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 ufliv. OF cM>f . UB?,m, ws h»sa^
 
 P E M S 
 
 uv 
 
 JOHN NICHOLL, F.S.A. 
 
 LONDON, 18G3. 
 
 Iriuiitdi) |rinted.
 
 WESTMINSTER : 
 
 I'Rl.NTED BV J. B. MCHOLS AND SONS, 
 
 25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
 
 jr//q 
 
 Tu nihil iuvitiV ilic(4S facit-svc Miiu-rva ; 
 
 Id tilii jtidiciuui I'st, ea incus:- si (juid tanicii nlim 
 
 Scripseris, in Alotii deseendat. judicis aures, 
 
 uonmntjue prematnr in aniunu, 
 
 Membranis iutns positis, 
 
 Horace, ur Arte Poetica, 1. 385. 
 
 871141
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Schoolboy ..... 
 
 1 
 
 An Epistle to a Friend .... 
 
 12 
 
 Melchisedec ..... 
 
 20 
 
 The Gaavdiau Angel .... 
 
 25 
 
 To Daniel Kobert M'Nab, Esq. . 
 
 2« 
 
 To a young Heiress .... 
 
 29 
 
 To Miss Dean, on the Death of her Brother 
 
 30 
 
 To Miss Jane NichoU .... 
 
 32 
 
 Pastoral I. . 
 
 34 
 
 Pastoral II. .... . 
 
 36 
 
 An Apology ..... 
 
 39 
 
 Marriage ..... 
 
 41 
 
 To Delia ..... 
 
 43 
 
 The Peasants of Uri .... 
 
 l.T 
 
 The Journey to Brundusiuni . . . . 
 
 47 
 
 From the German of Scliiller . . . . 
 
 .00
 
 VI 
 
 FiDiii tlu- (ifiniaii <'t' Ulilaud 
 
 Fivni tho (ienuau <>f Wielaud 
 
 Friiui tlio (ioniiau 
 
 .V (iLTUuui Proverli 
 
 The Exile < if Wi'irteiuberg 
 
 All luntatiuii Declined 
 
 A Farewell 
 
 The M<iuse 
 
 PAGE 
 
 5(; 
 
 58. 
 ()(» 
 61 
 (J3 
 .67 
 6!l .
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following Poems, selected from a number of others, 
 were for the most part written at an early period of life, 
 when the study of " the Divine Art " was a favourite pur- 
 suit and the cherished occupation of mv leisure hours. The 
 duties of a more mature age sufEcientiy controlled this in- 
 clination without eradicating it altogether; and, in revising 
 some of these productions of mv vouthful davs, the memories 
 which they still awaken, and the scenes that they recall 
 and re-people with forms and features once so familiar and 
 dear, have induced me, though with much diffidence and 
 hesitation, to commit them to the press, under the hope 
 that thev may prove a not unacceptable offering to my 
 family and a few select friends. 
 
 . I will not flatter myself that these Poems possess sufficient 
 merit to afford me the gratification of adding another page
 
 Vlll 
 
 tu the pernuiuciit Litunituiu ol my country; yet, il i'rom 
 periisiug tliein my I'lU'uds can draw aught of pleasure or 
 profit to themselves, 1 shall have the satisfaction of feeling 
 that the hours which 1 have devoted to their composition 
 have not been wholly misspent or without their reward. 
 
 C'Jnuuburij Place, iy6o.
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY. 
 
 hfec olim lueiuinisse juvabit. 
 
 ViRG. JE:s. h. i. 1. 2U7 
 
 Hail Parnassian God! thrice hail, Apollo! 
 And from thy throne of lig-ht with kindly aid 
 Direct the mazes of my artless song, 
 While with untutor'd hand I wake the lyre, 
 Responsive to alternate joy and woe. 
 
 Now had the lino-erinii; shades of nio-ht retired, 
 And a few fleecy clouds of sober grey 
 Announced the coming of the rosy morn, 
 When roused from his Elysian dream of ease 
 The toil-worn student wakes; hut wakes, alas! 
 To all the stern realities of life. 
 Like some poor partridge startled from her nest, 
 Precipitant he leaves his attic lair. 
 And, though unwillingly, in haste resumes 
 
 B
 
 The well-worn garb for long endurance made, 
 Not heeding much the order of his hose, 
 If haply he can join the general call. 
 
 Assembled all, and the brief matins o'er, 
 With elbows firmly pois'd and arms erect, 
 Each anxious neophitc cons o'er his task. 
 Content with just that minimum of lore 
 Which shrewd experience predicates will serve 
 To bear him safely current through the day. 
 Nor need we wonder that the youthiul mind 
 To iov attuned should nauseate at the dose 
 Of rules abstruse and languages defunct 
 "WTierewith, obdurate to each kindly sense. 
 The powers depute would gorge us to the full. 
 
 Insat'atc brood of hungry whippcrs-on, 
 W^hose ogre appetites, by daily growth. 
 Would bolt the half of Euclid at a meal ! 
 0! it were well if some ])lulanthropist. 
 Some second Howard, ibrm'd in mercy's mould, 
 Would find a readier road to Learning's tane, 
 And save these budding years of early life 
 The drudgery and toil they're doomed to bear. 
 
 Grateful the slight repast that comes at length
 
 And puts its friendly veto into force 
 With one sweet liour of liberty and ease; 
 Brief interlude of joy, and soon exchanged 
 For toils and trials greater than before ! 
 Inglorious bondage, such as Israel knew 
 Beneath the ii'on sway of Egypt's lord 
 When called to render in the tale of bricks. 
 Nor more than then can there remittance be 
 Of aught by stern authority imposed. 
 And now through all the dome a hubbub strange 
 Ensues, that would a chaos seem of sounds 
 Which have no import clear for mortal ears, 
 Like the thick hum of congregated bees, 
 Or clam'rous merchants of all climes and tongues 
 That erst assembled on the crowded mart 
 Of peerless Venice in her palmy days. 
 
 Brief is the time for mere recital left; 
 
 Some half the circle of the dial traced, 
 
 When lo ! the mighty Pedagogue appears. 
 
 Erect, of manly form, and with a brow 
 
 Imperial as the heir of ancient Rome, 
 
 In whom to rule would seem inherent right; 
 
 Yet placable and mild and kind of heart 
 
 Where'er the semblance of a Avilling mind. 
 
 With solemn step he mounts his vacant throne, 
 
 B 2
 
 Ami thence awhile in thouirhtlul mood surveys 
 The various charge committed to his care; 
 Now motionless and fixed, as if the dread 
 Simoom had laid them prostrate at his feet, 
 Or Gorgon's eye had turned them into stone, 
 So silent all, and, if we may to aught 
 Compare, like that mysterious conclave, where 
 With folded arms the musing Quaker sits. 
 Or those still shades of famed Crotona's school 
 "Where young Pythagoreans held their peace, 
 Susceptible to sound of falling eaves. 
 Or gentlest gale of zephyr's ])alniy wing 
 That whispers pleasure to the noon-tide air. 
 
 T'were long indeed and wearisome to tell 
 The searching scrutiny that now ensues, 
 The frequent blunder or the happy guess 
 That sinks or saves some culprit in despaii-. 
 A few distinguished Opts ride out the storm. 
 And bear triumphant off the grateful prize 
 Of smiles and commendations fairly due 
 For means improved and talents well applied. 
 The rest, like the great bulk of human kind. 
 Attempt but little and perform still less. 
 Nor are there wanting in the varied throng 
 Some ruder specimens of Nature's work,
 
 E<;rcij;ious dolts no culture can reclaim, 
 
 Whom patience, wearied to the death, consigns 
 
 To that last hope of remedy — the Birch ; 
 
 Terrific root of bitterness and woe. 
 
 Indigenous to Acheron's gloomy shores, 
 
 But known of old in this our upper earth 
 
 For virtues such as poisons sometimes have. 
 
 And said by Solomon himself to be, 
 
 If freely used, with vigorous arm and oft, 
 
 The best appliance for the back of fools. 
 
 Come jcjyous noon, with liberty return; 
 We hail thee, welcome as thou always art. 
 But doubly welcome when thou bring'st with thoe 
 The blest remembrance of some holy saint 
 Whose rubricated name in glorious type 
 Adorns the humble calendar of time; 
 For then, like hounds from dreary kennel freed 
 To chase the stag or scent the fragrant air, 
 We rush tumultuous forth with joy elate, 
 And consecrate to sports the hallow'd day 
 That ancient piety redeemed from toil. 
 
 To cricket these, our country's manly game; 
 And those to fly the painted kite proceed; 
 While others, yoked by free consent in pairs,
 
 Under the guidance of some embryo Whip, 
 Assume the character of mettled steeds. 
 Loud sounds the lash, incessant is the shout, 
 A? round the dusty stadium they career, 
 And rise in fancy to the proudest deeds 
 That once entranced the sons of ancient Greece. 
 
