iJ,!'! THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES SONGS OF DEVON AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, OF JOSIAS HOMELY, By the Author of "Reginald Arnolf," "Tom Stirlinqton," &c. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & Co. CREWS, NEWTON -ABBOT. MDCCCXLIII. CREWS, PRINTER, NEWTON. pf? Dr. BOWRING, M. P. Sir, That it was the circumstance of your having read the "Tales of the Moor" with kind commenda- tion, which encouraged me to request permission to place this book under the protection of your name, is a fact so gratifying to me, that I can scarcely be expected to with- hold a knowledge of it from the public, or ever to forget it myself. Yet, why I trouble you with the patronage of a production, so trivial, perhaps to some objectionable, and certainly so imperfect as this little thing of ''shreds and patches" may be found to be, remains to be explained — By a remarkable combination of mental powers you have been enabled to give to the English public the popular poetry of foreign lands, which lay hidden from us in languages little known in this country. As trans- lations they are allowed to be faithful ; as presenting new and peculiar views of human intellect, and of national character, they are of great interest ; but even in rendering to us the thoughts of others, you have left upon your pages the impress of a lofty genius and a true poet. This, in my opinion, you have peculiarly shown, by the fact, that where you have discerned a beauty you have not contemptuously flung it aside, because it was united to a defect. No one unpossessed of a mind thus happily con- stituted, could have given to us the translations from the ■I: t 4 2.02- IV Servian popular poetry, &c., &c, There are in the original conceptions sometimes puerilities and defects — they are the effect of circumstances which had cast their clouds over the genius of a people ! In the hope that the mercy vphich you have shown to the ancient bards of a foreign soil, you will not withhold from a son of our own green isle, whose writings may be supposed to reflect in some measure the popular feelings of your own native county in your own times, this book is respectfully submitted to your considerate and indulgent attention, with every feeling of the sincerest admiration of 3^our genius as a poet — your conduct as a patriot, and your worth as a man. Still it is my duty to release you from all re- sponsibility as to whatever may be herein contained, by stating, that it is your acquaintance with my former pro- duction alone that has induced you to show me this kind- ness, and that previous to publication you were entirely unacquainted with the contents of this volume. I offer it as the only tribute I have in my power to offer to the character and genius of my distinguished countryman, who has treated me with kindness, without the most dis- tant expectation that you are to agree v^^ith, or approve every thing contained in it. I have the honor to be. Sir, Your obliged and humble servant, JOHN BRADFORD. Pavilion Place, Newton- Abbot. Devon. PREFACE. To publish a book without a preface is like going into a lady's boudoir without taking oiF one's hat. — When a man goes into company better than that he is accustomed to keep, his great anxiety is that they may not think him polite enough. — Ergo, it appears to me most logically proved that I must write a " Preface," although I have nothing to say in it, except that being aware of the many erroi"s and deficiencies of this volume, I have resolved to recover my character another time. All I can say to friend or foe is that I have not done with them, for how- ever deficient I may be in every other good quality I have the fool-hardy one of perseverance. I would not, however, have the accidental reader of this volume to suppose that it is the production of an " Unknown," either great or little. For men of consider- able weight, (being the heaviest writers of the age) under the impression, no doubt, that virtue was its own reward, have undertaken the task of abusins; me. Although it turned out to be like planting a park of artillery against a " wreath of morning mist," they ought to have full credit for the goodness of their intentions. Others, again, have thought to do the " state some service " by laughing at me, but that proves to be a more VI unfortunate speculation than the other. They inflict on me a punishment to which I have been so long accus- tomed, that for many years past I have derived a vast deal of innocent amusement by joining the laugh against myself. Almost every boy in the county, who first begins to write for a newspaper, commences his literary labour by a "squib," or "an anecdote of Josias Homely;" Sir Walter Scott was once deceived into a notion that a poor simpleton, who lived in his neighbourhood, was per- fectly contented and happy. "So Jamie" said he, "you have nought in life to hurt and vex you ?" "Hae I nought to hurt and vax me ?" replied the idiot in a rage, "O Laird, Laird ! there is a great turliey cock goes lubber, lubber, about after me, go where I will!!" "Such is life," said the philosopher of Abbotsford, "every man has his turkey cock." — I have had mine, and am delighted to think that the more they lubber, the more famed I must become ; besides should it not produce a sublime exultation in me, who am no man of wit myself, to be the cause of so much wit in others ? Yet some grave good people say, does this babbler mean to laugh at our beards? He