^- .:.:l:;~H]BrtfI^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES DEURY LANE LYRICS, Stt^ ssilm Mmws. BY JOHN BEDFOED LENO [second edition.] LONDON : PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, 56, DRUR'Y LANE, AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLBKS. 1868. 56, Deuby Lane, London, December, 1867. It is a time-worn custom when, an author presents a Tolume to the puhlic, to offer a few prefatory remarks. Let me candidly confess that, while I believe in this custom, I find great difficulty in saying aught that would either excuse the de- ficiencies or increase the value of what I have written. The fact of publishing is in itself a confession that I believe my verses are not absolutely worthless, but this belief may result from the greenness of the spectacles through which authors are too apt to view their own productions. My readers will, therefore, accept this as an apology for declining a task for which I feel a certain degree of incompetency, and leaving the results of my labours, with this slight pre- liminary bow, to the unbiased criticism of a free press, and the generous consideration of an indulgent public. 852872 TO THE TOILEES OF ALL NATIONS, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOE, CONTENTS. PAGK The Travellers - - - 1 Wild Flowers - - . 6 The Crowded Court - . 9 The Rivals - - - 12 The Invitation - - - 14 Song of the Spade - - 19 The Cavalcade - - - 21 King Labour - - - 25 Look up - - - - - 27 Song of the Slopworker - - 30 "Words of Hope - - - 33 Kabbie Burns - - - 36 A Iragment - - - - 3T Fair Child of the Summer - 40 Eclogue - - - - - 42 EUenKay - - - - 46 A Street Reverie - - - 48 Seeking the Spring - - 51 An Address to Winter- - - 53 "Weep not for me - - - 66 Up, BrotherE, up - - - 57 On seeing a Butterfly in the City 69 Toil on, toil on - - - 62 On seeing Hood's Grave - 64 Pictures on the Wall - - 65 The Transfiguration - - 67 Ben the Miner - - - - 71 Samson ----- 73 'Twas Down in a Valley - 78 Sonnet ----- 79 The Dream of the Millennium- 80 Encouragement - - - 82 Earthly Perfection - - - 84 A Glorious Trio - - - 88 The Sounds of Labour - - 90 The Brothers . - - 92 Honest Kobin's S(mg - - 5*5 Idle Words - - - - 97 PAGE The Mother and Child - - 99 A Ballad - - - - i03 On the Sea-shore - . - i05 Sainted Winil'red - - - ill The Weaver's Song - - - ii3 We have nothing to fear - 115 Bessie - - - - - 117 Gather ye, gather ye - - 124 No more I'll sigh lor vanished joys ----- 126 The Golden Tempter - - 127 Heme's Oak - - - 129 Brush the tears from thy cheek, love . - . . 132 Give me a thousand warriors 133 The Story of Saint Bridget - 135 Weep not for the Past - - 139 Invocations - - . • 141 Harvest Home- - - -143 Oh, do not haste away, my Love _ - - - 145 The Orphan Girl of Brittany - 147 The Corn and the Poppy - 171 A Dream in the Ruins - - 173 The Pride of the Homestead 176 On the Ruins of Reading Abbey 179 A Ballad - - - - 182 Life and Death - - - 184 A Round of Love - - 186 Hurrah ! for the Brave - - 187 False Bravery - - - 189 England's Glory - - - 190 The Ruined Tower - - 193 The l-'ield of Balaklava - - 194 The Shoemaker's Linnet - 196 The Right and the Wrong - 198 Come all you jolly Ploughmen 200 A Phase of Life 1 - - 202 T. CONTENTS. Let all your Songs be Angel Songs 204 The Path of Duty - - 20(5 Homo 208 The Song of the Clouds - 210 The Song of the Drover - -212 Dear Annie, forgive mo - 214 In the Youth of the AVorld - 216 With measured tread the Sower walks - . . . 217 A Harvest Chant - - - 218 Clear as crystal flows the Colne 219 PAGR My Grandfather's Story - 220 In IMeraoriam - - - - 223 Solitary Musing - - - 22:5 Elegiac Stanzas ... -jii Judge not a Man - 225 l^eedom's Day - - - 227 There's plenty for all - 228 In the long droary winter - 2.<0 Waterloo - - - - 231 Joy everywhere - - - 243 Cease not to toil - - - 245 Evening, sweet evening - - 247 DRURY LANE LYRICS. THE TRAVELLERS. L I SAW a traveller passing o'er a bleak and barren heath ; I said, " Where art thou roaming, And crowds that now are coming ? " He answered, " To the gorgeous homo of Death ! " n. His locks, that had been raven, were white as driven snow ; His frame, that told the story Of wasted strength and glory, Was bending, 'neath a heavy weight of woe. 5 THE TRAVELLERS. III. I pointed to a stone, and bade him rest awMle. I knew that he was weary — The way both dark and dreary : He shook his head — and answered with a smile ir. " I have rested far too long in this dismal vale of tears : No comfort can I borrow From such a land of sorrow, Although I've been a dweller four score years ! V. " The world tells me I'm travelling to a bleak and friendless shore — But every friend I own Is going — or has gone — So let me tread the path they trod before !" VI. He journeyed on his way, and others passed along — The young and old together — No resting place for either ; I could not weep for all— so wept the young. THE TEATELLEKS. VII. So silently they passed — like a noiseless breatli of wind : Some hearts were wrung with anguish, "^Tiile others seemed to languish For treasures they were leaving far hehind ! ^ vni. But one whose bright eyes sparkled — who travelled on alone ; Whose hrow was so benignant — It seemed that naught malignant Had ever sat there — rested on the stone. IX. " From all that's gay and lovely, 'tis soon, alas, to part ; To rove through scenes of gladness In solitude and sadness, Before the warmth of youth has left my heart. X. " I journey to a land where all is dark and gloom : I trod the maze of pleasure, And thought to find a treasure, And when I thought I'd found it — grasped a tomb ! 4 THE TRAVELLERS. XI. " Beware ! my friend ! " ho said, " even Pleasure is unkind : She sends you on a journey, And like a shrewd attorney. Keeps each treasure of your untaught youth behind." xn. He passed, and left mo standing more a sage than I had been ; I saw that Death and Terror Were only linked by Error : I saw the world as Youth and Ago had seen. xrn. You pass along a valley, and at first you see but flowers : You gather them in wonder, Until you hear the thunder. That, bursting, tells of coming storms and showers. xrv. In vain you search for shelter, where no shelter's to bo found ; The rain — the storm is blinding ; No flower— no heart's-ease finding- No more you see the beauty spread around. THE TRAVELLERS. XT. And he that gathers largest of the flowers he may find, "Will leave this -world's plethora, As Lot's wife left Gomorrah, And often cast a lingering look behind ! WILD FLOWERS. I. As we rambled through the meadows On a Kunny Sabbath morn, The church-bells ringing merrily, so merrily ; With a nosegay -white with meadowsweet And blossoms from the thorn, We laughed and chatted cheerily, cheerily. 'Twas a nosegay of wild flowers, I remember it quite well, With its daisies from the uplands, And its cinquefoil from the dell. With its yarrow, ling and larkspur, And the little pimpernel. Gathered while the bells rang merrily, so merrily ! so merrily ! Gathered while the bells rang merrily ! So merry, merrily ! n. We have plucked a many nosegays Since that sunny Sabbath morn. When the church-bells rang so merrily, so merrily ! WILD FLOWERS. And we've made them white with meadowsweet And hlossoms from the thorn, And laughed and chatted cheerily, cheerily ! But that nosegay of wild flowers Is before my vision still, With its wildlings from the hedgerow, And its daisies from the hill, And the yellow daffodillies. Freshly gathered from the rill, While church-hells rang so merrily, so merrily ! so merrily ! Gathered while the bells rang merrily ! So merry, merrily ! m. Come along my pretty maiden, 'Tis a sunny Sabbath morn. The church-bells ringing merrily, so merrily ! Let us wander through the meadows, TiU we reach the try sting thorn, Where lovers linger cheerily, cheerily ! I remember well each flower, Let us gather it again, — The crowfoot from the marshland And the mallow from the plain ; WILD FLOAVEES. Tho -wild thyme from the little copse, The bluebell from the lane, While the church-bclls ring? so merrily, so merrily, so merrily ! While the church-bells ring ? so merrily ! So merry, merrily THE CROWDED COURT. I. As I gazed from out my window on the crowded court below, Where the sunshine seldom enters and the winds but seldom blow, I beheld a flow'ret dying for the want of light and air, And I said, " How fares it, brothers, with the human flow'rets there ? " n. By and by I saw a little hand stretched through a broken pane, " I have brought thee ," cried a little voice, " a cupful of God's rain ; " But rain alone would not suffice to raise its drooping stem, And I thought of those who dwelt below and longed to suc- cour them. m. On the morrow, ere the noontide, as I wandered down the court, Through a brood of littlo children, flushed alone by ruddy sport, 10 THE CROWDED COUBT. I drow a little girl aside and tade her tell to me The name of those who dwelt within the cottage numhered three. IV. With little bright eyes sparkling through her flaxen, un- kempt hair, She answered, " I will toll you ; there are many living there! " And swiftly with her nimble tongue she ran the whole list through, I gave the child a penny, and she curtseyed and withdrew. V. Let those on mercy's errands bent be never turned away ! There was fever raging all around those clJftdron in their play ; And in the little stifling room, outstretched upon the bed. The sister hands to that I saw were lying cold and dead. VI. I called the flow'rot's friend to me, and kissed her pallid brow ; I longed to bear her far away, where healthful breezes blow; She told her tale of heartfelt grief as innocence can tell ; I never heard a tale so sad in sorrow told so well- THE CROWDED COURT. 11 vn. Toll, toll the bell ! another and another has been slain ! No more shall I behold that hand stretched through the shattered pane ! They bear her to a sunny spot, where flowers bud and bloom — The spot that should have been her home is chosen for her tomb ! VIII. But what of those yet left behind within that sunless court ? Shall they be left till Death shall come and end their child- ish sport .'' And she with flaxen, unkempt hair, with bright eyes all a glow — Shall she, like others, perish in the crowded court below 'i THE RIVALS. I. The stream o'er tlie pebbles was singing a song, And its burthen, its burthen was love ; And he sang it so merrily, sang it so cheerily. To a leaf gaily dancing above. The stream sang so merrily, early and late, Never tired of sieging, of singing, was he, Thou can'st ride on my bosom, where many a blossom Has rode like a queen to the sea. II. The flowers had passed from the shores of the stream, When the north wind came lashing its tide. And the rival was young, and the rival was strong, And he bore off the leaf for a bride. And he sang a rude song as he bore her away, A rude song of triumph, of triumph, sang he ; Thou shalt ride on my bosom, where many a blossom Has rode like a queen to the sea. THE KIVALS. 13 III. Over liigh towering mountains he bore her away, Not a span from tlie portal of heaven ; Over deep tangled glen and the thronged haunts of men, She rode from the dawn till the even : And he sang a rude song as he bore her away, A rude song of triumph, of triumph, sang he ; "When she fell from his breast from a towering crest, And was caught in the lap o' th' sea. THE INVITATION. I. Oh, como ■whore streams are singing, and meek-eyed flowers springing, And catch the breezy freshness of the morn ; Come, come to yonder meadows, as night calls back her shadows, And hoar the lark's soft twitter 'mid the corn ; Then mark his flight so high, proudly soaring to the sky, And listen to his matchless flood of song ; List ! list its wondrous sweetness, then mark th' appalling fleetness With which it bears Heaven's message to its young. n. Oh, come where fruit trees swelter in the sun, and ask no shelter — Save that which heaven above them e'er bestows; Oh, come where myriad flowers win new life from the showers And all pay adulation to the rose THE INVITATION. 15 Where the meek forget-me-not is contented with its lot, And the violet, retiring from the crowd, Breathes prayers so sweet and holy — so humhle and so lowly- Each breathing checks the arrogant and proud. III. Oh, come where wild-fowl gather, and hathe each silken feather In the deep and placid waters of the lake ; Where the Suicide, unholy, rushed from life and melancholy In the undisturbed silence of the brake ; Where the guilty Maniac stood, with his hot hands bathed in blood, And tell me, is there aught to favour crime ? Is the bulrush by its border an emblem of disorder That proudly shuns contagion with the slime ? IV. With wonder and emotion, come view the bounding ocean, And seek for hidden life within its caves ; And place beyond conjecture earth's hidden architecture — The wonders of the cauldron of the waves ; Come view each magic cell whore nymphs of ocean dwell, And toll me, is there aught on earth more grand ? 