 ()fttimes, escaping from this joyous throng, 
 With bland companion I have wandered wide 
 Through woodland scenes and scented meadows gay 
 To bathe our limits in some translucent flood, 
 \\'here blooming Nature with a matron's care 
 Preserved the spot from all intrusion free, 
 Herself alone spectatress of the scene. 
 Nor did we scorn the culm recruiting aid 
 Tliat some old hostel proffered in the way. 
 T'was pleasant there to spend a social hour, 
 liecounting all our troubles past and gone, 
 Like veterans who had borne the brunt of war; 
 Yet was the dolorous talc full sure I ween 
 Enlivened oft with many a thought jocose. 
 Producing laughter o'er the mantling glass 
 Supplied redundant by our l)Ounteous host. 
 
 Delicious Burton ! worthy of the gods, 
 Surpassing far Valhalla's drowsy mead,
 
 Or that iiimed nectar so renowned of old 
 
 Which crown'd the ample cup of tippling Jove ! 
 
 Farewell to scholarship and manhood too 
 
 If e'er in future times our classic halls, 
 
 In mean subservience to a milksop age, 
 
 Should banish from their butteries' plenteous store 
 
 The noble beverage of home-brew'd ale, 
 
 That surest stay of too • exuberant growth, 
 
 And foster-nurse of our old Saxon blood. 
 
 The l^rimming beaker drained, and modest score 
 With liberal hand discharged, we wend our way, 
 The lovely star of eve just visible 
 As safe beneath our antique gate we turn, 
 Well pleased and grateful for the boon conferred, 
 That may be sought again but not abused. 
 
 Imagine we the glorious Summer gone 
 And hoary Winter with his icy crown 
 ]\Ionarch despotic of the fading year. 
 Like some fair argosy that rides secure 
 'Gainst stress of weather in a friendly port, 
 We seek the shelter of our common school, 
 Whose cheerful hearth revives the sinking breast 
 And smiles defiance to the storm without. 
 Yet, what the elements in rousrhest mood
 
 8 
 
 Hut bounteous nature in a varied form. 
 And all for ends beneficent and wise? 
 I love to listen to the piping Xortli 
 With all his fierce artillery in play; 
 There's music in the storm to fancy's ear 
 At times more pleasing th;in the festal strain. 
 
 Secure within and every shutter barred, 
 The hours glide swiftly by on silken wing; 
 Some antique tale of haunted castle dread, 
 Of ladies fair by strong enchantment held, 
 Munchausen's wonders, or a game at chess, 
 Yield ample pastime and delight for most; 
 While others, it may be of civic race. 
 Incipient merchants, with an eye to gain. 
 Concoct a condiment of wondrous art. 
 Whose spicy fumes from pipkin- mouth exhaled 
 Diffuse a fragrance through the spacious dome. 
 Like perfumes wafted from Molucca's isles, 
 Or scented airs of Araby the blest. 
 
 Seductive bait of an illicit trade. 
 Beguiling tyroes into frequent debt; 
 Their craving appetites can not resist. 
 And slender purses have not means to pay. 
 Thanks to the Power Divine that orders all.
 
 It is but seldom that this sordid taint 
 Affects the fair simplicity of youth; 
 And though in after-life, alas, no doubt 
 Will ^Mammon have his worshippers enough, 
 These early years are free, and truth and love 
 And sweet benevolence of soul have space 
 To grow and strike their roots so deep at times 
 That all the world's rousjh usasre that succeeds 
 Can not displace them from their native soil. 
 
 The drama's ended and the curtain falls; 
 A frugal meal, some minutes spent in prayer, 
 And all the actors in this busy scene 
 Are shortly folded in the arms of sleep, 
 While silence spreads her peaceful empire round; 
 Save where the foot of some noctambulist 
 Is heard to patter on the hollow Hoor, 
 Or fairy Mab, as Shakespeare sweetly sings, 
 In nutshell chariot drawn by murmuring gnat, 
 With all the equipage that fancy paints, 
 Rides lightly 'cross the nose of slumb'ring man, 
 And some poor student, still intent on school. 
 In dreaming hums a conjugation o'er. 
 
 Here let the j\Iuse restrain her doubtful flight. 
 And trim the pinion of her weary wing, 
 
 c
 
 10 
 
 For nought ot" import else remains to tell 
 
 But that we venerate with just regard 
 
 Tlie good and loyal eustoms of the land; 
 
 And when the gloomy month November brings 
 
 His sleet and snow, as oft it suits his mood, 
 
 Then high we rear a great and goodly pile 
 
 To burn the effigy of traitorous Fawkes, 
 
 And chronicle to all succeedino; time 
 
 That great deliverance which in days of yore 
 
 Preserved at once the altar and the throne. 
 
 Then last there comes, to crown the closing year, 
 Our long vacation and the joys of home; 
 In chaise or coach, on dicky or in iront, 
 i)v crammed within, no matter Iioav or where, 
 But luckiest he with Jehu on the box. 
 We rattle off, none happier in the land, 
 Superbly jubilant with store of horns, 
 Xor cast a look of sad regret behind. 
 
 Yet soon, indeed, the month of pleasure Hies, 
 And all the drudgery of school returns; 
 But so it must be to the end of time. 
 These youthful days are the first talent given, 
 And if not used to profit there will show 
 In after-life but leaves upon the tree
 
 11 
 
 When need requires, and most we look for, fruit. 
 Nor must tlic voice of mirth too long engage 
 If e'er we think to reach the glorious height 
 Of those whose memory lives beyond their day. 
 
 Yet not for me to moralize who need 
 Myself th' improving words of riper years; 
 My humble task performed with slender skill, 
 1 leave to those whose worthier right it is 
 To point the road to virtue and renown. 
 Sufficient if my theme, by fortune blest, 
 Should win the meed of an approving smile. 
 
 C 2
 
 AX EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 AVhat tliougli your calm and studious mind, 
 
 To deep researclies more inclined, 
 
 Finds little in the Poet's tlieme 
 
 To wake your notice or esteem, 
 
 Yet have I thought you may commend 
 
 The short epistle o( a Priend, 
 
 Whose powers admit no lofty views, 
 
 And sole desire is to amuse. 
 
 btill would I hope, when health restores 
 
 Tlie sweet delight oi' tranquil hours, 
 
 Y(ju'11 feel and own the living lire 
 
 That sweeps across the Mantuan lyre. 
 
 And, borne on rapture's wing along. 
 
 Confess the mighty power of song. 
 
 But ii', from causes vmdefined. 
 
 Those subtle laws which fashion mind 
 
 With predisposing power prevent. 
 
 You'll still revere its high descent,
 
 13 
 
 As Arab tribes esteem the horse 
 
 Wliose blood bespeaks a noble source. 
 
 Or you and I prefer to see 
 
 The worth that's graced with ancestry 
 
 Than virtues which we cannot trace 
 
 A year beyond the present race. 
 
 Since ancient Greece produced no prose 
 
 Till first Milesian Cadmus rose, 
 
 And Rome but measured numbers sung 
 
 ('Tis thought) till Appius Coecus sprung, 
 
 And long Avhile arts were yet uncouth, 
 
 Or letters led the way to truth. 
 
 An oral verse preserved alone 
 
 The deeds of time from sire to son; 
 
 And ever will the poet's art 
 
 Delisfht the ear and touch the heart. 
 
 To action rouse each slumb'ring power, 
 
 Or soothe and charm a pensive hour, 
 
 And o'er the brow of science trace 
 
 A softer polish and a grace. 
 
 But stay, my Muse, thy fond career, 
 Nor press too long a languid ear; 
 I did in writing but intend 
 To ask how fares my much-lov'd friend; 
 What yet essential change has wrought
 
 14 
 
 The unmolested ranfre of thoufrht; 
 What joy affords, what vigour yields, 
 Your calm retreat and open fields; 
 Those early scenes where fresli and new 
 Our first ideas of life we drew. 
 And sketch'd with pencils dipp'd in light 
 A future ever fair and Lrlirht. 
 
 Immersed in the pursuits of town. 
 How seldom now I venture down, 
 And, if compelled to seek awhile 
 A respite from this w'orld of toil, 
 Pursue my journey as I may 
 Without a halt upon the way. 
 Except perchance at that small inn 
 From which the last five miles begin; 
 A pleasant S2:>ot for slight regale 
 Before you rise from Loughton vale 
 To higher lands and keener air 
 That ten to one will meet you there. 
 But you, I fear, proceeding slow, 
 Would find this stajje enou^jh for two, 
 Xor venture for the former part 
 Further than Townrows or the Hart, 
 Whose cleanly front and open door 
 Bespeak a welcome — and no more.
 
