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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 THREE ALL SAINTS' SUMMERS.
 
 THREE 
 
 ALL-SAINTS' SUMMERS, 
 
 VXD OTHER TEACHINGS OF NATUBE 
 TO A BUSY MAN. 
 
 LONDON : 
 JOHN MORGAN, 10, PATERNOSTER ROAV 
 WILLIAM SKEFFINGTON, 163, PICCADILLY.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ROBERT K. BUET, PRINTER, 
 
 HOLBORN HILL.
 
 
 DEDICATOBY LETTEE. 
 
 IO THE 
 
 REVEEEND BENJAMIN HALL KENNEDY, D.D., 
 
 HEAD MASTER OF SHSEWSBFET SCHOOL, PBEBENDARY OF 
 LICHFIELD. 
 
 *" Bear Dr. Kennedy, 
 
 There can be few of your old pupils 
 who would hesitate to acknowledge that to your training at 
 school they mainly owe whatever they have been able to 
 accomplish in after life. It is in grateful memory of that 
 training, but with a thorough consciousness of the unworthi- 
 ness of this slender fruit of it, that I venture to dedicate the 
 following verses to you. 
 
 937
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 All-Saints' Summer. 1847 
 
 1 
 
 All-Saints' Summer. 1849 
 
 ... 4 
 
 All-S~aixts' Summer. 1854 
 
 ... 7 
 
 '--'Golden-Saxifrage 
 
 .. 11 
 
 AIouxtaix-Paxsies 
 
 .. 13 
 
 The First Spring Day 
 
 .. 15 
 
 The Alps 
 
 .. 22 
 
 Llaxfihangel 
 
 ... 25 
 
 Shelsley Beauchamp 
 
 ... 28 
 
 A Day's Ixfluexce 
 
 .. 34 
 
 Sunset 
 
 .. 37 
 
 Cader Idris 
 
 .. 39 
 
 Retrospect 
 
 .. 41 
 
 Habberly Valley 
 
 .. 44 
 
 The Winter Birthday 
 
 .. 48 
 
 Hymn of Praise (Northern Lights) 
 
 .. 53 
 
 Christmas Holly 
 
 .. 56 
 
 A Dream 
 
 .. 60 
 
 [NO Bide 
 
 .. 64 
 
 The Setting of the Moon 
 
 .. 68 
 
 Homeward 
 
 .. 7(»
 
 vni 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Funeral of a Child in Spring 
 
 The Thunder Cloud 
 
 Lucerne by Moonlight 
 
 Stars and Graves ... 
 
 The Home View 
 
 The Children's Garden 
 
 Sunset at Durham 
 
 Henboth 
 
 Sunday Night . . . 
 A Sunbeam 
 
 Evening 
 
 Night at Durham 
 a ssociation 
 
 PiGE 
 
 73 
 76 
 
 78 
 80 
 82 
 87 
 89 
 92 
 94 
 96 
 97 
 99 
 100
 
 THREE ALL-SAINTS' SUMMERS. 
 
 ^ALL-SAINTS' SUMMER. 1847. 
 
 'Tis strange, yet this is now the second year 
 That I have mark'd the sweetness of this day. 
 Yea, all the mellow warmth around me shed, 
 The soft late gleams of Autumn, doubly soft 
 After Long mists and gloom, the gentle fall 
 (if leaves, and earthy scent of those long fallen, — 
 All these have seeni'd to cancel a whole year; 
 And uow I see all things that then I saw, 
 Th<>' far away the scene. I seem to stand 
 Where 1 then stood, beside the well-known way 
 That leads from the old city that we lov'd 
 !'■ Iil'-y village. Aye, the very trees 
 
 D
 
 ALL-SAINTS SUMMER. 
 
 Along the hedge-row stand there with their stems, 
 Their close-lopp'd stems, — all ruddy in the sun ; 
 Even the matted coarse and yellow grass 
 I see beside the pathway lank and wet. 
 Then too, as now, for days and days the sun 
 Had star'd at noontide with a cold dull stare 
 Thro' the great fog, the chilling Autumn's breath 
 Weaving the damp into a web of grey. 
 And then too with the golden morn, as now, 
 Had joy come up. The ring of early bells 
 Was clear and cheerful, and the gleamy noon 
 Had drawn across the city and the hill 
 The rich light of a purple atmosphere. 
 The river shone with more than wonted blue ; 
 And still I heard the dreamy beU-tones chime 
 Distantly from the city. Here and there 
 A few bright insects glanc'd in mazy paths 
 Athwart the sloping sun-beams, — their last dance. 
 All was so soft and wondrous still that scarce 
 A single thorn-leaf trembled to the ground : 
 One almost loolc'd among the fallen leaves 
 For early violets. 
 
 Oh ! is there not 
 Peace in such gentle days for hearts that grieve I
 
 ALL-SAINTS SUMMER. 
 
 Is there not Spring-like hope for eyes that weep ? 
 
 Surely a shadow of that sweet calm rest 
 
 The Saints have enter'd, whose long toils are o'er. 
 
 Is faintly strewn upon the peaceful earth 
 
 At this soft season ; — surely some far tones 
 
 Of the great music that the Angels make 
 
 With golden harps before the mighty throne 
 
 Still circle in the gulfs of breathless air.
 
 ALL-SAINTS' SUMMER. IS 10. 
 
 Again with tender calm, and shining tears, 
 And sad smiles, like the first that wistful break 
 In sorrow-stricken homes, peaceful and pure, 
 The ' All-Saints' Summer ' comes. Oh ! I have loved 
 Its mellow sadness many a year gone by, 
 Unknowing that it bare in its sweet smile 
 The promise of the light of all my life, — 
 A Spring-tide, not a ' Summer,' of my heart. 
 
 Glory is in the great earth, and the sky, 
 And light and sound gush onward with a tide 
 Flowing to meet the stream of happy hearts 
 And lift their bright waves to the golden sun. 
 Where hath the Spring-tide tarried ? For the leaves 
 Are searing fast, yet woodlands were not green 
 Till now that Summer-time is pass'd away. 
 Why doth the grand orb, falling thro' the sky, 
 Double his ancient gold I Ye trembling drops,
 
 ALL-SAINTS' SVaTMER. 
 
 Where was of old your lustrous coronal ? 
 Ye Autumn flowers, -whence have ye learnt new tints ! 
 Ye wild birds, why more rich and true your song? 
 Tell me, O thou that coniest to my side 
 So quietly upon the terrace-walk, 
 That looketh o'er the hills and meadow-lands, 
 Tell me from whence they borrow all the light 
 They wear this day. Oft have I seen them fair, 
 Never so passing fair. Yea, seest thou 
 .The gloV of ruddy beeches, and the oak 
 Sytill deep ly green, and poplar's yellow sheen, 
 ' \ nd scarlet-berried hedge-rows ? Seest thou 
 The mellow sun-ray on the ferny hill, 
 And shadows sleeping dark and silently 
 Upon the rocky summit far away ? 
 
 est thou how the level cloud-banks shoot 
 Their silver darts, and yonder uplands dim 
 Lie glooming in the half-lit sombre haze ? 
 
 Oh ! ever, if God will, as years go by, 
 The 'All-Saints' Summers' shall be sacred days. 
 And thou shalt stand beside me, as to-day, 
 Upon the terrace-walk, and we will note 
 Sow all the might and beauty of the world 
 La lmt in part without us, for the scene
 
 all-saints' summer. 
 
 Still draweth half its glory from the heart. 
 And from the heav'n above shall stream on us 
 Calm radiance, — not the Spring-tide's passion-glow, 
 But ' All-Saints' Summer s ' holy peace of love.
 
 ALL-SAINTS' SUMMER. 1S54. 
 
 ^« 
 
 O Seasox, long time sacred to my heart, 
 Whose soft sad radiance hath a spell to stir 
 The pulses of my inmost soul, once more 
 *JThou.«coniest with thy wondrous dreamy calm, 
 'LisosHig' the frozen spring of song to flow 
 '.bout my heart, tho' with a sadder tone 
 Than it was wont to flow in years gone by. 
 For thou hast been to me a name of joy, 
 Thou 'Summer of All-Saints.' But, as life passeth, 
 'Tis well if joy give place to gentler peace. 
 And oh ! how full of peace and holy calm 
 Is this sweet day ! The sunlight softly strewn 
 On all the golden leaves, — the last fair flowers, 
 AJ well lov'd as the first of Spring, — 
 
 The few gnats sailing in the breathless air,— 
 The tranc<jil rest of Nature, now her work 
 l well-nigh done, smiling in peaceful ho 
 of her to-morrow, yet with half-shed tears
 
 all-saints' summer. 
 
 Glist'ning for all the glory that is gone, — 
 
 [ could believe the great world's heart beat low 
 
 Instinct with the sanie thoughts that flood thro' mine. 
 
 The holy ones at rest ! How meet a day 
 
 For thoughts of rest ! O God, shall we repine 
 
 That one whom we have lov'd (how deeply loved !) 
 
 This year hath join'd that blissful company ? 
 
 We know that it is well, and yet we weep, 
 
 And our weak hearts, that, on the wings of faith, 
 
 Should soar into the vast eternal calm 
 
 Of Paradise, are hovering o'er a grave, 
 
 A little grave beside the shining sea. 
 
 Oh ! how it comes — the rushing memory 
 
 Of that thought-crowded time, that dreamlike time, 
 
 When, by the glorious mountains far away, 
 
 We watch'd our child until the end was come. 
 
 All up the many-faced mountain slopes 
 
 The golden gorse and purple heather gleam'd 
 
 Amidst the sunny rocks. Oh ! it was fair ;— 
 
 We knew that it was fair, — and yet to us 
 
 There was a mystic sadness in its beauty. 
 
 Until one day when hope burn'd up again, 
 
 And then I climb'd the highest mountain-point, 
 
 And all the earth was glad with me, the air
 
 ALL-SAINTS SUMMER. 
 
