THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 \
 
 
 THE HEROES OF THE HEART, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS.
 
 THE 
 
 HEROES OF THE HEART, 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 By GEORGE HULL. 
 
 Read from some humbler poet, 
 
 Whose songs gushed from his heart, 
 
 As showers from the clouds of summer, 
 Or tears from the eyelids start ; 
 
 Who, through long days of labour, 
 
 And nights devoid of ease. 
 Still heard in his soul the music 
 
 Of wonderful melodies. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 PRESTON : 
 J. & H. Platt, Printers, 36, Fishergate. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SiMPKiN, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., Limited. 
 
 1894.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE HEROES OF THE HEART 
 
 Page 
 I 
 
 OCCASIONAL POEMS 
 
 At a Baby's Grave 
 
 A Christmas Carol 
 
 The Old Year and the New 
 
 The Smile of a F"riend 
 
 To a Lark ... 
 
 Duty and Delight 
 
 The Fountain of Love 
 
 Sea and River... 
 
 The Seven Years' War .. 
 
 The Angel-Mother ... 
 
 At the Golden Gate 
 
 The White-Haired Singer 
 
 The King's Visit ... 
 
 An Angel's Name 
 
 Love and Anger ... 
 
 The Friend Unseen ... 
 
 Peace 
 
 The Lily and the Rose 
 
 The Poet's Reward 
 
 Persevere 
 
 The Rebound 
 
 The Ballad of Lily-Mary 
 
 5 
 6 
 
 7 
 9 
 
 lO 
 12 
 
 13 
 i6 
 
 17 
 
 20 
 
 22 
 
 25 
 27 
 
 30 
 
 23 
 35 
 38 
 40 
 
 4- 
 45 
 46 
 48 
 
 SONGS 
 
 The Evening Star... 
 The Music on the Wind 
 The Toiler's Wife... 
 Why Should I Fear ?... 
 
 937697 
 
 53 
 55 
 57 
 58
 
 iv. Contents. 
 
 SONNETS AND SONNET-STANZAS:— 
 
 Faith 60 
 
 The Double Blessing 61 
 
 To the Memory of Alfred, Lord Tennyson 61 
 
 Deep Love, Deep Sorrow 62 
 
 Sunshine after Gloom 63 
 
 To the Memory of William Billington 64 
 
 The Trinity of Love 64 
 
 The Lion of Flanders 65 
 
 John Critchley Prince 66 
 
 to Hope 66 
 
 Love Eternal ... ... ... ••• ••• ••• ••• 67 
 
 The Rev. Richard Dunderdale 68 
 
 Hoghton Tower 69 
 
 An Afternoon in November 69 
 
 Charles Swain 7° 
 
 Scandal... ... ... •■• ••• ••• ••• ••• 7^ 
 
 To Mr. Orby Shipley, M.A 7i 
 
 POEMS IN THE LANCASHIRE DIALECT:— 
 
 The First Cab 73 
 
 Th' Owd Cot Aw Wer Born In 76 
 
 Honest Roger ... ... ... ... ••• ••• ••• 77 
 
 Schoo'mates Together 79 
 
 Th' Owd Gate beawn at th' End ov Eawr Fowd 82 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble Side 84 
 
 Johnny's Watch 86 
 
 The Winter's Comin' On, Mi Lass 89 
 
 Lancashire P'un ... ... ... ••• ••• ••• 9^ 
 
 Owd Jemmy ... ... ... ••• ••• ••• ••• 94 
 
 The Hooam ov a Lancashire Mqn 96 
 
 He Couldn'd Come .. 9^ 
 
 Give Every Mon His Due loi 
 
 A Country Life for Me 103 
 
 Eawr Dick's Beawn A-Cooartin' To-Neet 105 
 
 Philosopher Bill 107 
 
 Merry Mates i°9 
 
 Glossary to the Dialect Poems m
 
 THE 
 
 HEROES OF THE HEART. 
 
 O the world knows who the heroes are 
 
 That o'er each battle-field 
 March fearlessly on through the woes of war, 
 
 And know not how to yield ; 
 Whose love for the land that gave them birth, 
 
 Breaks every baser tie, 
 And turns their thouafhts from the sordid earth 
 
 To the cause for which they die. 
 
 And the world knows who the heroes are 
 
 That glorify their land, 
 When the voice of Peace has silenced War, 
 
 And industries expand : 
 They are found in the forge, the mine, the mill. 
 
 And the nation's senate halls. 
 And they give their lives for their brethren still 
 
 When the voice of Duty calls.
 
 The Heroes of the Heart. 
 
 These bravely scatter a light whose rays 
 
 Illumine every shore, 
 And the nation's songs right nobly praise 
 
 Their names for evermore. 
 'Tis well that a grateful land should show 
 
 How these have borne their part, 
 But the heroes earth will never know 
 
 Are the heroes of the heart ! 
 
 They live their lives to the world unknown, 
 
 Their woes ne'er find a tongue, 
 And yet to the great last trumpet's tone 
 
 Their praises will be sung ; 
 They've spread pure love in the place of sin 
 
 Wherever their feet have trod, 
 And the bloodless vict'ries which they win 
 
 Are only known to God. 
 
 One suffers the loss of a lifelong friend, 
 
 Another, a priceless spouse ; 
 And death, that brings one troth to an end. 
 
 But faster binds their vows ; 
 Like a quenchless stream that onward flows. 
 
 Though an earthquake move its bed, 
 Their love through a human desert goes 
 
 And a thousand hearts are fed !
 
 The Heroes of the Heart. 
 
 One weeps for a parent passed away, 
 
 And one for an angel-child ; 
 One mourns for the hopes of youth's bright day, 
 
 Destroyed by tempests wild : 
 Wide, wide apart are the things they've lost, 
 
 But the heroes are as one, 
 For they look not back to count the cost 
 
 Till the battle- of life be done ! 
 
 They mount with the wings of human love 
 
 To the heights of love divine, 
 They turn men's thoughts to the land above, 
 
 Where angel-faces shine ; 
 For, though deep sorrow has racked with pain 
 
 Their spirits pure and bold. 
 They rise to the work of life asfain, 
 
 With a strength no song hath told. 
 
 To the God who gave they render back 
 
 Each boon, with souls resigned. 
 And walk henceforth in the thorny track 
 
 Of the service of mankind. 
 Their words are the wayside flowers of life, 
 
 Their noble deeds take root. 
 And bear, for the wanderer faint with strife. 
 
 Full many a strengthening fruit.
 
 77/1? Heroes of the Heart. 
 
 O the world is all too blind to know 
 
 How the heroes live and die, 
 But the story of their silent woe 
 
 Is told in the Courts on High. 
 And when at the feet of the Judge we stand, 
 
 And the light and darkness part, 
 We shall see them shine at His own right hand- 
 
 The heroes of the heart ! 
 
 mm »%%^^m im^
 
 OCCASIONAL POEMS. 
 
 AT A BABY'S GRAVE. 
 
 The shining HHes white, love, 
 Are on thy grave to tell 
 
 The innocence and beauty 
 We loved in thee so well. 
 
 Faith tells us thou art pleading 
 For us before God's throne, — 
 
 Through sorrow He is leading 
 Our weak hearts to His own. 
 
 O, may our path grow clearer — 
 From sin's dark shadows free — 
 
 And heaven still draw nearer 
 Through hope of meeting thee.
 
 Occasional Poems. 
 
 And if that bright hope aid us 
 Eternal peace to gain, 
 
 Sweet flower of rosy childhood, 
 Thou hast not lived in vain ! 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 Hark ! the bells are gaily ringing. 
 While the sounds of gleeful singing 
 Tell of Him who came at Christmas 
 Many centuries ago; 
 Who was cradled in a manger, 
 And of Herod lived in danger ; 
 Who redeemed the world and taught us 
 How to conquer sin and woe. 
 
 Friends, long parted, are united. 
 And fond hopes that have been blighted 
 Rise once more, by love rekindled, 
 
 Round the homely cheerful fire; 
 And the rosy children's voices 
 Tell how each young heart rejoices 
 As the mirthful Christmas Carol 
 
 Soundeth higher still and higher.
 
 The Old Year and the New. 
 
 Brother clasps the hand of brother, 
 Daughter lends new charms to mother, 
 
 While the father looks with pride 
 
 Upon the dear long-absent son ; 
 Many a tender, holy feeling 
 Springs in every heart, revealing 
 
 Gleams of what the Child of Nazareth 
 " * For a sinful world hath done. 
 
 May bright Christmas still continue 
 By such joys as these to win you — 
 Gentle souls ! — from every sorrow 
 
 As each year it comes again ; 
 And to you may grace be given 
 By the Lord of earth and heaven, 
 To fulfil with joy the tidings — 
 
 " Peace on earth, goodwill to men." 
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 He rests upon his bed. 
 
 Low lies his snowy head — 
 The poor Old Year ! he soon must pass away, 
 
 Yet not without a tear. 
 
 He leaves this earthly sphere, 
 For we have sported with him many a day.
 
 Occasional Poems. 
 
 We loved him when he came, 
 When " New Year " was his name, 
 
 And he was full of youth's exulting pride ; 
 And now that he is old, 
 Our love has grown tenfold, 
 
 And anxiously we watch by his bedside. 
 
 For he to us has been 
 
 A kindly year, I ween ; 
 And though he could not always make us smile, 
 
 As time wore on he brought 
 
 Fresh joys — till then unsought — 
 Our hearts away from sorrow to beguile. 
 
 But see ! the midnight hour 
 
 Hath shorn him of his power, — 
 One long and deep-drawn sigh, and he is gone ! 
 
 While through the open door. 
 
 Just when the strife is o'er, 
 Old Time brings in a sttiiling little one. 
 
 This is the New-born Year ; 
 
 And though we shed a tear. 
 And think how soon the good Old Year has flown. 
 
 We'll through the night prolong. 
 
 Our sounds of hopeful song. 
 And gladly make the fair New Year our own.
 
 The Smile of a Friend. 
 
 Then welcome, New Year bright ! 
 
 May every heart be light 
 That hails thy coming ere the merry morn ; 
 
 May each one — young and old — 
 
 Taste gladness yet untold, 
 And bless the happy day when thou wert born. 
 
 THE SMILE OF A FRIEND. 
 
 When cares or afflictions our short lives have clouded. 
 And sighing we almost wish life at an end ; 
 
 When round us, unnumbered, dark sorrows are crowded, - 
 How sweet to the heart comes the smile of a friend. 
 
 It breaks through the clouds that are hovering o'er us, 
 Like sunshine it drives every sorrow away ; 
 
 Dispels the dark visions that floated before us, 
 And bids us look forth to a happier day. 
 
 'Tis sunshine indeed, and though few words be spoken, 
 It speaks for itself and its story is true ; 
 
 Of brotherly love 'tis a beautiful token, 
 
 And many a good thought does its shining renew.
 
 lo Occasional Poems. 
 
 It brings back the days of our youth to our vision, 
 
 And mem'ries of schooldays steal round us once more ; 
 
 It bids us look up to that Country elysian 
 
 Where true friends will meet when life's journey is o'er. 
 
 Come, lads ! we'll be blithesome and drive away sorrow, 
 When friends are despondent we'll give them a hand, 
 
 And many a kind word will repay us to-morrow 
 For bringing them safe, in love's vessel, to land. 
 
 How light beat the hearts that can thank Him who made 
 us — 
 
 Who bade lovely friendship our footsteps attend — 
 
 And, when foes of peace and contentment invade us, 
 
 Can conquer them all, through the smile of a friend ! 
 
 TO A LARK. 
 
 What ails my little warbler } 
 
 He singeth not to-day, 
 From his cage beside the window here, 
 
 His carol sweet and gay.
 
 To a Lark. 1 1 
 
 He is longing for the freedom 
 
 He used to know and love, 
 When his home was in the woodlands wide, 
 
 His cage the sky above. 
 
 V^^^ ^h, well ! ' my tiny minstrel, 
 I sympathise with thee ; 
 I, too, am weak and weary now. 
 And long so to be free. 
 
 Far from the giant buildings 
 That half shut out the sun. 
 
 Where men like slaves must labour on, 
 And toil is never done. 
 
 I long to greet the meadows 
 
 Wherein a child I played ; 
 To quench my thirst at the silver well. 
 
 To wander through the glade ; 
 
 To hear the bells at evening 
 
 Ring out so sweet and low ; 
 To sit beside the stream, and hear 
 * The music of its flow.
 
 12 Occasional Poems. 
 
 But ah ! my little singer, 
 
 My hopes, like thine, are vain ; 
 
 I toil for men with book and pen. 
 Bound down by labour's chain. 
 
 I see no sight to cheer me 
 In dusty rooms like these ; 
 
 I have no solace but to hear 
 Thy tinkling melodies. 
 
 Then deem me not too selfish 
 If I feed and keep thee here — 
 
 The only thing that bids me cling 
 To a sweeter atmosphere ! 
 
 DUTY AND DELIGHT 
 
 What tender sweetness fills thy joyful strain, 
 High-soaring lark that gladdeneth all the field ; 
 Whose care it is to guard thy mate, and shield 
 
 Thy first-born brood from hunger and from pain.
 
 The Fotintain of Love. 13 
 
 Thine eyes enraptured show a heart full fain, 
 My gallant boy, when eager budding youth 
 Brings thy first journey through the realms of truth, 
 
 To view God's works, by learning's light made plain. 
 
 Thou hidest thy thrice-happy looks in vain. 
 
 Shy, jiew-made bride, when first thy household cares 
 - Are mingled with thy gentle hopes and prayers 
 For hirn^ whose kisses on thy rose-lips rain. 
 
 O ! joy fills all things when the wondrous light 
 Of youth is thrown upon life's rugged ways ; 
 And evermore those are the dearest days 
 
 When Love and Youth crown Duty with Delight. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN OF LOVE. 
 
 "There is but one true love," the poet saith, 
 
 "All other loves are vain. 
 And if that first true love go down to death, 
 
 It comes not back again.
 
 14 Occasional Poems. 
 
 "All other loves are but the shadows frail 
 
 Of this most glorious one, — 
 Mere shadows, which, compared, seem poor and pale,- 
 
 Like moonbeams to the sun." 
 
 But, O my poet ! I would live my life 
 
 Of sorrow o'er again 
 To teach one lesson of its lingering strife 
 
 To weary-hearted men. 
 
 I too have felt the first love's early glow, 
 
 Its peace so true and mild, 
 Aye, even in the golden long-ago. 
 
 When I was but a child. 
 
 One face for ever lighted all my dreams ; 
 
 One heart to mine beat true ; 
 One smile to-day before my vision beams. 
 
 As then 'twas wont to do. 
 
 One gentle hand, for ever in my own. 
 Those dreams still bring to me ; 
 
 And when I wake, to find myself alone, 
 My tears fall fast and free.
 
 The Fountain of Love. 1 5 
 
 One dark brown tress amid my treasures now 
 
 Like some saint's relic lies, — 
 It used to rest upon that placid brow 
 
 Whence beamed my lady's eyes. 
 