 15 
 
 Mine liost rotund, of portly size, 
 With booted legs and rustic gfuise, 
 
 CD O ' 
 
 Conducts you in — presents a chair, 
 And then a wretclied bill of fare; 
 But talks with gusto and delight 
 Of things reserv'd and out of sight; 
 The wonders, if you dure believe. 
 His well-stored cellar can achieve. 
 Port old and rare, of finest growth, 
 Carvalho and Bastado both. 
 And clarets such we seldom meet, 
 The Chateau Margaux and Lafitte; 
 But draw the cork, and I opine 
 You'll pay the bill and leave the wine. 
 
 T'was so of old; the vain parade 
 You know Nasidienus made 
 About his Ca^cuban so rare 
 And Chian of a chosen year, 
 Which knew full well the sorry knave 
 Had never crossed a salt sea wave; 
 The merest trash made up at home 
 Within the very walls of Rome. 
 
 How looks the country all around, 
 Each well-remember'd spot of ground,
 
 16 
 
 Its corn-lands rich, spread far and wide, 
 
 Where Rodcn rolls his silvery tide? 
 
 Fair Parndon's meads and Thornwood plain, 
 
 And Gernon's ancient proud domain. 
 
 And all the glorious l)road display 
 
 Of forests stretching far away? 
 
 Is Cheveley's mansion, once so fair, 
 Still roofless and without an heir; 
 Its rich parterre a brauibled scene 
 TN^iere weeds and wild flowers intervene, 
 Sad emblem of the certain fate 
 Of follv in its best estate? 
 How clear the mind can still recall 
 Its marble floors and scidptur'd hall. 
 Its stately avenue's dark gloom, 
 Oft shunn'd to make a circuit home 
 When here in boyhood's joyous day 
 We whiled the laughing hours away, 
 Nought heeding till we haply found 
 The shades of evening closing round. 
 
 And tell me next, I long to hear. 
 Though 'tis witii thoughts allied to lear 
 I draw the veil of private life, 
 How Delia looks and acts the wife;
 
 17 
 
 Arc still those blooming charms the same 
 Which woke in every breast a flame, 
 Charms so resistless, so divine, 
 That turned your head as well as mine? 
 ! what a riddle, guessed in vain, 
 Have women been, and still remain ! 
 How could she wed with such a lout? 
 What truck] ino[ brouo-ht the match about? 
 Alas, how luckless was the day 
 When such a prize was thrown away ! 
 
 One wish remains, — 1 fain would know 
 What favourite study you pursue. 
 Whether with curious eye you trace 
 The wonders of the insect race; 
 Wing with the bee his morning round 
 And note the spot where sweets abound, 
 His chamber'd hive attentive scan, 
 And ask from whence he drew the plan; 
 Then wider take your range at will 
 Through countless forms of matchless skill. 
 And life survey in every phase 
 That nature's teeming womb displays? 
 
 Or rather, is your taste inclined 
 To track the mighty march of mind, 
 
 D *
 
 18 
 
 And seek by deep research tlie cause 
 Of order, government, and laws; 
 See mutual -wishes, mutual fear, 
 Attract mankind, unite, endear, 
 Till private wants in time create 
 The germ from wlicnce arose a state; 
 Ketrace whate'er the world has seen, 
 The wreck of empires that have been, 
 The birtli of modern power and sway 
 \A'hich rose and grew on their decay, 
 With all the progress time has wrought 
 In arts, in science, and in thought? 
 
 Hajipy the man whose cultured mind 
 From every grosser sense refined, 
 Whose ample acres, broad and fair, 
 Prevent the rude approach of care, 
 And leave hiin uncontrolled to stray 
 Where'er the muse shall lead the way. 
 
 So may my friend, pursuing still 
 The impulse of his manly will, 
 With health and lengthen'd years explore 
 The treasur'd gems of ancient lore; 
 Adorn'd with all the charms of mind 
 That frruce the best of Imman kind;
 
 19 
 
 And, far beyond this fleeting life, 
 
 So marr'd with pain and vexed with strife, 
 
 Anticipate with hope sublime 
 
 Those joys that are not bound by time — 
 
 A solace here for every woe, 
 
 A hope the world can not bestow. 
 
 Nor all the sophists' vain display 
 
 Of pride and learning take away. 
 
 D 2
 
 MELCHISEDEC. 
 
 Like the grand orb of an autumnal sun 
 That greets the traveller on some Alpine height, 
 Magnificent though bathed in rising mist, 
 Melchisedec, tliv kingly form appears 
 Deep in tlie haze of far-receding time. 
 The mighty outline of some glorious power 
 That blest the early ages oi' mankind, 
 By us but dimly seen; so far removed 
 foward the verge of all recorded truth. 
 Thou seem'st the head of a sublime and elder 
 Hierarchy that survived the Flood — greater 
 Than Abraham — father of the chosen seed, 
 Who paid thee homage and gave tithes of all. 
 Minister of the Most High — the Gentiles' 
 Light — thou didst keep awhile upon the earth 
 The saving knowledge of a God, ami that 
 Primeval faith — the earliest dawn of hope,
 
 21 
 
 Whicli spake of mercy yet in time to come, 
 And sootlied tlie bitter angiush of the Fall. 
 
 Alas ! how dire and subtle was the power 
 Of that forbidden fruit which in the bowers 
 Of rosy Eden grew — how deep it sank 
 Into the fountain of perennial life, 
 CorrujDting every motion of the heart, 
 And u-end'rino; death throuo-h all that wond'rous wurk 
 Which Heaven had made so good and beautiful 
 That but for sin it would have known no change ! 
 How nearly had the first oiFence of man 
 Drawn down the whole extinction of his race 
 And blotted out from off this goodly earth 
 Each trace and record that he once had been ! 
 Yet grew there hence no appetite for good, 
 Nor could a world of waters wash away 
 And cleanse the deep pollution of the soul. 
 What though the Omnipotent in mercy saved 
 A little seed to plant the earth anew, 
 Xo sooner man had nuiltiplied again 
 And oTown in numbers to a wand'rino; tribe 
 Than the old leaven of his heart appeared, 
 And so effaced the lineaments of truth 
 That all distorted and rebellious thousrhts 
 Sprang up like thistles in a stony soil.
 
 22 
 
 Man made him gods of all the various powers, 
 
 Benevolent or dread, whiclx constitute 
 
 The visible material universe, 
 
 And deified the fathers of his flesh; 
 
 He poured libations to the stars of heaven; 
 
 The glorious Sun, when he arose to warm 
 
 And fertilize the earth, and the flur ]\Ioon, 
 
 Deputed regent of the night, received 
 
 His orisons; gods grew along the shores 
 
 Of Nile prolific as the Lotus plant — 
 
 Osiris, Remphan, and the sacred bull, 
 
 Apis or ^Inevis, Thammuz the beloved 
 
 Of women, and universal Isis. 
 
 Thick as Boeotian fog the mist of 
 
 Krror spread, and Ham was dark with idols. 
 
 From Sidon and along the western sea 
 
 Phcenicia offered incense and paid vows 
 
 To Agrus (called the husbandman, and thought 
 
 By some to be the patriarch Noah,) 
 
 And made him chiefest of the gods; nor less 
 
 Did Nineveh of old revere and serve 
 
 Her idol Nasarach, before whose shrine 
 
 Bv parricidal hands Sennach'rib fell. 
 
 In Babylon renowned, and thence dispersed 
 
 Through all the nations which confess'd her sway. 
 
 With varying names and forms, men worshipped
 
 23 
 
 Belus and Astarte, deities well known 
 In Israel, — whose sons so oft forsook 
 The sacred law to follow heathen rites. 
 
 Nor when the tide of human life had spread 
 Did Greece or Latium more enlighten'd grow 
 In thinffs divine; the wisest of their sons 
 Could judge no more of Truth than that it was 
 Not known, and must be taught from Heaven. 
 Yet had the golden era of the arts arrived, 
 And genius reached the climax of its power, 
 And Hellas poured from all her sacred groves 
 Such matchless strains of eloquence and song 
 As charmed the ear of all succeeding time. 
 Still man by nature knew not God — and as 
 The earth increased in age the cloud upon 
 His brow but darker grew — Progressive skill 
 Had clothed with beauty and attractive grace 
 The deities of old, but every rite impure 
 And o-ross, remained offensive as at first. 
 The world was lapsing into ruin, and, had 
 The righteous few who made it vital for 
 A time have been withdrawn, there were, alas ! 
 No elements in all its social state 
 To re-adjust the havoc of the mind 
 Or claim of right the respite of a day.
 