 Sang out with joy, the sun with lustrous ray 
 Lit up the peaked ranges far around, 
 The wild-birds sang with cheery note, the leaves 
 Danc'd as the breeze went by. Oh ! how my heart 
 Joy.'d in the wild hill-side and rocky points 
 O'erlooking the broad sea and dotted lakes 
 And villages and farms and hills and sdades ! 
 The sun shone on the earth, and, bright as it. 
 Hope shone upon my heart, 
 
 - - -* 
 ^ -„. Next day I knew not 
 
 Whether the sun were bright, or earth were fair. 
 
 r Twas very dark with me : I dare not write it. 
 
 And now he sleepeth in a little grave 
 
 Beside the shining sea, the broad bright sea 
 
 And o'er the sea there are the distant hills 
 
 Where the sun sinketh down so solemnly, 
 
 And in his sinking seemeth to unveil 
 
 Deep spaces of more glorious heavens beyond. 
 
 The holy ones at rest I Oh, happy sound .' 
 And is <n:r child with them — our own own cliil<l ! 
 Fea, and in realms whose beauty passeth far 
 (How far \\<- cannot know) the earthly beaut} 
 
 b 2
 
 10 all-saints' summer. 
 
 Of his fair resting-place ; — whose utter peace 
 Is very faintly shaclow'd by the calm 
 And gentle radiance of this holy day ; — 
 There doth his spirit rest. 
 
 And evermore, 
 While life shall last, upon the happy thoughts 
 And memories this day bringeth us shall pass 
 A shadow sad, and yet how beautiful !
 
 11 
 
 GOLDEN-SAXIFRAGE. 
 
 (Pont-Vaen. 
 
 Where budding alders drop their trellis' d shadows on the 
 stream, 
 'By Jhe^maxgin of the narrow meadow's golden breadth of 
 
 -^h^HH ; 
 
 c 
 
 "Where round about the mossy stones the glimmering watei 
 
 whirls 
 With bubbles making rings of light and strewing shadowy 
 
 pearls ; 
 Where thro' the sunlights and the shadows, by the ancient 
 
 roots, 
 Under the grey arch fring'd with fern the arrowy oust] 
 
 shoots ; 
 Where the larch's glorious greenness shines all up the 
 
 slanting height, 
 Greenness shining not a colour but a tender living light; 
 Where the sorrel hangs its graceful bells ; ere y< I with 
 
 dr ■■ my glow,
 
 12 GOLDEN-SAXIFRAGE. 
 
 The purple haze of hyacinths floats in the wood below ; — 
 There mid the margin-mosses, far from dusty ways of men, 
 The Saxifrage with lavish wealth of gold endows the glen. 
 Ah ! Eiver, on thy glimmering banks, and down thy glis- 
 tening sands, 
 Bring not the golden grains to lure unloving eager hands ; 
 But ever pour about thy niarge the flush of golden flowers, 
 To make the heart rich with sweet thoughts to store for 
 dimmer hours.
 
 13 
 
 MOUNTAIN-PANSIES. 
 
 (MOBLYDD.) 
 
 Up among the dainty mountain-mosses, 
 Where the freshest breezes ever blow, 
 ,» On the slopes that front the open heavens, 
 ^ J£h.ere, like gems, the purple jiansies grow. 
 
 All around are glorious mountain-ranges, 
 
 Some in shade and some with sunlight brow'd, 
 
 And soft gleams of green and gold and purple 
 Fall thro' windy rents of drifting cloud. 
 
 Rough and lichen'd rocks, in knolls and ledges, 
 All their hollows crowded up with fern, 
 
 Break the springy turf, and round about them 
 Golden-blossom'd gorses brightly burn. 
 
 There, with keen eye gazing on the distance, 
 Standing ol the wild and breezy down, 
 
 You can see full many a home and hamlet, — 
 See the dim spires of the far-off town.
 
 1 4 MOUNTAIN-PANSIES. 
 
 It is here, where all is free and open, 
 
 Here, where wild winds ever come and go, 
 
 Here, with nought between them and the heavens, 
 That the gemlike purple pansies grow. 
 
 Open all thy soul to God's great glory ^ 
 Let all heavenly influence round thee pour, 
 
 Then thy heart, like the wide breezy mountain, 
 Shall with gemlike thoughts be studded o'er.
 
 15 
 
 THE FIRST SPRING DAY. 
 
 " Heaven lies about us in our infancy." 
 
 Is Winter dreaming of sweet summer hours, 
 ,* As guilty men may dream of innocence, 
 <■ -..JThjj&.-perfect day, that stealeth soft and still 
 In between moaning winds and skies of grey, 
 Tenderly fair, like a celestial clime 
 Islanded in a sullen wintry sea? 
 Tis such a day as this that melts the heart 
 Hard beaten with the tramp of passing years, 
 Stirring its pulses with such trembling joy 
 They needs must break forth into flowers of sung. 
 
 I stand alone, and gather to my soul 
 The strange sweet influences that are pour'd 
 Around me in the soft and shining calm. 
 Silence is on the hill, whose western slopes 
 Are strewn with dreamy li/.dits like ^is-tinn
 
 16 THE FIRST SPRING DAY. 
 
 Whose swelling knolls are lit each with his crown 
 
 Of slanting rays, above the hollow curves 
 
 Fill'd with dim shadows, which stretch far away 
 
 To where the eastern scar falls off abrupt 
 
 In purple gloom. Silence is on the hill, 
 
 And in the trees, that, mid' the lichen'd crags, 
 
 Themselves as bare and gaunt, stand singly out 
 
 And burn with ruddy fire. And deep below 
 
 In narrow hollow, mass'd in sombre shade, 
 
 Black yew-trees brood like Night, the tender mist 
 
 Of sunrays dimly streaking their broad crowns 
 
 Over the grassy ridge ; and from their feet 
 
 A little stream comes creeping ever on 
 
 From stone to stone with tremulous whispering ; 
 
 While up against their blackness, in the calm 
 
 Of airy space suffus'd with golden haze, 
 
 Dim insects float like wandering sparks of fire. 
 
 I note each separate grace ;— yet, while I stand 
 And marvel, over all there passeth down 
 A might of tranced calm, a silent awe, 
 A dreamy mystery of grief dike joy, 
 That thro' the utter stillness and the gleam 
 Poureth around the heart a trembling sense
 
 • THE FIRST SPRING DAY. 17 
 
 Of fair things far away. Oh ! strange sweet power 
 In that which is itself so very fair 
 To banish all the present, and bring near 
 Only the farthest distance ! Why is it 
 That when the scene, with all its mellow lights 
 And glorious hues, and with its subtile charm 
 Of tender influences strewn around, 
 Might well content with only that which is,— 
 Why is it that the spirit in such hour 
 *_ w »'Eo *hat which is not floateth far away, 
 
 "feis#ffmg intent to delicate undertones 
 
 '- „ . 
 
 •'That vibrate now from all the viewless strings 
 Which bind it ever to the golden past ? 
 Where is the touch that plays those wondrous strings, 
 Whisp'ring along the spaces far away 
 In airy music, sad, aye unto teal's, 
 Yet oh ! how perfect ! — Where the mystic power 
 That bears the wistful heart so far far off, 
 Like to some bird that on its poised wings 
 All motionless is ever onward borne 
 By airy stream, till, passing from all ken, 
 It seems to vanish thro' some opal gate 
 Of sunset heavens? — 'Tis that such a day 
 Standeth apart from that on either side,
 
 18 THE FIRST SPRING DAY. 
 
 All unlike in its aspect, its soft calm 
 Cheating the heart with sweet forgetfulness, 
 And in its very strangeness banishing 
 The sense and memory of present things, 
 The chills of yesterday, the morrow's rain. 
 It cometh in its strangeness like a dream 
 Apart from all before and after it, 
 Too strange, too bright, too tender, to belong 
 To present things, — its very air suffus'd 
 With trembling fragile visions of fair scenes 
 Long past and far away, — its thrilling stillness 
 Instinct with rneniories, too sad for joy, — 
 Too sweet for sorrow, — yet all undefin'd, 
 Half-memories of all bright and far-off things, 
 Of strange sweet feelings, such as this day stirs, 
 Felt long ago :— I call them memories, 
 Yet, as they come, they seem to pass away 
 In infinite longings, hopes that reach far forth 
 Into a mystic void that only seems 
 That which I want, — and very far away. 
 The present is all gone ; and thro' my soul 
 Two voices pour their intense harmony, 
 "Wordless, yet taking captive all my being 
 With their great song, — ev'n Memory and Hope !
 
 THE FIRST SPRING DAT. I!) 
 
 Oh ! why so rarely now come days like this '. 
 Why must the daily round of trivial cares 
 And outward duties hang like a dark veil 
 Shutting away from me the loving light 
 Of. Nature's earnest face, which once I lov'd 
 How eagerly ! For 'twas not always so. 
 My childhood's home was in a town, but there 
 A garden-terrace look'd o'er meadow-lands 
 Out to a hill, whose hollow banks were rich 
 AVith knots of varied foliage. I should pass 
 
 ^ueh^scene a hundred times scarce notic'd now. 
 
 ~But that was then my secret store of joy, 
 And thither I would run alone each day, 
 And oft-times in a day, to taste anew 
 The deep mysterious draught of my delight. 
 There too I well remember how my heart 
 Leapt up exulting, with a startled joy 
 And sudden thrill that held the breath, to see 
 Cracking the wintry earth with points of green 
 Tin- venturous spirelets of the crocus-buds. 
 
