great Lord Supernal, Many are the friends we mourn. Still their souls with ours combined, Live in One Communion blest, And their hearts in ours confined, Work in union, though at rest. Christ is theirs, with them He reigneth, One in highest eternal bowers ; We believe His "Love constraineth," We are His and He is ours. Thus are we One Church fall blessed, Founded on "One Corner Stone," Members of One Lord confessed, Praising here and round the Throne. Love so pure, such glad elysian, Lives, ah ! lives beyond the sky ! We must fade, but its sweet vision Never can, shall 7iever die. 14 TENTATIVE POEMS. Being, Knowing, Loving Father, Three in One, and One in Three, Live we here — but O ! the rather Dwell with Thee in Unity. Amen. SEPARATION. " The Lord watch between thee and me when we are absent one from another." Farewell ! my heart's blood is welling Up, as if life itself were o'er ; Passion's warm stream is swelling Over, to rise perhaps no more ; The love which I cherish is torn By Parting so bitter to bear, O ! say not the vision I've worn Of thee from my soul I must tear. Adieu ! — O, detestable word, Too well I know thy import ; 'Tis forced on my mind as the sword Which carries afore it the fort. Though existence may still proceed Till checked by the Hand above. No more in my life I may read Of that holy feeling of love. Good-bye ! — ye gods, can it be ? — No, I cannot warm such a thought ; Can I from its fetters e'er free The heart, which thy beauty has bought ? No ! never, though Death's cruel pangs Should darken the landscape so fair. Too deeply rooted its fangs, O, I cannot, cannot despair ! REUNION. IS Stay ! 'tis thy answer so sweet, Enkindling the lamp on the wane ; My passion once more to its feet Doth rise ne'er to stumble again. Then Farewell ! let it be— not to joy- Revived indeed is my soul ; Contentment which nothing can cloy Is longing 'fore " Time " for its goal. REUNION. " If not on earth, in heaven we shall all meet again." The exquisite bliss of meeting With the friends long lost to our sight. The joy, the pleasure of greeting The dawn of Affection's sweet light : 'Tis known and felt by all creatures Who return to childhood's bright home, Reunion gives heavenly features To those who in loneliness roam. With all who are forced to depart From the scenes of their happier days, There's a hope which lies in the heart — 'Tis the thought of Reunion's rays ; It lights up the spirit downcast With desponding feelings of pain, Its ultimate glory dispels the past _ With the sweets of meeting again. In common we look for its morn. In silence we treasure its joys. And we think how soon to be shorn Is the heart of saddest alloys ; Separation will soon be o'er, We shall dwell in Reunion's shade. Our feet will be treading the shore And walks of youth's well-known glade. i6 TENTATIVE POEMS. Yet we wot not if we shall meet Again in our changeful career, For the hour of Death comes ever fleet, But we do know there's nought to fear ; For Jesus constrains us in love To follow His suffering train, And calls us to Heaven above Where all Christians meet again. "HOME, SWEET HOME!" " Lord, I will follow Thee ; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home." Tell me, ye roving creatures Who wander far and wide, Through lands with varied features. O'er ocean's stormy tide — Can aught on earth surpass it. Or cause the heart to roam ? E'en though stern duty takes it From your happy English Home ! Speak out, 0, answer truly — All ye who left with glee Your land in fit unruly, For " pleasures " on the sea : Have you not felt a craving, When riding o'er the foam, The ship, all dangers braving. Should bring you back to Home ? O, ask some banished transport If he would come once more To freedom sweet — to life, in short — On his dear native shore : Ah! with what face enlightened, His features lose their gloam — Would tell how he was brightened With happy thoughts of Home ! ON THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN PRIEST. 17 Yet once again, my brothers And sisters, are ye blest With Faith which truly smothers All evils in your breast ; With Hope which only trains us To leap Death's fearful comb ; With Love which now " constrains us ' To seek a better Home ? SUNSET FROM WILTSHIRE DOWNS. " The shades of night were falling fast." The Vesper-tide of April day is waning, And o'er these lovely Downs a glorious light Spreads tints of purpled crimson, staining Surrounding scenery in shades of night. 