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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^^ f /^ 

 
 H^AVi nrcoL 
 
 OAilM
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES, 
 
 HYMNS, AND POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN HAREIS 
 
 WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 LONDON : 
 HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. 
 
 1874. 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM NICHOLS, 
 
 4«, UOXTON SQU.VBE.
 
 o 
 
 ^ 
 
 350L 
 
 TO HIS LONG-TRIED FEIEND AND REVEnED COUNTRYMAN, 
 
 riOBERT ALEXANDER GRAY, ESQ., OP LONDON, 
 
 THIS 
 
 COLLECTION OF POEMS, 
 
 THE LIFE-WORK OF THE AUTHOR, IS, BY PERMISSION, 
 
 Utspcttfullir anb ij'ratcfull]) instriljct 
 
 f^|illt{tt<ii;t| |nipit$, 
 
 Where slender harebells graced tlie garden hedge. 
 And granite pillars rose beside the door, 
 Split by the workman from the wondrous ledge 
 With lichen covered on the mystic moor ; 
 And torrents tumbled on, with foam and roar, 
 By giant boulders sleeping in the moss ; 
 And songful genii brushed the braken o'er ; 
 A mountain minstrel, by the uplifted cross, 
 
 Sang when the heights were grand in evening's golden 
 gloss. 
 
 II. 
 His father was with honest hinds enrolled. 
 Unskilled in letters, save the Book Divine. 
 Sorae mountain sheep he kept without a fold, 
 A steady horse, and still some steadier kiue. 
 His mother's heart all gentle things enshrine, 
 Which filled his opening hours with rosy light. 
 As fancy-fraught he roved mid peak and pine. 
 And read the lore of Nature's loneliest height, 
 
 And ever taught himself by all things pure and bright. 
 
 ITT. 
 Then came the darkness of the dangerous mine, 
 His daily, nightlj' tasks of tedious toil, 
 Where never star, or moon, or sunbeams shine, 
 But sulphur-wreaths around the caverns coil ; 
 Which health, and strength, and mental might 
 despoil, 
 
 Giving the feet of Time a tardy pace, 
 Througli heated hollows, and rude rifts to moil, 
 When boyhood blossoms opened on his face, 
 And greenness clothed the tree which gave his being 
 
 grace. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His study was the shadow of a rock, 
 O'erhanging the meek moss and lowly thjTne, 
 Or flowery hawthorn, where the fleecy flock 
 Cropped the green herbage in the day's fuU prime. 
 And here he drank from rippling rills of rhyme, 
 Whicli lulled his spirit into blissful rest. 
 Till o'er the tree-tops rose the curfew's chime. 
 And the last wood-dove sought her sheltered nest, 
 And twihght lingered long in dalliance with the West. 
 
 And as he sang beside the lonely tree. 
 In blissful brightness, by the glowworm's bower. 
 Where stone-crops nestled in the hedgerows free. 
 And fays stole forth from many a closing flower, 
 Enraptured with the mystery of the horn* 
 That o'er his senses Hke a vision crept, 
 Filling his soul with the enchanter's power. 
 From the cloud-isles of eve a being swept. 
 
 With wondrous whisperings, as he watched and wept. 
 
 2 
 
 824195
 
 IV 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 YI. 
 
 " Tlie bai-p thou toncliest with a trembling hand 
 Shall give thee comfort when the dells are dim, 
 And down the dingles of life's trodden land 
 Floats sad and slow the pensive evening hymn. 
 The cup of kindness, sparkling to the rim, 
 Shall cheer thee onward through thy after-days, 
 Proffered in gentleness and truth by him 
 "\Mio Christian love and tenderness displays : 
 To whom I bid thee, then, inscribe thy simple lays." 
 
 YII. 
 Tlie echo followed him when heaven was clear, 
 And when the clouds met in the angi-y sky. 
 It filled the breeze of eveiy new-born year, 
 As one by one they swept before his eye. 
 In spells of song he oft would lyi-e-bound lie, 
 Until he came the cheerful meed to assign, 
 Bidding the care-shades to their coverts Hy ; 
 "^Tiilst many stood aloof, with chilling whine, 
 He aided his song-skiff with gales of love benign. 
 
 VIII. 
 Now when his sun of life is in the west. 
 And length'ning shadows he upon the land. 
 He yields the secret nurtured in his breast. 
 And thus fulfils the cloud-sylph's clear command, 
 Announced when roses were by faint winds fanned, 
 And gleams of song on hill and hollow lay, 
 Uniting kindreds in a golden band. 
 Till love shall reign, and war-feuds pass away. 
 And consecrates his psalms to Alexander Gray. 
 
 IX. 
 The fi-iend of those whose earthly friends are few, 
 He fills the widow's heart with richest joy ; 
 To the Divine injunction ever true, 
 The weak to shield, to feed the orphan boy ; 
 The thorns along life's pathway to destroy, 
 And smooth the steej? by drooping genius trod, 
 AVho warmly thanks him in his loved employ, 
 Mid craggy cliff and cascade, music-shod. 
 And asks for Egbert Gray the guidance of his God. 
 
 X. 
 