16 THE INTITATION. Stay wild waves on their passage, and learn th' important message With which they run like coursers to the land. V. Come, list to nature's vesper — the soft and silent whisper Of branches as they rock their hahes to rest ; And tell me the revealing of suhtle thought and feeling That stirs the hidden pulses of thy hreast ; Oh, tell me what they say — be their story sad or gay, I would that nature's secrets were revealed,— A leaf's most gentle iiutter, doth some precious wisdom utter That since creation's birthday has been sealed. VI. Cease, cease your vain repining, and come where stars are shining. And view the glitt'ring crown above your head ; And tell me where each cluster of stars begets its lustre — By whom the mighty hosts of Heaven are fed! Then turn your eyes to earth, and talk of drought and dearth, And dismal tales from lands beyond the sea ; Of nations torn asunder by kings, who live to plunder. And trample out the life-blood of the free. THE INVITATION. 17 vn. Come, come, -with all your learning, your well-conned book- lets spurning, And read a single leaf of nature's page ; Come, come, and read the story of all earth's wondrous glory, If thou wouldst be the prophet of the age ; For there alone thou'lt find the loadstone of the mind. The power to draw its hidden treasure forth, Come back, come back to Nature, she'll give thee thy full stature. And thou shalt guide the children of the earth. VIII. Come, tell me, tell me fairly, divinely and sincerely. Hast thou beheld a single sign of care? Where'er thou found'st a blossom with tears within its bosom. Pray, tell me, was no rainbow shining there ? Come, tell mo, why it is— while all is bathed in bliss. And flowers grow untented side by side — That man, divinely gifted, from happiness has drifted. Unmindful of the current and the tide ? IX. Oh, tell me why he fritters his time in culling bitters. When precious fruit hangs tempting o'er his way ! 13 THE INYITATION. Or why, whcno'er ho rambles, ho wanders 'midst the brambles To grasp the Dead Soa apple of Dismay ? Has Wisdom but began to shod her light o'er man, That, like the blind, ho only feels the light ? Is God's divinest creature redeemless in each feature, And doomed to bo a foo or anchorite ? X. Is every hope's revealing, that, o'er my senses stealing. Lets in more glorious sunshine from above, A figment or delusion, creating vain confusion — A mockery of universal lovo ? It cannot, cannot be, when all I hear and see Repeats the glorious promise made and sealed ! It Cometh soon or later, all God's great mediator. To living man and woman has revealed. XI. It Cometh in the burning east-born sun that lights the morning. On heaven-directed flashes of the night ; It rides upon the shadowy cloud that skims the meadow. And nought but daring madness stays its flight ; It leaves the home of malice, it shuns the tyrant's palace. It quits the home of sin where madmen rave ; And ever to the nation that gives its slaves salvation. It rideth on the white crest of the wave. SONG OF THE SPADE. I. \ Give me the spade, and the man who can use it ; A fig for your Lord and his soft silken hand ; Let the man -who has strength never stoop to ahuse it, Give it hack to the giver — the land, hoys, the land. There's no hank like the earth to deposit your lahour, The more you deposit, the more you shall have ; If there's more than you want you can give to your neigb- hour. And your name shall he dear to the true and the hrave. u. Give me the spade ! England's hope, England's glory ! That fashioned the field from the hleak barren moor. Let us blazon its rare deeds in ballad and story, While 'tis brightened with lahour— not tarnished with gore. It was not the sword that won our best battle, — Created our commerce— extended our trade,— Gave food to our loving wives, children, and cattle, — But the queen of all weapons— the spade, boys, the spade. 20 SONO OF THE SPADE. ni. Give me the spade ! there's a magic about it That turns the black soil into bright shining gold ; "NVhat would our fathers have done, boys, without it, — "When the lands lay all bare, and the night windsblew cold? "NATiere the tall forest stood, and the wild beasts were yelling, And our stout-hearted ancestors shrank back afraid, — The rich corn-stack is raised, and man claims a dwelling. Then hurrah! for our true friend— the spade, boys, the spade ! THE CAVALCADE. I. Long I sat and watched it passing, — 'Twas a mighty cavalcade, Flushed -with daring deeds of valour, Throwing former deeds in shade. They had proved to be the stronger Of the nations of the earth — And their valour shed a glory On the land that gave them birth ; But I dare not call them conquerors, They ■were proud, too proud, for mea j And the wise should e'er bo wary, E're they praise the weak and vain. So I let the throng pass onward, Till their tramp was heard no more, And I straightway fell a thinking, Of the many who were poor. n. There were Uttlc children starving, None were toiling for them now ; 22 THE CAVALCADE OF LIFE. They were weali in mind and spirit — Famine eat upon their brow ! They had learned to steal so early That their first crime was forgot : They had prayed for food and mercy, But the rich had heard them not : They had told their sad tale often, And each true heart could but bleed ; But the false hearts are so many. And the true so few indeed : So I sat myself a thinking, When their tramp was heard no more. And my heart was near a breaking For the many who were poor. III. There were some whose names were branded For the crimes their fathers wrought, But who bra.vcly struggle onward 'Gainst the tide of ill report. Though the strong may reach the haven, Dashing wave on wave aside ; There are thousands doomed to perish Overpowered by the tide. THE CAVALCADE OF LIFE. 23 How their piercing cries go upward You may learn if you but hark — How they sink heneath the ocean, How they die out in the dark ! And my heart was near a breaking, When their tramp was heard no more, And I prayed for heaven to shield them, And to save the many poor. There were mothers cursed by children, "Whom they bravely bore in pain — And they called to God in anguish " Take them, take them back again ! " Women forced to part with virtue, Dearer to them than blood ; And brave women too among them. Who the fiery ordeal stood. There were brave hearts filled with anguish There were faces pale with woe ; There was many a weary traveller With a weary way to go. And I prayed that heaven might shield them. When their tramp was heard no more : And my heart was near a breaking For the many who were poor. THE CAVALCADE OF LIFE. V. There were others rich and wealthy, There were many toasting ease — Decked with gay and gaudy trappings, That assorted ill with these. And I said, " If such he conquerors, Then let flatterers call them so — For the trappings and the trimmings Will not heal the heart of woe. Let the cavalcade pass forward. While the wise look on and see — How a nation crowned conqueror, May have won hut misery. While I sit me down and fathom, Now their tramp is heard no more, How the good may change to hlessings All the ills that men endure." KING LABOUR. I. The wizard, King Labour, -walked oyer the land, And the spade for a sceptre he bore ; And each step he took left an Eden behind, While the desert untamed frowned before. He levelled huge mountains, and blasted the rock. Where for ages vast treasures lay hid, And shewed Heaven the coffer where Earth stored her wealth, And laughed loud as he shattered the lid. Then shout, toilers, shout, we need no king on earth, But the king whose large, generous hand, Has scattered bright gold over mountain and plain, And whose taxes are wrung from the land. n. I marked every stop the magic king took, Till he bounded the wide spreading plain. And I marked how the eye of God followed his path. While the heavens sang a gladsome refrain. 2G KING LABOUR. And this -was its burthen — " There's plenty for all, Look abroad in the light of the day, And view the corn challenge the sickle and scythe. With its lances -well poised for the fray." m. The harvest well garnered — Toil's heralds wont forth, Their speed by Good-Humour increased. And they said to each child of the universe, " Come ! And let none be shut out from the feast ! " " Come, come," said King Labour, "Earth's treasures are mine, Bid the tyrants of earth to beware ; Their bride may be Death, if they court Famine's hand, For still there's the Sword of Despair ! " LOOK UP. Yon castle's strong as iron bands. But heaven above is stronger ; The castle's stood a thousand years, But heaven has stood much longer ; The castle is the work of man. The proudest and the strongest ; The blue heaven is our God's old work And made to last the longest. Look up — look up ! n. Fear not the castle's sullen frown, Though hoary tiirrots linger — They long have felt the touch of time, Bear impress of his finger ; But heaven, eternal heaven, above. The birthright, of the humblo. Supported by Almighty God, Will strengthen as they crumble. Look up — look up ! 28 LOOK UP. m. No tale of -woe to blanch the cheek Is heard in heaven — no sorrow Comes tripping on the heel to-day To stand at bay to-morrow ; No agonising fears strike dumb, No grief produces blindness ; But whito-winged angels hover round, And whisper words of kindness. Look up— look up ! IV. Within the castle on yon hill, Abroad in yonder valley. In gold bedizened palaces, In street, and lane, and alley — Grief leaves its trace on every brow, A canker in each bosom, Which kills the red rose on the cheek Ere it can bud and blossom. Look up — look up ! V. Beyond the snow-clad mountain brow The sun is brightly shining. LOOK UP. Amid the fadeless hues of heaven The soul knows no repining ; And through the mists that crown the hill, Where endless clouds upgather, A voice comes ringing in mine ear. The voice of God the Father, " Look up — look up ! " 29 SONG OF THE SLOPWORKER. I. Fob twenty STimmers I've sat and toiled, Buried alive in this fever den ; Ay, toiling, toiling, ever toiling. To clothe my wealthier fellow-men ! I've seen no field, no thorn, nor flower, From its parent sod up-springing ; No leaf-clad hough, no rain-howed sky, Nor "lark at heaven s gate singing." II. Scarce forty years, and these hairs turned grey, Scarce forty years, and my manhood fled ! And yet, 'tis strange I've lived so long On poisoned air and tear-steeped hread ! 'Tis strange, indeed, I've not sought Death, But stranger he never found me ; When he has feasted hy my side, And conquered all around me ! SONG OF THE SLOPWOEKEK. 31 III. I've sat and toiled in this prison-room, Till all around -was dark and drear ; Ay, clothing Idleness in velvet, While I had scarce a rag to -wear. I've had no man to call me friend, Nor soul to soothe my sorrow ! A desert bounds my view to day, A sea of ice to-morrow ! IV. For twenty years, in this garret high, I've lived alone 'mid a million souls ; Passing along the road of life, And doing nought but paying tolls. I've crossed no earthly paradise. No chequering spots of gladness, And every finger-post was marked " To Suflfering " and " To Sadness." V Wedded to pale-featured Poverty, She ruled my fate with an iron hand ! 32 SONG OF THE SLOPTVOEKEK. And every structure I sought to raise Was built by hope, and based on sand ! Each dream of my youth has passed away, All craving for life been banished ; And I cry to my God with upraised hands, " Is there hope, when all hope has vanished ? " WORDS OF HOPE. I. I NEVER turn me backward, To mark the road I've trod, But I feel Hope's dews fall on me, And a firmer faith in God ; I hear an angel whisper, " Wait ! wait a little while ; Time's wand shall touch the cold world's frown And change it to a smile ! " n. I've passed the darkest morning That ever fell on man ; But never, wearying, faltered, Since earthly trials hegan ; I felt the stars were rising. And saw with inward ken, A future, big with promise. Dawn on happier, wiser men. 34 WORBS OF HOPE. HI. The wisest of Earth's children, — The great among the groat, — In the long Cimmerian, midnight, Foretold a New Estate : Saw unhorn golden ages With far, out-reaching mind, And died to seal their advent And the freedom of mankind. IV. 