'd'pon secluded ridge of chalky earth I rest in easy posture, eyes upturned. And view the noble dawn of sunset's birth, A scene for which I've looked so long and yearned. A picture fair and beauteous indeed Presents itself full clear to gladdened sight : Alas ! too soon with cruel silent speed The Western ultra mantle brings the night. The welcome trance hath lost its magic power, And Spring bird's call, so sweet, dies in the breast ; The rich brown grass is bathed in dewy shower. Proclaiming in a soothing whisper : " Rest ! " ON THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN PRIEST. In a silent darkened room A happy Christian waits The joyous advent : not of doom — The opening of the Gates. 1 8 TENTATIVE POEMS. Long and weary has he waited The coming of sweet Death, And now he is translated And draws a final breath ; His dear ones around him stand, When lo ! a brilliant light Shines on his face, his hand Uplifts, for him is o'er the Night. He held the "plough " on Earth, And served his Master well ; That Master saw His servant's worth- Conquered are Death and Hell. Forth then from every nation, From worldly "pleasures" vain, From every rank and station, O, swell the Martyr train ; May we, when Christ appears, Like him be watching found. With "steadfast hopes," no fears, Longing for that sweet sound Of our Lord's bright loving Voice In the end of toil and strife : " Come, ye blessed ! come! Rejoice "Receive eternal life." IN A WILTSHIRE CHURCHYARD. In the midst of life we are in death : of whom may we seek for succour, but of Thee, O Lord ?" In a churchyard as I rested ('Twas in Wiltshire's lovely vale — O'er the Downy ridge chalk-crested Beamed the purple evening's pale), Came along in silent sorrow. Head inclined, a female form, At her darling's grave to borrow Peace for heart wrecked by Death's storm. IN A WILTSHIRE CHURCHYARD. ig Many tears of blinding anguish From her eyes flowed thick and fast, Caused my heart for hers to languish As she quietly by me passed. When my gaze upon her wandered (For she gave me 'quiring glance), Saw I then how Death had squandered Joys which now lay in his trance. Twenty paces most I counted, Ere her quest was at an end, Then upon the turned turf mounted Sank she down in prayer to bend ; In my memory lives for ages, By my vision then was sealed Picture sweet, worth all the pages Which cold Fiction hath revealed. Pointed out by East-turned arrow Fixed upon the vane above. Marked by flowers in garden narrow. Lay that mother's lifeless dove. On the marble cross she leaned, With her tearful eyes upturned, Asking strength of Him who weaned From her arms that which she yearned. Breaking on us — she still kneeling At the silent bed of Love — Came the strokes of first-watch pealing From the turret tower above. Slowly rose the watcher lonely. Comforted by " Peace be still ! " Soul within me whispering only — " Done, O Father, be Thy will." 20 TENTATIVE FOEMS. SONNET. How sweet to me the thought : those halcyon days, When in the secret lanes of heart's bright song I wander free their hidden paths among, And make this life for ever one of love : Expressed in words or written down in verse, My mind impression sweet, gives clear and terse. And lifts ideas up to Realms above — Where dwelling in that far serener clime The God of Love e'er rules the sands of time. And bids me on to wake in living lays In hearts of Human-kind of present age The light of Friendship on existence' stage. O, blessed Unity ! pure Love Divine ! Thy gift is bliss, indeed, to spirit mine. SONNET. " Not lost, but gone before." Dear faces ! which have faded from my sight. Are living yet, though never more I see Their well-known loving smiles, and share so free Their joys and sorrows in sweet Union's light. O, in that solemn hour when Death's great might Struck down each loved one with his varied blight — How felt my soul the cruel anguish then ! Each falling blow — as one by one the glen Of unknown Valley opened out its way, In darkness vast, to kis awaking eyes, And left my heart in lasting Memory's sway ; Sweet thoughts alone of them to cheer my life — Though still they speak, and ask me from the strife To join them (fain I would) beyond the skies. EVA MARGUERITE. 21 TO ELSIE MARY. 