 In fields, and lanes, and the o'erhanging wood, 
 These songs were vnitten to the sound of streams, 
 Where the lark carols o'er the ciystal flood. 
 And the dear daisy mid the grasses gleams, 
 And truly pure and righteous it beseeras 
 To dedicate the nurslings of his lyre, 
 From bursting boyhood down to eve's dim dreams, 
 To him who prompts the musical desire, 
 And Charity directs, clad in her meek attire. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Without his friendship these uneultm^ed vines 
 In such a pleasant plot would not appear, 
 But, like the dodder neath the lonelj^ pines, 
 Supported, cling amid the thickets drear. 
 May He preserve his heavenly vision clear, 
 Till up the seraph slopes he takes his way, 
 Where spreads the tree of life in heaven's own 
 
 sphere. 
 Amid the glories of unfading day : 
 Redeemer, Saviour, Lord, guide thither Egbert 
 Gray.
 
 ^onti|ut5. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 THE LOVE OF HOME, Book First . 
 
 Book Second 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES, 
 
 Book First — The honest Workman 
 Book Second — Carn Brea 
 Book Third — Fireside Stopjes 
 Book Fourth — Fireside Stories . 
 Book Fifth — Sterling Honesty 
 Book Sixth — The true Hero 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iii 
 
 9 
 12 
 16 
 19 
 23 
 26 
 
 AN INDIAN STORY, Canto First 
 
 Canto Second 
 
 REUBEN ROSS, Part First 
 Part Second 
 
 THE MINE, Part First . 
 Part Second 
 Glossary 
 
 CALEB CLIFF, Part First . 
 Part Second 
 
 BULO, Part First 
 Part Second 
 Part Third 
 
 A TALE OF THE MANACLES . 
 
 THE LAND'S END, Part First 
 
 Part Second 
 
 RADO REEF . . . , 
 
 CHANONCHET AND WETAMOE 
 
 KYNANCE COVE 
 
 LUDA : A LAY OF THE DRUIDS, 
 Book First — The Alarm . 
 Book Second — The Suspense 
 Book Third — The Attack 
 
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 Book Seventh — The Mountain Prophet 31 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Willie White's Return . 
 
 The Father's Gift . 
 
 Samson Sidd 
 
 Reverie 
 
 My Mother's Voice 
 
 Bessy Brighton 
 
 Queen Victoria at the Royal Marriage 
 
 To my Bower 
 
 My little Wife and I 
 
 To the Swallow 
 
 Davie Drake 
 
 Green Fields . 
 
 The Child's first Prayer . 
 
 The Story of Robin Redbreast 
 
 Mankind are all redeemed 
 
 Steer straight for me . 
 
 The Emigrant's Departui'e 
 
 To be where Man is not 
 
 The Mother's Teaching . 
 
 The Village Lane 
 
 Kate .... 
 
 My own beloved Hills 
 
 Cilda and the Sailor 
 
 The Mother's Closet . 
 
 My httle Maid at Supper-Time . 
 
 I steal away to weep 
 
 Kind Words 
 
 The Mother's Prayer\ 
 
 The Death of my Father 
 
 The Dressmaker's Daughter 
 
 The Fisher's Wife 
 
 To the old Hill 
 
 The parting Scene 
 
 The Robin's Monody 
 
 To my Ljn.-e 
 
 The Death of the First-born 
 
 Father comes To-Day . 
 
 Seed-Thoughts 
 
 Hedges .... 
 
 The sad Harper 
 
 Telling us of God 
 
 The distressed Mcclianic 
 
 The Widow . 
 
 Lost and Found 
 
 The happy Choice 
 
 My httle Maid w'hen four Months old 
 
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 Yl 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The heroic !Minei- 
 
 The agecl Chi-istian Couple , 
 
 The Boy BarJ . 
 
 To my native Valley . 
 
 The Prodigal's Reception 
 
 Evening Prayer 
 
 My Granny Joan 
 
 To the Eohin 
 
 Tlie poor "WiJow ^Vorshipper 
 
 The Sabbath 
 
 God's greatest "Work 
 
 The Fall of Slavery . 
 
 I met you on the Moor . 
 
 To the Piivulet 
 
 The Emigrant's Eetm-n . 
 
 The Miner's ^Yife 
 
 On the Death of mv Daughter Lucretia 
 
 The old Sloe-Ti-ee ' . 
 
 Once more among the Brakes 
 
 The lonely Muser 
 
 Lucretia's Grave 
 
 O for a Cot in some lone Place 
 
 My Mountain Home 
 
 The Fiestored 
 
 Trees 
 
 Death of the Piince Consort 
 
 An Ode on the Anniversary of the Birthday of 
 
 ■\VilLiam Shakspere 
 Out of Cornwall 
 Shakspere's Shiine 
 Shakspei'e's House 
 Shottei-y . 
 Shakspere's Tomb 
 The Wanderer's Welcome 
 Tlie Fall of the old House . 
 Chi-istmas 
 
 The old Man on the Bridge . 
 The winding Wye 
 The Invalid of the Alley 
 Eda 
 
 The Pilot's Wife 
 The Monument of Chatterton 
 The httle Burn 
 The Glow- Worm 
 The idle Man 
 Eobin Piidge 
 Tlie Haymaker's Song 
 Batta Bate 
 
 Emma .... 
 
 Paul Parsons : or, what News at Home 
 John Bunyan and his bUnd Child . 
 May 
 
 The unsuccessful Miner 
 A New Tear's Idyl 
 The dying Minstrel . 
 She never left her Home 
 A Spring Warble 
 The dying Labour-Lord . 
 The Telegram 
 Tlie old Man by the Stile 
 Winter 
 Widow Ware 
 The Depai-ture 
 Ellen Dee 
 Spring 
 
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 FLO\VERS. 
 
