5 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES r C^ C-^V-k ^ W. M I lii-M'V, ll.il 'There Ba1 Pietra, Btaring spectra] won, Ami ghostlj -motionless :n if he sli p( ' MADONNA PI A | MADONNA PIA, AXD OTHER POEMS. BY JAMES GREGOR GRANT. VOL. I. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER, AND CO. CORNHILL. MDCCCXLVIII. LONDON : VIZETEILT MIOT1IEIIS AND CO. I'RINTERS AND ENOlUVERb, rETERBOBOUOIl COURT, TLEET STREET. /9T.I THE POET If / WORDSWOKTH: THE FOLXOWING HUMBLE BUT EARNEST ATTEMPTS IX THAT GREAT ART, ON WHICH THE PROFOUND SPIRIT OF HIS GENIUS, FOR MORE THAN HALF A CENTURY, HAS SHED INCREASING GLORY, ARE, ■SVITH HIS KIND AND HONOURING PERMISSION, AND IN TOKEN QF LASTING GRATITUDE FOR LASTING DELIGHT AND INSTRUCTION, REVERENTIALLY INSCRIBED THE AUTHOR. CONTEXTS OF VOL. I. MADONNA PIA 1 Poets 48 " AYhen the Winds of the Spring " — Lyric 51 Stanzas upon the Field of Waterloo 54 The Ship-hoy 68 "How beautiful is Day! "—Lyric 73 To Hope 76 "Never again !" 78 Stanzas— '"T was eve" SI "Oh, fair of Form"— Lyric 84 To the Sun 86 My Birth-day 90 Over the Deep 98 Three Poems of Affliction, forming a Monody upon the death of an only and most deeply beloved and lamented Son, who died at the age of nineteen : — 1 100 II 106 III 112 \i i OS PAG I The Weloome Home 119 The Voice of Freedom L21 The Maid of Ghentr— Lyric L26 Epithalaminm 1L".» To the Infant G. P. S. P 141 To Grace Darling 142 To . "Ere the Leaf of our Being" 147 Stanza— "Why are our Griefs" 154 To a beautiful Infant 155 El uiac Lines 158 A Character 160 Life, a Picture 164 Separation 166 Thou- his in i he Isle of Man 168 A Lover's Rhapsody 171 Loving and Weeping 178 To an exceedingly beautiful Lady 132 "Oh, talk not of Age"— Lyric 188 Bongof the Captive Knight 189 Stanzas— "This genial Warmth" 191 - SONNETS. On glancing over some of my own Poems 201 The same, continued 202 The same, continued 203 CONTEXTS. Yll PAGE On the first Perusal and Study of Wordsworth's Poetry . 204 Mingled Eecollections 205 On Shakespere 206 The same, continued 207 The same, continued 20S Sleeplessness 209 The same, continued 210 To the Old Year (1842) 211 Life. To E. G 212 Life, continued 213 Town and Country 214 The same, continued 215 Morning of Christmas Day 216 Vulvar Consolation in Sorrow 217 Tomb of the young and beautiful Miss Cochrane . . . 218 The same, continued 219 Upon an Oak Tree, storm-struck 220 The Triad 221 Life— " A fearful Volume " 222 The same, continued 223 Guardian and Ministering Angels 224 The same, continued 226 The same, continued 227 To a beautiful Lady 228 To Ida 229 \ 111 COM ENTS P1QE To E. Gh, in Affliction 23C Power 231 Tlir same, continued 232 Paine 233 The Bame, continued 234 A haughty Beauty 285 Love— "Oh mournful Wanderer!" 886 The same, continued 237 Dejection — "Lone-hrooding" 238 Associating Power of Sounds 239 The same, continued 240 To my Eldest Brother -'11 "Now whether that my AngeL" &c 242 Truth 243 Solitude 211 Composed at Christmas, in weather like May .... 216 [nagloomj House 848 The same, continued '-17 [n a Village Church-yard 218 Hope and Fortitude 249 Tomj Eldesl Bister 260 ToE. <;. A Lake Dream 262 To the same, continued 258 •J',, the -Mine Mat], M-k 254 Continued— "Oh! lovelj Valley !" 255 CONTEXTS. IX PAGE Continued— "What Spirit of the Woods" 256 Continued. A Welcome 257 Continued. Matlock : Night 258 Concluded. Matlock: Farewell 259 England, even in Winter 260 Return 261 Morning of Christmas Day 262 Durham, at Xight 263 To . "And thou could' st write" 264 Continued— " How I have loved thee !" 266 Continued — " Let me recall " 267 Continued — " Hope once wrecked " 26S Concluded— " It was a Dream " 269 " Methought my Lady came " 270 " To every gentle Heart " 271 " Love, who takes all Disguises " 272 To E. G.— " My Friend, whatever may " 273 The same, continued 274 "It is the Curse of Life" 275 To . "A poet's homage" 277 Love and Philosophy 278 The same, continued 279 In the IsleofMan--"Mona! long hid" 280 Continued — " How varied is the sense " 281 On a fine Bust of Grace Darling 282 \ rENTO. Upon a beautiful Diorama 288 Paris, 1846. a grateful Remembrance 284 Pari-, 1846, continued 285 The Bame, continued 286 Paris, the Louvre. From Hazlitt 287 The Alps. From the same 288 Walk in Rome. From the same 289 Amidsl the Ruins of Nottingham Castle, destroyed 1829 . 290 The same, continued 29 l To the Spirit of Poetry 292 The same, continued 298 The same, continued 294 OTHER POEMS. Stanzas on writing the foregoing" Paraphrases from Hazlitt" 295 "0 thou art cold!" 297 "On the Sea, on the Sea!" 298 "When shall we Four meet again?" 861 Here, in cool Grot 862 The Prince and the Devils 304 " Where billows are foaming " — Lyric 311 "Beautiful Star" 314 •us 318 MADONNA PI A. " Eicorditi di me, chi son la Pia : Siena mi fe' : disfecemi Maremma : Salsi colui, che 'nnanellata pria, Disposando m'avea con la sua gemma." Dante : Purgatorio t Canto ~)th. " ' Ah ! when, to earth restored, thou shalt repose From all the labours of thy journey long,' (Said a third voice, which gently then arose, ) ' Me, who am Pia, to remembrance bring : Sienna bore me, and Maremma slew : He who, on marrying me, a golden ring Placed on my finger, knows that this is true. ' ' ' Wright's Translation. " Oh Sienna ! if I felt charmed with thy narrow tenantless streets, or looked delighted through thy arched gateway over the subjected plain, it was that some recollections of Madonna Pia hung upon the beatings of my spirit, and converted a barren waste into the regions of romance ! " Hazlitt's Tour. MADONNA PIA. Madonna Pia ! thou whose gentle shade In the sad Tuscan's awful path arose, When in the milder penal realm he strayed, — Yet breathed no murmur of thy mortal woes, Xor creature, dead or living, didst upbraid With bringing thy sweet life to bitter close, — Sighing but this — " that the Alaremnia slew, And he. the loved one, thy Pietka, knew — " MADONNA IMA. II. Madonna Pia ! beautiful wen thou Above all beauty then upon the earth .' And Hope and Joy upon thy heavenly brow- Laughed evermore with their divinest mirth ! Well unto thee all living things might bow ; Thee, in the pride of beauty, and of birth, And youth, and boundless wealth. — which, even then. Drew sordid worship from the souls of men : in. Yet not for wealth did young Tietra seek This dazzling Phoenix of Sienna's sky — He saw an empire on her lip and cheek. An El-Dorado in her glorious .v.' He heard sweet music when he heard her speak ; Wings sprang within him when her Step divw nigh; And the least glance or smile she threw on him Mah: all of brightness else look cold and dim. MADONNA PIA. IV. joy that soars all other joys above ! Pdclies that make all riches else as dearth ! When heart clasps heart, as dove replies to dove, — That heavenly secret of the Angels' mirth !— Even as holds the sad reverse, that Love, Scorned by the loved, is very hell on earth ! Thrice wretched they, of wretched maids or men ! Thrice blessed Pietra ! he was loved again. V. " Know this, my friend, and school thy heart from mine. Deeply to love, by love still unrequited, Is in that icorst of wretchedness to pine Which holds all other in its grasp united !"— Oh thou immortal, mournful Florentine ! No bitterer truth e'en thy pale lip recited : No bitterer truth e'er flowed from tongue or pen- Thrice blessed Pietra ! he was loved again. a 2 HADONNA 1'IA. VI. 1 1 was a lovely summer's lovelii I i v( \\ In 11 Bhe — fur lovelier still !— her passion told. The lingering Bunset took reluctant leave. As. raj by ray, expired its purpling gold : The very twilight, dying, seemed to grieve. Li si never more Buch joy it might behold ! — All nature slept, as if on folded wing. And silence listened like a charmed thing. \ 11. And tin bw< . i scene was fitted to the hour, As was tin hour to what did then he fall : A pleached arbour — a dose summer bower, Woven of acacias light, and poplars tall ; Thick interwreathed below with many a flower, And crowned by one huge cypress over all. As crowns a dome a temple : could there be Ought of ill omen in that funeral tree? — MADONNA PIA. vi i r. The shadow of this cypress half bridged o'er A gentle stream that, curving left and right, Unrippled slept from dreaming shore to shore, Kissed by the dreaming heavens with amber light Still less and less, while love grew more and more. For the sweet eve that heralds sweeter night Pours softness o'er the heart, and melts away The guarded coldness of mistrustful day. IX. O Love ! there are who call thee bitter names, And say that whatsoe'er is type of thee Should look a tyrant-thing, all wrongs and blames, A monster that the soul would dread to see ! — Methinks, as now I look, thy godhead claims A far, far different emblem'd shape from me ! Methinks all brightness, sweetness, music, grace, Should breathe for ever in thy form and face ! MADONNA 1'lA. Love! ondying and etherial love! Thou habitant of heaven strayed to earth — Or boon of the Beneficent above To worlds that, void of thee, were worlds of dearth ! Soft as thy Cytherian mother's dove. As thine own Psyche bright-eyed from thy birth. Poets might feign, or priests of old conceive thee, And heathen maids delightedly believe thee ! XI. But earth hath nought of bright or beautiful, Or all of heaven itself that earth may see, Though angel-hands their every charm should cull. To frame a form divine enough for thee ! — Brilliance wnv dim, and hues celestial dull, And eastern bloom and fragrance faint would be, Thou all-pervading spirit ! whom to know- In youth, is man's erysium below ! — i MADONXA PIA. XII. Still, in thy trance, forgets delighted Youth That time will e'er his laughing brow un wreathe- Still listening Beauty deems eternal truth In every vow his burning lips can breathe — Oh ! then to die ! believing all is sooth ! — How many a sorrow, in the silent sheath Of hours unborn, would sleep for evermore, Nor stab our groaning spirits to the core. XIII. Madonna Pia told her virgin love To her young lover with sweet virgin pride, And blessed the poplar-shadows from above That fell her blushes and her joy to hide — And panted with her joy as a young dove Feels its heart pant against its trembling side, When some quick hand hath stolen on its rest, And gently clutched it in the quiet nest. MADONNA !'IA. Then came the raptures which no art can paint. 1 >< light, of which no tongue can tell the tale ; The heavenly Miss without an earthly taint, The joy that makes all others cold and stale ! As meaner gems, hesiile the ruby, Taint, And the deep damask-rose subdues the pale, — The dream — the ecstas] —the glory— thrown Once en the human heart — and on< w. Such rapture seemed Pietra's voice to choke : It was in vain for any words to seels : He tch as though in heaven he had awoke, And knew not if he kissed her lip or cheek ! — Twas long, indeed, ere each to other spoke Those happy words that happy lovers speak, When the sweet fever in their blood thai rid* - A little from its stormy height Bubsid MADONNA PIA. XVI. But that tumultuous spring-tide of the heart, Like the great ocean, never is at stay : mortal lover! whosoe'er thou art. But once it comes to thee, if once it may ! — 'T is of thy mortal life " a thing apart," No portion of its earthly night and day : Once it uplifts thee tOAvards a heavenlier shore- Once — and but once — then ebbs for evermore. XVII. A little ebb, within a little horn-, Came to these lovers : on Pietra's breast Madonna Pia wept the sweetest shower That ever calmed a stormy joy's unrest. And then the voice of each, in that calm bower, Came back, like happy birds, to their loved nest ; And each to each could breathe sweet words anew, And talk of love as happy lovers do. 10 MADONNA HA. XVIII. • >li ! then, the lovely scours on every hand I The riches of the heart in present store! Heaped like the treasures on some fairy-strand ! While yet a sweeter smile the Future wore, And brightly beckoned, over sea and land, To thousand thousand ruptures more and more ! And Hope and full Fruition were at strife Which should make loveliest the paths of life! m\. Never should hope, or fear, their steps divide — Never should love in their deep hearts decay — Never should joy or sorrow, Bide from side Sever their rich affections, night or day ! Never should jealousy (the jaundice-eyed And canker-hearted) make oithem a prey! — ■ Never, oh never l" blinding Passion cried — "Never, oh never!" blinded Faith replied! MADONNA PIA. 11 XX. I pass these raptures — for these raptures passed : Oh ! then the change ! — and now the change I tell. Not vainly was the cypress-shadow cast, Not without import on the stream it fell : The debt to vengeful Nemesis amassed Will have its hour — and she exacts it well : Though human hearts (let but the goddess wait) Are their own Nemesis, or soon or late. XXI. Suns rose and set :— The Sire, the Dame, the Priest, Had smiled, and prayed, and blessed the nuptial tie. Moons waxed aud waned : The bridal joy and feast Were numbered with the thousand things gone by: And in Sienna's marts and squares had ceased The gaze, the murmur, and the whisper sly; And fluttering gallants sought no more to please The wedded wonder of the Siennese. [2 MAUnN.NA 11 A. XXII. Returning from a revel — the most brighl Ami joyous that Sienna since had known. Madonna I'ia, with a heart more light Than lightest rose-leaves by the zephyr blown, As down a terrace stair-way's marble flight (By many a torch and many a cresset shown) Lightly she Btepped, chanced lightly there to smile, At some fair thought that crossed her mind the while. XXIII. Perchance some flash of light and reckless mirth Heard where young careless hearts were flowing o'er; Some freak of playful Fancy, taking birth From this or that that others said or wore : Some transient jest of little blame or worth. Some pleasanl nothing, smiled at just before: When all is cloudless in the heart's glad Bky, Smile> wander to the Kp we scarce know why. MADONNA PIA. 13 XXIV. But hast thou never, geutle listener, read How, in those olden days, with passion rife, E'en for a look — or word at random said, There was the secret cell, the secret knife — Or poison mixed so subtly, strangely dread. That the least touch was deadly bane to life ? Look ! e'en such venom's concentrated might Was in Madonna's smile that fatal night ! xxv. For at the moment when Pietra's glance Fell on that smile (oh ! smile so peerless then !) And for the cause shot round, by evil chance It fell on one who seemed to smile again. Better had he who smiled, with pointless lance Have rushed into a hungry lion's den ! Better for that sweet Lady undefiled If he had stabbed her, even as she smiled ! 1 1 MADONNA II A. \\vi. Lo ! the first taint of canker in the rose — Lo ! the first gall and wormwood in the draught ! First rankling of a wound no more to close — First random piercing of an aimless shaft ! — What thoughts within Pietra's breast arose ! His Angel shuddered, and his Demos laughed — Laughed to behold the busy hand of sin Already shaping its own hell within ! xxvii. Sternly he sullened on their homeward way — Sternly he sullened to their chamber-door — Sternly he left Madonna there — a prey To many a bitter pang unfelt before : Alone he left her — and alone she lay, Wondering aud weeping all this strangeness o'er- Wondering and weeping — pouring sigh on sigh. And asking her deaf pillow " Why, oh why"" MADONNA PIA. XXVIII. 15 Wrong and Remorse her prescient heart foresaw, For well her country's " yellow plague" she knew ; Though, as a gem without a speck or flaw, She knew her own clear innocent spirit too : Sudden — a hand her curtain strove to draw — And, as she sprang to gaze on him who drew, A stem voice bade her " rise ! and quick prepare To journey with her Lord — he knew not where." XXIX. Stem was the bidding — stern the bidder's look : She gazed upon his face, and read therein All cruel thoughts and deeds, as in a book ; Little of mercy — much of wrath and sin : And while his parting steps the chamber shook, Ail deadly white she grew, from brow to chin : And rose, the fearful mystery to learn, And with dread haste obeyed the bidding stem. 16 MADONNA PIA. XXX. As down some dusky Btream a dying Bwan Creep> slow, slow down the marble Btaira she crept. Shivering with icy terror, — and, anon, From out the portal's gloomy arch-way Btept There sat Pietra, staring spectral-wan, Ami ghastly-motionless, as if he alepl On his dark steed : another neighed before her, And to its saddle menial hands up-bore her. XXXI. Why spake he not? this dreadful silence why? This timeless ride into the starless dark? Vain questions all, that with imploring eye Vainly she asked — for there was none to mark ;■ And like to one who under stormiest sky Puts forth on ocean in a crazy bark. She felt, when, almost ere her lips could say " God !" the dark steeds sprang away— away ! MADONNA PIA. 17 XXXII. Away, away ! without a look or sign, Greeting of love, or word of anger spoken, By which her grieving spirit could divine What thunderbolt her dream of joy had broken : A pale, drear gleam, that in the east 'gan shine. Gave of the coming day a pale drear token, As through the last of proud Siennas gates They rode like victims goaded by the Fates ! XXXIII. Awav, away ! without a glance or word : — No purpling glory tinged the morning-ray : No voice of man — no song of early bird Pierced the bleak mist that choked the lagging day. Nor living sight or sound they saw or heard ; Only a turbid stream that brawled its way Downwards beside them, as in sullen race, Until they parted at the steep hill's base. 18 MADONNA 1'IA. XXXIV. Skirting Vblterra's craggy heights thai o'er Their gloomy pathway gloomier shadows cast, Sea-ward they rode — for imu the thick, dull roar < )i waves came muffled on the sighing blast : And from the Ideak sky to the bleaker shore Its melancholy note the curlew cast ; Until Madonna's eye a line might reach Of long low cliff, down-shelving to the hearh. XXXV. And the shrill hreeze more shrill, and bleak, and damp, Blew, as that craggy barrier she descried : — Sudden— their horses trode with plashy tramp Where marshy wastes the peasant's toil defied. It was Maremma's ever-dreadful swamp, Far Btretched, in wearying length, on every side; And breathing forth, to mar the breath of life, Miasma, deadlier than howl or knife! — MADONNA PIA. 19 xxwi. But, midway, on the right, like some lone isle In a lone lake, a lonely tower she saw — Lonely and dark, as if no sun could smile On its bleak top for very dread and awe : — It was more bleak and desolate, that pile, Than the worst cave that to the winter's flaw And driving sleet a rifted entrance gives On the poor wretch who dies within — not lives. xxxvn. Thither (oh ! wherefore ?) dark Pietra spurred ; And, nearer to the lone walls as they drew, Thrice to Madonna's lip th' imploring word In terror rose — but died in terror too : — Nothing of man, or life, they saw or heard, Until a bugle-peal the summoner blew, And then the slowly-opening gates, all green With age and slimy damp, they rode between. B 2 ■J" UADONKA PIA. WW III. The \\n tched porter of those wretched stones, lit- who thus opened, was a sight to see! The flesh had pined so from his starting hones That like a living skeleton was he: — lli^ breath was a mixed thing of gasps ami moan-. And old ere middle age he seemed to be: Blear-eyed he was, and vext with ache and cramp, Fed evermore by that pernicious swamp. XXXIX. But let the sordid reap as they have sown : A sordid harvest of all ill and wrong! — On thee, Madonna! oh! on thee alone Drop the melodious tears of pitying song! And they Bhould drop from very hearts of stone. III. in the sweet strength of Pity strong. Witli meet appeal against thy wronger fierce, Into the d pili of all thy woes could pierce 3IAD0XXA PIA. "~!1 XL. Let me not linger on my mournful road, For I have yet long realms of grief to trace : — Lo ! in their new and terrible abode, The Husband and his Victim, face to face ! For now, with gesture and with step, he showed (Though not with voice) the secrets of the place ; And to a low and lonely chamber led That seemed fit dwelling for the living-dead ! XLI. It was a cell— though not beneath the ground ; A chamber of the dark tower's middle height, Where all of dismal gleam and mournful sound Might sadden the lone inmate, day and night : So high, escape might never thence be found — So low, that the miasma's deadly blight, The searching poison Gf the rank fen's air, Should evermore find cruel entrance there. ■y! i",v\\ liA. \LII. Oh! then her grave she aaw, and heard her knell !