'Tis but a tiny seed That brings forth golden fruit, The richest, sweetest plant, If nourished well the root. And thou art but a seed, A tender human flower, Not lacking training care, But wanting Heaven's shower. O, many such there are ! Far older, dear, than thee, Who spring, and grow, and die — God's glories tiever see. Two years of innocence Have passed on wings of time, And brought thee greater strength, A smoother, grander rhyme. O, may this ever be, With thee and thine, dear child, A pure and holy lease Of life-long beauties mild ! Then, when that Soul's bouquet Is plucked by God above, May you on Altar bright Shine forth in endless Love. EVA MARGUERITE. (To Her Mother.) May this shoot which springeth up Be to you a joyful cup. Flowing with a nectar sweet From your Eva Marguerite. 22 TENTATIVE POEMS. May she be to you, her Mother, That you could not find in other, And her love repay the care Of her chrisomed soul so fair. As the rose is loved so dearly, Let this be her portion yearly. Ivy frail which twines the oak-tree. May with you her clinging yoke be. Pure as snowdrop's lovely petal. Dearer than all precious metal ; May to Heaven her little feet Guide an Angel Marguerite. TO D , ON HER BIRTHDAY. (Good Friday, 23RD March, 1883.) Oh ! stormy day of March, the twenty-third. Carrying our memories back to solemn scene On Calvary's mount, when all around was heard That agonizing Cry of bitterness supreme. Then picture to yourself the fearful sight ; What holier thought can occupy the mmd 1 When, 'midst the darkness vast, the Light of Light Hung on the Cross to suffer for mankind. Though fraught with happiness this day may be To you, whose natal morn it ushers in, Yet you, with blessings from above, may see In it a glorious day of vanquished sin. For He who died lives now in realms above, Ready to plead for His redeemed race, And on this day my wishes for and love To you are full of prayers for richest grace. TRUE AS STEEL. IN AN UNKNOWN HOUR. "And what I say unto you, I say unto all, — Watch !" Swiftly the moments of sweet life are fleeting ; Nearer we press on the banks of the River ; ■Surely the warning convening the Meeting Approaches and calls us to God to deliver ^^7 The soul from its prison of clay. Soon o'er fair Nature, the Reaper supernal Claims for the sickle of Death's powerful hand, Great Human harvest — the Spirit's diurnal — Removes from the scene in Eternity's band The sheaves in a twofold array. Apostles of ages long lost to our season, ^poke of this Advent, expecting Christ ever : "T^his be it now, as it was then, the reason To pray without ceasing Mercy to sever The earth cord and cast it away. Looking thus always, preparing in gladness, Sleeping or waking, in duty or pleasure — - Brethren, be ready in joy drowning sadness, Sentry the Spirit — that God bestowed treasure. And fight ! conquer ! watch ! work and pray ! TRUE AS STEEL. Amans, vivens vel moriens. Star of beauty ! beaming brightly, In thy light I e'er would live. Daily keep and watching nightly For the answer thou wilt give. Eaten up with Love's pure feeling. Patiently I bear my part ; Whilst thy form is surely keeling Deeper down withm my heart. 24 TENTATIVE POEMS. Years bring with them new boldness, Silence soon must glide away ; Can I fear rejection's coldness In the coming of that day ? Love the while sheds rays of gladness, Crouching silent in its lair ; Never shall it droop in sadness Whilst thou livest, lady fair. Faithful then in spirit's keeping, True as steel and pure as gold, Waking, walking, working, sleeping, Never can my love grow cold. If I fail, or death o'ertakes me. Ere my prayer to thee is made, Life is gone, yet Love awakes me, Where its glories never fade 1 MESSENGERS FROM EDEN. Messengers from Eden, came their silent feet, — Light from God attending, sent by Him to greet ; — In my chamber treading, now their vigils keep, With bright dreams of glory, Soul of mine asleep. Though the spell of Presence, wonderful and bright, Wraps me up in silence through the livelong night. Yet I speak in language, known to those above — Words full strange and simple, whisperings of love. Could their charming glory ever with me stay. Then would I sleep always, banish thought of day ; But their task is over ere the morning dawns, And they leave my bedside for Ethereal Lawns ; Then my Soul no longer keeping consort dear With those subtle guardians, starts as if in fear, Wakes from peaceful slumber, losing vision's sight Of their Heavenly Faces, Angels of sweet Light. SONNET. 