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<l been amused by the first rougli sketch of a poem, thus altered,
would be displeased to sec it amended, and made as much more wor-
thy of his favor, as the present opportunity enabled mc to make it.
SONG.
(Bonny Maiden.)
O the beam of thy dark eye was flame-like aiul bright
In the days which are fled, bonny maiden,
Its each changing glance eeem'd a varying delight.
In bright hours — now dead, bonny maiden ;
And mirth like a melody dwelt on thy tongue.
And a halo of brightness around thee was flung.
And my love was artless , and ardent, and young,
In days which are fled, bonney maiden.
O a smile in the rose on thy cheek us'd to dwell.
In days which are fled, bonny maiden,
Or flitted thy varying emotions to tell
In bright hours — now dead, pretty maiden ;
But the beam of thine eye has been quench'd in a tear,
Thy cheek is now pale, and no sweet smile is there,
And I through the dark world now roam in despair,
My bright hopes all fled, bonny maiden.
We parted — the spring in its beauty return'd.
As in days which are fled, bonny maiden,
But in winter's chill frost my cold heart was inurn'd —
Its joys were all dead, bonny maiden ;
O the pretty wild flowers still spangled the moor,
The lark went on high, and was gay as of yore.
But my broken heart withcr'd, love warm'd it no more.
And its bright hope all fled, bonny maiden.
SONG.
THE imOKRN HARE-BELL.
Oh! I have crush'd
Thee, pretty flow'r,
And thou art dying',
Long before
The first sweet day, which gave thee birth
Has vanish'd from the smiling earth.
The heedless foot
Which trod upon
Thy smiling face,
My pretty one,
Meant thee no harm, yet did thee wrong,
Now nought avails the wailing song.
There liv'd a maid
By Tamer's stream.
To seek her love
A Soldier came.
To woo her loveliness came he.
But love he spoke of, jestingly.
And when she knew
Sweet words were spoken
To her in jest.
Her heart was broken ;
And now, beside that maiden's grave,
Stands in his grief, the Soldier brave.
And lie would give-
The earth and in;iin
If he could call
Her back again.
The Hare-bell crush'd, none could restore,
The broken heart revives no more.
STANZAS,
Occasioned by hearing a bird utter a ?)rief and plaintive song at a
late hour of the evening, when the other choristers of the grove
had long been silent.
Night bird ! thou art waking,
Tliouirh the tuneful all rest —
And the day-beam forsaking
Its cloud in the west.
Has the day brought thee sorrow ?
Has the darkness brought dread?
Dost thou fear for to morrow?
Dost thou wail for the dead?
The sweet sigh of the evening
Woos thee softly to rest;
The night breeze stirs gently
The plume on thy breast;
And the sweet-briar and moss-rose
Their breath round thee shed —
Like the fragrance of incense,
Where the vesper prayer's said.
10
N iglit bird — thou art waking-,
Though the tuneful all rest ;
And thy mournful note breaking;
This silence so blest.
Too far hast thou wandered?
On thy pinion so fleet,
And the sudden night hindered
Thy homeward retreat ?
In thy home of the valley
The loved ones are met —
While thou chantest lonely
Thy song of regret.
Thus youth, in its gladness.
For home has no care —
In the dark hour of sadness,
The lone heart is there.
Night bird thou art waking,
Though the mirthful repose —
But soon morn will be breaking.
Thy home to disclose.
Let thy slumber be silent —
Thy visions be bright —
For thou art not forsaken,
Lone child of the night.
T too am in darkness,
My brief life a dream —
A dim fairy beacon.
On a dark rolling stream.
11
But though sadly I wander —
Though doubtful I roam —
There is goodness and wisdom
Conducting me home.
THE PAUPER LABOURER.
The strong attachment of the villasCTS of North Devon to tlieir
native places, is iiroverbial anrl remarkable. When the Poor Law
Amendment Act was broiipht first into operation there, nothing
excited so much dread amonp- the aged and infirm, nothing excited
so much indignation ;,mono; the sturdy la'iourers, as the fear that
the old people would b(^ removed from tlie homes of their youth,
the graves of their fathers, and the dwelling places of their children.
The case alluded to is not imaginary.
The sun light of the winter's eve,
Grew dim upon the moor,
An aged white hair'd poor old man,
Stood by his cottage door ;
''And have I lived with tears he said,
This heavy day to see,
When I must quit this dear old spot.
And home's not home to me.
Many a winter's snows have fallen
Upon this old loved cot ;
Many a summer's sim has shone
Upon my happy lot,
VI
.Since liere my mother led uie ibrlh,
To sport M'ith childish glee,
Yet now when old and worn and poor.
My home's not home to me.
From hence a boy my father's team
I learnt to drive a-field,
From him I learnt the woodman's craft;
And learnt the flail to Avield;
When first I won the wrestler's prize,
We langh'd his pride to see —
Ah ! these wei'e fair and happy days —
Then home 7vas home to me.
V
And when the good old man grew weak
And stricken well in years,
I guided forth his faltering steps,
And wiped away his tears.
We yonder in the house of God,
Together bent the knee,
And there we both together prayed,
Then home was home to me.
And here too 'twas my bonnie boys,
From youth to manhood grew —
'I'wo handsome, brave, and fair liairVl lad
AA'ho fell nt "\7nterlon ;
i:>
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<rh from our arms the loved were riven,
They can't forget to love us here.
One voice, than all the rest seems stronger,
Yet tis sweetest of the choir,
Hark, it joins thy mother's numbei-,
It chants the air we all admire —
Sister, let thy eyelids close,
Sweet be thy spirit's calm repose.
SONNET.
Written at "Lover's Leap" on the banks of the Dart.
I'd live a hermit on the craggy side.
Of this rude rock, which juts its rugged breast.
Where murmuring at delay the waters glide ;
Runnino; their restless race in search of rest.
The rapid Dart with its own foam at play.
Dashing, and rippling as it speeds along,
As through the rocks its gushing waters stray,
Should raise a chorus to my morning song.
And when at eve the moon in vain essays
To view her likeness in the playful stream,
And the soft radiance of her smiling rays.
Strays o'er the wave in many a sparkling beam,
Pure would my Vesper Hymn ascend on high —
Meek coulil I live, and liumbly trusting, die.
38
THE INCONSTANT.
Twas night — and fiercely raged the storm,
Some spirit seemed to chide him ;
It pass'd, and sweetly broke the morn,
Nought from himself could hide him.
Once had he woo'd a trusting maid,
Her trusting heart had broken —
Why is the lingering curse delay'd ?
He knows his doom is spoken.
With madden'd hand the wine cup fill —
It has no power to ease him ;
Fair forms are gliding round him still —
What charm have they to please him ?
The mirthful madness of the bowl
Shows but the dark thought smothered ;
Can beauty's glance e'er charm a soul
Which that sweet glance has withered ?
Thus the destroyer stands destroyed,
Though wealth and power surround him ;
His heart a blank, a dreary void,
Earth's choicest joys around him.
And love is thus a lovely flower,
To true hearts who enjoy it ;
But crush'd, it bears cnvenom'd power,
For those who thus destroy it.
39
THE MAGIC OF THY TEAR.
Oh no, I would not see thee weep,
Yet highly have I prized thy tear;
At night upon the darken'd deep
I've thought of it the gloom to cheer—
The tear thou didst at parting shed,
That talisman's full spell to show,
I've fought amidst the friendly dead,
And fearless dared the living foe.
And when, becalm'd, the waters slept,
And listless crept the tedious hours;
Or when the wild tornado swept
With ruthless wing the Indian shores—
When pillow'd on the Baltic foam,
Or drifting on th' Atlantic wave.
In memory like a gem of home.
To my lorn soul it sweetness gave.
At length my long-left home I seek,
And press thee to my heart at last ;
A tear of joy is on thy cheek,
My sweet reward for dangers past —
Now gaily let me see thee smile,
Thy joyous voice in gladness hear,
I proudly will recount the while.
The charm — the magic of thy tear.
40
ELLA— THE MANIAC MAID.
Over the grave of lier former friend.
Boing' at a villntye in South Wales. I went in the evening, into
the Cliurchyard. The Sun had just disappeared behind the heaving
waves of the distant Ocean, a lingering beam of the fading twilight
still streamed through the pointed windows of the old Church ren-
dering some of the objects within "dimly visible." I stood for a
moment to observe its effect; there is to me a something highly
pleasing, though mixed with feelings of awe, and solemn interest, in
thus taking a view alone, and clandestinely as it were, of the House of
Prayer and the abode of death. The monuments with their emblems
of mortality dimly seen;— The altar, like the mysteries of Religion
obscurely visible. — The neat pews showing a place of worship for the
livinsj;— and the lettered floor, pointing out the narrow resting places
of the dead are objects which seen alone, and by the last beams of
the departing day, are calculated to fill the inind with those sensations
of solemn serenity and tranquil sadness, often so pleasing to the con-
templative imagination. My fancy thus occupied I turned round
to observe the field of Graves. In a distant part of the enclosure
stood a female bending over one of the "grassy hillocks" and
apparently employed in adorning it with flowers. Her wild pic-
turesque attire, consisting of the Hat worn by her country women,
and scarlet Welsh mantle, her dark flowing locks, agitated counten-
ance, and wild gestures, i)resented a picture of moving interest to
a fancy already prepared for romantic imaginings. This then, said
T, is Ella the extraordinary maniac who in the desolation of insanity
and the wreck of mind, still preserves so tender a regard for the
memory of a former unfortunate friend, tiiat her only remaining
pleasure seems to be frequently to adorn her grave with flowers. From
time to time she sang snatches of a plaintive and melancholy
air, and the following song is a translation of her tones and
gestures though certainly not of her words.
God rest thee, poor maid, liere silently sleeping,
To shade thy cold bed the hawthorn has grown,
And o'er thy green grave the violet is creeping,
And sweetly beside thee the wild rose has blown.
On the breeze of the night the bland fairy comes riding
And tells thy sad tale while the pale moon is gliding
Through her thin filmy clouds — and o'er thee softly sings,
Aye — and weeps as she floats on her gossamer wings.
41
And I o'er thy pillow would shed a soft tear,
But no pearl drop of grief has poor Ella to spare;
My own griefs were so fierce that they dried up the
fountain,
Yet I'll smcr thv loved name to moorland and mountain,
And o'er thy lone grave I vigil will keep,
Though the eyelids of Ella've forgotten to weep.
While the moon views her face in yon tremulous wave
I'm weaving a wreath to hang over thy grave,
Oh ! the fanciful love-chain here tenderly throws
Her arms round the lily and blushing wild rose.
But sad cypress twigs, with their sorrowful green.
Are bending and twining the flow'rets between.
When hung on the hawthorn the breeze of the night
Will rifle their fragrance and wither their bloom,
Yet the cypress will live and look green to the sight,
Of thy garland of love maiden, such was the doom.
For its Jlorvers soon died, but the woes it had made
Had deep root in thy heart and they never could fade,
So thy lone heart was broken — the stern world did blame,
Yet death hid in his bosom thy blushes of shame ;
Thy cheek grew so pale and thy heart was so torn.
Like to Summer's last rose left to Autumn's first storm,
That he rock'd thee to rest in his conquering arm.
42
A MINUTE'S THOUGHT
Written in a lonely spot on the hanks of the Torridge,
often visited in youth.
Years, with their rolling weight of care,
Their records on my mind have press'd,
Since lonely last I wandered here
To watch the twilight in the west
I wandered here a reckless boy,
And gaily sang my song of joy.
Years, with a rapid flight, have flown.
Since on this pebbly bank I stood,
And saw the soft majestic moon
Look down into the silent flood.
Then artless hope, as false as kind,
Shed a bright moon-light through my mind.
Years, with a rapid flight, will fly.
And hope with care will still contend,
'Till death will gently close my eye.
And the dark scene in darkness end.
Then would I sweetly slumber here.
The sport no more of hope or care.
43
THE HAWK.
Bird of the blighted moor,
Child of the sullen storm,
When the bitter north winds roar,
And dark clouds day deform,
Thou'rt on the wing and sailing.
Stern savage of the air.
And proudly thou art hailing
The rude blast, void of fear.
Bold brigand — robber bird,
Thou'rt poised upon the breeze,
Where the north wind's wail is heard,
And the feath'ry vapours freeze.
Those freezing clouds thy dwelling ;
No lov'd mate's downy breast,
Like the ring dove's gently swelling,
Lures thee to love and rest.
I hold my hand to thee,
Bold outlaw of the waste,
Each cowering timid enemy
Has fled from thee in haste.
Unfettered is thy pinion —
Unclipp'd thy fearless wing-
That dark sky's thy dominion.
Thou art the desert's king.
44
I would not live a loveless life,
All fear'd, unlov'd to be ;
Yet dweller in the tempest cloud,
I hold my hand to thee.
While on the keen blast hovering,
Thou'rt proudly, bravely free,
I've brotherhood with every thing-
That is my link to thee.
TO JULIE.
When twilight's beams are fleeting
With silent haste away,
And night and day are meeting
Out o'er the western sea :
And when the sun's departed,
Should I with weak regret,
Grieve that he ever rose to me,
Because he now hath set ?
And when the rose is dying
Which grac'd our wihl-wood bovver,
And Autumn winds are flying
Aroimd the trembling flower,
When ruthless blasts have stolen
Its fragrant breath away,
Shall 1 regret that once it bloom'd
And liv'd its summer's day?
45
From thee when I was parted,
My day of joy was fled,
My sun of bliss departed,
My rose of pleasure dead !
The sunny hour has vanished,
Its flight shall I deplore ?
'Tis bliss to think thou once wert mine.
Though thou art mine no more.
TO JULIE.
When the pearl-diver's out on the restless sea
Sings he not to the temptest with reckless glee,
On the deep, though the storm may have found him ?
He has captured his prize while slumbered the waves ;
He has won his bright pearl from the ocean caves :
And he laughs at the hurley around him.
When ihe hunter is caught on the breezy hill.
By the storm at night which at morn lay still,
As his cot on the waste he is seeking,
Ho, he mingles his song with the night wind's moan,
For his chase is complete, and the game is his own.
Nor heeds he the storm darkly breaking.
It was thus in the days of our joyous youth,
When thy eye spoke of love, and thy voice of truth.
And I loved thee so well and sincerely ;
O the first young kiss from thy lip which fell,
Was mine -and it told me how truly and well
That love was returned, and how dearly.
46
Now a stormy sea — a wild wilderness —
Is the world to me whom thy love cannot bless,
I must take it what fortune has made it.
But the first fond kiss which thy young lip gave,
Was never meant for a recreant slave.
And I've sworn I will never degrade it.
TO JULIE.
In answer to "I thought you had forgotten.'^
O SPEAK not of foi'getting,
Nor thinh I can forget ;
One rosy ray of evening
Lives when the sun has set.
And like that dying sun-beam,
Fading in haste away.
That ling'ring fond remembrance
Is all I have of day.
Our joys were all united —
All link'd our sorrows were;
Like two young doves from one sweet liome,
Launch'd on the vernal air.
The storm in silence gather'd
Around our heedless joy ;
It burst — our hearts were wither d —
Nought could my love destroy.
47
For 'twas my spirit's fondness.
And not an earthly dream ;
It dreamt of thee as angel like,
, And angel like became.
And if the dead remember
Ought of their earthly lot —
A lonely, lingering love like mine
Can nevei' be forgot.