 The first Violet . 
 
 The fii-st Primi'ose 
 
 The Heath 
 
 To a Violet in October 
 
 Wild Flowers 
 
 To a Cluster of Primroses 
 
 A Violet in March 
 
 i\Iy Primrose from the Hill 
 
 Tlie Daisy 
 
 The Snowdrop 
 
 A Violet lying on the VQlage Lane 
 
 DOMESTIC DITTIES. 
 
 Lines for my Little Ones 
 
 The truant Schooll)oys 
 
 The Boy and the Eing . . . . 
 
 The lost Child .... 
 
 A Story for Alfred . . . . 
 
 The two Boys and the Lamb 
 
 A Home Idyl . . . . . 
 
 To my Children .... 
 
 PAGE 
 
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 EPISTLES AND 
 LYRICS. 
 
 LOCAL 
 
 her waning 
 
 leaving 
 
 his 
 
 to his old blind 
 
 But all Things will change 
 
 To my old silk Hat 
 
 The Housewife's Soliloquy over 
 
 Loaf .... 
 To my Brother William, when 
 
 Native Land for North America 
 My Cottage Home 
 The Farmer's Apostrophe 
 
 Horse ..... 
 
 PenjeiTick 
 
 The Cornish Chough 
 An Epistle to my Brother 
 Earle's Eetreat, Falmouth : founded a.d 1869 
 To my old Quill .... 
 Malvern in the Mist .... 
 Tregedna and Joshua Fox 
 It blows a furious full IMarch Wind . 
 To a Mouse which had eaten the Leaves of my 
 
 Lexicon 
 Sailor's Creek 
 Gyllyngdune 
 
 Destruction of the Corni?.h Tolmen 
 Capern's Visit to Cornwall, 1860 
 Falmouth 
 
 When you are booked to Filly . 
 A lihyme for Edward Bastin 
 Helford Eiver 
 Visit to a Poet's Family 
 The Avon 
 The Deceiver deceived 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 vu 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 To the Skj'lark . 
 To the Hawthorn 
 January . 
 Febniary 
 ■ March 
 April . 
 May 
 June . 
 July 
 Augiist 
 September 
 October 
 November 
 December . 
 Morning 
 A Tlu'ush singing in Winter 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 I. One in Christ 
 
 II. Far off a City shineth 
 
 III. The Horn- of Best . 
 
 IV. Beside the flowing "Waters 
 
 V. In Sorrow, on my bended Knee 
 
 VI. Eejoice ! rejoice ! the Light of Love . 
 
 VII. Like Rain fi-om Heaven on tliirsty Roots 
 
 VIII. This Man receiveth Sinners . 
 
 IX. ToiUng over Deserts wide . 
 
 X. All hidden Things, and Things we see . 
 XL It is my Day of Trouble 
 
 XII. In the Place prepared for Thee 
 
 XIII. From Heights where Angels gather 
 
 XIV. Sink the Days into the Sere . 
 
 XV. At our Heart's Door the Knocker . 
 
 XVI. Stript of all but Sin and Shame 
 
 XVII. The Lord shall choose for me . 
 
 XVIII. Beneath the leafy Branches 
 
 XIX. The Day departs, the Simbeams flee 
 
 XX. Take my Hand : the Way is steep 
 
 XXI. Thoughts crowd the Sph'it's Portal 
 
 XXII. Lowly let me ever lie 
 
 XXIII. Thou art our Sim, dear Saviour 
 
 XXIV. When Thimders shake the City 
 
 XXV. Where shall we fly for Succour ? 
 
 XXVI. Prince of Princes, give us Grace 
 
 XXVII. Seek when the Flower is freshest 
 
 XXVIII. Ask when the Water riseth 
 
 XXIX. O come, my Saviom', bring me Light ! 
 
 XXX. There is no Friend hke Jesus 
 
 XXXI. The King is come, foretold so long 
 
 XXXII. How often on om- Journey 
 
 XXXIII. Pursue thy Way with Patience 
 
 XXXIV. Whether my Bm-den presses 
 
 XXXV. Hide not Thy Face, dear SaAiour 
 
 XXXVI. This is the Land of Parting 
 
 XXXVII. The Slain are in the Valley . 
 
 XXXVIII. In the sad Eain falls a Sound . 
 
 XXXIX. In a Clime of Flowers I strayed 
 XL. All Xight upon the Mountain . 
 XLI. To Thy Com-ts, Lord, I flee . 
 
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 XLII. Again I walk in Darkness . 
 
 XLIII. All Hail the living Saviour ! . 
 
 XLIV. A Glory on Mount Tabor . 
 
 XLV. Homeward, homeward ever 
 
 XLVI. Oft where shines no Sun or Star 
 
 XLVII. Up, and do thy Duty . 
 
 XL VIII. Over the Hills a lUvor . 
 