flings about his poetry, and our daughters copy it into their albums. Some of the best musical talent in the county has been engaged to set his songs to music- our boys are learning them ; and his ideas, mangled and crippled as they are, are thus being breathed, as it were, into the national character. What is it to us that some of them were VII written at the age of fifteen? Did he not ought to have waited until he had had more experience to have enabled him to judge of their tendency, before he gave his pas- sionate exciting nonsense to the public? Mighty fine, truly ! I once knew a delightful old lady who had an only son, who being in ill health was advised to bathe in the sea ; but the old lady hearing that bathing in the sea was dangerous to those who could not swim, wrote to her son's tutor, most earnestly requesting that her boy might not be permitted to go into the water until he had become an experienced swimmer I And so these tender dry- nurses of my reputation would have me become a popular author first, and then begin to write ! May heaven guide them in safety to that paradise of fools which, according to my faith, is in reserve for innocent blockheadism. Well, T for once will gratify them. I will aUow these trifles to find their way to increased popularity — to con- demnation — to derision, or neglect, whichever may suit the caprice and whim of a foolish generation. I will gain to myself immortality by recording a true history ! Heaven pity the poor fellows who had for their heroes Alexander, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, or Washington. Even in the Elysian fields they shall be ready to devour their hearts with envy when they see the hero I shall bring forward— for I will record the history of " Snaily Dabbs," alias, ' Cornelius Belgrave Dabbs, Esq." of Crazycot, in this County of Devon : and if his veritable history does not astonish the world, the world is a vast deal more stupid than I ever yet thought it to be. VIII A ring at the door ! — a row in the passage — and — enter printer's devil in a cold sweat. Well, sir, said I, what is your pleasure ? No pleasure at all, said the demon sulkily, we are waiting for the preface to finish the book. Then thou must have it said I, though I certainly do regret that it has been so hastily written, for I have just been struck with the idea that all the world have an eye upon thee and upon me. The features of the devil expanded into a melancholy smile — Yes sir, said he, but do you know what all the world says of yo^l ? Not exactly, said I, blushing with gratified vanity — Why then rejoined Asmodeus, the world says that your head is entirely full of all kinds of foolish fancies — Very well, I replied, and when they are informed of the ad- ditional fact that thine is quite empty, they will be suffi- ciently prepared to extend both to thee and to me all the charity which we stand so much in need of ; so I beg to subscribe myself thine and the world's obedient servant, and wish you both a brief good night. JOHN BRADFORD. IX CONTENTS. PAGE. To Marie (a Birth-day Blessing) 1 Song (Bonny Maideu) 7 Song (The Broken Hare-bell) 8 Stanzas (Night Bird thou art -waking) 9 Tlie Pauper Labourer 11 The Dying Exile 14 To a Primrose 16 The Swallow's Departure (by F. B.) 17 The Fate of the False One (answer to the above) .. .. 18 Winter's Last Trophy 20 The Maniac's Suicide 21 Evening Hymn 23 To Louise 24 The Emblem 25 The Transatlantic Flowers 27 The Wanderer Home 29 Marie (^Returning from the Fields) 30 To a Young Friend • • . . . . 32 A Mother to her only living Child 34 Sonnet 37 The Inconstant 38 The magic of thy tear 39 Ella 40 A minute's thought 42 The Hawk 43 To Julie (When twilight's beams are fleeting) 44 To Julie (When the pearl-diver's out on the restless sea) .. 4o To Julie (,0 speak not of forgetting) 4G The Grave of Agnes 47 PAGE. The Burial of Julian (A Dirge) 49 Ode (The fairest land, tlie burning sun) 50 To a Fly ^1 Ode (To fill with joy the present day) 52 The Indian to the Chiefs of his Nation 63 The Death of Rosaline 54 First Love ^^ The Skylark (Written at the age of 15) 57 The Last Words of Adolphe 58 A(jieu_for my heart must forget thee 60 Trust me, such is love 61 The Lily (Seen fading in a ball-room) 62 The Emigrant ^"^ The Devonshire Yeoman's Song of Liberty 65 Maid of Cambria (suggested by a real adventure at the age of 19) 67 The Icelander's Song of Home 68 Case of Galley 69 Adddress to Fortune 74 The Chosen One 76 The Rover's Bark 77 To Louise 79 Tliey say the world is cold love (Song) 80 Epilogue to the Hypocrite 81 Our cedar bark's white woven wing (Glee) 84 Enigma ®^ Answer ^' Epitaph' on Lawrence Lump, Esq 88 Recipe for a Modern Song 89 Apology for a Song 90 Epitaph 91 The Life Boat (Bravura) 92 Love's Own Hour (Duetto) 94 XI PAGE. Canzonet 95 Inez (To her Billet-doux) 96 Song (The Forest Glen) 98 When 1 ponder, when I ponder (Song) 100 I often thought there was a soul (Air) lol King Charles's Glee 102^ Death of the Truant Boy 103 To a Beautiful Child 106 O, it is the hour of parting (Song) 107 The Troubadour to his Carrier Dove (Song) 10& The Last Words of Josias Homely 109 (Conclusion to Part Ist.J PART 2. Hitherto Unpublished Poems. Ruben Avenel (Or Firs^ Poetic Feelings) •• 113 Inehuliny the Lyrics, Where is the melody which lately flew ? 116 Riven — riven — by the lightning fire of heaven , . 120 Introduction to the Spirit's Prophecy 122 The Prophecy 132 Castle Starnhaufl" (A Ballad of Poland) 141 Tlioughts on Entering Kingsbridge (A Domestic Sketch) 143 SONGS. In the gay crowd he felt alone 146 Wlicn the lark is at rest in her grass-woven nest .. 