The cold, stern world may part us —
Between us roll the main ;
When souls like ours have mingled,
They never part again.
In agony we sever'd —
In fondness, as we met —
Thou hast indeed forgotten love,
To think I could forr/et!
THE GRAVE OF AGNES.
She was not of this Earth.
It boots not where we make her grave,
She was not of this earth,
Yet let the wild-rose round her wave,
And let the violet blossom have
Near her green bed its birth.
48
But let no sadness mark tlie spot,
She was not of this eartli,
To heaven return'd — though not forgot
Though dearly lov'd — we mourn her not,
])eat]i was her second birth.
Well — drop one mortal tear of grief —
She was not of this earth,
To our swollen hearts 'twill give relief.
But l(!t the mortal pang be brief —
And hail her heavenly birth.
Dark is our world — no home of hers,
She was not of this earth.
Heaven's purest, brightest worshippers
Hear her sweet accents blend with theirs.
To praise that second birth.
Then lay her low in hallow'd ground.
All that of her was earth,
Hush'd in her dreamless rest so sound,
So soft, so infant like, profound,
Death was her second birth.
And there the sky-lark hovering
O'er what of her was earth,
To day's young beam his hymn shall sing
When dawn's first dew-drop wets his wing
In unrestrained mirth.
49
Yes — let the gentle violet have
Near her cold bed its birth,
And let the wild-rose o'er her wave ;
Yet — boots it not how made her grave,
She was not of this earth.
THE BURIAL OF JULIAN,
A DIRGE.
The meek soul has departed.
He is our kin no more ;
He has passed the gulf we soon shall pass-
To the dim and distant shore.
Strew flowers of sweet remembrance,
Upon his early bier ;
Born from the weakness of the heart,
We drop on them a tear.
Calm in his death-sleep resting,
Still is his lifeless breast,
Come — say your last farewell to him.
And leave him to his rest.
Sorrowing, not hopelessly,
We yield to him who gave ; —
With thanks, we lay our blooming boy
Unsullied, in the grave.
H
50
To him, with whom reposes
Each spirit of the just,
Commit Ave now the deathless soul —
Commit the dust to dust.
With funeral note and chanted hymn,
Our brother lay to rest;
A brief prayer trembling on each lip —
Strew earth upon his breast.
And earth her son embraces.
And heaven has claimed its own;
Now raise the song of brighter lays,
Our mournful task is done.
We wept to see him live in pain,
We wept to see him die;
But now we raise the song of praise,
Rejoicing in his joy.
ODE.
The fairest land, the burning sun
In his broad circuit looks upon ;
The purest skies, the brightest seas.
E'er ruffled by the summer breeze :
What are they to the fettered slave?
To him his land's a living grave.
51
In vain tor him, the joyous spring
Sends the young eaglet wandering,
Or tempts the soaring dove on high
To cleave with sportive wing the sky,
O'er him still hangs the tyrant's brand,
Still shackles gall his palsied hand.
Is there a man of British name,
His brethren's scorn, his country's shame,
Who lives bereft of liberty.
Yet could by daring it, be free?
Holds the fair isle which rules the wave,
That monstrous thing a willing slave?
Believe it not. The spell bound mind,
Howe'er to ignorance resigned,
Has yet a longing to be free,
A lingering spark of liberty,
Though beaten down, though trampled on,
While throbs the heart 'tis never gone,
TO A FLY
On a bleak day, the first time a fire was lighted in
viy room for the winter.
Go, get thee gone ! tis not the summei' coming,
But my first fire, the winter's harbinger,
Which from thy crevice warm has sent thee roaming
On the chill air thy little wing to stir.
52
Yet stay, I should be loath to see thee wander
Forth to the gale, to face the surly blast,
Around my chair in playful flight meander,
But seek thy winter home again at last —
Yet I dislike thy race,— nor them alone,
But buzzing impudence among my own.
Still be my winter guest, till spring returning,
Shall bring the balmy Zephyrs back again ;
Then spread thy pinion to the first fair morning
And humming wander o'er the flowery plain.
Here fold thy fragile wing, and fix thy hermitage
Where the bright l)laze my cheerful cottage warms,
Till the keen "biting north" has spent its rage.
Lone, homeless pilgrim in a world of storms,
I pity him who could not pity thee,
I scorn the man who'd crush thee wantonly.
ODE.
To fill with joy the present day.
Is wisdom's surest task below.
What is become of yesterday ?
What of to-morrow, dost thou know ?
Shall cares unborn oppress thee.
Shall woes unknown distress thee.
Shall aught in life depress thee.
If to-day will give thee joy?
53 -
The past is past — 'tis gone, forgot,
The future will come as it will,
Would'st thou improve thy earthly lot?
The passing hour with gladness fill.
Joys wouldst thou leave untasted,
By dark forbodings blasted,
Till jovial hours are wasted,
Which to-day would give thee joy?
If happier days we're doomed to know.
Why should we shun the joys of these?
If future life is future rvoe,
'Tis wiser still to-day to seize.
Life's tide is onward heaving,
Fate's mingled thread is weaving,
Yet why should we sit grieving,
If to-day will give us joy ?
ADDRESS
Of an American Indian separated from his Tribes
to the Chiefs of his Nation.
Though the broad ocean billow is flowing,
Between the green turfs which we tread ;
Though above me the summer is glowing.
While around you the winter is spread.
Yet my spirit's at home and with you, chiefs,
Where our fathers were lords of the plain ;
To the tribe, to the tribe, I'll be true, chiefs.
Though I ne'er hear its war-shout again.
54
Did the tribe of the Beaver surround us,
With the guile of Oneada's foes ?
Did I wake when the night was around us ?
Did I mark when in wrath they arose ?
If the pride of their warriors I slew, chiefs,
If their valiant were strew'd on the plain ;
To the tribe which I saved, I'll be true, chiefs,
Though I ne'er fight its battles again.
Bold words at the council-fire spoken,
Or breath'd in the wigwams of peace.
In the face of the foe were they broken ?
Can truth to be truth ever cease ?
Speak of me when the chase you renew, chiefs.
Breathe my name in your shout o'er the slain ;
To my tribe, to my tribe, I am true, chiefs,
Though I ne'er shall hunt with you again.
THE DEATH OF ROSALINE.
They knew not she was dying.
For yet she seem'd to smile.
While the flatterer was trying
Her sadness to beguile,
That smile so full of sadness
But hid her cureless pain.
It flitted like a sun beam-—
And she ne'er smiled again.
55
False Avords were gaily spoken,
Beside the festive board,
Of sweet vows lightly broken,
Of fading joys restored.
Life's hopes should still be cherished,
Though sorrow break their chain —
Her one fond hope had perished.
She could never hope again.
They knew not she was dying,
For the bloom upon her cheek
Now comes — and now seems flying.
As words of love they speak.
But none the while desponded.
And the minstrel raised his strain —
She with one faint sigh responded.
And never breathed again.
FIRST LOVE.
I prized the virgin smile.
Her dimpled cheek adorning,
My heart it charm'd awhile,
'Twas like the smile of morning.
As to the lip of youth,
Young love his first kiss giving,
It seem'd to speak of truth,
How blest was I, believing !
56
'Twas like the ansjel form
The pilgrim's dream discloses,
Who sheltering from the storm,
In Hermit's cell reposes —
Awhile, the vision bright,
His fancy tranc'd engages,
He wakes — ah ! still 'tis night,
And still the tempest rages !
Thus on my captive soul
The thrilling joy descended.
It fled — 'twas darkness all,
Darkness with tempest blended.
INFy youthful mind was void,
No passion dared to nourish.
It came — it went — destroyed !
The heart 'twas meant to cherish.
THE SKYLARK.
I, like the little mounting lark
Would sing from dawning day to dark ;
When first Aurora faintly gleams,
And flings around her rosy beams,
Sailing the dusky clouds among
She greets her with a mattin song.
57
And tlivough the fiercest heat of day,
She sings beneath the burning ray,
And when she sips the evening dew,
And bids the setting sun adieu,
A song still swells her speckled breast —
She chants the dying day to rest.
When spring's first xnodest flow'ret's head
Comes peeping through her grassy bed,
Her shrill, yet sweet, and constant song
Is heard the merry woods among.
Singing she greets the balmy sky.
And meets the vernal breeze on high.
And when the stubble field's laid bare.
And autumn winds the woodlands sere,
Then hov'ring low on wav'ring wings,
A plaintive strain she faintly sings,
In notes more sad, but still as clear —
The requiem of the fading year.
THE LAST WORDS OF ADOLPHE',
A Youthful Poet.
I am dying — I am dying —
With youth's bloom upon my cheek.
And my spirit is departing.
Its unknown home to seek.
58
The summer's early blossoms,
Are scarcely yet in bloom ;
They are hudclmg as I perish,
They will blossom on my tomb.
And the spring-breeze sighing softly
O'er the scarcely ruffled sea,
Breathes a note of solemn sadness —
'Tis a requiem sweet for me.
And see ! a ruddy sun-ray
From the west now takes its flight-
Era 'tis melted into darkness
My eyes will close in night.
I am dying — I am dying —
For there rushes on my brain
A vision of the viewless,
Which the flesh cannot sustain.
My dust the earth is claiming,
Th'unearthlv cannot die,
But searching for the yet unknown,
To other worlds 'twill fly,
Into the flood of Being,
Which was — is — and will be,
'Twill pass as does the dew-drop
Into the mighty sea.
That dew-drop was a vagrant
O'er sea, and hill, and plain,
Long wandering on the zephyr's wing-
But found its home again.
59
I am dying — I am dying —
Though my heart's first love is young,
And still its thrilling sweetness
In my soul is fresh and strong.
Let all our friendly neighbours
Stand hy and breathe a prayer,
When my dust to dust is given —
But, let no one shed a tear.
Yet when there comes a maiden
Across the sunny wave.
With sadness in her sweet blue eye,
To weep beside my grave —
gather kindly round her,
For her let tears be shed —
And soothe the troubled spirit
'I'hat is mourning for the dead.
1 am dying — I am dying —
For the peace of death is shed
O'er my trembling anxious being,
And my earthly cares are fled ;
But if one lonely fondness,
Though 'twas an earth-born joy.
Should linger in the bosom
Of a dying minstrel boy —
O frown not sadly on it —
O blame not earth-born love,
For Angel harps are tuning,
To welcome it above.
60
Farewell ye friendly strangers —
Farewell to her most dear,
For the dust has ceas'd to suffer-
Farewell to earth and care.
ADIEU.
Adieu — for my heart must forget thee ;
Fare thee well — I must love thee no more;
Yet in life can I cease to regret thee,
My peace can cold absence restore ?
No — my soul was a waste till I saw thee ;
Thy presence to cheer it was given —
My heart was a blank till I knew thee,
Thy love had once fiU'd it with heaven.
Thy words could once rouse me to fury,
Thy sweet voice could calm me again ;
There was pain in the passion I bore thee.
Yet I die when deprived of the pain.
When I pluck from thy breast that sweet madness,
From my heart its life's hope I shall tear ;
Thus torn, it will bleed on in sadness
For a while, and then break in despair.
61
TRUST ME, SUCH IS LOVE.
When in reply thy own harp speaks,
To the soft touch thy fingers give.
The thrilling note that touch awakes,
Will ever in my memory live —
Remembrance lives, the sweet note dies,
And love's brief rapture would you prove.
Like that 'tis sweet, and quickly flies —
Yes trust me dearest, such is love !
Ah, trust me, such is love !
You pressed the rose with tenderness.
And tried its gathered dew to sip,
It died — beneath the sweetest kiss
That ever fell from maiden's lip.
Its fading blush, its withering bloom.
In vain to save you fondly strove.
That soft kiss sealed its early doom,
And trust mu dearest such is love ;
Ah, trust me such is love !
Yet moments marked by no delight.
Or those by cankering sorrow crossed,
Return not back, though swift their flight,
And these, my love are really lost,
Then strike the harp — then pluck the rose.
Delay not love's brief joy to prove,
Seize the bright bHss so soon to close,
For trust me dearest such is love ;
All, trust me such is love.
62
THE ]JLY,
Seenfad'nif/ (rmong the clecoratiom of a Ball-room.
Thou fairest of earth's daughters,
Born in the twilight glade,
Where the gently murmuring waters
Make music through the shade ;
Wliere the brown bee gently humming,
Did often stoop to sip,
(Like a lover fondly coming)
Of the honey on thy lip.
The iiiffht breeze warn'd him ffentlv
To seek his home's repose ;
The night bird's song then, faintly,
Around thy bow'r arose.
Here thou'rt dying — dying,
In the hour of joy and mirth —
To me thou still seem'st sighing
For the valley of thy birth.
I will take thee to yon maiden.
Thou shalt die upon her breast,
Who, till to night, was hidden
In a green vale of the west.
She should gaze upon thee dying —
She should weep o'er thee when dead-
From her rural home she's flying,
And her sweetest hours arc fled.
63
THE EMIGRANT.
Supposed to be spoken in the wilds of Canada, on
the anniversary of the Revel or Village Festival at
Sheepwash.
While through these trackless wastes I'm strayhig
Lost in a train of bitter thought —
Scenes of my lost days round me playing,
To my lorn mind are freshly brought
The silvery Torridge softly flowing
Where the greenest pastures spread,
In fancy sets me glowing — glowing,
Though its banks no more I tread.
When as the dreamy mood comes o'er me.
As I roam the desert still,
Our village seems to rise before me,
Smiling on its breezy hill.
Though treading fields of red men's planting,
Though parted by the roaring sea —
My lonely heart is panting — panting.
To join its rustic revelry.
Our revel-day — how sweet, how shining ! —
Sad is my soul — no tongue can tell
How my lone exiled heart is pining
To join that rural festival.
64
The laughing ring — the friendly meeting ;
The joennd dance — the joyous train,
Where parted friends are greeting — greeting,
I must never see again.
Still there the little rose tree's growing,
Whicli mother planted near our door —
But under strangers' hands tis blowing —
I shall see it bloom no more.
Rose of my home — the vital feeling
In my lone heart how sad its doom ;
Torn from its bed — tis quailing — quailing,
])ying, never to re-bloom.
Strangers must raise my sire's last pillow ;
Strangers must bear him to his grave ;
Homeless since I have cross'd the billow
And plough'd the broad Atlantic wave.
How sinks my soul to think that older
His sun fast dwindles to the west,
And his bones must moulder — moulder,
Laid by no kindred hand to rest.
Dark is the policy which severs
Hearts from hearts and lands they love ;
With ruthless hand our home's joy withers
More ruthless still, then bids us rove.
m
Fondly to niy lioine returning,
iMy soul's affections still will flee ;
And my heart is burning — burning,
To see that home and see it free.
Isle of green hills and fertile valleys,
May thy remaining sons be true ;
While, round the just, each yeoman rallies,
Thy faded prospects to renew.
Banished, forlorn, though I bewail thee,
Still across the restless wave.
From afar, I hail thee — hail thee.
Land of my fathers and the brave.
THE DEVONSHIRE YEOMAN'S SONG
OF LIBERTY.
Peace to our native British isle !
The arts of peace though we pursue
Our father's conquered at the Nile,
Our brethren bled at Waterloo.
The tempted Lion none should trust ;
There's magic in our sire's renown ;
With willing hand we serve the just.