 24 
 
 Yet tilt' long suff'rance of Heaven wearied not, 
 Nor could ill aught the Hope of Israel change; 
 Thy greater antetype, Melchisedec, 
 The promised Consolation of the earth, 
 Messiah, came, restoring all things by 
 Transgression lost; and man, regenerate 
 And made anew in sanctity of life, 
 Forsook the broken fountains he hud made, 
 For Living Waters that can never fail.
 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 'Tis said, by laws ordained in heaven, 
 There is to man in mercy given. 
 
 Attendant at his side. 
 Through every scene of weal and \voe 
 That marks his chequer'd lot below, 
 
 Ai:p Ansel i'or his guide. 
 
 &' 
 
 How precious then beyond compare 
 Of all the world calls good and fair 
 
 The immortal soul must be, 
 And () how far transcending; auy-ht 
 Within the utmost reach of thought 
 
 Its glorious destiny ! 
 
 But does this heaven-born guardian friend 
 On every child of earth attend? 
 
 Ye sons of Wisdom sav ; 
 Or is it the elect alone 
 Who draw by faith an Angel down, 
 
 Companion of their way? 
 
 E
 
 26 
 
 How deej) the truths that unrevealed, 
 And by the veil ol" fiesh concealed. 
 
 Lie hidden or obscure ! 
 T\\r chielest knowledge still is plain, 
 That virtue is our certain gain, 
 
 And man must wait ("or more. 
 
 Contented then I spread my sail, 
 
 Though dark the sky, though rough the gale, 
 
 I have what I rcqiare ; 
 Thou Guardian Spirit at my side. 
 Canst master ocean's wildest tide. 
 
 Or bid the storm retire. 
 
 With thee I'll climb the arduous hill, 
 Though faint and weak, pursuing still 
 
 The path to joy and light ; 
 Still keep thy holy vigils near. 
 Sustain my strength, dispel my fear, 
 
 And guide my steps aright. 
 
 Let thy persuasive powers impart 
 That gift divine — a humble heart. 
 
 No passion can allure ; 
 Grant me a will intent on good. 
 By varying fortune unsubdued, 
 
 A conscience calm and pure
 
 27 
 
 Then, when my earthly course is run, 
 And thy celestial mission's done, 
 
 Thou wilt rejoin the bless'd, 
 Present with joy thy charge above 
 Before the Eternal Throne of Love, 
 
 And bear a soul to rest.
 
 TO DANIEL ROBERT MACNAB, ESQ. 
 
 WITH A COPY OF FKAVCIS QUARLES'S "DIVINE AND MORAl. 
 
 E MULE MS.-' 
 
 Accept, iny Friend, this work —'tis somewhat cmious 
 
 And singular and quaint, but not injurious 
 
 'J'o sound divinity, and may command 
 
 Part ol' thy shell' wlicre Locke and Barrow stand. 
 
 Quarles was a man oC ]:)iety and wit, 
 
 The first profound, the other always liit ; 
 
 What were his tenets let the world inquire ; 
 
 Or sect, or orthodox, may each admire. 
 
 He wrote I'or all, and chose that needl'ul part 
 
 To form the morals and improve the heart; 
 
 And, though grotesque the carving of tlic -^luine, 
 
 The jewels lodged therein are all Divine.
 
 TO A YOUNG HEIRESS, 
 
 Willi A COl'Y OK j'lli: COLLO(.iUlE8 OF KDW AKb OSl'.OUNK 
 
 OsBOUNE deserved the bride his virtue won. 
 But wealth and beauty help'd his genius on; 
 Your hand and fortune, if bestowed with skill, 
 Would aid deserving worth and talents still ; 
 And one who happily should wed with you 
 MiLdit be the founder of a Dukedom too.
 
 TO MISS DEAN, 
 
 ON rilE DEATH OF HER BROTHER. 
 
 How frail and fleeting all that charms us here ! 
 
 No good is certain, no delight sincere ; 
 
 Awhile we live, but scarce our pleasures known 
 
 We see them lade and then lament them gone. 
 
 Time baffles all our efforts as it flies. 
 
 Bestows the ho})e of bliss l)ut not the prize, 
 
 And every year obtruding some distress 
 
 Still leaves the circle of enjoyment less; 
 
 In one short month an age of doubt is o'er. 
 
 And you a brother, 1 a friend, deplore. 
 
 Vet cease to mourn with unavailing care, 
 Though gone thy chief est joy and solace here, 
 Tears will not now reverse the fixed decree, 
 And that is best which Heaven permits to be.
 
 31 
 
 Pre]jai'cd lor early death, he seemed to know 
 His time allotted was but short below. 
 No day exempt from some eorroding pain, 
 Foretold the pleasing dream ol' life was vain, 
 And past the bounds of its uncertain date 
 His constant mind ])ursued a brighter fate ; 
 Preserved the blameless path that faith required. 
 Became mature in virtue, and expired. 
 
 And could we wish, howe'er awhile we mourn, 
 
 The disembodied spirit might return? 
 
 Again possess its tenement of clay, 
 
 Endure a second lih; and i)ass away? 
 
 Ah no!— no pains disturb the mould'ring dust, 
 
 And full of bliss the portion of the just; 
 
 His all the gain that hope could wish to find ; 
 
 And ours the loss, who lingei' still behind.
 
 TO MISS JANE MCIIOLL 
 
 Some think a compliment best jjaid 
 
 By studied fine expression, 
 But, after all is done and said, 
 
 This may be but profession. 
 
 Who sees my wish when scarce expressed, 
 
 And gratifies it right, 
 lias studied human nature best, 
 
 And is the most polite. 
 
 For scents like these what can I say, 
 
 Or what requital make? 
 I'll dare to utter all I may — 
 
 They're sweeter for your sake.
 
 And, kept for liappy days alone, 
 I'll piize tlie fragrant treasure ; 
 
 And when I use it always own 
 To you I owe the pleasure.
 
 PASTORAL.— 1. 
 
 Ah, blame not, sweet maid ! if again 
 
 I offer a tribute that's due ; 
 Nor tliink that I praise in a strain 
 
 More than justice would render to you ; 
 Can I flatter? ah no! it is mean, 
 
 Dear Phillis, 1 scorn the base art ; 
 And my tongue, it will ever be seen, 
 
 Has pronounced what I've felt in my heart. 
 
 Then wlierc is the wrong if I say. 
 
 What reason so plainly assures, 
 Though Chloe may aim at display, 
 
 She has not the grace that is youi's ; 
 And yet in some moments of spleen 
 
 Those charms, if the truth I confess, 
 I even could wish I'd not seen, 
 
 Or that I'd admired them less.
 
 35 
 
 Jiut Phillis excels all the fair, 
 
 She's beloved by the wise and the good ; 
 There's a softness, a grace in her aii", 
 
 No swain has yet ever Avithstood. 
 Yet still I am forced to complain. 
 
 Still, doubting of happiness, see 
 That bosom unmoved by my pain. 
 
 And cruel — but only to me. 
 
 The fields where I once loved to rove 
 
 No lono-er look cheerful and bright ; 
 I heed not the song of the grove, 
 
 Its music affords no delight ; 
 While I hear those sweet lips ever speak 
 
 In so gentle, but cautious a tone. 
 And see that fair hand, if 1 take. 
 
 So hastily drawn from my own. 
 
 But I will not pronounce you unkind. 
 
 For my own is the fault and the blame ; 
 I should not have nursed in my mind 
 
 So sweet, yet so hopeless, a flame. 
 And now, but too late ! I attend, 
 
 What trutlr miy-ht have tauo;ht me before, 
 That, owned and esteemed as a friend, 
 
 I should not have coveted more. 
 
 F 2
 
 PASTORAL.— II. 
 
 Ah, should I, dear Phillis ! appear 
 
 ]Morc gay than I've seemed for a while, 
 Sure the reason to all will be clear, 
 
 That my love has vouchsafed me a smile ! 
 Such peace has returned to my mind 
 
 Since my passion you deigned to approve, 
 Forgive, if I thought you unkind — 
 
 To doubt, is the nature of love. 
 
 IIow sweet, when the storm is all laid 
 
 That has clouded the prospect so long, 
 Is the perfume that breathes from the shade, 
 
 And the music of Philomel's song ! 
 How gladly we wclcojnc the sight 
 
 Of the snowdrop and crocus again, 
 When "Winter has taken his flight 
 
 And Spring is resuming her reign !
 
 37 
 
 But the anguisli I've felt could you know 
 
 (And how coidd it otherwise be?) 
 Wliile you found not a word to bestow 
 
 Of hope or of comfort on mc ! — 
 Of all the hard trials of fate 
 
 That nature is destined to mourn, 
 There is not a pang that's so great 
 
 As to love and to meet no return. 
 