- Horror of horrors ! was it come to this? For her Bweet bridal-bower this lothly cell? Pietra's curse for his sweel bridal-kiss? Flung to the lowest tl<]>ths of earthly hell From the last pinnacle of earthly hliss! — 'I'll. Tf were no words such agony in speak, And it found voice in one long piercing Bhriek! \I.1M. Then, as her prison echoes ran-- and ran;/. A moment on Pietra's altered face Gazing with anguish, to his breasl she sprang, As if to fold him in such fond embrace As when upon her Up his bouI would hang, Ami her leasl sigh his stormiesl mood could chac« As if to change the vulture to the dove, And kiss him into tendi rness and luve! — MADONNA PI A. 23 XLIV. But he — that silently vindictive Lord — Silent as heretofore, and stern and cold, With lifted arm, as if a blow to ward, Or fence him from a serpent's clasping fold, Dashed her aside — and, like a thing abhorred, On the cold granite of the cell she rolled ! — Then, turning from the wreck he had o'erthrown, Without a glance, he left her there alone. XLV. Alone, save thoughts that well-nigh turn the brain- That either break the heart, or drive it mad With envy of the happier who have lain Long in their quiet grave-cloth meetly clad : Those dread companions, an innumerous train, Poor lost Madonna in her dungeon had ; And lay with them upon its cold hard stones, And nursed and fed them with her tears and groans. •• I MADONNA PIA. M.VI. She rose, at length — but not to rave or stamp, Or rend distractedly her golden hair — Slowly she rose, — and round her prison damp Looked long ainl pryingly, with dreadful Btare. Save a thick ropy slime from the green swamp, Roof, walls, and pavement, all were lothly hare — And one stern loop-hole, barred with jealous might, Poured in the poisonous air and pale drear light. XI.VII. Thither she dragged — and saw the fenny grass Sullenly wave o'er all that sullen lea ; And heard the bittern boom in the morass, And saw the wild-swan hurrying to the sea; And dreary gleams, and drearier shadows, pass O'er lonely wilds that lonelier could not be : And thin she turned, all hopelessness, within. And fell that all was hopelessly akin. — MADONNA PIA. '25 XLVIII. thou who sittest at God's awful feet, Ever His justice and His vengeance near ! And still, where innocence and heart-break meet, Art ready with the balm of many a tear — Who makest moan, and pourest requiem sweet Alike o'er proudest pall and humblest bier — sacred Pity ! be divinely strong, 1 pray thee, in all hearts that hear this song ! XLIX. Let me not linger on my mournful road, For I have yet long wilds of grief to trace : Lo ! once again, in that most drear abode, The Husband and the Victim face to face ! But now another aspect miseiy showed, — She sprang no more to his denied embrace, But on the earth, in self-prostration thrown, Wept at his feet with low imploring moan. 26 MADONNA PIA. And prayed him by all heavenly names above, And by the memory of their mutual choice, And of all thoughts of happiness and love Thai once their mutual spirits could rejoice, Now, in her anguish, that a rock might move, To give bis wrongs a nam< — her fault a voice ; If wrong, or fault, he, or the world, knew one That she, in hapless ignorance, had done ! M. •'The wrongs," she said, "that to my God I tell. Are wrongs indeed to Him. but no! to thee! And if my grave were dug in this drear cell, And thou should'st stab me as I clasp thy knee, Him to have lov'd too little — thee too well, Were the worst blot my heart's remorse would see! <> my Pietra! for our God's dread sake This dreadful silence for one moment break!" MADONNA PIA. 27 L!I. He heard— but lie replied not: there might dart Into his soul some briefly pitying thrill, But Pride and Vengeance in his raging heart Flung the torn reins to the vindictive will ! And, while the suppliant wept and prayed apart. Held lum inexorably silent still : Raising her hot and streaming eyes anon, The silently-implacable was gone. LIII. Gone — and no word : and thus, all sternly dumb, Daily, for months, her prison to and fro Implacable in silence did he come, Implacable in silence did he go : Oh ! list, poor victim ! list the bittern's hum. List to the sullen winds without that blow, List to whate'er drear voice comes o'er the fen — Pietra's voice thoul't never list again ! MADONNA I'l \. i.i\. When twilight dies upon the dreaming air Of the hushed valley, or the lonely glen, Thither in silence if our steps repair, Gladly and freely, from the haunts of men, How grateful is the silence slumhering there- How sweet are solitude and silence then ! How happy seems the lulled ear in its choice To catch no murmur of a human roici I.V. But in the twilight of the murky air Breathed in some drear and solitary den By the lone captive, who from out his lair Looks hut on silent cloud and voiceless fen, How dreadful tho deep silence brooding there! How dreadful solitude and silence then! And how would then both 681 and heart rejoice To catch one murmur of the human voice ! MADONNA PIA. 29 LVI. And from her tyrant's lips, so sternly dumb, If but a -word — one little word — might flow, What music to Madonna's ear would come That never more her ear or heart shall know !- Turn thee, poor captive, to the bittern's hum, List to the sullen winds without that blow, List to whate'er drear voice comes o'er the fen- Pietra's voice thoul't never hear again ! LV1I. Oh sternest gaoler that did ever vet Gaze upon martyred sweetness, vulture-eyed !— Daily her miserable food he set — "With his own hand, and trusted none beside : — And daily thus, all wretchedness, they met. And daily thus they withered and they died ; — For soon, on both, the pestilential air Of the Maremma worked like poison there. Ill) MADoNNA IMA. 1. V 1 1 1 . Chiefly on her: the oil of her sweel lamp With Bpeedier ruin wasted : lip and chet b Hollowed and thinned,— and the eternal damp Breathed from that fenny ocean wide and bleak Filled her with palsying rheum, and ache and cramp ; Gave to her pallid brow a deathlier streak. And to her eye that drear and ominous light Which dimly heacons the long ceaseless night! i.i\. Oh! then, the banquet of avenging ill The avenger saw and felt was spreading fast ! And Retribution's fiery hand should till 1 1 MADONNA PIA. LXII. A! Bhe kliev, not- — and she could not know, 1 Merciful ignorance I that but to see In In i the poison working sure and slow j Hi r gaoler-husband envied not the free — For that he pent him in her den of woe — For thai he stooped her dungeon-drudge to he — And pledged his thirsting heart in draughts of gall. Till feastful vengeance should repay fur all ! I.XIII. There are keen passions that have fits and starts — Joy ehhs and flows : Hope withers, slow or fast — Pride falls, — Hate dies, — Love e«'ai -. With heavier heart and step the pilgrims go ; And heavier sighs are breathed in wandering through The city where her youth and beauty grew. XCI. Still ou Volterra's wastes the dark tower stands. A dreary ruin to the heart and eye : Lone wanderers gaze, but climb not, from the' sands The storm-heat hunter sees — but passes by ; Sad pilgrims n i -sit it from other lands, Ami breathe Madonna's name with pitying sigh: And not a luvath, a leaf, a wing can stir, Bu1 hath a voice of sympathy for her! MADONNA VIA. 47 XCII. Oh ! now, sweet Pity ! I will pray no more Of thee to consecrate this mournful song — ■ For it is filled with thy most tearful lore And unto thee doth fitliest belong ; And thou wilt hallow it for evermore, And in thy strength make all its weakness strong ; And bathe all cheeks with thy most heavenly dew For Her — Pietra and Maremma slew ! POETS. Poets are a joyous race ! O'er the laughing earth they go, Shedding charms o'er many a place Nature never favoured so: Still to each divinest spot Led by some auspicious star. Scattering flowers where flowers are not, Making lovelier those that are. Poets are a mournful race ! O'er the weary earth they go, Darkening many a sunny place Nature never darkened so ; POETS. 49 Still to each sepulchral spot Called by spectral lips afar, Fancying tombs where tombs are not, Making gloomier those which are. Poets are a gifted race ! If their gifts aright they knew ; Fallen splendour, perished grace, Their enchantments can renew : They have power o'er day and night, Life, with all its joys and cares — Earth, with all its bloom and blight — Tears and transport — all are theirs ! Poets are a wayward race ! Loneliest still when least alone, They can find in every place Joys and sorrows of their own : D ">n POETS. < rrieved or glad by fitful starts, Pangs they feel that no one shares, And a joy can lill their hearts That can lill no hearts but theirs ! Poets are a mighty race ! They can reach to times unborn. They can brand the vile and base With undying hate and Bcorn I They can ward Detraction's blow — They oblivion's tide can stem — And the good and brave must owe Immortality to them ! "WHEN THE WINDS OF THE SPRING." A LYRIC. When the winds of the Spring lie sleeping — When the Summer-tide gales are at rest — When the gusts of Autumn are keeping, Like eagles, their far-off nest — Who thinks of the -wild-blast sweeping Round Winter's stormy crest ? When the fount, in the fervid noon gleaming, Scarcely glides by the margin-sedge, Creeping slow, like a pale maiden dreaming Lone and sad by its willowy edge, Who thinks of the cataract streaming Broad and fierce o'er the precipice-ledge ? d 2 52 •' WHIN iiil u ENDS "l llll. SPRING." When iln' harvest-home flowers are in flushing, Who dreams of a bleak barren spot? — When the vintage "reels purple and gushing,' Then the thirst of the Desert 's forgot. — When the bark to her haven is rushing, ( iloom and storm are remembered not ! But when Jox in the full heart is swelling, Fear conies with its trembling tread, And Knowledge with dark foretelling, And Wisdom with shaking head, All, all in the Heart's ear knelling For the joy thai -hall quickly be dead ! Alas for the old. old Btorj That 'tis vain For the heart to cope With a world that turns it hoary By the early death of Hope — Where Love, and Delight, and Glory, Are hut paths to the grave that slopo! "WHEN' THE WINDS OF THE SPKIXG." 58 And the poor stricken bosom remembers So much it hath seen decay, That the dread of its bleak Decembers Comes o'er it e'en in its 3Iay, And the ghost of its last pale embers Haunts the soul ere its flames die away ! Oh Thou that in joy or in sorrow Wert the dearest of all things to me ! From what fount shall my spirit now borrow A draught that as Lethe's shall be ! Oh when shall awaken the morrow That shall waken no sadness for thee ! STANZAS UPON THE FIKLD OF WATERLOO. [WRITTEN PARTLY UPON THE (POT, PARTLY IN BRUSSELS, AND PARTLY OK TICK AUTHOR'S RKTURN TO KNOI. v\" | "Oli eloquent, just, and mighty Death ! — whom none could advise, tliou ha.st persuaded; what none hath dared, tkuu lust done; and whom all the VOrld hath llatti r'd, thou only hast cast OUt of tin \\ nrl.l and de- spised! Thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words — ' Hicjacet.'" Sir Walter Raleigh. ( Mir dreams in boyhood come at last To lie substantial things and true ; And, thirty years of dreaming past, I stand, at length, on Waterloo ! And B66, with clear undreaming eyes, li-> harvest wave — its tombs arise. STANZAS ON WATERLOO. 55 II. Dark Soignies ! from thy glimmering wood Emerging to this gentle swell, I stand where many a Hero stood, And gaze where many a Hero fell ; Where the last deadly Eagle flew Through carnage-clouds at Waterloo ! in. I tread where He, the mightiest, trod, Whose glory flew on every wind ; Pale Europe's penal scourge and rod, The comet of his day and kind ! Who spoke — and all was blood and flame : Who threatened — and the vengeance came ■ IV. Who strode from shattered throne to throne, And marshalled sovereigns at his beck ; Made half the trembling world his own. 56 STANZAS on WATERLOO. Or half its groaning Btates a wreck Till from her minion Fate withdrew < ha thee — avenging Waterloo ! V. I see — as sweeps my glance along Far as the straining eye may roam, — The blackened wreck of Ilougomont. And La Haye-saiutes now peaceful homr- And — further from the gaze aloof — I Vile Alliance, thy lowly roof! VI. Oh deathless names of dying things ! Hew < Uory gilds what birth obscures The mightiest piles of mightiest kings Shall boast a brief renown to yours ! Till on the earth a sword is not, And slaughter grows a name forgot. STANZAS ON WATERLOO. 57 VII. I see the ripe grain thicker wave Near this sepulchral trophied mound, (Heaped o'er the undistinguished brave) Than all the fertile region round — As if the soil were kindlier fed Where human blood was fiercest shed ; VIII. As if maternal Nature here Had murmured with her voice divine, " Pursue, oh man, thy fierce career, It shall not change or checker mine : Heap thou the earth with tomb on tomb — No flower of mine shall cease to bloom ! " IX. From out the fading wreck of all That Time and Fate have swept away, How vividly can I recall STANZAS ON WATERLOO. (E'en as it were but yesterda\ | The hour when joy, pride, triumph, grew First with thy name, dread Waterloo! When Victory shook her crimsoned wing, And pealed her raptures, trumpet-voiced, And, far as Earth's fierce joy could ring, All Earth, save one crushed realm, rejoiced ! As if Dominion's fiery lust Were laid for ever in the dust — XI. As if from the oppressor's hand 1 In scourge for evermore was hurled, And Joy and Mercy, hand in hand, Should ily, twin-seraphs, o'er the world And in the self-same sun or shade The Lion and the Lamb he laid! STANZAS OX WATERLOO. 59 XII. For all things take, in childhood's hour, The aspect of delightful dreams ; And Fancy has a Wizard's power O'er all that is, and all that seems, And not a ray of truth can pass Unchanged through her enchanted glass. XIII. In that delicious dawn of life, Ere disciplined hy sterner lore, E'en the worst shapes of mortal strife With glittering names we varnish o'er, Spread halos round the purple sod. And worship Glory as a god ! XIV. To smite — to scatter — to destroy, — On these our shallow hearts we set — And with a thirst of eager joy !>n -I \\/\s un WATERLOO. Gloat o'er the horrible gazette Whose pages, in exulting strain, Tell of a thousand thousand slain ! xv. Alone we Bee the pump ami pride, — Alone we hear the trump and drum, — The shouts that drown, the sights that hide The ills ami agonies to come ! The gauds that haul their holloa aid To Battle's glittering masquerade : W I. The Berried swords — the lances light — The Hashing lines in long array — Tin' bounding steeds — the standards hright — Tin' helms — the plumes — the trappings ga\ Tin charge — the rout — the glory won — Tin' trophies radiant in the sun! — STANZAS ON WATERLOO. 01 XVII. The star-crowned victor's homeward march — The choral hymn of joy and praise — The laurel — the triumphal arch — The crowded city's festal blaze — The roar of the wide world's acclaim, And all the pageantry of Fame ! — XVIII. These charm the boy, and these alone : No spirit of profounder thought Pours on his ear a fancied moan For the far waste and ruin wrought Where'er upon the tortured sod Battle's destructive foot hath trod ! XIX. But I — a man — far-gazing round, With manhood's disenchanted view, O'er all this dreadful battle-ground, t)-± STANZAS <>N WATERLOO. From Frischermonl to Brain-la-leud, In thee, thrice-hideous War! bclmll Only a demon mailed in gold ! XX. I see, amidst the tropliied blaze, The splendid picture's darhrr side, The hands in shuddering search that raise Full many a corse that corses hide ; The search for lips beloved, and eyes Whose ghastly lids no more shall rise ! Wl. The crowded lazaardiouse of pain — The chamel bursting with its dead — The wounded, piled on many a wain. And shrieking with its motion dread ! The cry for " water ! water !" heard As if all pangs had but one word ! STANZAS ON WATEKLOO. 63 XXII. And worse — th' irreparable wrong Of changing hearts from flesh to stone : The triumph of the brutal strong, The maiden's shriek, the matron's groan- The tiger- thirst — the demon-rage That butchers infancy and age ! xxm. The love from grief that never parts — The wailing anguish never stilled — The gap — the void, in broken hearts, That never shall on earth be filled — The shattered hearth — the blazing roof — And Mercy soaring far aloof! XXIV. My Country ! loved, or far or near ! My Country ! thou the brave and true ! If yet thy Genius, lingering here, 6 t STANZAS OH WATEELOO. Hovers above this Waterloo, And, listening, deems I do thee wrong In moralizing thus rny song, XXV. Nor pouring one exulting verse To hymn thy glory in the fight, Nor decking e'en one Hern's lit arse Who fought for thee and for the right, Nor garlanding one sword or lance Of all who dug this "grave of France : XXVI. Winn Virtue sits by Valour's side I am not dead to martial worth, Nor pass unmoved where Pic ion died, And Ponsonby made proud the earth — Nor coldly tread o'er one v\li<> drew The sword for thee at Waterloo! STANZAS ON WATEKLOO. 65 XXVII. I love thee, from a heart elate With answering joy in all thy joys ; But I would have my England great In all that hlesses — not destroys : — I love thee, hut I love thee more When crowned with peace than dyed with gore. XXVIII. Be thy true Heroes crowned as now By Heaven above and earth beneath. And never on their honoured brow The military madman's wreath ; Bound there by myriad pangs and fears, And watered with the whole world's tears XXIX. Far as that world's last limit goes Be thou at peace on land and flood ! And on thy trophied throne repose E 66 BTANZA8 ON WATERLOO. 3 rene — without a thought of bio Nor e'en in wish or thoughl nuns The Golgotha of Waterloo ! XXX. And Thou — greal God! oh when, oh when Shall come thy reign of love indeed. And Earth no longer be a den For tigers of the human hreed. Fiercer, a thousand fold, then they That in the jungle rend their prey? XXXI. When Mercy — to her seat restored In human hearts — to all hearts dear, Shall to the ploughshare turn the sword, And t<> the jiruningdiook the spear: And Earth grow pale that e'er she knew A field of blood like Waterloo! STANZAS ON 'WATERLOO. 67 XXXII. When the fierce cannon, all unheard, Shall die from every human ear ! And carnage grow an unbreathed word Humanity -would blush to hear ! Nor man believe that man ere slew His fellow-man at Waterloo ! 1846. %* The Author is desirous of protesting against one probable misinter- pretation of the spirit of the foregoing verses. That spirit is essentially and exclusively a moralizing one; and the light in which all war (in the abstract) is viewed, through the entire composition, virtually precludes (or seems, at least, to render out of place) any eulogium upon military greatness : but it does not therefore, in the mind of the writer, neutralize a feeling of just exultation over the fall of culpable ambition ; or his deep sense of the just glory of his country and of the Great Victor in that fearful contest. It does not render him forgetful that to no victor, except the Victor of Waterloo, does the history of Europe ascribe the proud and sacred distinction of having purchased for her, by one great decisive blow, upwards of thirty years of peace ! years in which, for every art and science that humanizes the heart, and exalts the condition of man, more than the work of previous centuries has been achieved ! E 2 THE SHIP-HOY. " ' SEtfiat is qooti for a bootless tunc ' The Falconer t>> the Ladj Baid : \ u< 1 Bhe made answi r, ' Endless bottom !' For she knew thai her bod «a> dead !" Willi DSWOHTH. following Poem is founded upon ;i melancholy fact — tin death of .1 \.r\ beautiful and noble-spirited boy, who perished in the River Wear bj fallii mil between two anchored vessels. Th( bodj «:i^ Dot found till many weeks afti r. 1 1 was a ship-boy, fair blue-eyed, With a brow that knew not sorrow And " .l"\ ! "h. joy for me !" he cried, ■• The ship musl wait another title, — We -hall nut Bail to-morrow ' THE SHIP-BOY. 69 " Oli then the waves and the winds may roar As they list and like for me ! Hurra ! hurra ! — for one day more Tis mine to dance on the bright-green shore And not on the dark-blue sea!" Was it for dread that he thus did say ? Were his dreams of breaker and shelve '? Did he fear the wreck on his watery way .' Or was it the love of a Holiday In the merry boy of twelve ? He feared not, he — he laughed with the jo\ Of another blithe day on land ! No thought of fear could his heart employ — As beautiful, brave , and bold a boy As ever took shroud in hand ! 