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 A VOLUME or 
 
 AMATORY AND ELEGIAC VERSE, 
 
 BY 
 
 vJOSEI=^I3: BTJI^C3-ESS 
 
 -^»^<$ f<8K45;" 
 
 IS75. 
 
 I.oNiJov; SiMfKiN, Maiiv7iaii., i' Co. Maniiie^ikh : John Heywooij. 
 
 Oluham : Hirst & Rksmk.
 
 HIRST AKD Ri'NNIK, PRINTKES, CHRONICLK OFFICi:, OLDHAM.
 
 FK 
 
 
 It is not usual for the preface of a book to l)e written 
 by any other i^vn than that of its author during his life- 
 time, but it is the wish of Mr. Burgess that the reference 
 to the sad story of his brief married life should be told by 
 one of his friends, and as many of the following poems 
 originally appeared in the Oldham Chronirli', it was perhaps 
 natural that the task should be deputed to its Editor. 
 The volume consists of pieces written by Mr. Burgess 
 to his late wife previous to their marriage, suggested by 
 their union, or by her death. 
 
 The story is a mournful one. Within one short month 
 of their nuptials, the bride lay in her shroud, and the 
 bridegroom, returning from his work on Christmas eve,   
 glad at the prospect of a short holiday, only learned of 
 the real danger of his wife just in time to witness her 
 departure for the spirit-land, for which she was eminently 
 prepared by her life of faith and purity in this world. 
 For several winters before her death her health had been • 
 delicate, but not so as to cause any serious apprehensions, 
 certainly not to justify the suspicion that ctmsumption — the 
 stern foe of a temperament which so often blooms into 
 intellectual, spiritual, and physical Vjeauty — had marked 
 
 937?:16
 
 her ttK its prey. The reiMlcr will remember how severe 
 the recent winter w^is, espetually about tlie close of the 
 ye;u', and how mnny pt'.>ple of all ages had not BuiEcient 
 vital force to >irave it. Mrs. Burgess was one of these. 
 8he was not in strong health at the time of her marriage, 
 but this wa.^ attributed partly to the recent death of 
 an infant brother t<i whom she was very tenderly attached. 
 The date of the cert-inony lia<l tlien been fixed, and as it 
 had been postponed once before, the medical attendant 
 etrf'ngly advised that it should not again be deferred. 
 
 The man-iage toi>k pla/'e on the 26th of November, 
 and she died on the 2-4-th of December. As the present 
 volume is strictly a ineimirial of her, many poems written 
 by Mr. Burgess do not here find a place. He is a young 
 man, having at the present time only just completed his 
 21 et year. He is now. as he has ever been, a factui-y 
 operative, wlio has had no more educational advantage.s 
 than those curamon to his class; but it is not on that, or 
 on any other ground that critical leniency is demanded. 
 Mr. Burgess is well aware that when a man gives to the 
 world the rf>sult8 of his mental efforts, he has no claim to 
 favours, but must abide Vjy a verdict bised solely on the 
 merits or demerits of his work, altogether irrespective of 
 what may be considered adverse circumstances. It i.« 
 to Bucli a judgment that he appeals, not arrogantly, but 
 with IxH'oming modeaty. 
 
 J. HIRST. 
 
 Chroniele Qfficf, 
 
 AprU Uih, 1K75
 
 iiiTiDEs;:. 
 
 PA«K 
 
 Valentine ... ... ... .. ... i 
 
 What is more sweet ... ... ... 4 
 
 The Mystery of Love ... ... ... fi 
 
 Beauty and Virtue ... ... ... ... ... s 
 
 The Sun and the Sky ... ... ... jo 
 
 My Love is not an Angel ... ... ... ... 14 
 
 Lines on a rainy Sunday ... ... ... ... 20 
 
 Where I first met my Wife ... ... 2r> 
 
 My little Godson, Herbert ... ... ... ... 30 
 
 Neaw aw'm a married Mon ... ... ... ... 33 
 
 'Twaa often Said 39 
 
 Wark un Weddin' nare agreen ... ... ... ■I'j, 
 
 Blighted Love ... ... 48 
 
 Linen written after my Wife's Death ... ... 50 
 
 Sweets to the Sweet ... ... ... ... ... r>tl 
 
 Hope and Resignation ... ... ... ... (i;;^ 
 
 Adversity 65 
 
 The Snows of Age .. ... ... ... ... 67 
 
 The old Man at the grave of his young Wife ... ("i9 
 
 Tour Voices have a pleasant Ring ... ... ... 7] 
 
 God bless Thee, Fayther Kesmus ... ... ... 75 
 
 Crumbs of Comfort — Marriage Address ... ... SI 
 
 In Memoriam ... ... ... ... ,S3 
 
 Lines HO 
 
 The Poet's Vision .S7
 
 Ereata. — Page 35, line 13, read for " Neaw I aw'm a 
 married mon," "Neaw aw'm a married mon." Page 36, 
 line 4, for "happens," read "happen." Page .'JG, line 9, 
 for "cooms," read "coams;" also in line 10 of the same 
 page. Page 37, line 9, for "uooui," read "coam." Page 
 38, line 8, for "gan," read " gun." Page 76, line 13, for 
 "roit," read "riot."
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE PERPETUATION OF MY WIFE's 
 
 MEMOEY THIS LITTLE BOOK IS SOLEMNLY 
 
 DEDICATED.
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 FOUND AMONGST MY WIFe's LETTERS. 
 
 S tliou art far above the crowd 
 
 Who at Love's mimic shrines are bowed, 
 And think a lover dull and stupid 
 Unless he swears to them by Cupid ; 
 To thee no tinselled toy I send, 
 But rather would my love commend. 
 With honest heartfelt words of ti-uth, 
 Words pure and blameless as thy youth.
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 II. 
 
 And, therefore, thou mayest gather hence 
 
 I compliment thy common sense. 
 
 In thinking that, though unperfumed, 
 
 My tribute is not coldly doomed 
 
 To be condemiied and cast aside, 
 
 Because is panders not to pride ; 
 
 A thought which makes me proud to sign 
 
 Myself " Thy would-be Valentine." 
 
 III. 
 
 If sighs were zephyrs of perfume, 
 And tears these pages could illume. 
 No gem of the designer's art 
 Would smell as sweet or look as smart ; 
 But from the sighs my bosom heaves 
 The page no odorous breath receives, 
 And if a tear drops now and then, 
 It only blurs the words I pen.
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 IV. 
 
 A lore more passionate than mine 
 Cannot be human, 'tis divine ; 
 And shall I have to sue in vain, 
 Meeting with coldness and disdain ? 
 Ah ! surely not, for who could prove 
 Indifferent to such earnest love. 
 While I am young, and thou art fair, 
 In mercy hearken to my prayer. 
 
 V. 
 
 And then, as we grow old in life, 
 I'll sing the praises of my wife, 
 Until a hushed and listening earth 
 Has learned the story of thy worth. 
 And for a wreath to crown thy head, 
 Long after we are with the dead, 
 Bright flowers of poetry entwine. 
 If I may be thy Valentine.
 
 i;^^ 
 
 WHAT IS MORE SWEET? 
 
 HAT is more sweet — when the queen of the 
 night 
 
 Hangs her lamp in the tent up above us, 
 And the stars are all bright with their phosphorent 
 
 light, 
 And the winds seem to whisper they love us, 
 
 An d the dew hangs like glass on the carpet of 
 grass, 
 That our merciful Father hath spread us — 
 
 Than to saunter with Jane through the hawthorn- 
 hedged lane, 
 
 In the midst of the cornfields and meadows ;
 
 WHAT IS MORE SWEET? 5 
 
 II. 
 