148 I met her where the heather-bell 149 Breathe on thy flagelet monntain boy 150 There was love on his lips so she turn'd away . . . . 152 The light which floats about his pinion 153 Bright days of winter hither ye come 154 1 pant to hear the burning words (Anacreontic) . . . . 155' SONGS OF DEVON AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Part IsL, Contains all the Songs and other Poems, written and published on various occasions, with the signature of "JosiAS Homely," now for the first time collected, with notes, additions and corrections by the Author. Nae treasures nor pleasures Could make us happy lang. The heart aye's the part aye That makes us right or wrong. BURNS. TO MARIE, ON THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF HER BIRTH. A BIRTH-DAY BLESSING. Thou careless dweller in a world of care — Young liclpless wanderer in a clime of- storms, Playful inheritor of grief!— a year O'er thy unconscious head, with silent flight, Has melted into past Eternity. Thy ifathcr, on thy natal clay, should write To thee in words of fond unminghdjoy, And such alone his heart would dictate now ; But memory blends the future with the clouds, And blighted hopes, she gathers from the past. Thus sadness mingles with the words of love. ''Many a bright return of this bright day" Is but affection's blind and thoughtless wish. Ours is a clime in which bright days are few. And those Avhicli seem the brightest to the sense. Diffuse no sunshine o'er the soul. Thus, Avhilc I gaze upon thy bright untroubled eye — (A lamp of gladness or a fount of tears As joy or sorrow plays around the heart,) A mingled pang of joy and agony Has shot into my soul — A silent jirayer. Born from that thrill of mingling hope and dread,. In heaven's chancery is written down — That silent blessing is my birth day gift. The hand that writes to thee may soon be dust ; The heart that beats for thee may soon be still, And motionless the lips which bless thee now : The trembling anxious parent, who would fill Thy cup with happiness, and strive to make Thy life one long and joyous jubilee, Will be at rest, and like a wayward child, In Death's cold arm, be-rocked himself to sleep. Then all the fond aspirings of his heart To strew thy path with flowers, and to crowd With blessings only all thy transient day, Will, like his dust, be scattered to the breeze. Save haply then beside the mercy seat His spirit's fond petition may remain, And like the vapour of the incense, give The perfume of well-pleasing sacrifice ; Thus in effect, that may outlive the breath Which breathed it — nature's holiest wish, a prayer Born from the tremblings of a parent's heart, A father's prayer for tliee — may perish never. Yet tliink not it can give unsought-for aid ; I can but here record what thou should'st ask In meek sincerity, and strive to gain When dawning reason shall unfold thy mind, And life's grand struggle for thyself begin. But what the purport of thy father's prayer ? It does not ask for wealth— that fortxme's gifts May tempt thee into pride and deep disdain Of those whose lot on earth it is to mourn ; It does not ask for fame— one silent hour In which thy heart shall tell thee all is right In real worth, surpasses all the names Inherited or won, of all the great. It leaves thee in His hands whose will is right, And who can never err — His will be done — And only asks for thee a power to bend 4 In humble thankfulness to His decree. There is a gem of high surpassing wortli, To which the jewels in the caves of earth Are but as dust, most vile and worthless dross, It is the deep confiding hope that shines (Lock'd in the chambers of the trusting heart) Through all life's varying scenes resigned to God. Could I but choose for thee, that should be thine, For wealth is poverty, and that is wealth. These lines may meet thine eye when I'm at rest : When earth's false pleasures, and oppressing cares, Have stung thy heart — and made the sunlight dark. And planted round thy couch of midnight rest Pale hopes that vanish, sorrows that remain. Shrink not to bear the common lot of all, 'Tis wisely ordered though yet tmexplained. And when the circling year brings quickly round Thy natal day, look up to heaven with hope. Repeat thy father's prayer for thee, and say, Whate'er^thy will O God — thy will be done. Thus may each natal day bring stronger trust. Mild resignation annually renewed. And meek conformity to his wise will. Then shall thy gayest hours be gem'd with joys, Bright fugitives from Eden, who come here To 'lure back pilgrims to a home of bliss. Then shall each sorrow bring its own sweet balm, And hours of grief bring days of lasting peace. Thy life shall be one banquet of content — Thy death the calm repose which gently falls On the hush'd spirit, like the dewy eve Upon the moon-lit lake, when zephyrs sleep, And summer days expire, in blessing us. Secure this talisman — this pearl of worth — And though in penury, thou still art rich — In degradation, still art nobly great ; Greater and wealthier than the gaudy slaves In ffilded bondao;e, link'd to fortune's wheels : With childish eagerness who grasp the toys Which feed on earth, the vanity of worms. But leave the heart to pine in lonely gloom. In vacant disappointment and disgust. Thou need'st not look on earthly good with scorn, But with a calm unruffled mind regard. And take thy