 XLIX. The Earth is holy Ground 
 
 L. And knew not it was Jesus 
 
 LI. By Jacob's Well He sitteth 
 
 LII. While the Sun is in the Sky . 
 
 LIII. Xot by Works which Man may name 
 
 LIV. Lift up your shining Portals . 
 
 LV. Art thou tossed, my IBrother ? 
 
 LVI. Why stand here all day idle ? 
 
 LVII. It is enough, my Father 
 
 LVIII. Within an upper Chamber . 
 
 LIX. Forth fi-om the tangled Desert . 
 
 LX. How can I doubt my Father's Care ? 
 
 LXI. Strange Darkness rode the Waters 
 
 LXII. Listen, as thou journeyest on 
 
 LXIII. It is the Sabbath Stillness 
 
 LXIV. Always walking, watching . 
 
 LXV. From Carmel's Side it cometh . 
 
 LXVL Where shall utter Weakness hide ? 
 
 LXVII. Not by Bm-dens Man may bear 
 
 LXVIII. Ope;i mine Eyes, dear Saviour . 
 
 LXIX. With the promised Staff in Hand 
 
 LXX. Without the busy City 
 
 LXXI. Ever learning may I be 
 
 LXXII. Wliere Palms o'erhang the silent Shor 
 
 LXXIII. A fair Bark rides the Waters 
 
 LXXIV. The crimson Cross was lifted . 
 
 LXXV. Far back, when Moms were golden 
 
 LXXVI. Nought hast thou, poor Child of Sin 
 
 LXXVII. Believe and live . 
 
 LXXVIII. Free as Air on Landscapes vast 
 
 LXXIX. I leave it aU with Thee . 
 
 LXXX. My Father ! I may caU Thee so 
 
 LXXXI. Amid Life's Conflicts Day by Day 
 
 LXXXII. Remember me 
 
 LXXXIII. Lift up the Heart, and pray 
 
 LXXXIV. There is only one Retreat . 
 
 LXXXV. How merciful our loving Lord I 
 
 LXXXVI. Is there with Thy People here ? 
 
 LXXXVII. Thy Will be done 
 
 LXXXVIII. I would behold my Saviour 
 
 LXXXIX. Ofttimes, when wandering lonely 
 
 here .... 
 XC. He doeth all things well 
 XCI. Sweet Sabbath Rest ! sweet Sabbath Rest 
 XCII. Long have we been waiting 
 XCIII. All is too Mean, however Rare 
 XCIV. Pilgi-im, Imeel : the Day is done 
 XCV. Thank Thee for the Dayhght 
 XCVI. Where the Hills are rude and high 
 XCVII. Like a Traveller wandering far 
 XCVIII. Stained with Sm, and fuU of Woe 
 XCIX. The Earth is fuU of Jesus . 
 C. Not in the Tomb for ever 
 CI. WTiy is thy Spirit troubled ? . 
 CII. We see Thee now, dear Saviour . 
 cm. A dry Wind from the Desert 
 CIV. The Twihght deepens as the Day 
 CV. AU Day— From Morn till Even 
 
 PAGE 
 
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 VUl 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 The War- Fiend 
 
 Old Reuben . 
 
 The last Stick . 
 
 Old Abel 
 
 The white Ship . 
 
 The Haiper . 
 
 Kat Xardip 
 
 Live in Peace 
 
 A Vision 
 
 "W'e vnH ever be kind to all 
 
 The Orphans 
 
 The Gunner . 
 
 The sad Letter . 
 
 Hiu-rah for the Share 
 
 The lame Schoolmaster 
 
 The strong Smith by the Sea 
 
 Old John . 
 
 The Farmer . 
 
 Uncle Jabez 
 
 Through the Woods, at close of Day 
 
 An Echo fi'om Mount Lebanon . 
 
 Joe and his Mother . 
 
 The Child's Prayer 
 
 WiUie and Meg 
 
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 23G 
 23G 
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 Dame Dolo 
 
 A Child grew up at Nazareth 
 
 The benighted Hussar . 
 
 Rob Rood 
 
 The Soldier's Wife 
 
 The last Attack 
 
 The Soldier's Father 
 
 Annie and Amos 
 
 Will Ward 
 
 The wakening Wind . 
 
 Alf Andrews 
 
 The Reign of Peace . 
 
 Wana Werther . 
 
 Peter Pine 
 
 Martin's Porringer 
 
 Agnes Arrow 
 
 Eddy East 
 
 Crippled WiUie 
 
 Isaac Isle 
 
 Letty Lore 
 
 Aaron Arch 
 
 Raglan Rube 
 
 Brethren all 
 
 The last Warrior 
 
 The Cannon in the Lane 
 
 The red Chief 
 
 PAOE 
 
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 '^'O 
 
 
 
 THE LOVE OF HOME. 
 
 
 ■^^ ^^ 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 of 
 
 bloss.iiiT over- 
 
 life, 
 
 earth is fair witli f 
 liajipiness, 
 AVitli l)o\verR that 
 hxstiugly, 
 /^\ ^^^^■'^ gems that sparkle on and 
 i^— J never fade, 
 
 With streams that mnrnim- sweeter and more sweet, 
 With flowers that wither not from moon to moon, 
 With gardens where the roses fill the year. 
 Affections cling aronnd them ivy-like, 
 Entwining them for ever, till the hills 
 And silent valleys dimly fade in death. 
 Siicli is om- bu'tli-place, garlanded with gi'een, 
 Fi'agraiit with love-shoots of our early time, 
 Gemmed with jjmx' thoiiglits that gh )w through aftcu' 
 Songful nmid the sunshine of the Past, 
 And cUnging to tlic iBemory evermore. 
 