 Wheii the flowery scent with each zephyr is hlent, 
 
 And begins the wee nightingale's warble ; 
 
 When the stars that are seen in the train of their 
 queen 
 
 Gleam like diamonds embedded in marble, 
 And to deepen the charm she hangs on my arm, 
 
 Affectionate glances returning ; 
 What is more sweet than the heavenly heat 
 
 Of the love that within me is burning. 
 
 """^f^^^i^.
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LOVE. 
 
 ENEATH a niiglitv oak tree's shade, 
 Upon a mossy seat, 
 
 I sat conversing with a maid, 
 Watching the shadows which inlaid 
 A brooklet at my feet. 
 
 II. 
 
 As there we sat beneath the oak — 
 
 This pretty maid and I — 
 Of Love's mysterious power we spoke ; 
 For we were both beneath his yoke, 
 
 Yet knew no reason why.
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LOVE. 
 
 III. 
 That slie was fair, and I was joxmg, 
 
 Was all I knew about it ; 
 Therefore I asked her whence it sprung, 
 Hoping an answer from her tongue ; 
 
 But had to do without it. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Take you no trouble on that head, 
 While it remains unbounded : " 
 
 These were the words my darling said, 
 
 And still the riddle is unread 
 Which I to her propounded.
 
 BEAUTY AND VIRTUE. 
 
 TWO SONNETS. 
 
 EAUTY is like the ever-changing moon, 
 As seldom noticed till she waxes full, 
 And, to her fair possessor's grief, as soon 
 
 Despised when she commences waning dull. 
 But Virtue, like the sun, withheld whose ray, 
 
 We see in Beauty nothing to admii-e, 
 Though she may call our passions into play, 
 
 And rouse the sinful lust of young desire ; 
 None of her votaries ever give the heart 
 
 Unto the fair provoker of their lust, 
 None weep when Death transfixes with his dart. 
 
 And dooms her body to congenial dust ;
 
 BEAUTT AND VIRTUE. 
 
 She may be more attractive to the gaze, 
 But Virtue only can affection raise. 
 
 II. 
 
 Although more valued when it is enshrined 
 
 WithiQ a casket Nature has not marred, 
 The miiid alone affects another's mind. 
 
 The mind alone is what the good regard. 
 Its residence may be too mean for show, 
 
 But if there Via-tue has been given bii'th, 
 She causes every heart aromid to glow, 
 
 (As the beclouded siui rays warm the earth,) 
 Until the seeds of Love are fructified, 
 
 And flowers appear of such a healthy bloom. 
 Even by Death they caimot be destroyed. 
 
 But flourish in the precincts of the tomb. 
 Both of these attributes to her belong 
 Who crowns my prospect, and inspires my song.
 
 THE SUN AND THE SKY. 
 
 THREE SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 IS bride, the sky, bewails her lot of sorrow, 
 
 When from her range of vision sinks the 
 sun; 
 
 And by his promise, " I'll return to-moi-row," 
 
 Is not to calmer resignation won ; 
 But still allows tears on her cheeks to glisten, 
 
 Seen through the meshes of her cloudy veil, 
 While gentle sighs, to all who care to listen. 
 
 Relate a sad and melancholy tale. 
 How Avorse her state, who sees by clouds of sickness, 
 
 The light eclipsed on which she loved to gaze,
 
 THE SUN AND THE SKY. 11 
 
 ^Vlien Faith's strong eye is baffled by their thickness, 
 
 And Hope refuses comfort with her rays : 
 Her dream of joy is prematurely blighted, 
 Her journey but half done, and she Ijenighted. 
 
 'II. 
 
 Our nights of sorrow make our days of gladness 
 
 More happy still, b} adding to our joy 
 That zest which he who has not tasted sadness 
 
 May offer all his wealth in vain to buy. 
 For see, the smi his nightly voyage endeth, 
 
 And he returns— the sky's tears drives away — 
 His glorious brightness Asith her beauty blendeth. 
 
 And makes her happy for another day. 
 How happier then the maid, who sees dividing 
 
 The clouds she thought would part on earth no 
 more,
 
 12 THE SUN AND THE SET. 
 
 And, from affliction it was purified in, 
 
 Her star emerging brighter than before : 
 Had but her happiness as long duration, 
 Heaven's joys would pall in human estimation. 
 
 III. 
 
 The sky, when jealous of the eyes of mortals, 
 
 And wishing to enjoy alone Sol's sheen, 
 
 Hangs darksome clouds, throiigh whose wide-sever'd 
 portals 
 
 But casually a ray of light is seen ; 
 
 If men complain aloud, her deed upbraiding, 
 
 What recks she for the tenour of their cry, 
 
 Smce the same clouds, which from the ^^arth are 
 shading 
 
 His beams, enhance their brightness in her eye ? 
 
 And so, when smiles upon the faithful lover 
 
 The eye which Death has striven in vain to clr se,
 
 THE SUN AND THE SKY. 13 
 
 'Tis seldom she will willingly discover 
 
 To others all the happiness she knows, 
 Or cares to satisfy their curiosity, 
 Who call her heartless — dub her a monstrosity.
 
 MY LOVE IS NOT AN ANGEL. 
 
 iiasssa. 
 
 Y love is not aia angel, for 
 She has not shining wings. 
 
 A crown upon her forehead, nor 
 A harp with golden strings ; 
 
 But if e'er woman lived below 
 As angels live above. 
 
 Her beauty and her virtues show 
 That woman is my love.
 
 MY LOVE IS NOT AN ANGEL. 15 
 
 ir. 
 I kiio-w 'tis idle to attempt 
 
 To paint her portrait true ; 
 And, therefore, have not even dreamt 
 
 Of doing so for you ; 
 Because the best description given 
 
 Would be as sure to fail 
 As men's imaginiiicrs of heaven 
 
 Before the truth turn pale. 
 
 III. 
 And yet a word of praise 
 
 In hackneyed terms allow^ 
 (Since who in amatory lays 
 
 Can be orig'nal now ?) 
 For oh ! the passion has been j^ent 
 
 Within my soul so long, 
 That it is forced to find a veut, 
 
 And find that vent in song.
 
 16 MY LOVE IS NOT AN ANOEL. 
 
 IV. 
 In her the choicest gifts I find 
 
 That ever maids have graced, 
 Since first the model of their kind 
 
 In Paradise was placed ; 
 And this is not an idle boast, 
 
 For I would scorn to say 
 December, sheeted like a ghost, 
 
 Has all the charms of May, 
 
 V. 
 
 Her cheeks are lightly tinged with red. 
 
 Like lilies, when they blush- 
 To see bent o'er their virgin bed 
 
 A sunlit, rose-hung bush ; 
 And being not too deeply dyed. 
 
 The colour comes and goes — 
 Now blanching like the valley's pride, 
 
 Now blushing like the rose.
 
 MY LOVE 18 NOT AN ANGEL. 17 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her smile is like the break of day 
 
 Upon an autvunn morn, 
 "WTien all the trees with fruit are gay, 
 
 And all the hills with corn ; 
 And when its ray upon me falls, 
 
 I feel compelled to sing, 
 As loudly as the throstle calls 
 
 Unto his mate in spring. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When, as into her face I look, 
 
 I say that in her eye — 
 .Jnst like u shadow in a brook — 
 
 I see mine image lie. 
 She softly whisjiers in mine ear, 
 
 With lips that breathe a spell, 
 •' You occupy a plac«, my dear. 
 