70 Till. BHIP-BOl J Jut whither away, like the glad Bpring wind. When it gambols the green fields o'er'.' Does he speed some merry mate to find? — He speeds to his master's, frank and kind. Who hath lovely children four. And together they played in the brighl July, Like the youthful Bouts and Pleastu Fair sight for those who watched them nigh ' A sight for a Parent's heart and i ye Worth a thousand thousaud treasun - But gone is the day like a lovely dream, \nd gone is the dreamless right : Ami morning laughs on tho river-stream, As the bright sun breaks with his golden gleam The ship-boy's Blumbers light ; THE SHIP-BOY. 71 And changed is the voice of mirthful ease For a busy " Yo ! heave ho !" While fan' and fresh is the western breeze, And crisped like a lake are the sunny seas. And away the ship must go ! •• Now up ! now up ! my canny lad !" The merry Mate sang below — " Full jolly time ashore thou'st had, Now for the salt deep, grieved or glad ; — Blow high, blow low, come good or bad, To sea, my hearts, we go !" In haste to the shore the boy is gone — In haste to return— oh when ? They heaved the anchor anon, anon, But the cabin within, or the deck upon, That boy came never again ! nil. SHIP-BOY. And I" and fro hath the good slop gom I >'er tin- Burgee thrice since then, \nd Doubt grows dark, and Hope grows wan. For thf cabin within, or the deck upon. That boy came never again ! When once I looked on that fair-haired boy, How (air and fresh was he! His cheek had health, and his brow had joy, \nd life was a dance, and the world a toy, — When next I looked on that fair-haired boy Twas a iiiteous sight to see! Cold and low was his lifeless head— I li> brief, bright course was done ! — The lighl of the joyous eye was lied, Ami gone was his young cheek's lovely ted, For a hundred tides o'er his sandy bed In the Wear's cold depths had run : LYRIC. 73 Oh ! lay him in earth with tears and prayers, As when one beloved departs ; With sorrow more deep at thought of theirs Who watched his cradle with parent-cares ; — And may God, who in mercy strikes or spares, Send peace to their stricken hearts. LYRIC* How beautiful is Day, O'er the laughing earth and sea, When it startles sleep away. And I wake to fly to thee ! When the dawn-tints, dim and cold, Change to purple and to gold. And a rapture all untold Lights the path for Love and me ! * The music of this song (published by Messrs. Duff and Hodgson, 65 Oxford Street) is the property of the composer, Ernest Gaston, Esq., Author of " A Last Remembrance ;" "Our Own Fire-side," &c. 7 I LI BI< . When I Bee its radiance play O'er thy gentle lip and brow — ( >h, bow beautiful is I >ay ! Ami how beautiful art Thou! How beautiful is Noon. "When I meet thee in the shade Of the leafy woods of June Like a spirit of the glade ! "When the winds breathe soft and low, To the brooklet's stilly How, And all nature seems to know Thou art listening, dearest maid ! When I hear the murmured tune Of thy aweet voice, sweet as now — < ili. how beautiful is Xoon! And how beautiful art Thou ! LYRIC. How beautiful is Eve, When its golden smiles depart Slow away, as loath to leave Ought so lovely as thou art ! When the dews begin to weep, And the first pale star to peep, Like an angel sent to keep Vigils o'er thee when we part ! When the twilight seems to grieve, As it dies upon thy brow — Oh, how beautiful is Eve ! And how beautiful art Thou ! How beautiful is Night, O'er the dreaming earth and sea, W T hen the moon, in virgin-white, Wanders modestly, like thee ! When her beams, in silver flight, 76 i" BOP] . 1 ii (pen more, with tender light, All the magic and the mighl Ofl iy beauty, lovej to me ! Winn Ijer starry eyes are bright, Like thine own, my dearest, now — i >h, how beautiful is Night ! And how beautiful art Th<>i ! TO HOPE. i ) juggler of the human heart ! Still promising, and still evading! We 3trive to image what tlmu art, By types from all things brief and fading! From all things fair and fragile,— all Thai gleam and gladden in betraying, Smile hut to ruin — soar to Gall, < >r hlossmn to a swift d membrance," " Our Own Fireside," to "OH, FAIR OF FORM!" 85 Still sleepless be the wind and tide, While o'er the Deep I roam, And where it lists the storm may guide My bark across the foam — For earth, o'er all her regions wide, Hath not for me a home ! My native laud ! thy fields of green Are lovely to the last ; But dim in mist shall swim the scene Ere one short hour be past ! And would the thoughts of what hath been Could flit and fade as fast ! TO THE SUN. Theme of the World's primeval Bong, And hymned through ages past, Whose golden glory streams along Creation's starry vast — Exhaustless fount of living light, From Eden's hour till now, How rolicd in equal dread and might And majesty art thou ! TO THE SUN. 87 II. Coeval with the birth of Time, Thy glorious youth began Ere dewy eve or glowing prime Beheld immortal man : — Yet not unblessed did'st thou arise Ou Nature's long eclipse — A choral joy the infant skies Prolonged from seraph-lips ! in. Hosannas to the Highest Name Tby natal preans gave, Earth echoed back tbe glad acclaim, And Ocean's new-born wave : And e'en though Seraphs bade rejoice, A holier joy was there, When thy Almighty Maker's voice Proclaimed thee good and fair ! 88 TO THE SUN. IV. Thy Titan-glance beheld the first Of human form- arise — Beheld their patriarch-offspring nursed To commune with the skies : Even as now thy glad beam-, dance On clou'l and wave and lack. They kissed the Lessening Flood's expanse, And hailed the rescued Ark ! Such glory gave the Lord of Light The creature of his nod, To Thee lost man ascribed the might And terrors of his Gel ! And bowed in false devotion's trance, All ignorant of Him Before whose dread Almighty glance Ten thousand suns were dim ! TO THE SIN". VI. 89 But Thou, while blazed their erring shrines, His gloiy didst record, And spake from age to age the signs Aud wonders of the Lord ! Now, at his Prophet's lifted hand, Forbore thy march on high, Now, backward, at his dread command, Crept shuddering through the sky ! VII. Majestic orb ! on thy decay No human glance shall be, Tdl roll the heavens and earth away, And time expires with Thee ! Till Ruin draws o'er suns and stars Her universal pall, And He who kindles, makes, and mars, Decree thy final fall ! MY BIBTH-DAY My Birth-day! — 1 could once reji On this poor Thirtieth of Septeniher. For many a gratulatiog voice Bade me its blithe return rem< i bi r The rapture of the idle boy, By very idleness untroubled, Saw others joyous in its joy, And fell in theirs its own redoubled Now, all are mute I all passed away. That wished me life, health, joy, eternal- It seems as if the very day W'n-e blotted from the page diurnal! MY BIRTH-DAY. 9J It might be so — for aught T find In life to cheat as once it cheated ; — A lesson that o'erflows my mind As often as the year's repeated : — How differently the same things strike ! 'T was scarcely once a question -whether The Future would not all he like Ten thousand birth-days thrown together ! Joy was so joyous — Hope so smiling — I could not doubt but they were true : In my oivn heart was no beguiling, And so all hearts seemed honest too. "Where rum, in aught of human dust, The faith that spurned a harsh decision ? The generous confidence and trust That knew not, e'en by name, suspicion ? 92 MV BIBTH-DAY. I knrw not — and 'twas well for me — How soon tli«' stormy World would teach That all the loveliest things we - Strew with their wreck Life's barren beach! That there are hearts with joy that pant "When Envy from her chalice throws A mildew on the fairest plant, A canker on the loveliest rose ! That youth on childhood's joy looks hack, — For youthful joy thai manh 1 grieves, — As age, i is said, again would track The path his tottering footstep leaves. Now. when with sharpened gaze I pierce The cold, keen, guarded breasts of men, I sec them hollow, heartless, fierce- Alas! alas! how different then ! MY BIETH-DAY. 93 Love rose, with smiles and myrtles crowned, And Friendship hand ha hand with mirth, And Pleasure danced her airiest round, And Beauty filled all heaven and earth ! By doubt — by knowledge unembittered, Gay expectation flew afar, From joy to joy remote that glittered. As angels fly from star to star ! I thought that Love had Truth's own wings — That Friendship was of heavenly birth — Tbat both were such immortal things They could not perish — e'en on earth ! All these romantic dreams I fed, Because — poor simpleton! — I dreamed That all was true men smiling said, And smiles and men were all they seemed ! 94 MV l'.IKUI-DAV. The day thai once, in childhood's glory, Made the blithe school-boy dance and Bing, Becomes a Weak "niunrnto mori" A warning, haunting, spectral thing! It seems a funeral-voice to make Hoard over all. how time is hasting. And from the spoiler's glass to shake The lingering sands to Bpeedier wasting ! With aspeel colder and austerer Seems, even- bleak return, to greet as, As if the grave each drags us nea Thnu its black shadows on to meet as ! As if, to qui in-li our human thirst in o'er life's past days to wander, The very memory of the First Should lead us mi the Last to ponder. MY BIRTH-DAY. 95 Oh Life ! Oli Death ! who hath not proved, Ere many birth-days he hath known, The fresh-made graves of those we loved Cast darker shadows than our own ! For me, whate'er of mournful gloom Before along my path could fall, The darkness of a Mother's tomb Seems now the murkiest blot of all ! Oh ! sainted Spirit ! well my heart In selfish grief may turn to thee. Who saw'st nor year nor day depart I "nblessed by prayers for mine and me ! That " golden bowl" for ever broken — That '• silver cord " unloosed for aye — I need not ask another token To know myself a thing of clay ! 90 MY BIRTH-DAT. I low sweetly once could Time rebound ! This day'fl return how joyous be! Now, the year rolls its sullen round, And what is left or brought to me ? Few joys — few hopes, — vexations plenty; — E'en thus, half-withcr'd. half-alive, The year's three hundred and thrice twenty Dull days drag after th< ir dull live. And yet — how slow the heart should be Days, hours, or moments, to condemn — If little they have done for me, How little have I done for them ! I low little done where much was tasked — I low little found where much was sought — How little gained where much was asked — flow little learned where much was taught ' MY BIRTH-DAY. 97 What fruits of heart ? of hand ? of head ? — Great God ! it seems a madman's jest ! The "naked clothed," the "hungry fed," When I mvself have dined and dressed ! In heart — in soul — a bankrupt-debtor, For gifts neglected or forgot, — Crawling the earth, no wiser, better, Richer or stronger— not a jot ! And is this all ? this blank account, For Heaven and man alike to see ? These wretched cyphers all the amount For Time and for Eternity ? Oh Time ! Oh Time ! whate 'er betides, Be thou, henceforth, my heart's adviser, That, whether rich or poor besides, That may, at length, grow somewhat wiser ! 98 OVl i: mi. I'll P. Let me tb 3olemn voice rem. mber I [( ard in thy monitory Bchool, Ami the next Thirtieth of September Find me, at least, not quite a fool 1841. OVER THE DEEP! Over the Deep, the smiling Dei p, When suinrner-wrnds breathe low, When gentle harks, o'er waves nsle< p, Their course in gliding beauty keep, Ami the moon, from her airy watch-tower steep Weaves a long bright chain below, dli tli- n. oh then, o'er the smiling Deep lluw pleasanl 't is to go | OVER THE DEEP. Over the Deep, the angry Deep, When wintry wild winds blow, When breakers lash the headland steep, And the stormy billows heave and sweep, And over the ship like monsters leap, And dash her to and fro ! Oh then, oh then, o'er the angry deep How dreadful 't is to go ! 99 Over the Deep, the awful Deep, Be the winds or loud or low, Let its mighty waters roll or creep, And the bark on their bosom rock or sleep. And the Petrel cry, and the Dolphin leap, Or all be hushed below — Oli still, oh still, o'er the mighty Deep How awful t is to go ! G '4 Till: l.: IMS OF A.FFLICTION, A MONODY \ THE DEATH OP AN ONLY. AND Ml WHO DEED AT THE AGE OP NiM.H LONDON, .M I.Y 28, li ■ Mj lost William ! Thou in w] spirit lived, and did decaj ing robe consi Which its lustre faintly hid — its dust hath found a tomb, th the coffin-lid • UOt : if ■ i die, thy fun< ral s] i Is ; ief and m I. s wrecked upon Time's I tg snore, How all we love grows less and less! And the dark Earth grows more ami d \ charnel, or a wilderness! POEMS OF AFFLICTION. 1 1 Our spirits feel the bliglit of years Long ere the blight of age is cast, And every new-made grave appears More dark and dreadful than the last. Friend after friend in darkness falls ; They drop from us, or we from them, Like ivied heaps from ruined walls. Or blossoms from a withered stem. Voice after voice beloved grows dumb — Glance after glance away is sped — And, oh ! how populous become The voiceless regions of the dead ! There the pure eyes that watched above Our cradled sleep, now sleep for aye — There the pure lips whose kiss of love First soothed and blessed us, kiss decay ! 102 US 0] AFFLICTION. There dwell the loved ones, loved in youth, When all was tenderness and trust: And hearts, instinct with hope and truth, Believed not they were made of dust, — Believed not that a wintry blast Would Bcatt< r all their Bpring-tide bloom, And the whole earth would grow at last Black with the shadows of the tomb ! There, too. at hngth — Oh, thou! oh, thou Lost treasure of my heart and mind! The dreamless sleep art sleeping now That only in the grave we find ! Oh, bitter change ! oh, heavy doom! When all around I sec or hear But tells me thou art in the tomb, .And / am left heart-withered here' POEMS OF AFFLICTION. 103 To haunt in vain the haunts of men — To lean on many a broken reed — Perchance to dream of joy again — Oh ! hollow, hollow dream indeed ! Alas ! for the deceived, who think Such tree again will strike deep root ! They bend at the mirage to drink — They feed upon the dead sea's fruit. For them, no spring's revival sweet. — For them, no summer's ripening bloom, Can chace the spectral-form they meet Still issuing from the lost one's tomb. But worn and bowed, stern day by day, Sad night by night, with heaviest ills. The heart itself grows cold and grey And wan before the breast it fills. mi poi ms of ami ti noH Temples and tombs will thus outlive Their idols and their urns — oh, why " \-k : and the ruined vaults Bhall give A groan-like echo in reply ! o"~ And thus, where sorrow, faithful, weeps, As Loved one after loved departs, 'T is but the ghost of life that creeps Through broken and sepulchral hearts! All withers then thai charmed before — We journey to a ruined shrine — The fount hath dried— the glittering ore Hath vanished from the wasted mine : \nd lim by tint, and ray by ray. Melts from the soul, less brighl and bright, The glory of the once glad day, The sweetness of the once calm night. POEMS OF AFFLICTION. 105 Sullen and cold life's fountain flows, A turbid or a stagnant stream, Through banks where hope's pale flowret grows " A dream remembered in a dream ! " Life's fairest feast a poisoned cup Hath changed to agony and dread, And where our hearts were " garnered up" The feet of Ruin heaviest tread ! KK'i POEMS 01 A I 1 I i< i II. LLONE, UPON A PATH MADE BACHED I1Y MANY YIYTN RECOLLECT!' NTOTUAL AND RECENT EAPPIN] •• Nessun moi • or dolore Che ricordara ili_-l tempo fclioe lla miseria ! " I».\NTB. This is truth the poel mm;:-, '1 hat a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier tilings! ' Tennyson \\ hen last 1 trod this mournful road i For all soi ins mournful now to me That onci 30 fair and joyous showed), My loved, lost William! 'twas with thee! POEMS OF AFFLICTION. 107 It was thy arm on mine that hung — Thy glance that gladdened mine to see — Thy voice upon my ear that rung In youth's fresh-heartedness and glee ! Thy love of some great poet's trance, That strewed our happy way with flowers, Thy memory of old romance, That into moments melted hours ! Joy lit the summer noon-tide then, Joy clad the earth, joy filled the air, And nature and the haunts of men The wide, wide gladness seemed to share ! The green woods waved in lovelier green, The hlue skies laughed with lovelier light. The very brook in yonder dean Seemed vocal with its own delight ! 1 08 po] aii i.!« riuN. The gentlesl breeze a Leaf thai stirred - Some note of joyous greeting had ; Ami the leasl carol of a bird is rose musically glad ' Now, all of bright, and all of fair, But wake sail memories of thee, \ml every joy thou cansl not sh I lath ceased to be a joy to me. The loveliest things in heaven or earth No more can cheer or charm as then. Nor wit beguile me into mirth. Nor beauty into joy again. 1 know that life can never bear The form again thai once it bore; And all hath melted into air That Sope could build on life before: POEMS OF AFFLICTION". 1U9 I see the glad returning spring Shed glory upon field and tree, And know that they can never bring Delight or hope again to thee. I see reviving Nature give Life to the gladdening earth anew. And thousand, thousand bright things live As thou shalt never, never do ! I look with dim and heavy eyes, Heavy and aching, round and round, As one who seeks some perished prize He knows shall never more be found : I see the young who grew with thee Still blooming on, with gladsome brow ; The old and withering, too, I see, Still withering on — but where art thou ? II" tfS OF AiFI [( HON. 1 see glad sons and fathers pass, Like fairest frail on fairest bough ; And murmur still, " Alas ! alas ! My own loved lost one ! whero art thou?*' Still Nature laughs in verdant mirth — 'Flic green wood waves, the garden blooms, And all looks gladsome, as if earth Had neither mourners, tears, nor tombs! The summer-eve on vale and hill Is calm and lovely as of old ; The grey of summer-dawning still Is changed {<> purple and to geld : And mom return-, and eve departs, And toil toils on, and life tlows free. Anil, save in few remembering hearts. All is as it was wont to he ! POEMS OF AFFLICTION. HI O, snatched from earth in youths fresh pride, With lips the worm should never kiss ! While here we wandered side by side. How little did I dream of this ! How little did I dream or dread That, soon, no more my glance should be (Till the last trumpet woke the dead) Fixed for an instant upon thee ! Oh, bitter change ! oh, heavy doom ! When all around I see or hear But tells me Thou art in the tomb, And I am left, heart-withered, here ! Castle Eden, Durham. l LS poems "i -\i i i.i' noN. III. i 5I0N Mj soul renews : ii hath aot 1 1 I ii bitterness from thought t<> horrow ; A^ cloads In-ill Btormj eve incn ased, Roll "ii to And, if not eloquent, at li ast How . irrulous is sorrow ! If to the heart e'en trifles grow endeared, Whose growth and beauty have our toils requited,- [f the poor flower or bird that we have reared Our spirits sadden to see crushed or blighted, — o the dread anguish when our fairesl flower Of all in the wide garden of the world, The nursling glory of the heart's own bower, Awaj upon the withering blasl is hurled ' POEMS OF AFFLICTION. 113 the dread anguish to behold depart, '■ E'en as a rolling tiring before the wind," The warm, the true, the innocent of heart, The gifted and the beautiful of mind ! Nursing all dreams that Beauty brings to youth, By purest, loveliest hearts sole-understood ; Pure in the virgin purity of truth, And lovely in the loveliness of good ! It is as if the toil of all past years, Daily and nightly urged unresting on, And dewed and hallowed with our blood and tears, E'en in the tolling of a knell was gone ! Now the lone day in glory or in gloom May break for me ! or, as the night draws on. Tempest or calm their broken sway resume,' — Little it recks : my day and night are gone : ii II POEMS OF AFFLICTION. For that which gave its gladness to the di And thai which lenl its sweetness to the eight, With thee, my buried one! seem passed away, Ami [ am heedless now of dark or bright. Alike in gloom or glare thy form appears — Alike in calm or crowds I hear arise Thy voice — a spirit-voice not heard with ears ; Thy form — a spirit-form n Around me vainly the mistaken kind Pour hollow comfort in my grief-shul ear; — Like glittering pageants spread before the blind, That mock tin- darkened >en>e they cannot cl ••Will grief revoke the irrevocable doom?" i Still do they urge)—" Will bitterest tear or sigh Break the cold bondage of the prisoning tomh, And bid the pulseless breast to thine reply? POEMS OF AFFLICTION. 115 " Go, where the earth upon thy dead is thrown, And to the sullen grave-sod wail thy fill, — Though the stretched mourner weep himself to stone, The Dead beneath are cold and silent still ! " They hear not — heed not : they are far away ; Nor, if beholding, from on high, their urn Washed by thy tears, would to this realm of clay. Of dust and misery, again return : " 'Tis the last selfishness of grief to grieve For the pure dead who break earth's prison-bars ; And mourn that the freed spirit cannot leave For earth again its realm beyond the stars ! " No keenest wound for which the heart's tears weep Time's lenient hand for ever can defy : No well of human tears was e'er so deep But Time at last the bitter spring could dry !" h 2 116 i "i us oj a 1 1 1 1< noN. • >li ! words the freshly-stricken ne'er could feel. Since Death and Misery their reign began! An AngeVs sorrow they indeed might heal, But not the desolated heart of man Though the full fountain of our tears may dry, And the parched bosom lose their sweet relief. And all look smiling to the outward eye, While deep within still gnaws the hidden grief! "lis but as songs of mirth by madness sung — The soul's keen jest upon its own keen woes — The playful bitterness of spirits wrung — The treacherous blooming of the canker-rose: Words poured on the deaf winds were not mure vain ! Griefs jealous heart will not be cheated so: Nor, of its full inheritance of pain. One treasured pang, one sacred throb forego! P0E1IS OF AFFLICTION. 