 'Twas vainly indeed that I sought 
 
 An object to lighten my grief ; 
 I never could trust to a thought 
 
 That sometimes would whisper relief. 
 The voice of affection was vain, 
 
 And friendship I strove to decline ; 
 There was nothing could soften my pain 
 
 But some sweet expression of thine. 
 
 The pity that reigns in your breast 
 
 Was a subject of praise I well knew, 
 .Vnd so often I'd seen it express'd. 
 
 There's none have said more than is due ; 
 But still I was doomed to complain 
 
 That pity to me was not shown. 
 And I envied the bliss of the swain 
 
 \^nio was destined to call you his own.
 
 38 
 
 P.iii why should I seek to prolong 
 
 The griet" that once troubled my mind .•' 
 Who now will give heed to my song 
 
 Since mv lov*; is no longer unkind ? 
 I'll haste to the meadows away, 
 
 All blooming and beautiful now, 
 And I'uU i'rom the sweet-scented May 
 
 A wreath for my Phillis's brow.
 
 AN APOLOGY. 
 
 Have I blamed thee too severely? 
 
 It was not in anger done ; 
 Do I love thee less sincerely ? 
 
 I love but thee, my sweetest one ! 
 
 Though for once I have suspected, 
 
 And should know such doubts were vain; 
 
 Where's the bosom, when neglected. 
 That can bear, and not complain? 
 
 True I'd every pledge and token 
 
 Love may ask and virtue give, 
 And one whose word was never broken 
 
 Was the last who coidd deceive.
 
 40 
 
 I own 'twas rash, but be it so — 
 
 What a trillc wakens fear ! 
 Didst thou never doubtings know? 
 
 Never tliink 7??^ insincere? 
 
 Yes, that love which burns the strongest, 
 That with life alone can cease. 
 
 Soonest sees, and feels the longest, 
 
 A look, a word, can wound its peace.
 
 MAURI AGE. 
 
 And, Lesbia, do you think indeed 
 No siirht on earth more rare 
 
 Than, 'mono-st the multitude that wed, 
 A truly happy pair? 
 
 ril tell you what I deem the cause 
 
 Of this heartbreaking vvoe, 
 (For Heaven intended Hymen's laws 
 
 Our chiefest good below), — 
 
 The u-races that adorn the bride, 
 And should remain through life, 
 
 Are, after marriage, laid aside 
 Neglected by the wife.
 
 42 
 
 Were those enJeanueiits constant loiind, 
 How potent woman's reign; 
 
 More happy unions would abound, 
 And few would then complain. 
 
 But fair, and thus discreet in mind, 
 
 Perhaps there are but few, 
 Nor in a thousand could 1 lind 
 
 Another love, — like you.
 
 TO DELIA. 
 
 Delia, how often had you press'd 
 To see the maid I lov'd the liest; 
 How constantly, whene'er I came. 
 You still renewed the tender theme ! 
 How did you flatter, how declare 
 You knew she must be wise and fair; 
 It was your wish, your chief desire, 
 To see, to love her, and admire ! 
 
 Thiis urged, T press'd the bashful maid. 
 And, half-consenting, half-afraid, 
 With doubts she could not quite resign, 
 I placed my Lesbia's hand in thine. 
 But ah, liow changed was Delia now ! 
 No pleasure sparkled on her brow, 
 
 G 2
 
 44 
 
 No tTfracel'ul -welcome from her tonirue 
 Conliriu'd tlie wish express'd so long ; 
 Politely tiigid and precise, 
 A sun-beam on a sea of ice ! 
 The form gone through, the visit o'er. 
 Yet. scarce more known than heretofore. 
 Slie let the gentle maid depait, 
 But made no oifer of her heart.
 
 THE PEASANTS OF UPJ. 
 
 I low sweet is the strain that comes floatiiur aloRo- 
 
 o o 
 
 O'er the Lake of Lucerne as the sun sinks to rest ! 
 'Tis the Peasants of Ui-i, and blitlic is their son^'-. 
 
 For their hearts are as liglit as those clouds in the West. 
 
 But liark ! it is hushed, and tlicy rest on their oar, 
 Xot a motion is heard or on lake or in dell ; 
 
 Their hoat is abreast of tlic timc-hallow'd shore, 
 
 And they're kneeling in prayer at the chapel of Tell. 
 
 O'er the blue waters now, like thu nautilus, bounding. 
 Their bark bears away, and renewed is the strain ; 
 
 Old Seelis, and .Vshen, and liothstock all sounding, 
 For they love the bold chant and repeat it again.
 
 46 
 
 Sorenolv in beauty. — sec tlic twilight is closing. 
 
 Well sped has that hark, and now distant its form, 
 And the peasants ere long will l)e calmly reposing 
 
 Jn their chalets on \\\(A\ in the home of the storm. 
 
 Peace be with them there in those regions of wonder, 
 Though rude is their dwelling and humble their fare, 
 
 'rhouijh the avalanche round them is fallint;- in tlmnder. 
 ' Tis the land of their Fathers, and hallow'd and dear.
 
 THE JOURNEY TO BRUXDUSIUM. 
 
 HORACE, Book I. Satike V. 
 
 Quitting imperial Rome, I straight repair 
 
 First to Aricia; my companion there 
 
 An orator well known, whom clients seek — • 
 
 Hclioclorus, an accomplished Greek. 
 
 Thence o'er the smoothest way proceeding on, 
 
 Takino- two days where some would take hut one. 
 
 We Appil-Forum reach, ahhorr'd by all. 
 
 Where sailors swear, and cheating hiixters bawl. 
 
 Here, while my friend with more mercurial power 
 
 Phijoyed his supper and a social hour, 
 
 I, with a stomach which could not endure 
 
 The filthy water of this common sewer, 
 
 In sore distress reclined awhile apart. 
 
 Not much disposed for thought, and sick at heart.
 
 48 
 
 Ere loniz tlie shades ul' iilij-lit udvaneinu- sin-ead, 
 
 And rising stars thoir silver radiance slicd ; 
 
 Rut now, in stern deliance of repose, 
 
 A storm of words and I'oul abuse arose, — 
 
 " Yc scoundrel knaves ! " our ano^rv servants shout, 
 
 "D'ye mean to i^ink us? Put the boat al:)Out ; 
 
 Three hun(bed are on board, and want vc more ? 
 
 Now liold your bauds and let some go ashore." 
 
 Thus, in collecting fares, and this aftray, 
 
 And harnessing the mule, time glides away. 
 
 Tormenting gnats assail my weary head. 
 
 And croaking frogs, in neighbouring marshes bred. 
 
 With ceaseless noise a vile disturbance keep. 
 
 Prolong the tardy hours, and banish sloe]) ; 
 
 ^\ idle deeply soaked with cheap and common wine 
 
 The crew and passengers their powers comljine 
 
 \\\ amorous ditties to each absent fail-, 
 
 And add fresh tortures to my v/ounded ear. 
 
 The mule is turned to graze, her ro})C made tight, 
 
 And all at lenjrth is settled for the nio-ht. 
 
 The circlinij hours now usher in the day, 
 Still liere unmoved and llimly moored we lay, 
 Till some bold fellow Avith an ashen bi'and 
 Leaps from his berth and takes the case in hand ; 
 With stentor voice assumes a right to lule.
 
 49 
 
 And cudgels first the boatman, then the mule. 
 Jn four hours more we land, and straight repair 
 To tliv fair fountain, Feronia ! — where 
 We gladly wash, and, having dined, proceed 
 Three weary miles, though at a moderate speed. 
 And climb the rock where Anxur stands on high 
 In bold relief against the azure sky. 
 Maecenas here 1 did expect to find, 
 By fixed ajopointment, with Cocceius joined, 
 In urgent charge of some affairs of weight 
 That much concern the welfare of the state; 
 Men who had oft before prevented strife. 
 And make the love of peace their rule of life. 
 Afflicted much with tender eyes and blear, 
 I use dark ointment while we tarry here; 
 Meanwhile my best and dearest friends alive — 
 Cocceius and Moscenas — both arrive, 
 And with them, too, Fronteius, whom folks deem 
 Preferred and first in Antony's esteem, 
 On whom the graces all their gifts bestow. 
 And surely the most polished man 1 know. 
 
 From Fundi starting now we take our way 
 And Luscus leave to his praetorian sway, 
 Diverted much with that vain pompous soul, 
 His broad-edged toga and his pan of coal; 
 
 H
 
 50 
 
 Manuivm next with much iiitiguc we reach; 
 Miii-vena kindly linds a bed for each; 
 While Frontcius, freely of his own accord, 
 Supplies with liberal hand our cheerfiil boaid. 
 Thence to Sin'cssa we with joy repair, 
 For Plotius, Yarius, Virgil, all were there. 
 