25 FRAGMENTS OF SONG. " Let us gather up the fragments." Gathered from Nature's beautiful world, Plucked from the light of the Heavenly sun, , Seen far above in sky cloud unfurled, Fragments of Song for poems are won. """Turned into shape by well-inspired soul, Come from the pen in solitude's hour, Nursed into flame from the lay fired coal, Fragments of Song in purified shower. Truth, clad in poesy's glorious robe. Brings to the heart some new thought in verse, Made from the visions of unknown globe. Fragments of Song full sweet and yet terse. Silent we roam in circles of love, To snatch from breath of music a lay ; We gather on Earth for Heaven above Just one sweet Song to sing on that Day. SONNET. " That we all may be one." " The rich and poor meet together : " equal made As children of One Family to be. By Him who rules the earth, and sky, and sea, Nor rank nor poverty divides their shade Of Life Eternal, but One common grade — " One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism," the sign^ Is given to all the Adam-born race. And each receives on merits Love and Grace ; Then, why diverging paths should draw a line. And make God's creatures foes to Friendship's sway, Hath puzzled oft my thoughtful heart and mind, And yet solution sought is hard to find ; 'Tis true our hearts are cold, but Love will bia I All Souls in Union on the Judgment Da}'. 26 TENTATIVE POEMS. SONNET. In Memory of All Souls. " Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." Beyond the skies of Paradise, now blest, The Souls we knew and loved await the end Of all that lives ; whilst we in anguish bend To that dread time, with hopes and fears ; the rest We leave to Him who knoweth what is best. And though we can but mourn, yet do we share Communion sweet with all those loved ones there ; 'Tis thus we pray, a pure and sacred test That memory lives in love's undying reign Beyond those peaceful climes, where sin's dark chain Is snapped by union, stronger than hell's power; And each dear Soul is watered by the shower Of that same Love, which bids us lay the flower In token, that we follow in their train. ON THE DEPARTURE OF A DEAR FRIEND. (To H. C. G.) God speed thy steps ! Which now upon their way Divide with mine, and wander o'er strange paths : Once well content I followed at thy side And loved to walk, but now that love hath died To live no more. O, Parting sting ! Thy cruel dart hath sped — And gave to life within my better self A cup of bitter trial, in place of one Who checked my falls, became my faith's britht sun And beacon light. Yet wish thee back ! No more, dear friend, no more — TO MY AMANUENSIS. 27 Not till the " coins " are found thou long'st to search : In all my Partings — Soul, forget it not ! — I never suffered loss, as thou hast — What ? God only knows. Thy farewell words Shall live till night o'ertakes This tempted brother thine and gives him sleep And rest above, in Paradise for aye, But not before he follows in thy way Thus may it be, — Farewell ! TO MY AMANUENSIS. " Beneath the rule of men, entirely great, The Pen is mightier than the Sword." .0- When Kam, the god of writing, ope'd to men The noble art of speaking with the Pen, Perfection thenceforth took another bound. And word by word was uttered, bar the sound. As craft and skill increased, this new-born art Grew dearer and dearer in every part ; 'Twas then to all the greater in th' nation A marking of birth and education. Still Time rolled on to ages which were fraught With men of richer mind and deeper thought. And wider scope was giv'n whereby to spread Thy fame. Amanuensis of the Head ! And now henceforward in zenith of praise We make use of the Pen in various ways ; 'Tis known to every creature of our race, In every home it holds an honoured place. By it are kingdoms lost and empires won, Parliaments are ended, new reigns begun, Battles are fought, victories gained by sword. But 'tis the simple Pen whicn gives the word. 28 TENTATIVE POEMS. Life by its agency is ofttimes lost, Loving hearts are bitten in lines of frost ; Its magic deeds are great, and yet in size It speaks no power, doth this little prize. In many a word, to utter puts to fright The parson, lawyer, doctor ; yet to write By thee what they would speak, full easy is. Soul of expression. Amanuensis ! The subject of a great Shakespearian lay, Which still shall live in many a future day : " Beneath the iron rule of powerful men Far mightier than the Sword I count the Pen." A BIRTHDAY GREETING. " Many happy returns of the day." Strike deep, ye chilly wind , And bite strong Hatred's breeze, Ye never shall to find — Succeed my Love to freeze ! What though the World may turn To crush my lonely lay ! What though cold hearts may spurn My Love, my Life away ! Nor power nor death can kill The GoD-gift in my soul. Not e'en my stubborn will, — My Love, my Life, my Whole. 