'Tis strange that aught in nature Should ever know despair ; It cannot look around it And read God's writing there ; It cannot heed the teachings Of the star-hejewelled skies, Or it would know that hate and wrath Are untaught sympathies. V I have seen the mind's misgiving When Grief lay anchored there ; And marked the flagging footstep Of mortals howed hy care : "WOEDS OP HOPE. 35 But brave men will to conquer When cowards shun the fight ; Hence none should fear the issue, Whose soul yearns for the right. RABBIE BURNS. I. The Robin that sung by the ploughrail "Was missing one fine summer morn ; And the kind mate that Tvooed him and won him Sighed deeply her Robin's return : But the city her lost one had flown to Had few charms for the bird of the grove, And, disgusted, the brown-coated Robin Flew back to his home and his love. n. The cage that enticed him was golden. The food was both tasteful and rare ; But the bird loved the wildwood and freedom, Though the trees were quite fruitless and bare ; And 'twas well that gay Robin flew homeward, Ere robbed of his eyesight for song ; Or the bird that sung loudly for Freedom May blindly have flattered the "Wrong, A FEAGMENT. I. A DESPEBATE game— a sudden, fearless fate ! 'Twere better far than shaking hands with Death ; Or walking to the tomh with Grief, disconsolate — The sword long rusted in its narrow sheath. n. Give me the blast of war ; no peaceful reed : The blood-stained corslet to the wedding gown ; Exchange the lamb for some stern warrior steed — A smiling death is but a gilded frown. m. Living, at best, is action — labour— strife ! And he who crowds the most in one short space, Alone can taste the richer wine of life, And view the grave a well-won resting place. 38 A FRAGMENT. IV. Who worthier than the lahouror ? -who so lost ? Ig-nored by parasites, and pimps, and spies ? His blood extracted by a soulless host. He lives on sufferance, and, despairing, dies. V. God of my fathers ! shall it aye remain ? And truckling Peace be courted for her glance ? Eternal sunshine desolates the plain ; Eternal truces check the soul's advance. VI. The stagnant lake is covered o'er with slime. And such are nations with their filth a-top : With Wrong triumphant. Peace is but a crime That runs like bindweed over Virtue's crop. TII. Methinks I see a bloody carnival Ere hard-hand Labour shall preside once more ; When armed hovel dares the gilded hall, And drives its inmates to Hell's blackest shore. A FRAGMENT. 39 vni. There is no health in quiet ; howling storms, And rude and untamed thunder are the springs Of life, and if in death we fatten worms. On earth, at least, we will not toil for kings. FAIR CHILD OF THE SUMMER. I. Fair child of the Summer, and miniature test Of the delicate pencil of Nature, Was ever such art in an atom expressed, As in thee, thou ephemeral creature ? Thou -wooer of flowers and symbol of soul. Thy life is too short to he wasted ; Go, sip the rich nectar of each floral bowl Thy butterfly lips have not tasted. Kiss the marginal flowers that garland the spring. Wake the lily asleep on the river, Ere the mildew shall fall on thy beautiful wing, And its brightness be tarnished for ever. n. Spread thy gossamer wings to the bright summer skies. Ere the noontide shall fade in the gloaming, For jealousy lurks in a thousand bright eyes That long have kept watch on thy coming : FAIR CHILD OF THE SUMMER. 41 The reddest of roses are paling with -woe. The day's-eyes (*) with anguish run over : And the poppy that grew in the trail of the plough, Is hiding its grief in the clover. Kiss the marginal flowers that garland the spring, "Wake the lily asleep on the river, Ere the mildew shall fall on thy beautiful wing, And its brightness be tarnished for ever. (*) Daisies. ECLOGUE. STRANGER. Hail ! Brother of the Plough ! hast any news ? RUSTIC. Not I, in faith, since poor Tim Bohbin died ; And then 'twas sorry news : I used to think 'Twas time the earth was flooded once again. STRANGER. Much good it did, that flooding of the world : 'Twould seem as though fair Virtue had been drowned, And Vice alone e'er reached Mount Ararat, As worthless scum will ever float a-top ! But I have news, if thou wilt lend thine ear. RUSTIC. There is no scholar in the village now To read the news before the ale-house fire, As Tim was wont on every Sabbath eve — (God rest in heaven his wearied, honest soul !) So I have ears to lend thee for thy news. ECLOGUE. 43 STRANGER. The North long slept, as any child might sleep. Unmindful of the chains fell tyrants forge ; Or like to Samson in Delilah's arms. Who woke to find his every limb enslaved ; But this is past, and never more to be : The tide of time has baffled charms and chains, And Samson has regained his pristine strength. RUSTIC. I have no ears for riddles such as thine, Whose sense entangled leads my mind astray ! Are poor men ever likely to be free ? Are masters born with less than stony hearts ? STRANGER. The poor man's freedom lies within his grasp ; To sting him if he falter at the touch, To bless him if he grasp it with his might ! The hardened heart is but the coward heart, Steeped in the changeful waters of success, Till flesh and blood are changed to nerveless stone. RUSTIC. Like thee, Poor Tim would oft forget his woes, And tell strange truths in stranger words than thine. 44 ECLOGUE. STRANGER. Would he were living, though, perhaps, more blest, His spirit dwelleth on a calmer shore. That he with you might listen to me now, "While I relate a wondrous miracle ! A mighty prophet, moving through the north, Has stirr'd a pulse that throbs froit. shore to shore, And poor men gather up their scatter'd strength, Within the tether of a mighty wrong. He walks amid those cities of the north. More like to God than aught of human kind ! RUSTIC. Thy news is like an echo to mine cars, An echo of an ardent prophecy That Tim would make while reading of fell wrongs. STRANGER. Ay, so it may ; for many have foretold That Poverty would one day raise its voice, And cry aloud for Justice to be king. His words when uttcr'd find a full response In all who listen to his truth-fraught tongue ; And cities, like the glorious stars of night, Burst through the darkness of a thousand years. And throw a radiance over all the land. ECLOGUE. *'5 Maids, mothers, and their little ones are free, And leave the pent-up chambers of their woe. And hless their God (for so they do helieve) For sending a deliverance from toil More fatal than the bondage Egypt bore. The very hills seem loftier than they were ! The valleys breathe an incense still more sweet ! The trees in adoration bow their heads ! And rivers murmur songs of boundless joy ! Come, leave thy toil, the tidings shall be known From sea to sea, till all this mighty world Shall sing a song of universal joy. ELLEN RAY. I. A BLITHE and bonny, winsome lass Was Ellen Ray, dear Ellen Ray ; But youth and beauty quickly pass. Like summer flowers, away. Her cheeks were red, her hair was brown, When first she came to our town ; But now, alas, all beauty's flown From winsome Ellon Ray. n. I asked if she would be my bride, Dear Ellen Ray, dear Ellen Ray ; Her bright eye, lit with maiden pride. Spoke more than tongue could say. From that glad hour, in storm and strife. We've clung, as though a single life Alone was ours,— and still my wife Is winsome Ellon Ray. ELLEN KAY. 47 III. But though all beauty long has flod From Ellen Eay, dear Ellen Ray, Her beauty other beauty fed That fills my sight to-day. The loveliness that Time despoiled, The beauty that in Ellen smiled, Has found a refuge in the child Of winsome Ellen Kay. A STKEET KEVERIE. I. Where was thy blushing girlhood passed ? 'Mid fields of fragrant flowers ? Where maiden faces brighten with tears, Refreshing as April showers, And where thy heart ne'er knew the grief That conquers and overpowers ? n. I know not ; yet I fain would bring Lost treasures to thy mind, In hopes thy torn and bleeding heart Some comfort thus might find ; For I have sometimes comfort found In comfort left behind. rn. I cannot tell the giant grasp Such fates have won o'er me ; A STEEET REVEBIE. 49 But once I saw a fated barque Upon a troubled sea, And still I see it burrying on Wtene'er I look on tbee. rv. Tbere thousands hurried to the beach. Uncivilized were they : Here thousands watch the vessel sink. And none e'er step astray : " The wreck has oft been plundered," Their carnal souls do say. V. And what do I but pity her ? Should I chance step aside, I blush if man should recognise Me standing by her side, And then I curse my coward heart. The refuge of all pride. TI. When sinners turn to their sinless days, The smouldering spark will glow, 50 A STREET REVERIE. And the blackest heart that man could o-wn Is whiter than drifted snow, And the brand of Gain, indelible, But dimly marks his brow. SEEKING THE SPEING. I. Stbike again, strike again ! every well-planted blow Brings you nearer, still nearer, to water below ; All the lands lying round us are famished and bare, There's a plague in the sunshine, and death strides the air. The rich spring has long slept in the cavern confined. And the land has been kissed by the hot burning wind : Till the children who blessed her have withered away In the morning of life, and the glory of day. II. When the prophet of old struck the strong mountain side. The swift waters came rushing forth glad as a bride. And those throbbing beneath you shall bur st through their col 1 , Crown the mountain with verdure, and clothe the nude dell. Ply away, ply away ! there is life in each stroke, Till the doors of the prison are shattered and broke. Till the grim tyrant Death, as ho rides through the air. Sees his form in a mirror, and flics in despair. 52 SEEKING THE SPRING. III. Strike again, strike again ! you have unchained the stream — See, it rises up now, like a child from a dream ; And the earth laughs to scorn the young maid's modest sip, As she drains a bravo tankard with fever-parched lip. Now, behold the old toper grows merry once more. As she feels a new life — with fresh hope for the poor, And Death's powerful grasp is unnerved by dismay. As the stream, like a blind girl, goes feeling its way. AN ADDRESS TO WINTER. I. Thou'rt coining once again : I hear tliee speak, In no mild mood, upon tke mountain side : And from the shore, where ceaseless surges break, I see thee seated on the crested tide. n. I know thou'rt coming, for I saw the sun Weep tears of pity for her children fair ; The trees are stripped for fight, and streamlets run Without a ripple, as though swoU'n with care. ni. I saw the housewife bind the unused door. And marked the sadness seated on her brow. While lab'ring hard to make each seam secure Against thy bitter warriors, Frost and Snow : 54 AN ADDRESS TO •WINTER. IV. I heard the north wind whistle as it passed, As though 'twas heralding a conqueror's train ; While, o'er the earth, a spotless roho was cast, And forests grew upon my window pane. V. And wilt thou, coward-like, still spare the proud, Who scorn thee in their hollow-hearted pride, While still they'll toast thee, in a gohlet, loud, Around the crowded hoard, at eventide. VI. And strike the houseless wanderer on his road ? And strip the cottage of its fragile roof ? And crush its inmates as they kneel to God Beneath the iron of thy conquering hoof ? VII. Its shivering inmates bid thee, pitying, stay ; Its spoilless walls invite no robber bands ; They feel the rugged force of Famine's sway. And fear to meet thee with their fettered hands. AN ADDEESS TO WINTER. 55 vin. There is not one who holds thy power in scorn, Or would not, in thy presence, freely bow ; They pray to thee devoutly, night and morn. And do not curse thee when the fire burns low. IX. With broken swords, they have no hearts to fight, "With stores, all wasted, courage quickly goes : Men feel like children in the dead of night. And cry for help, and mercy from their foes. WEEP NOT FOR ME. I. Weep not for me — though our valleys "be red With the hlood of the fallen— encumhered with dead ; But \reep for thy love, if thy love e'er returns, While Freedom lies prostrate, and Erin still mourns. Fair Liherty's host be no coward among. No heart but the brave heart— no arm but the strong ; And Friendship and Love be as nothing to me. Till the land of my fathers be that of the free. n. Weep not for me — it is madness in love. Till our country reclaims her proud treasure trove ; — No sigh for th'e fallen — no tear for the slain, Till that treasure by blood shall bo purchased again. Sorrow has loosened the minstrel's cord, Tears have long rusted the patriot's sword ; Bid the harp be restrung, and the sword flash again, Till Liberty leaps from the souls of the slain ! UP, BROTHEKS, UP. Up, brothers, up ! —the moon has departed, And you may be free ere the dawning of light ; Eemember, your fathers -were free and stout-hearted And rushed, like a torrent, to foray and fight. You remember their -war-cry, o'er hill and dale ringing, And the corse-covered field when the conflict was o'er. And closer than all to your memories clinging, The freedom and fame of old Africa's shore. Up, brothers, up ! ere the red sun shall glisten. Up, brothers, up ! ere the dawning of day ; Yon][mountains are bending their huge heads to listen, And the ship's in the harbour, to bear you away. n. Shall the sons of her stalwart-limbed spearmen and bowmen, Ere a battle is ventured, acount it as lost ? Shall the sons of brave sires make phantoms of foemen, And start, as a child starts, at goblin or ghost ? 