share, and be therewith content ; Convinced that what is given, is kindly given. And what denied, more kindly still withheld ; 'Tis best for earth and better still for heaven. Then strive to bend each proud aspiring thought Down to the level where sure bliss begins. Meek satisfaction at the good bestowed ; A heart resigned and humbled into peace. But years must pass away ere thou canst read 6 The lightest meaning of my lightest word. And thou art tired too of dull delay, So we will turn to childish sport again And say no more about it * * "The Birth Day Blessing," and several other pieces in tliis collec- tion, will have been seen perhaps by some of my readers in a form rather different from that in whicli they here appear. This renders a few words of explanation desirable. First — Many of the pieces here published found their way into Albums, Scrap Books, (S'C and even into print, not from my own manuscripts, but from incorrect copies. It is therefore in their present form only that I am respon- sible for them. Secondly — Many of the longer pieces, particularly those in blank verse, were orujinnlly written at greater length than the printed copies, which appeared in the newspapers, considerable curtailment being necessary to render them fit for publication in such a situation. These curtailments were of less consequence, when they alluded to local events, fresh in the memory of my read- ers; but would now render the meaning obscure in some cases, and inother cases give to the different paragraphs the appearance of ill connected fragments. No reasons for injudicious curtailment now existing, I have used my original manuscripts, or the printed copies, whichever appeared to me most desirable. Lastly. — The additions and amendments introduced into this collection, liave, it must be confessed, been numerous and extensive No one it is thought who ha The rich man's pride, whicli made the >vii)v The poor man's misei-j^, Tore from my heart my fair hair'd boys — Tims home's not liome to me. For, had tliey lived to toil for me, Who fell to save the land, I should not thus for charity Hold up my trembling hand. Their blood smoked on a foreign plain — I'm like a blasted tree — No prop sustains my wither'd strength ; Thus — home's not home to me.* How shall we tell the poor old soul, The mother of my boys, That she must quit her home at last, And lose her last of joys. — Her last of joys — to wet with teai-s The ground on which they trod ; She's wedded to a banish'd man. She has no home — O God ! * The sons were duawn in the militia. Deprived of their help, the father was obliged to give; uyj his little fai-in ; they, in des- pair, volunteered into reKinicnfs of the line, and fell, as dcserihed. These lines were not written in a spirit of hostility to the jioor-law amendment act, but with a deep and indignant conviction that many thing* in our social sy^trin i-('r|iiires iniiondnicnt, as well us the poor laws. 14 Oh, God ! that word revives my heart, For He is good and just — 'Tis He has mingled joys and pains To try the cliild of dust. The proud one's might can go thus far, Here stay'd his power must be ; Home for the homeless and forlorn, The grave's a home for me. And now my brave and generous lads, With whom till now I've toil'd, Be peaceful and obey the laws, Then shall your foes be foil'd. Forgive an old heart-broken man, If falling tears you see ; My heart seems dead within my breast, Since home's not home to me." THE DYING EXILE TO HIS BRIDE. They told thee that the tempest cloud Was gathering o'er my fated head ; But thou didst scorn the warning proud — We gaily to the desert sped, That we might love in lonely joy, And none might frown upon our bliss, Where desert winds with wild flowers toy, — Twin spirifs of \ho wildcrncs?. 15 The lingering sun-set leaves the west — The wakening night breeze fans my brow ; Fast sinking into deadly rest, My heart beats faintly sad and low. But count its last expiring swell — To thee 'tis given, to thee 'tis due, For thou wert faithful though I fell, And all the proud predicted triie. Thou'rt whispering words of holy peace, To him who taught thee first to mourn ; But who shall soothe thy loneliness. When my frail lamp shall cease to burn. One parting smile — I die — I die — And raise once more thy vesper hymn, That my sooth'd spirit now may fly, To heaven with thy pure offering. • Close — close my eyes — my senses reel — Mark thus my monumental urn ; For all the love the pure could feel, Thou'dst all the faithful could return. That love is still my gem of worth. Though hearts asunder thus are riven ; 'Tis all of heaven I've had on earth— 'Tis all of earth I take to heaven. 16 TO A PRIMROSE. On seeing one in full bloom in January. Sweet primrose, beguiling With the AA^armth of deceit, Was the sunbeam so smiling Which sought thy retreat ; Thou didst hasten to meet him, And his smile to repay ; Ere thou fondly could'st greet him He had melted away. The false smile of the morning Gave thy loveliness birth, But the night tempest scorning Thee, frail gem of the earth, Will unfold his fierce pinion In the black midnight hour, And assert his dominion. Like a tyrant in power. When the lark shall awaken His song of delight, And the hawthorn be shaken By the spring zephyrs' flight — When the bee from his slumber Shall arise without dread, Thee I sadly shall number. Sweet flower, with the dead. 17 Thus my soul's embryo pleasures. The gems of my heart, And young joy's blooming treasures, Prematurely