 One woman thus I loved in youth, — and yet 
 
 Am loyal to another, — 
 For her on whom my earliest love was set — 
 
 Thank heaven ! — was my mother. 
 
 From her sweet self my earliest vision springs 
 
 Of woman pure and high. 
 To her first love my spirit ever clings, 
 
 Let grief, or joy, be nigh. 
 
 Stranger or friend — whichever thou may'st be, 
 Whose eyes glance o'er my page — 
 
 Accept this one consoling truth from me, 
 'Twill live in youth or age. 
 
 Our God " fulfils Himself in many ways," 
 And though He take, in pain. 
 
 From thy poor soul the joys of early days, 
 He can give back again.
 
 1 6 Occasional Poems. 
 
 He bids thee only keep thy own heart true 
 
 To one divine ideal, 
 And then the purest love thy childhood knew 
 
 Shall make all others real ! 
 
 SEA AND RIVER. 
 
 Man ! thou art like the ever-restless sea. 
 
 Too often madly striving to be free 
 
 From those strong bounds which God hath set apart 
 
 To guide and guard thy wild and wandering heart. 
 
 A sweet, brief calm thou knowest when a boy. 
 
 The world before thee opens, full of joy ; 
 
 But, all too soon, thy heart, with passion warm, 
 
 Nears manhood's noon, and feels the inward storm 
 
 Which either gives thee energy at length. 
 
 And makes thy soul majestic in its strength. 
 
 Or dashes thee about, until at last 
 
 Thy hopes, affections, virtues — all, are cast 
 
 Upon the hard, cold rocks that round thee lie. 
 
 In shame or dark obscurity to die ! 
 
 It is not so with woman — she doth seem 
 To move along more like a quiet stream. 
 She springeth, pure and beauteous, from God's hand,
 
 The Seven Years' War. 17 
 
 And passeth, in her childhood, through the land, 
 
 For ever making music as she goes, 
 
 And shedding light upon the darkest woes. 
 
 The young who strive, the old who sigh and think 
 
 O'er bygone days, love from her soul to drink 
 
 The clear refreshment innocence supplies, 
 
 And, having drunk, ,to nobler actions rise. 
 
 But O, when childhood's journey is passed o'er, 
 
 How beautiful she seems, as by the shore 
 
 Of Youth she passes ; who hath tongue to tell 
 
 The power, O man ! — that holds thee with its spell, 
 
 The glory that her purity reveals 
 
 When, like the crystal stream, her love first steals 
 
 Into the storm-tossed ocean of thy soul — 
 
 The billows of thy sorrow cease to roll, 
 
 The storm abates, the world's loud thunders cease, 
 
 And all its bitter strife is lost in wondrous peace. 
 
 THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR. 
 
 When the busy day had fled. 
 By my lonely hearth I read 
 How a land of might and glory. 
 Famous in the world's great story, 
 
 Once endured, 'mid crime and tears. 
 War's grim rule for seven years.
 
 1 8 Occasional Poems. 
 
 How through every darkened day 
 He maintained relentless sway ; 
 How the brave, the strong, the cherished, 
 At his bidding fought and perished ; 
 Father, husband, lover, son, 
 Swept away with spear and gun ! 
 
 How the night would often seem 
 Like some wild and ghastly dream, 
 
 When the thought of dead and dying, 
 
 In the mellow moonlight lying. 
 
 Filled with anguish dark and deep. 
 Hearts that longed for rest and sleep ! 
 
 While I wondered more and more 
 How the weary nations bore 
 That long reign of grief and terror, 
 Born of earthly crime and error, 
 Glimpses of another fight 
 Came from out thfe fitful light. 
 
 From those glimpses grew the thought 
 Of the good and evil wrought 
 
 By the mighty war which rages. 
 
 All unknown to history's pages, 
 
 When the foes of heavenly truth 
 Storm the fiery soul of youth.
 
 The Seven Years' War, 19 
 
 Seven years of youthful strife 
 • Shape the course of h uman life ; 
 What men are in this endeavour 
 They will oft remain for ever, — 
 
 Base or noble, chained or free ! 
 
 All, great Youth, depends on thee ! 
 
 Anxious angels watch this war, 
 From celestial thrones afar, — 
 See the good and ill contending 
 For the mastery never ending ; 
 
 See the world's great powers allied 
 With the dark and evil side. 
 
 Men are blind, but angels know 
 What a dreadful weight of woe 
 Waits for those who strive to follow 
 Earthly phantoms vain and hollow. 
 And upon youth's battlefield. 
 For their sake like cowards yield ! 
 
 Angel-songs alone can say 
 All the joys that light his way 
 Who, with soul by grace made glorious, 
 From each fight comes forth victorious, 
 And because he perseveres, 
 Wins the war of seven years !
 
 20 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Life and death to him shall be 
 
 Truly noble, truly free ; 
 Duty, Love, and Peace shall guide him, 
 Through the years, and kneel beside him, 
 
 When life's slowly-sinking sun 
 
 Tells him all his toil is done ! 
 
 THE ANGEL-MOTHER. 
 
 When life is dark, and all seems drear, 
 And none are near to comfort me, 
 
 A voice from Heaven I seem to hear, 
 A vision bright I see. 
 
 Descending from the " Better Land," 
 I see my mother's radiant form ; 
 
 I kiss her cheek, I hold her hand. 
 And silenced is the storm. 
 
 No matter what my sorrows are. 
 
 No matter though temptation strong 
 
 Be with my better self at war, 
 I always hear her song.
 
 The Angel- Mother, 21 
 
 It sounds above the worldly din, 
 
 And charms my heart with holy love ; 
 
 It turns my thoughts from care and sin, 
 And bids me look above. 
 
 It bids me work with ardour great, 
 Submissive to the Master's will ; 
 
 Accept with joy my earthly state, 
 And well mv task fulfil. 
 
 It shows me how my humble lyre. 
 If used fair Virtue's worth to own, 
 
 May one day sound amongst the choir 
 Beside our Saviour's throne. 
 
 And, when the clouds disperse once more. 
 She leaves me, with her angel-smile, 
 
 My heart made glad, my sorrows o'er, — 
 And bids me wait awhile. 
 
 Then cheerfully I go my way ; 
 
 And singing pass I through the throng, 
 And thank my God, and beg one day 
 
 In Heaven to hear her song.
 
 22 Occasional Poems. 
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 I am sinking, sister, sinking — 
 Dying ere my youth is fled ; 
 
 I can see your form but dimly, 
 As you kneel beside my bed. 
 
 For mine eyes are glassy growing, 
 And my feet are stiff and cold. 
 
 While my frame is racked with fever, 
 And a pain words leave untold. 
 
 When the winds of Spring were sighing, 
 I was light of heart and strong ; 
 
 Now the Summer leaves lie dying, 
 And I hear the angels' song. 
 
 When the primrose pale was springing, 
 All my thoughts-were of this earth, — 
 
 Now, each shortening day is bringing 
 Dreams of my eternal birth. 
 
 I have sighed for love and pleasure, 
 In the days now passed away ; 
 
 But the joys of earth seem hollow, 
 As I think of them to-day.
 
 At the Golden Gate. 23 
 
 And methinks, if I were given 
 
 Strength to live my life again, 
 I would train myself for heaven, 
 
 Far from all the haunts of men ! 
 
 Yet, my sister, let God guide you ; 
 
 For I may not rashly deem 
 That the world of love and labour 
 
 Is a false and fruitless dream. 
 
 In the home, as in the cloister, 
 Burns the fire of love divine. 
 
 Both count saints among their children, 
 Both are part of His design. 
 
 And the life of calm seclusion, 
 That is filled with grace for one, 
 
 May be aimless to another. 
 
 With the world's keen race to run. 
 
 I will only pray, my sister, 
 
 That when you are left behind, 
 
 You may win your crown of glory, 
 In the life for you designed.
 
 24 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Walking onward meekly, purely, 
 Like a pilgrim through the land ; 
 
 Gathering flowers of holy fragrance 
 To be placed in God's own hand ! 
 
 I am weary now, — so weary, 
 I can speak but little more ; 
 
 Pray, O pray ! for me, dear sister. 
 Till this last long strife is o'er ! 
 
 Raise my aching head a little, — 
 Let me gaze with these poor eyes 
 
 On the white-robed band descending 
 From yon strangely shining skies. 
 
 See them now ! they come to meet me ! 
 
 Hear the wondrous music swell, 
 Kiss me once again, sweet sister ; 
 
 Kiss me once, and now farewell ! 
 
 Life is sweet, but death is sweeter, 
 When it leads to life divine — 
 
 Angels, pray for me and guard me ; 
 King of Angels, make me Thine !
 
 The White- Haired Singer. 25 
 
 THE WHITE-HAIRED SINGER. 
 
 (Written for the first anniversarj- of Longfellow's death.) 
 
 A year ago to-day 
 
 A Poet passed away — 
 A Poet who was master of his lyre ; 
 
 And though that lyre be still 
 
 Its strains remain to thrill 
 And lift our hearts and aspirations higher. 
 
 How gloriously he sang, 
 
 And how the nations rang, 
 For many a year with echoes of his song 
 
 Remember we full well 
 
 And own the magic spell 
 Which charms and elevates the toiling throng. 
 
 But now, alas ! no more 
 From brave Columbia's shore 
 
 Comes, borne o'er the Atlantic wide his lay ; 
 The white-haired singer sleeps. 
 And still our England weeps 
 
 With her sad daughter o'er the watery way.
 
 26 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Yet while our eyes grow dim 
 Whene'er we think of him, 
 
 We gather consolation, for we know 
 His name will always stand 
 Revered in many a land — 
 
 His priceless songs will lessen human woe. 
 
 True poets never die, 
 
 But dwell with God on high — 
 Beneath His smile whose lessons they have taught ; 
 
 And looking down on earth 
 
 At every morning's birth, 
 See many a good deed through their teaching wrought. 
 
 I speak of those whose song 
 Has never championed wrong, 
 
 Or marred the holy melody of love ; 
 And surely he was one. 
 For pure and bright he shone 
 
 With virtue's radiance mirrored from above. 
 
 If more but knew the power 
 With which in silent hour 
 
 His tender strains can solace weary hearts, 
 The world would nobler grow, 
 And every heart would know 
 
 The peace which gentle sympathy imparts.
 
 The King's Visit. 27 
 
 Already thousands know 
 
 His worth ; an^ time will show 
 That through the days to come Longfellow's name, 
 
 Enshrined with grateful care, 
 
 Will shine — a jewel rare ! — 
 Upon the kingly coronal of Fame. 
 
 Full many a poet's lays 
 
 Will swell with joyous praise 
 Of God who gave this minstrel to our age ; 
 
 And nations, yet unborn. 
 
 Shall see his name adorn 
 With hallowed glory, history's pregnant page. 
 
 Long will that name be blest, 
 
 While sweetly he doth rest. 
 From earth and all its sorrows far away ; 
 
 And men of every clime. 
 
 Touched by his lays sublime, 
 Bless him who died a year ago to-day ! 
 
 THE KING'S VISIT. 
 
 (Founded on the story of Charles V, of Germany and I. of Spain. The word " King ' 
 is here used instead of " Emperor," as being more simple and musical. 
 
 In Seville the old and splendid, 
 Mirth and music reign supreme, 
 
 In a radiant glory blended, 
 
 Fair as some enchanted dream.
 
 28 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Joyous hearts find sweetest voices 
 On this gladsome day to sing, 
 
 Every loyal soul rejoices 
 At the coming of the King. 
 
 See, he comes ! men bend before him. 
 Each one with most humble mien ; 
 
 Till emotions strange come o'er him 
 As those lowly heads are seen. 
 
 For he thinks how vain and fleeting 
 Are their homage and his fame ; 
 
 And he hears not half their greeting. 
 As they shout and sing his name. 
 
 He is thinking of his childhood. 
 Ere he trod his earthly throne ; 
 
 Of that chapel in th^ wildwood, 
 Where he used to kneel alone. 
 
 There, he knows, a King far greater 
 Reigns in silence day by day ; 
 
 There, he knows, the world's Creator 
 Blesses all who come to pray.
 
 The King's Visit. 29 
 
 There, he knows, His voice is pleading 
 Evermore, men's hearts to win ; 
 
 Yet they pass Him all unheeding, 
 Sell His choicest gifts for sin. 
 
 There, the birds alone are singing, 
 - There, the banners are the trees, 
 While one little bell is ringing 
 ^ ,Faintly in the morning breeze. 
 
 Hail your king, ye joyous people ! 
 
 Soon your merry day is o'er ; 
 Clash, ye bells ! in tower and steeple- 
 
 Ye shall hail the King no more ! 
 
 He hath trod your streets the last time. 
 He hath passed beyond your town ; 
 
 Wearied out with worldly pastime. 
 He hath laid aside his crown. 
 
 In that chapel in the wildwood 
 
 He is kneeling as of yore, 
 While the peace that crowned his childhood 
 
 Fills his heart and brain once more.
 
 3© Occasional Poevis. 
 
 He hath joined the cloistered brothers, 
 He will live for God alone, — 
 
 Toil and pray amongst the others. 
 Unregarded and unknown ! 
 
 Greater kings have lived and flourished, 
 Greater rulers held their sway ; 
 
 Yet their majesty hath perished. 
 They were children of a day. 
 
 But to this wise monarch's story 
 Still my fancy closely clings. 
 
 For he gave up earth's best glory 
 To the King above all kings ! 
 
 AN ANGEL'S NAME. 
 
 You turned away your radiant face. 
 Then looked at me with blame, 
 
 When I to your angelic grace 
 Once gave an angel-name.
 
 An AngeVs Name. 31 
 
 You thought of those who reign above, 
 
 And said it was not meet 
 That I should call my earthly Love 
 
 "My Guardian- Angel sweet.'' 
 
 Ah, well ! be sure I never meant 
 To slight what God had given, — 
 
 I ne'er forgot the Spirit sent 
 To guide my soul to Heaven. 
 
 But, looking back upon my life, 
 You ever seemed to be 
 
 A second Angel, 'mid the strife 
 'Twixt care and sin and me. 
 
 I cannot think of boyhood's days 
 
 Without recalling too 
 The gentle smile that met my gaze 
 
 When first you crossed my view. 
 
 That smile of yours ne'er lost its power,- 
 
 It followed me afar. 
 And shone through many a sunless hour 
 
 As shone the eastern star.
 
 32 Occasional Poems. 
 
 'Tis true I followed not its light ; 
 
 'Tis true I did not tread 
 At first within the pathway bright 
 
 To which that smile had led. 
 
 I gazed on other faces, Love, 
 And all but yours grew cold ; 
 
 I journeyed through fresh places, Love, 
 But none were like the old. 
 
 Through all my wanderings, evermore, 
 Your early smile came back 
 
 To guide me o'er a treacherous shore 
 To manhood's firmer track. 
 