 Within my heart as well."
 
 18 MT LOVE IS NOT AN ANGEL. 
 
 VIII. 
 Her cheeks then nestle close to mine, 
 
 Her lips to mine are pressed ; 
 Lips that are sweet as any vin(.' 
 
 In all its glory dressed ; 
 And sweeter, for ihv vine is live 
 
 For all to cull who care. 
 While no one is iillowcd 1»at mo 
 
 To taste the vintage there. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Were I the monarch of the earth, 
 
 My first command had lieeu, 
 " Ye bards, sing of the beanty. worHi, 
 
 And virtues of your queen ;" 
 And what the laureates would for fee, 
 
 I will for love proclaim, 
 Perhaps in ruder minstrelsy. 
 
 But with a nol)ler aim.
 
 MT LOVE IS NOT AN ANGEL. 19 
 
 X. 
 
 For such a happy swain am I, 
 
 'Tis summer all the year, 
 And not a cloud obscures the skv, 
 
 As far as I can peer. 
 Oh ! what a glorious world is oiirs 
 
 To lovers, till they meet 
 The disappointing blight that sours 
 
 The memory of the sweet.
 
 LINES ON A RAINY SUNDAY. 
 
 WILL Tnal<e soiv sliipwroflc of my peace, 
 If soon this showei' does not cease ; 
 
 It rained last nig-lit, and now again 
 To-day does nothino- else hnt rain. 
 I didn't o-o last night at nine. 
 Thinking to-day it ndglit he fine. 
 What will my sweetheart say and do 
 ir T slioidd miss tliis evening, too r
 
 LINES ON A RAINY SUNDAY. 21 
 
 II. 
 
 I'm sure the weather office clerk 
 
 Is not aware what serious work 
 He makes of week-end assignations 
 To meet our sAveethearts or relations 
 (Though we may disappoint oiu- kin) 
 And not regard it as a sin 
 "VMieu he the water tap turns on 
 Till all oiir holiday is gone. 
 
 III. 
 
 Why don't he let it rain on Moiiday, 
 Instead of Saturday and Sunday ? — 
 The days that factory folk desire 
 With ease and freedom to respire, 
 Instead of being shut indoors, 
 Watching the endless stream that pours 
 Adown the slates and window panes, 
 A]id wondering w hv it always i-ains.
 
 22 LINES ON A RAINy SUNDAY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Perhaps to please the washerwomen 
 My courting prospects he is cliuiniiu'; 
 They'd rather it should ram all Sunday 
 Than interfere with them on Monday, 
 Because their hearts begin despairmg 
 To think they caimot finish charing, 
 And hang their stock of clothes to dry, 
 If clouds are hanging m the sky. 
 
 V. 
 
 Well, then, suppose it rains on Friday — 
 But that would make the house untidy ; 
 The wet, from shoes and gannents dropping, 
 Dulls dusted chairs, and muds the mopping. 
 Yet better on the latter day 
 Than Sunday, or on Saturday ; ' 
 
 For if on Friday it should rain. 
 There still is time to clean agam.
 
 LINES ON A nAINY SUNDAY. 23 
 
 VI. 
 
 If lie would only Ijc so lenient 
 As to consult when most convenient, 
 There would not many be complaining 
 Were Tuesday sot apart for raining ; 
 
 Only the shoj)men at the stores, 
 "Who every Tuesday close their doors, 
 Ajid they might fix another day 
 On which to take their weekly play. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Wednesday, you know, would never do, 
 For then the bands play at Belle Vue ; 
 Thursday as well would pass unpleasantly 
 If it were showei'ing incessantly ; 
 That is the holiday for drapers. 
 As you will know who read the papers, 
 And they in numbers far surpass 
 All the co-operative class.
 
 21 LINES ON A RAINY SUNDAY. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 However, let it rain away 
 Just when it will, and when it may. 
 Providing it is dry on my days — 
 The two which follow after Fridays- 
 For little care I whom it vexes 
 If hut the flower of the sexes 
 Have always favourable weather 
 When they go walking out together. 

 
 ^TIERE I FIKST MET MY WIFE. 
 
 I. 
 " MET lier not beneath the sliade 
 
 By stately oalc and beeches made, 
 
 Nor, as the gloam of evening fell, 
 
 Ketnrnhig from the village well ; 
 
 Nor ever rescued her from danger, 
 
 Then won her heart, although a stranger. 
 
 II. 
 
 In none of these romantic ways 
 Met I the lady whom I praise, 
 In none of these my fortiuie lav,
 
 26 WHERE I FIRST MET MY WIFE. 
 
 But in a less pretentious way ; 
 For I have never had a chance 
 or sbinincc iu the yay romance. 
 
 III. 
 Cuuj)ed as I was from morn to eve 
 Watching a pair of powerlooms weave, 
 And su("lcing shuttles all the day 
 Though nearly choked with China clay, 
 How could a man in niy condition 
 Have a romantic disposition V 
 
 IV. 
 
 No, it was in the weaving shed — 
 As by the jobber she was led 
 The mistress of the looms to be 
 Which stood the very next to me 
 That first I met my darling wife, 
 The joy and comfort of my life.
 
 WHERE I FIRST MET MY WIFE. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now, as these looms had long beeu stopped- 
 
 No weavei' commg to be " shopped" — 
 
 There Avas a deal to do before 
 
 They rau as smoothly as of yore, 
 
 Ajid I my best assistance gave 
 
 That she her unpaid time might save. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I oiled the wheels, the yarn I stretched, 
 I pieced the healds, the weft I fetched : 
 And gratefully she, in return, 
 Gave me a look that made me burn 
 So miich that, ere the looms could start, 
 She w^as enthroned within my heart, 
 
 VII. 
 
 From then my coui'ting days begun, 
 But months elapsed before I won ;
 
 28 WllEni: / FIRST Ml'JT MV WTFK. 
 
 For she w;is modest to ii, fault, 
 And loni,' witlislood my hold assault, 
 B>it yielded Avheu she proved m3 true. 
 As every gentle maid should do. 
 
 VI II. 
 
 And uoAv no lord oi" high degree 
 Can show a I'airer wile than she ; 
 No ehildren has he in his care 
 Who can at all with mine eom2)are, 
 In whose red cheeks and glistening eyes 
 A Avorld of gold and silver lies. 
 
 IX. 
 
 For their loved mother is no friend 
 To what is called the " Grrecianbend," 
 No high-heeled shoes her insteps criniji 
 To make the "Alexandra limp,"
 
 WHEBE T FIRST MET MY WIFE. 
 
 Nor, that lier ankle you may view. 
 Lifts she her skirt above her shoe. 
 
 29 
 
 Nor is slie t-ven tightly laced, 
 
 Thiit shi' may show a Avasp-like waist, 
 
 But in a loose and tlowing- dress 
 
 Exhil)its natural loveliness, 
 
 And tri|)S about my little room 
 
 Like sunshine banishing the gloom.
 
 
 MY LITTLE GODSON, HEI^.P.ERT. 
 
 J 
 
 RATH a counterpane of flowers and a 
 coverlei of clav, 
 
 Lynig dormant till the breaking of the great eternal 
 day, 
 
 Li a most substantial building, one that seldom needs 
 repair. 
 
 But keeps in safe confinement all that ever enter there ; 
 
 In that tliii'kly-peopled city, where you only hear the 
 sound 
 
 Of tho rustling skirts of Autumn as they trail along 
 the ground ; 
 
 In the thickly-peopled city of the silent peaceful dead. 
 