 Sec yonder itilgrim with his hoary locks. 
 
 Sitting Leside the streamlet in the vale 
 
 Which glides from rock to rock exultingly. 
 
 Before him, in that altered arbour's shade, 
 
 Lie tlie rough ruins of his father's cot. 
 
 Prostrate among the climbing ivy leaves. 
 
 And the rank gi'ass which withers where it gi'ows. 
 
 O how those granite blocks, untouched by Ai't, 
 
 Are miu-mming to him on this April luc.rn 1 
 
 There's not a scattered fragment in that pile 
 
 ]>ut has a tongue, a most enchanting tongue, 
 
 Which CRiitivatcs him with its elofjuence. 
 
 And binds him to the mossy prinu'ose bank. 
 
 They tell hmi of his mother and his su'e, 
 
 Plis sunny sisters, lovely as the light. 
 
 The dear companions of his childhood hours, 
 
 And all the painted landscapes of his life. 
 
 Why does the tear-drop, gushing fioiu his eye. 
 Steal over his sad face so silently, 
 Until it drops into the silver brook. 
 Startling the timid trout that watches there ? 
 Why does he ever and an(ui start up, 
 Snatching his staff, then sits him down again, 
 And gazing still is still unsatisfied ? 
 Y\'hy does he come among the earlj' flowers. 
 
 As now ho comes and lingers here alone 
 
 Among the ruins of that rended nest. 
 
 As if he saw a white-robed angel there ? 
 
 This was that old man's birth-jjlace. Four-score years 
 
 Have swiftly hurried o'er the pilgrim's head. 
 
 Leaving sad traces of decay behind. 
 
 But that pure principle which Nature gives, 
 
 And fosters in the breast of every one. 
 
 Burns on and on from youth to manhood's piime. 
 
 And smoulders not amid the snows of age. 
 
 " I'm travelling homeward," the old soldier said. 
 And laid his wallet down upon the stile. 
 Man, maid, and matron thronged to hear his talc. 
 " You see that village yonder mid the hills. 
 And that white house "beside the aged thorn : 
 This was the soldier's birth-place. Yes, indeed, 
 The same old man that's talking to you now, 
 War-scarred and weary as he may appear, 
 W^ith hoary locks crisp with the frijsls of age ; 
 The same old man that's talldng to you now 
 Was once a httle boy in that green vale, 
 Singing life's morning carols joyously." 
 And as he spoke he brushed away the tear 
 That slowly trickled down his furrowed face. 
 
 " One summer day — I well remember it : 
 Perhai)s 'tis three-score years ago or more — 
 I had done something which disi)leased mjf sii-e. 
 And he reproved me, which displeased myself; 
 And I, to be revenged in my young way. 
 Caught up my clothes and left my father's roof, 
 And have not seen it since, till now it gleams 
 Upon ray vision with a joy unlt)ld. 
 
 " I've been in battles both on sea and land; 
 I've heard the braying of the brascu tnmip, 
 And seen the flames of war, and heard its wail ; 
 I've cut my way through walls of human flesh, 
 And flung my shriek upon the fearful flash. 
 And rolled myself in garments red with goj'e. 
 ' Haii'-breadth escapes ' with me were multiplied 
 I fi"om the deck was toppled in the sea, 
 Down, down head-foremost on the coralreef; 
 And up I came again alive and well : 
 I met a lion once upon my track, 
 ^^'hich oped his horrid jaws to take me in ; 
 I sent a bullet through the monarch's brain. 
 I've often drunk out of the stagnant pool. 
 And breakfasted upon the forest leaves^ 
 And slept at night upon the naked rock. 
 Death met me once, swift-coming fi'om his cave, 
 And auncd a dart at me : 'twas turned aside 
 By the imerriug hand of Providence,
 
 THE LOVE OE HOME. 
 
 And lo ! I see once more my native place. 
 
 " Home of my fathers, hail, all hail to thee ! 
 
 \Mieu I have tromhleil in the Frigid Zone, 
 
 And languished in the laud where Wuiter dwelt, 
 
 j\I:iking snow feathers in his crj^stal cell 
 
 Ti> whirl around the world iu hurricanes ; 
 
 ^Vheu I have shivered iu this icy place, 
 
 My hnsy thoughts were revelling Avith home. 
 
 And leading ine across those emerald meads. 
 
 Home of my fathers, hail, all hail to thee ! 
 
 "SVheu faint and weary in the Torrid Cliine, 
 
 Traversing day by day the arid waste. 
 
 Smarting witli tlm-st,'that keenest, bitterest pain. 
 
 How have I longed to be at home once more 
 
 Beside tlie bubbling fountain in the dell. 
 
 To quaff the waters of old England's springs ! 
 
 "\Mien Battle raved, and shook his bloody blade, 
 
 And I was left on the red field as dead 
 
 -rVmidst the war-hacked mutilated heap. 
 
 Thoughts of my home, when wakening Reason dawned, 
 
 Came like a burst of music on my soul ; 
 
 And up I rose, in spite of woimds aud woes, 
 
 And rushed to conquer with my shattered sword. 
 
 " TMien stoims were monstrous on the mighty deep. 
 
 And tempest-spuits rode upon the waves. 
 