 How blest the hours when minds congenial meet, 
 How rich the pleasure and how rare the treat ! 
 Full oft did we embrace and then refrain. 
 But still more gladly to embrace again. 
 No purer souls than these the world can boast. 
 And none more loved of those I love the most. 
 And sure I think, if 1 can judge aright 
 ( )f that which constitutes our chief delight, 
 The Fates on us may all their gilts expend, 
 Yet nothing grant that's equal to a friend. 
 
 We here at the Campanian guest-house halt, 
 Where law or custom finds us fire and salt, 
 And lodired a night we mount our mules again, 
 And in due time the Capuan town attain; 
 Maecenas here, to while the time away, 
 Kesorts to tennis, an exciting play. 
 Which no judicious leech would e'er advise 
 For those dyspeptic or with tender eyes;
 
 51 
 
 And lience in sleep and calm repose of mind 
 Viro-il and I a safer solace find. 
 Next day we reach Cocceius' sylvan seat, 
 High o'er the Caudian shops a fair retreat, 
 Whose noble owner made us welcome there 
 With princely kindness and the best of cheer. 
 
 And now my muse in graver strains rehearse 
 A su1)ject worthy of an epic verse, — 
 The rage of Messius and Sarmentus' ire. 
 Descended each — from what illustrious sire? 
 Their stern defiance ere they close in fight, 
 How fierce the conflict and august the sight ! 
 Messius from the Osci sprung, a wily knave, 
 Sarmentus the buffoon, a quondam slave; 
 Who first began—" 1 say, horse-headed brute!" 
 Constrained we laugh aloud at this salute; 
 When Messius thus, " I take what you have said," 
 And in derision tossed his ill-formed head. 
 "0!" cries Sarmentus, "by that shake I see 
 You still intend to have a butt at me. 
 If thus you threaten, weaponless and shorn, 
 What would you do had you retained your horn? 
 A hideous scar supplied its former place. 
 The common sign of his disease and race. 
 But Messius now, " I would one favour ask, 
 
 H 2 
 
 0"
 
 52 
 
 You need no buskin nor require a mask ; 
 
 With studied grace your better leg advance, 
 
 And let us see you do tlie Cyclop's dance." 
 
 Tlius one bv one eacb salient point lie tries, 
 
 Nor less astute his wary foe replies, 
 
 " Sarincntus, 1 would ask, nor ask in vain. 
 
 How long it is since last you wore a chain? 
 
 Is that fair ornament, no more displayed, 
 
 A pious offering to the Lares made? 
 
 \Vliat though a scriv'ner now, the empty name 
 
 Xor makes you free or bars your mistress' claim ; 
 
 The law enforced would give you up to-day; 
 
 But why, Sarmentus, did you run away? 
 
 A pound of bread per diem sure would do 
 
 For sucli a chicken-hearted knave as you." 
 
 Thus pleasantly enough time glides along 
 Till Beneventum reached demands my song; 
 And here our host, with fiir more haste than wit, 
 Turnini' some skinnv thrushes on a spit. 
 Dislodged the stove, the scatter'd fragments roll. 
 And here a bird and there a burning coal 
 Commingled lie; the igneous portions blend. 
 And smoke and flames toward the roof ascend. 
 Roused by the thick 'ning cries that fill the air, 
 We rush at once and to the scene repaii-.
 
 53 
 
 Iinpclhx! alike by one intense desire 
 
 To save our sapper und put out the fire. 
 
 From lieuce a well-known country greets my eyes, 
 And clear in front the Apuleian mountains rise, 
 O'er which that scorching wind surcharged with woe — 
 Atabulus, with all his fury blew; 
 Nor could we possibly have held our way 
 Had not a flirm that near Trivicum lay 
 With friendly care its best exertions made 
 To smooth our journey and to lend us aid. 
 But here green boughs for fuel they employ, 
 And clouds of smoke our stifled throats annoy, 
 AVliile from our eyes, resisting all control, 
 Hot tricklino- tears in ceaseless currents roll. 
 
 From hence in carriages with speed we came 
 The next eisrht leasrues, and reached a town whose name 
 Defies the powers of verse, but may be known 
 From some peculiar features of its own; 
 For water if obtained must here be bought, 
 But bread abounds and of the finest sort. 
 And those do well who take a store in hand, 
 Since at (Janusium it is full of sand. 
 This by-gone place, with its mean paltry stream, 
 By Diomed was built — its only fame.
 
 •*•• 
 
 54 
 
 With mutual grief wc hciv with Varius jjart 
 Xt^t without tears, and then for Rubi start ; 
 A toilsome distance, we at length attain, 
 O'er roads not good and more impaired by rain ; 
 \Mth fairer skies, but still worse roads, next day 
 To Barium (famed for fish) we wend our way; 
 Thence to Egnatia is the journey short, 
 ^Miose boas1:ed miracles afford us sport, 
 For here the incense on the altar laid, 
 W'itliout the means of fire or priestly aid, 
 So one and all without a blush declai*e. 
 Consumes itself and melts away in air. 
 The Jew Appella may this tale believe. 
 Which, I with sense endowed, cannot receive; 
 Nor do the gods such prodigies create. 
 Or feel for us or either love or hate; 
 Enthroned in bliss they every care forego, 
 And leave to chance and nature all below. 
 
 Here my long story ends — and paper too, — 
 Brundusium lies before us full in view.
 
 FROM THE GEKMAX OF SCIIIELFK 
 
 When the blue sky is cloudless overhead 
 Ol't liiive we lieurd the startlhig thunder roll; 
 So, when tliy fortune smiles and all seems bliss, 
 Be ever ready lor a change may come. 
 
 Gladly would 1 the blood-stain'd laurel change 
 
 For the first violet that March bestows — 
 
 The perfumed pledge of Earth made young again.
 
 FKOM THE GERMAN OF UHLANR 
 
 HoAV mucli may one brave man perform 
 To hold in clieck the battle's storm; 
 The deeds of" one important day 
 May wipe the stain of years away ; 
 And if to save liis Fatherland 
 He falls, but makes a noble stand. 
 How bright the joy that lights his eyes 
 And soothes the hero as he dies !
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF WIELAND. 
 
 In wondrous forms the rocks, storm-bleaclied and wliite, 
 Rear their vast peaks upon the brow of night; 
 Thick hanging woods from every deep ravine 
 Stretch their broad shadows o'er the silent scene; 
 Or, lit with em'rald fires, mysterious glow, 
 While nature, spell-bound, seems to sleep below.
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Quoth the Duke to Hutten in the deep dark wood 
 "What's that on thy hand so bright and so good?" 
 " My lord, it's a ring, I am free to declare, 
 From my own lady-love, which I prize and I wear." 
 
 Thou art, Huns, a stately man and a bold, 
 
 But thou wearest a glittering chain of gold, 
 
 That my fair jewel bestow'd upon me, 
 
 As a pledge of her love and how true she would be. 
 
 Hutten put spur to thy courser and fly, 
 Tiiere's danger and death in the Duke's dark eye; 
 Thou mayest escape, but thou may'st not stand, 
 The hilt of his sword is grasped in his hand.
 
 59 
 
 Tlicre stands a <^reea oak hi the Schunbachwald, 
 Wide arc its branches, the trunk it is old; 
 l)Ut for centuries yet it will bloom and be known, 
 For the Duke it is said hanr^ed one Ilutten thereon. 
 
 I 2
 
 A GERMAK PROVEEB. 
 
 A Prince's pledge, an April sky; 
 
 A woman's love, a rose's dye; 
 
 Cards and dice the gamesters play; 
 
 Tlicy change, and they will change for aye.
 
 THE EXILE OF WURTEMBERG. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 On these grey towers, where young and free 
 
 I looked o'er plain and wood, 
 A stranger's banner now I see 
 
 Where our proud ensign stood. 
 My fathers' halls despoiled and bare 
 
 In wild disorder lie; 
 A nameless exile, bowed with care, 
 
 To rocks and caves I fly. 
 
 AVhere erst my horn blew loud and shrill, 
 
 And woke the slumb'ring day. 
 My foes succeed in keeping still 
 
 The antler'd Stag at bay. 
 In every wood and glen and lair 
 
 There lurks a hostile band, 
 The thirsty blood-hound scents tlic air, 
 
 And death is close at hand.
 
 62 
 
 More safe for iiic the shades of night, 
 
 The mist along the plain, 
 Then in disguise and tatter'd plight 
 
 I venture forth again. 
 Where once I rode in royal state, 
 
 And nobles bow'd the head, 
 1 seek my poorest subject's gate 
 
 And humbly ask for bread. 
 