depart ; O the fond hopes 1 cherish, Earth's cold blasts destroy, And they one by one perish, 'Ere their season of joy. THE SWALLOWS' DEPARTURE. By Frederick Bcrringtox. Inserted by permission of the Author. Birds of the tireless wing ye are flown, To roam in the light of a sunnier zone } Ye have skimm'd the green mead with the morn's first beams, And mirror'd yourselves in the fairest streams, Ye have tasted the warmth of the summer sky, In regions which dazzle and dim the eye. And^when night hath been rob'd in her darkest pall, A hoipe ye have found beneath cottage and hall. But winter's cold breath ye have scented far, And heard the first sound of his tempest war, And from the wild din of the stormy day — Ye are gone o'er the deep away — away. Ye have passed the light bark with the swelling sail, And behind ye have left the panting gale — And now flutter with gladness your glossy wings, In the spicy climes where the palm tree springs. 18 How many like ye the wovld displays ; The sunshine friends of our summer days ; Who bask in the warmth of our kindness, while The golden features of fortune smile, But fly when poverty's wintry hour, Creeps o'er the heart with chilling pow'r. And like ingrates leave it in cold distress To battle the storm in its loneliness. F. B. THE FATE OF THE FALSE ONE. Suggested by reading the heautifid lines by F. J3. "THE SWALLOWS' DEPAllTURE." The bird of the ebon pinion flies ! The friendship light of the false one dies 1 The swift-winged bird a new home has made In the holy rest of the palm tree's shade ; And he who but laughs in the halls of joy, Sells his friendship to him who can buy the toy ; And the sullen frown of the winter hour. Their darkness on the lone heart pour ; And he of the truthful soul is sad, And he of the false heart gay and glad Did'st thou hear that sigh on the southern seas ? 'Tis the land-ward rush of the vernal breeze j In the gardens of Irem he tarried long, And sighed as the birds of Aden sung. Id From the spicy groves he now loves to roam, And scatter their sweets o'er the ocean foam j And fly to some dell of the sunny north Where the snow-drop is meekly looking forth. The rush of fleet pinions hast thou heard ? 'Tis the home-ward flight of the summer bird, To his home from afar he is come again, For barrenness dwells on the tropic plain ; And the poison tree with its bright green shade. Sheds its deadly delight* through the southern glade. In the cloudless sky is the samiel's breathy And the citron grove is the haunt of death ; The spring's voice called, and their cohorts met Round the mosque, and the dome, and the minaret ; For the sunshine and splendour were turn'd to gloom, As their fond hearts pined for their northern home ; f And the blush of the wild flower is on the plain, And the fountain is free from the icy chain ; * ''Deadly deliglit." — One of the eastern leoends of the Upas tree is, that it casts a most invitiui? shade, which seems to tempt the weary traveller to repose. But if bird, heast, or man, seek its shelter, they seem to fall into a soft delicious slumher,^ from which they never awake. t "Northern home."— It may not be generally known in how- literal a sense this may he understood. By taking observation of those which have any remarkable peculiarity of plumage, it is as- certained that the swallows do often return to the parental nest after their migrations. The return of (me with a wliite feather in its wing was noticed for two or tliiee seasons, at a village in the .Xorth of Devon, some years since, by a curious observer of nature. 20 And the ivy no longer an emblem of gloom, Looks bright on the ruin and the tomb ; Soft sun-light comes down on the holy fane, And the green leaves are hung in our woods again ; And the bird of the dark and glossy plume. For the cot has exchanged the lofty dome. All nature is joyful, but what can impart Joy to the false one's frozen heart ? Though summer and gladness await at its gate, His dark heart is cold and desolate ; Though the spring may travel from pole to pole. Eternal the winter that rests on his soul. WINTER'S LAST TROPHY. Occasioned by seeing the remnant of a pyramid of snow near a bed of early flowers. Pale remnant of dark and tempestuous hours. What dost thou here in the time of flowers ? Thy kindred with frolic, and tumult and foam. Are wending their way to their ocean home ; And in sun-light and mirth, where the fountains play. They are calling to thee — come away — away. Hai-k the gentle voice of that breeze is heard Which brings to our shores the summer bird; And their joyous bands in the south have met. Around tower, and dome, and minaret. They will laugh in scorn, o'er the dull delav, Of their tyrant slain— so away — away. 21 And the infant flowers, with laughing eyes, Are looking upon thee with meek surprise ; The spring's young blossoms around thee blow, The cold stern frowns of their vanquish'd foe, The fair and the frail can no more dismay, Let their sweet breath warn thee — away — away. The south sends her army of zephyrs forth, They have walk'd on the hills of the frozen north ; And joy fills with song the lark's speckled breast. And the bee has awoke from its winter rest. Weep on — weep on — till thy heart decay, All glad things hate thee — away — away. THE MANIAC'S SUICIDE. The gloomy mantle of the night, Which ou my sinking spirit steals, Will vanish at the morning light Which God my east, my sun reveals. Chattertou. Come away — come away from that silent bier, For a heart bruised