58 UP, BROTHERS, UP. With the blood of such fathers, you cannot die craven ; "With a thought for their fame, you dare not so live ; But brave as a lion and swift as the raven, In the blood of your tyrants you'll find your reprieve. Up, brothers, up ! ere the red sun shall glisten, Up, brothers, up ! ere the dawning of day ; Yon mountains are bending their huge heads to listen, And the ship's in the habour to bear you away. ON SEEING A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY. I. What wMmsical madness lias led thee to roam From the green, sunny banks and the daisy-pied plain ? This is surely no spot for a butterfly's home, Where the rough-quarried stones hide the grass in the lane : Where each field is a city, each garden a town, And the hamlets are crowded by women and men ; Where the trees of the orchard, long rudely torn down, Will never be proud of their fruitage again. II. Have the soft, sunny winds of the south ceased to blow ? The sun lost its way in a dull, misty sky ? Has the air ceased to ring with the musical flow Of the waters, whose channels were never a-dry ? Has the canker-worm eaten each blossom away ? . The locust consumed every morsel of green ? Or do mildew and blight hold tyrannical sway . In tho wido spreading valloys of nature's demesne ? 60 ON SEEINQ A BUTERFLY IN THE CITY. III. Oh, what could have tempted a butterfly here, From the green, grassy floor, and the clear azure sky ? Where only the captive bird's song greets the ear, And the plants in their infancy sicken and die ? Is it crime, or ambition, or folly, or hate, Or love of adventure, that leads thee astray ? Or hast thou been brought in a slumbrous state. Concealed in a garland of whito-blossomed May ? IV. If innocent yet, haste away to the grove : Let Distraction no more rob thy home of its peace ; Give the mate thou hast wronged a renewal of love, And let the career of the wanderer cease. Return, thou frail beauty, ere night shall come on, Ere Danger shall threaten and hem thee around ; Return, now the brink of destruction is won — The wide, gaping portal of danger is found. V. Not a green leaf for shelter, no friend to console, A wilderness void of a branch or a stem. Oh, if thou hast_frionds with thy fate to condole, Leave this land of Gomorrah and consort with them. ON SEEING A BUTTERFLY IN TUB CITY. 61 Like the poor, wingless moth who has danced round the flame, For awhile, thou mayst wander the street without harm ; But the season will come when the red glare of shame Shall catch thy frail beauty and blight every charm. TOIL ON, TOIL ON. I. Toil on, toil on, the golden age. The poet's scorne'd fiction, Has yet to come, and bear the cross Of Labour's crucifixion. I care not for the nuggets found, The gold for -which you've panted ; If happiness remains unfound, The rarest nugget's- wanted ! II. Though streams were changed to liquid gold, And pearls lay thick around us, They need not make us wiser men, » Nor happier than they found us : Men sell their souls for love of gain. Till God by gold's supplanted ; Yet happiness remains unfound, The rarest nugget's wanted ! TOIL ON, TOIL ON. 63 111. A painted bubble floats to view, With eager eyes men watch it, And vainly chase the empty prize. Exploded ere they catch it : Delve, delve, and rock your cradled ore, Till honesty's recanted ! Fill, fill your cofi'ers to the brim, And still the nugget's wanted ! ON SEEING HOOD'S GRAVE. I. The spirit sleeps that erst with ardour wrought, The mind is still that teemed with busy thought ; The thought-directed hand that grasped the plume, Lies cold and stiffened in the silent tomb. "Weep, sisters, weep, for him who sang our woes, And won us friendship from a world of foes ! PICTUEES ON THE WALL. I. The poet's page may give delight, The sage's lore may teach ; But there are crushed and hidden hearts They vainly strive to reach. Is there no way of moving these — Must they still lower fall ? We'll try the graver and the brush — The picture on the wall. n. The child intently gazes now, The eyes of age grow bright, As Ihey behold the wondrous power Of mingled shade and light. From out those old, worm-eaten frames True angel-voices call. And miracles are fairly wrought By pictures on the wall 66 PICTUBES ON THE WALL. in. There are two teachers, CTcr young, The poot and the sage. Who wage eternal war with "Wrong, In every clime and age : The world looks trighter through their leaves, In spring or summer's fall ; But you may see a world as hright In pictures on the wall. THE TRANSFIGUEATION. Oh '! Heaven ! it was a fearful wind, eo wondrous large with hatred, It seemed to covet for its wrath all God and man hold sacred : It struck a ship whoso idle sails against its sides were flapping, And tore its planks asunder all, till ribs like mouths were gaping. It emote huge trees, and rocks, and hills ; it howled like blatant thunder, It crossed a temple on its way and tore its aisles asunder. Hid from its wrath, I sat and watched a sorely wounded plover Sink down in secrecy to die among the three-leaved clover ; liut oh ! it was too soon to die in summer time so early, And leave its little brood to pine among the bearded barlny. . in. But flowers thus early perished, By angel hands are cherished ; They hloom on Heaven's greens war d„ By the footsteps of the Lord, And in that blessed retreat, Are trod by angel-feet, Till gathered for their graces And pressed to angel-faces. THE WEAVER'S SONG. I. The spring-time of life has departed, And summer, blythe summer, has come, To find me, alas, broken-hearted. And chained like a slave to the loom. The fairy-like patterns I'm weaving Are like the bright fancies I wove, Ere my spirit was broken by grieving, And Fate told the folly of love. II. In the heaven-born design I am working, I see nought of sorrow or gloom. And yet there's a thought ever lurking That prisons my soul to the loom ; And thus, from the dawn of the morning, The real drives the ideal away ; Till Night, with its shadows returning, Shrouds every hope in dismay. 114 THE -WEAVEBS SONG. III. Kind heaven, give me strength hut to plan some Escape from the torments I feel ; But death holds the only ransom, And dying's the only ordeal. How soft is the velvet I'm weaving, How hard is the fate I've to bear ! And yet what a folly is grieving, When grief leads to woe and despair. WE HAVE NOTHING TO FEAE. I. We have nothing to fear, when a tinker in jail (i) Can audience claim from a king, And a cobbler (2) in prison finds nought to bewail, So contentedly sits down to sing ; When a ploughman, (3) a beggar,(4)a poor peasant youth, (5) A shepherd (6) while tending his fold. Enrich their rare songs with the flavour of truth, And shame the rich minstrels of old ! We've nothing to fear, We've plenty to cheer. The future is ours, hurrah ! II. We have nothing to fear, when a poor trapper lad,(^) Gives to mankind tho wings of a bird. (1) John Bunyan (2) Thomas Cooper, author of "Purgatory ol Suicides." (;5) Burns. (4) Willie Thorn. (5) John Clare. (B) Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. (7) Eobert Stephenson. ^1*5 "WE HAVE NOTHING TO FEAB. When Science comes forth in her M'^orking robes ciad, And the sweet voice of Wisdom is heard ; When a barher (i) sits down by his own fire-side, In the midst of his children at play, And resolves, in despite of his garrulous bride, How the world can be clothed in a day. We've nothing to fear, We've plenty to cheer. The future is ours, hurrah ! m. We have nothing to fear, for Justice shall »eign, And distinguish the right from the wrong : And the glory of craft, like a meteor, shall wane. In the midday of science and song : When the full voice of Freedom shall clearly be heard. Waking echoes from mountain and glen, And the innermost depths of men's souls shall be stirred. And the truth rise triumphant again. We've nothing to fear, , We've plenty to cheer, Ihe future is ours, hurrah : I (1) Arkwright. BESSIE. I, OuE hearts were so tender, our years were so few, And yet we enjoyed the most exquisite hlisa, As we sat 'neath the shade of the wide-spreading yew, And watched the cloud-vessels skim under the blue. The soft-noted linnet sang songs hy our side, As though he had shared in the rapture we felt ; The silvery troutlet sprang high o'er the tide, And stole a sly glance at my beautiful bride. Each daisy a-tiptoe looked over the green. To see beauty rarer than daisy can boast, And all the gay creatures that filled up the scene Were beauties attendant on Beauty's own queen. If you e'er saw a flower, 'tween budding and bloom. When your lips are in doubt if breathing its name. If you e'er saw the sun just escaping from gloom, Or the first blush of morning when Summer has come, US BESSIE. You have seen naught so fair, though all did combine, No pencil could paint her, no chisel pourtray ; Her beauties, aye changing, yet ever divine, Even Jove had preferred to Juno and "wine. 11. By the Colne-side, spirit-laden, I have wandered long ago. With a sweet and dainty maiden. Sacred source of all my woe ; Purest, fairest, of Eve's daughters, She had pledged her heart to me ; But the babbling, smooth-tongued waters Told her beauty to the sea. And the story so beguiling To Old Ocean's mind did prove. That he told the same tale smiling To the earth, his lady-love ; When one. Death, he heard the story Of my fairy-featured bride. And he stole Earth's crowning glory When he snatched her from my side. BESSIE. 119 III. The words spent their force on the warm thoughts that filled me, When they told me my Bessie was gone to her grave ; And Disbelief saved, when belief would have killed me, As dangers unfelt leave the timid heart brave. The words fell as waves fell, all scattered around me. Their unity broken to gather again, When bereft of those warm thoughts returning they found me, To crush me with anguish and rack me with pain. Sad at heart, by the Colne-side, I silently wandered. And its musical ripple was music no more ; And many a lone sigh in anguish I squandered, For many vain hopes I had cherished before. I stood at the spot where the stream is divided. And each takes its weary way down to the sea, Lamenting the loss of a grandeur so prided. And dear to its glory as Bessie to me. Each passed on its way, and I left them for ever. To wander heart-broken, with Grief for a bride, And no more shall an angel-face peer from the river, Since Death slew the angel that walked by its side. 120 BESSIE. IV. " She has gone ;" thoy whispered softly, " Her fair spirit's taken flight ;" And my heart was crushed within me, Day departed ere 'twas night ; Then the gay earth lost its gladness, Bursting blossoms died in June, And a cloud seemed ever hanging In the face of star and moon. And the birds that sang so sweetly In the meadow and the grove, Sang a strange and mournful ditty. As though each had lost its love ; And the scenes where we had wandered, Grew more hateful day by day, As though Death had disrobed Nature, When he stole my love away. V. Kude were the songs that I framed for my Bessie ; Yet doubtless to her they had many a spell ; Rudely I sang them, but never dreamed Bessie, That any but angels could sing them so well ; BESSIE, 121 She told me the Bird o' the Morn was outrivalled, Outrivalled the songsters that wakened the grove ; That her ears were aye closed to their wordless out-pourings, Since I fashioned her songs from the lava of love. But I know not, alas, what sad change has come o'er me, For my life is a long and continuous dream, Where all is removed that was wont to inspire me, For Heaven claimed the beauty that furnished my theme : Fair Nature is charmless — I fly to her bowers ; Yet Grief tracks my footsteps wherever I go ; The shade of my Bessie has left them for ever, And Earth is to me bat a picture of woe. VI, The Spring has lost its freshness, The Summer beauty's gone. The autumn is less golden, The Winter cold and lone ; The morning ever dim, now, Disrobed of all its light ; And empty as a shell, floats The gorgeous lamp o' night ; 122 BESSIE. I used to love the meadows Where the flowers bloom and die ; But now my flowers are stars, love, That blossom in the sky ; I used to love the linnet For his music-making throat : But now I watch the lark, love. Through boundless ether float. I thought this dull earth heaven, love, When thou wert here below ; 'Tis now a realm of darkness. Brimful of burning woo,; Brimful of burning woe, love, I cast my eyes above ; And every planet shining Seems a fitting home for love. I saw Death at your side, love. With aspect fierce and wild ; He takes me by the hand, love, And leads me like a child ; BESSIE. 