 But once again, whate'er befall, 
 
 I turn my steps to view 
 Our long-lost home — our ancient hall, 
 
 Fur heart and sword are true. 
 And should this crrief-worn Iraiiie i^ive way 
 
 I'll falter not nor fly; 
 My fiercest foenian yet shall say 
 "He dared to do and die."
 
 AN INVITATION DECLINED. 
 
 Dear Mary, I should before this have replied 
 To your note had it not rather startled my pride, 
 For it struck mc at first, on a moment's perusal, 
 As a sort of excuse — a genteel refusal — 
 A something intendently meant to convey 
 What you could not when present so readily say, 
 That the friendly regard which you cherished for me 
 Was not quite so great as I thought it to be; 
 And in future — for so did I construe the letter — 
 A slighter acquaintance you thought would be better. 
 Now, conscious of having no wish to intrude, 
 Tenacious in most things for fear that I should, 
 And acting from motives I knew such as none 
 Mio-ht fear to confess at a pinch as their own, 
 I vowed when I saw you again I'd declare 
 That a friend so uncertain could not be sincere,
 
 
 64 
 
 And if all was made up I resolved in my mind 
 
 Our respect for each other should be clearly defined, 
 
 For I felt — but no matter, it shall not have a name. 
 
 If you've ever been angry 'twas something the same;- 
 
 Besides, I was vexed at the loss of the sight; 
 
 To go by myself was impossible quite; 
 
 To make the same offer to some other belle, 
 
 There was not one in town that I lov'd half so well; 
 
 And sure 'twould have been I think worth the viewinu 
 
 To see the sweet children march in order by two in. 
 
 With a conge profound as they pass by their masters, 
 
 For neglect in this point would draw down disasters 
 
 From men who reign pontiffs within their own walls. 
 
 And have always an eye upon Busby and Charles. 
 
 Then to see them next spread their own cloth and prepare 
 
 For the last frugal meal preceded by prayer; 
 
 Their cups made of oak and wood candlesticks too, 
 
 As old as their Founder, at least they seem so, 
 
 With sockets of tin to preserve them from burning, 
 
 A proof of our forefathers' sense and discerning. 
 
 What bosom that would not enjoy such a scene 
 
 That is conscious what culture bestows upon men; 
 
 So many preserv'd from the dangers of youth 
 
 And trained in the way of religion and truth. 
 
 Who may live to become, though but humble their birth, 
 
 Revered for their talents and prized for their worth.
 
 65 
 
 But it was not the loss of this sight that alone 
 Disturb'd my poor nerves and disorder'd their tone, 
 My birthday it was, and my wish was to share it 
 With a truly loved friend, and so doubly endear it; 
 But your note put an end to this prospect of pleasure 
 And left me in dudgeon and vex'd above measure. 
 Yet firmly resolv'd, if I could, on obtaining 
 Such proof as would leave nothing iloubtful remaining ; 
 For truth is so precious, there can be no doubt 
 That, cost what it may, it is worth finding out. 
 So I set out by times to make choice of a seat, 
 And to hear your fine Doctor* is always a treat; 
 While snusT in a corner and hid from your view, 
 I could see if your ladyship were in your pew. 
 For this point, ascertained beyond controversion. 
 Had settled the whole in a silent desertion. 
 So tender is friendship, so scrupulous pride, 
 And each virtue we have with some failing allied; 
 But with joy I now saw, as well as surprise, 
 In a clear and good type, and of legible size, 
 A notice was posted high up on the door 
 Of two charity sermons in aid of the poor. 
 You stood, 'twas enough, in a moment acquitted, 
 'Twas I, I perceived, had the error committed 
 
 * Dr. BloomfieUl, afterw.TvJs Bisliop of London. 
 K
 
 66 
 
 By tou rashly concluding, for now I could see 
 Your note was not what I had thought it to be. 
 
 Xeed I add, as a sequel, I was happy to lind 
 Such a trait in my friend of a well-govern'd mind, 
 That, placed between duty and pleasure, could choose, 
 Remudless of all it miLdit hazard or lose, 
 On the side that is right, content if the voice 
 Of Ke;isou and Conscience approved of the choice. 
 And believe me this conduct, pursued to the last, 
 AVhen reflection looks back on the way we have pass'd, 
 Will spread o'er the future a gentle repose, 
 And brighten our day as it draws to a close.
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 To-morrow comes, and I am gone 
 
 Far distant from thy smile; 
 Remember me as years flow on, 
 
 A maid of Enofland's Isle. 
 
 I love thy vine-impurpled shore. 
 
 Thy Fatherland like mine; 
 And, 0, I'll love for ever more 
 
 Thy blue majestic Rhine. 
 
 How oft mv thouo;hts will wander here, 
 
 Wherever I may be, 
 For few will come the hours so dear 
 
 As those I've pass'd with thee, 
 iv 2
 
 68 
 
 Farewell; the sun is sinkintr fast, 
 
 And I am sad the while; 
 Forget me not when years are pass'd, 
 
 A maid of England's Isle.
 
 THE MOUSE. 
 
 A Mouse tliere was some time ago, 
 
 Perhaps he still is there, 
 Who had his home in Pleasant Row, 
 
 And fatten'd on good fare. 
 
 No sleeker, plumper, Mouse than he 
 From thence to Hio-h^ate Hill, 
 
 For when he'd time to take his meals 
 He always took his fill. 
 
 He had not known what sorrow means. 
 
 His life had not a care, 
 And such an easy state of things 
 
 Has always been a snare.
 
 70 
 
 And so it proved with little Nib; 
 
 From bad to Avorse he grew, 
 And ll\ed a sad and worldly life 
 
 As any Mouse could do. 
 
 In vain he heard full oft, I ween, 
 From many an ancient friend, 
 
 That time and talents so misus'd 
 Would have a fearful end. 
 
 'Twas nought to him, he still went on 
 
 The same career of vice, 
 And was a perfect Don Juan 
 
 Amonfj the tribe of mice. 
 
 One luckless night at length there came, 
 
 "When he had got a party. 
 And all his aunts and cousins there 
 
 In mirth were loud and hearty, 
 
 And, not content Avitli best of fare. 
 They hinted one and all, 
 
 That how deliditful it would be 
 To finisli witli a ball.
 
 The wish made known, 'twas soon arranged, 
 
 And eke with all their might 
 They then commenced a gallopade 
 
 That lasted all the night. 
 
 Xow such a noise as this, I guess, 
 
 In any peaceful house, 
 Miglit be ascribed to something else 
 
 As well as to a ]\Iouse. 
 
 So here it was, and raised alarms, 
 As we shall soon portray, 
 \Miich may involve the death of Nib 
 Upon some future day. 
 
 At breakfast, Fanny, full of fright, 
 
 Into the parlour came, 
 And, looking ghastly pale and white, 
 
 She shook through all her frame. 
 
 "' ! ma'ni," she cried, "I'm very ill, 
 I'm going to my tomb, 
 For all the live-lono; nioht I've heard 
 The death-watch in mv room.
 
 72 
 
 " Such scratchings vile, such noises dread. 
 1 never heard before, 
 Sometimes they seem'd above my head. 
 And sometimes on the floor. 
 
 " The house is haunted for a truth, 
 I can no longer stay. 
 And must request permission straight 
 Ere night to go away." 
 
 Puss followed Fanny in the rear. 
 Expressing much surprise. 
 
 And brushed her tail on every chair, 
 And stared with both her eyes. 
 
 Then, purring, to her mistress went, 
 
 But not for cream or toast, 
 But said as well as she could say 
 
 That she had smelt the ghost. 
 
 Our good Young Lady now first spoke. 
 
 And, speaking very low, 
 She said " Mamma, I tliink indeed 
 
 ^^'hat Fanny says is so.
 
 73 
 
 " A night so lull of horrors wild, 
 And noises so uncommon, 
 Had shook the heart of any man, 
 Much more the heart of woman. 
 
 " I heard the clock strike twelve, and one. 
 And two, and three, and lour, 
 But, ah ! the hubbub still went on, 
 And faster than before. 
 
 " Oppress'd with fear and quite worn out, 
 I sought my eyes to close, 
 When, lo ! a horrid nondescript 
 Came whisking o'er my nose. 
 
 "I screamed with fright, no doubt I did. 
 My blood still seems to creep, 
 And, sinking down beneath the clothes, 
 I fell at last asleep. 
 
 "And then I dreamt (how odd are dreams!) 
 That midst this noise and din 
 That very charming nice young man 
 Fred Honeycomb peep'd in.
 
 " Witli outstrctcli'd arms, I cried aloud, 
 Not knowing what I said, 
 ' save me from these horrid things ! ' 
 Thouo-h I was all in bed. 
 