with sorrows is resting there,^ And the phrenzied spirit has fled — For the mercy of man it had sought in vain, (That mercy which rends the heart in twain) To the mercy of God is s[)cd. 22 Let him rest — let hiin rest in his cahu death sleep, Let no sordid slaves here their vigil keep — He has parted from all beneath ; Though no requiem lay we may dare to raise, See ! the tranquil smile of his beauteous days Come back with the shadow of death. He will wake — he will wake from life's fever'd dream And the j^oodness of God on his spirit will beam, Who hath doubted and dreaded his power : The good heart wild passions might tear from repose, As the whii'lwind may shatter the bloom of the rose- Let us weep o'er the wreck of the flower. It is life — it is life — is a fitful disease. And death to the maniac is comfort and ease — The path of despair he has trod ; The spirit in darkness its progress has I'un, But the eagle unbounded knows his way to the sun — The contrite in heart to their God. He had sought — he had sought in the folly of pride. What the wisdom of mercy hath kindly denied — He had fought with the troubled wind : See ! the throes of death have had power to raise The unruffled smile of his joyous days, As thev freed the bewildered mind. 2S He is free— he is free from the shackles of earth, This moment of horror— the hour of his birth ! His dwelling of clay was his tomb. Though the darkest wreaths we spread on his bier, And each heart sheds o'er him its bitterest tear, The blest hail the wanderer home. EVENING HYMN TO THE DEITY. Now in the soft and silent hour Which links the dying day to night, In thankfulness and prayer, before Thy throne of mercy and of might Thy creatures see. The things which perish have all day Fill'd with care each troubled breast, And led our wandering thoughts astray ; The first fruits of our hours of rest Belong to I'hee. Star after star awakens bright Within the deep vault of the sky, Like spangles on the robe of night, The temple of the Deity — They light for prayer. Hush'd are the night winds in their caves ; Sweet flowers are bent with evenins; dew ; Charm'd to still rest the slumbering waves Yield thee their silent worship too — And Thou art here. •24 Here — in thy mercy and thy love ; Here — in thy night flowers' fragrant breath ; Here — in the twinkling star above; Here — in the silent wave beneath ; Here — in each heart ; While lifeless and unconscious things Thus yield thee up their silent praise, O let the praise each spirit brings Be not less pure, less sweet than these ; Accept our part. Creator of the beauteous earth ! Great builder of the arched heaven ! Who giv'st to day — to night their birth, And to the soul of man hast given To read in these Thy wisdom, goodness, power, and love. Though past our trembling lips to speak; Though far our loftiest thoughts above, Accept the offering of the weak — Accept our praise. TO LOUISE. May'st thou be happy — through thy blooming youth, While fairy visions floating by are deck'd in hues of truth; And when thy youth is fading — its sweet delusions flee. And turn to stern realites — still happy may'st thou be. 25 May'st thou be happy — while the morning hoars Pass by witli merry minstrelsy, and strew thy patli with flowers ; And when the tear of evening wets the daisy on the lea, l^hy heart still bath'd in bliasful hope — still happy may'st thou be. May'st thou be happy — Avhile I in sadness straj^, I would not that one care of mine to thee should find its way; And when I raise the wine cup to quaff with reckless glee, Each care of mineshall vanish love — if liappy thou maystbe. May'st thou be happy— while in manful strife, I'm cast a doom'd and batter'd bark upon the sea of life; Around me howls the tempest — beneath me roars the sea, Amidst it all I raise my song — if happy thou may'st be. May'st thou be happy — when relentless foes Have crush'd me in the struggle, and darkly life shall close; Or should glory crown the banner of the valiant and the free, This is my soul's deep triumph — that happy thou wilt be. "THE EMBLEM." Written in allusion to Mr. Bulteel's recommendation, that the Rose be afiopted as the "emblem" of her Majesty's Government, and respectfully dedicated to Lady Elizabeth Bulteel. In Sharon's green plains Freedom's red rose once grew, While the chosen of God raised the song of their bliss, Aiul she smiled as unfettered the breeze round her flew, And gave her sweet breath in exchange for his kiss. 26 But the land grew enslaved — and the bigot had power, And the dust of the desert fell thick on her bloom ; O the hand of the free had first nurtured the flower, And the land of the shackled to her was a tomb. When the foot of the fettered her beauty hadbrusB^l In death the fair flower of Sharon lay crusli'd. In the gardens of Gull, when the rose was in bloom, And the nightino-ale sans; to her all the night long, Young Zorab, fair Persia's sultana, came down To breathe the sweet zephyr and hear the bird's song. Thus a slave she address'd — "Go pluck that sweet flower, Bear it hence to my lord as an emblem of me, Be the star of his garden the pride of his bower, Or his ensiiffn of war Zorab's red rose shall be." But 'twas emblem alone for the free and the brave, And it DTED in the pestilent breath of a slave. In Albion, the pride and the hope of the earth, Two roses, twin-sisters, long strife did maintain ; One blush'd like the sky where the morning has birth, One rival'd the snow-flake which lies on the plain ; Fierce