 O glorious joys of childhood, what are ye i 
 O tender lights, that floated round my path, 
 < > heavenly beauty, strewn before my feet,
 
 20 THE FIRST SPRING DAV. 
 
 O love intense, the dower of childish years, 
 Whence came ye ? Whither have ye pass'd away i 
 To-day I seem to set my foot once more 
 Within the borders of your fairy-land. 
 Oh ! tell me, ere ye go, ye fleeting guests, 
 What message bear ye ? Are ye shatter'd lights 
 From a more luminous sphere, — faint memories 
 Of that which man once was, when from God's hand 
 Godlike he came, and streams of heav'n's owu light 
 Play'd round him still I Are ye dim memories 
 Coming all intertwin'd with splendid hopes 
 Which may abide, when ye are seen no more ] 
 Yea, I will wrest an answer, ere ye pass, 
 And ye shall speak these words unto my soul : 
 
 ' O man, that weepest for youth's golden hours, 
 When on the earth there lay a heavenly gleam 
 And lustrous radiance thou canst no more find, 
 Turn thou and gaze before thee. — Far away, 
 Over the weary plains, where thou must tread 
 In calm content thine ever onward path, 
 There on the dim horizon, faint and far, 
 Are striking up, like shadowy spears of fire 
 In northern midnights, gleams of wavering light
 
 • THE FIRST SPRING DAY. 21 
 
 From some vast unseen glory. Yea, for there, 
 Whither thou goest, is the very fount 
 Whence fiow'd the early radiance and the gleam 
 That lit the earth to thy young eyes ; and there 
 Thou shalt behold it yet again : — but now 
 No dim reflection, no rare transient joy, 
 Gilding some blissful solitary hour, 
 A dream of interwoven tremulous rays, 
 So delicately spun, its airy woof 
 „.^-Merfs at the breathing of a little word, 
 \ '"Fades' at the coming of thy closest friend ; — 
 But one eternal rapture, where all hearts 
 Are widen'd to embrace all joys in one, 
 And, banded in great love, are flooded o'er 
 With bliss that changeless ever seemeth new, 
 Seeing in glorious vision evermore 
 The infinite beauty, which no speck nor flaw 
 May sully, of the "very far off land."'
 
 22 
 
 THE ALPS. 
 
 It is a great and glorious thing to be 
 High up among the Alpine points of snow, 
 When all is still and clear, — awfully still, 
 Intensely clear ; the outlines vast and far 
 Vividly cut in heav'n's eternal blue, 
 And fring'd with orange light ; majestic domes, 
 Huge ice-rocks, shining alway silently. 
 Far far down splendid vales are floating still 
 The golden-surf ac'd clouds, the buroish'd roof, 
 That to the little world below makes heaven 
 One dimness ; even as our sins and follies 
 Gather above our heads, and hide away 
 The utter radiance of God's changeless love. 
 Lo ! point o'er point, and range surpassing range, 
 All gloriously illumin'd, infinite 
 In wealth of form; majestic sweeps of shadow: 
 Broad mountain bosoms, in their hollow depths 
 Nursing the huge blue streaming glaciers, 
 That with their thunderous ice-wave, thro' the silence, 
 Crash to the footfalls of slow-marching time.
 
 THE ALPS. 23 
 
 Oh ! man's desire is of the infinite : 
 And here is greatness which flings back the bounds 
 Ev'n to the farthest that may be on earth. 
 Thyself alone, — yet in an awful presence ! 
 How s*ever'd from thy kind ! how near to God! 
 Say'st thou the might of these stupendous things 
 Makes thee feel little? Scorn upon thy feeling! 
 It is the very pinnacle of greatness 
 To sit upon thy mountain-throne, and grasp 
 'Tli£.jnight and grandeur of these grandest forms, 
 'Arhi»Tn«dfe them all thine own : — to feel them made 
 fYjr "such as thee ! Oh ! there is more of truth 
 In the great feelings of an hour like this 
 Than men will look for. Doth it tell thee nothing 
 Of thine own soul ? Nay — hath it not a voice 
 That heraldeth the greatness of that thing 
 Which can conceive an influence so great ? 
 Speaketh it not of immortality, 
 When the whole soul o'erflows, and all around 
 Is vaster than thy fancy's vastest thought, 
 And thou dost know for once that there is that 
 Within thee which could feel and grasp far more 
 Than the cramp'd senses will let pass? 
 
 O earth, 
 Thou glorious thing; ineffable in beauty,
 
 24 THE ALPS. 
 
 Blinding the heart with tears of painful joy, 
 Tell me, earth, heavenward mountain-slopes, 
 rosy pinnacles of glistening shrines, 
 O airy domes that cut the arched blue, 
 O myriad-faced ice-rocks, O great vales, 
 Braided afar with silver river-lines, — 
 Tell me, what is your strange sublimity, 
 Your regal beauty, your eternal splendour ? 
 An image, a bare chart, we know not what, 
 Passeth upon the brain. Aye, and the rest 
 Is in the soul. Oh ! those are mocking proofs 
 That writers bring, and pall the soul's content, 
 Persuading it of its undying sj^rings 
 With dry cold subtilty of reasoning, 
 To him who knows the glory that is born 
 Among the ancient rocks of sunny snow, 
 Silent and soulless, shining evermore ! 
 
 O God, and shall my stricken heart thrill low 
 With rapture, like great music, and not pour 
 One strain to Thee? And yet oh! give me words 
 To pay a tithe of what is in my heart !
 
 LLANFIHANGEL. 
 
 (A Village near Tal-y-Lltn.) 
 
 The May-flies hover' d in the heat, 
 And stood upon the lake, 
 ^^.An£ the quiet trout seem'd scarce to dare 
 Tfte' lazy calm to break. 
 
 - 
 
 And up the mountain-side I went, 
 
 And o'er the mountain-hack, 
 And saw no trace of human-kind 
 
 Upon my silent track. 
 
 Beyond the mountain-ranges far 
 
 I mark'd the level sea, 
 And a bi*eeze that way ujaon my brow 
 
 Came blowing pleasantly. 
 
 And all the outlines, bound with heav'n, 
 
 Were quivering in the sun, — 
 And from my heart self-bidden streams 
 
 Of thankfulness would run. 
 
 i
 
 26 LLANFIHANGEL. 
 
 It was the holy day of rest, 
 And, when the breezes fell, 
 
 There seem'd to dream within my ear 
 The tolling of a bell. 
 
 So faintly, that I listen' d oft 
 
 To tell if it were true ; 
 Yet, when I listen d, evermore 
 
 The breezes voiceless blew. 
 
 And o'er the moss and springy turf, 
 
 As holden by a spell, 
 I follow' d with au eager foot 
 
 The phantom of the bell. 
 
 Until it smote me loud and clear, 
 And, where the shapeless hill 
 
 Fell off abrupt with rocky face, 
 I stood in wonder still. 
 
 For deep below in hollow glen 
 
 A little village lay; — 
 I never saw a fairer sight 
 
 Than I saw upon that day ; —
 
 LLANFIHANGEL 27 
 
 A stream oi golden in the sun 
 
 'Mid ancient elm-trees crept, 
 And the light was on their rounded tops, 
 
 And deep their shadows slept. 
 
 And golden-grey the old church-tower 
 
 Its summons sweetly peal'd ; 
 And long the train that gather 'd in 
 
 From hill-side and from field. 
 
 ,OhJ happy if ye knew the home 
 
 In which ye live and die ! 
 Ye only curse its barrenness, 
 And pass its beauty by.
 
 28 
 
 SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 
 
 Thou say'st that it is nobler far to sing 
 Of Man, with all his majesty of will, 
 His Godlike mind, his mysteries of thought, 
 His might of hope and dread and joy and woe, 
 The crown of all creation, — than to sing 
 God's lesser works, the things in earth and sky 
 Most beautiful, the mountains, and the wood, 
 The breezy lake, and clouds suffus'd with light 
 And hues unutterable, the delicate flower, 
 The voiced spring, — all perfect things that move 
 The loving heart to thankfulness and joy; — 
 Man is the poet's subject. 
 
 Be it so : — 
 Then I will plead great lack of nobler thoughts, 
 And of the skill to mould them into rhyme.
 
 '- 
 
 SHELSLEY BEAUCHAJIP. 29 
 
 Be mine the lowlier aim : for on my heart 
 Never hath deed of high renown, or scene 
 Of tender interest, drawn by purest art, 
 Fall'n with such true and living influence 
 As some sweet passing touch that hath awak'd 
 A memory of Nature's simple truth. 
 And I would dwell in that which is divine, 
 Least fallen ; I would train my heart to feel 
 The ,mvstic might of things that never change, 
 >- Things whose great meaning always is the same, 
 "WKo*se voices always speak to them that hear, — 
 The glory and the beauty of the world. 
 Yes, I would change thy saying, if I might ; 
 Man is the poet's object : there we meet. 
 To make man feel what he himself hath felt, 
 This is the poet's work. To rouse the heart, 
 By all the gentle artifice of verse 
 Winning the imagination to our side 
 And gaining subtle entrance, to smite then 
 With all those touches that have smitten us 
 For pleasure or for good : — this is our work. 
 
 O Nature ! high and pure and holy Nature ! 
 Grant me the lowliest place within thy courts,
 
 30 SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 
 
 Where I may serve thee, winning golden smiles. 
 
 Oh for the voice of song to hymn thy might ! 
 
 Oh for the genius that should set in rhyme 
 
 All richly chased the jewels of thy wealth 
 
 For men to gaze upon ! Yea, I would tell 
 
 Of wondrous thoughts, and courage, and resolve, 
 
 And holy hope, and power to conquer life, 
 
 Born of the eternal stars ; — such truth and power 
 
 As never proudest deed of man best told 
 
 Hath given : I would tell of glorious joy 
 
 Gather'd among the lonely glist'ning snows 
 
 Of Alpine summits ; of large stores of love 
 
 Drawn from the moving shadows of the woods ; 
 
 Of praise o'erflowing midst the sunny slopes 
 
 Of hills ; and valleys that have made me pray. 
 
 Oh ! I could pass in memory one by one 
 
 A thousand station-points, rich varied scenes 
 
 Of plain and mountain, moors and riverside, 
 
 Sunsets, and glorious nights, and first spring days, 
 
 Deep woodland hollows, rock-clefts fring'd with ferns, 
 
 The roll of mighty waves, the still blue lake, 
 
 The wide earth and the airy ocean seen 
 
 From mountain-summits, the pale light of mists, 
 
 The full-ton'd colouring of clouded days : —
 
 SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 31 
 
 Points where my heart hath halted in its journey 
 And laid up stores for all its after need. 
 