1 J 7 Alone, God ! Thy mercy quells despair : Nor, in our poor despondency or pride, Know we how much or little we can bear, By Thee unaided, or by Thee untried : Have I, in sorrow's selfishness, forgot That e'en this blow perchance thy mercy willed, Ere his young heart had wrestled with its lot, By vice was blotted — by the world was chilled : " How baffled projects on the spirit prey," Never they know, the early, happy dead ; " How fruitless wishes eat the heart away," Never, oh never do they dream or dread ! Nor o'er what deadly rocks, what treacherous shelves. The purest tides of generous thought may flow ; How genius, sweetness, goodness, wreck themselves. And even Love may prove the source of woe !* * " Alas ! how oft doth goodness wound itself, And sweet affection prove the spring of woe !" Tkagedy of Douglas. I I - P01 ISS "1 Al II l< I ■• To Thee the Bpiri.1 shall return, God I" Dread words, yet poured like balm upou the heart. When Time's meek hand from the sepulchral sod Hath plucked the weeds of agony apart. 1 1 Thou! long-suffering, and all pitying — Thou! Holy alike in giving and in taking. Teach me, oh teach me, to thy will to bow, And hold this lacerated hearl from breaking To Thee, to Thee, my trembling hands [ spn ad, Thy peace — thy hop< — thy fortitude to crave, — To Tin i . captivity who captive led, And tore the sting from Death, the triumph from the < Irave ! THE WELCOME HOME. How sweetly on the twilight-calm Of skies in hues of gold that sleep, When evening's radiant ums of halm Their purest, gentlest treasures weep, To wanderers on a strand afar — To lovers when apart they roam — Must rise the self-same dewy star Oft watched by mutual eyes at home ! While lingering on their twilight way, How sweetly on the dreaming ear From lips unseen must rise the lay Their childhoods raptures woke to hear : But, oh ! how trebly sweet their trance Whom Virtue's prayers speed o'er the foam. Their star, affection's kindling glance — Their music, Love's glad welcome home ! 1\!0 ilir. WELCOME HOME. Blithe festival the village shows ; Gl;i-1 hearts are in the lowliest cot; The Hind his wonted task forgoes. And grief is hushed, and age forgot — To them for whom each breast hath pined, When severed by the barrier-foam, Each breeze shall murmur greetings kind. Each flower shall breathe a welcome home ! Say not, as stars desert the sky When morning springs on odorous plume. With Youth's enchanted visions die The spirit's buoyancy and bloom, — Joy, pure as Youth's mosl rapturous mood, While Passion's stormy world we roam, Wakes in the bosom of the good, When all they love give' Welcome home. W 1111 'Ill-UN, Hi UITAM. THE VOICE OF FREEDOM. " Life may change, but it may fly not ; Hope may vanish, but can die not ; Truth be veiled, but still it burnetii ; Love repulsed, — but it retumeth ! " Yet were life a enamel, where Hope lay coffined with Despair ; Yet were truth a sacred he, Love were lust, if Liberty " Lent not life its soul of light, Hope its iris of delight, Truth its prophet's robe to wear, Love its power to give and bear : — " Let Freedom leave, where'er she flies, A desert, or a Paradise ! Let the beautiful and brave Share her glory or a grave !" Shelley. — Hellas. Hark to that voice ! what spirit gave Its mighty accents birth ? A cry of " Fi*eedom to the slave !" O'er all the startled earth — I ■:■! -nil. \..|. i: OF i 1:1 I DOM. The fettered worlds of easl and w< st toiling to be free, And Boon beneath thy shade shall rest [mmortal Freedom's tree ! Long nursed by martyr's blood and tears, Deep root that tree shall take, Which Tyrants, through a thousand years, I [ave bowed, bu I no1 break : And. cherished thus, itstenderest shoot, Although in deserts placed, Shall bear that ever-glorious fruit The brave would die to laste ! The dwellers of imperial halls Behold with troubled fear A hand upon their haughty walls Which writes of freedom near: THE VOICE OF FREEDOM. 123 In vain they bid their vassal-hordes The spear and buckler take, Earth's broken fetters forged to swords The mightiest weapons make ! " To heaven the blade ! to earth the sheath ! " (Thus glows the patriot flame), •• And God above, and man beneath, Attest the rights we claim ! To win again our native land We brave oppression thus. And palsy strike the coward hand That will not strike with us ! "E'en though we perish in the strife. Or deep in dungeons pine. Or all the weary load of life On rack or wheel resign, I\! I THE voice OK FBEEDOM. Ill- Country's voice the Patriot's knell Shall echo to the skies — Each fallen hero's name a spell To bid ten thousand rise ! " Cities, by crouching slaves debased, We leave to slaves awhile : Our camp shall be the mountain-waste. Our castle its defile : There, ere the glorious dye be cast. Come all who dare be free! Come, like the torrent mid the blast. When tempests sweep the sea! "Come from the glen — the plain— the hill — From fields, ami towns, ninl towers ; Accursed he they who toil or till For tyrants ami their pawi rs ! THE VOICE OF FREEDOM. 125 And deeper, deadlier curses still, Through life's dishonoured hours, Wither the wretch who fears to spill His blood in cause like ours ! " Our swords have found the holiest strife, The holiest meed to gain, And, lost with us, the meanest life Shall not be lust in vain ! Who in his Country's gap hath stood, And lavished there his gore, The prayers and praises of the good Shall bless for evermore ! " Til i. MAI D OF (HI KM. «, l.Yitn . S • Bhows a snowy dove, trooping with . . o'er her fellow B0 AM) J I As I. through the " Rue Longui de La monnaie To the " Marche Vendredi " went, What a lovelj maid 1 saw one day, In the brave old town of ' rhenl ! It was beauty that seemed to dart ami darl Through ami through one unaware; Ami 1 tVlt how Beauty cheers the heart Where Beauty Beems so rare ! THE MAID OF GHENT. 127 All her motions had grace and neetness, Like a happy fawn at play ; And her brow was arched with a sweetness Words can never e'en half convey : On her cheeks the hue of gladness Slept so pure, and fresh, and bright, Had my own been dead with sadness They had kindled at the sight ! Her eyes — oh ! how I missed them, When their glance no longer beamed ! And her lips, if I had kissed them, Scarce more lovely could have seemed — And I said, "As shows a snowy dove Trooping with murky crows, So yonder maiden far above Her fellow-maidens shows ! " Mil. MAID SENT. And, Loitering, creeping, slowly there, Full-grieved from the Bpol to stir, I gazed — as if on ber dwelling fair — But I Only L, r :i/nl mi In r : Alas ! she fled — like a wild-bird Beared, When; in vain my grievi d eye sought ber, A Beauty who neither dreamed nor cared Huv.- beautiful I thought her! Some lirirf !>rinn nts onlj I hoheld — and all was gone ! And my step b< emed doubly lonely As I wandered lonely on. What tricks by a glance air played! Wherever my course is bent, 1 shall often think now >>i that lovely moid In the brave uld town of Ghent ! 1846 EPITHALAMIUM ON THE NUPTIALS OF AN ACCOMPLISHED LADY. " Hymen Hymenaeus O !" Bid the nuptial rapture glow ! Bid the hridal descant ring Joyous as in woods of spring (When the sun, through mists up-curled. Opes his broad eye on the world i. Many a matin-hailing note Thrills from out the plumaged throat Of each winged creature bright, Singing for its own delight, 130 1 l'!TI!AI AMIIM. Yel ilic listening heavens and earth Filling with liK'lodious mirih. Till, around, below, above, All is minstrels; ami Love ! Thus, e'en thus, my strain shall llou " Hymen Hymenoeus !" Fervenl spiril ! thou that art Shrined in every n. >1>1< r heart, Whatsoe'er thy name may be, Spark of heavenly sympathy! Hiiirk to rhav' the thoughts of trouble, Quick the thoughts of joy to double, Blessing e'en when never bless< d, And caressing ere caressed ; With thy bright tears prompl to flov At the voice of others' woe; EPITHALAMIUM. 131 And bright smiles as prompt of birth For another's joy or mirth : Kindliest spirit ! oft that hast (Thousand thousand nuptials past) Swept with kindling wing of fire O'er the Poet's festal lyre, "When his trembling touch essayed Blessings on the Youth and Maid, Blessings, richest in assurance (Oh, how sweet !) of love's endurance Through all pain, and through all pleasure, Through the sordid paths of treasure, Through Ambition's joys and sorrows, Through a thousand dim to-morrows, — Now — with ldndhng inspiration, Answer to my invocation ! Teach my soul like thine to glow — " Hymen Hymenaeus ! " i 2 132 l.N iiiai.a.V in. ' I [yiiicn II Yini'iiit ,i • ! I [aste thee, joyous god, below ! Bid thy brighl m, IJiil thy votaries' raptures flow With a current clear and strong As the gush of mightiest song, When its billowy measures roll I town ilif deep gulphs of the soul, Waking, with a joyous Mart, Echoes in the listening heart, Bursting evi rj barrier o er Piled "ii Passion's haunted short ! Oh! bright god of nuptials ! thou With the marjorum-crowned brow, And the vest of saffron-dye, Making everj dark bright eye Of the maids who hlush and falter Near thy wished bul dri aded altar. EPITHALAMIUM. 133 Flash like tliine own torch, whose beams Long hath lit their loveliest dreams : Thou, of Bacchus' mighty line, Blent with Paphian race divine, Or, as Bards have lightly sung, E'en from bright-haired Phoebus sprung, And a muse full kind and young ; — Whencesoe'er thy happy birth, Nuptial god, again to earth Haste, oh haste, with genial glow — " Hymen Hyinenaeus !" IV. Now to Her whose charms have wrought Fetters for the lover caught, (Fetters of the heart and eyes,) Let the Minstrel-strain arise ! Lovely Lady ! gentle Bride ! May thy days as softly glide L34 i p] i ii ■•[ \-.:ii'M. I town the ev< r-flowing tid< . As sofl Halcyon-bosoms swim On the hushed Deep's glittering brim, When the mighty hrcasi oi' < >ccan I - luit with its gentlesl motion, And bleak winds forgel to rave Pillowed on the charmed wave, I >r, in Ear-off caverns deep. Wail themselves to sullen sleep, While the heavens' unbroken blue Sleeps (bul how divinely !) too. May those radiant i yes and lipE Never suffer cold eclipsi — May the roses twin that vie In thy fair fare uever die ! Or. it' die at length they must, Like the loveliesl things of dust, i With the Lustre more refined, Richer, dearer, of the mind.) EPITHALAMIUM. 135 May their bloom be sacred still From the cankering tooth of ill. From the cold breath of unkindness, From the grasp of mental blindness, Withering what it doth riot know So celestially can glow ! May'st thou soon (nor deem too bold Him who dares the wish unfold — Bards were Prophets held of old !) May'st thou soon a Mother's joy Cherish for a lovely boy, And a girl in whose bright eye All the mother we may spy ! May the first give promise rare Of a manhood brave and fair ; And the second threat as sweetly To resemble thee completely ! Pictures each, " in lovely little," Of the Parent to a tittle ! 1 36 III IIIAI.AM I I \l Willi thy thirsl for wisdom's dower, Moral [iride ami mental power ; With thy love of Art's pure glory, And of antique song and Btory ; With thy scorn of mean contentions. And the cold world's dull conventions, \nd the overgrown dominion Of the Tyrant-fool, < Opinion, When the I ►espot's babbling din Wakens no reproach within: — Mighty Hymen] grant it so! — " I [ymen I [ymenseus < ' !" V. Kindest Lady, who hast long Been a lover of sweet song, I deigning oft to love and praise Unrecorded minstrel lays, Even his who now essays EPITHALAMIUM. 137 Thus to weave the lyric spell, " Last forerunner of farewell !" Kinder wish can kindness find Than sweet converse with the kind ? Smiling thoughts, and words, and looks. And leisure for thy own loved nooks In the lovely world of books, Doubling, trebling, all we miss, In the colder haunts of this? These and more may heaven bestow- — " Hymen Hymemeus !" VI. Lover ! bridegroom ! husband ! — thou With the flush upon thy brow Of a triumph proudly gained, Be its lustre unprofaned With a thought that does not stir Deepest, fondest love for her ! 138 i itiiiv wp Pride may have its proverbed Pall — Pleasure's sweetesl cup may pall — Passions, fancies, fade and die — Riches gather wings and fly — Schemes may shatter, hopes prove hollow, True friends part, and false ones follow ; Or (a sadder truth to learn !) Friends once true to false may turn .' But a wiii. - deep love and purr. With love cherished, shall endure, Long as Heaven permits to earth Aughl of heavenly strain and birth, Shadowing out to us afar What its own bright angels are. Victor in Love's lists ! if thou Mark'sl a shadow dim the brow • >f tin' chosen who alone Gives thee sunlight of thine own. EPITHALAMIUil. 139 With thy touched heart's purest sense Haste, oh haste, to charm it thence ! Even as she, wert thou to pine, Would rejoice to hrighten thine. Let not — if sad hours must be, (Fruit of Eve's still-bearing tree)— One, e'en one, arise from thee ! Every sigh that heaves her breast, Must by thee be soothed to rest ; And if tears awaken, they Kissed as tenderly away ! Then, if Envy's self assail her, 'T will but look a dim tint paler, And poor Malice, baffled imp, " Back to vasty Tartarus" limp, Or to those dark bosoms where Kindred demons make their lair, And for whom no heart shall glow With "Hymen Hymenseus !" ] l<> ri'iui \i amioi. VII. In, happy, youthful pair ' Song and fea-t and dance prepare ! Nnw the sacred words are spoken, Be their pure bond never broken!) And the bridesmaids kissed, in token Dun and true, that they are fair Even as brides themselves they were; Now, from ■hit the holy place, Come ye with accordanl grace, And a minstrel kind, at meeting, To your glad heart's quickened beating, Time shall keep with choral greeting ! Every thought with mirth employ, Ami be heedless in your joy Of the serpent-eyes that glisten, And the mole-eared things that listen. When a tone or glance of Badness Dims the flame of nuptial gladni EPITHALAMIUM. 141 Each to each be kind and true, As kind stars have been to you. And, whoe'er ma)' gaze or hearken. Not a cloud your sky shall darken ! Now my strain may cease to flow — " Hymen Hvmenaeus !" TO THE INFANT, G.F.S.P. ON HER Brimi-DAY. " ' No' child of Love ' but" born in bitterness, \n.l nurtured in convulsion ! " Dear infant ! " born in bitterness," and yet Smiling as though all stars of loveliest ray, And happiest omen, in the heavens had mel Above thy birth-couch, never more to set; Prescient of many a joyous natal-day ! Oh ! happier than thy mother's be thy fate, Thus " nurtured in convulsion" as thou art ! The ties of love, ami not the chains of hate ' Requited love, from a congenial mate — A mind as pur< — a far more cherished heart ' L888. TO GRACE DARLING. Then Nature said, * * * This girl I to myself will take ; She shall be mine, and I will make A Lady of my own." WORDSWORTH. Maid of the Isles, heroic Grace, Midst desert-rocks and tempests thrown, As though, in sternest clime and place, Where man and life have scarce a trace, Maternal Nature would embrace A heroine of her own ! ii. Methinks, while yet in cradled sleep, She loved, and destined thee to be A dweller of the craggy steep — 11 i TO GRACE HAKI.INO. A watcher of the Btormy deep And bade its wild-waves nurse and kei p Tliv In art ;ts stmug and free ! III. She bade thee draw a deep delight, An influence kind, an impulse brave, From every season in its flight, From dewy spring and summer bright, From golden autumn, and the might l »i' winter's wind and wax c . IV. By everj aspecl sin- could Bhow In heaven above and earth below, She hade t lis spirit statt lid' gTOW, Anil " champion huinan tears ;" Courage and Love -in ' bade thee know, \nil with the noblesl passions glow, And mell with noblesl tears. TO GRACE DARLING. 145 V. Like Ocean's daughter, Peril's bride, She nursed thee by the roaring tide, The playmate of its storms ; And bade thee be in soul allied, With moral grandeur, strength, and pride, To Her, thy monitress and guide, In all her moods and forms. VI. " To thee," she said, in accents bland, " These desert rocks, this wild sea-sand, Shall be as dear a ' Fatherland' As ever yet was dearest ; 'Midst all of lone, and stem, and grand, Thy heart shall burn, thy soul expand, And thou shalt know and understand My voice in all thou hearest. I 16 TO GKA< E DABLTNG. " Day's radiant arch, night's cloudy dome, Alike shall see thee fearless roam; All life to thee shall dear become, And thou its humblest forms shalt blend With the sweet charities of Home — E'en the poor sea-bird on the foam slirill be to thee a friend." VIII. Thus Nature willed : Her will's avail Tin matchless deed may show : The lofty heart that did not quail When raged on high the stormy gale, And ocean raged below. Its meed of glory shall not fail — GSAI 1 Darling's IS THE NOBLEST TALE 'I'll \i e'eb made woman's OHEBK LOOK PALE, Or man's WITH EM 1 GLOW ! TO . 141 IX. Brave daughter of a sire as brave As ever risked a surging grave In tides of stormiest swell ! Thou that did'st prompt that fearful strife. All joy be to thee, maid or wife ! And may'st thou brave the storms of life As fearlesslv and well .' TO Ere the leaf of our being grows sear, Ere its spring and its summer depart, How bright aud how boundless appear The treasures of time and the heart ! j 2 IIS ,. . J low affection, pure, free, and elastic, Springs up like a wild-bird in May! Ami our spirits bound joyous and plastic As fawns ou the mountain at play ! Though betrayed by the trusted and tried. I>\ the last that should crush or di ivi\t . How the pinions of Hope and of Pride Bear us up from the ruins they leavi How we scatter the clouds from us then. As the lark from her plumage the dew. And again, and again, and again, Build the fabric of passion anew ! For why grieve that the pathway is dimmed? That the goblet hath lavished its stor> When the lamp may as brightly be trimmed, And the grape blush as red as before? to . 149 And why grieve although tempests may doom Every rose that hath charmed us to-day, When to-morrow a thousand shall bloom Ee'n as fair and as freshly as they ? But there comes, in the autumn of days. A cloud on the heart and the eye, And we feel that each joy which decays Is a star blotted out from our sky ! We feel that the flowers in our track Xo morrow or spring shall restore, And we cease to look haughtdy back, Or onward with hope as before ! As dream after dream hath its end, And the heart becomes widowed at last, The charnel no spectre can send Like the ghosts of the years of the past ! 150 to . Then how fain would we root from the mind Each thought that so humbles and shocks. Of the Hopes we have strewed on the wind, And the Love we have lavished on rocks! Vain longings, that nn Lted to air — Vain kindness, flung hark, or forgot — Hollow trust in the evils thai were, And blind faith in the good that was not ! Oh thou ! in my summer's decline, Like a dream of my spring Hitting yet — Oh thou thai wilt never be mine ! How I mourn that we ever have met ! Yet 1 reap but the whirlwind I sowed, And no more would my Bpiril persuade That the Miare in its desolate road By my fate, not my folly, was laid ! TO 151 When I 've dared of my passion to speak, No glance made accordant reply, No deeper tint came to thy cheek, No brighter ray shot from thine eye. When I 've gazed in my full heart's devotion, Calm sweetness indeed I might see, But no breath of a deeper emotion E 'er rippled the calmness for me ! Alas that the sweetness winch might (Had I felt but as calmly as thou !) Have been fertile of placid delight, Should appear but a mockery now ! And my pride cannot darken this truth, That, lovely and cold as thou art, E'en the freshness and fire of my youth Would have striven iu vain for thv heart ! L59 to . Could I triumph o'er all that enalavi 3, 1 [ad my life neither sere-leaf nor chain, Were I free as the winds and the waves, For my love it were freedom in vain ! And though Reason, nor Fortune, nor Duty, Had doomed me this stern separation. Thou had'st still heen alone in thy beauty, And / in my heart's desulation ! Thus much of my phrenzy revealed, Thus much of my folly disclosed. Be the fountain eternally sealed, Be the volume eternally closed ! Henceforth not a word, glance, or token, Shall hetray my heart's madness to thee, Nor thy passionless dreams he o'er broken By a breath of repining from me ! to . 