 Blue lightning-wings were flapping through the skj-, 
 
 And Thunder bellowed iu his fiery caves, 
 
 ^^'hen miseen monsters piped upon the winds, 
 
 And roared within the cordage of our bark, 
 
 ^\'hich soon went down where storms are never felt, 
 
 And I was cast upon the j-ieldiug sand. 
 
 Life came, and reason dawned, — my home was there ; 
 
 I thought upon mj* mother and my sire, 
 
 My white-washed cottage here among the trees, 
 
 And up I got agam and struggled on. 
 
 'Twas with me as I climbed the hill of Hfe : 
 
 I reached the summit, and my home was there. 
 
 Then slowly I went down into the vale, 
 
 In foreign lands : — my home was with me still. 
 
 Time drew his pencil from his riisty sheath. 
 
 And silvered o'er those scattered locks of mine ; 
 
 Old age began to shake tliis house of clay ; 
 
 And, fearing I should die on foreign fields, 
 
 I hastened here, to lay my bones with you, 
 
 And sleep securely in mj- native place." 
 
 He limped along, leaning upon his staff; 
 Inquired for tliose he loved, — but thej"^ were dead. 
 TJie stranger's icy 'eyes in liis white home 
 Froze the old man to sadness, and he wept. 
 He fell at last beneath the scythe of Death, 
 Among the summer flowers of fatlicrland. 
 And, where he wished, has found a resting-place. 
 
 The love of country is predominant 
 In everj- zone tliat bolts the universe. 
 It lui-es the Indian to his loved wigwam, 
 AVhere sire and son, age after age, reposed 
 Beneath the peace-tree planted by their sires. 
 It binds the Afi-ic to his sun-burnt soil ; 
 FUes with the Arab through the wilderness, 
 So that he leaps not o'er his boundary-line ; 
 Walks with the Swiss in his secluded vales, 
 Like an attendant spirit; flings its spell 
 Over the Islands of the laughing South, 
 
 And gilds the crests of Greenland's splintered crags, 
 
 Making home joyful bound with bands of ice ! 
 
 The Scotsman sees ro mountains like his own. 
 
 No glens so beauteous, and no fields so green ; 
 
 And he whom fate consigns to sunny France, 
 
 And he the native of the Emerald Isle, 
 
 And he who claims his birth in Albion's vales, 
 
 Old music-murmuring England, thinks his home 
 
 The sweetest sublunary spot of all. 
 
 Born in the valley, nursed among the streams. 
 
 He loves the valley better than the hill : 
 
 ]^>red on the mountain, reared among the storms, 
 
 He clasps the crags that answer to the blast. 
 
 The love of home links man to fellow-man. 
 
 Binding earth's chiUlren to their native sod. 
 
 Upon the crest of yonder heathy hill, 
 
 Where the storm-spirits wrestle with the stars. 
 
 Flinging their flashing brands at the Great Bear, 
 
 And mutter in the hollows of the rocks, 
 
 Turning the timid man another way; 
 
 Upon the crest of this old granite mount, 
 
 I first beheld the breaking of the dawn, 
 
 Aud drank the morning zephyrs of young life. 
 
 Hail to thee, mountain birth-place ! Not a rock, 
 
 O'er-written with the stanzas of the storm, — , 
 
 And many rocks are shooting from thy crown. 
 
 And hanging from thy girdle,— not a rock 
 
 On which my sire and grandsire oft have stood. 
 
 And where I've climbed in childhood's cheerful spring, 
 
 Gazing into the deep blue summer sky. 
 
 And smiled to see the earth so beautiful, — 
 
 No, not a rock around my native place 
 
 Bu-t what I love, as if akin to me ! 
 
 There's not a hedge-row, gemmed with ivy-leaves, 
 
 There's not a floweret in my fatlier's lea, 
 
 Thjere's not a sofa, with its seat of sod. 
 
 Where the tired pilgi-im sits in Nature's hall. 
 
 And gazes on the portraits of the past ; 
 
 There's not a moss-l)ower in the dear old croff, 
 
 Where the young Mnses wooed the singing boy. 
 
 To list at evening to the harping breeze ; 
 
 There's not a wild cave where the tempests roar. 
 
 Boiling their bass-blasts round the fire-scathed rocks ; 
 
 There's not a flaw upon its furrowed front, 
 
 ]jut seems even now a portion of my life ! 
 
 Hail to thee, mountain birth-place ! Other scenes. 
 
 In other lands, maj' jn-ess upon my ken. 
 
 And glow before my vision ; other hills. 
 
 Lofty, majestic, mightier than thou. 
 
 Forcing their snow-clad crests above the clouds, 
 
 Where Winter sits and howls eternally, — 
 
 Ay, other hills may fill my mind with awe. 
 
 And startle me with wonder; but I'll turn. 
 
 Even in the midst of this excitement turn. 
 
 And fondly kneel among thy knolls again. 
 
 Sickness may blast this feeble frame of mine. 
 
 The tree of friendship may be rooted up, 
 
 The last bright star of earthly hope may fade. 
 
 Old age may twine its fetters round my clay, 
 
 A thoiisand ha])i)y memories may depart. 
 
 But I shall ne'er forget thee, mountain home ! 
 
 The sweetest spot of earth ! my native place ! 
 
 It seems even now, in spite of hope defeiTed,
 
 THE PEASANT FAMILY. 
 