As willing set the oppressor down.
Our British rights in peace we'd have,
But not the peace that lulls the slave.
I've knelt beside my father's grave,
(I dared not kneel a bondman there,)
I've vow'd the vow which binds the brave,.
My children shall my freedom share.
And when they lie me by his side,
Shall any say who speak of me,
"A slave who lived — dishonor'd died,
Here rests beside the valiant free ?"
A country free — a spotless name,
Our fathers gave — our children claim-
Fill to the brim the mighty bowl,
And as we quaff the pledge shall be,
Round let it pass from soul to soul,
"Devonia's sons, though faithful free."^
For, by the blood our fathers' spilt.
The righteous laws shall be our care,
Yet by the shrines our fathers built.
No plundered slave shall worship there.
Fill high the bowl the pledge shall be,
Devonia's sons, though faithful, free.
Fair liberty ! they greatly wrong
Pevonia's sons, who think her fled.
Why ? 'tis the name our mothers sung
To sooth us on our infant bed.
Our fathers led us to tlie field,
Where 'tis our birthright to be free,
Their sacred gift we ne'er will yield,
Our birthi'ight be our legacy.
Fill high the bowl, the pledge must be,
Uevonia's sons, thougll faithful, free.
MAID OF CAMBRIA.
Maid of Cambria do not blame
I'he look of love thou see'st in me ;
Nor turn away thine eyes of flame,
As if I err'd to look on thee.
If such were error, then could I,
Still gazing on thy beaming eye.
In error live — in error die.
Cambrian maiden, smooth thy brow —
The love my heart to thee would give
Is such as Angels do bestow :
An Angel blameless might receive
True as the faith, the Cimbri plight.
Firm as the vow they never slight,
And worthy loveliness so bright.
To-day old ocean's sullen roar
Bore me to the Cambrian shore ;
To- morrow will the morning ray
Call me from these shores away.
Why should it pain thee then to see,
When thy bright eye is turned on me,
I wish I'd worlds to offer thee.
m
THE ICELANDER'S SONG OF HOME.*
I've heard the stranger lightly speak
Of thee my native land ;
A gloom, he said, o'er-cast thy sky.
Rough billows beat thy strand —
But his was like the peterel's flight,.
Across the stormy sea,
He breath'd but once thy mountain breeze,
And then was far away.
Oh ! had he lingered on thy strand,
He must have loved thee — native land.
My native land— -upon thy hills,
There rest eternal snows ;
A crest of foam is on each sui'ge,
On thy bleak shore which flows.
There may be fairer lands I own,
There may be calmer seas ;
There may be fields where flowers fade not,
Where fragrance loads the breeze.
But all who linger on thy strand,
Must surely lo7)e thee — native land.
*The Song was suggested by the following remark which occured
in the letter of an old friend and correspondent.
"I thought I should have died with laughing when at Kirkwall ;
"an Icelander, to whom I owned that I had been at the foot of
"Hecla once, often told me that had I made up ray mind to live in
"bis country he was sure I should have loved it.
09
CASE OF
THE PRISONER GALLEY.
Mr. Jonathan May, a respectable Yeoman, who formerly
resided near Moreton-Hampstead, having been robbed and cruelly
murdered, on his return home from a Fair held in tliat Town, on
the 20th July 1835. — A man was taken into custody, charged with
the offence, named Thomas Oliver, better known amon-r his
(companions by the soubriquet of "Buckingham Joe," — He was
committed for trial, chiefly on the testimony of a Woman, fwho,
like Oliver was a stranger to the neighbourhood, J and who repre-
sented herself to have been an eye-witness of the outrage. She
asserted that a man known among his party by the ominious
name of Turptn, was also concerned in the offence.
A person of suspicious character distinguished among his associ-
ates by the fatal soubriquet of Turpin, but whose real name was
Galley, was found in a distant part of the kingdom, and having
heen brought to Exeter was pretendedly identified by the woman
before named, and committed for trial. — The men having been
confronted, declared that they had had no previous knowledge of
each other whatever; Galley declaring that he had never been
in Devonshire before, and Oliver vehemently asserting that neither
in Devonshire nor any other place had he ever seen his fellow
prisoner, before he met him in jail ; — Little importance however,
was attached to these assertions, made by such parties under such
circumstances.
On the trial, the testimony of the woman, before mentioned,
having been slightly corroborated by some other fwhich must
have been very heedlessly given j the fact of Galley's identity was
supposed to have been established beyond all doubt, and the both
were condemned, — Immediately, fin court, and before his removal'
from the bar^ Oliver made an open acknowledgement of his own
guilt, and, addressing the Judge, declared that he was thus prompt
• in making his confession, to sai'e Hie other man who was innocent,
This noble burst of generous feeling from one whose character,
conduct, and situation, were such that it could not be expected;
I'rom him, produced an effect, on those who witnessed it, that may be
70
imagined, but can never be described. — Thus far the criminal
went and no further ; with a doojged obstinacy, which he evident-
ly regarded as a cliivalrous principle of honor, he refused to say
ought that could lead to the discovery of his real accomplice,
or accomplices. — This inconsistency which betrayed no desire to
be reconciled to society, nor respect for its laws, cast a suspicion
on all he said. Galley was therefore left to his awful fate.
A gentleman reported to have been a Barrister, but whose name
never reached me in the distant part of the county in which I
then resided, by conferences with the prisoners and other means,
became so convinced of Galley's innocence, that, with the most
disinterested generosity, he devoted considerable time to the in-
quiry, and travelled many miles to ascertain the real facts of the
case,— He saved the man's life ! had it not been for these gener-
ous exertions in his behalf, the unfortunate, friendless fellow,
would have perished, though innocent of the crime alleged to
him. This conduct on the part of the unknown gentleman, I
deemed at the time, deserving of the tribute here recorded ; I
deem it so still.— When these lines appeared, the facts had been
recently before the public, and they attracted more attention
than, perhaps, they deserved ; Reprints of them were taken, and
many years after, when I had almost forgotten their existence, I
saw copies of them, mutilated and bronzed with smoke, stuck up
among maps and pictures, and tales of wonder, against the walls
of many Cottages in my rambles ; this I considered a gratifying
proof that the humble inmates had fully participated in the feel-
ing with which the "tribute" had been offered. For these reasons
rather than for any other value that is attached to them, I have
ever since felt pleasure in recalling these lines to mind.
A TRIBUTE
of sincere respect offered to the Gentleman whose gener-
ous exertions in favour of the unfortunate prisoner
Galley, saved his life.
There dwells for him a brightness in the shades,
A soft still whisper, in the silent woods,
A charm to sooth his loneliest, dreariest hour,
Peopling with mild delight his solitude.
And cheering midnight with a beam of joy.
71
There dwells for him among the flowery paths
Where pleasure spreads her blandishment, and wealth
Her splendour lavishes — a secret thought
Of power to lift the heart to happiness,
And fill its inmost chambers with a ray
Of silent, sacred bliss — surpassing all
That luxury can own, or pride devise.
There is prepared for him a healing balm
When stern misfortune hovers o'er his path,
And grim adversity shall try the faith
Of seeming friendships : or the altered look
Of some loved false one, shall have power to sting
With more than viper's venom that U»ne heart
Through which her glance sent rapture — then will come
The proud and happy conciousness that he
Once look'd upon the friendless, and he lived:
Upon the desolate — his heart revived.
The lost one stood before assembled crowds ;
The wretched consciousness of mis-spent days
In characters of guilt starap'd on his brow ;
His sunken eye glared hopelessly around,
In helpless imbecility and dread,
Like the bay'd Leopard's when the bloodhounds closp.
On him the crowd as on a captive wolf,
n
With thoughts of smother'd vengeance sternly gazed —
And, "death without a word" was their decree.*
E'en doubt could scarce exist, and O the deed,
Of which he stood accused, in dark
And dreadful notoriety, with blood
Had been enrolled in horror's blackest page —
And mercy's self, wiping her tearful eye,
From him and from his misery had turn'd,
Yet he was guiltless ! but his innocence
Lay darkly hid in doubt and mystery.
But thei'e was one — and only one who seenid
Compassion for his innocence to feel.
And who was he ? The real murderer !
A youth of manly front and fearless heart,
Whose soul was steep'd in crime, his hands in blood,
Touch'd with some latent nobleness of mind.
Which vice had hidden long, but had not kill'd,
He sco,in'd to drag the feeble thing to death
Bound in the chords of his sole guilt. He flung
Or would have flung, the worthless victim back ;
Though he had look'd on blood without remorse
And crush'd his manly victim in the strife.
•When the Abhe Seizes voted the death of the unfortunate Louis
16th, he did so in these remarkable words, "La mort sans phrase."
;Such was the exclamation of popular fury and prejudice in the case
•of the unfortunate Galley, which I own circumstances seemed in
3ome measure to justify.
73
With cool judicial murder he disdained
To stain his hand, or load his blackened soul,*
The pale and trembling slaves of paltry gain,
Train'd, like bloodhounds, to the wretched chase,
Might lay that worst of murders on their souls.
The robber scorn'd it — he — the man of blood
Whose heart was adamant, whose conscience steel
Look'd on its cold deliberate cruelty
With bold disgust, with fearless stern contempt.
His lips were obstinately sealed to save
The real partner of his own deep guilt.
No weak remorse, hung o'er his fearless heart,
No sense of right had pierced the moral gloom
Which false associations flung around
His daring spirit. Man might claim his right,
(The blood of him who blood of man had shed)
But all they claim'd from him should be his own
And not another's. Innocence should live
And guilt should find its own dark way to death,
E'en then soft pity gleam'd around his heart,
Like lightning round the doubly hardened steel—
Gave his first virtue hirth, and in its light
He pass'd from earth to meet his final doom.
•The hateful character of his offence cannot be denied nor doubt-
d, and yet there was a nobleness in the ruffian's disinterested
lefence of his innocent fellow prisoner, which was awfully contrasted
vith the conduct of the witnesses who so heedlessly swore away the
nan's life
74
Each coming moment brought a fainter hope
To him of hopeless, helpless innocence.
His heart had ceased to trouble with despair —
When one there came, the minister of good,
Disdaining selfish feelings, one ■whose mind
With penetrating glance, had searched
The depth of that dark mystery ; and found,
E'en in the captives dungeon, one faint ray
To guide him to the truth. He led him back
With more then conqueror's triumph to the day —
To life — to hope — perhaps to peace and joy —
A pardoned, rescued, and forgiven man.*
Hail to the nobly good — my rustic lyre
Thus casts a tribute, humbly, at his feet.
ADDRESS TO FORTUNE.
Blind wench ! thou'rt shy, but right or wrong
I'll greet thee with a hearty song ;
If e'er thy smile I should enjoy,
In fun and frolic, I'll employ
The vagrant hours of hasty flight,
And dip their wings in rich delight —
And mirth and song where'er I stray,
Shall be companions of my way.
•Forgiven — this was at the time imderstood to be the case ; But,
for reasons, which I am not aware the public are in possession of.
Galley is still in confinement as a criminal, [1842.]
75
Thou'rt fickle called, but yet thy frowii
Has constantly to me been sho^vn ;
Tis still thy will, with spiteful ire,
To shroud in night my rustic lyre —
Its simple strain, the little great,
With silent scorn may ever treat —
Yet mirth and song where'er I sti-ay,
Shall be companions of my way.
I lay me on the desert shore,
Pleased with the breakers' sullen roar,
Or, raptured, climb the giddy steep
Which overhangs the stormy deep ;
And mark the vivid lightning's flight,
Careering round the brow of night ;
Yet mirth and song where'er I stray
Are still companions of my way.
I seek the peaceful woodland bower,
And smile or sigh o'er every flower ;
I watch the wild dove w^andering.
Through the blue sky, on sportive wing ;
LuU'd by thy music, murmuring ])art,
I sing the o'er flowings of my heart —
And mirth and song where'er I stray,
Are still companions of my way.
Like that fond harp which makes reply.
To playful Zephyr's gentlest sigh j
<*.».
76
As every wanton breeze of thought
O'er my pleas'd mind is lightly brought,
A thrilling joy ; an impulse strong,
Still stirs ray lips with careless song —
And mirth and song where'er I stray,
Are still companions of my way.
Delights like these thou canst not foil,
Tis not for thee nor thine I toil ;
Thy abject slaves may think me raving.
Old girl — thy gifts are not w^orth having,
If bought but by one particle,
Of feeling or of principle —
So mirth and song where'er I stray,
Shall be companions of my way.
THE GHOSEN ONE.
A candidate came to the west country.
That land of the bold independent and free,
And he stop'd at a borough town.
He'd a twist in his nose, and a squint in each eye,
On his back stood a hump, and his neck stood awry,
And his gait was the gait of a clown.
As he pass'd through the streets with a lop and a stride
The dogs they all bark'd, and the children all cried,
And the women beginning to snivel.
Declared this queer lump was certainly sent
As a sample to earth that he might represent,
The angels and imps of the devil.
#
He made not a speech, but he drew out a purse,
And signed them to take it for better for worse,
The electors electrified stood,
And cried with delight, "now tis plain he's a trump
"Whv snarl at a squint or find fault with a hump,
"When you see his intentions are good"
"Let the bells be all rung, proclamation be made,
"The drums be all beaten, the fiddles all played,"
The voters all sung in a breath.
May the pride of the earth in his beauty and might
Still continue our eyes and our ears to delight.
And we will be thankful to death.
THE RETURN OF THE ROVER'S BARK.
A BALLAD.
Chorus — Hail to the bark ! the Rover's bonny bark,
Which comes from the far south sea ;
She unfolds to the gale her broad white sail,
And wins her the victory.
She has mounted the ridge of the troubled wave,
She has played with his hostile foam,
Like a dolphin arous'd from his ocean cave.
Where the storm beaten Peterels roam.
O fond hearts bled when her sail was spread,
And the manly were stricken with fear ;
For she went to the isle of the shadowy dead.
And death is sole monarch there.
Hail to the bark, &c.
78
The anchor arose with a solemn moan,
'Twas his last farewell to the shore,
And the outward-bound felt dark and alone,
For their homes they might see them no more.
A sea-boy fell on his mother's breast,
Though he was a sea-boy brave.
As the eaglet might turn to his parent's nest,
When he first hears the temptest rave.
Hail to the bark, &c.
They had whisper'd tales of the spectre isles,
Those shadowy lands of fear —
He turn'd his young face to its Jirst resting place,
To shed there a sacred tear.
But who shall describe what the mother felt,
As she thought of the distant dead —
And as blessing her child, on the wet deck she knelt.
And gave him to danger and dread.
Hail to the bark, &c.
Now there stands at the helm a stalwart tar.
And their guide is the force of his arm —
He has battled with whirlwinds and dangers afar,
And sniil'd in the midst of alarm.
But the mother has clung to the breast of her boy,
And the hero again has grown weak j
For the manly are weeping to witness their joy.
And they shout with a tear on their cheek.
Hail to the bark, &c.
79
TO LOUISE.
Yes, I could look upon thee.
With heart too full of love :
Yet O, my eye must shun thee,
My fancy from thee rove.
My ear could drink with fondness
The soft flow of thy song,
Which falls in heedless sweetness
From thy mirthful artless tongue.
As like a new found blossom
Thee on my path I find,
Or like a fairy vision
To my benighted mind :
Feelings long dead within me
Their brio-ht light would relume — ;
'Tis like a beam of evening
Upon the silent tomb.