 As Guardian-Angels guide mankind 
 Across this Vale of Tears, 
 
 You guided me — a wanderer blind — 
 Through youth's uncertain years. 
 
 And since I gained your hand and heart. 
 
 My life is made for me 
 A Land, from all the world apart, 
 
 Beside a sunlit sea :
 
 Love and Anger. 33 
 
 A glorious land, where all is blest, 
 Where love and virtue meet ; 
 
 Where cheerful toil and peaceful rest 
 Each blissful day complete. 
 
 Then wonder not that I should steal 
 
 A heavenly word to tell 
 The peace which you have made me feel,- 
 
 The praise you earn so well. 
 
 And cloud no more your radiant face 
 To look at me with blame, — 
 
 For you who fill an angel's place 
 Deserve an angel's name ! 
 
 LOVE AND ANGER. 
 
 O, breathe no more that angry word ! 
 
 For grief will reign if such be said : 
 But know, when Anger's voice is heard 
 
 The Spirit of true Love hath fled. 
 
 I know he may return again. 
 
 With sweeter smile and greater power ; 
 Yet he may fail to conquer pain 
 
 Created in a careless hour.
 
 34 Occasional Poems. 
 
 When years have passed, if Death lay low 
 The gentle one to thee so dear, 
 
 Thy own hot words will swell thy woe, 
 While lonely weeping o'er her bier. 
 
 Or, if God call thee first away, 
 
 She will not bless thy memory more 
 
 If words like those thy lips would say 
 Have often pierced her leal heart's core. 
 
 Our life hath more of night than day, 
 Its days have more of shower than sun ; 
 
 But kindness is a lamp whose ray 
 
 Will beam when days of joy are done. 
 
 Then let thy kindness brighter shine 
 To-day, when skies are dark above ; 
 
 And light with peace the face benign 
 Of her who lives for home and love. 
 
 Thus, trampling down all selfish pride, 
 A noble victory thou wilt win. 
 
 Gladden the dear one by thy side. 
 And hear a voice say from within, —
 
 The Friend Unseen. 35 
 
 " Well done ! Thy kind and manly word 
 True blessings on thy life hath shed ; 
 
 For know, when Love's sweet voice is heard, 
 God's angel, Peace, thy way doth tread ! " 
 
 THE FRIEND UNSEEN. 
 
 I've scanned the page of many a bard 
 
 Whose strain melodious rings, 
 From Shakespeare to the lowliest one 
 
 That in our own day sings. 
 I love their lore ; yet love far more 
 
 Than all the rest, I ween, 
 The prince of great Columbia's choir — 
 
 My wondrous friend unseen. 
 
 He was the first whose note I heard 
 
 In boyhood's early days. 
 When earth seemed still a paradise 
 
 To my unclouded gaze. 
 I traced with beating heart each step 
 
 Of sad Evangeline, 
 Then learned to prize and longed to meet 
 
 The friend I'd never seen.
 
 36 Occasional Poems. 
 
 The " Voices of the Night " to me 
 
 Were music wondrous sweet, 
 I heard the " Village Blacksmith " song 
 
 Ring down the quiet street. 
 I watched the royal slave expire 
 
 The " ungathered rice " beside, 
 And saw the mild-eyed angel, sent 
 
 To tame King Robert's pride. 
 
 To me the " wild sweet " belfry's chimes 
 
 Brought dreams of days of old. 
 For I had heard the story of 
 
 The Flemish warriors told. 
 I saw the flower of Flanders meet 
 
 On Courtrai's honoured field, — 
 A nation's pride with Right allied — 
 
 To bid the Frenchmen yield. 
 
 And not alone on olden days 
 
 My poet shed his light, — 
 A hundred songs of homely ways 
 
 Flit through my mind to-night. 
 " The Seaside and the Fireside " blend 
 
 Their charms my brain within, 
 And youth's first music lingers yet. 
 
 About the " Wayside Inn."
 
 The Friend Unseen. 37 
 
 The love of little children, too, 
 
 Made holy his old age ; 
 The strength of " white simplicity " 
 
 Shone ever on his page. 
 In cultured use of simple words 
 
 He never seemed to fail, 
 Yet brought some new and subtile charm 
 
 To every song or tale. 
 
 But most of all I love my friend 
 
 For sorrow bravely borne, — 
 Because he laboured to the end, 
 
 When heart from heart was torn. 
 " Footsteps of Angels " strengthen me, 
 
 As oft they strengthened him 
 Who heard them, as I hear them now, 
 
 Amid the twilight dim. 
 
 O ! wondrous is the power of song — 
 
 Like faith itself it seems ; 
 He sang to me across the sea. 
 
 And mirrored all my dreams ; 
 By sympathy of soul I dare 
 
 To claim him as my friend 
 Whose comradeship I shall not share 
 
 Until the journey's end.
 
 38 Occasional Poems. 
 
 " Look not," my soul, " upon the past, 
 
 It comes not back again ; " 
 "Wisely improve the present; " toil 
 
 To raise thy fellow men. 
 " Go forth to meet the future with 
 
 A fearless manly heart ; " 
 And let thy " footprints on the sands " 
 
 Attest thy noble part. 
 
 These, and a hundred lessons more, 
 
 Flowed from the singer's lips, 
 Who more than brother seemed to me 
 
 'Mid sorrow's first eclipse. 
 The noblest, tenderest, bravest bard 
 
 That in our age hath been. 
 Was he who thrilled my youthful soul- 
 
 My constant friend unseen ! 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Peace walked with me along the ways 
 
 Of my beloved, early years ; 
 
 Peace mingled sweetness with my tears, 
 And filled with beauty all my days.
 
 Peace. 39 
 
 Time passed with swiftness, and ere long 
 The battle of my life began ; 
 I felt myself at length a man, 
 
 And took my place among the throng. 
 
 I look my place with youthful pride ; 
 
 I fought an earthly fight, and won ; 
 
 But, when the deadly fray was done, 
 Peace stood no longer by my side. 
 
 I sought her long, but all in vain. 
 
 The years went by ; she came no more ; 
 While I grew rich in golden store. 
 
 But felt within a ceaseless pain : 
 
 For well I knew that I had fought 
 
 For nothing but the world's renown ; 
 And, in my haste to win its crown, 
 
 A thousand evil deeds had wrought. 
 
 I left the City's strife and din. 
 
 And to my childhood's home returned — 
 That home for which I had not yearned 
 
 Through all my selfish years of sin.
 
 4° Occasional Poems. 
 
 I knelt before the altar-throne 
 
 Where in my nobler days I prayed ; 
 
 The birds around sweet music made, 
 While I wept on for hours alone. 
 
 I rose at length— a new life planned 
 
 Within my brain — when by my side 
 Lo I Peace stood smiling, glorified, 
 
 And led me gently by the hand. 
 
 And now she walks with me the ways 
 Of glorious manhood's ripened years. 
 And mingles sweetness with my tears, 
 
 And fills with beauty all my days. 
 
 THE LILY AND .THE ROSE. 
 
 When on earth is born a little maiden, 
 Comes an unseen angel from the skies ; 
 
 With sweet blessings of Our Father laden, 
 Quick to greet the little one she flies.
 
 The Lily and the Rose. 41 
 
 Flowers, full of fragrance and of beauty, 
 Gives she to that little helpless child : 
 
 Guiding stars, to show the path of duty. 
 When the world is stormy, dark, and wild. 
 
 And the fairest of those flowers of Heaven 
 Are the lily and the blushing rose ; 
 
 For a purpose holy they are given, 
 And their value well the angel knows. 
 
 Shines the lily with a saint-like whiteness. 
 Pure and spotless comes it from God's hand ; 
 
 And the rose doth glow with ruddy brightness :— 
 Empress of the flowers of our land. 
 
 Purity, of virtues is most glorious. 
 And the lily is its emblem dear ; 
 
 It will lead a maiden on, victorious. 
 Through life's battle drying every tear. 
 
 While the rose of beauty, brightly beaming 
 On her face, will glorify her smile ; — 
 
 Soothing many a heart with sadness teeming. 
 Making pain or sorrow sleep awhile.
 
 A2 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Maiden ! let those flowers be united, 
 Ever, through thy Hfe, in joy or pain ; 
 
 Treasure them, that they may ne'er be blighted, 
 Never sell them for a worldly gain. 
 
 By thy heavenly purity and beauty, 
 Guide thou others, with thyself, along, 
 
 Through the ways of goodness and of duty, 
 To the land of never-ending song ! 
 
 THE POET'S REWARD. 
 
 The worldling said unto the bard, 
 
 " Why waste thy precious time in song, 
 To please the ever-changing throng ? — 
 
 For they will give thee no reward." 
 
 The bard was silent for a while ; 
 
 Then, with a touch of magic fire. 
 His fingers swept the tuneful lyre, 
 
 And he made answer, with a smile.
 
 The Pncfs Reward. 43 
 
 " I ask not their rewards," he said, 
 
 " The Master deigned to send me here 
 To teach, and by my songs to cheer 
 
 The priceless souls for whom He bled. 
 
 "I am the servaht — He the Lord, — 
 And I must do my duty well 
 Whilst in this fleeting world I dwell, 
 
 Antf trust in Him for my reward. 
 
 " I know 'tis hard to sing at times 
 
 When faithless children of this earth 
 Deny the beauty, truth, or worth 
 
 Of poets' noblest, stateliest rhymes. 
 
 " But what of that ? All are not so ; 
 
 And over some— thank God, not few !- 
 A song falls like the morning dew 
 
 And cools the fever of their woe. 
 
 "And so I do not sing in vain, 
 
 But scatter songs upon my way. 
 And find glad listeners every day, 
 
 Amid life's sunshine, storm, or rain.
 
 44 Occasional Poems. 
 
 " These songs, perchance, may bring sweet tears 
 And memories of days of yore 
 To some whose time of joy seemed o'er, 
 
 And give them peace unknown for years. 
 
 " Or some poor wanderer, steeped in sin, 
 Responding to my simple lay 
 May feel his heart inclined to pray, 
 
 And, cleansed, a nobler life begin. 
 
 " To help my brethren in the strife 
 
 'Gainst sin, or sorrow, dark and drear. 
 To teach them none but God to fear. 
 Shall be the objects of my life. 
 
 "And for refreshment I will drink 
 
 From streams of song which bards of old 
 Have poured from minds sublime and bold ; 
 
 And I will be content to think 
 
 " That God, who unto me hath given 
 
 The depth of grief, the height of mirth, — 
 If I but do His work on earth, 
 
 Will give me my reward in Heaven ! "
 
 Persevere. 
 
 45 
 
 PERSEVER?:. 
 
 Brother ! choose the path of duly, 
 Keep that path, and have no fear ; 
 
 Life will show thee all its beauty 
 If thou wilt but persevere. 
 
 When dark clouds are hanging o'er thee, 
 And thy way seems dim and drear, 
 
 Think of Heaven that lies before thee, — 
 Strive for that, and persevere. 
 
 Grieve not, though thy lot be lowly, 
 And thou toilest year by year, — 
 
 Has not God made labour holy ? — 
 Do thy best, and persevere. 
 
 Be thou Statesman, Artist, Poet, 
 Hold thy own vocation dear ; 
 
 Thou hast genius ! Toil will show it ; 
 Help thy brethren, persevere ! 
 
 God has given all His creatures 
 Duties, loving, true and clear ; 
 
 Every state has noble features. 
 Choose thy own, and persevere !
 
 46 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Make each day in life a witness, 
 Spreading tidings far and near 
 
 Of the glory and the fitness 
 Of the watchword — Persevere ! 
 
 THE REBOUND. 
 
 Against a stately forest tree, 
 
 That long through storms had held its own, 
 When but a child, I flung a stone. 
 
 Which, bounding backwards, wounded me. 
 
 The tree bore not the slightest trace 
 
 Of injury upon its bark, 
 
 Yet I for months retained the mark 
 Left by that wound upon my face. 
 
 Long afterwards, a foolish dream 
 
 Had half destroyed my sense of right, 
 And, dazzled by its visions bright, 
 
 I rowed against Fate's mighty stream !
 
 The Rebound. 47 
 
 I had a friend most fond and true, 
 
 Who gently showed me where I erred ; 
 But, all by pride and anger stirred, 
 
 At him a word of scorn I threw. 
 
 He stood serenely, like the oak. 
 
 Surrounded by the golden light 
 
 Of conscious truth and sterling right. 
 
 And braved, unscathed, the maddening stroke. 
 
 But I — though years have passed away, 
 
 And Friendship binds our souls again,- 
 Still feel the self-inflicted pain 
 
 Shoot through my weary heart to-day. 
 
 And often, when I hear him speak 
 
 Words, noble, manly, sweet and wise. 
 With goodness beaming from his eyes, 
 
 "There comes a blush upon my cheek: 
 
 While Conscience crushes all my frame, 
 As when that cruel word of scorn 
 Drove through my heart the double thorn 
 
 Of keen remorse and lowering shame !
 
 48 Occasional Poetns. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF LILY-MARY. 
 
 God sent me Lily-Mary 
 
 In Youth's most wayward day, 
 To comfort me and guide me 
 
 Along the narrow way. 
 Her voice was thrilling music, 
 
 Her love was half divine, 
 And in her eyes so tender 
 
 The light of truth did shine. 
 
 She came to help and cheer me 
 
 When all was dark around. 
 And in the home she made me 
 
 My youth's first peace was found. 
 We toiled and loved together 
 
 For two unclouded years, 
 And then my woeful heart returned 
 
 To loneliness and tears. 
 
 An angel-child had wandered 
 
 To earth from realms above, — 
 Had come to crown with glory 
 
 Our new and wondrous love. 
 Alas ! for Lily-Mary ! 
 
 Her babe scarce saw the day 
 Before the gentle mother 
 
 By death was borne away.
 
 The Ballad of Lily- Mary. 49 
 
 Upon the mount of gladness 
 
 In Summer's golden noon, 
 The sudden storm had found me, 
 
 And raged around me soon. 
 With memory's flashing lightning 
 
 Came thunders of despair. 
 And with them both I battled 
 "In deep'ning darkness there. 
 
 I saw a " silvery lining " 
 
 Within the clouds so black — 
 The baby-smile so radiant, 
 
 To earth had called me back : 
 The mother's eyes looked on me 
 
 From that sweet infant face ; 
 I still had one to live for, 
 
 Through life's uncertain race. 
 
 O fleeting, vain illusion ! 
 O hope that soon betrayed ! 
 
 'Twas only for a moment 
 The angry storm delayed : 
 
 The little face grew thinner. 
 And shorter came the breath, 
 
 Until my child — my only hope- 
 Was yielded up to death.
 
 50 Occasional Poems. 
 
 Then madness hovered near me, 
 
 Unseen by those around ; 
 Far deeper ran my sorrow-stream 
 
 Because it gave no sound. 
 I prayed that Death the reaper 
 
 Would strike the fatal blow, 
 And let me share with those I loved 
 
 The grave so sweet and low. 
 