 In spite of lassiliule and all its ills, 
 
 In spite of cold nef,dcct, which freezes more, 
 
 In sjiite of care, slo(;plcss and wakeful still, 
 
 In spite of all the sorrows I endure, — 
 
 It seems even now, when wandering here alone, 
 
 Gaziuf,' ujjon the l)owers where I have hcen 
 
 Tuniuf,' my Ij're in livening's dewy halls 
 
 Under the hawthorn in the daisy mead, — 
 
 It seems even now I feel inspired again, 
 
 And snatch my harp, forgetting all my woe. 
 
 ! when at last I'm sleeping in the grave, 
 
 ^Yhcre the meek wildings whisper o'er my head, 
 
 And the soft breezes waft my mournful dirge 
 
 At vesper-time, — ! if an angel's wing 
 
 May stoop to brush the dew-drops from the down. 
 
 And visit scenes it loved, — then I'll descend, 
 
 Swiftly descend, beneath the purple eve, 
 
 Fanning the flowerets with my pinions bright. 
 
 And hover o'er this loveliest spot of all ! 
 
 Cross this green meadow where the cowslips dance. 
 
 And gaze into that cot among' the trees. ' 
 
 A father and his family are there : 
 
 How peacefully they dwell ! Like sheltered birds, 
 
 They live together in their happy nest. 
 
 Beneath His wings o'ershadowing earth and sky. 
 
 The good man's home ! Earth has no sweeter cup 
 
 Of sparkUng happiness, surpassing thine ! 
 
 Calm Evening comes, and o'er the quiet creeks 
 
 Spreads out her twilight mantle gracefully. 
 
 The flower's are sleeping in the dewy dells, 
 
 And, on the budding boughs, the singing birds 
 
 Have rocked themselves to slumber. All is rest. 
 
 And Silence muses where the Zephyrs sleep. 
 
 The sire returns from laboxu", and the boys. 
 
 The bigger boys, from work are thronging in. 
 
 And ruddy younglings rushing home from school. 
 
 The kettle sings Tipon the blazing hearth 
 
 A song of melting music to theii* ears ; 
 
 Before the fire-place Puss enjoys her di'eams, 
 
 Lark shakes his feathers in the general glee, 
 
 While Ponto whines to see their safe return ! 
 
 And now they sit around the supper-board. 
 
 And make a hearty meal on homely fare. 
 
 The sire takes down the Bible, and aloud 
 
 He reads a portion of the holy Book ; 
 
 And having round the altar knelt, they all 
 
 Retire to rest, and gentle sleep comes down, 
 
 And they are wafted to the isle of dreams : 
 
 Attendant angels hj'mn around their beds. 
 
 And shake rich music from their golden wings. 
 
 We visit them again in summer time. 
 
 Green grief is sitting on their hearts to-daj'. 
 
 And sobs come forth to load the mourning breeze. 
 
 And httle sparrow on the chimney-top 
 
 Piits forth his ears to listen. Mother weeps, 
 
 And sister liides her face within her hands. 
 
 And brother gazes on his brother there, 
 
 And watch-dog shrinks into his nest and whines, 
 
 While little baby strikes his shrillest note, 
 
 And father silently is watching all ! 
 
 "^^lerefore has sorrow seized them ? On this morn 
 The circle of that happy family 
 For the first time is broken. A fair youth 
 Sheds on his sister's neck a flood of tears. 
 
 And takes his own loved mother by the hand, 
 Then rushes on, and on, — away, away ! 
 The father followed to tlie moaning sea. 
 Saw his last foot-print left upon the land, 
 Beheld him standmg on the vessel's deck, 
 Looking with wistful eyes towards the shore ; 
 And then the old man knelt among tlie rocks. 
 Decked in their cloaks of slippery, salt sea-weed, 
 And wept and prayed, — and prayed and wept again, — 
 That God would guard him safely o'er the deep, 
 And save his son in dark temptation's hour. — 
 That old man never saw his child again ! 
 
 On went the youth, lured by the god of gain. 
 
 Treading the hills and vales of a strange land, 
 
 Koaming the forest where the red man roved. 
 
 And climbing mountains in the far, far West. 
 
 He heard the solemn crash of waterfalls. 
 
 And gazed on dells immortahzed in song. 
 
 He passed the spot where AVar's red blade had flashed, 
 
 And carnage howled upon the battle-field. 
 
 Drinking her wine-cups brimmed with clotted gore. 
 
 He heard the Siren's song in other lands ; 
 
 He drank from rivers where the white man's lip 
 
 Had never pressed the sparkling wave before ; 
 
 He gathered up rich shining gems in heaps. 
 
 And gained unnumbered friends where'er he went. 
 
 The rich came forth and shook him by the hand. 
 
 And little children blessed him as he passed, 
 
 And fah'-haired maidens sang to him at eve. 
 
 He wished tliis moment, and the next enjoyed. 
 