123 He takes me by the hand, love, And no convulsive start, Disturbs this shattered frame, love. Or chills this lonely heart ; With fingers raised to Heaven, love. He bids me think of thee. And leaves my soul a prisoned bird That panteth to be free. GATHER YE, GATHEE TE. I. The rain would be wasted that falls on the mountains, Did Labour not delve in the valleys below ; ^ Kind heaven would be thrifty and dry up her fountains If Labour withdrew its strong arm from the plough. Gather ye, gather ye, boldest and bravest. Rush to the valley and rush to the plain ; "And the earth that ye tickle shall laugh through the harvest," 1 And quaff ye in bumpers of fast-flowing rain. II. When the broad-footed oxen trod Egypt's rich valleys, And Labour inscribed on each acre a prayer ; Joy reigned in her courts, and mirth in her alleys, And rustling cornflags waved high in the air. But now ye may tread o'er the land that lies burning, But tread o'er it lightly, 'tis proud Egypt's grave. And behold 'mid her ruins the trace of her learning, And sigh for lost treasures that burdened the wave. GATHER YE, GATHER YE. 125 in. Gather ye, gather ye, boldest and bravest, Gather in earnest to labour and moil, Till the voice of the Lord shall awaken the harvest That fell fast asleep on Egypt's rich soil. Its ears have been pricked by the Lord's roaring thunder. Watch ye its rising as one who has slept ; Count ye it's green flags that wave beyond number. Behold the lost glory that nations have wept. NO MORE I'LL SIGH FOE VANISHED JOYS. I. No more I'll sigh for vanished joys, Nor o'er them vainly ponder ; There is no -worth in broken toys, Nor old loves torn asunder. Are there no joys which never fade, That we may fondly treasure ? Nor vainly cleave to things decayed, And hug the empty measure ! II. A flower crushed will fade away And breathe forth all its sweetness; But plant its seed deep in the clay, And it will reach completeness. While thus our joys ne'er bloom again, Still cleaving to the bosom, Are seeds of vanquished joy and pain That smiles or tears will blossom. THE GOLDEN TEMPTEK. z. One had wealth, another heauty ; Oh, 'twas hard indeed to choose ; Either prize was worth the winning, Each too great hy far to lose ; One was rich, and one was handsome, Wealth was ugly. Beauty poor ; Beauty maketh Wealth more wealthy, Wealth increases Beauty's store. n. " Roh the one,' and wed the other ;" Silence, tempter, get thee gone ; What are hoth, devoid of honour ? Worse than either when alone. Conscience is not bribed hy riches. Wealth is not a salve for crime ; Crime will stain the soul for ever. Conscience rack you in your prime. 128 THE OOLTIEN TEMrTER. HI. Limbs to labour, brain to guide them, Healtb to keep tbem firm and strong ; And a lass, brimful of beauty, Are a fortune to the young. These are mine, and shall I leave them, Cozened by deceitful gold ; Get thee gone, thou bold deceiver, — Tempt me when I'm getting old. HERNE'S OAK. Oft I think of the time when a sapling I stood, And the lands, now unclothed, were all covered with wood ; When the cowslip and primrose sprang up at my feet ; MTien the shade of my boughs formed a grateful retreat ; When my leaves were the greenest, my limbs stout and strong, And the birds made my branches a bower of song. < ;ft beneath my broad shade hath the light-footed deer J ' lund a shelter when drowsy, till, startled by fear, l:i: would dash through the covert t' escape the fleet hound. While the horn of the hunter re-echoed around. I Ivor hill and through dale I have viewed, with delight, '1 he wild chase, till the scene grew be-dimmod to the sight; 'j'len each leaf-stirring blast had no terror for mo — J was King of the Forest— all around me was free! k 130 heiixe's oak. II. One midniglit, when darkness had shrouded the sky, When elements warred, and sleet drifted hy ; When each cloud, hig with anger, rolled over my head, And Nature seemed striving to waken the dead ; Each flower howed its head to escape the rude blast. Each bird crouched with fear as the storm hurried past, Each bough full of life creaked again and again. While the wind froze my sap as it ran through each vein. 'Mid the terror and gloom of this terrible night, At my feet stood the hunter, who, pale with affright. Sought my boughs, not for safety, for succour, nor shade. As he'd oft done before while pacing the glade — His object of search 'mid the elements' strife. Was death, Avhen all Nature was cringing for life ; And as eager as drowning men struggle for breath. The hunter sought refuge and quiet in death. With frenzy-strung nerves he engrasps me around, With brain changed to fire he springs from the groun(?j Till, at length, 'mid my branches, he's dangling high. And sinks into hell as he climbed to the sky ; While a loud peal of thunder, bursting o'erhead, Seemed Nature's dread requiem over the dead. herne's oak, 131 The learned seek me out as I stand here alone, A memento of actions in ages agone , When the fattest of calves i' the forest was found, Adorned with a buck's head and fairies around ; And each child as he passes beholds me -with dread, "While each timid mind pictures rude ghosts of the dead. My beauty hath faded, no flower at my feet, No wide-spreading branches, no shady retreat ; All those friends of my youth have long gone to decay, And I feel that life's tide is fast ebbing away BRUSH THE TEARS FROM THY CHEEK, LOVE. I, Brush the tears from thy cheek, love, for Sorrow and Sadness Are exiled to-morrow from this spot of earth ; The bold invitation of Folly and Madness Alone could have brought the false jades to our hearth. A true angel's whisper breathes softly, " Earth's rudeness Is only the mask of a well-dowered queen, Who will feed thee, absolve thee, and cover thy nudeness, Whenever she puts on her mantle of green." II. Could not Pity, Compassion, nor Conscience have staid me, By appealing to Reason, alas ! I had none ; They torture me now, as they rise to upbraid me, I answer them all with a sigh and a groan. Come Wisdom, come Valour, and dry up my sorrow, Come Hope, with thy blue eyes, and cheer me awhile ; The crown of my manhood I'll pluck down to-morrow. And new joys shall freshen thy half-withered smile. GIVE ME A THOUSAND WARRIORS. I. " Give me a thousand warriors bold, A thousand firm and fearless men, And I will win their weight in gold Before I turn me back again. The city standing by the sea. Whose princely merchants stiffly bow, Shall bribe me with an argosy, Or scattered lay in ruins low." II. ' Grive me," another cried, " the moor, The deep morass, the kindred fen, Of labour's weapons just four score, And just four score of willing men ; And I will bring thee riches, too, And rob no man, and injure none, And though I lay no city low, A worthier prize shall still be won." 134 GIVE ME A IHOUSAND -WARKIOIiS. in. The old Chief, fighting hard with Death, Who spoke -with pain each heartfelt word, Said earnestly, with hated hreath, " When young I trusted to the sword ; But I have found that every foe I slew upon the hat tie plain, Ketains the power to work me woe And charge my cup of hliss with pain. IV. " Bring spearhead, haft, and scimitar. My good steel how and stout sword hlade, Bring javelin and holt of war, And they shall furnish pick and spade. This day, my son, commissioned he As captain of a peaceful band. Bear high the flag of Industry, And win fresh trophies from the land." THE STORY OF SAINT BRIDGET. Young Bridget was blessed with a sweet pretty face, Every tura of her limh was ethereal grace, And of lovers she had full a score ; Her foot was the swiftest that ever was seen, Her parents wore peasants — but she was a queen. Though no regal vesture she wore. II. Young Bridget was sighed for by many a lord, And world-famous warriors swore by their sword That Bridget should soon be their bride ; They came from the East, they came from the Wes'- They made her confessor — and each one confessed That on earth he loved nothing beside. 13G THE STORY OF ST. BRIDGET. ni. " My -wealth in broad land shall he yours," cried an oiirl ; The warrior exclaimed, " Take my sword for a curl," And cast by his buckler and spur ; While a prince of the true Morovignian blood, No longer on titles nor dignity stood — Bowed down like a menial to her. IV. " Begone, ye vile tempters," the maiden would say. And then to her God most devotedly pray To shield her from love and from harm ; " Take the rose from my cheek, the fire from mine eye, The pearl from my mouth, my tresses deep dye. And rob me of every charm. V. Hear my prayer," she exclaimed, and repeated each word With a strange winning fervour Devotion had stirred, " And fail not to grant my request ; « Do not spare me a grace, a treasure, or charm," And then she would sit with the holiest calm On her beautiful features impressed. THE STORY OF ST. BBIDGET. 137 TI. One night when the stars had gone out one by one, As Bridget sat praying aloud and alone, And counting her beads through and through, The angels, in pity, gave heed to her prayer- Determined all future temptations to spare, To a maiden so pious and true. vn. One by one every charm from her features was torn, Till the wreck moved men's sorrow like blight-stricken corn; But, oh ! she was happy within ; No murmur escaped her— she uttered no plaint, Her suitors were angels, for she was a saint, With virtues unspotted by sin ! VIII. The life left within her was G-od's from that hour, The Destroyer of Eden was robbed of his power — » The Serpent lay battered and bruised. Xo longer the Tempter temptation could find. All trace of her beauty was hid in her mind. From all worldly dangers reclused ! 138 THE STORY OF ST. BKIDOET. IX. The oaks have long fallen on Curragh's broad lands, The stream of the Liffey is narrowed by sands ; Yet Bridget's rare virtues still smile : The daughters of Erin are virtuous and fair, And true to the lessons they learnt at Kildare From Bridget, the Saint of the Isle. "WEEP NOT FOR THE PAST. Boast ye no more of the pride of past ages, Nought's hid in oblivion to call forth your sorrow ; Let lore-mongers revel in hlood-enstained pages, Our goal's in the future — our haven to-morrow ! Never look hack to discover completeness, Search not for life in the dust of the tomb ; The flowers of the field have lost none of their sweetness. Perfection lies hid in Futurity's womb. II. She who looked backward and wept for Gomorrah Was cursed by her God for the sin she had done ; Then why over cities and monuments sorrow, When grief never raised nor fashioned a stone ? Call back the past and you call back its errors, — Ev'ry step that's been trodden 'tis false to retread Think of its m'adness, its crimes, and its terrors. And work for the living — not weep for the dead ! 140 AVEEr NOT FOE THE PAST. III. The deep-planted seed may seem perished and rotten, Yet it waits but the sunshine and warm summer rain ! The good and the fruitful shall ne'er be forgotten, ^ATiile the parent seed lives in its offspring again ; The bright Land of Promise lies onward and sunward, By Pisgah's high summit still hid from our sight ; With a sureness of victory, hasten ye onward, The gloomiest hour is pregnant with light. INVOCATIONS. " Pkay for me, mother, when I am dead," Were the last words she uttered ; And the mother knelt ere the night had come. And the prayer was heard though her lips were dumb. II. " Pray for me, mother, when I am gone. For every worldly task undone," And a maiden knelt at a corse's side, And prayed for her lover at eventide. III. " Pray for me, mother," said a voice at sea, When a bark was filling rapidly ; And the winds bore the tones to a mother's ear, And the stillness of night was broken by prayer. 