 My thoughts were strange and wayward ; 
 
 But still the fight I won, 
 For on one prayer I stumbled, — 
 
 " God's holy will be done." 
 It rang, through night and morning, 
 
 In my bewildered ears, 
 Until it melted all my heart 
 
 In sweet resigned tears. 
 
 It purified my sorrow. 
 
 It made my pathway plain. 
 For God and for my neighbour 
 
 I rose to life again. 
 I cast mere earthly schemes away, — 
 
 A nobler life begun, — 
 When from my heart I learnt to say, 
 
 " God's holy will be done ! "
 
 The Ballad of Lily -Mary. 51 
 
 I begged at first to labour 
 
 In His own vineyard sweet, 
 Where my dead mother once had longed 
 
 To plant my childish feet. 
 But slowly came the answer 
 
 To my imperfect prayer, — 
 " Not thine to choose the pathway, 
 ~*Thy steps would falter there." 
 
 " Yet shalt thou teach what Sorrow 
 
 Hath now revealed to thee, 
 Go back into the sinful world, 
 
 And strike thy harp for Me. 
 By song the Angels praise Me, 
 
 By song may souls be won, — 
 Go forth, and let thy message be — 
 
 ' God's holy will be done.' " 
 
 The chosen ones of Heaven 
 
 Have heavenly work to do, 
 And my two earth-born-angels 
 
 To their own task were true : 
 And when my heart was breaking 
 
 With wild, unspoken pain, 
 Their memory forced my broken voice 
 
 To music once again.
 
 52 Occasional Poems. 
 
 And now sweet Lily-Mary 
 
 Looks down and pleads for me, 
 The babe that never spoke my name 
 
 Through God my heart can see. — 
 I serve no more the fleeting world, 
 
 His will and theirs are one, 
 They know I only live to sing 
 
 God's holy will be done !
 
 SONGS, 
 
 THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 When daylight hath faded, 
 
 And toiling is done ; 
 While stars from the darkness 
 
 Peep out one by one ; 
 As homewards I journey, 
 
 I look from afar 
 For the clear-shining light 
 
 Of my own Evening Star. 
 
 'Tis not the bright planet 
 
 That beams from above, — 
 I look not so high for 
 
 The star that I love, — 
 'Tis the lamp at the window 
 
 My Mary sits by, 
 And it gains a new light 
 
 From each bonny blue eye.
 
 54 Songs. 
 
 Yes ! the lamp at the window 
 
 Is dearest by far ; 
 For it shines with love's brightness- 
 
 My own Evening Star ! 
 
 I know that around it 
 
 Are waiting for me 
 The three fairest children 
 
 I ever shall see ; 
 By the side of their mother, — 
 
 The dearest and best 
 That ever fond lover 
 
 In boyhood caressed ! 
 
 Then here's to the pleasures 
 
 Of Love's chosen home, 
 And a fig for Bohemians 
 
 Who aimlessly roam ! 
 My joys are far nobler 
 
 Than ever they'll know, 
 And my star will shine on 
 
 Through the dark nights of woe ! 
 
 Yes ! the lamp at the window 
 
 Is dearest by far ; 
 For it shines with love's brightness- 
 
 My own Evening Star !
 
 The Mtisic on the Wind. 55 
 
 THE MUSIC ON THE WIND. 
 
 Last night my heart was filled with woe, 
 My thoughts were all of thee, 
 
 Yet wayward Memory would not show 
 Thy beauteous form to me. 
 
 I strove in vain to call again 
 Thine image to my mind, 
 
 When lo ! a strain of music sweet 
 Came wafted on the wind. 
 
 The memories of our early days 
 Came back — a glorious throng ; 
 
 I saw once more upon thy face 
 The love too deep for song. 
 
 I saw within thine eyes the light 
 That shone for me alone ; 
 
 I lived again that radiant day 
 Which made thee all my own.
 
 S6 Son^s. 
 
 The golden years together spent 
 In one unclouded home, 
 
 That music to my fancy lent 
 Beneath the starry dome. 
 
 And when at last the gladsome strain 
 Ceased ringing in my ears, 
 
 I turned and wandered on affain. 
 With eyes o'erbrimmed with tears. 
 
 My heart was beating wild and fast ; 
 
 My soul was strangely stirred ; 
 Yet as I walked I thankful grew 
 
 For all that I had heard. 
 
 For if earth's music holds the power 
 To bring thy face in view. 
 
 And give me back in one short hour 
 The years of joy we knew, — 
 
 I feel — I know — that when my feet 
 Rest — all these wanderings o'er, 
 
 A strain of heavenly music sweet 
 Will wed our souls once more !
 
 The Toiler's Wife. 57 
 
 THE TOILER'S WIFE. 
 
 My wife looks bright — her heart is hght, 
 
 When Fortune's sun is shining ; 
 And in her face I see the grace 
 
 That loves not dull repining. 
 She gaily sings; and daily brings 
 
 To me a world of gladness ; 
 And drives away, with laughter gay, 
 
 The ghosts of care and sadness. 
 
 And so I live, and so I love ; 
 
 And though the rich may shine. 
 Not one, I know, of them can show 
 
 A wife so blithe as mine. 
 
 But in the hour when life's clouds lower 
 
 Shines forth her virtue's beauty ; 
 For trials serve her soul to nerve, 
 
 And mark the way of duty. 
 With conscience clear, she conquers fear, 
 
 And yields to no blind sorrow ; 
 But oft will say, " Though dark to-day, 
 
 The sun will shine to-morrow." 
 
 And so I live, and so I love ; 
 
 And though the rich may shine, 
 Not one, I know, of them can show 
 
 A wife so true as mine !
 
 58 S07l^S. 
 
 WHY SHOULD I FEAR? 
 
 Why should I fear to bear my part, — 
 
 Why o'er this world repine, 
 When evermore my weary heart 
 
 Can trust, my Love, in thine ? 
 Why should I let the world's neglect 
 
 Bring wrinkles to my brow 
 When thy approving smiles have decked 
 
 My pathway even now ? 
 
 Why should I fear to mount the hills 
 
 Of Duty or of Fame ? 
 A nobler zeal my bosom fills, 
 
 And puts my fears to shame. 
 Shall I not trust the God who gave 
 
 Thy priceless love to me, 
 When near me rolled Despair's dark wave. 
 
 Upon life's lonely sea ? 
 
 For though I did not ask my God 
 
 To crown my life once more, — 
 And though alone I would have trod 
 
 This earth till life was o'er, — 
 True love — that only God sends twice — 
 
 Came back again to me, 
 As when the sun breaks through the ice, 
 
 And sets the brooklet free.
 
 'i 
 
 W/iy Should I Fear ? 59 
 
 Within thy stainless heart He placed 
 
 The gifts revered of yore, 
 Upon thy countenance He traced 
 
 Love's winning smile once more. 
 I heard the thrilling tones of old 
 
 Ring in thy gentle voice, 
 It was as if an angel told 
 ; My sad soul to rejoice. 
 
 I see that light within thine eyes 
 
 I never hoped to see, 
 For He who lights yon golden skies 
 
 Brings back the past to me : 
 And if He work such wonders now, 
 
 "While grace in me is dim, 
 Shall I not kiss thy hopeful brow, 
 
 And learn to trust in Him ? 
 
 Yes ! Why should I not bear my part ? 
 
 Why o'er this world repine, 
 When evermore my weary heart 
 
 Can trust, my Love, in thine ? 
 Why should I let the world's neglect 
 
 Bring wrinkles to my brow. 
 When thy approving smiles have decked 
 
 My pathway even now ?
 
 SONNETS AND 
 SONNET-STANZAS. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 There came an Angel-King to dwell with men ; 
 He gained allegiance through celestial things, 
 And 'neath the shadow of his mighty wings 
 
 The peace of Eden drew near earth again. 
 
 Souls, Godlike, traversed every mount and glen 
 Of changing life, with hearts that knew not fear, 
 Their hopes were great, their aims were high and clear, 
 
 Their lowliest lives had noble features then. 
 
 But O ! if life waxed strong beneath his sway, 
 Far stronger death ! for then the angel strode 
 
 With lifted sword by each true pilgrim's side. 
 And smote the demons by the darkling road ; 
 Then threw the gates of Heaven open wide, 
 And God's own smile became eternal day !
 
 The Double Blessing. 61 
 
 THE DOUBLE BLESSING. 
 (1887.) 
 
 Thy love became my blessing on the day 
 When first I looked upon thy gentle face, 
 And saw in thy young eyes the stainless grace 
 
 Which fleeting years have failed to steal away. 
 
 At morn or night, when kneeling down to pray 
 That love with pure devotion filled the place, 
 And with more love for God there grew apace 
 
 More reverence for the Virgin Queen of May ! 
 
 But Oh ! another joy awaited me 
 
 Upon the threshold of my wedded life ; — 
 
 For God, even in little things, made thee 
 
 Like my dead mother, and through all earth's strife 
 
 I walk as one twice blest, for I can see 
 My mother's virtues living in my wife ! 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF ALFRED, 
 LORD TENNYSON. 
 
 O prince, by right divine, of English song ! 
 
 Most noble, with nobility inborn ; 
 
 Pure-hearted, strong, melodious, free from scorn, 
 Thy wondrous voice hath been our solace long.
 
 62 Sonne fs and Sonnet- Stanzas. 
 
 But now a hush falls on each anxious throng 
 
 Through thy own England on this saddened morn, 
 As thou, with holiest labours spent and worn, 
 
 Layest down the burdens which to life belong. 
 
 O ! mayest thou " see thy Pilot face to face," 
 Now thou hast " crost the bar " so peacefully ! 
 
 And may we — later pilgrims of thy race — 
 
 Cheered by thy songs, with life's tempestuous sea 
 
 Do battle bravely, till by God's own grace 
 We too behold His form and meet with thee ! 
 
 Thursday, October dth, 1892. 
 
 DEEP LOVE, DEEP SORROW. 
 
 Dost thou remember, sweet departed wife. 
 How, in the days when thy most holy love 
 Lifted my heart all earthly things above. 
 
 We talked of two poor souls, whose foolish strife 
 
 O'er little things embittered half their life, 
 And how I, viewing our own peaceful hours, 
 Said to thee " Sweet, there is no love like ours 
 
 In all this world with sin and sorrow rife } " 
 
 Dost thou remember how the gladsome tone 
 Of those repeated words, on many a day 
 Made bright thine eyes, made music in thine ears.?
 
 Sunshine after. Gloom. 63 
 
 And dost thou see me now, amid my tears, 
 Forced by the measure of those words to say 
 That now there is no sorrow like my own ? 
 
 SUNSHINE AFTER GLOOM. 
 
 O sweet spring day, that followeth weeks of rain, 
 I love thee for thyself, when I can see 
 Thy glorious sun, that fills the morn with glee, 
 
 And bids man triumph over grief and pain. 
 
 Exulting in thy splendour, once again 
 I wander gladly o'er the fruitful lea, 
 'Mid smiling flowers and songbirds' melody, 
 
 Returning by the hawthorn-scented lane. 
 
 But O bright day ! — God's gift — I love thee more 
 Because thy wealth of perfume, light, and singing, 
 Is but a type of Hope once more upspringing 
 
 Within my heart, made desolate of yore ! 
 
 For Id ! my Lord, Who to the cross was clinging, 
 
 Brings back the home that sheltered me before.
 
 64 Sonnets and Sonnet- Stanzas. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM BILLINGTON. 
 (Who died January yd^ 1884.) 
 
 The Singer has departed ; and no more ' 
 
 Is heard his voice, so strong and clear and sweet, 
 Cheering the crowds, in factory and in street, 
 
 With melody, as in the days of yore. 
 
 His was a master-mind ; and 'twill be long 
 
 Before old Blackburn, through the smoke and gloom 
 That gather round the busy lathe and loom, 
 
 Shall see another half so bright in song. 
 
 He needs no lays to blazon forth his name, — 
 His own will bear it o'er the sea of time ! 
 
 Yet I, a child of song, to whom he came 
 
 With friendship true and counsel most sublime. 
 
 Would to his memory dedicate this stave, 
 
 And lay my simple wreath upon his grave. 
 
 THE TRINITY OF LOVE. 
 (1894.) 
 
 Once, in my earliest days of wedded life. 
 
 My grateful heart o'erflowed in earnest praise 
 Of God, Who after my young orphan days. 
 
 Gave back my mother's virtues to my wife.
 
 The Lion of Flanders. 65 
 
 The song scarce ended ere a desperate strife 
 
 With death began : he conquered, and the sweet 
 Young soul that in God's pathway kept my feet 
 
 Had passed, and sorrow pierced me Hke a knife. 
 
 The lonely years went on without desire 
 Of any solace in my banishment, 
 Till, lo ! my loved one, thy true soul was sent 
 
 From hers, and life regained its olden fire : 
 
 While I, prostrate, gave thanks to Him who lent 
 
 To three such souls one power to lift me higher ! 
 
 THE LION OF FLANDERS. 
 
 Dear Hendrik Conscience ; Master of Romance ! 
 
 With tender skill thy pen pourtrays the lot 
 
 Of humble life in many a rural spot 
 Where Grief and Joy meet with familiar glance. 
 And when thy country's warriors stern advance 
 
 At thy behest, and battle waxes hot. 
 
 Scarce even our own valiant Walter Scott, 
 In Ivanhoe, with thee could break a lance ! 
 
 Lion of Flanders ! how thine image glows, 
 
 True Golden Knight ! upon the matchless page 
 
 Of Conscience, — this new Iliad in prose. 
 
 Whence streams the light of that heroic age 
 When French oppression bred the conquering rage 
 
 With which the guildsmen slew their plundering foes !
 
 66 Sonnets and Sonnet-Stanzas. 
 
 JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE. 
 
 Amongst the workmen-poets of our land 
 He stands — a Prince by nature, as by name ; 
 A bright star in the firmament of fame, 
 
 Shedding a radiance beautiful and grand ! 
 
 Though lowly born, his was a master's hand ; 
 And wondrously he swept the heaven-sent lyre, 
 As, now with sweetness, then with martial fire, 
 
 He sang the songs that so beloved stand. 
 
 While frail in life, he had a noble mind, 
 For nobly rings the music of his song ; 
 
 He laboured for the welfare of mankind, 
 A champion of the weak against the strong. 
 
 Long may those sweet and fervent songs endure 
 
 That show his " love for freedom and the poor." 
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 Hail ! brightest star of multitudes immense. 
 How grandly in the firmament of life 
 Thou shinest o'er the scenes of earthly strife, 
 
 With rays so clear, so steady, so intense !
 
 Love Eternal. 67 
 
 Thy brightness comes from God ; and thou wert given 
 
 To pierce the sable clouds of sin and care ; 
 
 To light us in our battles with despair ; 
 And finally to lead us on to Heaven. 
 When other lights have faded, thou dost shine 
 
 With greater splendour ; and thy shining brings 
 Eefure us visions holy and divine, 
 
 While, from the soil of sorrow, gladness springs. 
 Transcendent Hope ! how wretched should we be 
 Were not life's darker hours illumed by thee ! 
 