1 o3 Though my torture by silence be doubled, It shall live, it shall die, without sign, And thy peace be untouched and untroubled By a voice from the ruin of mine ! Smile on, in thy cold self-possession, Like the calmest and coldest of lakes, On whose mirror no rippled impression The storm, passing over, awakes. Of the heart which thou never could'st read, Only this, for a moment, recall, Where the loved were loved dearly indeed, Thou wert loved the most dearly of all ! ]si:v STANZAS. • Why are our griefs thus eloquent? Ami why eiuhalm the wrong that wakes them '.' Say. rather, why should grief be penl In silent hearts until it hreaks them '.' I know my voice will rise unheard, 1 know my strain will die unread, Ami other hearts will not be Stirr'd To learn that mine hath ached or bled : Urn let me still, when Grief inspires, Her hitter inspiration nurse ; And strew, as hope on hope expires, The flowers of song upon their hearse! Still let me sing, or let me die ! Though other breasts nor heed nor hear, I live and love in Nature's evr. I pour my song on Nature's ear! TO A BEAUTIFUL INFANT, DAUGHTER OF H. D, ESQ., DOUGLAS, ISLE OF MAN. Beautiful infant ! with thy laughing eyes Steeped in the starry light of infant joy, But lovelier than the light of loveliest stars, When only they in the far moonless depths Of heaven are shining ! With thy sweeter brow Than ever sculptor, in the pride of art, Or in divinest dream of shapes divine, Chiselled to crown a cherub's lineaments ! A brow that, for the tablets of their love, Angels might choose, and write their pure thoughts there, So lovely and immaculate it seems ! Beautiful infant ! with thy glossy hair Streaming like melted sun-rays brightly down, To roll in golden billows o'er thy neck — With cheek and lip that are a joy to press, Or even to look upon, in silent trance, 156 TO A BEAl 111 il. INI ANT. So exquisitely moulded, and so rich In the deep bloom of that pure healthful rose That Innocence herself might joy to wear. \nd hurry to her mirror to behold ! • )]i fairest flower ! thus gazing upon thee, Well may delight grow eloquent ! full well A poet's eye with admiration flash, A poet's heart with admiration swell : For not alone to beauty art thou dear, But in thine outward loveliness is mirron d I Like heaven's own aspect in a lucid lake) All sweetness and all goodness; all pure thoughts i When thought shall ripen), all pure aims and hopes, And pure deep sympathy with all that loves, Willi all thai suffers, and with all that soothes ! These do I see ; and oh, dear hahe ! may these (Ever their own " exceeding great reward") To thee be ten-fold multiplied in Love ! TO A BEAUTIFUL INFANT. 157 Nor ever may'st thou, in the perilous hour Of girlhood ripening iuto passionate thought, (For beauty hath been called " a fatal gift," A " funeral-dower of present woes and past !") Oh ! never may'st thou, gentle one and pure, " Water the desert with thy young affections !" If storms at length must come (alas ! they must— To thee — to all — the common lot and doom), Perchance the sooner for the lovely brow, Perchance the sooner for the gentle breast, May He who in His awful wisdom pours Affliction's vial, and uplifts her rod, To thee in gentlest visitation come ! To purify and perfect, not to bruise — To bend in mercy, not in rage to break — And with a parent's kind reclaiming hand, In chastening love, and not in penal wrath ! 1840. ELEGIAC LINES. [Written in pencil, in the Cemetery <>f Pere la Chaise, Paris, upon the tomb of the Hon. Captain Archibald Cochrane, in which, also, the remains of his eldest daughter, young, beautiful, accomplished, and deeply loved and lamented by all, had been deposited only a few weeks rioualy. See a further tribute to the memory of thi-. lovely and gifted ■ me in the Series of Sonnets in this Volume.] Ami art thou laid thus cold and low ? ( > Loved and lovely ! can it be'.' All earth'- sepulchral realms can show No sadder, lmlicrspot to me. These eyes that marked thy early bloom, Oh ! do they gaze upon thy tomb ? ELEGIAC LINES. 159 Vain doubt ! alas, this icy marble tells, Mutely, but oh ! how eloquently true ! Whose form beneath, untimely stricken, dwells, To dust returning, mute and icy too ! Dust that was once as heavenly bright and fair As ever shrined a spirit heavenly clear ! Garden of mortal life ! thou canst not bear A lovelier mortal plant than withers here ! Pere la Chaise, July 30, 1837. A CHARACTER. ADDRESSED TO A LADY WHO BEQ1 E8TED THE WRITERS AUTOGRAPH. " Go, some of you, and bring a looking glass.' RiciiAiiu the Second. Lady ! my Autograph ! — alas, alas ! Who blazons cyphers on enduring brass? These " fond attempts to give a deathless lol To names ignoble, born to be forgot," (Tapers that glimmer through their little night. Then feebly " pale their ineffectual light,") Wake but the laughter of the gazing wise. And kindle Bcorn in Fame's averted eyes! A CHARACTER. 161 Yet, take it, Lady ! — *t is enough for me Thus to be prized by aught so fair as thee ! And should another bid thee e'er relate Whose nameless name thus mingles with the great, Recall me gently to thy mind's pure eye, And, in thy gentlest accents, thus reply : — Who traced these lines, upon the world was thrown, Alike " to fortune and to fame unknown ;" — So very poor, his only store was health ; So very rich, he envied no man's wealth ; So very proud, he owed a debt to none ; So very bold, he never feared a dun : So very brave, he kissed no tyrant's rod ; So very cowardly, he feared his God ; So idle, that he loved to muse and dream ; So selfish, that he loved his self-esteem : So tame, he swore not when dispute grew loudest ; So fierce, he brooked no insult from the proudest; L6Q v 0HARA.CT1 !;. So hot, a slanderer well-nigh drove him mad ; So cold, he formed no friendships with il i bad So timid, that he dared not he a slave : So stubborn that ho would not be a knave ; So onui a blockhead, that lie wrote a book : So groat a Tory, he could praise the Dim; : So great a Whig, he wished the throne se< ure . So greal a bigot, wished all doctrin i pi re So greal a demagogue (oh! Protean elf!) He knevt " Reform" was needful — in himself; So ignorant of life, he hoped and feared A- fortunes varying sky o'ercasl or cleared : So ignorant of men, he half-believed All were in turns deceivers and deceived ; So ignorant of law, he knew no better Than to prefer the spirit to the letter: So poor a drudge, he earned his daily hread : So oild, he thanked the ( ftver as he fed : So childish, that he held his children dear. A CHARACTER. 163 So credulous, he thought one friend sincere ; So loyal, he abused nor church nor state ; So rancorous, a villain moved his hate ; So insolent, a fool provoked his scorn ; So foolish, that he pitied the forlorn ; So old, at last, ha grieved that youth had wings ; So young, e'en then, he loved all lovely things ; So monstrous, that his heart could burn and lileed ; And " whom it loved, loved tenderly indeed !" More would ye learn ? the vain recital spare : " He was a wight, if ever such wight were,*' To feed on fancv, and to build on air ! K '4 LIFE, A PICTURE. This life 's a pretty picture, wh< a We view it in the mom of youth . For in the ' foreground ' smiling then Sit Love ami Pleasure, Hope, and Truth. The fruits of joy, the ilowers of mirth. So crowd upon the heart and eye, A verdanl glory crowns the earth, A vocal rapture tills the sky ! Ami thus the landscape charms awhile; But, onward as the gazer goes, Li as pleasing seems " the artist's style' Less bright and less the "colouring" grow: LIFE, A PICTURE. 1 65 There comes a dimness o'er the rose, A tint less verdant o'er the meads ; And all the " middle distance" shows Less beautiful as it recedes. Drag farther on, — and then survey The picture in its altered light : O'er gold and purple steals the " grey,' 1 And a faint " neutral" o'er the ; ' bright." The wild moor sleeps in deeper shades ; The cold hills take a colder hue ; And the last " distance" dimly fades Away, at last, in cold cold blue. 1847. SEPARATION. I tow yearns my severed heart for tin Oh! ever dear one, distant fax! Whose soul-like beauty burns ibr m< A never, never setting star. I limming the brightest things I si e, How bright soe'er, and beautiful, they are ' Remembered in the valley's hush, RemeiiilxTcil mi 1 1 1 « • mountain's brow, Remembered by the torrent's rush, Thy image bids my spirit bow, Ami to my lips for ever gush The ceaseless words, "Oh where, oh where art thou?" SEPABATION. 161 Perchance, e'en now upon the deep, — Oh ! Waves and Winds that cannot know How dear and fair a thrall ye keep, Full gently heave, full gently hlow ! Ye break or lull an Angel's sleep ! Oh! sleep like her, and softly breathe, and low! Flower of the desert ! sole sweet star That shines with quenchless ray for me, Beacon of Hope that pours afar Its radiance o'er the stormiest sea — . Alas ! the loveliest things that are Give to my yearning heart image nor type of thee! THOUGHTS IN THE ISLE OF MAN. "Mona ! long hid from those who roam tin- d< Tliis Mona is a lovely spot! And were my heart a thing returning In cold and Belfish calm to rot, Desiring, dreading, loving not, bid, like ;ui idle dream, forgot I : former hour of burning : If but to breathe the common air — If but tn tread the common earth If luit the common joy to share < >f animal repose and mirth. And wandering but to yield a zest I o after appetite and resl — THOUGHTS IN THE ISLE OF MAN. 169 If these were all to Life assigned, To feast, to quaff, to breathe, to walk, And every flower of heart and mind Meet but to wither on the stalk ; — Then, gazing o'er the dark Clugheee, From base to brow far-soaring yonder, Or wandering round with footsteps free, As now upon its sides I wander — The listless rest, the torpid void, Of souls forgetful (not resigned !), The dead-sea calm of feelings cloyed, Of powers and passions unemployed, Of grace and beauty unenjoyed — Yes ! these my breast indeed might find ! But I have still each lovely dream That made my youth so lovely to me ; And Fancy's every brilliant gleam That in my youth to rapture drew me ; I 70 ill"! OHTS in I ill [3] l "I MAN. And (dearer yel ! i the deep warm Btream < M' pure affection gushing through me ! And while to life my spirit clings, And while my frame hath breath and motion, 1 would not change these glorious things, Nor let the cold world ire their springs, Nor shut them from my heart's devotion, For all that isle or mainland brings, l >r power to search on eagle-wir The loveliest realms of earth and ocean ' Oh Love! that colourest all I see, What wore the world \f thou wort not? Oh Love ! thai ever mak'st to me Holy and dear the gloomiesl -pot. 1 would not live forgetting thee, Let me not live by thee forgot ' 1840. A LOVEE'S EHAPSODY. Rien ne coute nioins a la passion que de se mettre au-dessus de la raisou!" LA BRUYERE. Ask ye, of the one I love Every earthly thing above, What sweet simile and rare I can draw from fire or air, Or from earth's most lovely things (Pets of Summer, or the Spring's), Leaf-embowered, or borne on wings, Or from ocean's sparry cells, Coral-roofed, and paved with shells, That would seem, nor more nor less, Her perfections to express ? If she glitters like a star When the heavens serenest are, \ LOVERS 1:11 w«>\<\. • »;• lb dazzling as the sun When liis noon-tide goal Is won ' What >li\ iner magic lii a In her lip and in her eyes, Thai ran make all eyes beside Their diminished glories hide, And all lips that poul or smile Seem like darkened things the while? What, and wherein, lies the spell Makes me love SO madly well " I- i nut strange i cannot I 11. She is not, I freely own, All that's beautiful alone ; Where sin' i.-i earth doth not seem Like the glory of a dream, Nor the place where she is imt Therefore grow a barren spot ; a lover's rhapsody. 17:: Nay, in sooth, I say and swear. Angels may be twice as fair, Twice as fair, and twice as good, As my clear one can or would : Other maidens I have seen Quite as like a maiden-queen ; Other nymphs through greenwoods hieing, Quite as like Diana flying ; And, beneath her lightest tread. (Be it reverently said ! I Daisy, violet, lily, rose, Nay, the sturdiest flower that blov>. Would be crushed, bud, leaf, and stem. Even as I had trod on them ! in. For her carriage and her gait, Swans can swim with greater state 17 1 \ I.OVKKS RHAPSODY. For her mien, and for her stature, They are such as sovereign Nature. In her bounty free and kind, ] lath to many a one assigned Who had ne'er a loving poet In his cestacy to show it. If my judgment err not greatly. Many towers are quite as stately : And some' poplars I recall Quite as straight, and twice as tall Though she looks a flying thing, Doves can fly on fleeter wing ; And the dappled fawns can spring Up the mountains in their glee With a swifter foot than she. Though her brows are white, they show Not so white as driven snow ; Nor the bright locks o'er them rolled. Quite as bright us burnished gold A LOVERS RHAPSODY. 175 I have marked as deep a red Over flowers and rubies spread As was ever seen to streak Hers, or even a ruddier cheek. If her teeth are glittering pearls, So are many another girl's. If her hands are white and soft, (As I 've praised them oft and oft,) Lilies grow, I needs must say, Quite as fair and soft as they. Only this I will proclaim (Putting similes to shame). When she gladdens, fears, or grieves, Her sweet bosom falls and heaves With a gentler, lovelier motion Than the gentlest wave of ocean, That in some calm sunset bav Softly swells and dies away, I '• 6 a I."\ I b's BHAPBODl . W'li'ii ita tiny ripples reach Scarci ly to the silver bi ach ; When do drop of spray is shak< q, Ami the halcyon does not waken ! IV. Yet, though agile, light, and airy, She is neither sprite nor fairy; Classic nymph of grot or mountain ; Gotliii' fay of lake or fountain ; Buskined goddi of the plain ; 1 Imitn ph of Dian's train . I >ryad of the teeming woods ; Nereid of the dreaming ll Is ; Nor aught else of superhuman, But a very, verj woman ! Born beneath no brighter Btar Than her Bister mortals arc. a lover's rhapsody. ITT And as like to many other As one rose-bud to its brother. Spell nor charm hath she to render Tiger tame, or serpent tender : Even the lordly lion grim Would but tear her limb from limb, And nor wolf, nor pard, nor bear, For her virgin-charms would care More than for the meanest prey Wanders in their savage way. Snake nor toad would budge or stir Even an inch away for her ; Frogs may croak where she is walking, Owls may cry when she is talking : And a thorn her step invades, Even as any other maid's ! v. Child of mortal night and day. Scorched by summer's fervid ray, A LOV] R 9 KM LPSODY. < 'hilled by winter's icy flaw, Bound by Nature's every law, Wind nor weather taking care Whether she is foul or fair : Seasons come, and seasons go, ■' Will she, n' ill she," even so; And are wet, cold, dry, or hot, Whether she is pleased or not. VI. Yet 1 know, her lightest glance Makes my blood to bound and dance Through and through each swelling vein. 1 Leightening pleasure into pain .' | As. in the enchanted round < )f a wizard's cup profound, Magic juices flame and bound ' And I know her every tone 1 [ath 8Uch magic of its own. LOVING AND WEEPING. 179 That whate'er in fondness she Speaks, or sings, or sighs to me, Darts through all my being still With a strange electric thrill ! • Is 't not strange I cannot tell What and wherein lies the spell Makes me love so madly well ? LOVING AND WEEPING • " On n' a pas dans le caeur de quoi toujour* pkurer et toujour* aimer! LA BltUYERE. J I trays weeping? always loving'.' Not exactly, gentle sage ! Always smiling, always roving, Better fits a sensual age ! 180 \NI> « I' PING. I ■ are and signs, if we could pour them Till we poured our souls away, — Burning hearts, could we endure them Till both hearts and hi ads were gray, Would qoI keep light look-, from ranging Wheresoever range they may ; Would not keep lighl hearts from changing Twenty differenl times a day ! Sigh ii" ni ire, then, for the fickle — Time reaps all with common sickli . ii. Always loving? always weeping? Very hardly, gentle sag Always sowing, always reaping, Better lit- a sordid age! Sorrowing words, although we said them Months ami years "1" anguish thro Sorrowing tears, although v.' 1 shed them Months ami years as duly too, I. DYING AND WEEPING. l s i Where a thousand graves are closing Every moment, night and day. Would not, from the dead reposing. Scare a single worm away ! Weep no more above the tomb, then — Death is but a common doom, then. in. Weeping, loving ; — loving, weeping ; - How the history of man. From the baby's earliest creeping To the last of mortal span, If the truthful lip avowed it — If the heart would truthful be — Into those brief words are crowded ; Brief and sad epitome ! Vows of love, howe'er we make them, Grow, at last, an idle tale ; I 32 i oi im; ami v. i i ii\... Losing hearts, although we break them, I 'or the € -» .1 < 1 will not avail ! Sigh not, then, o'er old or new love — Earth is not the home of true love! Weeping, loving: — loving, weeping; — Lo ! of human life the range ! Spite of sowing, spite of reaping, Spite of fickleness and change: For, beyond where I love caress (If aright the line we draw, | All the human heart possesses 1 3 not worth a scattered straw ! Ami without some kindlier trouble Than the merely sordid hear. I liniian life 's the veriest bubble 'That was ever blown to air ! 'Twere nol worth a moment's keeping Bui for Love, and but for Weeping! LINES TO AN EXCEEDINGLY BEAUTIFUL LADY. How rich in varied beauty is the world ! How varied all the loveliest things we see ! And, most of all, that loveliness which fills The human soul with its least human joy ! That loveliness which God hath only given To beings tenderer than the tenderest flower — That magic of all harmony, and grace, And sweetness, breathed from features and from forms Flitting at times across our earthly path, Like things of heaven chance-wandered to the earth ! To kindle love they never can repay — To break repose they never can restore — To plant keen thoughts they never can uproot — |s i I [NES CO A Bl M ill i I. LADY. To dazzle and delight — delight and vanish ! < rlorious and transienl as a Poet's dream, < >r tlic piled heaps of sunset's alpine clouds, Watched by a poet-lover's dreaming e; Till earth itself grows heavenly vrith love! Oh! loveliness that makes the realms of thought. Of heart, ami soul, through all their mystic depths And heights, ami sacred vastnesses profound, Their domes of pride, ami battlements of power, Their cells of tear, and pinnacles of hope, Tremble with ecstacy unfell before! There is a loveliness that on tin' heart (E'en with the first light instant glance we CSSl !) Falls like a sun-hursl on a torrent's curve, That drinks the splendour with a flash of joj . And crowns it> rapture with a heavenly bovt Arched o'er its glittering --pray: or. as the blaze And instanl glory of the tropic morn LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL L^DY. 1 s "i Leaps o'er the dazzled earth and startled heavens. But, to the heart that sorrow hath made pure, And •' touched to finer issues," and imbued With love of beauty made more beautiful By elements of beauty not of earth, — There is a loveliness - Oh Thou that hast Kindled this song of rapture deep and pure ! Hath not its revelation sprung from thee ! Do I not see it in thy every look ? Thy every step and motion ? Is it not Around thee as a halo '? a bright robe Wrought in immortal looms? an atmosphere That purity divine alone can breathe ? Thy beauty is the beauty not of earth. Nor framed, with its pure witchery, to charm The hearts of beings wedded to the earth ! It is an essence of diviner growth, Drawn from the stars, and poured in moulds as rich I B6 UM.s id ,\ BEA1 I in I LADY. \\ uli grace ideal as e'er angel-hai 1 'ashioned for beings of another race, [nhabitants of worMs imt made of dust : It is as if the spirit of all powers Solemn and sweet, and delicate, and good, All powers thai chasten our humanity, And prompt us to the stars with holier thoughts, And wean us from the blandishments of Bense, And make our life uo waste, our hearl do tomb, And youth's sweel dreams the heavenly things they It is as if all these, in bland consent, Pity, and Love, and Tenderness, and Truth, And sympathy with all that joys or grie^ i lad breathed into thy lineaments their own Etherial and eternal harmony ! To -end thee forth upon ;i doubting World A living Bymbol and a breathing type, An incarnation, Bpotless as themsi Ives, Of their commingled i ssenccs divine ! LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL LADY. 1 8*3 And thus, — to gaze on thee, or hear one thought Break from the golden bondage of thy lips, Is like communion with another race In other orbs, regions whose humblest vale Xo tread of earth-born phantasy profanes ; "Where Passion, fire-purged from all stain of clay. Knows not a throb less gentle or less pure Than the replying pulse of infant-hearts Pressed to the raptured mother's ! Whither runs My spirit, dreaming upon thine ? Oh ! why Breathe to the voiceless heavens and deaf cold earth This strain that du s in breathing ? Music poured Upon the barren rocks and desert- winds ! This tribute of delight, and yet of pain — This song of my full heart, that fain would heave From its pressed core its admiration's burden — This Hymn, for I will dare to name it such, LINES i" \ r.i aii 11 i I. LADY. As sun - ; to \ irtue when t La sung to tliee ! Why give it breath, or form, or being, thus? Sinn-, haply, I Bhall never, uever dare (Oh! never, if my spiril gain not wings Which yet have grown not, nor have hope to grov !) Even tn throw it. with a trembling hand, Ami silenl yearning, in thy casual path, Far less to pour ii on tliv startled ear, Or bid thy glance make proud its fairesl line ! Beautiful Being ! in my bouI I feel The gulf between us— uever to be passed ! Beautiful Being! in my soul 1 feel How beautiful thou art ! in form, in face, In mind, in heart — and oh! dot wrecked am 1 ! 1844. OH! TALK NOT OF AGE A LYRIC. Oh ! talk not of Age, and its peaceful declining. Its shadows soft-falling, and lights cold and clear — Give me Youth, with its fresh-springing hopes ever shining, Its storm and its sun-burst, its rapture and fear ! Give me youth, like the torrent that, foaming and sparkling, Bounds, fierce to the last, o'er the chasms and steeps, Nor mingles its glad waves where, stagnant and darkling, The Dead-Sea of years faintly murmurs and creeps ! Not a joy, not a hope, that the cold world hath shaded, But Youth hath a spell half its bloom to win back ; Scarce a flowret of all she can cherish hath faded, Ere thousands as bright spring anew in her track ! Oh Youth ! from thy Eden, all verdant and smiling, Dark, arid, and waste, looks the desert of Age ! Far sweeter one hour of thy joyous beguding Than years of the heart-chilling truths of the sage ! THE SONG OF THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT | i ROM '."i 11:1 . " V i ' in