 My little godson, Herbert, sleeps in his narrow bed.
 
 MT LITTLE GODSON, HERBERT. 31 
 
 II. 
 
 No more comes he to meet me when he sees me in the 
 
 laue, 
 On my -way to spend an eveninsj with his elder sister 
 
 Jane ; 
 
 No more brings he his money-box. and hohl^ it while 
 I di'oj) 
 
 A contribiition in it through the openmg at the top. 
 
 The pi-attling tongue i.s silent, that so oftt-n wonl.l 
 declare, '^ 
 
 " Joe Beyguss " bought the " pimiy " that he loved 
 so well to Wear ; 
 
 And the sparkling eye is darkened that so l^rightlv 
 gleamed with joy, 
 
 When a thoiightful friend presented him with an 
 amusing toy. 
 
 III. 
 In the circle wliicli he brightened, and the home 
 wherem he dwelt,
 
 32 
 
 MY ITTTLE GODSON. HEUBERT. 
 
 A l;-1oo]iiv (larlcuL'ss .sottles, and an aeliing void is felt ; 
 
 Vi)\\ though I luiss him greatly, there are those to 
 whom his loss 
 
 Means a more enduring soitow, and a greater, heavier 
 
 cross. 
 It is these tlial need consoling, and T I'vay to heaven 
 
 To grant 
 
 To the su<ldeuk bereaved the consolation that they 
 
 want ; 
 That with Christian resignation they may yield their 
 
 little son 
 To the Father who lias claimed him. saying. " Lord, 
 
 Thv will li." done."
 
 NEAW AW'M A MAF.KIED MON. 
 
 HEN ini faylhui' I'lisl wur wecl, 
 A cheer, un a stoo', 
 A table, tin a bed, 
 
 Wur reckoiit things enoo ; 
 Bu' neaw it costs so micb 
 
 A heawse o' goods to get 
 That if you arno' rich 
 
 Yo're forct to nni i' debt.
 
 31 NEAW AW'M A MARRIED MON. 
 
 II. 
 Yo' happen tliink it low 
 
 This marry in' short o' brass, 
 Un mi yod clesarves a jow 
 
 For lu'in' sich an ass ; 
 B\i' seven i' cvorv eight, 
 
 I' thes(> flays nt we're aranns?. 
 If they'rn Imnd to marry streight, 
 
 Wndno' ha' to marry yung. 
 
 III. 
 They'd ha' to scheme nn sorape, 
 
 Till they'd gettnn yalloA\ skins, 
 Till ther shoothers lost ther shape, 
 
 Un llier noses touehtther chins ; 
 Bn' me nn my yiuig woife 
 
 One another loikt too mich 
 To waste th' Ijest yers o' loii'e 
 
 r waitin' whoile Aver'n rich.
 
 NEAW AWM A MARBIED MON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Un as Loo's a factory lass. 
 
 Un me a factory lad, 
 "We'll noather on ns l>rass — 
 
 Aw nobbu' weesh we had ; 
 Soa we'st booath La' to work, 
 
 IJn it -wnxdiio' be so fair 
 If aw beg-an to sLirk, 
 
 Un didno' do mi sliare. 
 
 T. 
 
 Soo aw'st help to inop un stone, 
 
 Hel]) to scrub nn skeawr, 
 Un do evfn'ythin' aw'm showai. 
 
 If it lies within mi ]ieawer ; 
 Fur, neaw I aw'm a married mon, 
 
 Aw'm beawn to be soa good, 
 Un do the best aw eon 
 
 To be o' a husbant should.
 
 36 NEAW AW'M A MARRIED MON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Aw reckon aw'st ha' i' rock, 
 
 Un larn t' mak cinder tay, 
 At three or four o'clock, 
 
 When it's happens breakin' flay 
 Un other odds iiu ends, 
 
 Sich as hurryiu' eawt foot whot. 
 When a loife or two depends 
 
 Upo' foindin' Dr. Scott. 
 
 VTI. 
 
 Well, if trouble cooms wi' wolves. 
 
 Pleasure cooms as Aveel, 
 To leetun warty loives, 
 
 Un mak us happy feel ; 
 Un aw'veawlns yerd it sed, 
 
 Bi thoose aw think slioiild know. 
 Th;i,t we owtno' troul)l(' drca*!, 
 
 Foi- tir ])leastire pays for o'.
 
 NEAW AW'M A MARRIED MON. 37 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Aw knoAv tiler's lots to do 
 
 Before we safely float, 
 But we'st manage if we poo 
 
 Together in one boat ; 
 TJu aw duimo' feel a dea^vt 
 
 But fro' danger we'st be sereen'd, 
 Very soon be eawt, 
 
 Un never look beheend. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Soa we'll tak things as they cooin 
 
 Wi' an undaunted pluck, 
 Un awlus be awhoam 
 
 To every sooart o' luck ; 
 Never wear a freawn, 
 
 Or drink fro' sorrow's cup, 
 Whether up i'th wo'ld or deawn, 
 
 Whether deawn i'th wo'ld or up.
 
 38 
 
 .VivUlK AW'M A MARRIED MON. 
 
 X. 
 
 If wo liaiino' til' wo'ld i' bants, 
 We'll faith enoof t' believe 
 
 We'st nare ha' mouy Avants 
 
 That we haiiuo' means t' relieve ; 
 
 Sua aw'U finish for this toiiue, 
 Bnt, as shure as aw'm a inon, 
 
 Tell yo' snin day else, i' rhyme, 
 
 Hoaw mi woife nii me gan on.
 
 'TWAS OFTEN SAID. 
 
 I. 
 ^VAS often said, when I got wed, 
 
 By some that thought they knew me. 
 
 That I, ere long, would end my song, 
 
 Since marriage might undo me ; 
 Yet, strange to tell, though I and Nell, 
 
 Ai*e registered life's partners, 
 I have not yet the mishap met 
 
 Foretold by my disheart'ners.
 
 10 TW'AS OFTEN SAIJJ. 
 
 II. 
 
 Nor can I see why it should be 
 
 As these false proj^hets stated ; 
 Is not the bird as often heard 
 
 When mth another mated ? 
 The downy nest that warms his breast, 
 
 And love's sweet bliss he singeth ; 
 And I, as Avell, the joys can tell 
 
 That matrimony Ijringeth. 
 
 III. 
 
 And as, at night, the gas wc light 
 
 Seduces into singing — 
 Thinking its ray the light of day — 
 
 Birds in their cages swinging ; 
 Though for a while no sun beguile, 
 
 But all be dark and gloomy, 
 Fortmie shall find she, though unkind, 
 
 To silence camiot doom me.
 
 'TWAS OFTEN SAID. 41 
 
 IV. 
 
 If love abide at my fireside, 
 
 Then from the hearthstone altar 
 My voice shall rise, and not in sighs. 
 
 But songs that never falter ; 
 For, though a cloud the sun enshroud 
 
 If love's warm rays are shining, 
 Come foul, come fair, I'll not despair, 
 
 Or e'er he heard repining.
 
 WARK UN WEDDIN NAJIE AGIJEEN. 
 