 That moment when upon the gloomy pass 
 Thro' clouds and dreary wastes ascending slow 
 First I could pierce Dunlow's long rugged gorge, 
 And through the rent, as through a wondrous glass, 
 (The roof all hung with curtains of thick cloud,) 
 Could jsee far off a little glittering space 
 
 -.J0f'suhny plain, — that moment is to me 
 
 ,. A~*rieir possession, richer far than e'er 
 
 T won from plain where classic battle rag'd, 
 
 Or town where storied names have liv'd and wrought. 
 
 An hour of calm pure moonlight, all too brief, 
 Beside thy ripply marge, O fair Lugano, 
 That perfect night, when shoreward breezily 
 The quivering waters all their shining tost, 
 Is worth to me all hours that e'er I pass'd 
 Tracking memorials of mighty men 
 In castles camps and palaces. 
 
 And thou, 
 Sweet Shelsley, 'mid the wanderings of my thought 
 And dreamy recollections of fair spots,
 
 32 SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 
 
 Now gatherest up thy beauties one by one, 
 
 Building thyself into a perfect truth. 
 
 Oh ! to awake unto a woodland scene, 
 
 To gaze with the first look on golden fields 
 
 And curved hill-sides bower'd with shadowy trees, 
 
 The freshness and the beauty and the sun, 
 
 When thou hast dwelt in some great town, and seen 
 
 From thy dim lattice nought but dreary streets 
 
 And smoke and misery, — what joy of joys ! 
 
 Thus, fairest Shelsley, on thy perfect vale 
 
 I gaz'd entranc'd on one sweet summer morn. 
 
 From a long slope I look'd across the fields, 
 
 The lush and flowery fields, where gentle Teme 
 
 Glided amidst his willows, to the hills 
 
 That opposite were ruddy as they woke, 
 
 Lifting their dewy freshness to the day. 
 
 The butterflies were fluttering on the grass, 
 
 The swallows rac'd and twin'd in giddy maze, 
 
 With tiny joyotis scream, incessantly : — 
 
 And I was glad with them. 
 
 And then a voice 
 Spake in my soiU, disloyally it spake : — 
 ' Oh for a lot cast amid all that's fair, 
 ' Where my great work might only be to learn
 
 SHELSLEY BEAUCHA5U'. 33 
 
 ' The glory and the beauty of God's earth ! ' 
 
 But soon another voice made answer thus : — 
 
 1 A truer wisdom were alway to take 
 
 ' Beauty within thy heart, a gentle inmate, 
 
 ' Cheering thy steps, like music after toil. 
 
 ' Thy portion is not here ; go, work thy work.' 
 
 i -l
 
 34 
 
 A DAY'S INFLUENCE. 
 
 — ♦ — 
 
 The Day is gone, — but not its power. It sped 
 As May-winds fanning over vapoury meads 
 Stir the slow mist, and for the wakening sun 
 Make scented paths, and so pass on their way. 
 Its minutes brake in tender argent waves — 
 Floods of bright life — rain of clear trembling thoughts, 
 With music strangely sweet, near yet far off 
 At once, upon the sandbeach of my heart. 
 The tide is gone, — but not its gifts. The shore 
 Is strewn with fair things yet, the veined stone, 
 The lucid shell. Upon life's waveless sand 
 Lies here a thought, a loving fancy there : 
 And still the dreamy song of unseen waves 
 Falls, as I listen, with its airy pulse. 
 And yet the Day is gone, — the golden Day ! 
 
 The great procession ever sweepeth by, 
 Day following day, — voiceless they pass and same,
 
 35 
 
 Most but not all, like men. For thou, O Day, 
 Camest, as one 'mid many friends may come, 
 Endow'd with large heart-moving utterance, 
 Whose lingering cadences are trembling still 
 Upon the tranced air, like surge of waves 
 Following the inland journeyer's wistful ear, 
 Or memory's singing of unbidden songs. 
 
 At morn I saw a well-remember'd scene, 
 herfd well and safely stor'd long years ago; — 
 Black hr-trees framing all the burnish'd mist 
 That drap'd the hollow of the sloping town, 
 The high church-tower upshooting sunny-clear, 
 And gleamy uplands softly fair beyond. 
 But not in lustrous day-dreams lay the spell. 
 
 At night I saw God's host, the angel-stars, 
 Marching their awful march thro' infinite space, 
 Serenely pui'e, divinely beautiful. 
 But not in glorious starlight lay the power. 
 
 For he was there, who of all men the most 
 Swayeth my inmost heart with love and power. 
 Shall painter teach to stranger eyes the sunk
 
 3(j a day's influence. 
 
 That draweth sweetness from its varyings ? 
 
 And shall I with rude handling and dead words 
 
 Mar the soft spell, — rending the delicate flower 
 
 To scan the secret of its loveliness I 
 
 Yet this much know; that as the wavering maze 
 
 Of tender sunlight under vernal woods 
 
 Fills all the soid with love, so love is born 
 
 From all his gentle moods of graceful mirth; 
 
 And from his graver thoughts upsprings such power 
 
 As silence breathes beneath the vivid stars. 
 
 Alas ! the poet sings but half he feels ; 
 The hearer feels but half the poet sings. 
 The golden Day is gone behind the West : 
 And none may know what memory of joy 
 Is bound up with that day ; how soft a light 
 Shines from it on dim hours of lonely toil ; 
 How it stands mark'd amid those sacred days 
 That leave not where they find the heart of man, 
 But drop their gifts into its store of love.
 
 37 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 (AS SEEN FROM KIDDERMINSTER. ; 
 
 The sun has set, the sky is calm, 
 The western uplands dim, 
 ■* Stand out into the golden light 
 " With sharp and fringe-like rim. 
 
 A roll of clouds like indigo 
 
 Hangs in the lower sky, 
 All edg'd above with crimson fire, 
 
 And pil'd up gloriously. 
 
 And far behind are flakes and flaws 
 And streaks of purest red, 
 
 And feathery dashes, paling slow, 
 Still linger overhead. 
 
 And far far off— how far it look-' 
 The sky is green and clear, 
 
 And still in front a little flight 
 Of black clouds saileth near.
 
 38 SUNSET. 
 
 O wondrous sight! O joyous hour! 
 
 Ye workmen passing by, 
 Why stay ye not your boisterous mirth 
 
 To gaze upon the sky? 
 
 Ye merry children playing near, 
 
 Why stop ye not your play, 
 To see how God with glory crowns 
 
 The closing of the day? 
 
 Oh ! would that they whose weary minds 
 
 The things of sense enthral, 
 Upon whose life but scanty rays 
 
 Of grace and beauty fall, — 
 
 Would that they knew what noble store 
 
 Of purest joy and love 
 Is given to bless the poor man's lot, 
 
 And lift his heart above!
 
 39 
 
 CADER IDRIS. 
 
 * * 
 
 Thou Form sublime, that drawest upward ever 
 To airy points thy far receding slopes, — 
 
 Cathedral mountain, 'mid the thousand shrines 
 
 » 
 
 Xfattf lift their gorgeous steeples all around, 
 ,<Replete with heavenward praise, where every morn 
 The wild winds ring for worship ; let me add 
 My puny voice to all the mighty chant 
 That down thy sculptur'd aisles a thousand streams 
 Chant as they march white-vested. Temple vast, 
 Great Dome, instinct with awe and thought profound, 
 Whose silent regions and unmeasur'd space 
 1 >istil a &ense of power and majesty, — 
 Whose mighty walls of fretted rock, and slopes 
 That front all aspects of the hollow sky, — 
 Whose forms that in their changes infinite 
 Make thee complete in unity, — whose vastnes3 
 And grandeur, that do unimpair'd embrace 
 The exquisite perfection of each part
 
 40 CADER IDRIS. 
 
 Wrought with minutest skill, — whose noon-day glory 
 
 Scor'd with black shades of deep-cut masonry,— 
 
 Whose vaults with lavish beauty studded, boss'd 
 
 With cluster of huge angles, feather'd o'er 
 
 With foliage of all grace, — whose marble floors 
 
 Of any lakes, that see the starry hosts 
 
 March nightly by, — whose proud head wreathed round 
 
 With lightning storms, — whose sudden shouting rush 
 
 Of hurricane, and tumult of swift winds, — 
 
 Whose winter torrents, and whose glazed snows, - 
 
 Yea and whose gem-like flower most delicate 
 
 Nurs'd in a cleft of rock amid the spray 
 
 Of waterfalls, — all gloriously exalt 
 
 Thine awful Architect; — I would bow low, 
 
 Great Mountain, in thy vast and silent courts, 
 
 Filling my soul with worship unto Him 
 
 Who built thee for a temple to His praise.
 
 41 
 
 RETROSPECT. 
 
 _, » 
 
 I was walking in an old wood 
 
 On the morning of New Year's Day : 
 In a thoughtful and dreamy mood 
 '•Had I walk'd along my way. 
 
 The tall trees were grey and sear, 
 
 And a red leaf hung on the bramble ; 
 
 And there did I meet the Old Year, 
 Like myself, on a lonely ramble. 
 
 He was wondrously tall and thin, 
 
 Just like a bare old tree ; 
 His bones look'd white thro' his skin, — 
 
 I was sure that it must be he. 
 
 His head was so snowy white, 
 And his eye was so sad with tears, 
 
 That I thought that I must be right, 
 That sad look must be the Old Year's.
 
 42 RETROSPECT. 
 
 ' Old Year/ I said, < if it be 
 
 ' That my eyes are not something dim,'— 
 (And an awe crept over me 
 
 As trembling I spake to him,—) 
 
 ' Old Year, thou art dead and gone, 
 ' Buried at midnight drear ; 
 
 ' Why comest thou pale and wan 
 ' To walk like a spectre here V 
 
 ' Good Friend,' the Old Year said, — 
 (And his voice was like the breeze 
 
 Mournfully over-head 
 Passing among the trees, — ) 
 
 ' Good Friend, men think that we die, 
 ' But their thoughts are blind and vain 
 
 'There's a day drawing ever nigh, 
 ' When they shall meet us again. 
 