 " He came, and, like a Hector brave. 
 Stood guardian at my side, 
 And then awhile so sweet I slept 
 As happy as a bride. 
 
 " But soon the bright illusion fled, 
 A face was close to mine. 
 But not the handsome face of Fred, 
 Or any thing divine. 
 
 • 
 
 '* A monster grim, like nothing else, 
 The ugliest of all fellows. 
 With glaring eyes and bristly chin, 
 And two tremendous smellers." 
 
 What more our lady would have said 
 
 We cannot make appear; 
 For several knocks, and all at once. 
 
 Cut short the story here.
 
 75 
 
 In riislicd the lads to see grandma', 
 In buoyant liealth and merry, 
 
 Witli sparkling eyes, and lips and cheeks 
 Vermilion as a cherry. 
 
 But soon they saw beyond mistake 
 
 That something was awry, 
 'Twas easier to admit the fact 
 
 Than guess the reason why. 
 
 So mute they stood, nor spoke a word, 
 
 And heard the story out. 
 And then at once Avith full accord 
 
 They gave a hearty shout. 
 
 • 
 
 " 0, Fanny, you're a perfect goose!" 
 
 Repeated each and all, 
 " We never saw a ghost at school, 
 
 And think there's none at all. 
 
 And, as for aunt's sad doleful tale, 
 
 • We'll wager every glove 
 
 'Tis all a moonshine dream of hers; 
 
 We know that she's in love. 
 L 2
 
 76 
 
 " So dear Grandma', let us advise 
 
 To searcli well tlirou£!;li the house, 
 rhere eau't be anything -we're sure, 
 Unless it be a mouse. 
 
 We'll brinrj our doo;s to-morrow morn. 
 The Mustards and old Grey, 
 
 We've six in all, and thorough bred; 
 Oh ! Avon't we have a day." 
 
 But dear Grandma' had lived too long- 
 To think like little bovs; 
 
 She did not want the house o'erturned, 
 And did not like a noise. 
 
 So then a lon^r debate ensued 
 What further could be done, 
 
 And many plans there were proposed 
 Before they fix'd on one. 
 
 At length to this resolve they came, 
 
 Nought final to decide, 
 But let the whole affair remain 
 
 Till merry Christmas tide;
 
 77 
 
 When every one should come prepared 
 
 Witli what he had to say, 
 In simple tale, or ode, or song, 
 
 Or any other way. 
 
 To prove, while mirth and wine goes round 
 And laughter shakes the house, 
 
 If Aunt and Fannv heard a o;host. 
 Or both had heard a Mouse.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 1, line 10. 
 
 The toil'ioorn student wakes. 
 
 "The Schoolboy" was ^yritten in the Authors seventeenth 
 year. 
 
 Page 5, hne 1. 
 
 Egregious dolts no culture can reclaim. 
 
 It was the opinion of Pythagoras that all minds are not equally 
 capable of receiving knowledge, Avhich he was wont to illustrate 
 by saying, " Every sort of wood is not ht to make a Mercury." 
 — '■'■Ex quovis ligno non fit Mercurius.''^ 
 
 Page 12, line 1. 
 
 What though your calm and studious mind. 
 
 Tliis poem was addressed to my friend and schoolfellow Mr. 
 Edward Dean, a young man of great promise, who died October 2,
 
 \-i\l, at tlic early ai^c of twenty-seven. He was descended from 
 tlic family- of Dean of Hill's Green in the County Palatine of 
 Chester. 
 
 Page 13, line 8. 
 
 Till first Milesian Cadmus rose. 
 
 Authors are not agreed as to who was the first writer of Greek 
 j.ruse. By" some the art is attiibnted to Pherecides Syros, bnt 
 thf. more general (jpiniou is in favom- of Cadmus the Milesian. — 
 Pliny's Nat. Hist. lib. 5, 31 ; lib. 7, 57. Strabo's Geo. b; i. G. 
 
 Page 13, line 10. 
 
 Till Appius Ccecus sprung. 
 
 Appius Claudius Caucus, elected Censor b c. 312, and celebrated 
 for having constructed the Appian Way, so called after hiin 
 dJvy. ix. 2'J), was the earliest Roman prose writer of whom we 
 have anv record. 
 
 Page 22, line 18. 
 
 Afjrus, called the husbandman. 
 
 Vide Corj's "Ancient Fragments," Introductoiy Dissertation ix.; 
 aUo the " Generations of Sanchoniatho," paragraph commencing 
 '.Atto Tii'vruiy tyeyoyro, &c.
 
 Page. 22, line 22. 
 Her idol Nasarach. 
 
 Nasai-acli, llic Nisrocli uf the Scriptures, so written by the LXX. 
 
 Kal aTTrfkOev uTToaTpa^el'^ ^evva^rjpelfi ^aat\.€v<i 
 Aa<Tvpia)v, Kal (pKrjaev iv ^ivevf). 
 Kat ev Tft) avrov TrpoaKvvelv ev raJ ocko) 
 ^aaapa-^ rov 'Trdrpapj(ov avrov, 
 
 Isaiah xxxvii 37, 38; Septuagint Ver. 
 
 The Nasarach, or, as in some MSS., Asarach of the Septuagint. 
 is probably identical \vith the " Assarac" of the Assyrian Inscrip- 
 tions. 
 
 Page 29, line I. 
 
 Osborne deserved the bride his virtue icon.' 
 
 Edward Osborne, ancestor of the present ducal house of Leeds, 
 was apprenticed to Sir William Hewett, citizen and clothworker, 
 who resided in one of the large houses on London Bridge. About 
 the year 15oG (according to Pennant,) his only daughter, then an 
 infant, owing to a want of sufficient caution on the part of the 
 servant-maid who had the care of her, fell from one of the windows 
 into the Thames ; Osborne saw the accident, and immediately 
 springing into the water succeeded, at the great hazard of his 
 own life, in saving the child. When she had grown up to woman- 
 hood, l)eing an heiress, she had many distinguished suitors; but 
 her father, with an honourable feeling of gratitude ^vllich has per- 
 petuated his name, gave her in marriage to the man who had 
 
 M
 
 savocl lior from an nntimely grave ; ami with licr Osborne inlievited 
 a verv large fortune. 
 
 Out of thi^^ iuciilent Miss Manning lias constructed a very 
 pleasing tale, illustrating the manners and customs of the time, 
 and to which she has given the title of " The Colloquies of 
 Edward Osborne." 
 
 Page 45, line 1. 
 
 How sweet is the strain that comes floating along. 
 
 Written after a tour in Switzerland in 1842. 
 
 Page 4<J, line 10. 
 
 • In urgent charge of some affairs of weight. 
 
 Antony had again besieged Brundusium witli a licet of oOO 
 sail, and Mivceuas and Cocceius were dispatched in haste from 
 Home to effect 'an accommodation. It was on this memorable 
 occasion that Horace was invited by his jtatron to accompany him. 
 
 Page 54, line 20. 
 
 Brnndusium lies before us. 
 
 The distance from Home to Brundusium was about 3^0 miles. 
 
 Strabo, b. vi. c. iii. 7. 
 
 Page 01, line 7. 
 
 A nameless exile. 
 
 IJlric, iJuke of Wurtembcrg, shortly after the death n\' Max- 
 imilian was driven out of his countiy by the Huabian [jt-agiie, and
 
 his land was ceded to the Emperor. After wandering tlirough 
 Germany as a fugitive, he at length found a friend in his relative 
 Philip, Landgrave of Hesse, who, in 1531, at the head of a e<jn- 
 siderable force, marched into the heart of Wui-temberg, and, 
 having defeated the Austrians, reinstated him in his ancient 
 territory. Vide Kohlrausch's Hist, of Germany, p. 3'Jl. 
 
 Page Gl, line 12. 
 
 The antler'd Stag. 
 
 An allusi(jn to the armorial bearings of Wurtemberg. 
 
 Page (34, line lU. 
 
 To see the sweet children. 
 
 Un Sunday evenings from Christmas to Easter the scholars of 
 Christ's Hospital sup in public, and visitors are admitted jtu the 
 galleries of the great hall. 
 
 Page 67, line 1. 
 
 To-morroio comes, and I am gone. 
 
 Written at the request of my daughter Elizabeth, on the 
 evening previous to her lea'v'ing Germany, and inserted in the 
 album of her friend Friiulein de Haen. 
 
 Page- 69, line 1. 
 
 A mouse there teas, some time ago. 
 
 " The Mouse " was written at the request of a juvenile party 
 for their amusement ; the subject given being simply " Some- 
 thing about a 2Iouse."
 
 WESTMINSTER : 
 PRIMED BY J. 15. NICHOLS AND SONS, 
 25, PARLIAMENT STREET. 
 
 
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