 H, it wary, wary wark, 
 ^Vorking daily after dark ; 
 Spendin' o yor lioiieymoon 
 In a reawni iit's loike an oon. 
 Heaw mich noicer 'twould ha' bin, 
 If aw'd savt a lot o tin, 
 So's aAV met ha' ta'eu mi broide 
 Off ii ploabiirin' to th' sayside.
 
 irAI^K UX JP'£DLIiY' NARE AGREEK. 43 
 
 II. 
 Up to iieaw aw never knew 
 
 What a chap wi' brass met do : 
 
 Never caret a single cent 
 
 Heaw it cooni or heaw it went ; 
 
 But aw've lately nied some oft, 
 
 W^hen aw've thowt heaw aw've bin soft, 
 
 Lettm' chances slip away 
 
 0' providin' for this day. 
 
 III. 
 Still, thank God, altho' aw'ni poor. 
 
 Love can poverty endure, 
 
 Baneesh every care away, 
 
 Tiu'u the darkest neet to day ; 
 
 Makkin' loitV; the whul yer reawnd, 
 
 By troo couples, to be feawnd 
 
 In December, as in Joon, 
 
 All uiiendin' honeymoon.
 
 •u n'ARK i'N in-:i)UiN' nauk aureen. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet it's hard when tli' woife's awhoain, 
 Waitiu', waitin' till you coom, 
 Wlioile the heawrs, wi' idle feet, 
 Slowly, slowly bring oii neet ; 
 Thinkin' heaw you could ha' gon, 
 Loike an iudependeut inon, 
 AnrvN^hcer ut yo met choose, 
 'Stid o' si)imiin' 32's. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ever since the day aw're wed 
 Wark's bin graclely knockt on th' yed; 
 Whoile before it pleasure gave, 
 Neaw aw think ut aw'ui a slave. 
 Aw've a theawsaiit hanks less in 
 Than aw're ever uset to sj^in. 
 For aw — though as willin', mark — 
 Comio' sattle to mi wark.
 
 1I\I1!K rx WEDDIls' XARE AOnEEX. A^^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 O mi tliowts are fixt wi' pvoide, 
 Oil mi fair and bleesliin' broide ; 
 On the sweetener of mi loife, 
 Oil mi yTin<? nn bloomin' woife, 
 O mi tliowts on her are fixt, 
 And, ri'fusin' to be mixt, 
 Baneesh every other sort 
 That fro morn to neet aw eort. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When a twistbant roves aw fed 
 
 Yeiy far fro' bein' weel, 
 
 Un loike th' chap, go " v,-nr nn wnr," 
 
 Slionl a " sa'wney" too occnr. 
 
 Un aw'm sorely at a loss 
 
 If a Iniii^' strap rips across, 
 
 For, wlii'n theese misfortiiis coam, 
 
 O )ni wits are noan awhoanr.
 
 46 ii\-i7:h- r.\ ir/:/)/t/x N.t/:/-: a(ii!V.f.n. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Soa iiw'iii slmi-e to j)i,.c(. iir liant crost, 
 
 Till til' roct roiid o-ots s-TadcW lost, 
 
 Or else shorten it till won 
 
 Conno' eret the 1 )ogg(<r on ; 
 
 Whoilc. at j.nttin' stra]>s on tli' dnnn, 
 
 Aw've begiin to act so nnmn 
 
 It's a niericle aw'in laft, 
 
 IJn noan takknn n|> l>y th' shaft. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Why, it's only ycstordav, 
 DofKn' in a 1>lunderin' way. 
 That aw started short o' straji, 
 CanRin' <'Vf'ry end to snap • 
 Un wi' haviu' t' woind imi on, 
 Welly hawve-on-heawr wur gon 
 Ere aw geet um piect, im then 
 Did the vcny same agen.
 
 WARK UN WEDDIN' NAIIE AG RE EN. 
 
 X. 
 Donno' laaf, aw pray to' foke, 
 
 For yo'n foincl lit it's no joke, 
 
 If too poor to have a spree, 
 
 Yo speuil til' honeymoon loiko me ; 
 
 Un this nsefnl lesson larn 
 
 That the moral o' mi yarn 
 
 Maks it plainly to he seen 
 
 "Wark un weddin nare aorreen."
 
 BLIGHTED LOVE. 
 
 NOE ill his tiniL' 'tis given to man to know 
 The joys of heaven Avhile jonrn eying below ; 
 Once in his time to sinful man 'tis given 
 To catch, like Christian, just a glimpse of heaven. 
 That heavenly joy, I felt its warmth impart 
 To raise and cheer my weak desponding heart ; 
 That glimpse of heaven came brightening on my view 
 When she I loved vowed that she loved me too,
 
   BLIGHTED LOVE. 49 
 
 II. 
 
 Hai>[)y tlic inau who from liis l)riglitost day 
 
 Can borrow light to last biui all his way ; 
 Happy iiidcod ! l>ixt dt'cp is his despair 
 Whoso prosi)ects, like a mirage, melt in air. 
 One tinds in all the seenes that round him rise 
 A semblanee to his homestead greets his eyes ; 
 The other plods across an arid plain, 
 And never hopes for fields and groves again. 
 
 III. 
 A pioneer of a pilgrim band, 
 
 'Tis mine to enter in the promised land, 
 
 xVnd then, unwillmgly, my stejis retraee 
 
 To give descriptions of the heavenly place. 
 
 And oh ! the agonising thought is mine, 
 
 Though I point others to the land divine, 
 
 Like Adam driven from Eden, 1 may yearn, 
 
 Yet find no way by which 1 may return.
 
 LINES WKITTEN AFTER MY WIFE'S 
 DEATH. 
 
 HERE'S an isle in eternity's sea 
 Oi' u mild and congenial olimc, 
 But eve we can residents 1»(.' 
 
 We nmst sail down the channel of Time ; 
 Until we are scuttled at last 
 
 By a broadside that riddles our hull, 
 From a ship that displays at the mast 
 Tbo Hag oi' the cross-hones an<l skull.
 
 LINES WRITTEN AFTER MY WIPE'S DEATH. 51 
 
 II. 
 
 No i.larkiiess eelij^ses tlie da}'. 
 
 No hurricane ruffles the air, 
 No sickness can seize on its prey, 
 
 No partings are s|)oken of there ; 
 Yet such is the di'ead of a change, 
 
 Though better for those it concerns, 
 To live in this limited range 
 
 The mind df mortality yearns. 
 
 III. 
 But I, when the voyage is o'er, 
 
 And I see the black pirate descend, 
 iShall think not of hugging the short.' 
 
 But meet him like meeting a fi'iend ; 
 Content to accept his conroy 
 
 To the isle in eternity's sea ; 
 And hail his approaching with joy 
 
 Instead of attempting to flee.
 
 52 LINES WRITTEN AFTER MY WIFE'S DEATH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Friend, listen, and though I may wince, 
 
 I'll give you a reason for this 
 That I thhik Avill not fail to convince 
 
 That my feelings are far from amiss : 
 I'll spin you the yarn of my cruise 
 
 Along with the good ship "Jane Ann," 
 Then, if you don't yield to my views, 
 
 Ye'i-e more (.>r I'm less than a man. 
 
 V, 
 
 I was eoastuig about in life's bay. 
 
 On the look-out for something to pass, 
 When 1 sighted, one morning in May, 
 
 A ship with the aid of my glass ; 
 And nothig as how she was strange, 
 
 While wondering what boat she might be, 
 I thought, for the sake of a change, 
 
 I'd run down and sjieak her, d'ye sec.
 
 LINES WRITTEN AFTER MY WIFE'S DEATH. 53 
 
 vr. 
 
 No sooner rosolvod in mv mind 
 
 Than I i^orted tlie helm and away, 
 And thongh a long distance behind 
 
 Directly alongside her lay ; 
 And then what a heanty I saw — 
 
 But there I suppose 'twas mv Inct, 
 I oonldn't find in licr a flaw 
 
 And she breasted the waves like a duck. 
 