'Tis mine, this sweetest flower. To share with thee, dear friend ; Its fragrance in this hour I in true Love now send. A STRA Y THOUGHT IN VERSE. 29 God speed thee, bless thee, dear ! As years by years roll on, And be to thee most near When other Love is gone. Sweet Death e'en now doth bring To many, a Vale more new, And yet my hope doth ring With richest Life for you. That He who gives us Love Grant thee a joyous lease Henceforth, and then above A sweet, eternal Peace. A STRAY THOUGHT IN VERSE. As musing on a country seat, 'mongst those With whom I live in friendly ties. And smoking as I rested, there arose Within my mind a view ; my eyes Glanced round our little circle, soon to tell Me that the thought was true ; for there, As each one blew away the cloud that fell From out his mouth, with tender care He looked upon the pipe with loving eye To note the tinge around its bowl, And wished the time to come when he'd descry A deeper shade, a hue of coal : Methought, 'tis strange to give such frequent glance At this a meerschaum, or e'en a clay ! — Still do we love to watch ; the passing trance We each enjoy, and count a day But dull unless we spend a leisure hour In " colouring " pipes — (yes ! colouring pain Diurnal lends the mind). The power Is great and pleasurable, and the gain Is comfort, soft and sweet indeed. 30 TENTATIVE POEMS. 'Twas thus I mused. My silent breast Awakes from peace as one and all with speed To work again proceed ; the rest T need not sketch herein, for work is known To be a stubborn fact, no scene May picture it, but its seed, if sown ^Vith wisdom, when we come to glean, Will pay us better than an idle pipe For all the trouble spent on it. COMFORT. In the quiet of the evening, When the troublous day is o'er, Comfort comes in varied garments Once within the welcome door. Be it mansion, hall, or cottage, All as one I feel at peace. If my treasures there await me When from toil I seek release. What my comfort is I'll tell you If you lend impartial ear, What it is that makes me happy Over all I hold as dear. First the faces beaming welcome, And the news diurnal lends ; Then the loving smiles of friendship In the greets of dearest friends. Next the cheerful fire in winter, Or the warmth of summer sky, Glances at the evening paper As upon the couch I lie. Nothing gaudy, noisy, baneful, Simple comfort is my guest ; When the brain from study ceases, What is better than sweet rest ? TRUE TO THE CORE. 31 But the crowning gift which Nature Puts in Comfort's plenteous hand, Is a pipe of fragrant Mixture Stamped with Hignett's well-known brand. Then dull thoughts in blue clouds vanish, And each smoker has his share, Leaving brain light occupation ;r.' Building castles in the air. Such is comfort pure and simple, Coupled with a thankful heart — For the lonely and the mated, Each may in it take his part. TRUE TO THE CORE As I was in days now past — Then you found me ever true — So shall I in fond love last. Till my life is hid in you. Then no more in cruel chains I may dread the bonds of hate. As o'er Afric's poisoned plains For thy hand I, wandering, wait. Now upon my throbbing soul Breaks e'en soon cold Parting's sting. And those distant sights of goal Fly away on Fortune's wing. 'Tis my wish alone to live. If to be, in Love's sweet flood. But the rather would I give That same life in Martyr's blood. 32 TENTATIVE POEMS. ACROSTICAL POEMS. Birthday Greetings. A NNIE, when joys to me of friendship were unknown, N ew Hfe within my heart by you was sown ; N e'er lost my love and memory of that day I n which you shed on me a Sister's ray — E nkindles even here, to send fond wishes for this new- born year. D ear Sister and friend, my warmest greeting I pour out to you from true loving heart, N ew joys be yours, as the past years fleeting A gain thy natal-morn new songs impart. C lear and sweet may the torrent of Ages L end to thy manhood a glorious ray, A ngels of song give aid to the pages U nfolded by thee in poesy's lay ; D rawing thy spirit from earth up above, E ver may life to thee be one of love. DOUBLE ACROSTIC. L OVE stronger than Death ! gentle thy sweetest breat H O nward moves thy ray, eclipsing every chimer A V irtue none more fit, beaming thy light once li T E ver ruling fate, may'st thou always conquer HATE VACATION-TIDE. IN YORKSHIRE DALES. When comes this welcome tide My happy hours approach ; I hail the homeward ride, Though slowly runs " the coach." VACATION-TIDE. IN YORKSHIRE DALES. 