war march'd before them, and famine pursued, And carnage and discord around them were spread. The patriot's zeal turn'd to partizan's feud, The slave paid them homage, and liberty fled ; The tear of the widow oft watered their pride — Wlien the blood of tlie subject fell on them, they died. 27 But now, England, for thee, fairer pi'ospects disclose — Hajipy land of the bold, of the fearless, the free; For Lihcriifs tree will be prop for the rose, Thy rose the chief ornament plac'd on that tree ; Here no fetter'd foot treads on the soil of thy land, No slave shall e'er brefithe on our roval rose here, Our Isle of the ocean, with loyalty mann'd, Offers love to its sovereign untarnished by fear. Our "emblem" of peace, and our war cry, shall be Victoria I the rose of the loyal but free. THE TRANSATLANTIC FLOWER. In au article on "Atlantic Steam Navigation" in a number of the "Quarterly Review," is the following; — "One of the passen- gers in this ship (the Great Western) brought over a splendid buiiquet of American flowers, which he was enabled to present to a Lady, (such was the rapidity of the voyage) it seemed almost as fresh as if the dew was still on it. The fire-ship* flew like the carrier dove With the greetings of peace and the words of love; O'er the bounding waves she has swept along, With the minstrel's mirth and the mariner's song. She has bounded on with the valiant brave. Where the halcyon slept on the summer wave, And the peterel — child of the sullen storm, She has left in her flight — where its spectre form Is seen to flit o'er the billows foam, Swift as a shade from the silent tomb. * Fire ship. The Chinese of Canton have the politeness to call our steamboats, '^ The fire ships of f lie Barbarinns ." 28 The brave and the valiant had gathered round,! And with blessings had greeted the 'aoME-ward bound; She had left on the deep in stern amaze, The most gallant barks of the by gone days.J Now the lordly merchants are counting o'er Her wealth and her o-ems and her eolden store ; And the sons of pleasure have hastened forth, For the crystal draughts of the frozen north.|| But why is that maiden standing by, With a diamond tear in her deep blue eye ? What means the tumult which swells her breast ? What comes to her from the distant west ? Frail dying child of the passing hour. Sweet gem of her heart— ^is a fadinrj Jlower — A lov'd one had dropt on its bloom a tear, She bends o'er the gift and his breath is there. Like love himself from his native sky, Come here for a moment to smile and die. t A hundred thousand New Yorkers assembled to witness tlie departure of the Great Western, calling; her the "nojiiE-icnrd hound" ill afiectiouate remembrance of the coninioii origin of the two ^reat nations. Thus docs commercial intercourse re-unite the tie of brotherhood among nations, even when war, at once the con- sequence and the curse of man's mistaken ambition, lias severed it. X The New York ^^Liners" are the finest sailing vessels in the world. II Crystal drauf^^hts. One of the most remarkable American speculations, conse((ueuton the raifidity oftransit, is the exportation of ice, not only to En;^land, but iosnppli/the inkaOitan/s of Calcutta with that unwonted luxury ! ! A few years since this would havi' ■ipj)cared too wild for the stories of the hundred ni<(hts. 29 THE WANDERER HOME. The traveller who all night long Through darkness wends his way, Knows when the sky has darkest grown Near is the dawn of day ; To him that dawn appears most bright As daughter of the darkest night. Light rising on the playful wing Of Zephyr comes a shower, And o'er the green vale hovering Weeps to the morning flower : And brightest is that vernal day Whose morn has wept its clouds away. Our cares and fears of yesterday We to the winds will give, Save that to sweeten present joy Their memory shall live ; Our new born joy shall be more dear, As child of sorrow and of care. Come gaily touch thy sweet guitar. Our hearts will both beat time; I left each anxious thought afar, In a dark and distant clime, When o'er the restless wave I flew And found thee happy, fair, and true. 30 MARIE (RETURNING FROM THE FIELDS). The language of childhoofl is tlic language of the imagination and of the aft'ections: it is often unpreincditatcd jJoctry ; or, as Hannah More lias more correctly expressed it, it furnishes some excellent ma- terials,/br poetry: but to those who have uidiappily lost their sympa- thies with innocence, human character is only of interest after it has commenced its career of folly, vanity, and crime. I am coming — I am coming From yon field of many flowers, Where the sweetest of earth's blossoms Bespangle fairy bowers; I am bringing — I am bringing A cliaplet for your brow — So you must not call me truant, Nor be angry with me now. I have wander' d — I have wander'd Where the lark was on the wing, And the black-bird chanting anthems To the young and flowery spring; And there were village maidens, With delight upon their brow ; So you should not call me truant, Nor be angry with me now. As we sported — as we sported, We heard the bull-finch sing, And one swallow flitted ]>y us On his swift and glossy wing. 31 Why, father, all is gladness, Wliere the deep ting'd hlosscmis grow- So you should not call me truant, Nor be angry with me — no ! You said some little people, From the fields of fairy land. Might be tripping elfin circles On the bright and yellow sand ; Or that some passing angel From his cloudy car might bow ; Is he, like