 VII. 
 
 She'd a fine figurehead at the I'ore — 
 
 A saint in the posture of praver — 
 And a peaceful expression it wore 
 
 Of faith in Grod's fatherly care ; 
 And slie said in reply to my hail, 
 
 That, if grace could be constantly given, 
 Though from the port Sin she made sail 
 
 3he meant to cast anchor in Heaven,
 
 54 LTNES WRITTEN AFTER MY WIFE'S DEATH. 
 
 VIII. 
 "VVt'11, you see, I Avas taken aliack, 
 
 Siieli thoughts liad ne'er entered my head, 
 For as yet I'd l>een sliapliii^- inv trnelc 
 
 'J'o the harbour of Pleasure instead ; 
 But I saw sueli a joy hi h«n- face. 
 
 When she spoke of the haven in vii w. 
 That on weighing the elainis of the case 
 
 For th it ) ort I signed articles too. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And the long and the short of it all 
 
 Is this, that a bargain Avas made 
 To try to keep well within call 
 
 And rely on each other for aid ; 
 And, perhaps, if the truth could be told. 
 
 There's not been a happier pair 
 Since the world was a century old 
 
 Than me and mv consort then wer(^ 
 
 t 
 
 1
 
 LINES WIUTTKX AFTrU MY W[FE\S DEATH. :,:, 
 
 X. 
 
 But. alas I at tlictMid of (nu iiKKdi. 
 
 In the niornina' a sail hove in yij^'ht, 
 "Wliich iKmihardcd my tlarlini;- at noon 
 
 And Slink her completely 1 'v night : 
 It was steered hy the skeleton "Death," 
 
 While the imps of "Disease" were the crew, 
 Aiid that's why I say I shall welcome the day 
 
 When the pirate comes after mc too.
 
 SWEETS TO THE SWEET. 
 
 ^WEETS to the sweet" 
 Tn rich j^rofnsion strew, 
 Where she lies sleeping- at your foot, 
 
 Beneath the ohurehyarfl vow. 
 She loved to see them »roAV, 
 
 Then strew her grave with flowers ; 
 The purest emblems that we Icnow 
 Of this Ijrief life of onrs,
 
 SWEETS TO THE SWEET. 
 IT. 
 
 Yo maidens, hither ]>v'ma; 
 
 Th« tender flowers that wave 
 Their heads above the grass in spring, 
 
 And strew them on her grave. 
 Peace to my widowed breast 
 
 Invoking with a prayei-, 
 For, with the woman it loved best, 
 
 My heart lies buried there. 
 
 III. 
 My heart lies buried there, 
 
 And in its place instead, 
 From Sorrow's crucible. Despair 
 
 Has cast me one of lead ; 
 Which Grief has graven deep, 
 
 Never to be removed, 
 With what oft causes me to weep. 
 
 The face of mv l^oloyed.
 
 '>8 SWEETS TO THE SWEET. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not as I KRAV it. lie 
 
 Before lier form was hid 
 For ever from my liiio-ering eye, 
 
 Under the eoffiu lid — 
 The cap in)on her brow, 
 
 The shroud beneath her chin, 
 I do not see that horror now, 
 
 The grave has closed it in. 
 
 V. 
 
 But on my heart's dead weight, 
 
 Distmctly I can trace, 
 Like etchings on a coppei'plate. 
 
 The outlines of a face, 
 Wliich memory luis annealed 
 
 With hu(^s of life and health, 
 Until her portrait stands revealed 
 
 In all its beauteous wealth.
 
 SWEETS TO THE SWEET. oU 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her oyes witli love-lis:lit shino. 
 
 As first they shone when I 
 Said, '• Dearest, now that you are mine, 
 
 Misfortune we defy." 
 Ah ! little did I know, 
 
 When that fond whisper crossed 
 My lips a few short weeks ago, 
 
 How soon she woiild be lost. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Uj)on lier features g-lows 
 
 The colour of the south, 
 And when she laughs, sweet nmsic flows 
 
 Out (>f her dauity moiitli ; 
 Wliilc dini])lcs on each clieck, 
 
 And Ktif upon the chin. 
 Like children phxyuig hide-and-seek, 
 
 Keep popping out and in.
 
 CO SWEETS TO TEE SWEET. 
 
 VITI. 
 
 This pietnro does not fade. 
 
 And will not wear away 
 But show the image of the maid 
 
 More clearly every day. 
 In all things else the same, 
 
 Sink deeper hy degrees, 
 Like the hiitials of a name 
 
 Cut on the bark of trees. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Its frame may battered be, 
 
 And age its gilt begrime. 
 And yet the likeness shall not see 
 
 One l>lemish made by Time. 
 But kept with jealous care, 
 
 As long as life remains, 
 Be always yonng and always fair, 
 
 And always free from stains.
 
 SlVJiE'ia TO TRE aWLET. 01 
 
 X. 
 
 Away witli earth, away, 
 
 It cannot noAV delight ; 
 I seem to sec her all the day, 
 
 And dream of her all night, 
 This thoiight alone can cheer, 
 
 That I, when souls arise. 
 Though parted from my mistress here, 
 
 May meet her in the skies.
 
 KOJ'E AND JIE81GNATI0N. 
 
 H KN tilt' siiii ill sjiriuij^ hoains 
 U]ii)ii llic i;'la(l fiirili. 
 Very l>rii;-ht arc llu' ll<nvcrs ; 
 Yet more bright are the dreams 
 Our ambition gives birth, 
 111 life's vernal Lours ; 
 For we liave not yet learned 
 That the scene may l)e tiiriKMl, 
 And the dark side be shoAvn, 
 But look forward Avith joy, 
 Thinking nought can destroy 
 Plans of our own.
 
 HOPE AND RESIGNATION. (53 
 
 ! briglit are the days 
 When wo hoi)efulh- gaze 
 
 Oil futurity's flowers, 
 AikI are not aware 
 Tliey Ijloom luucli too fair 
 
 To ever be oiirs. 
 
 ir. 
 
 Still, though life's spring flics, 
 
 And smnnier depai*ts, 
 
 And fade all the flowers 
 That gladdened our eyes 
 
 And delighted our hearts 
 
 In youth's siuiny hours ; 
 Though life's autumn, so sere, 
 Brings no grahi in the ear, 
 
 Nor haiwest to reaj) ; 
 Though life's -\miter at last, 
 With its pitiless blast. 
 
 Makes us wish for death's sleep,
 
 (U 
 
 HOl'i; AND RESIGNATION. 
 
 Its lowering skies, 
 
 That (juell hopes that avouUI rise 
 
 Of a brighter to-raorrow, 
 Shall not uiake us despair, 
 But resignedly boar 
 
 Our life-load of sorrow.
 
 ADVERSITY. 
 
 I. 
 
 HEN comes across thy boat an adverse wave, 
 Let the misfortune find thee calm and brave ; 
 Listead of sittmg- idly, take the helm 
 And face the surge that threatens to o'erwhelm ; 
 For, if thovi fightest nobly with thy foe, 
 Admiring Fortune shall not say thee no. 
 But on thy eiforts such rich favours rain. 
 As craven hearts may wish, but never gain :
 
 fi6 ADVEBSITY. 
 
 The fiumace only can the gold refine, 
 Therefore, who bears it best shall brighest shine : 
 Then jirove thy worth when Fortune frowneth hard. 
 And soon her smiles shall all thy toil reward. 
 