 ' Face to face we shall meet, — 
 ' Ah me ! for the folly of men ; 
 
 ' Our birth they merrily greet, — 
 ' How will they greet us then V
 
 RETROSPECT. 43 
 
 ' Oh ! I wrong'd thee,' I cried, ' Old Year, 
 ' And thy brothers that long have past ; 
 
 ' Had I known them better here, 
 ' I could meet them better at last.' 
 
 ' When thou walkest in this old wood, 
 ' Thou mayest meet them all,' said he ; 
 
 ' Now I'll teach thee to thine own good, 
 'If- thou wilt be taught of me.' 
 
 ^6 KIT taught me a lesson grave, 
 
 And thither I oft return : 
 But I tell not the lesson he gave, — 
 
 Thou canst go for thyself and learn.
 
 44 
 
 HABBERLY VALLEY. 
 
 (Near Kidderminster.) 
 
 Out from the gloomy rows of homes — (what homes 
 For man with his home-loving heart !) — far out 
 Beyond the discontented murmuring 
 Of streets that throb with the great looms, where 1 
 Day after day sad-hearted move along, — 
 Far out this holy evening have I past. 
 
 It is an evening of such temperament 
 As makes the heart gush out with streams of beauty, 
 Mingling its own with that which is without, 
 Making a tenfold loveliness. I choose 
 The head of a small valley for my throne, 
 And all the spirits of beauty do my bidding. 
 The soft turf where I sit is intertwin'd 
 With mosses delicate, and eyebrights pure 
 Dot all its smoothness, with rock-roses frail 
 And crimson-lipp'd cup-moss ; and on the stone,
 
 HABBERLT VALLEY. 45 
 
 That stands out rough and grey on either side, 
 
 Grow maiden-hair and tufts of purple heath. 
 
 And far away above the swelling copse 
 
 And ferny hollow with its close-cropt grass, 
 
 Where the sheep browse and tinkle their small bells, 
 
 And far beyond the green and level fields, 
 
 Whose trees crowd up upon the slanting sight 
 
 Into one constant woodland, there is rear'd 
 
 Beautiful Malvern, purple-rob'd and faint, 
 
 Wifn sunny streaks upon his western summit. 
 '- _ 
 
 Oh ! know'st thou not when evening fair as this 
 
 Will call back to thy mind far other scenes 
 
 Of bygone years when thou hast felt the same, 
 
 And memory pours sweetness on the thought 
 
 And absence sorrow, 'til thou needst must weep ? 
 
 So I will dream awhile. I'll lay me here 
 
 Upon the thymy hill, with eyes half-clos'd 
 
 And pondering the swimming depths of blue. 
 
 The slanting sun plumeth the gnats with gold 
 
 That dance across my sight ; the fresh young breeze, 
 
 That slept all day, cometh across the vale; 
 
 And oh ! a flood hath set unto my soul— 
 
 A flood of eddying thoughts — the strange sad sense
 
 46 HABBKRLY VALLEY. 
 
 Of utter loneliness, and time, and change,— 
 The bright bright days of old, the ancient scenes 
 Full of a thousand bursting memories, 
 All of sad hue, and yet how beautiful ! 
 
 O ye soft airs, and sunny warmth of heaven, 
 Ye sounds and sights I love, ye have a spell 
 To conjure up dead feelings, and old dreams, 
 And ancient homes of thought, long ruinous, 
 And flowers that now are food for canker-worms. 
 Ye sympathies that bind the living heart 
 To all the outward glory of the earth, 
 Ye pour swift streams of recollections round me, 
 That ripple onward to the far far past, 
 Till my whole soul is full of their sad music ! 
 I wander far away ; — I see again 
 The glorious haunts of former days, those scenes 
 That taught me first of beauty and of love. 
 I see the graves of many hopes and joys ; 
 Aye, and about the graves are flitting still 
 The shades of things that were. O happy days, 
 Light-hearted days, again ye wander by, 
 Spectre-like company ! the same, yet change 
 The very lights aud shadows pass again,
 
 * HABBERLY VALLEY. 47 
 
 And yet they seem half-new. Ah ! Memory, 
 Wander thou where thou wilt, thou canst not banish 
 That sense of distance and of creeping change, 
 That linketh all the present to the past : — 
 Seek thou what fairest times and scenes thou wilt, 
 Times and scenes crowded with life's sunniest flowers, 
 Thou'lt find some straggling wreaths of sadder hue, 
 Whose root is in the present, twining there ! 
 
 '-
 
 48 
 
 THE WINTER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Rimy webs are on the thistles, 
 Silver-clad comes forth the morn, 
 
 Near and shrill the black bird whistles 
 On the scarlet-berried thorn. 
 
 Then with silent blinding fall 
 In the eddies of the breeze 
 
 Weave the clouds their mighty pall 
 For the old year's obsequies. 
 
 Then the mould'ring fog comes round 
 With the South- wind's sickly breath, 
 
 Drops the wood with dismal sound, 
 Dropping to the sod beneath. 
 
 Every place is chill and raw, 
 Dreary winds moan as they go ; 
 
 Rivers, swollen with the thaw, 
 Roll their sands, and overflow.
 
 THE WINTER BIRTHDAY. 49 
 
 Yet it seeineth but a day 
 Since the summer flowers were here, 
 
 Since they stack'd the balmy hay, 
 Since they reap'd the golden ear. 
 
 It hath gone — the glorious s umm er ; 
 
 So the years go, speeding past ; 
 Onward, onward, — each new comer 
 \^r - '•Swifter speeding than the last. 
 
 Can thy life no semblance borrow 
 
 From the passing of the years ; 
 Peace to-day, and strife to-morrow, — 
 
 Day of hope, and night of tears 
 
 On the ocean of existence 
 "Waves of change for ever roll ; — 
 
 Waves that, echoing thro' all distance 
 Speak in thunder to the soul. 
 
 For the seasons, as they go, 
 Are the shades of human things, 
 
 Changing with a ceaseless flow, 
 Constant in their varyings. 
 
 D
 
 f)0 THE WINTER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Said I, 'change'? Yea, such as storm 
 
 Sweeping over ocean's face 
 Maketh in earth's mighty form 
 
 Travelling onward into space. 
 
 What is that to those who live? 
 
 Life is something higher far. 
 ' Change' ! the name I'd sooner give 
 
 To the tremblings of a star! 
 
 Said I 'change'/ Nay, let the blast 
 Stir the surface as it may, 
 
 Still the soul, like planet vast, 
 Holdeth stedfast on its way. 
 
 That is Life which never ends; — 
 
 Brother, such^have thou for thine ; — 
 
 Koad that on and onward wends, 
 Vast eternal discipline. 
 
 Scorn upon the idle mind 
 
 That dwells within the things without, 
 Passive to the veering wind 
 
 That tosses empty ships about.
 
 v % 
 
 THE WINTER BIRTHDAY. 51 
 
 Seize the helm with dauntless will, 
 
 Cleave the waves that round thee roar ; 
 Storm or sunshine, onward still 
 s. Cleave them straightly evermore. 
 
 Touch thou with a rod of power 
 That which passeth day hy day ; 
 
 Bid the fortune of the hour 
 Thy calm even will obey. 
 
 ': - All events that men call chance, 
 
 All things thou dost see and feel, 
 All the might of circumstance, — 
 Wrest them strongly to thy weal. 
 
 Tho' the outward things around thee 
 Be but partly understood, 
 
 Let their presence not confound thee, 
 Bend them to thy endless good. 
 
 So the changes, swiftly hasting, 
 So the chief events of life, 
 
 Transient joys, and sorrows lasting, 
 Peaceful calm, and passion's strife,-
 
 52 THE WINTER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 All shall conie as comes the snow, 
 All shall like the sun-ray die, 
 
 For thy soul doth truly know 
 These have no eternity. 
 
 But they have a voice in going, 
 Like the day that passeth o'er, 
 
 And their tide in its back-flowing 
 Leaves its gifts of heavenly lore. 
 
 Brother! oh! be this our Life, 
 
 True and earnest, deep and strong, 
 
 Far above the world's vain strife 
 Cleaving stedfastly along. 
 
 Be it such that, when earth's day 
 With its hasty work is done, 
 
 All of ill shall fall away, 
 
 And the life shall still live on !
 
 53 
 
 HYMN OF PRAISE, 
 
 On the appearance of the Northern Lights. 
 
 '"O God, Thy glory is abroad this hour 
 
 'Flushing the pure calm face of saintly Night ; 
 
 Who seemeth, as she sitteth on her throne, 
 
 To gather all her powers into praise, 
 
 And in exulting joy to worship Thee 
 
 With the full beauty of her holiness. 
 
 See where among the feather'd clouds flows on 
 
 A wondrous sea of rosy waves! — and swords 
 
 Of brightness strike up from the northern distance. 
 
 Ev'n to the highest heavens, where the stars 
 
 Seem crowding westward like far companies 
 
 < >f angels going up to some high feast, 
 
 As the wind moves the light clouds onwards ! See 
 
 How all the spaces of the moonless sky 
 
 Are blue against the fire-flood! And, o'er all,
 
 54 HYMN OF PRAISE. 
 
 Broad ceaseless waves of streaming radiance flow 
 
 In a swift tide across the trembling heavens, 
 
 As tho' some storm- wind cours'd them from the pole! 
 
 Lo! hath an awfid daybreak gloriously 
 
 Burst forth among the stars at midnight hour, 
 
 Climbing the topmost skies with giant-strides, 
 
 Impatient of the long delay that melts 
 
 The darkness into daylight ? Or hath Eve 
 
 Forgotten her sweet office, and come back 
 
 From gathering in the lagging hues that trail 
 
 Behind her lord the sun, to see for once 
 
 The wonders of the night that followeth her ( 
 
 Oh ! everchanging beauty ! Now it ebbeth, 
 
 Sucking, as doth the sea, its airy billows 
 
 Back to the margin of the sky, and now 
 
 It poureth up once more, with strength renewed 
 
 Passing its former bounds, and gushing on 
 
 In creek and bay ! 
 