 LOVE ETERNAL. 
 
 We walked one summer eve — my wife and I — 
 Across the fields and down a cool, green lane : 
 The flowers, refreshed by recent showers of rain, 
 
 Gave forth sweet odours ; in the western sky 
 The sun in fiery splendour sank to rest. 
 I gazed upon her face, and as I pressed 
 
 Her yielding hand, I whispered, with a sigh, 
 " How sad to think that, ere we are aware, 
 We, like the rest, o'erwhelmed with weight of care, 
 
 Must lose the days of love and youth, and die ! " 
 How sweet and brave her answer ! " Nay," she said, 
 " Although we may have thorny paths to tread, 
 
 Love will endure when even life will fly, 
 
 For love was made for endless youth on high ! "
 
 68 Sonnets and Sonnet- Stanzas. 
 
 THE REV. RICHARD DUNDERDALE. 
 
 (Reclor of St. Mary's, Blackburn ; Died August 9th, 1887.) 
 
 There is a grief words have no power to tell : 
 It fills the heart when someone near and dear 
 Is stretched before our eyes upon the bier, 
 
 And we must bid the long-loved face farewell. 
 
 Such is our grief to-day : a friend most true 
 To all to whom his kindly heart was known,- 
 A spiritual father to his own, — 
 
 Is lowered slowly from our longing view. 
 
 His was the faith that knew not storm or cloud ; 
 
 He held it firmly, with a mind serene ; 
 Proclaimed its beauties, taught its truths aloud, 
 
 Yet scorned not those by whom they were not seen. 
 
 His charity was genial as the sun : 
 
 God grant him rest ; his task was nobly done !
 
 Hoghton Tower. 69 
 
 HOGHTON TOWER. 
 
 (Built in Queen Elizabeth's reign, by Thomas Hoghton, whose story is quaintly told, 
 under the title of " The Blessed Conscience," in Harland and Wilkinson's " Ballads 
 and Songs of Lancashire.") 
 
 Not solely that thou speakest of the hour 
 
 When Royal James and all his train were seen 
 Tu chase the deer about thy woodlands green, 
 
 Do I revere thee, stately Hoghton Tower ! 
 
 I think of him who built thy *' lordly bower 
 Of rports " upon this rocky height serene, 
 Yet fled abroad, took Conscience for his Queen, 
 
 And dying gav'e his memory to her dower. 
 
 E'en now I see him wander down the hill, 
 And view the lovely landscape, and the sea 
 
 Which in the distance seems so bright and still ; 
 And, as he looks with longing back to thee, 
 
 A voice seems through his wavering soul to thrill, 
 And says, " Take up thy cross and follow me ! " 
 
 AN AFTERNOON IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 The sky is leaden, though the drenching rain 
 Has ceased to shoot its angry torrents down ! 
 A sad and dreary aspect has the town. 
 
 For soon the floodgates will be loosed again. 
 
 Beside the fire I sit at leisure — fain 
 
 To learn from Hendrik Conscience the renown
 
 yo Sonnets and Sonnet- Stanzas. 
 
 Of my dear Flemish Knights, whose castles brown 
 And hoary, pass in vision through my brain. 
 Friends of my schooldays are around me, too, 
 
 Full of youth's buoyant hope and sweetest mirth ; 
 May every year their happiness renew ! 
 
 And may we — pilgrims wandering o'er this earth — 
 Meet now and then, contented as to-day, 
 Till life grows dark, then pass in peace away. 
 
 November ic^tli^ 1883. 
 
 CHARLES SWAIN. 
 
 How truthful are thy verses, noble singer ! 
 
 'Tis seldom that amid the crowd we find 
 
 A Bard like thee; for thou didst sing 'The Mind' 
 With music whose sweet echoes seem to linger 
 About our lives, as though an angel's finger 
 
 Had swept for once across an earthly lyre, 
 
 And left to us the strong, but vain, desire 
 To hear again the heavenly solace-bringer 
 Peal forth his message from the mountain height 
 
 Whilst we stood listening in the vale below. 
 'The Mind' secures thy fame; while pure and bright 
 
 Thy ballad-strains like silver streamlets flow, 
 And on dear ' English Melodies ' the light 
 
 Of home reflects, like sunbeams on the snow.
 
 Scandal. 7 1 
 
 SCANDAL. 
 
 Behold this man, with handsome form and face, 
 
 Crowned King of Wit, 'mid scenes of reckless mirth ; 
 Yet known to Truth as one devoid of worth, 
 
 And made a slave to passions dark and base ! 
 
 Oft, wheri he speaks. Temptation shakes the space 
 - On which his listeners stand ; a sudden cloud 
 O'ershadows Faith, as, growing thunder-loud, 
 
 His voice begins to revel in disgrace. 
 
 Then, from the wild volcano of his soul. 
 
 Through his hot lips the burning scandal showers, 
 
 Which, blasting all things in its downward roll, 
 
 Destroys the children — God's most fragrant flowers — 
 
 Sweeps down pure souls that stood like stately trees. 
 
 Wrecks peaceful homes, and leaves a poison in the breeze ! 
 
 TO MR. ORBY SHIPLEY, M.A. 
 
 (After reading a series of articles on Ireland.) 
 
 Thanks for thy noble words ! for they have taught 
 Our English hearts to grieve o'er Erin's wrongs ; 
 They have that strength and beauty which belongs 
 
 To love fraternal, joined with lofty thought.
 
 72 Sonnets and Sonnet-Stanzas. 
 
 Before we read, dense darkness was around us, 
 And Erin, standing out amid the storm, 
 Seemed in our eyes a stained and loveless form; 
 
 But, when the sunlight of thy pleading found us 
 At morning's prime, we recognised, with thee. 
 Her faithful heart, her sorrow, and her beauty ; 
 And said, " Not Fear, but long-imprisoned Duty 
 Bids us arise and set our sister free : 
 
 What need we fear ? — our Empire must grow stronger 
 
 When Erin's dark despair estranges her no longer ! " 
 
 (Written m iSSS.)
 
 POEMS 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LANCASHIRE DIALECT. 
 
 THE FIRST CAB. 
 
 (a legend of turton.) 
 
 Iv there's a two-o'-thre' farmers here 
 
 'At's bin to Turton Fair, 
 Just let 'em hearken while aw tell 
 
 A thing that happened there. 
 
 'Twere in th' owd days when th' railway train 
 
 Hed never shown id' face, 
 An' news would travel slowly to 
 
 A quiet country place.
 
 74 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 One summer neet a gallant steed 
 Dashed into th' village street, 
 
 An' — wod wer then a curious thing — 
 A four-wheeled cab wer wi' 't. 
 
 A grandly decorated cab, 
 Wi' paint an' colours gay, 
 
 As fine as folks are preawd on yet 
 Upon their weddin' day. 
 
 Id stopped at front o' th' little Inn, 
 
 A gentleman geet eawt, 
 An' then the noisy gossipers 
 
 O creawded reawnd abeawt. 
 
 The mother wi' her child i' th' arms. 
 
 The fayther wi' his spade, 
 The young uns an' the owd uns stared 
 
 Till th' driver wer dismayed. 
 
 The little lads kept dcdgin' reawnd. 
 And plucked the boss's tail ; 
 
 The lass wi' milk fro' th' dairy grinned 
 Fro' underneath her pail.
 
 The First Cab. 75 
 
 They stared so hard an' stared so long 
 That th' driver blushed an' swore 
 
 He'd bet they'd never sin a cab 
 r o their lives afoor. 
 
 An' he wer reet ; for long they talked, 
 
 An' wondered wod id waur 
 That th' boss bed browt to th' country side, 
 '''■ An' wod sich things were for. 
 
 But when they'd talked till they were hooarse, 
 
 They couldn't find id' name ; 
 Sooa th' chap geet in, an' th' cab seet off 
 
 As nameless as id came. 
 
 Just then id turned a corner, an' 
 
 A little urchin see 't, 
 He stared wi' both his e'en ablaze 
 
 At wod this boss bed wi' 't. 
 
 He took id in fro' top to toe, 
 An' then he " took his hook," 
 
 An' ran to fotch his mother eawt 
 I' time to hev a look.
 
 76 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 " Just si tha, mam, wod's comin' here ! " 
 
 His mother ran to see, — 
 An' th' lad, he pointed eawt the cab. 
 
 An' said, wi' mighty glee, — 
 
 " So quare a sect wer never sin, 
 Aw'm sure, afoor to-day, — 
 
 For a leather cart wi' windows in 
 Is comin' deawn this way ! '' 
 
 TH' OWD COT AW WER BORN IN. 
 
 ("Air : " Teddy O'Neale.") 
 
 Aw've landed once moor i' th' owd country this mornin'. 
 Where aw lived i' mi childhood, so careless an' free ; 
 
 An' aw've just bin to look at th' owd cot aw wer born in— 
 Id stands under t' shade o' yon giant ooak tree. 
 
 They'n med ter'ble changes sin' last aw'd a peep in, — 
 Sin' poverty drove us to th' dark smooky teawn, — 
 
 They'n blocked up th' owd garrets eawr lads use' to sleep in, 
 
 Brunt up o th' hand looms, an' poo'd th' weyvin' shop 
 deawn.
 
 TK' Owd Cot Aw Wer Born In. 77 
 
 But th' pooarch wheer mi granny oft coom wi' her knittin' 
 
 Is just like it waur i' them breet summer heawrs ; 
 
 An' th' owd rustic cheer as mi dad use' to sit in 
 
 Stands under th' gred plum tree, i'th' midst o' some 
 fleawrs. 
 
 There's childer at play, an' there's merry bells ringin' 
 O'er yon little brook, as rowls gaily to th' sea ; 
 
 Thfere's little brids hoppin', an' buildin', an' singin', 
 An' one i' yon bush sings a sweet song to me : — 
 
 For id chirps like a lad wi' a heart true an' steady, 
 
 'At's waited an' worked for this warm sunny day 
 When i'th' dear native spot he's a bonny hooam ready 
 
 For a lass 'at's bin pinin' i'th' teawn far away. 
 Aye, sweet little brid ! — thae sings gaily this mornin', 
 
 But nod a bit gayer than Jemmy an' me, — 
 For we're just beawn' to live i'th' owd cot aw wer born in, 
 
 An' sing under th' branches, like thy mate an' thee ! 
 
 HONEST ROGER. 
 
 Here's good luck to Honest Roger ! 
 
 Find his match 'at con ; 
 He's a blunt an' true owd codger — 
 
 Every inch a raon ! 
 O the daicent chaps 'at know him 
 
 Like his witty tongue ; 
 Nowt but two-faced rascals co him. 
 
 When they'n getten stung !
 
 78 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 Roger's varra good at speavvtin', 
 
 Rich i' common-sense, 
 Though th' owd cooat he knocks abeawt in 
 
 Bod cost eighteenpence. 
 He believes id Httle matters 
 
 Wod yo'n getten on, 
 Iv yer bits o' rags an' tatters 
 
 Clooathe an honest mon. 
 
 Wod he says is reet, depend on't, — 
 
 " Search this waurld o through, 
 Truth '11 live to win at th' end on't. 
 
 Lies '11 never do ! 
 Iv a chap's a deawnreet straight un. 
 
 Humble though he be " — 
 Says owd Roger — " he's a reight un, 
 
 Just the mon for me ! " 
 
 Roger likes, just after dinner, 
 
 Chattin' wi' his mates — 
 Two-o'-thre' weyvers an' a spinner — 
 
 Deawn bi t' factory gates. 
 Mony a bit o' good debatin'. 
 
 Mixed wi' gradely fun, 
 Passes while they're stannin' waitin' 
 
 Till their ' bell heawr's ' done.
 
 Honest Roger. 79 
 
 Mony a dispute he's decided, 
 Mony a feight he's stopped ; 
 
 He's their judge, an' when he's tried id 
 Oft the case is dropped. 
 
 Mony a face hes he med sunny, — 
 Dried up mony a tear, 
 
 Sin' he geet thad bit o' money 
 ■ Left to him last year. 
 
 That's the only thing he's sly in — 
 
 Dooin' good to th' poor ; 
 Lot's 'at hev no bed to lie in 
 
 Know his friendly door. 
 Bless thi heart ! owd Honest Roger. 
 
 Heaven wodn'd be 
 Quite as far off earth, owd codger, 
 
 Iv we'd moor like thee ! 
 
 Song. 
 
 SCHOO'MATES TOGETHER. 
 
 (Air : " Ben Bolt.") 
 
 When we were o schoo'mates together, mi lads, 
 Heaw sweet went the merry days then,
 
 8o Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 We tripped o'er the wild mountain heather, mi lads, 
 
 Or chirped as we strolled through the glen. 
 We'd voices as clear as a layrock that sings 
 
 So gaily i'th' welkin aboon, 
 An' sheawted farewell to all troublesome things 
 
 At four on a breet afternoon. 
 An' sheawted farewell to all troublesome things 
 
 At four on a breet afternoon. 
 
 We welcomed the grand summer weather, mi lads, 
 
 When t' sun never winked through the day, 
 An' hearts were as leet as a feather, mi lads. 
 
 When t' lasses were workin' i'th' hay. 
 When summer wer fadin', we knew wheer to find 
 
 The nuts an' the blackberries too. 
 An' through the long winter, wi' th' keen frosty wind, 
 
 O'er th' ice or wi' t' footbo we flew. 
 An' through the long winter, wi' th' keen frosty wind, 
 
 O'er th' ice or wi' t' footbo we flew. 
 
 Th' owd maister wer olez so cheery, mi lads, 
 An' though we were careless an' slow, 
 
 His brain never seemed to ged weary, mi lads, 
 But patiently fowt wi' us o. 
 
 He teyched us to strive for wodever wer reet, 
 As through this quare waurld we tramped on ;
 
 Schod mates Together. 8 1 
 
 He'd a gradely owd heart, may his slumber be sweet, 
 
 I' t' wonderful land wheer he's gone. 
 He'd a gradely owd heart, may his slumber be sweet, 
 
 I' t' wonderful land wheer he's gone. 
 
 He's laid underneath yon owd willow, mi lads, 
 
 Wheer lots of his scholars lie too, 
 Wheer poor limpin' Joe fun' a pillow, mi lads, 
 
 An' Charlie wi' th' e'en breet an' blue. 
 There's lasses an' lads i' yon little churchyard 
 
 That bloomed like sweet fleawrs for a day ; 
 To' sweet an' to' good for a waurld that wer hard. 
 
 They cheered us an' then slipped away. 
 To' syi^eet an' to' good for a waurld that wer hard. 
 
 They cheered us an' then slipped away. 
 
 But still, what's the use o' repinin', mi lads, 
 
 There's lots o' th' owd mates here to-neet. 
 An' th' schoo'lasses' faces are shinin', mi lads. 
 