 II. 
 If men for ever sailed o'er placid seas, 
 
 Where tempests never raged to mar their ease, 
 
 The hardy virtues in our seamen bred 
 
 By battling with the storm would ne'er bo fed : 
 
 For, as lies latent in the flinty stone 
 
 The spark that can be struck l>y steel alone, 
 
 So genius, which might ever hide its I'ays, 
 
 Adversity can rouse mto a blaze. 
 
 Then murmur not when dangerous currents flow, 
 
 And make it hard thy little boat to row. 
 
 The storm once weathered, surely thou hast learned 
 
 How sweet is rest that has been noblv earned !
 
 THE SNOWS OF AGE. 
 
 I. 
 1ITHIN the U2iper storey of a mill, 
 
 With elbows leaiimg on the window sill, 
 I stand, and see the snowflakes skimming past, 
 Like butterflies, and settling down at last — 
 As silently upon the earth alight 
 The downy feathers from the wing of night — 
 Attiring her in wedding ganuents fair, 
 And hanging orange blossoms in her hair.
 
 68 THli SNOWS OF AGE. 
 
 II. 
 
 Fall, fall, ye flakes, in quick succession fall, 
 
 And drape the eai-tli with snowy winter shawl, 
 Keep warm the seeds of life that latent lie 
 Deep in her breast — they'll blossom by and by ; 
 And yon, ye snows of age, that on my head 
 Your blanching honoiu's prematurely shed, 
 Oh ! make the germs of immortality 
 Meet for the great eternal Spring to be.
 
 THE OLD MAN AT THE GRAVE OF 
 HIS YOUNG WIFE. 
 
 S where once flom-ished many a stately tree, 
 
 O'er whieli an equal tale of years had passed, 
 
 One stands alone upon a blighted lea, 
 
 The sole survivor of the wintry blast, 
 
 I stand alone, a sere and withered trunk, 
 
 Bent nearly doul^le by the weight of years. 
 
 Above the gi-aves to which my friends have sunk. 
 
 Watering my wife's mossed tombstone with my 
 tears.
 
 70 TUB OLD MAN AT THE GRAVE. 
 
 II. 
 
 As falls at last the one remaining tree 
 
 That bound the present to the days of yore, 
 I, too, must fall, but none will weep for nie 
 
 As I weep now for her I'm bendmg o'er. 
 The hands that put me in my narrow bed, 
 
 And hide me with earth's damp and mouldy sheet, 
 
 Will never raise a stone above my head, 
 Will never plant a floweret at my feet. 
 
 III. 
 Enough for mc, if, when I'm laid away, 
 
 They neatly readjust the broken sward, 
 Where dormant in my dwelling house of clay 
 
 I wait the second coming of the Lord. 
 Enough for me, if, when the trumpet blows, 
 
 And earth reveals the secrets of her breast, 
 The lone old man his long-lost mistress knows, 
 
 And enters with her in eternal rest.
 
 YOUR VOICES HAVE A PLEASANT RING. 
 
 |OUR voices have a pleasant ring, 
 Your limbs are strong and supple ; 
 Join in tlie dance, laugh, shout, and sing, 
 
 Each merry-hearted couple. 
 Laugh, shout, and sing, the whole day long, 
 
 Each happy youth and maiden ; 
 For, oh, refreshing is your song 
 To hearts with sorrow laden.
 
 72 YOUR VOICED HAVE A I'LEASANT RING 
 
 II. 
 
 Deny not that youth is the age 
 
 For joyfuhiess and jollity ; 
 
 Leave to the old grey-headed sage 
 Moods of a calmer quality ; 
 
 And at the proper place and time, 
 When in the vine-clad valleys, 
 
 The precious grapes, while rich and prime, 
 Press into pleasure's chalice. 
 
 III. 
 
 For higher up the frownmg hill 
 
 The Avind commences blowing, 
 And soon the air becomes so chill 
 
 There is no vintage growmg, 
 Save in some sweet and sheltered nook, 
 
 That lets but little wmd in, 
 Which few, though many for it look. 
 
 Arc fortunate in finding.
 
 I'OUB VOICES HAVE A PLEASANT RING. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It is as sweet to hear your mirth 
 
 Come floating up the mountain 
 As, in a time of di'ought and dearth, 
 
 The bubbling of a fountain ; 
 For while oiu" souls your joyful song 
 
 Are eagerly imbibing, 
 Scenes of the past upon us throug, 
 
 Which memory stands describing. 
 
 V. 
 
 Again we tread on childhood's plams — 
 
 Re-enter youth's wann valley — 
 Ambition co urging through uur veins ; 
 
 Up, up the hill side sally, 
 Sing the light-hearted song once more, 
 
 Join in the laughmg chorus, 
 And waken when the dream is o'er, 
 
 With Anntrv heights bei'oru us.
 
 YOUR VOICES HAVE A PLEASANT RING. 
 VI. 
 
 Tljc thue is drawiuiJ- verv iiiyh 
 
 Wlie'ii my cold form must fill a 
 White shroud of snow, and I shall lie 
 
 Upon an icy pillow ; 
 But till I drop into the drift 
 
 Each ste2> is nearer bringing, 
 The darkness from my pathway lift, 
 
 And cheer me with your singing.
 
 GOD BLESS THEE, FAYTHER KESMUS! 
 
 OD 1>less thee, Faytlier Kesinus ! coam 
 lusoide, im uia1v' thisel' awhoain ; 
 For, thougli awin uoblm very j'oor, 
 Aw'm fain to se?' thy frosty yure ; 
 Un, coam whatever may to me, 
 Will never turn my back o' thee ; 
 Fur he's no Englishman at wumor 
 Invoite thee in to ha' thy dinner.
 
 76 GOD BLES^S THEE, FAYTHER KEii3IUS .' 
 
 II. 
 
 Neaw duuuo let me l)c dcuuide, 
 
 But lay thi cloak un cap asoide ; 
 Un dum't on ceremony dally, 
 But sit thee down, un fill thy bally. 
 There's leeon beef, ut's noicc and sweet, 
 Un lots o' fat to swallow wi' it ; 
 Sum gravy, un a maly tater. 
 Besoide a point o' sparklin' wayter. 
 
 III. 
 Me co' that liquor ? Aye, aw do ; 
 
 Un th' best ut aw cun furnish too ; 
 
 Aw've turned teetotal neaw, owd chum ! 
 
 Un soa theaw mur'nt expect t' ha' rum. 
 
 Theaw's had enoof o' rum un roit ; 
 
 Aw'U feed thee on another diet. 
 
 Before theaw gets me in disgrace 
 
 Wi' thy red nose un pimpelt face.
 
 GOD BLESS THEE, FAYTHER KESMUS ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 All ! sm' we fost slioke lioncls together 
 
 AwVe past throo diffrunt soarts o' weather. 
 My Hmbs are stark, my blood runs cowder, 
 Bn' theaw's noan groon a mmit owder. 
 Though seventy tonnes theaw's bin to see 
 Me sin' i' th' nuss's lap aw lee ; 
 Un summut says aw'st noan be here 
 When next theaw coams to bless and cheer. 
 
 V. 
 
 As nob'dy knows as weel us thee 
 Whot miscrios han bin borne by me ; 
 Let's tawk al'>eawt owd toimes agen. 
 Vn whot tbeiiw seed me suffer then ; 
 ITn mak' thooso fellies wait a bit 
 \Vliot hanno gettun word to flit, 
 W'hoile fro' ther restless graves we raise 
 The ghosts ov lung-departed days.
 