Or like a gust of melody
At midnight on the waste.
Which cheers the pilgrims fainting step*
By some spirit breathed in haste.
Tlie sweet delusion vanishes,
I bid the dream depart,
For O I must not offer thee
A blighted broken heart.
80
SONG
They say the world is cold, love,
Its fairest hours soon fly,
Its sweetest flowers unfold love,
A moment but to die ;
They say the lover's bark, maid,
Floats into falsehood's snare,
And then the world is dark, maid.
And fill'd with killing care j
But I've a heart for thee, love,
And thou a heart for me, love,
For the world Ah, ! what care we, love,
Though cold and dark it be !
They say the wealthy fool, love.
Is growing wealthier still;
They say ambition's tool, love,
Still gains his sordid will ;
They say 'tis man's delight, maid.
To make a prey of man ;
And falsehood black as night, maid.
Rules all with magic wan ;
Yet I've a heart for thee, love.
And thou a heart for me, love.
What for sordid slaves care we, love,
Though proud and false they be.
81
EPILOGUE
TO THE
HYPOCRITE.
A Lady belonprins to an itinerant theatrical company, ^suspected
of the dHinni 'g sin of poverty j took on the sabbath day her Infant
to a pl:!ce of worship, to offer her thaulis to Almighty God for
her own safety, and to ask, according to the usages of our coun-
try, Iiis l)le>sinGr on her innocent and beautiful Chilil. In urder
to s.ive himself however and his congregation, from the contami-
nation of too charitable nn intercourt^e with persons so unprotitable
and unfortunate, in the course of the sermon, the Minister took
occasion to denounce the theatrical profession, and cautioned his
hearers against holding any intercourse with the unforrnnate
strangers, caliing them pests, delnders of men, and enemies of
Godliness. This heedless malediction was pronounced, while the
younc, fond Mother was yet bow'd down, over the face of her love-
ly Infant, in meek and humble worship before the Throne of her
God. The husband, a man of unblemished reputation, who hart
no other means of honestly providing for his family, than by the
exercise of a profession into which circr.mstances had foiced him,
determined, as a retaliation, to play the comedy of the Hypocrite.
The manner in which he was supported, showed the apprupriate-
ness of this quiet, characteristic, and truly professional rebuke.
STAGE DIRECTIONS.
Cantxcell discovered, (centre) ut some distance behind him, right
and left, tico children. One bearing the bowl and. dagger, and ap-
propriateh/ habited for Tragedy. The other bearing the masks,
pipe, and tabor, proper to Comedy. These emblems are so arranged
as to appear tike the childrens' play thimjs. The irhole Tableau is
meant to convey the idea that, cireiinistances over %chieh they had no
contronl, had made the man and his children dependent upon his
profession. — A moral addressed to the eye.
82
soLiLoauy.
Exposed ! — unmask'd ! — mark'd with deception's brand
A hypocrite confess'd, to night I stand.
\_Coraes forward to the audience]
Nor should you deem it impious to reveal
The dark deceits which pious frauds conceal,
For real goodness, still respect we ask,
'Tis false pretension, only, we unmask.
When Greece, when Rome, in each enlightened age
Saw vice and folly tread the comic stage —
They saw them brought to view in mimic strife.
And man's worst failings pictured to the life —
Then were their youth (when sage instruction faii'd)
Laugh'd into wisdom, into virtue rail'd.
When Terrence wing'd with moral truth the joke —
A Cato listen'd — or a Roscious spoke —
Unblighted was thy smile, sweet liberty !
The world was blest — and Rome, great Rome, was free,
But mark the change, when greatness all had flown,
The wild beast fiU'd the theatre — a brute the throne.
'Tis plain the wise and good, of every age.
Have taught or learnt the lessons of the stage ;
Vii'tue's true friend the comic muse has been,
Where love of goodness fiU'd each moving scene ;
Her youthful votaries, who came to play,
Unconscious took the moral truth away,
As from our mimic tale sound morals rise,
Learn vice to hate and folly to despise.
83
What vice more hateful — of a deeper die —
Folly more gross, than curst hypocrisy ?
Where could the comic bard find fairer game ?
What meaner vice hold up to public shame ?
Or where with better aim the mimic art
Convey each well wrote period to the heart ?
Patrons of worth — protectors of the stage —
Who hear with scorn the furious bigot's rage,
The slandered muse still holds her hand to you,
When she is wrong'd — why you're insulted too.
For me your servant, and her humble friend,
Whate'er the lot the wayward fates intend,
To meet with mild forgiving scorn their hate,
And bad example not to imitate
Will be my choice — aye — let them rage,
We claim the noble morals of the stage.
What Shakespeare penn'd we fearlessly repeat,
And acting nature call we no deceit.
What Milton fancied — old, alone and blind.
Visions that floated in a Byron's mind,
Emotions trembling round a Goldsmith's heart —
We bring to life — and then to you impart!
We teach by these (despite the Cantwell clan,)
The morals of an honourable man.
WJiile pronouncing the last passage the children
leave their play, slowly come forward, and assume
the attitudes described in the verse.
84
But there are other claims which must impart,
A vigorous firmness to my trembling heai-t ;
In hf^lpless innocence my children see,
One grasps my hand — one clings around my knee ;
O who could wrong them — steal their Father's name,
The honest means which feeds them, blight with shame,
Pronounce them pests — unchristian, unforgiven —
And say by doing this he's serving Heaven !
— But let that pass — one task I feel is due,
The pleasing task I mean of thanking you.
And thanks so due — Our thanks so kindly won
Admit I feel of being briefly done.
Expect not speeches stollen from player's books,
Accept as thanks— my children's silent looks.
THE BERMUDAS FISHERMAN.*
Our Cedar bark's white woven wing
We spread — adieu Bermudas' daughters f
On the white foam she's hovering,
Like sea-bird on the restless waters.
The ])olphin bi-ight, with wild delight
Our watery path is crossing,
Like him we roam, the deep our home
While on the wild wave tossing.
*TTie situation here imagined is that of the Bermudas' Fishermen,
going out to the W hale fishery. They are obli^ert to cross the coral
reefs, (some of which are ten miles from the Islands) before the close
of evening. They make all their preparations in the bright moon-
light, and choose as the most favourable time for attacking the Fish,
the hour when the setting moon is aided by the first dawn of the
morning.
85
But steady— Here the red rocks blush,
And maddened waters round us rush;
Steady — The coral reef we're nearing,
Steady — Now your course be steering;
Steady — While the breakers clearing.
At length we're launch'd on landless waves,
And the whale is up from his coral caves ;
Now lend thy light sweet lady moon,
We'll wing with death the swift harpoon ;
The Somers' Isles look dim to view,
Like a resting cloud on the waters blue;
Our couch must be on the billow bright,
Land of the changeless spring, good night,
good night —
Land of the changeless spring— the changeless spring,
good night — good night.
ENIGMA.
In time or eternity I have no place,
I have neither beginning nor end ;
In earth I'm unseen — I live not in space,
Yet without me the world cannot stand.
I live not in darkness — I live not in light.
With the sun I have nothing to do ;
I'm seen not in day time — I'm seen not in nighty
And yet I'm brought roundly to view.
86
I'm neither the first nor the last of my race,
But first in obedience I stand;
And when I am wanted they all will give place ;
I'm next to the first in command.
I reside in the moon and all men descry —
Here the sage and the simple agree,
That once in a month, to a fanciful eye.
He displays a bright likeness of me.
I'm always attach'd to an Emperor's suit,
And I sit in the midst of his throne ;
Yet I always pertain to the mendicant's foot.
And live in the heart of a stone.
I'm confined with the convict though nought to his fear,
I add much to his sorrow and gloom ;
Near the end of his pardon I'm sure to appear,
Though I twice may have voted his doom.
I live in the lock though I touch not the key,
I always am half of the door;
I've nothing to do with the carpet so gay.
Though I form the chief part of the floor ;
I never was in an enigma before,
A rebus, a riddle, charade ;
Yet clear, or obscure, or witty, or poor.
Without me no riddles are made.
On the rveekfollorvuu/ the appearance ofthefore-
going Enigma in the Westei^n Times, the annexed
repli/ appeared, signed "T."
You say you are round, and have not an end,
In eternity not e'en a trace ;
But proudly with Emperors always you wend,
And find with all poets a place ! —
Alas ! all your clamour is childish and strange.
When we know you'll be here by to-morrow,
With conduct most vile, as in person you range.
With the very worst portion of sorrow !
You live not in earth, and you live not in heaven,
But with demons take up your abode j
In the regions below your appearance is given,
And Pluto has thee in his code.
'Tis true, you are round as a globular girth.
And in ocean have claims to command ;
But no hypocrite lives without you at his birth,
And Britons speak much of thy hand ! —
Has not woe chain'd you up ? are you not in its pow'r?
Could mortality be but for thee ?
For shame with you now— you are in each hour.
And Homehj thy boasting shall be !
Where you not in his frown when the Godhead decreed,
The deluge and all its sad gloom ?
Did you not guide the flood in its mightiest speed ?
And loudly rejoice in the doom ?
You ride in the storm when the keen lightnings flash
O'er the forest to rend down the oak ;
88
Each cloud has your care, and when thunderbolts crash,
Thou formest a part of their stroke ! —
Away ! every fool has your friendship to claim,
With boasters you always reside :
Thank heaven there's no union with thine and my name,
You are found not with parent nor bride ! ,
Even happiness spurns you, and talent repels
All knowledge of things thou dost own ;
With scorn you are viewed, and each sad bosom tells
Your share in misfortune is known ! —
You are loud with your tongue -yet condemned you await
As a fag on all robbers — and so,
As orphans you make and poor widows create ;
I wish you good bye — letter O !
EPITAPH
ON LAWRENCE LUMP, Esq.,
Once a quiet inhabitant of this unquiet World.
Here lies 'Squire LaAvrence, settled to his will,
Who while he lived did nothing but lie still,
For fifty years he breath'd in yonder dell
But what he lived for nobody could tell ;
So indolent, at length, he forestall'd Death
And died because he would not draw his breath.
He wanted wisdom — yet had not much of folly,
Mirth had lie none — not much of melancholy.
None ever praised him — few could ever blame,
For to do nothing was his only aim ;
Calm as a Avell, did life's dull current glide.
He scarcely lived, although they say he died.
]
89
RECIPE FOR MAKING "A VERY POPULAR
MODERN SONG."
Take, if you please, of witless sound,
And empty nothings, half a pound —
Oi' if to weigh the things be hard,
Take if you like just half a yard —
Then in some ragged rhyme confine it,
And from all common sense refine it ;
Set passion's bellows madly blowing,
Then catch young Love-that urchin knowing —
And bone and boil him in the mess, ■
Till melted down by soft distress
To one sweet mass of tenderness.
Whether you write for Miss or Mister
Make from this mass a constant blister ;
Keep them for ever on the smart.
Blast all their hopes, and break their heart.
It matters not — with truth 'tis spoken —
How often modern hearts are broken.
Let all your "pleasures" be well jaded,
And all the ^'flowers" you use be faded.
Let dark despair then bind his brows
With twenty thousand broken vows !
Take hope and fear, and joy and sadness,
Which efi'ervescing end in madness.
All youth e'er dreamt, or manhood knew.
The heart e'er loved, or fancy drew,
Must all turn out one curst miscarriagCy
And end in sudden death or marriage.
90
Perhaps if nurs'd in solitude
Your muse aspires to "something goodl"
Avoid that rock — the great offence
Is truth — or wit — or common sense.
Then let some modern man of music —
Making both infidel and Jew sick —
Awake his lyre, with jarring tone,
And call thy glory all his own ;
Let him strum o'er it, and turmoil it.
Secure of this— Ae cannot spoil it.
'Tis greatly wise (your wit all fudge is)
To nlay the fool where fools are judges.
THE APOLOGY,
Written at the request of a celebrated Convivialist, who
was no singer.
You ask for a song, and I will not be long :
If zeal made a singer — how grand my attempt !
I'm proud of your choice, though the want of a voice
Should for ever from singing have kept me exempt.
I'm not one of those who sing for applause,
Expecting great praises as soon as they've done —
But a bit of a go, I will give you you know.
Just to pass the thing over and keep up the fun.
With minum and crotchet some singers hotch-potch it,
And enrapture our souls with an air and a swell,
So plaintive and grievous the ditties they give us,
We weep with delight as their sorrows they tell.
91
Some quaver and shake till they make us all quake,
And the gamut to atoms tear up with a run —
But a bit of a go, I will give you you know,
Just to pass the thing over and keep up the fun.
May mirth and good will ever dwell with us still,
And the cordial of friendship still sweeten the glass ;
May the morning be bright as the joys of the night.
And this moment all others in pleasure surpass.
Bui I know 'tis quite wrong to detain people long,
And you are all tired as sure as a gun.
So my bit of a go, I will finish you know,
Now pass the thing over and keep up the fun.
EriTAPH
On a good old Tailor, who died Dec. Wth, 1834, aged
68 years.
No honor'd dust in pomp is sleeping here.
Yet should this grave though mean our reverence share —
Kings may make lords ; to them such work is given,
An honest tailor is the work of heaven.
And such was he, now here in peace reclined,
Of the best "cut" his maker e'er designed ;
Though plain, the "make," the "workmanship" was good,
And three score years and eight the "fabric" stood.
Firm the material, thread-bare, yet it grew,
The healing art could "patch" but not renew ;
His "measure" fiU'd, he sought his native dust.
And left his life a "pattern" for the jnst.
92
Princes and kings would they be truly great
Like him "to order" must their work complete.
And priests and bishops will be greatly bless'd
If they so well their "customers" have "dress'd."
Leave, traveller, in peace, his lowly bed,
Follow the "fashion" he so wisely led ;
While here, thy life the various fates controul
Of "shreds and patches" make a "comely whole.
THE LIFE BOAT.
A BRAVURA.
When on the billow cast, the Shipwreck'd mariner
He scorns the rude surge—he fights the raging wave J
But strength still failing him, no help nor succour near
He sinks, still struggling, to a watery grave.
The mighty hand of Death soon seizing him,
Cold, dark despair fast freezing him.
Conquered — for life he scarcely breathes a sigh,
Resigned to fate — resigned to die.
High on the fearful whirlwind wheeling,
Round, round his head, like the wild eagle, sailing ;
Pleased with his woe, some demon of the storm,
Before his closing eye, presents her form !
93
Who morn and even takes her stand,
On the highest cliff of his native land ;
And o'er the ocean's misty brim,
Looks out afar — afar — for him
And breathes a sigh.
His soul returns— his bosom burns
Again he beats his billowy bed,
He strives— he struggles— lifts his head,
He can't consent to die.
Hark, tis a shout that rends the air !
The foam is cleft — a sail is near,
The life boat trim comes booming by,
The brave had sworn he should not die.
The rescued victim of the storm
Beholds indeed — indeed! her form —
Who morn and even took her stand
On the highest cliff of his native land ;
And o'er the ocean's mighty brim,
Look'd out afar — afar — for him.
And on his long left native shore
Behold they meet to part no more ?
They meet — they meet!
To part no more.
94
LOVE'S OWN HOUR.
(duetto.)
Away — tis written — fate has spoken
The stern decree may not be broken,
Though love had link'd us, ocean's wave
Must roll between the fond and brave.