33 The native land of dales O'er which I used to roam, Is full of ancient tales Of ancestors' proud home. A visit soon to pay To thee, O brightest spot, The thought — ecstatic ray ! Matures projected plot. To Airedale, then, to haste Shall be my primal quest ; And there, indeed, I'll taste Of nectar I love best. For in the rugged fen. Nigh Otterburn's bright stream, There stands, 'midst lovely glen, The home of parent's dream. I glanced around the site, 'Twas charming, simple, neat, And thought my soul's delight Could ne'er be more complete. The distant scene my eyes Beheld, and seemed to scale The limestone grit in skies Above, of Malham-dale. Then Gordale Scar to view Soon lent a painter's hand. And made a picture true Of that, my father's land. My heart was lost in thought, Scarce gave a beat or sound, With love and joy both fraught For dear old Craven round. The Muses led me on, No sense had I of time — Suggesting pro and C07i In simple, flowing rhyme. TENTATIVE POEMS. And I in silence walked Enraptured by their tales, Which they in spirit talked Awhile in Yorkshire Dales. Live on, ye sons of toil, Proud Craven well may boast, The tillers of her soil Ne'er yet disgraced " a SONNET. " Caritas Christi urget nos." Near to the ancient ridge of Wiltshire Downs (O'er which the Channel breeze brings vigorous air And gives a healthy tone ;— for living there Requires such aid) there stands a House of " Gowns," Whereon the god of Classics smiles or frowns ; S. Boniface, to wit : wherein the youth Of every nation, town, or rich or poor. Are trained to carry o'er the trackless moor Of Heathen lands the Gospel news of Truth. The site is good, the peaceful town doth bring No worldly strife to mar the Students' work ; Though cruel oft it is, they dare not shirk The toil ; while Jew and Gentile, Greek and Turk, Await the glorious news :— " The Lord is King ! " THE STUDENT'S WORK. With fixfed eye and concentrated mind He scans the mystic type of Classic's age, Striving with every energy to find A foothold on the famous learned stage. The look of interest which now doth fall On his pale visage, tells the soul is deep In mines of thought— regardless of the call Of Morpheus inviting him to sleep. THE STUDENTS RECREATION. 35 He cools his heated brain, O soothing balm ! He trains the Avick of shaded oil-lamp bright, And fully loves the round-all reigning calm Which now pervades the stillness of the night. Clear and distinct each thought is quickly grasped, His meditative mind the pages scan ; His head he presses close with hands well clasped, .„ And feeds within the intellectual pan. This is the student busy at his work, And yet to those who flee the sight of books He seems it not, and 'pears his task to shirk ; His cheeks are pale and thin, and sad he looks. With note-book full of jottings — now content To rest awhile — he gives to Sleep his prize. And soon his soul absorbs— in dreams are lent. Sweet visions of that Home beyond the skies. THE STUDENT'S RECREATION. When from the morn of labour forth to roam He comes with Freedom's jovial tread, intent On gathering from the glades of Wiltshire home Kind Nature's aid for life in study bent. His being drinks inspiring ethic song Which floats around the scene in tuneful lay, His mind — from silent meditation long — Receives the light of Recreation's ray. With limbs full vigorous from athletic grass He keeps the sharpened pace of stored mind, And leaves far back, as footsteps quickly pass — The haunts of men. Seclusion's path to find ; Where raised above the stand of idle wits He sees sweet beauty where no beauty lies. And revels in the light of sun that flits In changing tints across bright azure skies. 