me, a truant ? Who is angry with us now ? ANSWER. Not the father — not the father Of the rosy, joyous spring, To whom the spirit's gladness Is the sweetest earthly thing ; As each wild flower spends its fi-agrancc^ Each heart to him should bow — So I will not call you truant, Nor be angry with you now. 32 TO A YOUNG FRIEND, UNUSUALLY DEPRESSED BY HEAVY MISFORTUNE, Tho' losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There's wit there ye'U get there Ye'll find nae ither where. Burns. Rude is the prospect round you spread — Rough is the path yoxi have to tread — Avoid distrust and fear : Use cheerfully the honest means Which heaven for you, for all ordains, With providential care : Nor murmur at the wise decree Which placed your lot in poverty, For nature's wants are few; If goodness only brings content, What boots it whether wealth or want Should prove our trial below. For industry is all you need ; The hand which earns your daily bread Earns indej>endence too. And is some gaudier gift denied? 'Tis done to check some foolish pride Which on that gift may grow. y_. Let honour still where'er you stray. The guardian spirit of your way, Upon your course attend. 33 Howe'er the veering gale m.iy blow, Let fortune's tide or ebb or flow, She's still a matchless friend. Tempted by wealth, or tried by woe, Do ever as you ought to do. And peace your lot will bless ; When from the golden rule you stray, You've lost dear boy, you've lost the way Which leads to happiness. To make us blest is heaven's delight ; But bliss is where the heart is right — On this great truth depend — While destiny here schools the mind, The circumstances we shall find Best suited to that end. Praised by the vain, we too grow vain, 'Till humbled pride grows wise again Beneath correction's rod ; There finds that peace which is denied To power, ambition, Avealth, and pride — The humble dwell with God. In error — some we happier call; But heaven bestows their share on all Of active joy or rest: Great truth! by us ill understood, That heaven alone can know the good. And heaven alone the blest. 34 What know we of our earthly state .' This — sfood is bliss, and conduct fate — What of the world to come ? That we are pilgrim wanderers here, Fast journeying to a brighter sphere, That hrighter sphere our home. LINES Supposed to be addressed by a Mother to her only living Child. Why is thy soft blue eye, with searching glance, Examining thy mother's face, my child ? CarCst thou have noted that a tear has darap'd The cheek that smiles in harmony with thine ? Thou seem'st to wonder, that the eye which looks With fond unutterable love on thee, Should thus be-dim'd with ought betokening grief My own ! thou art my only living child ! 'Tis thus a sadness mingles with the joy Which circles round thy mother's throbbing heart 'Tis thus the smile w^hich welcomed thee to life Was darken'd by remembrance of the dead. Thou had'st a brother, who was fair like thee. And on his cheek the rosy hue of liealtl It 35 To my pleased fancy token'd many years ; I thought a noblo fearlesness of soul Like to his father's, gleam'd from his dark eye — (Hush — do not weep my child because I weep) — He pass'd away — he only came to earth To smile upon his mother and to die ! Like the still evening dews on closing flowers, On thy hush'd spirit silent rest descends ; Tomorrow thou wilt wake again to joyous life. My eyes are watchful, and my soul is sad. Still let me press thee to my bursting heart, And bless thee while thou sleepest ; let me watch The dark ting'd eyelid closing on i(s mate, And chant to thee the hymn thou lov'st to hear. But my voice falters, for a nameless dread Still turns a mother's rapture into fear — The blossoms of my heart were swept away liike summer flowers before the autumn winds, And thou alone art left to me— a pearl Of all loves treasury, alone preserved. Now in the dread deep silence of the night, When care is wearied out and gone to rest ; When grief has number'd o'er its woes and sleeps ; When slumb'ring misers have forgot their gold. And woe-worn poverty its wretchedness, Thy mother's anxious heart is still awake ; A rushing melody of sad sweet sounds Is trembling on my lip— I'll try to sing. 36 Ah ! imich of sad experience must be thine, Ere thou wilt fully comprehend why words Though fondly uttered are thus sad in sound. The careless s[>orts, the passionless delights Of childhood's bright, and laughter-loving hours, Must all have melted into one fond dream Of love and tenderness — the life of life — The imao^e of the loved one must have smiled Upon thee in the features of his son ; Death must have stood beside thee and have snatch'd Away the gem, the pearl-drop of thy heart — O yes, thou must become what I now am Ere thou canst comprehend why tears And smiles are mingling on thy mother's cheek ; Why sadness chequers thus the thrilling joy, Which passes through each fibre of my heart, When thou dost press thy little lips to mine And I embrace — my only Iwbuj child, And sing to her the song she seems to love. SONG. The moon is sinking in the billow, The night bird's song will shortly cease ; Thy mothers breast — thy oAvn lov'd pillow, Woes thee to slumber there in peace. Come, now the breeze is softer sighing, And each wild flower hangs its head, While Angel visitants are hieing Hitherward to guard thy bed : 37 Now softly let thy eyelids close, Sweet be thy spirit's calm repose. Briglit eyes are looking down from heaven — Holy harps are hymning there, Thoii