142 INVOCATIONS. IV. " Pray for me, courtiers," said a kingly tongue When I am numbered the dead among ; V>nt one hy one they stole away, And those who had flattered forgot to pray. V. " Pray for me, kindred," the rich man said, " When I am l)orne to my cold earth hed ;" They heard his prayer with a ready ear, And smiling— frowning— forgot the prayer. VI. The fair child sleeps in a lone graveyard. Where the new earth rises ahove the sward, The lover rests 'neath yon old yew tree. And the sailor hoy in the deep, deep sea ; Without a mark, without a stone, Yet God has marked them for his own. VII. The king in yon grand mausoleum sleeps, Where Pity in chiselled marble weeps, And the rich man rests in yon guarded vault - " Without a crime — without a fault." HARVEST H03IE. I. " The custom, Dame, shall never die While I'm controller here : The master -with his servants all Should mingle once a year : And, somehow, I've a notion, Dame, That, as old customs change. The sympathy of English hearts Is narrowed in its range. Go, broach the hest October, Dame, Prepare to lead the ball. And I will to the village hie, And welcome one and all." II. The good old dame, though near three score. Made answer to her lord : " Ay, that I will, with all my heart, Just take my honest word. 144 HARVEST HOME. But stay, 'before thou goest, man, One truth I must instil, An honest man worn out with toil, Should be rememhered still : So mind the shepherd old and lame. Mind Jenny at the mill." " Well done," the farmer laughed and said, " By God's help, so I will. III. " Come, Jock, fetch Dobbin to the door, Then to the cellar go, And fill a keg of good brown beer, 'Twill ease their hearts of woe ; And mind, if thou art honest, lad, Like Jenny by the mill, Shouldat thou grow sick at harvest home, Thou'lt be remembered still." The old dame broached the noblest cask, He welcomed one and all ; And you shall hear when next we meet Who led the harvest ball. OH, DO NOT HASTE AWAY, MY LOVE. I. The nightingale's delicious song Rings loudly through the -wildwood ; The whispering leaves we roam among Are joyous in their childhood ; Then do not haste away, my love, 'Tis long ere evening closes ; We'll sit and listen to the dove, And breathe the breath of roses. IT. The blossoms of the hawthorn bough, The white bloom of the cherry, The flowering gorse, the blooming sloe, With beauty bid us tarry: Then do not haste away, my love, 'Tis long ere evening closes ; We'll sit and listen to the dove, And breathe the breath of roses. 146 OH, DO NOT HASTE AWAY, MY LOVE. III. Oh, who would quit such scenes as these, For all the town possesses, When we can sit beneath the trees And feast ourselves with kisses ? Then, do not haste away, my love, 'Tis long ere evening closes ; But sit and listen to the dove, And hreathe the breath of roses. THE ORPHAN GIRL OF BRITTANY. FIRST NIGHT. I. " Come tell me, mother, that strange tale You told me yester eve, About that little orphan girl They christened Genevieve ; For I would store in Memory's urn The story of her woes, And imitate her gentle life, Unmindful of its close." II. " A fair-haired child of Brittany " — The mother thus hegan, " The fairy -featured daughter Of a poor, yet honest man. Was straying through the woods one day. As children oft will stray, Neglectful of the beaten track That marked the trodden way. 148 THE ORPHAN GIRL III. " She wandered here, she wandered there, Led on by something new — The song of birds, the ripe wild fruit That in profusion grew : The wildings scattered round her feet, And foxgloves white and red, And the whispers of the many leaves That hung around her head. IV. " A squirrel leapt from bough to bough, A wild bee passed along. And then a thousand merry flies All mad with dance and song : A spider's web hung o'er her way, With beads of pearly dew, — Beguiled thus, the child forgot How swift the hours flow. V. " Then came that silent, solemn hour, The gloaming of the day. That tells us all that's beautiful Is doomed to pass away, OF BRITTANY. 149 And whispered to the truant child By vagrant fancies led, ' Mark how the swift-winged clouds of night Are gathering round your head.' VI. " But, ah ! too late : the warning came, For one who did not know, And, in her pathless wanderings, Kept pacing to and fro, And to whose earnest, prayerful words, Each echo answered back, The very words she spoke aloud — ' Is this the homeward track ? ' VII. " A glow-worm, creeping through the grass, Threw forth its feehle light, Just strong enough to free its world From danger and from night ; A few dim stars were in the heavens, But these she could not see. For the over-hanging branches That spread from tree to tree. 150 THE ORPHAN GIRL VIII. " Her father search.ed the whole house through- Then searched it o'er again, And, shouting, ran through wood and field, And down the long green lane. ' Sweet Genevieve, come back to me. Come back, thou spotless one ; Where art thou, angel of my house ? Oh, leave me not alone !' IX. " The night sped on, and Genevieve O'ertired, lay down to rest Beneath a spreading hawthorn bush, Where linnets built their nest ; And there she lay till early morn. Nor dreamed, nor thought of wrong, Till wakened from her slumbers By their sleep-dispelling song. X. " ' What fairy work is this ?' she cried. And gently raised her head, * Where are the curtains mother wove And hung around my bed, — OF BRITTANY. lol With all their pretty pencillings Of tushes, trees, and flowers ? They surely have not blossomed thus In these few silent hours ! XI. " ' Who taught her pencilled birds to sing — Her flowers to shed perfume ; And made a fairies' palace Of my unpretending room ? Oh ! father, oh ! whence all this change My wondering eyes descry ? My little window's grown so large It lets in all the sky ! ' XII. " And as she drew her little hand Across her troubled brow, — ' My chamber walls have grown so wide I cannot see them now ! Oh ! father, dear ! where art thou gone ? ' The little maiden cried ; ' Oh ! father, dear ! where art thou gone ? ' The echoing woods replied. 152 THE OKPHAN GIRL xm. " ' Come, Memory, come, arouse thyself !' Said Pity, hovering near ; ' I would not have so fair a brow Such signs of sorrow wear ; Exert the powers within thy keep And grant her soul relief : Thou wouldst not see a face so fair Despoiled by Doubt and Grief ? ' XIV. " ' The clouds like shadows pass away That hung around her brow,' Said Pity — ' and her mild blue eyes Are lit by sunshine now — Behold, how Heaven receives the gifts The poor and humble give ! The song from out the hawthorn bus' The prayer from Genevieve ! * OF BRITTANY. 153 SECOND NIGHT. I. " She wandered forth in search of home, Through many a -wooded dell — As ancient dames in Brittany On -winter evenings tell- Through many a leafy -wilderness, Down many a heathery strath ; But Fancy, like a will-o'-th'-wisp, Aye drew her from the path. II. " With sunny features stained with dyes Of blackberry and sloe, She sat beside a forest spring And watched its waters flow ; Just like a little Zingaree, Neglected and forlorn ; ITcr arms by cruel brambles rent, l^:er little frock all torn. 154 THE ORPHAN GIBL in. " Oh ! who shall picture all the woe Her only parent folt, As wrapt, in one long, earnest prayei. From night till morn he knelt ? How 'neath the burning sun of noon He sought her mother's grave, And called on her to intercede That Heaven her child might save IT. " Her pockets filled with hazel nuts By summer sun made brown, And by her side the hooked stick That pulled the branches down, With hop-bine, and wild briony Entwined about her hair, No canvas in the world e'er held A picture half so fair ! V. " The windings of a hunter's horn Broke through the leafy glade, And lithesome as a startled deer, TJp leapt the little maid ; OF BRITTANT. 15c Then rushing on witli heedless haste O'er many a fallen tree, She heard the wild wood echo back Loud shouts of victory. YI. " An antlered deer with haunches torn, And dropping crimson gore, A wide and square-huilt serving man On thick-set shoulders hore ; And round his feet, fierce eager dogs, Made wood and welkin ring; While steadily behind them rode The courtiers of the king ! TII. ■'Then riding forth on foaming steed From out the tangled brake, A man with high and haughty mien Close followed in their wake ; s^ext rode a slender courtly youth. With long and flowing hair ; -nd, following fast, poor Genevieve Came running in the rear. 166 THE OBPHAN GIKL Tin. *' All dripping wet with morning dew, And flushed and out of breath, And like a streamer in the wind Her newly woven-wreath : ' Oh ! Sir,' she cried, ' take pity, pray ! And leave me not alone ; Oh, Sir !' — and down the maiden fell, As lifeless as a stone. IX. " The stirrups now like cymbals clash. The saddle seems on fire, While Genevieve is gently raised From out the slush and mire ; And then the shout for help was heard, And courtiers flocked around, And Genevieve, with wondrous care. Unto the steed was bound. X. " Once more the cortege moves along. In all its courtly pride. And foremost walks the serving man With shoulders strong and wide ; OP BRITTANY, . 157 And next the mounted courtiers pass With measured step, and slow ; And then the stern-faced monarch rides With deep and wrinkled brow : XI. " Last, closely following, came the prince, The idol of the land ; The bridle of his Arab steed Grasped firmly in his hand : And as they slowly wound along Through many a wooded glen, The sun sank down behind the hill. And hid its face from men. XII. " And now, within the shadows Of a castle old and grey. They gather in the misty light That closes in the day : The bell is rung, the gate withdrawn, And rushing here and there. Are seen the lusty servitors. With heads and arms all bare. 158 ^ THE OUI'HAN OIKL XIII. " The steeds are to their stables led, The hounds their kcnnol seek, And Genevieve is home along. With fainting form and -weak, Through many a long, dark corridor, Through vestibule and hall ; And she, the object of their care. Unmindful of it all ! XIV. ' For many a weary day and night, By fever stricken dumb. Poor simple-minded Genevieve Lay in her little room ; At length, ■with each revolving sun. Her strength returned anew, And the roses painted on her cheeks Regained their crimson hue. XV. " ' Oh, take me to my dear old home. And let me see once more My only parent, rich in love. And yet, alas! how poor! OF BRITTANY. lo9 Though absent, all his treasured love Will only fiercer burn. And he mil surely die of grief, If I should not return.' XVI. " Her prayer was heard by one whose heart Such tales of dolour moved ; For he had sighed for absent scenes. And still the absent loved : So, side by side, at autumn's fall. When all the trees were bare, They jointly sought her father's cot- Alas ! he was not there ! XVII. " In vain he struck the oaken door — In vain he waited long ; And vainly, to allay her fears. He whistled, laughed, and sung ; At length the stubborn door gave way : But nothing could they find, Save signs of long, long absence, To rack her troubled mind. 3 60 THE ORPHAN GIKL XV III. . " Her doll was lying on the slifelf, Her hoop hung on the wall, And dust through many a crevice blown, Had settled down on all ; Her Sunday frock, her br;in-now shoes, And — source of many joys — The little box her father made To hold her treasured toys. XIX. " The clock's once faithful pendulum Had long since ceased to swing ; The linnet, that she loved so much. Had lost its power to sing ; The old arm chair was tenantless, The flowers— all were dead ; And every thought the scene awoke To Death and Sorrow led. XX. " ' Oh, heaven ! ' she cried, ' have pity, pray ! On one so weak and lone ; The only friend I had on earth For evermore has gone ; or BRITTANY. K't Ko loving -words will come again My -wayward heart to cheer : Oh, take me from this scene of woe, I cannot linger here.' XXI. " He took her gently by the hand. And, with a brother's love. The crushing load upon her mind Strove vainly to remove ; ' The ties that bound him to his home Your absence may have broken, .'But, wherefore, say that he is dead, "When not a word was spoken ? ' XXII. " ' Oh, woe is me ! ' cried Genevieve, ' No tongue could plainer speak ; And oh ! the bitter, bitter words ! My poor, poor heart will break ; Pray take me to my mother's grave On yonder bleak hill side. And we shall find her worshipper Is resting by her side. 162 THB ORPHAN GIRL XXIII. " ' oil ! cease to tell me tliat he lives All doubts are now at rest ; Another landmark for the dead Is stretching East and West.' Adown her cheeks the hot tears ran Like water from a spring. Then, like a wounded bird she fell,. When stricken on the wing. OF BRITTANY. 