Though doom'd to cross the restless sea
My heart and soul remain with thee.
There is a soft and solemn hour
When I would have thee think of me.
From dawn to dark, and through each watch
Of nights dark reign I'll think of thee.
When shadows soft and sun rays bright
In heaven's blue vault are meeting,
When rosy clouds are tipp'd with light,
And day and night are greeting.
95
When one lone star, looks from above
The jnatehless, peerless, Queen of love ;
When murmuring Avaves are hush'd to sleep,
Like a cradled child, the slumbering deep —
Then think of me
2
111 think of thee.
The silent rest of that still air,
Then should some vagrant zephyr stir
O think it is a wandering prayer
Breath'd from the lonely heart of her
Who thinky of thee
(^Both repeat)
The silent rest &c. *
CANZONET.
Heaven's fairest child, her radiant bow
Hangs trembling on the rising storm,
Is the coming hour replete with woe ?
Let fancy's rays disguise its form.
It is not wise to mourn to day,
To-morrow, or for yesterday.
•In repeating this in chorus, the 2nd will of course supply the
appropriate pronouns.
96
Wisely enjoy the passing hour,
And heed not now the clouds which low'p-
For they may pass and not descend,
Or falling, but refreshment bring ;
Or on their flight there may attend
Some hope, their harshness softening.
To us concealed the future lies,
Why fill the blank with shadowy grief?
Live now — for to the good, the wise,
Each sorrow brings its own relief.
Rather let radiant fancy throw
A robe of beams of fairest form,
Around the future — like the bow
Hung trembling on the rising storm.*
INEZ
TO HER BILLET-DOUX.
Ah ! who would think, a thing so white
Could e'er offend, a maiden's sight ?
Oh who so fair a thing would shun ?
Why one would think the cloistered nun.
From penance free, might look upon,
And read thee by her holy taper.
*The state of the most enchanted enthusiast is preferable to that
of the man who looks into the future, and says it is all dark. — Wis-
dom may lie between the two extremes. Of the two follies, the gay
one is certainly the most poetical, if it be not the most philosophical,
the philosopher's are extremely welcome to the other for me.
97
Mamma says thou art marked within,
With thoughts of fraihy and sin ; -'
That cloistered nun, thou soon would'st move
From beads and prayer books, off to rove,
Forget cohl vows, and live for love
Thou wicked little piece of paper !
Mamma's experience tells her so —
I'm sure I want experience too ;
So pretty little billet-doux
Why should I pout, and frown and vapour ?
What though Mamma may not approve ?
One burning thought she can't remove—
They live iojoy who live to love !
Thou darling little piece of paper.
THE HUNTING MORNING.
A DUET.
The dew drop.s on the daisy's brow,
The hare has brush'd with timid feet,
And slyly doubling from her foe
Has softly sought her snug retreat.
Th3 breeze is south — the upland's brow
A misty crown adorning,
And sparkling gems deck blade and bough
The jovial spoitman's warning.
The gentlest zephyrs softly sigh,
Just bend the Hare-bell as they fly :
Caress the rose in -wanton play,
And kissing steal her breath away;
'tis a hunting morning,
A noble hunting morning.
When o'er the hills at break of clay,
The Huntsman takes his careless way i
Whose heart from care is lighter ?
At night to jovial ease restor'd,
Where beauty decks the social board ;
Whose lamp of life burns brighter ?
The breeze is south — the upland's brow,
&c. &c. &c.
SONG— THE FOREST GLEN.
Stranger, thou goest — fare- thee well ;
The morn's grey light is on the plain.
The dew-drop gems the heather-bell,
No longer here must thou remain.
The moor maid's sono; one moment heed-
Then on thy journey haste afar ;
Too slow will be thy fleetest speed,
For the pale evenings first bright star
Must light thee to the lovely — then
Forget in bliss the forest glen.
09
Stranger, thou gofst— fare-thee well,
Forth to a foreign land afar —
Thy path is o'er the billow's swell,
Thy place is in the ranks of war ;
Then like a dimly vision'd dream.
The memory of our glen will be^
Or like a foam-spot on the stream,
Fast dancing downward to the sea — •
The proud will honor thee — and then
Scorn in thy pride the forest glen.
But time must wing his airy flight,
The fairest not the truest prove,
Aerial visions sink in night
Which thou wilt build on woman's lore.
Wan ior— the slave who bends his knee
To hail thee victor will betray,
His venom fang will fix on thee.
Ere shouts of conquest pass away;
Thou wilt recall— but sadly then-^
Thoughts of our lovely— forest glen.
100
SONG,
When I ponder— when I ponder,
On my careless early days,
Shall I fear love — shall I fear love,
None can be so bright as these,
Pearly dew drops — pearly dew drops
Hang on the morning rose.
Yet the blushing hours of eveningp,
Bi'iog others sweet as those.
Once in gladness — once in gladness,
In my sunny spring-like hours,
Oh I met the village maidens,
And bound their brows with flow'rs.
Now in sadness — now in sadness,
For thee a wreath I've wove,
But there is deeper — there is deeper
True fondness in my love.
And my treasure — and ray treasure,
That deep fond love shall be,
And my heart like some lone flower,
Drink each pearly joy from thee.
When the sunshine of thy beauty
Shall light my cottage home.
Oh the sweetest — oh the sweetest
Of my hours will be to come.
101
AIR.
I often thought there was a soul
Upon the zephyr's wing,
Up()n the zephyr's wing,
And oft I thought it seem'd to sigh
As near me hovering,
So tenderly,
So piteously.
Its balmy breath
Was breathed on me,
That oft I thought there was a soul
Upon the zephyr's wing.
It might not be that spirit bland,
Was near me hovering.
Was near me hovering.
But 1 was glad to think him there,
For I was sorrowing —
So hopelessly.
With love for thee
And tenderly.
It sigh'd with me,
Ajid thus I thought there was a soul
Upon the zephyr's wing.
102
KING CHARLES' GLEE, UNDER THE OAK»
The day after the Battle of Worcester.
When his Majesty dcsconripfl from the Oak, he was found by
Col. Careless?, and his favourite Pendkill. In the evening a
Miller named Humphkey, arrived from the city, with the unwel-
come intelligence that the enemy had ofiered a large Reward for his
Person. This man brought with him at the same time some re-
freshments, of which his Miijcsty stood greatly in need, particularly
wine, of which when the King had partaken, he became cheerful,
and addressed those around him with the greatest aflability. Seeming
by his manner lo indicate, that although his courage did not fail
him, that a comrauuity of dangers had made them all equal.
KING CHARLES' GLEE.
Come Careless, Pendrill, jovial boys.
And Humphrey of the mil),
Why, thrones and empires are but toys;
And wine is with us still.
On rebel brows the diadem may shine,
All is not lost to us while we have wine.
Misfortune brings the monarch down,
And pairs him with the lowest clown j
But such the force of mighty wine.
And such the power of drink divine.
The lowest clown 'twill quickly bring.
To swagger like the sceptr'd King,
So freely let us quaff the draught divine,
All is not lost to us while we have wine.
A hundred thousand crowns you say,
The rebel wolf would give,
Could he but slyly track my way ;
Come ! who'll his gold receive ?
Nay Humphry frown not honest soul,
I know thee loyal and true,
Come pledge with me the generous bowl ;
And I'll stand pledged to you.
O'er the full glass let trusty hearts combine,
All is not lost to us for we have ivine,
DEATH OF THE TRUANT PAUPER BOY.
Kind cottager, attend, and smile
Still kindly as I die,
I would not that a tear should wet
Thy mild and fi-iendly eye —
I only need a quiet grave
Where I may lay my head,
And feel no more the bitter lot.
Of one whose friends are dead.
Nay stju't not back — my friends are dead-
Then search your inmost heart,
And fancy what your thoughts will be
When all your friends depart.
When sun-shine shone upon the earth,
On me no joy it shed —
For what is sun-light to the eye.
Of him whose friends are de^A ?
104
Then winter came — and falling snows
Fell fast upon the earth,
I heard no more the joyous songs.
Of wild birds in their mirth :
Yet no one came to look for me
As throuffh the waste I fled,
I was alone upon the wild
For all my friends were dead.
For, from the town I ran away,
I long'd to be alone,
What was the pauper's scanty meal
To him whose friends were gone —
For no one seem'd to understand
Nor heeded what I said,
They laugh'd and jested when I wept
Because my friends were dead.
Then drearily last night came on
Baneath the hawthorn tree.
Whose branches cloth'd with feathery snow
Was canopy for me.
I tried to think of joy and hope.
But joy and hope had fled—
There came a voice among the boughs,
Which cried thy friends are dead.
Yet even there at least I slept
And dreamt my mother's voice.
With many a well known ev'ning song
Call'd on me to rejoice.
But from my frozen heart all joy
And joyous hope had fled,
It seem'd to burst, :;s I replied
That all my friends were dead.
Then thou didst find me cottager,
Beneath the hawthorn tree,
Thy woids are kind — but ah too latC
Are kind words greeting me.
I saiv th(.'e look into my face.
There thou the truth hast read,
'Tis written there in sorrow marks —
That all my friends are dead.
You knew our cot upon the beach
Which look'd upon the sea,
"Where Mother lived and fondly loved
Poor sister Jane and me ?
She sung to us the sweetest songs,
The prettiest tales she read,
No children were so blest as we,
Before our friends were dead.
My Father battled on the sea.
The tempest and the foe,
He conquered oft, but was at last
Amons: the brave laid low.
And when the ships came into port,
Around the news was spread—
My Mother breathed one long deep sigh-
And all our friends were dead.
106
So then we link'cl our trembling hands,
And wandered o'er the plain,
We laid us down to re*l at nijjht
Beside the roaring main.
Upon my celling heart she laid
Her little flaxen head,
We slept — hut when I woke again,
Oh ! — all — my friends were dead !
My home is where my kindred rest,
A place of re^t for me.
Refreshing is that dreamless sleep,
From pain and sori-ow free —
Then gladly lay me in the tnrf.
And flowers above me spread,
This death-pang is the oidy joy
I've known since friends Avere dead.
TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD.
(supposed to be dying.)
Fleeting sun-beam, wandering here.
Only to prove that heaven is near.
Take away from me those eyes of light,
So blue, so beautiful, so bright;
Sorrow to thee is yet unknown,
Err'd hast thou never, lovely one,.
And thou art dying — thou wilt fly
Thus all unsullied to the sky —
107
Look not fondly thus on me,
Thing of unblemished purity;
For I have erred — and soi-iowed too,
O do not love one frail like me,
Pass to thy rest — hy earih untor.ch'd,
Its love, its hate, unknown to thee—
Sun-beam thou art wandering here,
Only to show that heaven is near.
SONG.
O, it is the hour of pai-ting
Say good night my own love,
On rapid wing depai-ting,
Our hour of bliss has flown love.
While thy trembling heart is beating,
And our lips in fondness meeting —
Like kindred souls in holy greeting,
Breathe thy soft farewell love.
As passing shadows vanish
On the sunny main love,
That sweet good night shall banish
All my parting pai;i love.
Deeper shades around assembling !
And thy hand in mine is trembling.
Let love speak out without dissembling,
And breathe thy soft farewell love.
108
SONG.
Tlie Troubadour to his carrier Dove.
Fly away carrier dove, to our own green valo,
Where the homes of thy kindred are ;
Where the vine-bird is chanting his long love-tale,
And hush'd is the din of war —
For a lady there looks fi-om the battl^.inent
Which hangs o'er the restless main —
She should know I was lord of the tournament,
And first on the battle plain.
Till she to her wild harp hath chanted my name
Bird of the swift wing, fame's not fame,
Till to triumph and joy her lone heart yield
Tis in vain I am lord of the battle field.
Haste away - haste away - to the battlement,
Spread thy wing o'er the stormy main —
She must know I was first at the tournament
And lord of the battle plain.
lOd
CONCLUSION.
JosiAS Homely is no nutrc. — Whether that name
was assumed from en price, or for convenience — from
motives of -vanity, or under the promptings of a btauliful
jDodesfy — why it was assumed at all, or why it has been
abandoned, are points which it would be better tu keep
secret, simply because it is not worth while now to trouble
the reader with any ex])lanations about tliem. There is a
story on record (and if I mistake nol, Joseph Addlscn
communicated it to the spectator) about an unrivalhd
Harlequin of the Fiench Stage, who, was persuaded by
some injudicious friend to play without his mask. — He
adopted the recommendation, but when he came on, and
perceived that his audience all knew him, he became so
paralized by modesty that he could never cut a caper
aijain — suffice it to say that if I have not all the modesty,
I have at least much of the cowardice of that poor Fool :
for now that I have been compelled by circumstances to
play the same antics again, unmasked, as I once did in-
cognito; I have felt my own clumsiness a great deal more
than I ever did before. I will confess however, that I
once had serious thoughts of endeavouring to recollect
and to explain some of the peculiar circumstances under
which many of the Songs &c., Were written ; but, on sec-
no
ond thoughts, I have come to the conchision, that should
a good tempered Reader (and I hope I shall have none
that are not good tempered) slioiild a good tempered
Reader, I say, meet with one or t\vo little things to please
him, he would assuredly fortpve the rest for their mhe ;
but should he turn the B;)ok all over and find nothinsr to
please him, of what possible use would explanations be?
In such a case, all that I have to do with him, is, to get
rid of his acquaintance, according to the excellent rule
laid down by Bayes in the Rehearsal, for such cases
made and provided.
It is a poor excuse for me now to say that some of
these songs and little poems were written in my childhood
and early youth, before I had been guilty of the presump-
tion of supposing that I should ever write for the public
eye at ail, because that cannot cover the sin of publ cation,
and republication— upon that point, I will plead guilty,
"No more of that Hal if thou lovest me."
I will plead guilty, I say, before a jury of my Peers, if
any body can find them, but 1 am doubtful whether the
world itself can produce twelve creatures of such surpass-
ing oddity — if it can, il will bj the- richest treat upon
earth to meet them — though it be only to be condemned
by them. I will plead guilty, I say, before a jury of my
equals, but, before they are found, I cannot distress my-
self about the opinions of any body else.
Yet it is plain I can gain nothing by pleading child-
ishness, for it is evident that I have published them, when
I am old enough to know better.
Ill
It is pevliaps, a still -oorse explanation of the matter
to say that several of these poems wer? written under var-
ious circumstances, -when I was wandering about the
world, siihject to various impulses, although peihaps, a
vagabond good fellowship for every body was the pre-
vailing one.— It is still worse to say that many of them
were produced under the epheixcial impressions of the
pcs-ing hour, and when written, were immediately flung
carelessly out upon the stream of peiiodieal publication,
with the'idea that, that stream would for ever hide them.
From that fate I have been induced by circumstances to
rescue them, even when in some cases, I had almost for-
gotten their existence. Well, what excuse have I for so
doing? aye, there's the rub!— It would be quite ridic-
ulous to say that poverty, vanity, a want of something
better to do &c., &c., have caused better men to do worse
things.
By all this it appears that I really have no excuse
for publishing the poems, and that 1 am not disposed to
invent any. —
When, however, I called to mind the various circum-
stances under which these little poems were wiiiten,
(especially as some of them were written to suit the im-
aginary circumstances of dramatic characters) I was
perfectly aware that there must be in them, variety
amounting even to inconsistency, and yet after all I will
candidly own, that I am rather satisfied than otherwise
to find that there is in them, and thiough tht-m, even so
great a uniformity of principle and feeling as there is. In
112
these respects, these trifles present even less aberrations
than I, (their Author) expL-cted.