 O mighty mighty Night ! 
 Yea, rather, mighty God, who makest night, 
 For Thy great glory I give thanks to Thee ! 
 My heart is full of praise I cannot speak : 
 Oh ! if its song be inarticulate,
 
 y HYMN OF PRAISE. '■ >5 
 
 Yet be it, God, as true to Thee as Night's, 
 Who in her stillness praiseth Thee the most, 
 With her fair earnest face turned full on Thee, 
 All senses lost in one deep speechless worship ! 

 
 56 
 
 CHRISTMAS HOLLY. 
 
 Oh ! warm, ye gleams of early years, 
 
 Around my heart ye throng, 
 'Till melting streams of frozen tears 
 
 Flow down, with ancient song. 
 
 Old words all link'd with childish glee,— 
 Old thoughts remember'd now, — 
 
 The ring of hells, — the frosted tree, — 
 The sparkling holly-bough, — 
 
 The hymn we said with happy pride 
 
 To those that are no more, — 
 The tune we heard in church, and tried 
 
 To sing, when church was o'er, — 
 
 t 
 All memories of joyous things, 
 
 That were unto the boy, 
 The mirth of this glad season brings 
 
 To stir the man with joy.
 
 m * 
 
 '■ 
 
 CHRISTMAS HOLLY. 
 
 The holly from its darkling leaves 
 
 Old feelings raineth down, 
 And old old dreams the chiming weaves, 
 
 That cometh from the town. 
 
 But chief of all a charm there lies. 
 
 To fill the pondering soul, 
 In that sweet chant that from the skies 
 
 O'er Bethlehem's shepherds stole. 
 
 -~* -e«What tho' the passing of the hours 
 Has soften' d all the view, 
 And on the light of spring-time bowers 
 Are tints of mellower hue, — 
 
 'Tis sweet to blend with calm content 
 Light-hearted joys long flown, 
 
 Soft shadows of a merriment, 
 That may not now be known, 
 
 I would not now those joys replace, 
 That light heart of the past, 
 
 To lose the melancholy grace, 
 That years upon them cast. 
 
 d2
 
 ~)8 CHRISTMAS HOLLY. 
 
 One single note I would not drown, 
 
 Unreal tho' it be, 
 Of that sweet song that trembleth down 
 
 From soaring memory. 
 
 Oh ! happy they who harmonize 
 The man's deep earnest part 
 
 With strains of simple songs that rise 
 From childhood's joyous heart. 
 
 And oh ! that ever, as I go 
 
 My destin'd way on earth, 
 I could but bid around me flow 
 
 Such tones of heavenly birth ! 
 
 Yet long long seasons still there are 
 When these sweet songs are dumb, 
 
 When holy things seem faint and far, 
 And life grows wearisome ; — ■ 
 
 When manhood's fire, and boyhood's glee, 
 
 Alike lie cold and dead ; — 
 When faith lacks strength to rise and see 
 
 The great things overhead ; —
 
 CHRISTMAS HOLLY. 59 
 
 When fervour pines, and zeal and love 
 
 And interest decay ; — 
 When duties flag, and slowly move 
 
 The footsteps of the day. 
 
 Oh ! then I sometimes wish that I 
 
 Were such as I have known, 
 Whose gladsome moments lightly fly. 
 
 As they have ever flown. — 
 ■» 
 v#et better the calm work of man 
 
 Than gladness of the boy ; — 
 So let me work the while I can, — 
 
 And leave to God the joy.
 
 60 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 Recorded as faithfully as possible. 
 ♦ 
 
 I dreamt a dream last night so fair 
 That it hath not vanish'd all the day, 
 But hangeth yet in the mid-noon glare, 
 Like a sunny mist o'er a landscape bare, 
 Making it beautiful and gay. 
 
 I dreamt that we travel? d merrily, 
 (We three — my brother and sister and I,) 
 Merrily on in a foreign land, 
 
 Where the sun was warm, and the breeze was cool, 
 And the mountains rose up on either hand, 
 And the valley between was beautiful. 
 Gaily we travell'd on in the sun, 
 And we watch'd the glorious mountains rise, 
 Backward and backward, 'till that far one 
 Whose icy point shot into the skies : — 
 And one said, 'That way our journey lies.' 
 And we thought how wonderful it would be
 
 ' A DREAM. o'l 
 
 When up on that shining rock to see 
 Over the West the sunset glow, 
 And the mountain summits all ranged below. 
 And the road we had travell'd merrily. 
 
 But suddenly in our wondering mood 
 We came to the edge of a little wood; 
 And we drove straight thro' on the springy moss, 
 And the shade was silent and dark and green, 
 ''^-Ani the boughs so thickly were twin'd across 
 - ^hsflittle the blue sky seen between. 
 '--And then we came to a virgin lake, 
 Where never the fall of a weary breeze 
 The image of margin-mosses brake 
 Eound the mighty roots of the ancient trees. 
 And as, I ween, you may chance to see 
 In some quaint book of Mythology 
 An Ocean-god in his car of shell 
 < 'leaving the waters that round him swell, — 
 So with one bold plunge we brake the spell, 
 And shatter'd the quiet imagery. 
 And we rode thro' the waters swift and strong 
 With a mighty purpose and steadfast gaze, 
 Dashing the crystals that trembled along
 
 €2 A DKEAM. 
 
 To the very marge with a million rays. 
 
 And a joy and a triumph and conscious might 
 
 Rested serene, as a crown of gold, 
 
 On the upward brow that was bent so hold 
 
 On the distant Alp with its rosy light, 
 
 Over the green trees rosy-white. 
 
 And many times did we peer below 
 
 Where the waters were brighter than those that flow 
 
 Under the walls of Zurich town, 
 
 To the blue lake evermore gushing down. 
 
 And we saw the mosses golden and brown 
 
 In a tiny forest deep away 
 
 Distinct with delicate branch and spray. 
 
 And over the sunny surface wide 
 
 There swam and swung with a pearly light, 
 
 Like birds on the sea at eventide, 
 
 Great flocks of water-lilies white ; 
 
 Yet not like others, but fairer far, 
 
 For their delicate wings all seem'd to be 
 
 Gleaming with light transparently, 
 
 And crowned in the midst with a golden star. 
 
 And oh ! it was childlike joy to part 
 
 The shining water with down-stretch' d hand. 
 
 And to see the broken surface start
 
 y A DREAM. H3 
 
 And wide in glittering curves expand. 
 And on, and on, all adown the lake 
 We clove the waters and left our wake, 
 All before us as strangely still 
 As "the future that hideth its good and ill, 
 
 - And all behind us trembling on 
 
 In the misty sunlight that slanting shone, 
 Like a memory soft of things that are gone. 
 And methought, when the evening light was o'er, 
 
 ",^A»d -the folded shadows came dimly down, 
 
 ' 'We ISat and talk'd on the quiet shore 
 Of the glorious Alp with its snowy crown. 
 And the peace of the present was pure and deep, 
 And the hope of the future was calmly bright. 
 
 And oh ! 1 would that the dream of sleep 
 Had its counterpart in the hours of light ! 
 For methinks 'twere easy to tw r ine my song 
 With a moral sweet and a lesson true, 
 Of blending the near and distant view, 
 And charming the road, as we travel along, 
 With a lofty aim and a purpose strong.
 
 64 
 
 SPRING RIDE. 
 
 (Leaton Knolls, near Shrewsbury.) 
 
 sister, 'twas so sweet a time, 
 Our ride of yesterday, 
 
 1 needs must turn it into rhyme, 
 Lest all should fade away. 
 
 And it may be a pleasant thing, 
 
 When colder-hearted grown, 
 To catch a faint reechoing 
 
 Of feelings that are flown. 
 
 "Twas after show'rs of gentle rain 
 
 Had past across the sky, 
 And clear'd the vapours from the plain, 
 
 And brought the distance nigh, 
 
 On one of those soft days ere yet 
 
 The woodbine leaves unfold, 
 While garden-plots are thickly set 
 
 With aconites of gold,
 
 ■■*" SPRING RIDE. 65 
 
 We rode out in a fitting mood 
 
 A joyous heart to win, 
 And all the outward springing woo'd 
 
 The joyousness within. 
 
 We rode between the meadow-lands, 
 
 And many a gleaming sheet 
 Of red earth shot with greenest bands 
 
 Of early-growing wheat : 
 
 a. . _ We heard the thrush's wild rich soug 
 
 Full of the bursting spring, 
 We saw the tree-buds all along 
 In soft light glimmering : 
 
 Until we reach'd that fairest spot 
 
 Where, opening out between, 
 On either side a lonely knot 
 
 Of fir-trees dark and green 
 
 Stood out into the depth of sky 
 
 Like night against its blue, 
 A mighty frame of ebony 
 
 For all the glorious view.
 
 66 SPRING RIDE. 
 
 And thro' the grassy hollow there, 
 The woodlands golden-brown, 
 
 With curving slopes dipt onward where 
 The river runneth down. 
 
 And all the wide plain darkly clear 
 Was throng'd with richest hues, 
 
 One tint could not be added there, 
 One tint we could not lose. 
 
 The clouds were cluster'd overhead, 
 
 And but a single gleam 
 Fring'd the tree-tops with softest red 
 
 Above the river's stream. 
 
 But oh ! I would that I could paint 
 
 The glories far away, 
 Where with excess of brightness faint 
 
 The mountain ranges lay ; 
 
 The foremost dark with shades distinct, 
 The hindmost drown'd in light, 
 
 Range after range in grandeur link'd 
 Alternate dark and bright!
 
 SPRING RIDE. 
 
 It seemed as tho* the mountain-piles, 
 That crown' d the farthest West, 
 
 Scarce hid those fabled happy isles 
 With cloudless sunshine blest. 
 
 Oh would I might to other's eye 
 That close-writ page unroll, 
 
 Whose everlasting memory 
 I drink into my soul ; 
 
 ■< 
 Whose influence thro' smiles and tears 
 
 Shall last as it began ; 
 
 A happiness for after years, 
 
 A new part of the man 1 
 
 67
 
 68 
 
 THE SETTING OF THE MOON. 
 