163 THIRD NIGHT. I. " The tide of time rolls ever on, No stubborn rocks assail ; It does not linger -with the calm. Not quicken with the gale ; It does not mock the swift-winged bird, And then the tortoise slow, The calm and endless tide of Time Is equal in its flow. II. " "Within a crimson-curtained room, Two hundred years agone, A comely maiden weeping sat, "With Sorrow, all alone : She wore the courtly robes of pride, The trappings of a queen ; But stateliness and dignity Were nowhere to be seen. 164 THJE ORPHAN GIBL iir. " She was the self-same Genevieve I pictured — young and fair, "With mild blue eyes, and crimson cheeks. And golden-tinted hair ; The flower of the blushing rose. The mid-day of the morn ; With all her first-blown loveliness Unspotted and unshorn. IV. " * The threatened woe has come at last. The babbler's tongue has spoken ; And that brief spell of happiness For evermore is broken ; My princely love is borne away, And I am left to mourn ; A weeper in a troubled world, Unpitied and forlorn.' V. " Thus wailed the gentle Genevieve, For, oh, she knew full well The meaning of those few sad words That broke her happy spell ; OP BRITTANY. 165 She knew their love had been betrayed By one -whose envious wrath "Was like the hot w"ind of the East, The trumpet sound of death. TI. " For many a weary day and night She listened for the voice, Whose whispered words of love and truth Made heart and soul rejoice ; But not a sound from those sweet lips Whose music kindled love, E'er fell upon her listening ear, Wherever she might rove. vir. " The skylark and the nightingale, " The linnet and the thrush, And all the little choresters That dwelt in tree and bush, Sang sweetly to her day by day. In wondrous accord, And tried to chase from memory, The presence of her lord. 166 THE ORPHAN GIRL YIII. " A year passed, and no tidings came, Save that which gossips told, Whose tales were truly balls of snow, That gathered as they rolled, Till, melted in the warmth of truth, (As snow returns to rain), To what they were, till crystallised To please the weak and vain. IX. " But hers was not a simple grief. That gossips could relieve, But one that twined around the heart. Of hapless Genevieve : It was no ranting, loud-mouth'd woe, That frights you with its stare. But one whose sting is deadlier far, And poisons with a tear. X. " 'Twas on a merry Christmas morn, The Christmas logs were burning, "V\Tien tidings through the castle spread, * Prince Edward is returning,' OF BEITTAN-r. 167 And then the king in haste appeared, And summoned those he trusted, And bade them get their armour on, That long had lain by rusted. XI. "The fire of wrath re-lit his eye, That age had robbed of lustre, As he beheld his warlike crew ' Within the court-yard muster. • Let yonder drawbridge be upraised Arm, arm, each fort and tower ; Then march direct to St. Brieux, And test Rebellion's power.' XII. " 'Twas thus the stern-faced monarch spoke. And ere an hour was passed. The bannerets of Brittany Were waving in the blast : That noon a deadly fight was fought, And Edward won the day. While the stern old king of Brittany Was slaughtered in the fray. 168 THE ORPHAN GIRL xm. " At length tho conquering host appeared Before the castle walls ; ' I summon all to yield to me ! * Their favoured chieftain calls ; ' I never yet betrayed a trust,' The captain cried -within, ' And •will not yield an inch to thee, Save that -which thou can'st -win.' XIV. " The conflict raged most furiously, And hearts -were filled -with ire, Till, from the castle's western walls. Arose a streak of fire, That broadened as the moments flew. And hissed and roared amain. Telling the trusted servants all Eesistance was in vain. xy. " The gates were quickly flung aside, The bridges flung across ; And men in safety walked above The deep and yawning foss ; OP BEITTANY. And foremost in the crowd was seen Young Ed-ward rushing on, With eager cries of ' Follow me ! The crowning deed's undone ! ' XVI. " On, on, he rushed, led on by Love, The western tower to win ; For he had heard that Genevieve Was perishing within ; O'er blackened rafter, girt by flame. Through passages of smoke. O'er scorching floors, with heat athirst, His speed no peril broke. XVII. « What balm shall soothe his troubled soul ? What worldly wealth atone ? The empire of his heart was lost, He walked the world alone ! A people's love was nought to hers, And riches— what are they P The glittering chains of human hearts, The baubles of a day. 169 170 THE ORPHAN GIRL OF BRITTANY, XTIII, " Such is the tale of Genevieve, As it was told to me, By one who treasured it for years Within her memory : From her to me, from me to you, From you to some dear friend : Thus simple tales of honest worth May journey without end. XIX. " "We little know how words may roll Adown the stream of time ; There's many rolling, rolling yet, That started in earth's prime : So they he virtuous, let them roll. Like houlders down a river, They'll polish as they pass along. Then, starlike, shine for ever." THE CORN AND THE POPPY, I. The poppy may raise its haughty head, With its crimson rohe of scorn ; But is it not from the same earth fed As the unpretending corn ? Does it not crave for the heavenly dew, And drink of the living shower ? Then why be so proud of its blood-red hue, When its glory will last but an hour ? II. Does the slothful liquid in every pore Breed pride so rank and so base ? And the poppy dream that the earth's wide floor Was made for its slumb'rous race ? The corn by its side shall be dressed in gold, Ere the summer has passed away, And its wealth be greater and richer threefold. When the reaper shall pass this way. 172 THE COKN ASJy THE POPPT. III. The blast of heaven, or the lightning's dart, May slay every poppy on earth ; But who -would weep, or, affrighted start At vain phantoms of famine and dearth ? The sun would shine and the rich rain fall Though each poppy had passed away. And the Earth would feast her children all, To-morrow, as well as to-day. A DREAM IN THE RUINS. I HAD wandered far, -when a ruin old Threw its shapeless shadows across my way ; And I thought what mysteries it might unfold ! As it stood, time-crowned, in the gear of decay. II. I secretly crept through a low-shattered wall, And wandered among the long, rank grass, Gazing with awe at each hattlement tall, That frowned like a giant upon the dwarfed mass : III. The wind 'gave a shriek as it rushed hy the scene, The rays of the moon through each cleft stone had darted, And I sat myself down, like a lone eastern queen. And wept for the grandeur of glories departed. 174 A DEE AM IN THE RUINS. rv. I was drugged witli fatigue, and I soon fell asleep, Witli a stone for my pillow, the earth for my bed ; I dreamt I lay fast in the castle's fell keep, Where all hope of succour for ever had fled, V. Where the chain that once bound me lay broken and rusted, And the strong iron window through which I'd been fed j With blood and the tears of mine eyes was encrusted, And I sighed for the portal that leads to the dead. VI. The shriek of the night-bat, the croak of the raven. In the passing of years grew endearing to me, And my name on the walls was a hundred times graven. For I thought it might thus be preserved to the free ! VII. I dreamt that my crime was a crime unforgiven, While a throne cursed the world, or a tyrant drew breath : I had sworn to live free in the sunlight of Heaven, And had raised the proud standard of "Freedom or Death.'' A DEE AM IN THE RUINS. l75 vni. In highlands and lowlands men heard the proud story, And thousands of brave hearts in unison came ; And we purchased, with daring, fair freedom and glory, Till the lords of the earth grew alarmed at my fame. :x. "We banded together ! As freemen undaunted, "With truth in our hearts and stripp'd swords in our hands, We rushed on the foe ! My life seemed enchanted, As reapers in harvest we swept the broad lands ; X. Out-numbered and slain were the dear friends that loved me, I fell 'neath the force of a treacherous blow 1 And at night from the field, bound in chains, they removed me, While the Heavens wept in pity at Freedom's o'erthrow. XI. I awoke ! and the vision still clung to my brain ! I sought out the keep with a feverish tread ; And bore off as relics the staple and chain Which lay on the ground 'mid the bones of the dead ! THE PRIDE OF THE HOMESTEAD. I. "When storms have stripped the mountain, I have seen the old dun cow, With an instinct quite hewitching, Seek the sheltered lands below : For she loves to hear the music. From the treble weak and slim, To the loud and sonorous bass that tells Her milk has reached the brim. So we'll bless the honest cow For befriending high and low, May she never want for fodder While the hand of man can sow. II. You may milk her in the evening, And then go to bed and dream ; Biii there's magic in the dairy, And her milk will change to cream. THB TBEDE OF THE HOMESTEAD, 17 • Ay, there's gold upon its surface, While there's -wealth in all helow : The richest stream throughout the land. Is that which leaves the cow. So we'll bless the honest cow For befriending high and low, May she never want for fodder, While the hand of man can sow. in When our first-born, weak and ailing. Turned his wee mouth from my breast, How I trembled for his safety. And sought succour from the beast ! And she gave it quick and willing. When my babe was like to die, For her udder's like the fountain, You cannot milk it dry. So we'll bless the honest cow For befriending high and low. May she never want for fodder While the hand of man can sow. 178 THE PRIDE OF THE HOMESTEAD. IV. She has nourished us in winter, When the snow lay thick around, And the plants died in their cradle. On the unprotected ground ; She has nourished us in summer, When the rain refused to fall. And she never deigns to loiter When she hears the milkmaid call. So we'll bless the honest cow For befriending high and low, May she never want for fodder "^Tiile the hand of man can sow. ON THE EUINS OF READING ABBEY, I. Thou art far more than the sepulchre Of a dark and Avorn-out creed, Thou long-wrecked home of learning, And of saints -whom death has freed. II. Who, listless to the strife without, In solemn silence wrought. And garnered the rich fragments Of an infant nation's thought. III. Full many a kingly-thoughted mind Our ancient vessels hore, From many an eastern nation T' illume this darkened shore ; 180 ON THE RUINS OP IV. But still 'twas thine own shaven crowns These kindred spirits sought, Who paid the wanderers back in kind For golden treasures brought. V. When rude hands spoiled thine altars, When thy chambers echoed oaths, They might have spared thy treasures. The Vandals and the Goths ; XI. They might have saved from flame and wrack Those treasures of the mind, And left untouched the heirlooms Of unlettered human kind. VII. I know thoii taught'st an iron creed In those benighted days ; That many a sainted foaman died 'Mid faggots all a-blaze : BEADING ABBEY. 181 viir. And in thy dismal dungeons, Where day was never seen ; That many a God-like spirit sank 'Neath torture sharp and keen ; IX. But thy goodness is undying, And thine evil passed away, Like a cloud before the summer sun, And night before the day ! A BALLAD. I. Listen to me, a story I'll tell Of an old dame -withered and grey, Who used in a neat little cottage to dwell By the side of the river Tay. The old dame's pride -was her children three, Three jolly boys, I trow, For they kept their mother from poverty By help of the spade and plough. I II. " Alas ! " one day, the old dame cried, " The staff of mine age has gone ; Fortune has stolen a mother's pride, And left me to weep alone. Three worthier sons no mother could find Throughout the live-long day," And the old dame wept till her eyes went blind As they sailed from the Kiver Tay. A BALLAD. 183 ni. Three jolly, roaring, soldier lads, Are coining over the sea ; The hlood of brave foemen dims their blades, They are her children three. " Ho ! Mother ? " they shout, far up the hill, " We"ll cheer your heart this day ! " But the soldiers' tears helped to turn the mill. That stood on the River Tay. LIFE AND DEATH. I. The rich, ore's found 'neath. the buried rock, The pearl in the deep blue sea, Which only the daring hand may clutch, Or the daring eye may see. II. The lily bud may -waken thought, But deeper thought -will spring, From the lily dead and the empty clay, When the soul has taken wing. III. Each grave is a casket of rich, rare thought, Which fools alone despise ; A legacy rich, when homeward called. The dead have flung to the wise ; LIFE AND DEATH. 