Such l)einf> ihe case, I tremble not at the rlestiny
M-hicb awaits them. Those who have asked ibr these trifles,
now that they have them, may lay them by, and forget
their existorica — few others may ever hear of them— yet,
should some ingenuous youth, so fond of the flowery
walks of poetry, as to pursue them into their lonely mazes
and ecceatri:;ities, and t'lus be led to the ob«!cure spot,
where this unpresuming volume lies, I trust, whatever be
his judgement of its contents, he will lay it down with no
new feeling, but that of an increased good will towards
his kindred of the earth.
SONGS OF DEVON
AND
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Part 2nd.,
Contains a Selection from the Author's hitherto unpublished
Poems and domestic sketches. Like the former, they have been
chiefly suggested by local incidents.
RUBEN AVENEL,
OR
FIRST POETIC FEELINGS.
It fell upon him when a child at play —
That wide-spread sympathy for all that live —
That warm but wayward kindling of the heart,
Which finds relief in words of measured sound.
Had language never been, it would have glowed
Within his soul of flame, an unborn joy,
Rapture unspoken, melody unsung —
The living essence of his spirit's bliss.
Capricious impulse — vagrant flitting light !
It clothes creation in a robe of beams
Borrowed from fairy atmospheres, and wraps
In rain-bow hues unreal, this cold, bleak world.
That panting for the beautiful ; that love
Of loveliness was his inheritance —
4
114
To him the Avell-spring of delights intense,
The source of sorrows hidden from the herd.
Quick sensibihties, emotions keen,
Impressed their own deep color on his fate,
And fix'd his lone, peculiar destiny.
The blood of warriors circled in his veins —
Their shields are shadowing their dust's repose,
Tlieir fame is still the lustre of our land.
They were a bold and stern, but generous race,
Ready for battle or for banquet board ;
Their chief delight was in the Held of war;
Their bucklers were a fortress to their friends ;
Behind their flashing brands the weak reposed.
Defiance to the hand that offered wrong,
Though it might wear the iron glaive of power j
To shield the injured though to share his fate ;
Were mottos of the house of Avenel :
And though their records speak of deadly feuds,
Of sudden Avrath awoke at festive board,
Of daring deed provoked by woman's love,
Of blood shed at the sanguinary sports
Of tilt or tournament, they neither wrong'd
Nor suffered wrong, but flung with fearless scorn
At the oppressor's feet their gauntlet down.
Their firm and lofty fearlessness, undim'd,
AVithin the bosom of the fair-hair'd boy.
Proved him no recreant to his warlike line ;
For his blue eve would brighten at the sight
115
Of danger, and repel the glance of pride
With cool, unshrinking, careless, bold disdain.
Yet the descendant of that martial race,
The undegenerated son of heroes dead,
Wept o'er the wild flower which his foot had crush' d.
Derided oft, misunderstood, disdain'd.
Such tears are gems, pure diamonds of the soul —
The power to shed them is the gift of God !
A soul delighting in the sight of joy,
Depressed and sorrowing at another's woe —
In restless search of something it could love,
With an untiring energy of heart —
And call it still his own renewing bliss
To see it bloom unblemished by decay —
From Him who will'd the color of his life
The minstrel boy received — it was his fate.
His heritage — his weakness — and his power.
His father's sword hung idly in' his hall,
He grasp'd it fearlessly, but loved it not.
A hunter of the wild woods was his sire,
And there, beside his sword, his bugle hung :
But when the boy essayed a blast to blow.
It ended in a cadence bland and soft,
Sweet and most musical, as if the sound
Some winged wanderer from heaven had caught
Lingering in the green glades, of the wood
And charm'd the rude reveillie into love.
116
Once roaming idly through the ancient hall,
Among neglected trophies of the chase,
Of falconry and woodcraft, half unstrung
He found a Camhrian Harp. His hand he flung
With careless touch, among the trembling strings,
And though discordant was the sound they gave.
It 'woke within him thoughts of the \mknown
He dreamt of, storied harmony and song.
The sun went down ; the brown woods seem'd to sleep;
A light breeze softly sung their lullaby ;
The moon appeared o'er Causen's rugged side j
Dark clouds were fring'd with light as she arose ;
Soon, through the blazon'd window, fell her beams
Upon his ardent face, and there at length,
Bent o'er the harp, the lonely boy was found.
Lisping sweet fancies to its strings unstrung.
Irregular and wild the sound which sprung
To childhood's lips, fresh from his teeming heart.
Glowing with embryo passions yet unborn.
His tones expressed the dawning of desire,
And fancy thus might turn them into words.
SONG
Of the minstrel hoy to his mother's broken harp.
Where is the melody which lately flew,
Harp of my mother, round these strings unstrung
?
117
Where are the svreet sounds nom her fingers drew
When wandering their shining lines among ?
Where is thy spirit ? — where thy music fled ?
Say, (like my mother) are they with the dead ?
I would awaken all thy joy again —
I fondly strive thy mirthful strain to move,
As if my trembling hand had caused thee pain —
Thou answerest sadly to my touch of love.
Harp of the beautiful, thy joy is fled —
Mournest thou forever for the lovely dead ?
The sun has set, but left his blessing here.
His farewell beam still trembles in the sky;
On Causen's snowy brow the moon shines clear,
Her light is on the field and turret high —
Her brightness gladdens lawn, and bower, and brake,^
Harp of the beautiful — awake— awake —
An inarticulated melody
Dwelt in his yet unspoken thoughts ; and I
Love to go back again to boyish things,
And fancy what he felt ; for I have had
Feelings myself no words could e'er express ;
And these were with me long e'er I had power
To make rude record of my wayward thoughts.-
Nature prepares her ardent worshipper.
By long novitiate, before he takes
His stand beside her altar. Oft her gifts
118
Have lost their freshness e'er the eye of man
Discovers their existence — oft they die
With the warm heart which cherish 'd them, expire
Unclaiming mortal sympathy, the breath
Of that rude clamour which the world calls fame.
Unknown, unsought, unprized. His sweetest lays
The son of song oft utters in the dark
Like the imprisoned bul-bul over which
The fair Sultana flings her veil of snow,
That he may chant his melody unseen.
The youthful bard dwelt lonely in the woods ;
His young, fresh sensibilities uncheck'd,
But often misdirected, wildly grew
Into a wayward energy — The sports
Of childish years he never knew nor sought.
A darker brown fell on his auburn locks,
A wilder fire glow'd in his dark blue eye,
A riper tinge embronzed his ruddy cheek.
But life the while became an aimless dream.
Swift was his foot upon the flowery turf,
Yet chased he nothing but the thistle-down
Roaming abroad upon the fitful breeze.
Shouting he leap'd the dangerous waterfall,
Which with redoubled shouts he cross'd again.
Upon the plain he rein'd the unbroke steed
And dared him to rebellion ; yet he rode
In idle circles round the daisied field.
Then laugh'd to give him liberty again.
Yet in the midst of all this hoist' rous joy
119
The thoughtful mood fell on him, (like a cloud.
Or cloudy shadow on the river's foam
Sparkling and dashing down the cataract)
Then rush'd poetic feeling through his heart
And found a record from his youthful hand.
Among the woods there stands a ruin'd fane,
The chapel of St. Cuthbert ; there repose,
Forsaken in the forest solitude.
The heroes of the house of Avenel,
Or rather, dust of once heroic men.
The minstrel sat alone by Cuthbert's shrine
At evening tide, and rais'd his lonely song.
The sun was setting o'er the far off heio-hts :
The southern tors grew dim, like evening clouds j
Shade after shade fell on the silent woods.
Until they slept envelop'd in the night.
The shattered emblems of his fathers' deeds.
Fallen from their monuments, were dimly seen
In the last glimmer of the feeble light.
His soul was fill'd with shadows of the past,
He prized, 'twas natural, liis fathers' fame.
Yet pondered on the praise of bloody deeds
And felt it was not glory ! Parted from
A nobler motive than the fame of ficrht.
It were the hero's everlasting; shame.
His harp was strung to bold chivalrous strain ;
Romantic fancy check'd by sager thought
Produced the lonely minstrel's first brief lay.
120
THE MINSTREL
AT THE GRAVES OF HIS KINDRED.
Riven — riven
By the lightning fire of heaven
Are the banners of the brave ;
Grim emblems of fierce victoiy !
O wayward, idle mockery
To hang them o'er the grave,
As if 'twere glory to the dead
That they their kindred blood had shed.
Lost — lost —
Like bubble tempest tost
Expiring on the sea,
The record vain of bloody deed,
Oblivion is the final meed
Of pride and chivalry :
The stone unfaithful to its trust
Betrays and mocks the nameless dust.
Found — found.
Red rusted in the ground,
Is the warrior's blood-stain'd brand ;
Here is the helm which graced his brow,
His twisted mail is with us now,
The glaive which cloth'd his hand;
But I his son inquire in vain
What foes he slew ? — by whom was slain ?
121
Land — land,
For whom the valiant lifted brand
When foeman threaten'd thee,
They lov'd thee — 'twas their souls' behest
To do for thee, and do their best —
To die right valiantly.
Flown is the fame they left for me,
All but their deep, ti-ue love to thee.
He sat among the ashes of the dead.
The bard had sung, the chronicler had wrote
Their feats of war. He scorn'd not valiant deeds,
But his rapt soul was roll'd into itself;
The vanity of such a fame he saw,
And sigh'd for days when man should be at peace-
When the meek spirit should inherit all,
And pure good-will man's highest honor claim.
Again his fingers wander'd through the strings ;
It seem'd as if some vagrant zephyr swept
Their lines with wing invisible — a strain
Of soften'd melody, irregular,
'Rose from the harp, the while the minstrel boy,
Communing with the future and the past.
After short symphony of wild sweet notes,
Utter'd his wayward phantasies in song.
122
THE SPIRIT'S PROPHECY.
The earth turn'd round — Her atmosphere of light
Like a soft radiance round a sapphire flung
Enclosed her as a garment, whose fair hues
Of many-color'd blended harmony
Trembled, as the swift sun-rays shot along
Through the thin vapours of a calm, still sky.
A spirit folded then his azure wing,
And rested from his lone, adventurous flight,
Where the first sunbeams struck the outmost air
Where cloud had never soar'd, he 'lighted down
With joy upon the atmosphere of earth.
He, through a wilderness of many worlds.
Had pass'd, in quest of loveliness and bliss.
The fairest offsprings of the Parent Mind.
The Poet of a distant m^h mas he ;
His energy of thought had kill'd the dust
Which clung around his being's infancy,
And he was passing to the home of souls.
Wonder and love possess'd him as he hung
Like the pois'd falcon on the summer breeze
O'er that bright scene of varied loveliness,
And look'd— down on the dwelling-place of man.
The earth roll'd on — The sea lay spread beneath
The smiling sky, reflecting its fair tints,
Save where the wavelet flung its pearly crest
123
Of snowy foam upon the golden sands.
"How beautiful" the joyous spirit said,
"Those fields of azure waters— there may dwell
"Creatures it were immortal joy to love" —
As from her cloud the lammergiere * descends,
He plung'd into the deep, and rested, where
Millions of zoophiles with ceaseless toil
Were buildins; future continents for men.
There for himself each tiny architect
Rear'd his small dwelling— it became his tomb.
His fate — to live, to struggle, and to die^
A moving atom, knowing nought beyond
The precincts of his prison cell. His world,
His house in life, his sepulchre in death.
The wonders of unreasoning instinct there
He saw. Unconscious of a tendency
It labour' d, and scarce knowing life it lived
Unconscious too of death ; at length it died,
And then its atoms mingled with the stone,
Its everlasting monumental urn.
It knew not aught existed but itself.
The millions of its kindred all around
Toiling to change the bottom of the deep.
Building another surface for a world,
Claim'd not its sympathies ; darkly alone
The animated atom lived and died.
"How wonderful is life" the spirit said,
"Existing in the dust ! Here first it dawns,
* The Eagle of the Alps.
124
"A living stone receives it and transmits
"Its essence to another : yet there dwells
"In this blunt consciousness no sense of self,
"Nor sympathy for others — love may waste
"Its own eternal energies, unbless'd
"By that exchange which is its crowning joy.
"This form of life, however beautiful,
"Claims not from me a spirit's kindred love."
The earth turn'd round — The deep lay liush'd in night.
The spirit shot along the darken'd waves
Until the sunrise of another dawn
With golden sparkle tip'd each heaving wave.
The finny families with gem-like scales
Came rushing by in happy multitudes ;
Some gaily sporting in the morning beams
With ever varying hues, which trembling changed
In each glad motion, swift as flitting thoughts.
The widely spreading waters, canopied
By that blue heaven's serenity, and lit
By soften'd sun-rays shooting through their depths,
Seem'd for the happy tribes a home of bliss.
The pilgrim of the universe rejoic'd
In sympathetic gladness Avith the glad.
But soon the tyrants of the deep appear'd.
The weak became their prey ! They fed upon
The quivering bodies of their victims frail
Ere life had parted from their trembling food.
His love-born, sympathetic joy repi'ess'd.
125
With all the sadness which the blest can know,
The spirit, borne upon a zephyr's wing,
Far from the ocean flew — ^away — away.
The earth roll'd on — and evening's holy calm
Hung o'er the valley of a forest old.
Where tree and shrub had for a thousand years
Lived, grown, decayed, and pass'd again to dust,
Their fruits unpluck'd, their beauty unobserv'd.
Blue watei'-lilies seem'd to catch with joy
The falling diamonds from a fountain's gush,
O'er which an aged willow hung far round
Its waving boughs, which bent to kiss the stream,
And all its drooping garlands seem'd to sigh
And whisper words, as through them pass'd the breeze.
The sweet-briars trembled when the willow waved
And flung around their breath of rich perfume ;
The swift wing'd birds Avhich knew not of restraint,
And never dreamt of fear, from joyous flight
Rested, and sung their evening hymns.
High in the willow's canopy of green
A dove breathed forth her plaintive melody;
It seem'd the melting of her heart in love,
While half expiring with delight, she fed,
Caress' d, and murmur'd o'er her little brood.
A thrill of sweetest sympathy again
Made the glad spii'it tremble, much he fear'd.
While hovering round, to break the holy rest
Of the hush'd air; and when the passing breeze
W6
'Rose like a sudden sigh among the leaves,
He grieved to see it stir the purple down
Upon her panting breast, and dreaded lest
Ruffling her pinion 'twould disturb her joy —
A falcon struck the anxious mother down.
And prey'd upon her heart. The spirit flew
From the green forest glade — away — away.
The earth turn'd round — The morning's beams
Fell on a mighty river, broad and deep,
In whose capacious estuary met
The waters of a continent. Wild woods
Spread wide and far, a tangled wilderness.
Where the young sapling sprung, uncheck'd, untrain'd,
Beside the aged tree in its decay.
Worn by the winds of centuries, and dead.
Through those green bowers of desolation pass'd
With silent flight the wond'ring spirit on,
But rested where the river's silvery tide
Curl'd round, and form'd a little tranquil bay,
Where thousands of wild flowers bent their heads
To look into the glassy stream, and shed
Their sweetest breath upon the whispering wave.