 A night of feigned cheer and soulless words 
 Was past, and weary of its emptiness 
 I sought my chamber, and, alone once more, 
 I raised my blind, and stood in great amaze 
 To watch the full-lit moon go slowly down, 
 Awful in grandeur. Huge and red she set, 
 Slow falling down from midst the glimmering stars 
 In the dead stillness of the mighty night. 
 Over her head there glow'd a dim red flush, 
 Such light as I have mark'd a distant furnace 
 Cast on a clouded sky. The night was clear, 
 And strangely solemn in its purity. 
 And all the stars grew stronger as she fell. 
 And when the last bright speck had pass'd away 
 Behind the hills, and only the dim glow 
 Still told where she had sunk, I turn'd and said, 
 ' They liken sunset to a good man's death :
 
 THE SETTING OF THE MOON. 69 
 
 ' Let mine be like the setting of the nioon ; 
 ' That hath no luxury nor rich parade, 
 'But passeth in the great deep calm of awe 
 ' Atfd reverent silence, earthly sight and sound 
 „ ' Not daring to come nigh, yea human eyes 
 ' But few to witness : only distant stars, 
 'Glimpses of other worlds, piercing the veil, 
 'And brightening as she sinks: — such be my death.' 
 
 *r' _
 
 70 
 
 HOMEWARD. 
 
 Losing sight of Cader Idris. 
 
 Eound this purpled shoulder, like a pageant, 
 One by one the mountain summits die : — 
 
 Eveu as earth's narrow outlines near us 
 Hide the infinite glories from the eye. 
 
 Homeward once again. Ah ! vanish'd mountains, — 
 Like old friends, your faces many a day 
 
 o'er the bowery woods shall rise before me 
 And the level corn-lands far away. 
 
 By the dreamy rippling in the sunlight, 
 
 By the windy surgings of the shore, 
 V\, the thymy sheep-tracks thro' the heather, 
 
 I must wander, glad of heart, no more. 
 
 Yet I bear with me a new possession ; 
 
 For the memory of all beauteous things 
 Over dusty tracks of straiten'd duties 
 
 Many a waft of balmy fragrance brings.
 
 HOMEWARD. 71 
 
 Was it thriftless waste of golden moments 
 That I watch'd the seaward-burning West, 
 
 That I sought the sweet rare mountain-flowers, 
 That I climb' d the rugged mountain-crest, — 
 
 That I wander' d up the narrowing valleys, 
 
 Plying oft the angler's lonely art, 
 Valleys deepening from the glorious ocean 
 ^^- Faf* into the mountain's silent heart, — 
 
 Splendid glens, instinct with magic beauty, — 
 Glimmering lights among the tender green, — 
 
 Glancing waters, trembling into hollows, 
 Thro' the lattic'd branches dimly seen, — 
 
 Upward still to wilder lonelier regions, 
 Where the patient river fills his urn 
 
 From the oozy moorlands, 'mid the boulders 
 Cushion'd deep in moss and fring'd with fern,- 
 
 That I wander'd, treasuring the beauties, — 
 Unfamiliar forms to lowland eye, — 
 
 Filling all the soul with silent praises 
 For the glory of the earth and sky (
 
 72 HOMEWARD. 
 
 Let me rather deem that I have gather 'd, 
 On the lustrous shore and gleamy hill, 
 
 Strength to bravely do the daily duty, 
 Strength to calmly bear the chancing ill.
 
 73 
 
 FUNERAL OF A CHILD 
 IN SPRING. 
 
 Every rounded hawthorn spray 
 Shines with sunny tufts of May ;- 
 ., ♦ J^ n< ^ tne child was bright as they. 
 
 'l ■ - Now there is a silent gloom, 
 While about the open tomb 
 All the turf is burst in bloom. 
 
 With a solemn wondering air, 
 
 Six little children slowly bear 
 
 Their strange and mournful burden there. 
 
 And they think, as they go on, 
 
 How like some young flow'r she shone, 
 
 Scarce believing she is gone. 
 
 Tis so strange to pass away 
 While the grass they tread is gay 
 With the blue Veronica.
 
 74 FUNERAL OF A CHILD IN SPRING. 
 
 And they wonder if the dead 
 Passeth with a silent tread 
 Thro' the blueness overhead ; 
 
 If the spirit, sailing near, 
 
 Doth their sobs of mourning hear, 
 
 Pondereth the shining tear ; 
 
 If upon her sunny wings 
 She may visit brighter things 
 Than the light of earthly springs. 
 
 Oh ! it is a solemn scene 
 
 Thus to part from what hath been 
 
 When the earth is virgin-green. 
 
 Other children play around, 
 And the air is fidl of sound, 
 And the earth with light is crown' d. 
 
 Yet the little mourners stand 
 Pound the grave, a weeping band, 
 And share their sorrows, hand in hand.
 
 FUNERAL OF A CHILD IN SPRING. 75 
 
 Children ! hearken to the Spring, 
 With her voice in everything, 
 Balm imto yom* sorrowing. 
 
 Children ! watch the verdure shine, 
 And with quiet gladness twine 
 Wreaths of flowers for a sign. 
 
 *r " Kant upon the rounded clay 
 \ m Plants that shall be blooming gay 
 
 Every year upon this day. 
 
 For the seed, that now ye sow 
 In the chilly earth below, 
 Shall a glorious flower blow : — 
 
 " Sown in weakness, rais'd in power," 
 In the eternal Springtide's bower 
 It shall bloom, a glorious flower !
 
 76 
 
 THE THUNDER CLOUD. 
 
 Vivid against the mighty thunderstorm 
 Stand up the sunny trees into the sky, 
 Bright in the darkness, all distinct in form, 
 
 And, as the breeze goes by 
 That freshens onward, glittering cheerfully. 
 
 And see how gloriously the silver spire 
 Is piercing up just where the sullen cloud 
 Breaks in uneven rent of ruddy fire ; 
 
 And all the hill is brow'd 
 With light, cut out into the awful shroud. 
 
 How often with a cold and dreary swell 
 The fields on that same hill slope far away ! 
 And when the sky is clear, you scarce could tell 
 
 The church, so bright to-day, 
 Were there, still pointing to the heav'n as aye.
 
 THE THL'XBER CLOUD. , i 
 
 And who shall say the sorrow-clouds we meet 
 With no new lustre clothe the forms between ; 
 And that the hope and joy are not more sweet 
 
 .. Because that there hath been 
 A cloud and rain-drops on the shining scene ! 
 
 Oh ! if the Church's hand to weary eye 
 Point up to heav'n more plainly than before. 
 
 , If "ii dim earth a heavenly radiance lie, — 
 Then let us weep no more, 
 
 ''■ But the dark cloud, for all it shows;, adore !
 
 78 
 
 LUCERNE BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 'Tis like a very calm and solemn death 
 
 Of sainted maiden dying. 
 All is so softly silent ; yea the breath 
 
 Of sleeping flowers is lying 
 Close round them in a quiet odorous wreath. 
 
 All things half shining in mysterious light, 
 
 Throwing ebon shades ; 
 And dimly silver'd mountains pale and white 
 
 Rising among dark glades, 
 Like mystic dreamlands opening up to sight. 
 
 A calm and solemn death ! All that is near 
 
 Beautiful but uncertain : 
 The very distant stars silently peer 
 
 Down thro' their mighty curtain, — 
 The great eternal strangely seen from here.
 
 LUCERNE BY MOONLIGHT. 79 
 
 Dark earth below — dim mystic scenes between — 
 
 More mystic heavens still higher ! 
 And ever from the shore on which I lean, 
 .. Like a chariot-path of fire, 
 Swells thro' the lake a track of moonlight-sheen. 
 As if a bright course to the things unseen. 
 
 _, » 

 
 80 
 
 STARS AND GRAVES, 
 
 -• — 
 
 "Solemn before us 
 Veil'd, the dark Portal, 
 Goal of all mortal : — 
 Stars silent rest o'er us, 
 Graves under us silent." 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 The Poet scann'd with mighty awe 
 
 The mystery of man ; 
 He spake the strange things that he saw 
 And thus it ran : — 
 
 ' The silent stars are overhead, 
 
 ' The silent graves below : 
 ' A dream between— how quickly fled !— 
 ' Is all we know.' 
 
 He pointed up — he pointed down — 
 
 The witnesses were there. 
 O'er the between a veil was thrown 
 He could not tear.
 
 STARS AND GRAVES. 
 
 The Preacher saw the hand he rais'd, 
 
 And heard the words he spake ; 
 And in his soul with gi'ief amaz'd 
 A fire outbrake. 
 
 'Poet,' he cried, 'the things we see 
 
 ' They are not all we know ; 
 'The web of thy philosophy 
 ' I rend it so : — ' 
 
 'Tie pointed with his eager hand 
 
 Behind and then before, — 
 'And there, and there, for ever stand 
 ' Two wonders more. 
 
 ' The silent stars sing out with mirth, 
 ' The graves with grass are green : — 
 'Christ cometh twice upon the earth ;- 
 ' We live between !' 
 
 - 
 
 ^*
 
 82 
 
 THE HOME VIEW. 
 
 Oh ! God be praised for a home 
 
 Begirt with beauty rare, 
 A perfect home, where gentle thoughts 
 
 Are train'd mid' scenes so fair. 
 
 And where (God grant it so) the heart- 
 That loves a beauteous view, 
 
 The while it grows in truth and taste, 
 May grow in goodness too. 
 
 For 'tis my creed that part to part 
 
 So clingeth in the soul, 
 That whatsoe'er doth better one, 
 
 That bettereth the whole :
 
 
 THE HOME VIEW. 
 
 And whoso readeth nature's book 
 
 Wide spread throughout the earth, 
 Will something add unto his love 
 Of wisdom and of worth. 
 
 Then God be praised for a home, 
 With dower of beauty blest, 
 
 That seeth o'er a sunny plain 
 The mountains in the West — 
 
 Fair hills, where tender hues and tints 
 With flecks of sunshine stray, 
 
 So full of change that some new graci 
 Comes up with each new day ; 
 
 Now cut in the clear depth of sky 
 With outline sharp and pure ; 
 
 Now distanc'd by the hazy sun, 
 In misty lights obscure. 
 