 78 GOT) BLEHH THEE, PAYTHER KE8MUS! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Wliot's this at coams ]>eforo mi eon ? 
 A reawin drest up wi' evergreen— 
 A lot o' silly lads \\n wenches — 
 Some sittin' n]>()' th' wall side benches — 
 Some cai)orin' Avoildly deawn the middle 
 To th' playin' of a flute im fiddle, 
 Un kissin' under th' misletoe 
 ThooRe ut they loikun hest ov o'. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Another Kesmus Day appears ! 
 
 A day remembered oft wi' tears. 
 
 Aw see mi little sweetheart, May, 
 
 Ut fost aw kisst that Kesmus Day, 
 
 Un seem to yer her tell her mother 
 
 "Awst happen never see another; 
 
 Fur ere Owd Kesmus coams once moor, mother. 
 
 Aw think aw'st be wi' angels pure, mother."
 
 GOB BLESS THEE, FA YTHEE KESMUS ! 
 VIII. 
 
 As recollection carries back 
 
 Mi moind deawii memory's trodden track, 
 
 Aw see a weak and wasted loife, 
 
 Un o' becose aw lost my woife. 
 
 Aw hadno' hawve the heart to stroive 
 
 As whot aw had when hoo're aloive ; 
 
 Un loike a felly in a dreeom, 
 
 Felt foorct to goo alnng wi' th' streoom. 
 
 IX. 
 
 AwVe uoljljnt had won faithfnl friend 
 Ut has no' l^^'ft me to mi end. 
 Theaw's seen me in mi hnmble cot 
 llei^oinin' o'er mi dreary lot ; 
 Theaw's yerd mi weak, desparin' groan 
 When poorly, wretched, nn alone, 
 Un travelt fur niir aw eon tell 
 To keep mi cumpuny thisel'.
 
 80 
 
 GOD BLESS TIfEE, lAVnUJi KESMT'S ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Wliot ! guttin' I'oddy to be g'ouo ? 
 Here, have another staeake owd mon ! 
 Well, if tlieaw thinks theaw's had enoof, 
 Bestow a blessin' on my roof ; 
 Bestow a blessin' everywheor, 
 But, oh, particularly lieer ! 
 That when aw miss thi phizog merrj- 
 Aw'st noan forget thee in a hurry.
 
 CRUMBS OF COMFORT. 
 
 LINES ADDEESSED TO MK. AND MRS. J. BUEGESS 
 ON HEAEING OF THEIR MARRIAGE. 
 
 (by DAVID LAWTON.) 
 I. 
 
 LA-PPY mav vour union be. 
 
 It r V ' 
 
 From all strife and bickering free ; 
 May the light of love divine 
 Ever on your pathway shine. 
 Let each be of each a part ; 
 Let each know the other's heart : 
 Mutual confidence will prove 
 Surest sejil to wedded love.
 
 82 CRUMBS OF COMFORT. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now that you your lives have joined, 
 
 Be ye of one heart and mind ; 
 Each the other's burdens bear — 
 Love can lighten every cai'c. 
 With the bridegroom and tlie ])vid(' 
 May the Father's love abide, 
 And life's way together trod 
 Be a pilgrimage to God.
 
 IN M E M R I A M 
 
 (by EDWIN WRIGHT.) 
 
 I. 
 
 ' SEE her in her bridal dress, 
 As iDeaiiteous as a flower 
 
 That i-arely blooms within this clinic 
 For more than one short hour ; 
 
 I see her from the altar led, 
 Where smiles her smiles repay, 
 
 And many a loving heart is there 
 To cheer her oi) her way.
 
 84 IN MEMontAM. 
 
 II. 
 
 I heard them sjieak of her once more ; 
 
 "She's fadmg fast," they said, 
 And then thev brought the mournful tale 
 
 And told me she was dead. 
 I thought of him whose noLle heart 
 
 Had won that tender flower, 
 But, in the faintest breath of frost, 
 
 Had lost it in an hour. 
 
 III. 
 
 I saw them lay her gently down 
 
 Into her narrow bed, 
 While many a troubled heart drew round, 
 
 And many a tear was shed. 
 One placid face to heaven was turned, 
 
 As if he saw her there, 
 Arrayed in robes of snowy white. 
 
 Safe in her Saviour's care.
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN FOR MY FRIEND MR. J. BURGESS DURING 
 HIS BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 (by DAVID LAWTON.) 
 
 ^HE'S gone ! my other self is gone ! and I, 
 Alas ! am left alone in grief to sigh : 
 
 Yet not alone, for He who took away 
 
 My loved one hence Avill be my help and stay. 
 Although we are awhile asunder riven, 
 This tie of earth is now a tie to heaven. 
 We're parted ! but she's only gone before, 
 To watch and wait for me on yon bright shore. 

 
 SG 
 
 LINES. 
 
 II. 
 A short and i)leasa)it wbilf we i rod lU'e's way ; 
 
 Our wedded bliss — alas ! bow brief its stay ; 
 
 But yonder soon we both may have the rest 
 
 And bliss of those whom God through Christ 
 hath blest. 
 
 Oh ! Thou who gav'st,and Thou who took'st away, 
 
 Give me the grace I need, that I may say 
 
 " Thy will be done," and kiss Thy chastening rod, 
 
 And humblv own it is Thy hand, mv God.
 
 THE POET'S VISION 
 
 •■^BY JAMES BAKNES.) 
 
 EAEY with all the ]al)ours orthe'day, 
 "When evening chased the fading light away, 
 Young Vincent suught, amid the deepening gloom, 
 The sacred silence of his little room ; 
 And there before a slowly sinking fire, 
 ^Vhere, one hy one, the emhers spent, expire, 
 His slender form upon n conch he flung, 
 To dr(.am of her of wliom of vore he suner.
 
 88 THE POET'S VISION- 
 
 II. 
 
 Stretched at his ease, his mind was soon at rest, 
 
 And calmly heaved his much-afflicted bieast. 
 Within which beat a heart as fond and true 
 As e'er a passion for a woman knew. 
 But ah ! that heart had lost the treasured flower 
 Which bloomed to him the richest in life's bower, 
 Just as he bore it from its virgin bed, 
 Beneath his roof its fi'agrance sweet to shed. 
 
 III. 
 
 He slumbered long ; and lo ! in fancy stole 
 
 Soft in the presence of his lofty soul 
 
 A lovely form, with features all a-glow. 
 
 And robed in garments white as mountain snow ; 
 
 And on her head she wore a crown of gold. 
 
 Such as we ne'er on mortal brows behold, 
 
 Begemmed with diamonds of such hue and worth, 
 
 Surpassing far the value of the earth !
 
 THE POET'S VISION. 89 
 
 IV. 
 
 In admiration eagerly He gazed, 
 
 While brighter still her outward glories blazed, 
 For well he knew, and loved it quite as Avell, 
 That angel form which, like a magic spell, 
 Thus held his spirit in its welcome thrall, 
 Nor, though a prisoner, did his bondage pall, 
 As oft before, as partner and as bride. 
 That aj^parition had wandered by his side. 
 
 V. 
 
 At length it fled ; but oftentimes at Avill 
 
 It st(^als as softlv in his chaniber still. 
 
 And gilds his slumbers like the moon's pale light, 
 
 Which shines effulgent on the throne of night. 
 
 "When o'er the bosum of the quiet sky 
 
 A mdliou brilliant stars wide scattered lie ; 
 
 And thus, by strong imagination led, 
 
 The living hold coiminniion with Ihe dead.
 
 FIKIJS.
 
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