  • m its power. Yet that which might bring joy to me I- uot a glittering thing like thee — It is a little gentle flower! " THE SONG OF THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT. IX. THE VIOLET. Then rose a voice to the captive knight. The lonely knight in his prison tower: A low, sweet voice of calm delight, To him who mourned his far-off flower : "' Half hidden by a mossy stone,' I droop, and seldom answer make ; Yet, ere the fitting hour he flown. My dreamy stillness thus I break : Dost thou for me, poor captive, sigh ? Oh ! gladly would I waft on high My sweetest perfumes for thy sake ! " 'Twas thus the gentle violet sighed, And thus the captive knight replied : x. " Flower of the gentle ! well I love Thy balmy breath, thy modest grace ; But something e'en those charms above, My yearning heart would here embrace- M I'.lC, mi OF IHE 'All i \ i: KNIGHT. A heart thai owns, to i ach and all, On this bleak, arid, craggy wall Sweet love can find no dwelling place ! XI. " Far down, yon distant river past, The n:' i -i wii r. the wide earth shows Sigh upon Bigh is pouring fast, Till these, my prison gates, unclose; And when a ll '\\. r, i I lone Bpot, She culls, and names ' forget-me-not, E'en distant thus, my spirit know-' XII. \ es ! e'en in distance, Love's sweet might Is felt in mutual Imsoms pure; And 1 the long and hitter night Of dungeon-silence thus endure: Thus wrestling with mj captive lot, Three little words i org] c me not! My sinking soul can reassure!" 18-17. THIS GENIAL WARMTH." COMPOSED IN THE BEAUTIFUL GROUNDS OF , UFON A LOVELY SPRING MORNING. " Look at the fate of summer flowers, Which blow at day-break, droop ere even-song ; And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours, Measured by what we are, and ought to be, Measured by all that trembling we foresee, Is not so long!" WORDSWORTH. This genial warmth, this balmy air, With happy birds upon the wing, And flowers that, scattered wildly fair, Breathe gladsome promise of the spring. And a bright aspect everywhere Of vernal flush and blossoming ; L98 IBIS I i MAI. WARMTH." I Live these, in this sweel silent sj No spell i" soften or disarm The c\ ils of our common lot, The heart's deep wrongs, the soul's alarm? spirit of Love! where thou art not, The loveliesl scenes forbear to charm! < an Spring the darkened breast relume ? Its fairest flowers one Jiang beguile ( i-o ! scatter them on some lone toml>. Where youth and beauty sleep the while, And murmur, " Vain all Nature's bloom Where only she can I doom or smile ! " The Bummer's gorgeous earth and skies Burn with a glory nol their own ; We gaze with hearts and doI with eves. And painl delighl with them alone : Tlteir freshness gone, the fountain dries, The radiance and the dream are Mown ! SONNETS. ' Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room : And hermits are contented with their cells : And students with their pensive citadels : Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy ; bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest peak of Furness-i'ells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells : Tn truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is ; and hence, to me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the somiet's scanty plot of ground : Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find brief solace there, as I have found." Wordsworth. I. ON GLANCING OVER SOME OF MY OWN POEMS. When I remember the great spirits gone, Spirits of old, majestic bards and sages, Who glorify the Past's undying ages, Stars of the soul, for ever burning on ! Then, turn to mark the feeble taper wan Of my oim thoughts, faint-glimmering through these pages, It is as pent-up birds from out their cages Gaze the free eagle's heavenward flight upon ! Oh ! that this restless, straggling, yearning mind. Early triumphant o'er Ambition here, Had never, never nurst a dream so dear As that proud dream " to leave a name behind ! " Or that, by toil, pain, vigil, tasks severe, Some fount of power its feverish search could find ! 202 SONNETS. [|. on GLANCING OVEB BOMB OF MY OWN POEMS (continued.) Deep in myself I look, and, trembling, ask Are mine the living ecstacies? are mine "The vision and the Eacultj divine?" The dream from God '.' the ever-haunting mask Oi" lovely shapes in Fancy's ray that bask '.' Imagination ! am 1 child of thine '.' I in. i tin in to me, dread Power! a wand assign That, to my bidding, thy sweet ells may ta^k '.' Alas ' I know nol : thou dosl nol reply : But in my brooding heart I know and feel That not to mo shall Truth her voice deny, Or Nature cease lur glories to reveal— Soughl with a Poet's ever-raptured eye; Loved with a Poet's ever-quenchless zeal ! SONNETS. 203 III. ON GLANCING OVER SOME OF MY OWN POEMS. (continued.) Then, if the poppy, not the laurel, must Shadow this fading brow, e'en he it so ! And let the bright hallucination gu — The broken reed that mocked my folly's trust : Let dull oblivion, o'er my nameless dust , And o'er my mind's creations, darkly flow : — Is peace less dear than keen ambition's throe ? Or Love's warm heart than Fame's most lauded bust? Ah me ! this thirst for long-surviving praise ! It fevers still— it will not be resigned ! " It is the spur which the clear spirit doth raise, The last infirmity of noble mind," That on the waters, after many days, The song we scatter some touched heart may find. •Jill BONNETS. IV. ON Till: PIBST IT.IMSU. AND BTUDI 01 WOBDSWOBTH'8 POETRl 183L'. We walk the teeming earth with half-shut eyes! Beauty and glory, from the prodigal urn Of Nature lavished, woo, at every turn. The trampling step to pause — hut on it flies: A thousand floral things of heavenly dy< a Flit with the summer, ami with spring return, Again to Hit. that florists uever learn Ope hud or petal to the west-wind's sighs: A thousand pomps ami glories deck the skies That wake nor hard's nor painter's mimic strife : Avarice may pine where scarcediid store is rife ; Eunters despair a Bpear's-length from the game — Ami / have lived through half a poet's life, And knows a Wordswort] ly > < • t by name! ! SOXNETS. '205 MINGLED RECOLLECTIONS. There is a sweet remembrance of sad things 8- There is sad memory of things most sweet — There is a mood when these strange spirits meet, And flit together on contrasted wings : There is a spot — there is an hour which brings Such checquered mood to me ; this mossy seat Of garden-solitude, where poplars greet On high, with shadowy kiss, as, whispering, clings Dark branch to branch, till scarce a star-beam through Glitters, though many in the heavens are met : This seat and hour up-call, in long review, Past joys and ills with strangely mixed regret ; Pleasures I dare not, if I might, renew ; Sorrows I woidd not, if I could, forget. 206 VI. ox SB \ki: down — His. who, alike od dome or mountain's crown Bids storms to beat, or cloudless suns to shine : I' is al His luck arts flourish or decline, \s verdure waves or withers al his frown. Save me from their simplicity who look ] n villages alone for life serene, Blameless and pure ! Vice stains the purlin;,' brook, And dances, masked, upon the village-green; Pan's boasted pipe can utter sounds obscene And savage fury wield th* Arcadian crook. SONNETS. 215 XV. TOWN AND COUNTEY. (CONTINUED.) 1841. Four cities in my thoughts and love hold place ; And will, till thought and love shall be no more ! Queen-like Edina, on the mountain-shore Of her proud Filth, high-throned in Attic grace : Thee, merry Dublin ! that, in merriest pace, My childhood's joyous footsteps gambolled o'er : Majestic Paris, haughty as of yore, The kingly seat of many a haughty race ! And, last, and chief, and dearest of them all, Oh ! busy, brave, and boundless London, thou ! Stretched like a world around the feet of Paul, Who shrouds in middle heaven his sovran brow ; It is a rapture even to recall Thy glorious aspect, as my heart doth now. 816 sonn] re. XVI. MiiKNlMi OF CHBISTMAS-DAY. 184:'. Hark to the joyous peal that hails the mom, The birth-morn of the Saviour-God, who gave Salvation to tin- world he died to save ; A world deep sunk in penal depths forlorn : A world that of its Saviour made its scorn ; Of death the victim, ami of Bin the slave! Shall we not mnr rejoice that He was born Who vanquished sin, and triumphed o'er the gra\> — Tin- joy nf the wide earth is mixed with shame : We give to revelry the hallowed tide That from his hirth still hears his hallowed name, The name so oft forgotten or denied : Alaa ' regardless still from whom he came ! Alas ! regardless still for whom he died! SONNETS. XVIT. 217 VULGAR CONSOLATION IN SORROW-" SORROW IS USELESS." 1843. Oh ! worst of sickening drugs ! oh ! wearying vein Of vulgar solace ! when our souls are wrung, As the last dearest tie to which they clung Melts from the grasp like vapour from the plain, Then to be told " 'tis idle to complain, For, bitterest griefs, like heaven's best-loved, die young, And, in few years, the heart itself had flung Away, perchance, what now it mourns in vain." This never yet the shaft of anguish drew, Nor gave the aching breast one hour's relief : True consolation is — that grief is true, And that we grieve for what deserves our grief. We know and feel that love and joy are brief ; It is no solace to despise them too ! 218 NET8. win. PEBE LA CHAISE, 1887. TOMB OP THE rOTJNG AM> BEAUTrfUL Miss COCHRANE s • p. 1/58 of this volume.) Early the jealous heavens their own resume — And thou art gone for ever! Oh! fair flower! Untimely wrung from the maternal bower. 'Tia meel thai I should mourn thy early doom: For 1 indeed beheld thy primal Moorn ; Beheld thee spring from childhood's happiest hour, With goodness, sweetness, Loveliness, for dower, Oli ! destined bu1 to this! thy virgin tomb: By stranger hands to foreign earth bequeathed, Hers muBl thou sleep afar?— Then, gently turn, Ye of tlic gentle land where Last Bhe breathed. And "hid fair peace" be to her maiden urn ; And, from this strain of heart-touched sorrow, Learn His grief was pure who thus her urn enwreathed. SONNETS. 219 xrx. TOMB OF HISS COCHBAKE. (CONTINUED.) Slow-pacing from thy grave, lamented maid, A flash of solace makes my path less drear : ' T is meet thy gentle dust should slumber here ; It is not foreign earth where thou art laid : Meetly the Child's sepulchral bed is made The long-loved Father's sacred ashes near ; In mutual dust to claim the mutual tear To valour, sweetness, mutual virtue paid ! From that pure source a pensive solace flows ; Votive be this pale wreath to either brow ! And here with loftier thought I leave ye now, That gracefully and honoured ye repose ; Thy sire amidst his country's bravest foes — Amidst their brightest, holiest daughters, Thou! 220 SONNETS. XX. RON AN OAK-TREE, PBOM WHICH THE only LIVING IUMVi'H HAD I1F.KN T"UN 1! V A STORM, WHILE ALL THE PBBPBCTLT WITHERED ONE8 WEBB SPAli How many are the emblems, and how sad, Of mortal frailty ! I beheld an oak. Withered and leafless, ashy thunder-stroke, Save th&t one solitary branch it had. Which, midst the general blight, all green and glad. Still of sweet summer's genial influence spoke : That branch, and thai (done, a tempest broke. One fearful night, when autumn winds grew mad. Now, here, I said, is moral for our trust In Life and youth; and how ''the good die first, And tluij ti'lmsc limits are dry as summer-dust Burn to the socket !' But this thought seemed worst. Parents of virgin-beauty ! how ye must Wail storms that rend the last sweet branch ye nurst! SONNETS. 221 XXI. THE TTJAI): A VISION. 1838. ; It was of a strange order that the doom Of these ' three' beings should be thus traced out." Byron's Drewa. 1 had a vision of three lovely things — Women ; most lovely, and most wretched ! They Linked them with hearts of marble, souls of clay. Never baptized in sweet affection's springs. Long years the First endured all bitterest stings Of hateful night and miserable day, Until a skeleton-champion snatched away Her household torturer, upon ice-cold wings ■ Next, with torn heart, but scorning still to be A nuptial Despot's spirit-broken thrall. Drooped the sad Second at her parent's knee : Then came the Thikd, to drink her cup of gall — Folly, and hate, and malice : verily, she Seemed destined to endure the most of all ! 222 SONK XXII . LIFE. A fearful volume is this book of life ! Toil, and disease, and agony, and n Wrong, and remorse, all demon-things that wi With harried hearts and frames demoniac strife — Skeleton-famin< — murder, with fleshed kn And madness, gibbering in its human cage, Thc-e (" making hideous" many a groaning pagi r in thee, dark chronicle ! arc rife. The sweat-drops of the agonized bosom's c< Wrung nut by ill- long bruising ere thej break, Biol thee with deadlier stain than tears or gore ! diil nut thai dread power who traced thee make Meek sutl'erance of all these our holiest lore. I lark book ! who would not close thee I'm- their - SONNETS. 223 XXIII. LIFE. (CONTINUED.) I look again, with humbler, calmer, eye, And spirit chastened to endurance ; much Still do I see that hath dread need of such ; Dark texts, whose gentlest comment is a sigh : But now, like bright spots, in a storm-rent sky, Breaking from out the tempest's strangling clutch. Solace, and peace, — nay, joy and beauty, touch The brightening page with many a heavenly dye ! I read of mercies tempering bitterest woe ; Of mercies oft that woe's dark semblance take ; Of Love, and Hope, God's holiest founts below, Welling, with prodigal gush, all thirsts to slake : Oil, Book of Life ! whilst thou hast such to show, We must not, dare not, close thee, for their sake ! 22 1 bonn] re. XXIV. GUARDIAN ami .\!imsti:i:im; : am.i.i s " How oft their silver bowers do angels leave To come to succour us that succour want ! Hew oft do they with golden pinions cleave I ii flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul Sends to aid us militant: They for us fight ; they waleh and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about as plant, And all for love, and nothing for reward — O why should heavenly God to men have BUch regard ' ' BPJ '.m« " Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth, Both when v\r wake and when we sleep." Milton, "For my own part, I am apt to join in opinion with those who believe that all the regions of Nature swarm with spirits, and that we have multi- tudes of spectators on all our actions when we think ourselves most alum ." Addi ion. Arc 1 1 1 1 - v iinmiid us, those white winged powers " Though seen by the pure eye of Faith alone, In solemn vision from the eternal throne, Missioned li\ Love to guard us at all hours'.' SONNETS. 225 And will they leave their bright and stainless bowers To watch o"er dust, and sinful flesh and bone. And all the rueful pageants that are shown In this sin-desecrated world of ours ? They will, if truth from holiest minds proceeds If Milton, Spenser, Addison, aright Moulded their awful but benignant creeds, And coloured them with hues of heavenly light ! And we, whate'er our hidden thoughts or deeds, Are thus divinely tended, day and night ! 'J-^li \ w. <;rAi;MA\ ami KINISTERINQ SHBUS (CONTINUED.) Bath Goo, then, need of messenger, or guard, To serve, or save, or chasten, whom he will ? By aids and helps must He his works fulfil, Even as man ? Deep mystery, and hard ' Such lei them solve who have beheld unbarred The dread twin-gates of righteousness and ill. And seen from whence the powers of darkness fill Their urns of terror for the evil starred ' Whither have flown, or wherefore sleep they now. Those radiant forms that in the world's fresh prime Greeted its Patriarch- fathers, brow to brow, To guide, or bless, or warn from threatened crime " Such as did mice (so holiest words avow) in Padan Aram's sky descend and climb ? SONNETS. 227 XXVI. GUARDIAN AND MINISTERING SPIRITS. (CONTINUED.) " Thousands at His bidding post O'er sea and land." Milton : Sonnet on his Blindness. It is a lovely, though an awful thought, And may be hallowed to a sinless boast, That solitude, when solitary most, With heavenly companionship is fraught ; That we upon our life's stern paths are brought Onward by those who " at His bidding post O'er sea and land." bright angelic host ! Whether of prayer ye come, or grace unsougbt, Float near me, if ye may, celestial things ! Ministrant ever with the sweet controul Of purest, wisest, holiest whisperings — Eternal prompters to the eternal goal ! Alethinks, e'en now, of your descending wings I hear the soft sound in my listening soul ! o » 228 SONNETS. vn. TO A MA ITU I L LADI 1838. " But she iv in lur grave, and, oh ! Thi difil n ace to me ! " WoHDSWORTH. How beautiful thou art ! < »li lady ! why Should admiration, wedded to delight, With the full heart's most glowing spousal rite V"iceless and unrecorded hum and die? The glories of the dimmer earth and Bky, Flowers, and the starry loveliness of night. All natural objects beautiful and bright. For homage call, and Rapture makes reply! Ami thou, all these surpassing, far, oh! far. Why should dull silence Avrap thee in her cloud? Why should thy radiant presence be a bar To it> <>wn praise'.' as honestly avowed As when to " mute insensate things" aloud We cry, "How bright, how beautiful, ye ar< ' SONNETS. 2 "2 9 XXVIII. TO ADA, THE INFANT DAUGHTER OF A DEAR FRIEND. " Is thy face like thy mother's?" Dear infant ! ere again on life's stern sea (Troubled and mutable !) 'tis ours to part, Where every promise of Love's guiding chart, And Hope's sweet planet, lost in storms may be, Come to affection's farewell arm and knee, And, gazing on thee, treasured as thou art, Here let me pour from out my heart of heart A thousand richest blessings upon thee ! Should'st thou, as years on years, yet distant, roll, Thy mother's beauty emulate in aught, (Oh threatening gift ! with perilous sweetness fraught !) Be thine a happier destiny's controul ! Be thine her every generous, kindly thought, And all thy father's nobleness of soul ! 280 mi re. xxrs. TO E. C, IN AFTI.ICTIOX. December, 1842. Dear friend ! such comfort as the heart bestows (And will receive), when love is deep and pure In breasts where love and suffering both endure, As the cold world never believes or knows, Take thou from mine! in thy severest woes There of Love's tenderest sympathy Becure ; Love, that all sadness, but despair, can cure — Love, the sole stem on which true solace grows : There let ennobling fortitude have birth : And think, till that deep constant fount be dry, There cannot in thy path be lasting dearth, There cannot be enduring clouds on high : Still are there lovely flowers upon the earth ; Still are there lovely rainbows in the sky! S0NXETS. 