 O'er hooams that eawr childer mek breet. 
 Then let kindly feelin's be near us to th' end, 
 
 To keep eawr owd hearts i' good tune. 
 For iv we be true to both stranger an' friend, 
 
 We s' ged to be schoo'mates aboon ; 
 For iv we be true to both stranger an' friend, 
 
 We s' ged to be schoo'mates aboon !
 
 82 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 TH' OWD GATE DEAWN AT TH' END 
 OV EAWR FOWD. 
 
 They tell mo this waurld's olez changin', 
 
 I' th' country as weal as i'th' teawn, 
 An' owd Slater said th' last wer comin' 
 
 When his pair o' hand-looms wer poo'd deawn. 
 To-day I could welly believe him, — 
 
 For they say, neaw as th' heawses are sowd, 
 As they're beawn to cut deawn th' garden hedges 
 
 An' poo' deawn th' owd gate i' eawr fowd. 
 It's t' wo'st news aw've heeard for a twelvemonth, 
 
 An' it's med mo feel fifty year' owd, — 
 Though it's bod abeawt twelve sin' aw'er swingin' 
 
 On th' gate deawn at th' end ov eawr fowd. 
 
 Yo' may think aw'm quite silly for frettin' 
 
 O'er such a quare thing as a gate ; 
 But id carries owd time on id' hinges, 
 
 As id swings to an' fro soon an' late. 
 Aw remember mi good-hearted fayther 
 
 Peearkt mo onto id mony a time, 
 When aw waur but a Avee merry lassie, 
 
 An' aw laughed as he sung an owd rhyme ; 
 For th' happiest days o' mi childhood, 
 
 When th' waurld wer ne'er gloomy an' cowd, 
 Wer' spent swingin' back'ard an' forrad 
 
 On th' gate deawn at th' end ov eawr fowd !
 
 Th' Owd Gate Deawn at th^ End ov Eawr Fowd. 83 
 
 An' then, O ! heaw weel aw remember 
 
 Heaw mi heart leapt wi' love pure an' sweet, 
 When i' t' middle o' bonny September 
 
 Young Charlie coom cooartin' one neet ; 
 Heaw he towd mo th' owd stooary so tender, 
 • -^ An' begged mo to help him through life ; 
 Heaw he said fof twelvemonths he'd bin longin' 
 
 To mek mo his own little wife ! 
 Aw s' ne'er i' this lifetime forged id — 
 
 Heaw sweetly thad love tale wer towd, 
 As we stood when th' owd sun wer just settin* 
 
 Bi th' gate deawn at th' end ov eawr fowd ! 
 
 AVe were wei when o t' spring birds were singin' 
 
 An' t' fleawrs were just buddin' on t' trees. 
 An' t' bells o' th' owd church gaily ringin', 
 
 Towd th' stooary to th' sweet mornin' breeze ! 
 An' then we walked hooam to th' owd cottage. 
 
 An' t' merriment sterted for t' day ; 
 They were dancin' till welly next mornin' — 
 
 T' lads an' lasses were never so gay. 
 But Charlie an' me into t' moonleet 
 
 Crept eawt — mon an' wife — an' still vowed 
 To be lovers for ever an' ever 
 
 Bi th' gate deawn at th' end ov eawr fowd ! 
 
 Sin' then, as aw've said, there's bin changes — 
 Mi fayther went Hooam to his rest,
 
 84 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 An' t' best mother soon followed after 
 
 As e'er held a child to her breast. 
 But aw've still Charlie here, an' mi childer — 
 
 Two rooases — a lass an' a lad ; 
 An' aw think, tekkin' life otogether, 
 
 We'n nod so mich cause to be sad : 
 For true love can drive away sorrow 
 
 Far better nor silver an' gowd ; 
 So aw'U keep a leet heart for to-morrow. 
 
 Though aw'm loysin' th' owd gate i' eawr fowd ! 
 
 DEAWN BI T' RIBBLE SIDE. 
 
 (Air : " Love at Home.") 
 
 When the settin' sun shines breet 
 
 O'er the silver tide, 
 Oft aw stray wi' lingerin' feet 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 While the wavelets whisper near. 
 Aw con sheed a lonely tear 
 O'er mi youthful days so dear, 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 
 Silvery tide, sweetly glide. 
 Bring me back those youthful days, 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side.
 
 Deawn bi f Rihble Side. 85 
 
 _ Here aw use' to laugh an' play, 
 
 Full o' boyish pride : — 
 Like a dreeam id seems to-day, 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 Schoo'mates' voices clear an' strong, 
 Dear young faces cherished long, 
 -^^tJse' to mek a merry throng 
 '- Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 
 Silvery tide, sweetly glide. 
 Bring me back those merry days, 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 
 Theer one neet the stars did shine 
 ^ O'er mi promised bride, 
 When hoo gave her heart for mine, 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 Two true hearts 'at love med one. 
 Grew moor fond as time went on. 
 While sweet childer's faces shone, 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 
 Silvery tide, sweetly glide. 
 Bring me back those lovelit days, 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side. 
 
 Some are gone to foreign lands. 
 
 O'er the ocean wide — 
 Only one owd schoo'mate stands 
 
 Deawn bi t' Ribble side.
 
 86 Poems in the Laticashire Dialect. 
 
 Owd an' lonely, soon aw'U creep 
 Wheer yo' see yon grey church peep, 
 Theer mi wife an' childer sleep, 
 Deawn hi t' Ribble side. 
 
 Silvery tide, sweetly glide. 
 Sing for ever o'er mi grave, 
 Deawn hi t' Ribble side. 
 
 JOHNNY'S WATCH. 
 
 Theer's Johnny ! he's nowt but a tenter, 
 
 His clooas are owd an' worn. 
 But his mam says a blessin' wer sent her 
 
 Thad moinin' as he wer born. 
 Aw'll tell yo, there isn'd so mony 
 
 As doesn'd think weel o' him ; — 
 There's a tale often towd abeawt Johnny 
 
 As meks fooak's e'en grow dim. 
 
 His mother wer left a poor widow, 
 
 An' he wer her only child ; 
 He cheered her w^hen sorrow coom o'er her, 
 
 An' his heart leeapt up when hoo smiled. 
 Aw know yo'U hev sin 'em together — 
 
 They plodded through t' streets hi theirsel'. 
 An' geet up i' o sooarts o' weather 
 
 When they heeard the factory bell.
 
 Johnnys Watch. 87 
 
 One mornin' a while afoor Christmas 
 Poor Johnny wer cryin' his fill, — 
 
 He'd to go to his work beawt his mother, 
 For hoo'd been ta'en suddenly ill. 
 
 He left her i'th' care ov a neighbour, 
 An' went, wi' a heart like lead. 
 
 To his weary ^.n' tiresome labour 
 "To struggle for daily bread. 
 
 There waur but thad little hafe-timer, 
 
 For mony a sorrowin' day. 
 To toyl for thad poor lonely woman 
 
 While tossin' i'th' fayver hoo lay. 
 But charity browt fooak near her 
 
 As hardly hed known her afoor ; 
 An' neighbours to help her an' cheer her 
 
 Were never away fro' t' door. 
 
 An' so hoo wer soon eawt o' danger, — 
 
 But still hoo kept lingerin' on. 
 An' couldn'd ged much ov her strength back, 
 
 Though mony a week hed gone. 
 Poor Johnny ! he knew hoo wer pinin' 
 
 For some'at moor daicent to eyt : — 
 Iv yo' want to hev ill fooak dinin', 
 
 Yo' mun tempt 'em wi' tasty meyt.
 
 88 Foems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 Id wer geddiu' near th' examination, 
 
 An' Johnny wer missin' his schoo' ; 
 But he knew o' some wonderful prizes, 
 
 An' he med up his mind what to do : — 
 He wodn'd say owt to his mother, 
 
 But he'd work Hke a giant to pass, 
 An' to win wod the maister's rich brother 
 
 Wer givin' to th' best lad i'th' class. 
 
 I'th' midst ov his hunger an' sorrow. 
 
 He moytherd an' studied away ; 
 An' his prize wer a watch o' silver 
 
 Thad examination day ! 
 Yo' should ha' heeard th' schoo' childer cheerin' 
 
 When they fun' eawt wod Johnny had won, 
 An' t' maister could scarce' ged a hearin' 
 
 To praise him for wod he hed done. 
 
 Thad neet Johnny stood in a watch shop, 
 
 Wi' a policeman clooase at his side : — 
 For th' watch-maker thowt he'd been steylin', 
 
 An' coed him a thief till he cried. 
 But th' " bobby " soon fun' as he knew him — 
 
 His childer hed towd him the tale — 
 So they couldn'd do owt else to him 
 
 Than let the lad finish his sale !
 
 The Winter's Comui On^ Mi Lass. 89 
 
 When Johnny geet hooam he wer looaded 
 
 ■ Wi' dozens o' dainty things ; 
 
 His mother 'd ha' thowt him an angel 
 
 Iv he hedn'd bin short o' wings ! 
 But when he unravelled his stooary 
 
 The tears coom into her e'en, — 
 "Id med her booath happy an' sooary, 
 
 An' as preawd ov her lad as a queen. 
 
 Her happiness conquered her illness, 
 
 An' Johnny wer leet an' gay ; 
 An' somebody geet to hear on 't ; — 
 
 But waited till Christmas day. 
 When the watch, so breet and bonny, 
 
 Coom back through t' pooastmon's hand, 
 Wi' a letter i' praise o' Johnny, 
 
 '' The noblest lad in the land." 
 
 THE WINTER'S COMIN' ON, MI LASS. 
 
 The winter's comin' on, mi lass, 
 
 The north wind's blowin' cowd : 
 Aw'm sure we've cooarted long enough, 
 
 It's time eawr tale wer towd. 
 The brids 'at sung i' yonder tree 
 
 Are flown across the brine, 
 An' aw've a cheery hooam for thee, 
 
 Where love's breet sun can shine.
 
 9© Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 Tha doesno' want to ged mo lost 
 
 Among the moorland snow, 
 Thi laugh belies tha when tha says 
 
 Aw needn'd come at o. 
 When t' weather's wild, we cornd ged eawt 
 
 A-walkin' hafe an heawr, 
 There's olez some'at rough abeawt, — 
 
 A snowstorm or a sheawr. 
 
 An' when aw come an' stop i'th' heawse 
 
 Yore lads mek sich a din 
 That iv aw've bod two words to say 
 
 Aw connod ged 'em in. 
 Thi fayther will talk politics, 
 
 An' likes a reawnd wi' me, — 
 He thinks aw come a-campin' him, 
 
 An' nod a-cooartin' thee. 
 
 An' when there's nob'ry else i'th' place, 
 
 Yore Molly ceawrs i'th' nook, 
 As quate an' wakken as a meawse, 
 
 Wi' th' papper or a book ; 
 Hoo reads a deeal, an' one would think 
 
 Her common sense would tell 
 'At cooarters sometimes like an heawr 
 
 To whisper bi theirsel'.
 
 The Winter's Comin' O71, Mi Lass. 91 
 
 Thi fayther thinks when fooak geds wed 
 
 They should hev lots o' brass, — 
 A mon should hev his fortune med 
 
 Afoor he claims his lass. 
 Aye, well ! aw'm wo'th a field or two, 
 
 A bonny eot an' o ; 
 An' when there's steady hands at th' plough 
 
 -Sich things are sure to grow. 
 
 The sweetest charm o' wedded life 
 
 Is nod i' fortunes grand ; 
 It's nau'but known to th' mon an' wife 
 
 'At's strivin' hand-in-hand. 
 The lark 'at builds id' own wee nest 
 
 Is merry wi' id' mate, 
 While mony a soul can find no rest 
 
 Inside a palace gate. 
 
 An' neaw aw've welly done, mi lass, 
 
 Mi stooary's getten towd ; — 
 An' winter's comin' on, mi lass, 
 
 The north wind's blowin' c'owd, — 
 Come show thi bonny e'en to me. 
 
 Clasp thy two hands i' mine. 
 An' say tha'll claim wod waits for thee, 
 
 An' mek yon sweet cot thine.
 
 92 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 LANCASHIRE FUN. 
 
 When the leet fades away 
 
 At the closin' o' day, 
 An' toilin' an' scrapin' are done. 
 
 It's merry an' sweet 
 
 Wi' mi true mates to meet 
 For an heawr or two's Lancashire fun. 
 
 They sit reawnd yon fire, 
 
 An' their tongues never tire, 
 As they tell o'th' wild marlocks they played 
 
 When youth's merry days 
 
 Seet their spirits ablaze, 
 An' they'd never known friendship to fade. 
 
 O ! there's o sooarts o' wit, 
 But there's nowt as can hit 
 
 The breet spot i' this grey heyd o' mine 
 Like a crack or a song 
 I' eawr Lancashire tongue, 
 
 For id raises owd mem'ries so fine.
 
 Lancashire Fun. 
 
 93' 
 
 An' the breet days ov owd, 
 When mi heart wer so bowd 
 
 An' aw only knew sorrow bi name, 
 Seem as fresh an' as clear 
 As the smiles aw meet here 
 
 When aw come mi owd cronies to claim. 
 
 Then aw'll tooast yo', mi lads, 
 
 May yer sons — like their dads — 
 Still be merry, straight-forrad, an' true ; 
 
 For a bit o' gay chaff, 
 
 Or a reet hearty laugh, 
 Nayther horts a wise mon nor a foo'. 
 
 An' as years rowl along. 
 
 May they join in a song 
 Otogether, when toilin' is done, 
 
 Wi' their hearts just as leet, 
 
 As yer own are to-neet. 
 Through an heawr or two's Lancashire fun !
 
 94 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 OWD JEMMY. 
 
 What ! never knowed owd Jemmy, lad, 
 
 As use' to live up yon ? — 
 Kept hens, an' wooave o' th' owd hand-looms- 
 
 Well, thae'rt a bonny mon ! 
 Aw'll bet there waurn'd a single sowl, 
 
 Fro' here to th' end o' th' looan, 
 As dudn'd wish owd Jemmy weel, 
 
 Or mourn when he wer gooan. 
 
 Aw've set on th' seeatbooard mony an heawr, 
 
 While he booath wooave an' sung, 
 Or ceawrd bi th' fire, an' hearkened th' tales 
 
 As he spun off his tongue. 
 He'd talk o' th' cruel Corn Law days. 
 
 When fleawr wer sixpence th' peawnd, 
 An' t' corn wer kept fro' t' starvin' poor. 
 
 Then chucked i' t' sea unseawnd. 
 
 Iv thae'rt a Tory, dornd be mad 
 
 At wod aw'm beawn' to tell, — 
 He often said as th' Corn Law gang 
 
 Hed sprung fro' " him i'hell ! " 
 That's rayther strong ; but them sad days 
 
 Hed robbed him ov his mam, 
 An' left him, an' some moor beside, 
 
 To work an' cry an' clam.
 