There in the hollow of a rifted rock,
Hung o'er with eglantines, he found a cave,
In which a youthful mother nurs'd a babe j
Half hidden in her flowing hair he lay,
And press'd with rosy lips her panting breast.
An unpremeditated lay of love,
127
The overflowing of her teeming heart
Fell from her ruby lips, which he repaid
With imitative murmur, as he shot
His keen, arch glances through her tresses dark
Hung like a veil around his joyous face,
Or where the song most pleas'd his childish thought,
He join'd the chorus of his deep rich laugh,
More musical to her than welcome lays
Chanted by Cherubim to happy souls.
Resting from toil, upon a mossy couch
Reposed a warrior of the wilderness.
TJncloth'd his sinewy limb, unclip'd his hair,
His half-clos'd eye still rested on the boy,
His drowsy ear drank in the lullaby
The mother chanted to the laughing child ;
And he the foremost of the tribe in fight,
The mighty chieftain, fierce and obdurate,
Sigh'd like a tender maid ; his heart of steel
Seem'd, drop by drop, dissolving into love.
So joyous was the sympathetic thrill
Which through his being pass'd, the spirit leapt
High in the air — it seem'd electric flame
Had shot from earth and pass'd into the clouds- —
Then trembling like a sigh from lips that love,
Gently he sunk again towards the earth
And fell upon the waters — It might seem
That rain-drops, pure and all invisible,
Had dimpled for a while the smiling stream.
The warrior placed his hand upon his boy
128
And slept. Charm'd by that sacred touch, the child
(!losed the dark fringes o'er his flame-like eyes,
And sunk in smiling slumber. One alone
Kept an unwearied watch ; 'twas Adela,
The mother and the wife.
O man ! O man !
How little in thy turbulent career
Dost thou regard such watchful guardianship ?
O little dost thou reck how often she
Who loved thee in thy wayward infancy,
Sooth'd with enduring love thy fitful sleep.
And less regardest still, perhaps, her care,
Who rent like flax her earliest, tenderest ties
To walk the desert of the earth with thee.
When thou art wearied out with empty cares,
Or still more empty joys ; she vigil keeps.
Her heart bleeds silently, and all for thee.
While thou art lock'd, the while, in troubled sleep,
Unconscious of the charm her silent love
Is shedding, like a spell around thy rest.
A serpent to the heart of man, man is,
A pitiable, pardonable fool —
Ingrate to woman — demons laugh at him—
Angels forsake him — mercy's self forgets.
The spirit look'd upon the tranquil rest
Of those who slept, but more on her who watch'd.
129
There seem'd to emanate from her full heart
Magnetic influence, like secret spell
Binding the three in one, by sacred bands
Of living strength — the soul's attractive power.
There came a sound, so light, it scarcely struck
Upon the eager ear, but left in doubt —
Was it the crushing of a young, green bough ?
Or echo of a step, which might have press'd
With stealthy haste the primrose of the vale ?
It seem'd to thrill through every quiv'ring nerve
Of the fair sentinel ; and bending down
Upon the warrior's face, she whisper'd words
So soft, they scarcely seem'd a louder breath —
With noiseless motion soon he stood erect.
The woods were fiU'd with secret enemies.
Foes to their tribe had trac'd their hiding place ;
Their shouts of vengeance now arose around.
Seizing the weapons of his warfare rude,
The hero with a shout of scorn replied.
The foes came rushing on — the foremost fell
Like slaughter'd hounds before the uprous'd wolf.
For death was in his hands — but soon he fell.
And with the curses of unconqucr'd hate
Upon his lips, expired. The boy they flung
High in the air, and caught him on a spear.
While yet his death-shriek echo'd through the dell.
The conqueror approach'd with hideous smile,
And offer'd Adela his lawless love !
130
She seem'd to yield — answer'd his loath'd caress
With sweet but guileful smile ; she watcli'd his eve ;
Saw by its deaden'd glare, suspicion slept
Within his brutal soul, then rais'd her arm,
A lightning flame seem'd gleaming round her hand,
A secret dagger through his treacherous heart
Shot like a meteor-bolt, so swift and sure,
That life rush'd out in one red boiling gush.
The tribe yell'd horribly a dreadful shout.
But ere their torturers could seize the blade
It cleft with deadly aim her own pure heart.
The blood of Adela fell heavily
In big and burning drops upon the flowers —
They bow'd their heads and died ; then silently
It crept through yellow sands into the stream — •
The waters gurgled, curl'd, and rush'd away
In troubled circles, round the little creek,
As if to shun its sad companionship.
All living things that dwelt within the stream.
Cleft the bright air, or through the forest stray'd.
Forsook the woodland bay. The spirit rose
With heavy flight, though on immortal wing,
Shun'd the bright day, and rush'd into the night.
A shepherd boy who watch'd a slumb'ring flock.
Said, that a voice of weeping, sad, but sweet,
Floated around him in the calm, still air ;
And falling stars, which might be radiant tears.
Fell through the darkness all that solemn eve.
131
The world turn'd round — Again the morning broke
O'er the green pastures of a flow'r strew'd isle,
And sparkled on its playful mountain streams.
With music of his flagelet, the boy
Who said he had observed the falling stars,
Awoke his drowsy charge, and led them forth
To the green margin of a gushing stream.
With clarion shrill, from cot lo cot, the cock
Awoke the drowsy hinds, and spread the news
That day was walking o'er the eastern hills.
The swallow darted from the thatch with joy ;
The lark shook off the dew-drop form her wing,
Rose from her grassy nest with spiral flight,
And sang among the clouds. The birds which dip
Their pinions in the waters, sported there,
Beating with joyous wing the waving pool;
The generous steed aroused his noble strength.
Led by a child, commenced his willing toil.
A trumpet from their labours call'd the swains,
A priest brought forth a banner, blest it, bade'
His followers battle for the Prince of peace —
The earth was dyed with blood.
Indignant scorn
Check'd for a while, the spirit's sympathy ;
Compassion, by disdainful wonder, curb'd,
Lay darken'd for a moment in his thought.
But cloud of painful feeling could not 7'est
Upon his happy being. Yet to shun
132
Feelings which turn e'en love itself to pain,
Man must be shun'd, and his insane delights,
His cruel friendships, and his childish wars.
So rapid was the spirit's eager flight
From that dread scene of wrath and violence,
It seem'd the rushing of a hurricane —
The frighted sea-boy, to the rocking mast
Clung, as he heard it wail and groan around.
And saw the parting billows separate
In one long line before the sudden gust,
As from the isle of blood the spirit flew
Away — away — away !
THE PROPHECY.
Within the bosom of an amber cloud
Which check'd the sunbeam's flight with filmy wreaths
Of varigated vapour, forming domes
Resting on snowy columns edg'd with gold.
O'er halls aerial, hung with rainbow hues,
Floor'd by soft azure, canopied with white.
Through which a trembling zephyr's fitful breath
Pass'd like a sigh, yet seem'd afraid to break
The holy rest — tranquil the spirit lay,
And cast on earth a pensive farewell glance.
The stranger now had flown in eager flight
Form pole to pole, and round the rolling globe j
Through teeming city and o'er silent waste ;
Mountain and billow ; cultivated field ;
133
O'er unknown prairies by man iinclaim'd ;
Through crowded marts of artificial wealth ;
The embryo cities of the wilderness
Arising in the solitude, had mark'd ;
Drawing forth millions to the desert wilds
From the vast multitudes of ancient lands.
He'd found the ruins of those cities old,
"Whose names had awed the world. A polish'd shaft,
A fretted capital, in floating sands
Embeded, told their history — their fame —
Their greatness and their fall. He also found
Those mighty mounds — gigantic monuments,
Which speak of teeming millions swept away
From wastes which men think undiscovered lands ;
Tho' each green blade which springs on those vast fields
Is nurtur'd by the blood and dust of man.
Imperfect records these, which dimly mark
A lagging progress, slow from stage to stage,
Yet prove progression even in decay.
Of all that conquers man, and all he rules,
He form'd just estimate, and in the past
Kead of futurity — the yet unknown.
"Roll on fair orb — in joy roll on — roll on,
For thou art wheeling to more perfect good,
An erring race" at length the spirit said.
"They have internal energies of soul,
And native tendencies, (though hidden long
Like trembling lightnings in the thunder-cloud)
134
Whicli shall spring up and gain ascendency
l^riumphantly at last, and all be light
Where darkness and remorse have rested long."
"A lost abortion of the parent mind
Flung from the hand which fashion'd him, away
Disdainfully, to wander in the dark
Man now appears, spoil'd, useless, and cast off —
Its very imperfections show the work
Unfinished, or its Maker also weak !
But who can doubt Him, Powerful and Good !
Wise to design, and mighty to complete ?"
"He dwelt among the darkness, ere a sun
Look'd fondly round upon its rolling train.
And thought Thought into being ! Needing nought,
To perfect his own perfect happiness,
He will'd a universe of circling spheres.
Awoke the drowsy dust to sense and life.
That with young thought, his favourite progeny,
He might communicate, unseen, unknown.
But whence come pain and sorrow, if the Power
Who call'd on nothing and it thought — wills nought
But to communicale felicity?"
"Whence come those essences who dwell in dust?
Did stern compulsion link them to the flesh
And soil what perfect sprung from the First Mind ?
Suspicion hovers o'er the darken'd soul
But dares not light its trembling foot on him.
135
It may not be— but immaterial minds,
Free souls — the noblest, purest essences,
Spirits, who were archangels, might have rush'd
To earth, and link'd themselves to suffering worms,
Gladly enduring all their earth-born pains.
That they might learn the wonders of his hand
Working with matter — of Creating thought
The second child. Inhabiting the dust.
There for a time they darkly, sadly roam.
Lost is their consciousness of higher state —
Or their brief trial itself were worse than lost.
A deadly rest falls on th'immortal T/toufjht —
He slowly wakes surrounded by the sense.
Blinded, his sole ideas come from it.
A youth of animal delights, manhood
Of gloomy cares, old age of pains succeed,
The quivering nerve, and animated brain.
And all deceptive senses, rule their guest,
Archangel though he be. In troubled dreams
He wanders doubtingly, and even dreads
A deadlier death than that the flesh can know.
Death — the companion of his life, his bane,
Heard in the flutter of an insect's wing ;
Seen in the thorn embosom'd in the rose,
Felt in the breeze that fans his aching brow —
Dreadful commander of the angry sea ;
Awful controuler of the earthquake's burst ;
Lord of the tempest — Emperor of Earth,
Is but the messenger that calls him back;
136
He soars again to his first seat of blis.-,
Furnish' d with reflections (knowing fain
And earthly joy, by dwelling in the clay)
To occupy a Avhole Eternity !
"The mighty secret's told. It was decreed
Ten thousand thousand years should pass o'er earth
Ere human mind should know that lofty truth,
And then besfin the new, the second state.
Those who have suffer'd and have pass'd away,
Complain not of the destiny they chose,
But dwell among their glories, watching earth
With an intensity of love and mingled hope —
They'are around me, brothers Hail all Hail ! "
The vapoury chambers of the amber cloud
Shook with the friendly greetings of the blest.
Then melted into thousands of bright drops
Of silvery rain. The heaven was one pure blue,
Save that an arch of soft and snowy light
Shot through the zenith, circling o'er the world.
Millions of spirits who had dwelt on earth
Form'd this bright band around the stranger guest,
For it had been foretold that one should come
Among them from some distant orb, and tell,
With thought intuitive, what man shall be.
The mariner upon the sea observed
One fair, faint light, filling the concave heaven ;
137
Then saw it rise, until it seem'd a star
Surrounded by its halo ; bright it shone —
That brightness was the spirit traveller —
The radiance, millions waiting to receive
His thoughts benevolent ; and thus they flowed.
"Spirits — kindred to God and man, all hail!
Ye who have dwelt in dust, and sympathise
Still with the seeming erring race beneath!
It was decreed that none of you should solve
Its final destiny. I felt desire.
The cause of which I -knew not, thitherward
To wing my flight adventurous, and found,
Suffering and joy, and good with evil mix'd
In earthly natures, chiefly so in man.
There dwells unfathomable mystery
In every form of life which breathes in dust ;
A seeming stern, but kind necessity,
For those who roam the earth unknowing death
Provides. They wake — they live — they fall asleep
Unknowing hope, and fearing nought but pain
They gain maturity, their perfect state.
Without anxiety or care ; the past
To them is lost ; the present is their all ;
The future is unclaim'd and undesired ;
They make no progress on from age to age.
And what relation to eternity
Aught dwelling in their organism bears,
Must be untold—Their earthly fate is known,
138
Their future is a copy of the past
From race to race, till time shall be no more/'
"Man, the most helpless, seemingly unfit
To struggle with his hard necessities.
Becomes e'en by the pressure of his wants
The conqueror of all, and rules the globe.
Long has he wander'd in the dark
Misguided and bewilder'd, yet has learnt
To vanquish nature, e'en by nature's laws-*
By application of a stronger powei".
Will he not jierfect what imperfect trial
Has shown to be his highest, noblest gift?
That all subduing reason, which will guide
Him to his greatest happiness, and marks
Perfect obedience for complete command ?
He will ; and knowing nature learn to know
Himself. A perfect organism springs
From culture not from accident ; disease
Exists, only to guide him into health ;
And punishment, arm'd with her scorpion stings
To lash him to felicity. The past
A record of confusion, uniform
In one great truth alone, completely proves
That happiness is harmony of thought — ■
A pleasing consciousness, which dwells
In blended energies, where mental powers
Are each existing in its perfect strength.
Yet each obedient in the blended whole.
139
The chans:eful circumstances which surround
The storm beat, lielpless wanderer of earth
The weather of his little day — will change :
His strengthen'd hand will fix the shifting winds,
And all be harmony with his pure wish."
"The complicated, seeming erring brain,
Shall work in harmony ; the fleshly wish
Shall to the nobler intellect succumb.
And moral truth from contradiction rise
As springs the fairest floAv'r from mould'ring dust.
The waited for, the sabbath, and the change
Shall then descend upon the happy earth.
And all impressions from without shall blend
Into one focus of felicity ;
And man shall walk with God and God with man !
The pestilence, the famine, and the sword ;
The torture, and the martyr's fiery bed ;
The wants of poverty ; the wants of pride ;
The seeming nothingness of earthly good 5
The dread reality of human ill,
Shall all prove instruments to raise the dust
Into communion with ihe Parent Mind !
Matter, and spirit, both created good,
Mingling may disagree, and evil seem
The result of the conflict, but at length,
Link'd in blest union they shall worship God !
And He, their everlasting parent, love
His long divided children with delight;
140
Concentrating in both — roll on fair earth.
For thou art rolling to more perfect bliss
A long mistaken and an erring race."
A shout of grand impassion'd melody
'Rose from the disembodied men — all rusli'd
Like one vast stream of lightning on the earth,
And night was for an instant day, and day
Fill'd with a light unkno^vn to day before.
Around the palaces, the cottage homes,
The winds seem'd eloquent with floating words.
As if of fathers blessing virtuous sons.
And oft there came a cadence, sweet but sad.
As if a mother with excess of joy
Wept o'er her own — Mothers of the earth
May roam from world to world in quest of good.
But they are mothers still —
Here the boy
Thought on his mother, and a gush of tears
Finished his foolish fable — She was dead.