231 XXX. POWER. " Be not ambitious ! Power is turbulent ; It hath nor joyous day, nor placid night. Nor ' lettered leisure,' nor sweet home- delight ; Nor yields to others, or itself, content : It ' hath a demon ; ' it doth ne'er relent, But tasks us still to slave -with all our might. Much that it sees, it never sees aright — Much that it hears, is never felt or meant. Him, as his very shadow, Envy dogs, Who makes of Power ' a bright particular star : It is a glittering glory, seen ajar, But, near, an iceberg, wrapt in mist and fogs ; Goal of a troubled race, with thousand clogs Sped over quicksands, in an iron car ! " - - 1 J NETS XXXI. POWER. (CONTINUED.) Tims said a voice : but then another spoke— " Power ! thou art an attribute of God ! Wisdom and virtue may uplift thy rod, And mercy hallow its benignant stroke: By thee, the oppressor's shield and spear arc broke; And vice and folly tremble at thy nod. Thai heart is as an iceberg, or a clod, ■ In which no generous love of thee e'er woke ! Who seeks, in selfish indolence, to fly Ml paths where honourable functions crave Discharge, with vigour prompt, and purpose high, //< signs a bond whereon is written -Slave!' Worthy an unrecorded death to die; Worthy to sleep in a forgotten grave!" SONNETS. 203 XXXII. FAME. Who murmurs at the "silence of neglect," With thirst of popularity avowed ; And, with the breath of popular plaudits loud, And vulgar wreaths, would still be soothed and decked, Him from the poet's curse shall nought protect — "Let him be busy still, and in a crowd. And very much a slave, and very proud ! " Light bark of vanity ! soon launched, soon wrecked ! On otber wings those loftier natures speed Who justly to the golden heights aspire Where Fame hath altars of eternal fire, And immortality is Genius' meed : Little they reck if shouting crowds admire, Or doom of sharpest censure have decreed. •,!••> 1 BONNETS. XXXI II. FAME. (CONTINUED.) A PABAFHBA8E I'KuM IIA/I.ITT. The child of Genius is the heir of Fame ; But, ere the bright reversion, life is fled : Fame guerdons not the living, but the dead; Tis o'er the grave her temple's altars flame, Kindled with great men's dust. A mighty Dame Comes not to genius 'till Death's shaft hath sped : For not of popular clamour is it bred, Nor ever yet of venal flattery came : It is the subtle hold men's spirits lake i And keep) upon their kind, when life is o'er ; It is the sound Thought's mighty streams awake, As down they roll to future ages' shore; Like that which the great ocean here doth make. Deep, distant, solemn, mnrmuring evermore. SONNETS. 235 XXXIV. A HAUGHTY BEAUTY. That loveliness and tyranny should be Sisters in this strange world ! Caprice and power, And wisdom, and infirmity, each hour, The oftest-coupled things we meet and see ! Hath tyrant Beauty, then, the tyrant's plea? Eve and the serpent's everlasting dower ? Is 't of necessity we quail and cower Before these starry despots, heart and knee ? thou ! high-templed in the nobler heart, sacred and indomitable peide ! To thee, with dedicated soul, apart From stricken slaves that second strokes abide, 1 turn, and cry aloud. Bid thou " depart ! " And I obey thee, kingly, haughty, guide ! '■236 S0NNET8. XXXV. LOVE " mournful wanderer, whosoe'er thou art. That pacest this lone valley to and fro, I iuide me to Love, if thou his course dost know, Love, who hath left me pierced with inanv a dart !" The Pale One answered — "Art thou sick at heart ? Then come, and whom thou seekest I may show : For I am Sokrow — sorrow's self, and lo! Sorrow and Love are seldom far apart ! — But, oh ! frail thing ! that sorrow's aid dost borrow, To seek the destiny of the widowed dove, And that pale fiend who points to no to-morrow, Learn, thai my mission is to point Amove: Not always Sorrow loads to earthly Love, But oh ! how oft loads earthly Love to Sorrow ! " SONNETS. 237 XXXVI. LOVE. (CONTINCJED.) Then through the gloomy valley did we go, Until two radiant sisters I espied, Like angels clothed and winged ; and, side by side, Pacing with solemn sweetness, soft and slow : " Truth ! Wisdom ! ye, perchance, may know Where Love hath made his dwelling-place!" I cried, " And thither deign my trembling steps to guide, For I am faint with wandering to and fro !" " Mortal !" ("twas thus their mutual voice replied) " Beware of false Love clad in true Love's dress ! Over the earth the cheat flies far and wide, But is, to that pure spirit we caress, As lowest vanity to loftiest pride, Phrenzy to mirth, or mirth to happiness." vj:t* SONM 18. XXXVII. DEJECTION. Lone-brooding at deep midnight o'er my lot, So many mournful memories came o'er me. Of heavy griefs on griefs that long outwore me — Of ills that nothing from the heart can blot — Of hopes and loves that were, and now are not, 1 grieved that my dead Mother ever l>ore me! When, suddenly, two awful forms before me Arose, and terror chained me to the spot: Their high pale brows were laurelled — not as kings, But with the wreath Time blights not. nor devours: And a voice rose on sweet Etruscan wings — Amidst thy petty griefs, remember Ours: Kuiu and exile are no trivial things; Ferrara'a dungeon was do bed of flowers!" SONNETS. 239 XXXVIII. ASSOCIATING POWER OF SOUNDS. I know not how it is, nor seek to know, But there are sounds (they may be gay or sad) Which bring to me, in primal glory clad, Again the banks through which my youth did flow : With them, like visious, pictures come and go Of each dear spot that charmed me when a lad ; The self-same tints they have which then they had ; The same glad fields in bloom — bright flowers in blow. A mournful tune (its name I cannot tell) Wanders, at times, to memory's loving ear ; And then the Atlantic heaves it billowy swell, And far-off Erin's emerald shores appear : The very winds have each a separate spell To call back scenes and hours to childhood dear. S40 30NNET8. XXXIX. associating power OF S0U1TD8 ICOSTINTED.) And thus Edina and Augusta rise At sounds the very simplest that may be; And, e'en as 'twere but yesterday. I see Their former glories with my former eyes. The autumn-blast, at eve that wails and dies, Plays subtle pranks with memory and with me. For then, dear rustic Crosby, unto thee, Like to a homeward dove, my spirit flies. Js there, indeed, as poet's long have told, A local genius of each bower and dome, That, e'en by freaks like these, would keep it.^ hold On our remembrance, wheresoe'er we roam.' Alas! the dead, the distant, and the cold, People with phantoms each remembered home ' SONNETS. 241 LX. TO MY ELDEST BROTHER: CALCUTTA. My brother, my dear brother ! first and best Link in that golden chain which, heart with heart, Through life hath bound me, happily apart From every cold and every sordid breast; When on this page of love thine eye shall rest, May thoughts of love, like homeward vessels, dart Far back along the past, by memory's chart, From the glad orient to the still loved west ! Lo ! we are severed, far as pole from pole, But never, never, shall from us depart Faith in that brotherhood of heart and soul, Born of a brother's love ! 'Twist heart and heart Mountains arise not, oceans never roll ; 'T is but the eye and hand that are apart. 242 >i.i>. Xl.l. TO •• Now, whether that my angel be tinned fiend — Suspect I may, but not directly till I " Sn AKtsi-ERE : Sonnets. Ere the last horror of the night hath flown, As sometimes is a feverish sleep we lie, Perchance a lovely form conies Hitting by, Lovely, midst all things horrible, alone Then, sudden, rapid as a glance or tone, There is a change no horror else comes nigh! The lovely cheek grows fleshless, the bright i A hideous socket of sepulchral bone ! The trail of worms is on the loathsome brow That late with golden curls was shadowed o'er, — Thrice hideous! — Even such a change doth aoii Thy image show from what it showed before ! I.' n such a spectre to my dreams art Thou! Oh! cease to haunt, and let me gaze no mon SONNETS. 243 XLII. TI1UTH. There is no bondage of strong prison walls Equal to theirs who juggle and deceive : The chains that Falsehood's leprous fingers weave Canker the inmost souls of her poor thralls ! Oh, white-robed Truth ! ( on thee my spirit calls ! No more, no more thy hallowed courts to leave, Where "service is pure freedom" morn, noon, eve. Early and late, whatever task befalls. There is no freedom like to that which springs In the emancipated heart and mind By Thee uplifted, on regenerate wings That never more a subterfuge shall bind : When each its last equivocation flings Away, like haggards whistled down the wind ! p % •ill WETS. \i.iri. SOLITUDE. Once more alone : alone, but not in vain A Yill I endure tins solitude of heart : This doom of dragging lifeless life, apart From all of mutual mind and kindred vein. If in such prison I must needs remain, My son] shall make medicinal the smart, And from endurance wring the subtle arl To forge my dungeon's key from out its chain : Or to contemn the bonds I cannot break. Until my cell a hermitage be grown ; And my loved books yield purer founts to slaki That thirst to loftier natures only known. I'.v'n .is "stone walls do not a prison make," So, t is not solitude to be alone. SONNETS. '245 XLIV, COMPOSED AT CHRISTMAS, IX WEATHER LIKE MAY, NEAR DURHAM. 1842. Do we behold, and hear, and feel aright? Hath bleak December suns and skies like these ? Such vernal freshness dancing in the breeze ? Such vernal radiance in the morning light ? Winter is dead, or hath forgot his might : Spring is in all that nature hears or sees. The wild heath blooms ; fresh buds are on the trees ; And flowers untimely ope their petals bright ; The meadows are beguiled ; by soft airs stirred, The promise of a second harvest peeps. 'Tis said that in the woods builds many a bird Its timeless nest ; and, mid'st the calm that sleeps In Datton Groves, the cuckoo hath been heard : Nature, like man, is merriest ere she weeps. \! Hi -i i-. \i.v. ]\ \ GLOOMI HOI Wore I a month within the prisoning door Of this stem dwelling — lure, where love is not, Or withers daily, like a flower forgot — My whole frame would be sick, my whole heart sore My inmost soul would to its inmost core, As if grown mortal, like the body, rot, Or, in perpetual wrestlings with its lot, Tug at the dungeon bars for evermon . "Oh ! for the pinions of a dove, to llee Away, and be at rest!" 1 could not live Where hospitality, though prompt to (jive, < iives never with Maud smile, or gesture fret You might as well pour wine into a rieve, And turn your luxuries to ston.-. for me. SONNETS. 247 XLVI. IN A GLOOM' HOUSE. (CONTINUED.) " A merry place, 't is said, in times of old, But something ails it now." Wordsworth. Balclutha were a cheerful home to thee, Dark mansion ! peopled with the living dead : The "rank grass of the wall," the lonely head Of the grey thistle, shaking drearily ; The fox, from ivied windows staring free, Startled by echoes of some wanderer's tread — These are all types of loneliness less dread And desolate a thousand fold to me. Thy desolation is not of the earth, But of a holier soil, the human heart ; Its hopes, loves, joys, its mutual trust and mirth. Nature, ivithout, hath done, in all, her part ; But of drear inward gloom, the blight and dearth Of all sweet peace, a fearful type thou art ! 248 BONNETS. XI.VII. IN A VILLAGE CHUBCH-YAED. Approach, thou visitant of gorgeous tombs, And costly mausoleums, whose august And sculptured massiveness bespeaks the dusl Beneath, once noble : here no statue glooms Rebuke from its dark niche, nor earth resumes Her own with ghastly pageantry ; nor bust, Nor aught of grandeur's dim heraldic trust, Here flatters the dull earth that earth inhumes. Approach ! by humbler contemplation led, Approach, and mark where lasl the sod hath heaved, And trace one record of the lowly dead — " He lived — he died." What sculptor e'er achieved More on rich marble, trusted not when read'.' This simple Btone speaks ti;i th, and is believed. BONNETS. 249 XLVIII. HOPE AND lORTITUDE. Go ! thou -who art the lord of thine own mind, "Whom fortune nor abases nor uplifts, "With all her rancour, or with all her gifts ; Cope with the world's fierce storm, and boast, resigned, Thy spirit makes the peace it cannot find, Xor, with each shifting breeze, its vest course shifts, Xor with the current ever idly drifts To rest or wreck, as chance may have assigned : Brightest in tempests thy serene eye beams, And with prophetic trust, and calm clear gaze, Piercing the heavy cloud of evil days, Sees, far beyond, calm slumbering tides, and gleams Of some remembered halcyon of youth's dreams, That once again its glittering plume displays. 250 BONN] i - XLIX. TO .MY ELDEST BISTER, "THE SHIP-BOrS" MOTHER. (See page 08 of this volume.) What is good fur a bootless beni LEGEND OF BOLTON PRIORY. * Winn hearts bereaved are bleeding with the first Sharp pangs of their bereavement, who shall bid Grief's bitter drops gush back within tbt 1 lid, Or a wild mother calmly bear the worst? Nni till assuaged was sorrow's natural thirst With natural tears, that flowed unchecked, unchid. Did she, whose dear one perished in the Strid, Wean from her soul the anguish she had nursed ; • Bolton Abbe; was built by the Lady Romily, as a religious exercise, after the loss of her bod, who was drowned in the River Wharf, in attempting tn leap across where it rushes in a deep narrow channel called the Strid. See Wordsworth's beautiful poem upon the subject. SONNETS. 251 Then rose the votive pile ! and, unto her (Merciful boon !) 't was given to endure : O dearest sister, He " who doth prefer, Above all temples, the upright heart and pure," A like deep blessing will on thine confer ; For His the blow, and His alone the cure. 252 BONNETS. L. TO E. G. A I.AKC DltFAM. I had a dream, dear friend, that yet once more We two should leave far-off each sordid trace Of man, and of his world, and, face to face, Commune with nature by the torrent's roar: I thought that to the mountains dim and hoar, Where with the bending heavens they embrace, And woo the clouds as to a slumbering place, We should have climbed, delighted as before; That the same voiceless rapture and deep awe Again our mutual bosoms should have felt, As when, from the dread Pike of Kingly Scaw. Around, beneath, far, far, we gazed, and saw The mists from Glaramara's summits melt, And from Helvellyn's heights the clouds withdraw. SONNETS. 253 LI. TO E. G. (CONTINUED.) THE LAKE DREAM CHANGED. ' T was pleasant, too, to dream we should behold How fares the beauty of each sylvan lake When the cairn ripples summer west winds make Are changed for wintry surges fiercely rolled, And, on their banks, the thousand hues of gold Heather, and fern, and flowers, and mosses take, For one vast snowy veil without a break, Crowning each headland, knoll, and summit bold. This was my dream, and now 't is faded quite : But not for that shall hope or joy estrange From our glad eyes one sparkle of their light ! " Thus while conversing, we forget all change — Thus while conversing, all things give delight," Whether in calm or storm we rest or range. 264 son m. is. L1I. TO E. G. (continued.) Matlock. December, 184] Iii other regions, lo ! we dream again, And in a slumher mure divinely fair! For if, amidst this realm of beauty rare, At times the dwellings and the forms of men Peep out from craggy niche, and wooded glen. Scattered in natural wildness here and there, 'T is with such cottage grace, and rustic air, As woo fresh tribute from the poet's pen ! Here lei us pausi — here linger, far remote From sordid splendour's every visible taint; And listen to the sole sweet sounds that float Down the deep valley, musically faint : I aim as lone dreamers in an anchored boat, I locked in some nook of islet beauty quaint. SONNETS. 255 LIU. MATLOCK.'. (CONTINUED.) Oh ! lovely valley ! wildly, sweetly fair ! How like a floating vision dost thou seem ! The glory and the stillness of a dream Hang, dove-like, brooding o'er thine earth and air E'en stormy winter here seems charmed to spare, And flings no icy chains upon thy stream ; But on its lovely banks as rich a gleam Of golden light as summer's self could wear. Listen, and gaze ! how sweet and solemn all ! Listen again, one only sound we hear, The gurgling cadence of the river's fall, Murmuring afar, or gently rippling near. Oh "Happy valley !" prisoned as thy thrall, Who would not rest a willing captive here ! 256 boot I. IV. MATLOCK. (CONTIMKH.) What spirit of the woods, what silvan thing Immortal, hoc hath made his shadowy lair, And, brooding with a tutelary care, Waves o'er the lovely vale his guardian wing? Hath he a charm to hind the blasts that swing Earth "s leafy giants in the storm-tost air, Strip their hoar heads to Winter's fury ban', Or, by the roots, their mossy trunks up- wring? Here, even Winter sways with rule so meek, One might believe his ancient empire lost, Did we not gaze on many a glittering freak And gambol of his silent vassal, Frost, Who these majestic heights, from base to peak. With mimic gems hath gorgeously embossed. SONNETS. "257 LV. MATLOCK A •WELCOME. Welcome, dear Laura, to this lovely scene ! Nature aud thou shall here he as twin-graces : For lovely woman give the loveliest places An aspect yet more lovely and serene ; And, with a zest reciprocally keen, They, in the glowing landscape's pure emhraces. Reflect again, from their sweet forms and faces, Majestic nature's fairest grace and mien. This have I heard ; and now 'tis thine to show If, in the thought, truth and the muse agree — If thou with Nature canst be balanced so, "When both are beautiful as both can be : If thou to Matlock one fresh charm canst owe, While Matlock owes a thousand charms to thee ! 258 m re. I. VI. MATUii'K: NIGHT Through hurrying clouds, that scatter to unite, i >'n. At last came Love again, I aughing, as people laugh at merriest jokes — " Well ! " ; limed, " this is the grandesl hoax Thai ever I have played with mortal men! Good lack ! of all who m. ddle with the pen, What splendid tools are your /.n,//c folks! " SONNETS. 275 LXXII. "The curse of this life is, that whatever is once known, can never be un- known. You inhabit a spot which, before you inhabit it, is as indifferent to you as any other spot upon earth ; and when, persuaded by some necessity, you think to leave it — you leave it not. It clings to you, and with memories of things which (in your experience of them) gave no such promise, revenges your desertion. Time flows on : plans are changed : friends who were with us are with us no longer- yet, what has been, seems yet to be; only ban-en, and stripped of life. Sec ! I here send you a study for " Night-mare Abbey." Shelley, to the author of Night-mure Abbey. " It is the curse of life that, whatsoe'er We once have known, can never be ww-known:" All that wears out or turns the heart to stone, Crushed hope, or love, or aught that 's worse to bear, (If there be worse on this side of despair,) Back on the weary heart again is thrown ! The very spots where we have wretched grown, In afterdife are spectres everywhere. It is this memory of ill which makes Life's waters, if once troubled, always muddy — K ■! 276 SONNETS. It i> this memory <>f ill which shakes The scourge for ever, ke< ps the sword -till bloody Ami hence it is thai this sad sun her mortal lover in the island; and foi ecurily, surrounded it with perpetual mist.] "Mona! long hid from those who roam the deep" Sure 'twas the coinage of some lover's heart, Thai graceful fiction! — One condemned, apart, Vigils of bitter absence long to keep : Gazing, perchance, from yon far Cumbrian steep, And ever straining a dim Larl Where, prisoned by wild waters as thou ait. Thy chores beheld a lovelier captive weep: \nil when Bad evening mocked the watcher's eye, <))• keen winds dimmed it with the mounting spray, Then (ministranl to Grief 1) would Fanci mj " (Mi mists! eh clouds! thai uever roll awa Spirits thai know nol Love, in yonder sky, ('all ye eternally — ami ye obey." SONNETS, 281 LXXVII. IN THE ISLE OE MAN A SIMPLE PACT. How varied is the sense of good and ill ! Nay, e'en the bounds that fair and foul divide. There is a valley on the sheltering side Of a deep glen washed by a mountain rill ; " A lovely spot, green, solitary, still !" So, to its rustic host, a stranger cried — " No, sir," the man full honestly replied, "But very ugly — stuck down in a ghilV Scorn we the simple Islesman's tasteless thought ? Or, with a wiser, philosophic mirth, Confess that, if to struggling penury brought, These picturesque abodes of craggy dearth, Howe'er by tourist-idlers praised and sought, Would charcn no more the tillers of their earth ! — a8a .'•i I'S. I..WVIII. OS A BUST OP i,i:\i I. 1 B88. DARLING High-li aided b ■ the Arts which bear away Trophies from Time ami Death ! which mar the trust Of thi' Pale King to make all human dust His, and ohliviou's, mute, abandoned prey. Behold a restitution from that clay To which God's mandate cries " Return ye musl !" It lives again ! — behold Gra< e Darling's Bust! By Art. Truth, Virtue, hallowed from decay. Now, be tin' plastic hand, both near ami far. Bonoured, this truthful effigy that wrought, With "the lino ehi/./el thai mts breath" and thought ; Thy hand, that, t" the verj life 1 >i nbab ! Math given as Hi i; o'er whom, unwished, unsought, fame, hrioht and pure, hath risen like a star! SONNETS. 