 Owd Jemmy. g5 
 
 Sometimes he'd hev a noysy lot 
 
 O' rampin', laughin' lads 
 Set reawnd his fire, while he towd tales 
 
 Abeawt their youthful dads ; — 
 Wod fun they hed, wod tricks they played, 
 
 When he wer in his prime, — 
 Aw'm sure he welly med th' lads ill 
 
 Wi' laughin', mony a time. 
 
 But mooast ov o, owd Jemmy loved 
 
 A pratty little child ; 
 Id mattered nowt wod troubled him — 
 
 Iv he si one he smiled ; 
 He'd welly olez one bi th' hand 
 
 When ramblin' to and fro', 
 An' t' youngsters seemed to think as he 
 
 Wer th' Grandad to 'em o. 
 
 To'ard th' latter end he use' to say 
 
 He'd be content to dee, 
 Iv he mut sit at " Heaven's door," 
 
 Wi' a child on oather knee. 
 An' when his life wer gooin' deawn, 
 
 Like th' ocean's ebbin' tide. 
 He couldn'd be contented till 
 
 They browt one to his side.
 
 96 I\)ems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 He passed away i' t' summer time, 
 
 When roses were i' bloom ; 
 An' th' owd sun brooak through t' cleawds o' grief 
 
 As hung o'er o i'th' room. 
 Aw think his sowl's at rest. — " Aye, sure ; 
 
 An' has bin mony a day; 
 For sich a good owd heart as his 
 
 Could ne'er go far astray ! " 
 
 THE HOOAM OV A LANCASHIRE MON. 
 
 Aw've tramped a good deeal through mi own native land, 
 
 Aw've anchored mi booat on a far foreign strand. 
 
 Bin cast among riches, an' poverty too, 
 
 Hed work, an' bin wantin' for some'at to do. ^ 
 
 Aw've slept in a palace, an' lodged in a tent, 
 
 An' kept mi e'en oppen wheerever aw went, 
 
 But OV o sooarts o' hooams aw could never find one , 
 
 To compare wi' the hooam ov a Lancashire mon. 
 
 Aw remember quite weel heaw aw've oft laid mo deawn 
 r mi quare lookin' bed i' thad Indian teawn 
 Wheer aw sowjerd a while, an' mi efforts to skeeam 
 A tidy neet's sleep use' to end in a dreeam 
 Ov a little thacked cot in a little green fowd, 
 Wheer aw lived when aw waur but a dozen year' owd ; 
 An' aw sighed when aw wakkened to find id o gone — 
 Thad hooam wheer aw grew up a Lancasliire mon.
 
 The Hooam ov a Lancashire Mon. 97 
 
 There's no place i'th' waurld hafe so snug or so sweet, 
 
 When a fella comes back fro' his work ov a neet, 
 
 As the spot wheer he meets wi' the joys ov his life — 
 
 His wee bonny childer an' hard-workin' wife. 
 
 An' iv yo be anxious to learn an' to see 
 
 Heaw blithe an' contented a toyler can be, 
 
 Yo'll find th' best example 'at ever yo con 
 
 In the hooam ov a steady young Lancashire mon. 
 
 There's a reet hearty welcome whenever yo co, 
 For Lancashire feelin' hes full room to flow, 
 Id isn'd chooaked up wi' so mich empty pride, 
 An' hypocricy ne'er comes to poison id' tide : 
 But clear an' unhindered id rowls on id' way, 
 An' strangers 'at's tasted id olez will say 
 As the kindliest fooak they could ever leet on 
 Were found in the hooam ov a Lancashire mon. 
 
 Just CO at yar Tum's : th' kettle hums upo' th' hob, 
 An' his wife sings a song to their Nelly an' Bob ; 
 For they're o fain to see him ged hooam to his tay 
 After drivin' four looms o this dark lookin' day. 
 Wi' th' childer, it's which can be th' fost on his knee, 
 Their love for their fayther's untramelled an' free ; 
 An' his wife, tentin' t' meyt 'at hoo's fryin' i' t' pon, 
 Thinks there's nob'ry so true as her Lancashire mon.
 
 98 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 Iv yo'll stop till they'n just getten th' childer to bed, 
 Yo'll hear a rare bit o' Ned Waugh sung or read ; 
 An' theer yo'll sit sighin' and laughin' bi turns 
 At the wisdom and wit ov eawr Lancashire Burns. 
 An' when yo've shaked hands wi' a ringin' ' good neet,' 
 An' th' cottage behind yo fades slow fro' yer seet, 
 Yo'll say " there's some true English happiness yon," 
 An' be preawd o' the hooam ov a Lancashire mon ! 
 
 HE COULDN'D COME. 
 
 One fine Sunda' mornin' when th' church bells wer ringin 
 To CO th' Preston fooak to their prayin' an' singin', 
 A bunch o' young ruffins hed dodged th' Sunda' schoo', 
 An' were lookin' abeawt for some mischief to do, 
 When one little dule said " Aw'll tell yo' wod, lads. 
 Let's pop o'er this wo — eawt o' th' seet o' wer dads — 
 An' play on th' cut bank till o th' service is done ; 
 Aw've a good set o' dominoes — here's off for fun ! " 
 
 Wi' thad, in a jiffy, he beawnced onto th' wo ; 
 His mates followed after, nod one on 'em slow ; 
 An' soon the young gamblers (for thad's wod they waur) 
 Hed th' dominoes eawt, an' wer mekkin' a stor 
 For a gradely good game in a quate little nook. 
 Where nob'ry frae th' street would be likely to look. 
 An' theer the}' sat playin' bi th' side o' th' canel, 
 Wi' nob'ry to see 'em their faythers to tell.
 
 He Couldti'd Covie. 99 
 
 They played hofe an heawr i' this snug little spot, 
 
 An' then th' game begun to ged noysy an' hot ; 
 
 For little Bill Dykes, wi' a voyce like a drum, 
 
 Bawls eawt to his mate, ^^Neaw, mi nabs, con ta come f " 
 
 "Thae noysy young crackpot," his mate answered, 
 " Nowe ! 
 
 Dost want 'em to hear us i' th' street, thae young foo ? " 
 
 " Nod aw, lad ! " said Billy, " but aw s' nod be dumb 
 
 For th' sake o' fooak hearin' — once moor. Con ta come?" 
 
 Afoor th' other lad could mek answer at o, 
 
 A gred strappin' Bobby coom beawncin' o'er th' wo 
 
 Sheawtin' " Nowe, lads, but aw con come : stop yer wild 
 racket, 
 
 Aw'll put every one on yo in a strait jacket ! " 
 
 Wi' thad he gave chase ; but he only catched one. 
 
 An' thad wer poor Billy — the noysiest mon ! 
 
 O th' others, like hares, darted swift eawt o' th' seet, 
 
 An' left him wi' th' dominoes strewn at his feet. 
 
 The Bobby marched Billy deawn th' bank varra stately, 
 An' th' lad, for a wonder, went humbly and quately ; 
 But afoor they reyched th' brig to cross o'er into th' street, 
 A gred creawd o' folk they're beginnin' to meet, 
 For a church wer just locin' ; an' comin' deawn th' broo 
 Folk could see onto th' bank, an' hev quite a good view 
 O' th' prisoner an' th' pleecemon that walked bi his side ; 
 An' this bothered Billy, for th' lad hed some pride.
 
 loo Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 "Aw'll tell yo wod, pleecemon," he said varra foce, 
 
 "Aw wish for a minute yo'd just let mo loce. 
 
 Eawr fooak '11 be comin' fro' th' church across th' street, 
 
 An' mi mother '11 faint iv hoo sees mo this seet. 
 
 There's th' wo at this side, an' there's watter at th' other — 
 
 Aw cornd ged away: but for th' sake o' mi mother, 
 
 Let mo walk bi misel' for a minute or two, 
 
 An' then they'll nod know 'at there's bin owt to do." 
 
 Well, th' Bobby looked reawnd, an' agreed wi' his mate 
 'At there waurn'd hofe a chance for to get eawt o' th' gate ; 
 So he leet the lad loce 'at he'd howden so fast, 
 An' they walked bi theirsel's till o th' fooak hedgone past. 
 The lad toddled on quate enough for a while ; 
 An' th' Bobby were hummin' a tune i' rare style. 
 When, sudden as gunshot, th' lad med a dash, 
 Kvi jumped z' tK canel, wi' a yell an' a splash. 
 
 Th' poor Bobby wer varra near freetened to deeath ; 
 But afoor he hed time to recover his breeath, 
 Like leetnin', hofe way across th' wayter Bill swum, 
 An' then, wi' a grin, sheawted, ^^JSeaw con ta come ? 
 Wod says ta, owd matie ? " — " Nowe, dall thi rags ! Nowe ! 
 Thae smart little rascal, thae's tricked mo, bi gow ! " 
 "Aye," th' lad sheawted back, "aw wer just thinkin' sooa, 
 Thae connod come neaw ; but thae sees aw con gooa ! "
 
 Give Every Mon Hts Due. loi 
 
 GIVE EVERY MON HIS DUE. 
 
 Aw've rambled up an' deawn this waurld 
 
 For five-an'-sixty year', 
 Aw've booath bed mony a merry laugh 
 
 An' mony a lonely tear ; 
 Aw'm one as knows booath friends an' foes,- 
 
 There's lots o' things aw rue, — 
 But this is still mi motto, lads, 
 
 Give every mon his due. 
 
 Ov cooarse, when aw wer green an' young. 
 
 Like mony a lad beside, 
 'Aw use' to think this waurld knew o. 
 
 An' bowed before id' pride : 
 But soon aw fun' that iv a mon 
 
 Were poor as weel as true, 
 'Twere ten to one though hard he toiled 
 
 He'd never ged his due. 
 
 Yo' see, there's sich a lot o' fooak 
 
 'At's bod one gradely e'e, — 
 They peep an' smile at th' rich an' fine. 
 
 But th' poor they connod see. 
 They'll like a mon iv he geds on, 
 
 An' joins their waurldly crew. 
 But iv he does his best an' fails. 
 
 They think no praise is due.
 
 I02 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 There's some fooak laughs when t' weather's fine, 
 
 An' cosses when id rains, — 
 Sich Hke '11 cooart the men wi' brass 
 
 But scorn the men wi' brains. 
 There's mony a chap gi'es o his peawrs 
 
 To help his neighbours through. 
 But, like th' owd sun that feeds yon fleawrs. 
 
 He seldom geds his due. 
 
 When dark an' deadly slander comes 
 
 To cleawd a mon's good name, 
 There's olez lots o' idle tongues 
 
 To spreyd th' unwelcome fame ; 
 But give to me them kindly sowls — 
 
 Aw wish they waurn'd so few — 
 That patient bide, watch every side. 
 
 An' give the mon his due. 
 
 Oh, mates ! i' country place an' teawn. 
 
 Through t' length an' breadth o' t' land. 
 There's mony a lonely heart goes deawn 
 
 Witheawt a helpin' hand. 
 But let goodwill be near us still. 
 
 When others' fau'ts we view, 
 For One Aboon '11 render soon 
 
 To every mon his due !
 
 A Country Life for Me. 103 
 
 A COUNTRY LIFE FOR ME. 
 
 A country life for me, mi lads, 
 
 A country life for me ! 
 O'er breezy hills an' fleawry dales 
 
 Aw s' rarable till aw dee. 
 Aw fost si leet wheer t' sky wer breet 
 
 An' throstles sung so gay, 
 .An' olez loved th' owd country side 
 
 When aw wer miles away. 
 
 Eawr Bill, 'at lives i' yonder teawn, 
 
 Thinks th' country varra grand 
 When t' summer sun shines gaily deawn, 
 
 An' breetens o the land ; 
 But when there's snow or cowd winds blow 
 
 I' th' bracin' winter time, 
 O'er yon owd hill that parts us two 
 
 Aw connod mek him climb. 
 
 He says it's ankle deep i' slutch 
 
 So wheer yo set yer feet, 
 An' t' looans are awful after dark 
 
 For want o' gradely leet. 
 Beawt music-halls, theatres, balls, 
 
 Or owt to pass time on. 
 He thinks he'd be a gradely foo' 
 
 Afoor a month hed gone.
 
 I04 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 Well, well! aw cornd expect as fooak 
 
 Will o think like misel', 
 But why they dornd, o'er sich a thing, 
 
 Is moor nor aw con tell. 
 When t' rain comes deawn so dree i' th' teawn 
 
 A fella's spirit drops 
 To ceawr i' th' heawse vvi' nowt to see 
 
 But slates and chimbley tops. 
 
 I' th' daytime factory chimblies belch 
 
 Their smook i' mony a street, 
 There's drunken fooak an' railway trains 
 
 As rowl abeawt o neet. 
 There's childer thin 'at's never sin 
 
 The bonny brids an' trees. 
 Their faces look so white for want 
 
 O' th' healthy country breeze. 
 
 Aye, give to me the country lanes. 
 
 Where peace an' quateness dwell, 
 For theer a sweetness floods mi heart 
 
 As words can never tell ! 
 O'er breezy hills an' fleawry dales 
 
 Aw'm fain to ramble still. 
 An' fo asleep i' th' owd churchyard 
 
 At th' foot o' yonder hill.
 
 Eawr Dick's Beawn A-Cooartin' To-Neet. 105 
 
 EAWR DICK'S BEAWN A-COOARTIN' 
 TO-NEET. 
 
 There's twopence bin gi'n to eawr Johnny 
 
 For cleynin' a new pair o' shoon ; 
 'Some 'bacco's bin bowt for mi gronny, 
 
 For airin' yon breeches o' th' oon ; 
 A reet hearty kiss to eawr Lizzie, 
 
 For fixin' a collar on reet : — 
 Yo wonder wod meks o so busy, — 
 
 Eawr Dick's beawn a-cooartin' to-neet ! 
 
 For mony a week he's bin pinin', 
 
 An' ceawrin' i' th' nook like a foo' ; 
 But neaw t' sun's beginnin' o' shinin'. 
 
 An' t' sky shows a wee bit o' blue. 
 His luck hes bin varra like th' weather, 
 
 But things are at last geddin' breet, — 
 Aw've sin him an' Nelly together, 
 
 An' Dick's beawn a-cooartin' to-neet. 
 
 He's just hed a dust wi' mi fayther 
 
 O'er nod comin' in afoor ten ; 
 Mi dad tells him straight as he'd rayther 
 
 Nod see bits o' lads actin' men : 
 " When he war a lad, there wer never 
 
 Sich pride when a lass wer to meet." — 
 Mi gronny chimes in, "Well, iv ever ! — 
 
 What's up wi' thi memory to-neet ? "
 
 io6 Poems in the Lancashire Dialed. 
 
 Mi mother toyls on — Heaven bless her ! 
 
 Hoo hesn'd a deeal to say ; 
 Though aw waiir feeard th' news would distress her, 
 
 When hoo heeard id so sudden to-day. 
 For Dick thinks the waurld ov his mother, 
 
 He's kind, an' his temper's so sweet ; 
 Hoo knows 'at hoo'll ne'er see another 
 
 Like him as goes cooartin' to-neet. 
 