36 TENTATIVE POEMS. At length the pouch of intellect is full, As College turned he quits the quiet shade ; His Spirit wakes from resting's gentle lull, And shapes acquired thought the brain hath made. Refreshed he enters duty's path once more, To grapple bold with Classic's noble rod, A thankful whisper springs from heart of lore : "Fair Nature's treasures show the Hand of God!" SONNET. "Summon up remembrance of things past." The morn approaching when takes place the test Of what the brain hath kept throughout the course, O'ercomes the stoutest heart, so great the force Of agitation, caused by night's unrest : The hand alone oft guides the pen, at best The answers framed by it are vague indeed. It flies along the paper with a speed That proves but little in this knowledge quest ; But hazy notions show, nor here nor there. Whose startling statements raise the honoured hair Of those who put the quests, and cast a gloom Hereafter on the disappointed crowd, Who cry in accents bitter, " We are ploughed ! " And this the cause : — Examination Room. IN COLLEGE GATES. When fantastic dreams and fancies Of young childhood's happy days Fade away 'mid change and chances. Tread we then more sober ways. Then no more we waste the golden Moments which old Time imparts, But we work to shake the olden Idle thoughts without our hearts. EPIC POEM. 37 Thus upon a course of duties Each one enters in his turn, Losing " life " with dangerous beauties- Getting sad, and staid, and stern. * * # * * School was but the faintest shadow Of the present daily round ; Trod I then on gentle meadow. Now I plough in stubborn ground. In the Common Room as reading Up the Lecture for the morn. Oft the thought most others leading " AVould that I had not been born ! " For the pile on board before me Worry bring and sense distress, Dread of future life comes o'er me As I read each stiff address. Yet whilst life remains, I may not Give to Death a treasured Hope : Soon my efforts, if I stay not. Bring me — must — to highest slope. Then, though I shall fret to leave thee, Dear old College ! far to roam. And no more these studies grieve me, Still, dear place, I lose a Home. EPIC POEM. " Honour to whom honour is due." To Subscribers. To those who have in kindness lent A name to grace my simple page, I e'en desire with grateful bent To thank, as now on stepping stage My efforts hold by feeble grasp A place not won, I fain would clasp In this my Tentative. 38 . TENTATIVE POEMS. To Readers. To all hereafter who may read The Verse set forth within, I say Glad thanks for aid, and yet I plead For careful judgment; critique play Is free to roam, for truth is dear To all who write ; I need not fear Impartiality. To Friends. From those who know and love the Verse But for the sake of him who writes, I seek no praise, save duly terse : The thoughts of friends are not invites To fame — and this is but my quest, I leave to God to work the rest • For this my Tentative. THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. Thoughts, thoughts ; ah ! bitter pangs of days gone t>y, To fade alone in Death ye leave the brain ; 'Midst present cares and locked-up future years Ye come unsought, ye visions of life's pain. When happy days of childhood occupied Your busy glance, then were ye welcome here — Or youthful pleasures thronged your story's page, Ah ! then., my soul, what hadst thou with such fear ? But soon — and soon it was indeed to me — Ye travel on from child and youth to Man, And stare me in the face with sad reproach Of wasted time and talents lost to scan. # * « * * Yet let the Past he past, I would not call To life again those bygone hours of woe ; Nor would I let old Memory's curtain drop On thoughts which may or may not serve to show A better path of life, which still shall bring My idle wits to seek from stores above A something worthy of the name of " Man," A work — and not a work — its object Love. THE POET. 39 THE POET. " Poeta nascitur non fit." 'Midst the band of earthly creatures There is one whose work is song, One who clothes in choicest features Thoughts which crowd his soul among ; One who strives in adverse station To complete his dearest theme, Caring not for situation Void of Music's mystic dream ; One whose life is death's existence, For "We know him not," they say ; One who braves the world's resistance In his hope for triumph's day. Rhymes fantastic in their glory Swell the stream of poesy's pen, Lines which tell the Poet's story. All unknown to fellow-men. But there comes a time of sadness, For the Poet lives no more — Sings no more his lays of gladness, As his custom was of yore. Then, ah ! then his words are treasured And his name in memory's breath Lives too late for him now measured In the grave of fameless Death. fist oi ^ubscviljfvs to tbis Volume. COPIES The Most Noble the Mar- chioness of Bath The Rt. Hon. the Lord Heytesbury . Sir Fred. James Night- ingale, Bart. . The Rev. C. W. Moffatt, M.A., LL.D. 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