283 LXXIX. A DIORAMA OF GREAT POWER AND BEAUTY, IN THE THEATRE ROYAL, EDINBURGH, ILLUSTRATIVE OF FALCONER'S POEM, "THE SHIPWRECK." PAINTED BY ME. W. R. B Y. Spirit of Art ! how wonderful art thou, Serene and silent wizard ! that dost make Thy pencilled forms to breathing life awake, Or vital glory deck the sculptured brow ! Thine is the spell that chains and charms me now. On yon broad ocean, silent as a lake, When not a breath its dream-like hush can break, Sleeping in ciystal round each sleeping prow. Do I behold what I in youth beheld, When Fancy gazed on all my Falconer drew ? " A ship from Egypt o'er the deep impelled, Of famed Britannia's isle her gallant crew? 1 ' 1 Is 't she whose doom the sullen fates have knelled, Yon gliding glory of the iEgean blue ? •j--| SON] i.xxx. PABIS, 1816; A GBATEFUI BEMBMBEANCE 0] I How lmiely in groat cities one may be ! Wandering in Paris, las! July, alo Just where that stately " Urn < astiglione " Branches from out the blithe "de Rivoli," A sense of solitude sank down on me, Darkly as night, and heavily as Btone, As if those vast and populous streets had grown. E'en in an instant, baiv as some bleak lea : And yet the crowd, like swarming bees on be To the gay Boulevards buzzed innumerous by, And thronged the gardens of the Tuilleries, Where fountains flashed, and music swelled on As if all life were fresh as budding tr< And no one lonely in the world but I. SONNETS. 285 LXXXI. PARIS, 1846. (CONTINUED.) And wherefore did my heart this burden bear? Why came this solitary strangeness o'er me ? ' Because, far back a strong remembrance bore me To the glad days when last I wandered there, With those who made e'en fairest scenes more fair ! — 'T was with an effort from the spot I tore me, And moved, and looked, and saw their gates before me, And climbed, unconsciously, the first broad stair, Only to weave afresh that morbid spell ! I am asbamed my folly to display. I knocked, and asked, " Does Madame N n dwell Still here, and her fair daughters, s' il vous plait ? " Alas ! far better than the man could tell, I knew that they were all far, far away ! 286 SONNETS. [.XXX 1 1 . PABIS, 1846 (CONTINUED.) Returnt il t<> the. piazza, I took there A long last look of the remembered Bpot ; When, sudden, forth on the balcony shol Three female forms, with thai contrasted air Which made me doubly grieve for those thai w< re, And doubly, trebly, grieve thai they were not; For there are forms no lapse of years can blot from tin- 1 1. art's rolls of graceful, good, and fair! Now, if the World on this throw scorn or blame, Thus far the unblemished muse Bhall condescend, I sought aloii ■ thf honoured name of FRIEND, Too honoured, and too happy in the name! OTimel Distance! darkly as ye blend, Spare yet, and long, that dear and sacred claim ! SONNETS. \> 7 LXXXIII. PARIS: THE LOUVRE. PARAPHRASED FROM "HAZLITTS TOUR IN FRANCE AND ITALY." There was at least one chamber of my brain Which, but unlocked, what boundless stores were mine ! Pure thoughts that memory never would resign, That purple tyranny assailed in vain : That vice with its pollutions could not stain, Nor folly's self gainsay or undermine. Touch but the spring, and, lo ! the grace divine Of Guido burned along the mighty fane ! The golden hues of Titian tired the dome, And Raphael's speaking faces smiled or frowned ; There Rubens' splendour. Rembrandt's gorgeous gloom, And Vandyke's airy elegance, were found ; There classic Claude made all Elysium bloom, And Poussin breathed antiquity around ! 888 WETS I.XN\I\. 1IIK ALPS, FBOJJ TI'IM.N PARAPH] 1011 "Hazi.itt's Toll: IN FRANCE ami itai \ I'.. hind us rose the Alps — a mighty wall Of marble pillars in the evening sky ; And Viso there, and Cenis, shot on high Their glittering cones, Ear soaring over all ! Thee, too, broad, rapid Po, I can recall, Winding thj vineyard-shores and meadows by; Aial woods whose foliage had thai deep sad dy< Thai painters love when winter "gins to full. I hli transported to another clime — I trli another sky above me glow ! Another oarth hciieath me! — Nature time, All things, a sweel revival seemed to know; The year bleak close seemed changed into its prime, And life's cold stream, itself, afresh to Qow! SONNETS. 289 LXXXV. WALK IN ROME. PARAPHRASED FROM "HAZLITTS TOUR THROUGH FRANCE AND ITALY." By ruined tombs, slow-loitering on, we tread : No sound — no breath — soft sleeps th' Elysian air : Here, e'en the winds, hi charmed hush, forbear To wrong the sanctities that clothe the dead. Mute rests the herd on yonder grassy bed ; Mute on its emerald marge yon gentle pair ; The daisy at my feet its modest head Rears timidly ; and fruit trees, wildly fair, Beneath grey nodding arches, blossoming spread. Albano's hills, the Clatjdian Gate, the blended < .ilory of Nero's towers I see revealed — The "Golden House," where tyranny expended Its thousand thousand pomps! there Senates kneeled, And shouts to Man as to a God ascended ! 290 m rs. I .WW I. POSED, 1841, AMI I»T T!Ii: IM'INS OF NOTTINGHAM I LSTLE; DESTROYED IA THE RIOT] When Time on man's far-boasted works at last Lays his all-withering hand, and, day by day, W< ars with slow-cankering steadiness awaj The glories of the long-majestic Past — A robe of moral pensiveni 38 31 ms cast < >ver the Ruin ; for our buman clay J lath sympathy with natural decay, The doom to which itself is hurrying last: And thus, amidst low, mouldering, ivied heaps Of broken cloisters, and down-shattered walls, Wherever silent Desolation keeps Her state with pomp that awes bul no1 app Mow reverentially the slow fool creeps, And what sweel sadness on the spirit falls! SONNETS. 291 LXXXVII. COMPOSED AMIDST THE RUINS OF (CONTINUED.) NOTTINGHAM CASTLE. But here, far other moral we may scan — Far other aspect green destruction shows — ■ Here human wrath 'gainst human pride arose, And man's own fury crushed the boast of man ! Behold ! how glorious Art's majestic plan ! Behold ! how vengeful her victorious foes ! When rage, that like volcanic fire o'errlows, Through forty thousand frantic bosoms ran ! Oh ! desolate pile ! methinks, to thee compared, Each natural ruin, flower-clad, hushed, and meek, Is as some sweet one Death hath struck, but spared As yet the tender life-tints on her cheek, To a torn corpse, by murder hacked, and bared Shroudless to welter on the moorland bleak ! s -J re. hi. TO TEE BPIRH OF POETRT. 1845. HIT LUTHOB HATING WBITTBN NOTHING IN VEBSE I ill MAM PBEVIOl'S MONTHS. lla^t thou abandoned me, celestial Power? Thou that with gentlest thoughts, and promptings sweet, \;nl dreams thai were a rapture to repeat, Such heavenly influence o'er my path didst Bhowi Early and late J sought thy hallowed bowi Grey morn, and noon, and eve, beheld us meet, And thou my solitary soul didsl greel E'en in the shadow bfthe midnight hour. Oh! quil me not! A [, from childhood's day, For thee and thine forsook all "meaner thin And --till with joy Gram thy divinesl Bprin Quaff such ennobling draughts as yet 1 may, Lei me nol - le thy last smile die away. And hear the lasl rush of thy parting win SONNETS. 293 Lxxxrx. TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. (continued.) For what of good, or beautiful, or grand, By Fancy cherished, or by Hope caressed, My soul possessing, by my soul possessed, But thou, Enchantress ! brightened with thy wand ? — joy ! as one who feels with trembling hand A pulse yet lingering in some stricken breast, A little life yet fluttering in its nest ; With thy sweet influence, benign and bland, I feel again my exulting spirit stirred ! And, as the joy of a too happy bird Gushes in song, though none be nigh to hear, I sing this ecstacy, by all unheard — By all, save Nature's ever-listening ear, That drinks the o'er-flowing heart's least whispered word ! 29 1 sonn] re. TO THE SPIRIT 01 POET] (COM i.i DED.) I [ave I not cause, muse! to dread thy flight? Save I imt cause to joy that thou remainest? thou that in thy votary's heart restrainesl The sordid world, and all its worldly might ! Thou thato'er hope and dread, and bloom and blight, \\ ith a pure sceptre, in the pure ueart reigni Bt ! Though Fame's proud hope 1» of all hop< > the vainest, To thee I cling with ev< c fresh delight! 1 1' ever with a desecrating hand 1 at thine altar ministered, or gave Tli> laurelled meed the good alone demand To crown the vile, tin- tyrant, or the slave, Spurn me for ever from thy tuneful band, To crawl forgotten to a nameless grave ! OTHER POEMS. STANZAS, IIAZL1TT. (Sonnets 83, 84, 85.) Why thus my idle efforts bound To clothing others' thoughts anew, While Nature from her breast profound Scatters a thousand themes around, And prompts, in every sight and sound. With inspiration true ? 296 -I LNZAS. What though she rear no giant-throm 'Mid&l Alpine solitude and storms. She deigns the humblest spot to own, \ inl clasps, within her mighty zone. ■ \ violet, l>y a mossy stone," Fondly as mightiest forms. Go to the brooks, the woods, the fields, And list her prompting accents th With ntlu'-s' quarried thoughts who builds, With others' borrowed gold who gilds. The palm which Fame or Bonour yields Shall never, never bear ! The lofty meed, unsold, unbought, To dreaming "idlesse" shall nol fall ! Deep lie the golden mines of thought. In our own bosoms to be wrought, Or perish there, like gnus unsought, And treasures hid from all ! "0 THOU aet cold!" 297 Truth, Love, Nature, mighty three ! (Or are ye one ?) nurse ye my dreams ! Your lore divine pour forth on me, And bid my spirit feel and see, E'en in the humblest things that be, A thousand prompting themes ! "0 THOU AKT COLD!" " Les amours meurent par le degout, et l'oubli les enterre ! " La Bruyere. thou art cold ! Thy love is dead, Its life of life, its heart of heart hath fled ; The spirit, once so bright, and pure, and warm, Of joys and pains Each dear alike to Love, in calm or storm, Is gone for ever, and the cold, cold form Alone remains ! 298 " o iii"i \i;i i old! " < > thou art cold ! A time hath Wen \\ hen this Btdll hour, this sweel and shadow] so ne, The silent witchery of their Loveliest spells I [ad o'er thee shed ; Now, in thine altered eye, what coldness dwells! Nought do I see or hear, but darkly tells Thy love is dead ! thou art cold! We meet, we part. And changed, and cold, and colder Still, thou art ! Unrecked, unwished, iinchidden, fleel or slow. Time's course is sped ; Alike for me all seasons come and go — I heed them not — alas! I only know, Thy love is dead ! "ON THE SEA, ON THE SEA!" A LYRIC. On the sea, on the sea, On the shore, on the shore, My thoughts are on thee Evermore, evermore ! Sad and silent they flow ; Alas ! were they told, Only this could they show, Thou art cold ! thou art cold ! On the sea, on the sea, On the shore, on the shore, Not a thought upon me Dost thou cast evermore ! 800 " <>N llll -1 \. ON MM -I •> : " On thy cheek, on thy brow, On thy lip 1 behold, Ever written as now, Thou art cohl ! thou art cold ! On the sea, on the sea, On the shore, on the shore, Hope shall brighten for me Never more, never inure ! Through the wreck of the past. Tis but mine to behold To the last, to the last. Thou art cold ! thou art cold ! ( >n the se;t, on tin' sea, < >n the shore, on the shore. Still my spirit must be Thine, thine, evermore ! WHEN SHALL WE FOUR MEET AGAIN?" 301 Dear thou wert, and thou art. — madness untold ! Thus to grieve for a heart Ever cold ! ever cold ! 1840. "WHEN SHALL WE FOUR MEET AGAIN?' When shall we Four meet again ? There was a time — ah, then ! ah, then ! How little was the change foreseen ! — When those sweet words had sweeter heen, (Or breathed with lip, or traced with pen,) When shall we " Five" meet again ? But that is o'er — And never more, Oh ! never on Time's lessening shore ! Shall we Five meet again ! Nottingham, 1841. HERE, IN COOL GROT.' COMPOSED IN THE GROTTO OF a FRIEND'fi IDS. ■• Here, in cool grot and mossy nil. Lone-musing as the oight-shadi a fall, I feel like one remembering well A lovi 'I bul ruined banquet-hall. < !ould we the Past's deep joys recall, What dreams might hero obey the spell ! What rainbows gild this mouldering wall, ■• Here, iu cool grot and mossy cell !" ■• ! [ere, in cool grol and ssy cell," ime Lingering, haunting Bpiril yel Perchance with airy voice may tell Whal hearts have throbbed with fond regret, " HERE, IN COOL GROT.'" 303 What eyes have watched sweet evenings set, What lips have breathed a sad farewell, Or in commingling kisses met, " Here, in cool grot and mossy cell !" " Here, in cool grot and mossy cell," Now, Sadness dim, and pale Decay, With ever-dreaming Silence dwell, Or seem with spectral voice to say " Again no mutual eyes shall meet — Again no lips shall breathe farewell — Again no mutual hearts shall beat, " Here, in cool grot and mossy cell !" Here, vainly, with returning spring, Sweet flowers their wasted odours cast : The Present, like a widowed thing, Sits mourning o'er the buried Past : 1 30 1 mi i ' i : i n ■ i: and i in: hivn B. And niui-ki. r gloom serins falling fa Ami gloomier vices seem to tell That Hope and Love have sighed their last '• lleiv. in cool gTOl and mossy cell." THE PRINCE AND THE DEVILS. ■'AM. i 1 1 II .1.1. GEST;"fBOW TllK ••ei-TA BOMANORUM." i Mice nil a time, (if all he true That I have read in stories old,) Of a great Monarch's infant SOD 'Twaa thus, before his birth, foretold : ■ 1 f. tn his royal eyes, the li.e'ht. For twelve long years, its way shall find. This High and Mighty Prince will lie. Like Justice, ami like Fortune, Blind ! THE PRINCE AND THE DEVILS. 305 The king was a believing king, And did -what kings so seldom do — Not only listened to advice, But, strange to say, he took it too ! In a dark room the babe was bom — In a dark room the babe was nurst — \nd, till- the twelfth year of his life, Was kept as dark as in the first. Great fuss the courtiers all did make, And took e'en greater pains (d' ye mark ?) Than courtiers generally take To keep a young prince in the dark. But Time, who speeds i'the dark as fast As in the light, sped those twelve years, And forth His Highness came at last To use his eyes, as well as ears. 306 Till: PRDK I AMI Till; I'I'A II Much did ho stare about, I w< i n, With curious wonder all athirst, many " curious things" an- a i i When royal eyes are opened fit Now, whether to delight the youth, » >r some experiment to try. J'>y which we gain a march on truth. And gather wisdom by and by, His royal lather a great feasl And solemn pageant did ordain, Resolved thai il should be, at least, The most expensive of his reign All pleasant games, all handsome sports, All splendid maskings, were prepared And you (if you know aught of courts) May be quite sure no cost was spared THE MINCE AND THE DEVILS. 307 Fashion displayed her newest modes, The premier and the chancellor leading 'em ! And the court laureates sang such odes — The public almost talked of reading 'em ! Hurra for mirth and mirthful kings ! Ring out the bells in every steeple ! Trouble and cost are vulgar things, Fit only for the vulgar People ! But, mark ! by royal proclamation Of pains and penalties severe, Xo Woman, of whatever station, Before the young Prince should appear ! Ch ! what a court must that have been For one, in regal bower and hall, Who never in his life had seen A creature feminine at all '. t 2 808 ! n:iN' i. AND Till DEVILS But lei me be precise in Btating 1 1< »w the greal king essayed to try, < If all fair Bights and fascinating, Which most would charm the prince's i y< High on a stage as broad as Drury, Then- passed a pageant of such things A3, I can. honestly assure ye, Are only lit for queens and kings — All wonders from north, south, ea^t. w< si All splendid matters, rich and rarer- Whatever your great folks like 1 < Lo, and behold! they had it ther< And up and down, and to and fro, And round about, our youthful hero Tlnvw his large eyes upon the Bhow, With wonder seldom down to zero. THE PRINCE AND THE DEVILS. 309 And, like a prince of great precocity, Still cried to those who near him sat, (Whatever piqued his curiosity,) '• 1 11 thank you to explain me that!" At last, while all around obeyed his Pleasure in stating what was what, A group appeared of such sweet Ladies — I cant describe them, so I '11 not ; Nor how the prince looked, in his wonder, (Which you may readily suppose ;) Nor how he cried, in tones of thunder, " Tell me, for Heaven's sake ! what are those?" I but repeat what I Ve been told, That the good king liimself spoke then ; — " My Son ! the creatures you behold Are Devils ! Devils that catch men .'" 810 THE PBIXCE AM' THE l'l \ U And, thereupon, the courtiers round He gravely tipped a moral wink ; In such a way that, I '11 be bound, They knew not what to say or think ! Excepl the married, (as 'tis thought — If we may dare such truths to t> 11.) Who, having been a long time "caught" Knew all about such " Devils" will \i length, when past were all the sights. Thus did the king the prince accost — ■ Now, tell rue, sou, of these delights, Par excellence, which charms you most?" I say. that thus the sire addressed The smi, who answered quickly th< a " < >h royal sire ! by fab the be'si I LIKE THOSE DEV1L8 THAT CATCB MEN.'' * THE PRINCE AND THE DEVILS. 311 And now. thus prays my loyal muse, Good angels treat our own prince kindly! And train him in good time to choose Neither a wife nor premier blindly! Pleasanter counsel may he mark, From better "Masters of the Revels," Who '11 neither keep him in the dark, Nor teach him that the fair are Devils ! LYRIC. Where billows are foaming, When twilight is done, Why art thou roaming, O desolate one ? 312 LYRIC. •• When Btorm-clouds arc racing, Ami sea-birds arc down, Why art thon pacing This bleak strand bIoi ■• By wild waves, unheeding Bow fiercely they run. Where art thou speeding, ( ) desolate one ?" •• I go," said the mourner As darkly she past, •• I go where the tempest Is silent at last ! •• 1 go when the all epi Finds dreamless reposi Where tlie voice of the \\. Yet never arose ' LYRIC. 313 " I go -where hearts only Cease vainly to bleed, I go where the lonely Are lonely indeed ! •' For the wild hawk an eiry. For the sea-bird a nest, For the soul when most weary, No haven of rest ! i; Startled fawns to the mountain, Scared seals to the wave. Stricken deer to the fountain. Tom hearts to tbe grave ! " 1844. iJEAUTlFl'L STAR! - A I.YKli . ' OMPOSED MM-. MIGHT IN SICKNESS, WHKN Tllli 4.1 THOE, M LOOKING 1 TON A LABGS AND BEAUTIFUL STAIC, WAS BELIEF h I > 1 BOM THOSE "thick coming phantasies" which haunt THE II • rui:i> El I "I TIIK SLEEPLESS. Beautiful star! My blessing on thee ! Thou from afar Sheddest comfort on mo ! Millions are now Studding night's brow, 1>ul thou, only thou. An shining on me ! " BEAUTIFUL STAR!" In thy sweet beams, Hags of the night (Fever's wild dreams) Melt from my sight ! Phantomless, free, Nothing I see. But heaven and thee. Placid and bright ! Beacon of hope ! No seraph could be In heaven's wide cope More lovely to me ! For thou from above, Like the eye of a dove, In meekness and love Lookest downward on me ! 316 " IM Mill ri BIAB ! " ( resset of joy ? I razing on thee, What shall destroy Thy beauty to me '.' Far cloudlet and haze, Dim not my gaz< ! Dull not tin rays That shed comfort on me ! Beautiful star ! Slowly away, Stealing afar Thy heavenly ray ! Again, with the night, Come to my si;j;lit ; Angel of light ! Shod comfort on 1110 ! "BEAUTIFUL STAE ! " 31' Thou goest where perchance Another may be With feverish glance Burning for thee ; Oh ! sweet as a hymn In the twilight dim, Pour comfort on him, As thou pour'st it on me ! A blessing of mine 1 teach thee afar! Thus, thus ever shine, Beautiful star ! Nn comet's fierce might, No anguish or blight, E'er dim thy sweet light, Beautiful star ! 1840. THE SKA SONS. \ I. vine. Dark and dreary Wimi.i; ! Slowly creeping 1\ Flit, oh. Hit for ever, Far from earth and sky ! O'er the fire's dull embers Cowering late and soon, How the heart remembers Summer's eve and noon .' Fifty bleak ! Decembers Arc nut worth mu June ! THE SEASONS. 319 Promise-breathing Spbtng ! Bid thy zephyrs fly On a fleeter wing Over earth and sky ! Haste ! and scatter round thee Flowers that bring again Thoughts in youth that bound thee To the heart. when Hath the heart e'er found thee Beautiful as then '.' Bright and beauteous Summer ! Slowly creeping nigh, Reign, oh reign for ever Over earth and sky ! What sweet fancies bind us To thy merry May ! ■'•■I" THE SEASONS. But wlnn tempests blind us • >n our wintry waj All things l>ut remind us < if our own decay ' Mushed bul fading A.1 imn! Many a grieving i y< Sees the day-tiuts lessen In thy stormy sky ! Daily, nightly, thither Gaze we still, and sigh < >Vr the bleak change hither Creeping sure and sly ! Daily thus we wither! Nightly thus we die! 184:$. EN Ll OF VOL. I l.MVLKMn Oh CAUIOK.MA L11SKAK* .Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-dU/ii-7, '34^5990)444 n THE LIRRARV UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOR*!* T/>S ANGELES U723 adonna Pia ai373m v.l LIBRARY FACILITY M 000 369 660 PR U728 G1373m v.l *D By "J LEYS* I A m ±m J