 I see them now all softly shine 
 
 In one wide azure glow, 
 While bands of shadow o'er the lands 
 
 I VI \\-( ■(.-]) are moving -low.
 
 84 THE HOME VIEW. 
 
 And now all dark in solemn range 
 At evening hour they stand, 
 
 Fring'd upward to green spaces clear 
 With shining orange band. 
 
 On gleainy days I see full oft 
 A fall of sunrays drop, 
 
 Gently as flocks of birds alight, 
 Upon a southern slope. 
 
 Or else I see them softly steal 
 Up some gorse-golden steep, 
 
 Or down a hazel-feather' d gorge, 
 Slowly, like browsing sheep. 
 
 The passing storm will oft throw out 
 (In sunny contrast seen) 
 
 Upon the grassy mountain-side 
 A space of vivid green. 
 
 And oft a train of distant smoke 
 (So in God's earth and sky 
 
 All things have beauty, rightly seen,) 
 Like silver floweth by.
 
 -• - 
 
 THE HOME VIEW. 85 
 
 And every line that painters know, 
 
 And every shade they love, 
 Cometh upon those beauteous hills, 
 
 Dowti from the heavens above. 
 
 And I might sing of fairest things 
 
 Within the nearer plain, 
 And count the glorious works of God 
 
 Once more in scanty strain. 
 
 ■'•j „ For there are meadows golden green, 
 
 Where shadows broad and deep 
 Of rounded elms, and dark-leav'd oaks, 
 And crooked hawthorns, sleep. 
 
 And there are wooded banks and curves, 
 
 Uprising far and nigh, 
 And gracefully thro' copsewood slopes 
 
 The poplar shooteth high. 
 
 And thus by morning and by eve, 
 
 The same yet ever new, 
 I drink into my inmost soul 
 
 The glories of the view : —
 
 86 THE HOME VIEW. 
 
 Thanking the God of heaven and earth 
 
 For making all so fair; 
 And hallowing my perfect joy 
 
 With praises and with prayer.
 
 87 
 
 ^» 
 
 <*" _ 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S GARDEN. 
 
 (A Plot in the Churchyard reserved for Children 
 
 only.) 
 
 ♦ 
 
 Where is the children's garden-ground > — 
 Near the church, where the stately lime 
 fiums all day with a dreamy sound 
 In the leafy summer-time. 
 
 What is the seed in that garden sown ] — 
 It is poor and feeble and little worth, 
 And we sow it in tears, in the cold dim earth 
 Buried deep deep down. 
 
 Tell me, when will the spring-tide be I— 
 When the Day-star riseth upon the gloom, 
 And He who maketh each flower and tree 
 Biddeth the garden bloom. 
 
 How will blossom that garden-plot '. — 
 Rows of lilies, all pure and white 
 As woodland snow-wreaths without a spot, 
 Shining with living light.
 
 THE CHILDREN S GARDEN. 
 
 What are those blossoms so brightly fair l- 
 The little ones, at the trumpet's sound 
 Springing up in their beauty there 
 
 From the children's garden-ground.
 
 -II 
 
 SUNSET AT DURHAM. 
 
 (From the Prebends' Bridge.) 
 
 ^» 
 
 • 
 
 To all the town the sun is set ; 
 
 Yet glorious on the hill 
 The mighty House of God is wrapt 
 /. ■ _ In golden sunlight still. 
 
 The giant shadow hath crept on, 
 From yonder uplands cast, 
 
 And over tree and over bank 
 Its silent foot hath past. 
 
 But now it seemeth for a while 
 To hold its stealthy pace 
 
 In conscious awe, before it touch 
 The holy building's base. 
 
 Under its dusky shroud I see 
 The shadowy river glide, 
 
 And grey mists gather fast between 
 Dim banks mi cither side.
 
 90 SUNSET AT DURHAM. 
 
 The winter trees are cold and black. 
 The winter wind moans by, 
 
 And sunless all the distant fields 
 Slope upward drearily. 
 
 But high o'er all one building burns 
 
 So wonderfully bright, 
 One scarce can deem it shineth not 
 
 With more than earthly light ! 
 
 For golden gleam the ancient towers 
 Against the cloud behind, 
 
 And all the tender tracery 
 With golden fire is twin'd. 
 
 An awful pile of living light 
 Above a darken' d world! 
 
 A standard, writ with gleaming words 
 Of love, from heaven unfurl' d ! 
 
 A vision bright, — an angel form 
 Pois'd o'er the dim low ground, 
 
 In its own radiance enshrin'd 
 'Mid dusky shades around.
 
 ^« 
 
 SUNSET AT DURHAM. 91 
 
 Oh ! shall the scene to no glad thought 
 
 Of thankful hope give birth, 
 Of triumph, and of better things 
 
 Than are the things of earth ? 
 
 ««" -
 
 92 
 
 HENBOTH. 
 
 (Near Llaxfairyxghorxwy.) 
 
 I stand upon the ancient rocks, 
 Where breaks the northern sea, 
 
 And its breaking soundeth like a song 
 Of sadness unto me. 
 
 Oli ! years have past ; and 'tis the same 
 
 As when I was a boy, 
 And the bright wave washing up the creek 
 
 Was full of childish joy. 
 
 The thrift upon the rocky ledge 
 
 Is blooming as of old ; 
 In every tide-left pool there lies 
 
 The sea-weed green and gold. 
 
 Yet a change hath past upon them all, 
 
 A change I cannot see, 
 For oh ! I know they are the same, 
 
 And the change it is in me!
 
 HEXBOTH. !) ; 5 
 
 ^» 
 
 The present then was all too gay, 
 
 The future all too fair ; 
 The light hath now gone overhead 
 
 Upon the things that were. 
 
 But I can thank the God of Heaven 
 That, tho' my tears flow o'er, 
 
 I vei can thaw the frozen years 
 And feel what was before. 

 
 94 
 
 SUNDAY NIGHT. 
 
 (Kidderminster.) 
 
 Oh ! why art thou so calm, thou wondrous Night, 
 With all the trees like shadows on the sky, 
 That shineth in the faint and misty light 
 Most silently? 
 
 Upon the sloping fields is softly strewn 
 
 The whiteness of the moon. — 
 
 Shall sin and folly dare 
 To gaze unmov'd upon a scene so fair ? 
 
 Oh ! scorn upon the laughter and the shout 
 
 That from the town's base riot 
 Into the silent shining cometh out, 
 
 And mocketh God's own quiet ! 
 
 Can ye not even once an influence own, 
 
 That might have hid you bow 
 Before the majesty of "His high throne, 
 
 Whose still voice speaketh now?
 
 SUNDAY NIGHT. 95 
 
 God of the wondrous night ! oh ! tune my soul 
 In concert with these hours of thrilling glory ; 
 
 That time may onward roll, 
 Ami loudly chant to me its mighty story ! 
 
 <<-•
 
 96 
 
 A SUNBEAM. 
 
 (To L. C.) 
 
 When the thorn-leaves golden-brown 
 One by one were trembling down, 
 And across the misty dell 
 Slanted bars of aruber fell ; 
 
 Then a little winning face, 
 Pure and bright and full of grace, 
 Softly as the slanting ray 
 Fell upon my heart one day. 
 
 Smiles of Autumn quickly fly, 
 Amber mists are floating by, 
 And the glistening sunrays pass 
 From the silver-braided grass : 
 
 But my little sunbeam lies 
 Iu my heart, a life-long prize ; 
 Storm or shadow, come what will, 
 It will live and shine there still.
 
 97 
 
 EVENING. 
 (For a So>-g.) 
 
 .,^> ^.* 
 
 tte '. slowly carry me, thou rolling world, 
 From the still evening into stiller night, 
 The purple banners of the West are furl'd, 
 And high above me burns the slanting light. 
 
 There tufted clouds upon the deep'ning blue 
 Like fading roses are in clusters strewn ; 
 They're gone up high to watch the latest view,- 
 'Tis past to me, and they shall lose it soon. 
 
 types of earthly hopes ! ye glorious things, 
 That laden with rich light float in the sky, 
 How swiftly shall grow dim your golden wings 
 And like great blanks against the starlight lie ! 
 
 F
 
 98 EVENING. 
 
 Learn we, bright clouds, to love a brighter glow, 
 Far tho' it be beyond you — oh, how far ! 
 And in the silent night to stand below 
 And watch the keen light of the piercing star.
 
 19 
 
 NIGHT AT DURHAM. 
 
 (For a Song. 
 
 The groups of holy stars are sailing on, 
 •^ To the music of the quiet-dropping river, 
 />. • _ That down between its steep banks looketh wan, 
 As the shadows of the gaunt trees o'er it shiver. 
 
 Like silence that is visible, down low 
 Lie the shadows on the river and the land ; 
 And things around unreal seem to grow, 
 As with them, alike all motionless, I stand. 
 
 Sail on, ye holy stars, toward the West, 
 Thou queenly Night, sit stately on thy throne, 
 And ever, may the warrings of my breast 
 The down-raining <>f your silent spirit own.
 
 100 
 
 ASSOCIATION. 
 
 (For a Song.) 
 
 The drone of the evening beetle 
 
 Bapidly passes by ; 
 And out fi'om the golden sunset 
 
 A breeze comes quietly. 
 
 Over the many-tongued river 
 The latest thrush sings loud ; 
 
 And the wings of the gnats are shrilling 
 In the dance of their tiny cloud. 
 
 In a dreamy odour floats 
 
 The breath of the sleeping flow'rs ; 
 And a spirit of awe is borne 
 
 On the wings of the silent hours. 
 
 'Tis the same to the ear and sense 
 As it was on a by-gone day, 
 
 And I dare not look from the turf 
 To find myself far away ! 
 
 LONDON : ROBERT K. BURT, PRISTER, HOLBORN H1LI.
 
 •"--*• ^ 
 
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