185 IV. And sermons are spoken by dead, cold lips, Which breathing lips never spoke ; As the stately column in all its pride, Says less than the column broke. V. Then come with me from earth's gayest scenes. The roar of life's rude waves. And we'll return with our lives enriched With the spoil of dead men's graves. A ROUND OF LOVE. I. The squirrel loves the hazel tree, The swine the stalwart oak ; The silkworm loves the mulberry, The hee the hollyhock ; The butterfly the clover leaf. The wren the hawthorn bush ; The sparrow loves the harvest sheaf. The mistle charms the thrush. II. I love the fruity hazel tree. The emblematic oak ; The rich and juicy mulberry. The bright-hued hollyhock ; I love the triple-clover leaf. The flowering hawthorn bough ; The richly-dowered golden sheaf, The bright-eyed mistletoe. HUEEAH! FOE THE BEAVE. I. Come, Landlord, and bring me a bowl of the best, For I mean to be merry to-day ; Ere the sun that's now rising- sinks down in the west, Dull Care shall be far, far away. There are ills in this life, but outbrave them, my boys, And never desparingly yield, For the soldier who shrinks in the battle of life. Is not worth a curse in the field ! Hurrah ! for the brave ! in the battle of life ! Hurrah! boys, hurrah ! for the brave. II. I'm a soldier of fortune, with nothing to lose, Still I never was given to strife ; I have drubbed all the rough-fisted foes I have met In the ceaseless encounters of life ; 188 hukbah! foe the brave. I have fought with Disease, I have struggled with Want ; I've been wounded, hut comrades, what then ? If they come, hoys, to-morrow, and tempt me to fight, I have faith I shall conquer again. Hurrah ! for the brave ! in the battle of life ! Hurrah ! boys, hurrah ! for the brave ! III. Come, Landlord, and bring me a bowl of the best. For I mean to be merry to-day ; Ere the sun that's now rising sinks down in the west, Dull Care shall be far, far away. Look alive, I've a merry old heart beating yet. And 'twill merrily beat till I die ; But, mark me, dull prating still leaves one a-thirst. Bring the bowl, while in chorus we cry — Hurrah ! for the brave ! in the battle of life ! Hurrah ! boys, hurrah ! for the brave ! FALSE BRAVERY. As childliood dies, and manhood takes its place, We often deem our independence won ; But, whence the mask we wear upon our face ? Oh, rather has not servitude begun ? The child, in sorrow, will not hide its tears. While griefs suppressed proclaim men's growing fears. II. I love not tears, and yet I love not those, Who truly boast they never shed a tear ; They are the outward badges of our woes That heaven designed the sorrow-struck should wear I do confess, I deem the brave man weak. Who wears a smile like rouge upon his cheek. ENGLAND'S GLOEY. I. Shall I drag the hidden truth to light, From the clouded page of story ? And show you the source of England's might — The fount of her undimmed glory ? The truth has been cunningly long concealed, By men whom the world call eages : Let the book of truth be now unsealed, And the people read from its pages. The builders of nations are those who toil, The source of their wealth the stubborn soil ; So shout, boys, shout, till the welkin rings. From labour alone true glory springs. ir. They have told us how England gained by war. From what dangers the sword has kept her. Of the giants who governed her senate and bar, And grappled old England's sceptre : England's gloet. 191 They tell us of cities sacked and won, By tlie ruthless hand of the spoiler, But where of the glorious deeds long done By the kingly, uncrowned toiler ? The builders of nations are those who toil, The source of their wealth the stubborn soil ; So shout, boys, shout, till the welkin rings, From laboiir alone true glory springs. III. True history shall be written yet, When the deeds of all, unfolded, Shall be read aloud to the nations met To hear how the world was moulded : And none, in vain, search a thousand leaves For the truth shall lay before us. In a song that a bard of labour weaves. While the people swell its chorus. The builders of nations are those who toil. The source of their wealth the stubborn soil ; So shout, boys, shout, till the welkin rings. From labour alone true glory springs. THE EUINED TOWEE. I. A WATCH-TOWER stood on yonder mountain's brow A century past — those ruins mark the spot ; Go, ye, who would a mighty lesson know. And mark its time-worn relics as they rot. Behold how moss and lichen share the spoil. The soulless plund'rers of Time's vanquished prey ; The trailing ivy how it clingeth still. And gains more life where most is found decay. II. Learn how the higher rests upon the lower. How lowest fates the highest may control ; How one decaying stone may sap a tower, How many ones combine to form a whole. The topmost stone, hurled down the mountain side, Lying lower, deeper sunken, than its brother. May teach the vaunting nothingness of Pride, And bid us pause ere yet we slight another. THE RUINED TOWER. 193 III. As baseness thrives- on virtues, long since dead, And claims a kingdom that immortals won. So slimy reptiles, putrefaction-fed, Eevel where once the eagle built his throne. See death and life inseparably woven : Disorder— order ! chaos re-arranged ! See indestrnction by destruction proven, And form foi form, and life for life exchanged ! H THE FIELD OF BALAKLAVA. I. Here stood the brave sons of a cMvalrous race, Whose deed are immortal in story ; And here with the foemen they fought face to face, And here they fell covered with glory ! The green grass and flowers that garland the plain, Point out where the battle grew thicker — And the thirsty soil drank the blood of brave men, As a Bacchanal quafi'eth good liquor. II. 'Tis God's acre we tread— let your foot" press with care, For beneath are the sheaves of Death's harvest ; While the wild flowers blooming are monuments fair, To mark out the tombs of the bravest. Tears fell like the rain on each rude-fashioned grave, At the wreck of their pride and their powers ; , But the life that once kindled the hearts of the brave, Now smiles upon heaven through the flowers. THE FIELD OT BALAKLAVA. 195 III. When we first read the tale by our OM-n fireside, "With its fierceness and daring bewildering ; Our fathers' stout hearts were near bursting with pride, While our mothers shed tears for their children. We marvelled how men fought as gods fought of eld, And we lavished our praise without sparing ; And proudly compared it to Marathon's field, With its courage and deeds of high daring. IV. On this flower-clad spot one brother lay low — There was blood on his long silken tresses — But Right had not nerved the strong arm of the foe. And the pride of his presence still blesses : But one ne'er returned to the hom6 of his birth. And his tongue ne'er shall tell the proud story. How he fought for the fame of his own mother earth, While the bride of his heart was her Glory. THE SHOEMAKER'S LINNET, Cheer of my desolate garret, Why art thou.loath to depart ? Hast thou beheld the big sorrow Fate has entwined round my heart ? Why dost thou hover around me, And ^erch on thine own prison door ? 3Iy friends, one by one, have long left me. The poor only think of the poor. II. Cheer of my desolate garret, Rich in thy dower of song, Fly, fly, to the welcoming bower. And join the gay warbling throng. Why should I chain thee to lighten The woes I am bound to endure ? Go, go, to the rich-tinted woodland, The poor only think of the poor. THE SHOEMAKEb's LINNET. 197 lU. How strange that a bird should befriend me, When brothers cast friendship away ; 'Tis friendship alone could detain thee, From courting the white-blossomed May. Then stay, and a blythe song shall cheer us ; Thy music, Heaven's music, out-pour ; And I'll treat thee as thou wert an angel That Heaven sent to comfort the poor. THE RIGHT AND THE WRONG. I. He cannot err who wars with Hate and Strife, And braves the scorn of every fool and knave, Who dares to lead an honest, sober life, And loathes alike the tyrant and the slave ; Nor he who, sworn to live and die by Truth, Diggeth his grave in consecrated ground ; Nor he who gives his manhood and his youth To scatter hope where vice and fear abound. II. The man who errs is he who lives a slave — Who sinks the Future in the dying Now ; Who sells his soul to every soulless knave, And brandeth "Slavery " on a brother's brow; 'Tis he who speaketh of a heaven above, Forgetful of the sinful life he leads ; Who preacbeth ever of a Saviour's love. And scatters seeds of strife where'er he treads : THK BIGHT AND THE WRONG. 199 ni. 'Tis he who, catching at the bubble fame, Has stooped beneath the level of his race ; Or, lost to Virtue, takes her honoured name To blot his sins, and save him from disgrace ; 'Tis he who, knowing Truth, dares truth to mar, Or, knowing Flattery, courts her poisonous breath ; Who cries out "Peace!" if peace be smouldering war, Or lifts the crimson standard for a wreath. COME ALL YOU JOLLY PLOUGHMEN. I. Come all you jolly ploughmen, of courage stout and bold, That labour all the winter in stormy winds and cold, For to-night we'll merry be, Prepare yourselves for jollity ! We'll sing and whistle louder than the winds across the wold. The harvest has been garnered, and the corn is ripe and sound ; A richer crop was never seen in all the country round ; You've done your duty bravely, boys, and won me gold galore, So, we'll have a merry making, as our fathers did of yore. II. Come all you jolly harvestmen, you're welcome one and all. The fattest ox the farm could boast is roasting in the hall, For to-night we'll merry be, Prepare yourselves for jollity, And bring your scythes and sickles, boys, to decorate the wall. COME ALL TOU JOLLY PLOUGHMEN. 201 A cask of real old stingo, finely flavoured, rich and strong, Will wash, away each taint of care, and tune your throats for song. And when the barrel's empty, boys, you shall not want for more, For we'll feast ourselves till morning, as our fathers did of yore. in. Come all who labour on the farm, no matter how or where, From the ploughboy to the shepherd with his white and "" flowing hair. For to-night we'll merry be. Prepare yourselves for jollity, And feast and drink, and laugh and sing, without a thought of care. Go, and tell the village parson he is wanted here to-night, With his free and loving nature, and his passion for the right : And bring your wives and sweethearts, lads, we'll trip it o'er the floor ; And keep it up till morning, as our fathers did of yore. A PHASE OF LIFE. I HAVE heard men speak of an Eden land, "Where a thousand flowers are springing ; "Where the sky is clear, and the air is pure, And a thousand birds are singing ; Of valleys where brooklets flow noiselessly on. And mountains that touch the sky ; But nor mountain nor stream, save in a dream. Ever gladdened my raptureleas eye. II. I have heard them speak of the green, green fields. And the hedgerows running between them ; But the only glimpse that I ever caught "Was from dreams or from eyes that had seen them ; And in fancy I trod on the velveted sod. Ay, free from the crowded alley, And with heartfelt pride, climbed the hill's rugge'd side, Or followed the stream through the valley. A PHASE OF LIFE. 205 III. I have dreamt of a fair-haired shepherd hoy, With his wee pet lamh beside him, And a dog who never like Judas loved Eitf master, and yet denied him : Of corn sheaves ranged in the harvest field. And the merry reaper-train, Till I shouted among the jovial throng. And followed the hardened wain. __ IV. 'Tis hard to die in this dark, damp cell. And know there are health-giving places, But harder still to see thousands live With Death written on their faces ; But who would not die— no matter how — Though cycles before their time. Than eke out life in a land of strife On bread that is purchased with crime ? LET YOUE SONGS BE ANGEL SONGS. T. Let all your songs be angel songs, Nor thought nor word betraying That truth or love has been defiled, Or moral worth decaying ; Where round about each well-clothed thought A glorious truth is clinging : And every man's a better man For hearing them or singing. And every line shall strip a wrong. And lay it bare before us ; And we shall feel the heart respond. When we join in the chorus. II. Let all your songs be angel songs, That young and old may listen : With words to cheer the saddest heart And make the dull eye glisten : LET ALL TOUR SONGS BE ANGEL SONGS. 20-5 For there's rare virtue in such songs, True joy and comfort bringing ; And every line's a row of pearls, A heaven-born poet's stringing. And every line shall strip a wrong. And lay it bare before us ; And we shall feel the heart respond, "When we join in the chorus. III. Let all your songs be angel songs, . Where truth and love are spoken ; A song of triumph when the chain Of slavery is broken ; A song of woe at fitting hour. Of love when love shall move us ; And let this be the live-long day. Till all the world shall love us. For there's a glory in a song, Where lasses join in chorus ; And if they love ere we begin At ending they'll adore us THE PATH OF DUTY. I. Never depart from the straiglit line of duty, 'Tis a sanctified path ev