 But hoo likes the shy look o' good natur' 
 
 As shines i' sweet Nelly's blue e'en ; 
 For t' lass is as daicent a craytur 
 
 As ever coom trippin' o'er t' green. 
 Her bonny face fills mo wi' pleasure, 
 
 Whenever aw happen to see 't, — 
 May joy be shared eawt i' full measure 
 
 To them as goes cooartin' to-neet ! 
 
 Good heavens ! O t' drawers are upended, 
 
 He's left o his rags upo' t' floor ; 
 His stockin's hev o to be mended, 
 
 While he's swellin' off eawt o' t' door ! 
 Ne'er mind ! Aw s' be like to excuse him,- 
 
 His heart's med his heyd a bit leet, — 
 An' aw know Nelly wi'-nod refuse him. 
 
 When Dick goes a-cooartin' to-neet.
 
 Philosopher Bill. 107 
 
 PHILOSOPHER BILL. 
 
 Aw'm just gooin' deawn for a pipe an' a gill 
 
 An' a hofe an heawr's camp wi' Philosopher Bill ; 
 
 He's the faucest owd chap that aw ever did see, 
 
 Wi' a reet merry twinkle i' oather blue e'e. 
 
 O, them e'en ov owd Bill's ! they con look a mon through, — 
 
 He con tell in a crack a wise chap fro' a foo' : 
 
 Id wer just through him reading fooak's thowts wi' sich 
 skill 
 
 That he fost geet the name o' Philosopher Bill. 
 
 He's nod to co rich ; but he's ne'er discontent, 
 
 For his life, like his money, 's bin ter'ble weel spent : 
 
 His motto wer olez " tek keer o' yer own ; 
 
 Mek yer childer do th' same ; let your neighbours alone ; 
 
 Dornd lock up yer heart when yo lock yer heawse door, 
 
 But keep a warm place in 't for th' wanderin' poor ; 
 
 For wi' givin' some beggar an owd pair o' shoon 
 
 Yo may find a new pair when yo 're climbin' Aboon ! " 
 
 But the things he cries deawn wi' o th' strength ov his 
 lungs 
 
 Are envious fooak an' their envious tongues : — 
 
 " They're th' seawrdocks o' th' waurld," so he said 
 yesterneet, 
 
 "An' they cornd abide th' appos for tastin' so sweet. 
 
 So they tittle an' tattle, an' poo' a long face, 
 
 Iv yo keep yersel' wakken an' lick 'em i' th' race ; 
 
 An' though yo'd to walk, while they rooad in a cart. 
 
 They'll whimper like lads ' Tha'd to' mich ov a start.' "
 
 io8 Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 " Iv yer merry an' single, an' howds up yer yed, 
 They'll say, ' Thad'll hev to be tamed when it's wed ; ' 
 Ivyo 're wed, wi' two childer, while they've a lot moor, 
 They'll wish to the Lord yo' wer pown wi' a scoor ; 
 Iv a chap an' his mate con keep thick o their life, 
 They're sure to cry ' henpeck ' at him or his wife ; 
 An' sooa they keep singin' wherever yo' torn, 
 ' One hofe o' this waurld doesn'd know as its born ! ' " 
 
 " Heaw different," says Bill, " are th' owd mates we've 
 booath known, 
 
 'At '11 mek both yer luck an' misfortunes their own, 
 
 An'll olez contrive to be somewheer abeawt 
 
 When yer lamp o' good fortune hes welly gone eawt. 
 
 O, they'll feed the dull flame wi' a word o' good cheer, 
 
 An' rejoice i' their hearts when id blazes eawt clear, 
 
 For they'n pity an' charity strong i' their breast, 
 
 An' th' angels keep guard when they lie deawn to rest." 
 
 Aw've hearkened owd Bill till mi e'en wer quite dim, 
 An' aw've often thowt angels coom talkin' to him ; 
 For though sometimes he rages at wrong an' disate. 
 There's nob'ry i' th' waurld as he knows heaw to hate ! 
 May he live to be moor nor a hundred year' owd, 
 Wi' his cupboard weel packed, an' his hearth never cowd, 
 An' his daicent owd dame to keep breetenin' still 
 The last cheery days o' Philosopher Bill.
 
 Merry Mates. 109 
 
 MERRY MATES. 
 
 (Air : " Fill the Bumper Fair.") 
 
 Merry mates are we, 
 
 Passin' reawnd together 
 Jovial tales an' free, 
 
 Carin' nowt for th' weather. 
 Winter winds, we know, 
 
 Reawnd abeawt are sobbin', 
 Still among the snow 
 
 Chirps the breet red robin. 
 
 Every heart that's leet, 
 
 Laughin' meks id leeter ; 
 Every face that's breet, 
 
 Fun '11 mek id breeter. 
 Tell yer merry tales, 
 
 Wind yer gowden bobbin. 
 Through owd Winter's gales 
 
 Chirps eawr own Cock Robin. 
 
 Theer's a singer true, 
 
 Leet of heart an' limber, 
 One owd fiddle, too, 
 
 Built o' gradely timber. 
 Oft young Robin sings, 
 
 While owd Roger's fingers 
 Wakken th' witchin' strings 
 
 Wheer sweet music lingers.
 
 ] I o Poems in the Lancashire Dialect. 
 
 Iv thae'rt feelin' seawr, 
 
 Stor thi stumps, owd codger, 
 Come an' spend an heawr 
 
 Campin' wi' owd Roger. 
 Dunnot be a foo', 
 
 Dunnot pine an' shiver, 
 Join owd Roger's schoo', 
 
 Laughin' 's good for th' liver. 
 
 We'll mek room for thee, 
 
 While we tell together 
 Merry tales an' free, 
 
 Carin' nowt for th' weather. 
 Winter winds, we know, 
 
 Reawnd abeawt are sobbin', 
 Still among the snow 
 
 Chirps the breet red robin. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 J. & H. PLATT, PRINTERS, 36, FISHERGATE, PRESTON.
 
 Glossary to the Dialect Poems. 
 
 Abeawt, about 
 
 Aboon, above 
 
 Afoor, before 
 
 An', and 
 
 Appos, apples 
 
 As, 'At, that 
 
 Aw, I 
 
 Aw'll, I will 
 
 Aw s', I shall 
 
 Aye, sure ; yes, certainly 
 
 Bawls eawt, calls out 
 Beawn to, bound to, going to 
 Beawt, without 
 Bell-heawr, meal time 
 Bi theirsel', by themselves, 
 
 alone 
 Bin, been 
 Bobby, policeman 
 Bod, but, only 
 Booat, boat 
 Bowt, bought 
 Brass, money 
 Breet, bright 
 Brid, bird 
 Browt, brought 
 Broo, brow 
 Brooak, broke 
 Brunt, burnt 
 Bud, but, only 
 
 Campin', chatting. 
 
 Canel, Canal 
 
 Catcried, caught 
 
 Ceawrd, cowered 
 
 Chaff, banter 
 
 Chap, fellow 
 
 Cheer, chair 
 
 Childer, children 
 
 Chimbley, chimney 
 
 Chucked, thrown 
 
 Clam, starve 
 
 Cleawds, clouds 
 
 Cleynin', cleaning 
 
 Clooas, clothes 
 
 Co, (I) call, (2) abuse 
 
 Codger (Cadger), fellow 
 
 Con, can 
 
 Connod, cannot 
 
 Cooat, coat 
 
 Cooartin', courting 
 
 Coom, came 
 
 Corn'd, cannot 
 
 Cosses, curses, curse 
 
 Cowd, cold 
 
 Crack, (i) an instant, (2) a joke 
 
 or merrj' anecdote 
 Craytur, creature 
 Creawded, crowded 
 Cronies, mates 
 Cut, canal
 
 112 
 
 Glossary to the Dialect Poems. 
 
 Dad, father 
 
 Daicent, decent 
 
 Deawn, down 
 
 Dee, die 
 
 Disate, deceit 
 
 Doesno', does not, dost not 
 
 Dooin', doing 
 
 Dorn'd, don't 
 
 Dree, monotonous 
 
 Dreeam, dream 
 
 Drooav, drove 
 
 Dudn'd, did not 
 
 Dust, a warm discussion 
 
 Dule (Devil), smart fellow 
 
 Eawr, our 
 
 Eawt, out 
 
 E'e, eye ; E'en, eyes 
 
 'Em, them 
 
 Eyt, eat 
 
 Fauce (False), knowing, wise 
 
 Fayther, father 
 
 Fayver, fever 
 
 Feeard, afraid 
 
 Fella, fellow 
 
 Fleawr, (i) flour, (2) flower 
 
 Fo, fall 
 
 Foo', fool 
 
 Fooak, folk 
 
 Footbo', football 
 
 Forged, forget 
 
 Forrad, forward 
 
 Fost, first 
 
 Fotch, fetch 
 
 Fowd, fold, yard 
 
 Fowt, fought, toiled 
 
 Fun', found 
 
 Ged, get ; Geddin, getting 
 
 Geet, got 
 
 Getten, gotten 
 
 Gill (Jill), in Lancashire, half-a 
 
 pint 
 Gi'n, given 
 
 Gooa, go ; Gooan, gone 
 Gowd, gold 
 
 Gradely, proper- ly, thorough-ly 
 Gred, great 
 
 Gronny, granny 
 
 Hafe, or Hofe, half 
 Hafe-timer ( Half-timer),a child 
 
 who works during one half of 
 
 each day and attends school 
 
 the other half 
 Heaw, how 
 Heawr, hour 
 Heavv^se, house 
 Hed, had 
 
 He'd, (I) he had, (2) he would 
 Heeard, heard 
 Hes, has ; Hev, have 
 Heyd, head 
 Hob, side of fireplace opposite 
 
 oven 
 Hoo, she 
 Hooam, home 
 Hooarse, hoarse 
 Horts, hurts 
 Hoss, horse 
 
 r, in 
 
 Id, it ; Id', its 
 
 111 fooak, sick folks 
 
 Iv, if 
 
 Jannock, genuine 
 Jiffy, instant 
 
 Keer, care 
 Knowed, knew 
 
 Layrock, lark 
 
 Leeap, leap 
 
 Leet, light 
 
 Leet on, alight upon, discover 
 
 Lick, beat 
 
 Limber, lithe, active 
 
 Loce, loose 
 
 Looan, lane 
 
 Lots, plenty 
 
 Loysin', losing 
 
 Mad, vexed 
 Maister, master 
 Mam, mother 
 Marlocks, practical jokes 
 Meawse, mouse
 
 Glossary to the Dialect Poems. 113 
 ^ -^ 
 
 ^ y 
 
 
 Meawths, mouths 
 
 Rayther, rather 
 
 Med, made ; Mek, make 
 
 Reawnd, round 
 
 Meyt, meat 
 
 Reet, Reight, right 
 
 Mi, my ; Misel', myself 
 
 Rowls, rolls 
 
 Mich, much 
 
 Ruffins (Ruffians), rough lads 
 
 Mo, me 
 
 Scoor, score 
 
 Mon, man ; Mony, many 
 
 Seawnd, sound 
 
 Mooast, most 
 
 Seawr, sour 
 
 Moor, more 
 
 Seeatbooard, the seatboard of 
 
 Moytherd, worried, troubled 
 
 a handloom 
 
 Mun, mu?t ; Mut, might 
 
 Seet, sight ; See 't, see it, saw 
 
 Nau'but, naught but 
 
 It. 
 Seet off, started off 
 
 Neaw, now 
 
 Set, sat 
 
 Neet, night 
 
 Sheawr, shower 
 
 Nob'ry, nobody 
 
 Sheawted, shouted 
 
 Nod, not 
 
 Sheed, shed, let fall 
 
 Nod, a, a doze, a sleep 
 
 Si, (i) see, (2) saw 
 
 Nor, than 
 
 Sich, such 
 
 Nowe, no (the negative answer) 
 
 Sin, seen ; Sin', since 
 
 Nowt, nought 
 
 Skeeam, scheme 
 
 Noysy, noisy 
 
 Slutch, sludge 
 
 
 Smooky,5smoky 
 
 O.all ^ 
 
 Some'at, somewhat, something 
 
 O', of, on 
 
 Sooa, so ; Sooart, sort 
 
 Gather, either 
 
 Sowd, sold 
 
 Olez, always 
 
 Sowjered, soldiered, served in 
 
 On, of 
 
 the army 
 
 Ooak, oak 
 
 Sowl, soul 
 
 Oon, Oven 
 
 Speawtin' (Spouting), speech- 
 
 Oppen, open 
 
 making 
 
 Otogether, altogether 
 
 Stannin', standing 
 
 Ov, of 
 
 Sterted, started 
 
 Owd, old 
 
 Steylin', stealing 
 
 Owt, aught, anything, ought 
 
 Stooary, story 
 
 
 Stor thi stumps, stir thy feet 
 
 Papper, paper, newspaper 
 
 Swellin', swelling, swaggering 
 
 Peawnd, pound 
 
 
 Peawrs, powers 
 
 T', Th', the 
 
 Peearkt, perched 
 
 Ta, Tha, Thae, thou 
 
 Pleecemon, policeman 
 
 Tay, tea 
 
 Pon, pan 
 
 Teawn, town 
 
 Poo'd, pulled 
 
 Tekkin', taking 
 
 Pooarch, porch 
 
 Tentin', attending to 
 
 Pratty, pretty 
 
 Tenter, weaver's assistant 
 
 Preawd, proud 
 
 Ter'ble, terrible, wonderful 
 
 
 Teyched, taught 
 
 Quare, queer 
 
 Thad, that 
 
 Quate, quiet 
 
 Thae'rt, Tba'rt, thou art
 
 114 
 
 Glossary to the Dialect Poems. 
 
 Thacked, thatched 
 Theer, there 
 Theirsel', themselves 
 They'n, they have 
 Thick, friendly 
 Thowt, thought 
 To'ard, To'art, toward 
 Took his hook, ran off 
 Towd, told 
 Toyler, toiler 
 
 Two-o'-thre' (two or three), a 
 few 
 
 Uns, ones 
 
 Varra, very 
 Voyce, voice 
 
 Wakken, waken 
 Walter, Wayter, water 
 Waur, were, was 
 Waurld, world 
 Weel, well 
 
 Welly, well nigh 
 
 We'n, we have 
 
 War, short sound of were ; used 
 in dialect ioriwa^, and occasion- 
 ally for our 
 
 We s', we shall 
 
 Weyvin', weaving 
 
 Wheer, where 
 
 Whol, while 
 
 Wi', with 
 
 Wi'nod, will not 
 
 Wi' 't, with it 
 
 Wo, wall 
 
 Wod, (i) what, (2) would 
 
 Wodn'd, would not 
 
 Wooave, wove 
 
 Wo'st, worst 
 
 W^o'th, worth 
 
 Yar, our 
 Yed, head 
 Yer, Yore, your 
 Yo'n, you have
 
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