And yet he thought some holy yearnings still
Might link her heart to his. He was a child;,
And so I leave him to the kind and good.
141
CASTLE STARNHAUFF.
(A Ballad of Poland.)
They are weaving flowers — they are weaving flowers
In Castle Starnhaufi''s sunny bowers;
And the Vistula's waters with foam-drops white
Are dancing along in the bright sun light,
And fair Agatha gives to bold Trenmor's son
The rich prize which his patriot valour has won,
And the hand of the lovely to day will reward
Him, who bravely has fought Poland's freedom to guard.
There's a sound of dread — there's a sound of dread.
Like a coming host ! — like the war-steed's tread !
No. The bender of pines, the breeze of the hills.
Has shaken the boughs o'er the forest rills.
And bending each wild flower's fragile stem,
Sighs aloud at the thought of leaving them.
The wine cup fill, let each heart be gay.
Like the flower of field we pass away.
'Twas a martial note — 'twas a martial note
Which then on the forest echoes smote !
No. The hunter returning with belt and spear.
From the toil of the chase is drawing near ;
He is bringing spoils from the upland and fell,
And is hastening home to the festival.
The wine cup drain — let each heart be gay —
Like the leaves of the forest we pass away.
142
The priest is cloth'd in his vestments white,
The lovely and valiant with joy to unite —
But the hosts of the tyrant are there — forever
Asunder the valiant and lovely to sever,
For a slave had breath'd in the tyrant's ear,
And the heart of the spoiler had melted with fear.
And exile and chains were decreed to the brave
Through the poison'd breath_of the coward slave.
They are weaving flowers —they are weaving flowers
In Castle Starnhauff''s moon-lit bowers ;
And the Vistula's waters with foam-drops white
Are dancing along in the soft moon light,
But the bridal wreath on the bier is spread,
And the bride at the altar lies cold and dead j
At morn — like the rose in its bloom was the bride,
At even — 'tis withered and cast aside.
There's an oath of dread — there's an oath of dread,
It was breath'd o'er the face of the lovely dead.
Far holier than relic, or cross, or book
Seem'd the pathos deep of that silent look ;
'Tis an oath of the soul, unwritten, unsaid.
Yet the thrones of the earth has it shaken with dread,
'Tis enshrin'd in the hearts of the manly brave,
'Tis — Death to each tyrant and coward slave.
143
THOUGHTS
Suggested by entering kingsbbidge, for the first time, and
accidentally witnessing the funeral procession of the late Mr. Kirby,
and the popular sympathy occasioned by his lamented death. He
had long been in ill health, and had just taken leave of his children,
previous to his departure for India, when he fell down and instantly
expired.
(a fragment.)
— There is a nameless dread, or rather doubt,
Perhaps a mingling of them both, which falls
Like passing cloud upon the lonely heart,
Which hails the stranger — wheresoe'er he dwells.
The land may be his own dear isle,
The stranger of his kindred and his tongue ;
And Holman journeying in the wilderness,
In helpless darkness, to the Arab tents.
Feels not alone this dark depressing gloom.
How oft have I while wandering in the fields
Of merry England, felt the nameless pang.
Which told me novelty was nought to home.
— It needs not horrors of the forest old,
Untenanted of man and desolate —
Nor lands where man is but a wolf to man,
And to the stranger but a beast of prey —
Nor Lapland wastes — nor months of sunless snows.
The gloom is on the spirit, not the scene.
How eagerly at such a moment roams
From face to face the searching anxious eye ;
How drinks the thirsty ear each novel sound ;
How yearns the soul to know the character
Of the new world to which we are arrived.
144
A flood of new impressions strike the sense
And leave a deathless impress on the mind.
'Twas thus, a scene by no means new or rare
Remains engraven on a stranger's heart.
The morning yet was in its freshest prime ;
The sky a bright untarnished sheet of blue :
The breeze was sea-ward bound, but on the shore
Fell on the waters with so light a wing,
That they but smiled to greet him as he pass'd';
The wavelet died ere it could reach the shore ;
The wild flowers seem'd to pine with too much joy,
And shut their timid eyes, as if to shun
The brightness of a day so beautiful ;
And no excuse for sadness could be seen.
We journeyed on amidst a jovial throng,
Ourselves made jovial by their rustic mirth.
The sturdy tillers of the ground, with joy.
Brought forth the produce of their useful toil,
And 'midst the roar of joyous festival
Proclaim' d hom little labour wants from pride*
A sudden turn, at once, reveal'd a scene.
Which fell like darkness on a sun-lit sea
Upon the saddened heart. A silent crowd.
With eager looks of mute, respectful grief,
Compos'd it seem'd of every grade and class,
* It was the day of the monthly market at Dodbrook.
145
Waited for some sad spectacle, which all
Desired to see, yet all appeared to dread.
From beauty's diamond eye there fell a pearl
Of silent sympathy. The aged men
Shook their white locks with mute and deep distress ;
The sturdy sons of scarcely ceasing toil
Stood for a while in sad and troubled rest ;
And closer to her heart each mother held
Her darling boy ; and he look'd up and ask'd
Why sudden grief had lighted on the face,
Which e'er till now, had met his own with smiles.
And whv was this ? — I will record the cause
With trembling hand, but with exulting heart.
Read — haters of old England — ye who scorn
Devonia's rude and simple hearted sons,
Whose heartless emptiness has nurtured doubt
Of England's nobleness, or Devon's worth —
Learn why thus sorrow hush'd the market crowd,
'Twas sym'pathy with those who mourn had made them
sad!
A father had bowed down to bless his boy
In all the agony of parting grief —
With these sweet words of blessing on his lips
Expired !
The fond heart render'd up its all,
And died. The past and future met. His soul
The struggle with them both could not endure.
146
All his past joys rush'd back upon his heart —
Its future desolation clip'd it round,
Like frozen zone of adamantine ice ;
It broke — his heart wept blood— and ceased to move !
O who allured by hopes of gain alone,
Could leave this his land of generous symimthies
For one of pearls, barl^aric gold, and blood,
Nor cast a sad, unwilling look behind ?
He knew the dreadful contrast, and he felt.
Too well he knew the dark, terrific truth,
"When Juggernaut his hundred victims claims
Ten thousand bleed to sate the sordid power,
The Moloch of the white man's worship — wealth ?
One holy aspiration filled his heart —
It broke in giving it — his spirit flew
To heaven, before the mercy seat, to pour
Its generous sacrifice — its offering pure,
A blessing on his country and his child I
THE BLUE EYED MAID.
A SONG.
In the gay crowd he felt alone,
And at the festive board
The freshness from his joys had fled,
It ne'er could be restor'd —
147
Through well known scenes of faded bliss
In pensive mood he stray'd —
Like flow'ret flung upon his path
He found his blue-eyed maid.
There was a blush upon her cheeks,
A glow upon her lips,
Like blossoms of the sunny fields
At which the brown bee sips.
Bright visions o'er his moody soul
Like fairy beacons stray'd.
Its waning light his soul relumed —
He loved the blue-eyed maid.
Misfortune fell upon his path —
She solace round him shed,
For music dwelt upon her lips
When shunshine friends were fled.
He saw the tear on friendly eyes.
And heard the foe upbraid.
Yet lovely was the constant smile
Of one — his blue-eyed maid.
The treasure of his lonely soul —
** His gem of highest worth —
Like dew-drop flung from paradise
On the parch' d child of earth,
As through this wilderness of cares
With fait' ring steps he's stray'd
Has been to him the lonely love
Of her — his blue-eyed maid.
148
THE MOOR MAID'S JEALOUSY.
(A Ballad.)
When the lark is at rest, in her grass-woven nest,
And the lapwing at even is seeking her home ;
When the last light of day is just dying away,
And the ring-plover's sleeping among the green broom,
And the plover sleeps in the green broom.
When silence prevails o'er the hills and the dales.
And day with its noise and its labour is o'er.
O then comes a sound, which makes my heart bound.
For Charley comes whistling over the moor,
O Charley comes over the moor.
Yet, once it was said, that a wealthy youno- maid
Had wiled ofF his heart, with her wealth and her store,
And my heart died away, as I heard people say,
"Now he'll never go whistling over the moor,"
No, he'll never go over the moor !
And yet, if he should, why where'd be the good,
In his impudent face I would shut the front door.
And thus 7nust I speak, altho' my heart break,
"Sir, you may go back again over the moor,"
"Yes, back again over the moor ! "
But quickly I knew that Charley was true —
O his lieart was a treasure not won by her store,
149
And in spite of my pride, O anger soon died
When I thought he'll now come again over the moor,
Yes— whistling over the moor.
When the day went to rest, with a smile in the west,
I, some-how or other, was out by the door.
And my heart grew so weak, that tears stole down my cheek
When I saw the brave fellow come over the moor,
Yes — WHISTLING over the moor.
EFFIE
A SONG.
I met her where the heather-bell
Lay brightly gem'd with pearls of dew,
When sun-light soft, first lit the dell.
And on the fount a faint blush threw.
From trance of joy the wild birds 'woke —
Her song like theirs was sweet — was gay —
The spring flow'rs smil'd as morning broke —
And she was beautiful as they.
And ne'er a lighter footstep fell
Upon the scarce crush'd heather-bell.
I wander'd far — the heather-bell
Forsook awhile for richer fields,
But sadness on my spirit fell.
Amidst the joys their richness yields.
150
Uncharm'd I heard the sweeter strain
Which gay phim'd captives there might sing-
My sad heart pined to hear again
The flutter of the free hirdJs wing —
For the fountain of the lonely fell —
And the maid who trod the heather-bell.
I came again — the heather-bell
Lay wither'd by the fountain's side ;
The north wind's wing had swept the dell,
And blighted was its flow'ry pride.
The gushing fount was lock'd in ice,
And still as death its wanton play ;
And silent was the song-bird's voice,
And she as silent too as they
Lay slumb'ring in that lonely dell,
Shrin'd by the wither'd heather-bell.
SONG.
Breathe on thy flagelet, mountain boy —
my soul panteth for the soften'd joy,
Which flows so tenderly through thy lay.
Soft as young passion's voice, wild and gay.
1 hear the dashing of our Alpine streams,
I hear the mountain breeze in pine woods sigh
When I am lull'd by thee in fairy dreams.
Backward thro' many years my fond thoughts fly
151
my soul pantetli for that soften'd joy —
Breathe on thy flagelet, mountain boy.
Breathe on thy flagelet an Alpine song —
1 in the stranger's land have tarried long ;
Wildly mad passions o'er my lorn heart stray ;
Rain now the sweetness of thine Alpine lay
On my vex'd spirit — parch'd with care —
Bring back the visions of my early days,
Which flitted ere I knew how sweet they were,
Yet they seem floating round in thy soft lays,
And my soul panteth for that soften'd joy —
Breathe on thy flagelet, mountain boy.
EPITAPH ON A PRINTER
LATELY IN CONNEXION ■WITH A CELEBRATED REVIEWER.
Here, like a blotted, marr'd, ill finished page.
On which the maker's image was impress' d.
But torn and tarnish'd by blind passion' rage
A little restless thing is gone to rest.
Where Prince nor Prelate dared attempt command
He ruled — and set the snarling world at strife ;
He hated peace — still rais'd his smutty hand
To give sage nonsense an eternal life.
He, as a fitting tool, old Pompous tried —
He breathed the venom of his thoughts — and died.
152
HESITATION,
A CANZONET.
The woman who but hesitates is lost.
BYRON.
There was love on his lips — so she turn'd away,
And felt she could never forgive him ;
There was that in his dark eye which seem'd to say
She must never, must never receive him.
Yet when she thought what a world 'twould be
If she were entirely without him.
She resolv'd to remain one half hour more
And speak to her conscience about him.
She own'd, at length, that her heart was not right —
And she never should cease to i-egret it ;
He allow'd 'twas "old Hornie" who tempted to sin,
Yet he lov'd her and could not forget it.
'Twas no subject for fun, for things hastily done,
Might lead to long trouble and sorrow-
Yet their thoughts were so mix'd, that their bridal was fix'd
And they both became one on the 7norrom I
153
YOUNG LOVE'S CAPRICE.
A SONG.
Addressed to 5^ » « «
Vain is regret for moments flitted,
Like stars into the night ;
E'en though young Love came hither with them,
And with them took his flight.
The fond heart yields to his dominion
With joy and artless mirth —
But the light which floats about his pinion
Is not a thing of earth.
When thy frail hand can rein the tempest,
And hush in silent night ;
When the lightning flame thou'st taught to linger,
And check' d its rapid flight ;
Then may'st thou curb young passion coming ;
Then may'st resist his sway ;
O then thou may'st prevent his roaming,
And, charm' d— he here will stay.
How dull a dream of life without him —
He comes, and earth is heaven !
For there's a robe of beams about him,
To vanquish souls 'twas given.
w
154
And joy dwells under his dominion ;
There hope is link'd to mirth —
Yet the light which floats about his pinion
Is not a thing of earth.
BRIGHT DAYS OF WINTER.
A SONG.
Bright days of winter, hither ye come,
Like dwellers in light, who have wander'd from home;
O ye soar quickly by us, on pinions so light.
And though few are your numbers, yet rapid your flight.
There is cold in your sunshine, in its sweetness alloy,
In your smile there is sadness, though mingled with joy —
O bright days of winter, though hither ye come.
Ye are dwellers in light who have wander'd from home.
Bright days of winter, pale emblems are ye
Of the fast fading pleasures around us which flee.
Behold it is morning — their smile is so bright.
We look fondly on them — they have rush'd into night —
O the earth was a desert ere that sweet smile was known,
But the blackness of darkness is here when tis gone —
O bright days of winter, pale emblems are ye
Of the swift fading pleasures around us which flee.
155
ANACREONTIC SONG,
I pant to hear the burning words
Which thrill through every vein ;
I'm waiting for the hallow'd thouglits
Which live in fervid brain :
I shrink from dull reality,
I want to live a dream,
I'd travel through the marshy lands
Where fairy beacons gleam —
And suffer darkness and despair
So that the elfin lights were there.
I've number'd years — the wine cup bring,
'Tis but my lip is cold ;
The spirit through me quivering
Has not— like dust — grown oldj
It panteth for a bliss unknown,
It waiteth for delig:ht ;
Though youthful visions all are flown.
It will not own 'tis nic[ht—
The drink of heaven — thy nectar Jove !
Was friendship steep'd in woman's love.
Then lull me into visions bland ;
The world, you say, demands my hate .
But I would dream my days awav,
And wish the world a better fate.
156
O let my heart be doating still
O'er visions bright of woman's truth j
Let it rely on manly faith,
As firmly as in days of youth.
The drink of heaven — thy nectar Jove !
Was friendship steep'd in woman's love.
CREWS, PRINTEB, NEWTON*
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
Los Angeles
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.
Form L9-17m-8,'55(B3339s4)444
-"THE LIBRART
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORMJT
LOS ANG£L£8
m.
P.rAdfnrd -
l;l6l Songs of Devon
B'^lB'^s
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
AA 000 366 614 6
r
PR
Ul6l
lililllliliiiiiM^^^^^^^^
llii-
i
i ui il !i: >>< 1 i
[ ! I
nil
H.iEsniiinHiniHii
'Mill
iiiijilii
liilli
iiiiSmiiiitnilliiiititiiiiilllliiititUiiiitiaiiiJ