 Deem not that he, in these exciting hours, 
 Forgot his home, — his home among the meads, — 
 His father's home, — that early home of homes ! 
 It rose before him in his darkest hom's. 
 And in his brightest moments. Not a day 
 Bi;t there it lay beside him, beautiful. 
 Sweeter and lovelier than it e'er had been ! 
 And when the moon came forth at even-tide, 
 Silvering the siunmits of the ancient hills. 
 Weaving white robes of fleeting loveliness. 
 And flinging them o'er valley, lake, and stream ; 
 When singing birds were sleeping in the brakes, 
 And the tired liedger laid aside his spade, 
 Well pleased to hear the evening story told ; 
 When Silence shmibered in the vesper breeze ; 
 At such an hom- he oft would steal away, 
 To muse upon 'the home of early daj's, 
 And think the same wan moon was looking down 
 Upon the cottage roof he left behind. 
 And kindred eyes were then uptm-ned to her, — 
 A weeping mother, and, perchance, a sire, 
 Brother and sister, and, yet dearer still. 
 The maid he left behind him fatherless ! 
 Then, hastening back, he crept into his couch, 
 And saw it pass before him in his dreams ! 
 
 Years fleet away : liis face is homewai'd tm'ned ; 
 
 He can't forget his own beloved lantl ; 
 
 He sees the white cliffs of his native shore ; 
 
 • And now is in the harboixr, and is safe. 
 He hastens on, and on, from stage to stage. 
 And longs to see once more those sacred scenes 
 Where he in childhood with, his brothers played. 
 He climbs a hill-top, where thej' oft have been. 
 In days of j'ore, watching his father's sheep. 
 
 '2
 
 THE LOVE OF HOME. 
 
 He's on the highest craj:; ! He looks ai'onncl, 
 Aud wcei>s for very gladness. — " Here's niy home ! 
 The smoke is ciu-ling upward through the trees, 
 Looking so beanteous iu my misty eyes ; 
 And here my mother comes, my brothers too, 
 My httle sister, like a Hower in ]\Iay. 
 One dear embrace, and then we'll weep our fill. 
 Home, home, sweet home I we'll never part again !" 
 
 See'st thou that dwelling by the murmuring stream. 
 And those green fields where cows and horses leed. 
 And, coming with a pitcher in her hand. 
 That pleasant-looking woman ? 'T is his wife, 
 The oii)han ghl he loved when I'ar away ! 
 This is his cottage, and that fertile farm 
 Is owned by him : he's now a happy man ; 
 He loves his home, he loves his family, 
 And, what is more than all, he loves his God. 
 
 Tlie psalm of morning shakes among the hills ; 
 
 The lark is singing to the rising sun ; 
 
 Troops of grey sparrows gossip on the thatch ; 
 
 Eeynard is slowly creeping to his lair ; 
 
 And fai--off murmurs float upon the ear. 
 
 The satchelled poet is abroad betimes: 
 
 His path to school is through the quiet moor ; 
 
 And he dehghteth to be liugermg there. 
 
 Communing with the song-queen in her bower. 
 
 He bends him o'er the streamlet, as it plays 
 
 Its lioly anthems in the ear of Dawn. 
 
 He hst'ens to the IjTics of the trees, 
 
 AVTiose voices fill the galleries of morn. 
 
 On banks of dew-kissed flowers he sits thought- 
 
 cro\\Tied, 
 Watching the swallows, as they dive and wheel 
 O'er brook and rock, glancing hke spirit-wings; 
 And as the vapom-s from Morn's brightening brow 
 !Melt slow away, and glory-lines are cast 
 On her fair features, gazing, they appear 
 To the yovmg school-bard rays of holy song. 
 And now he standeth by the woodland hike, 
 Peering far down into its silvery depths. 
 Shoals of strange Genii revel on the sands, 
 And ride upon the billows of the flood, 
 And climb the rushes to their jiointed peaks. 
 Nature allured him from liis mother's lap, 
 Enamoured of her woods and waterfalls. 
 No wonder that the boy grew up to fame. 
 
 Manliood has stamped its impress on his brow. 
 And the meek poet breasts the cares of life. 
 Just turn aside and look upon his home. 
 We find it in the valley, strange indeed. 
 And pictiu'esque, and wild. Upon a rook 
 Is its foundation, and before it foams 
 The nishing torrent : rills, like silver threads. 
 Are trickling down the mount from slf»pe to slope, 
 Gushing sweet music : o'er its reedy roof 
 The hollow crags ring to the eagle's scream, 
 And ancient oak-trees o'er the runnels rise. 
 Far down the vale amid the mounds of green 
 The shepherd's dog watches the fleecy flock. 
 And happy shepherd carols on his crook. 
 Woods in the distance on the mountains wave. 
 Upon whose summits towers and castles stand. 
 Flowers of all hues around his casement climb. 
 And look in at his door, whose hazel latch 
 
 Is almost hidden in a grove of leaves. 
 
 Among the ferns and furzes oft he walks. 
 
 By ruins grey, old wells, and haunted springs, 
 
 Or mid the wonders of tlie wilderness, 
 
 Witli book and pencil dangling in his hand. 
 
 Holding strange converse with ideal shapes 
 
 In tinsclliugs trim, astride the gossamer 
 
 ^^llich wrajis him round as in Elysium. 
 
 Nature inspired him with her lays of love. 
 
 Carved on the mountains, ringing in the vales. 
 
 And pencilled on the flowerets of the field,— 
 
 Her book of wonders, strangely written o'er 
 
 13y babbluig breezes with their dewy pens. 
 
 Or angry hurricane with brand of flame. 
 
 Or silent zephyr with its quill of flowers, 
 
 Or Spring with roses, Summer with perfumes, 
 
 Autunni with golden grain, cold Winter's self 
 
 With icicles suspended from his locks. 
 
 Day with its rays of light that gem the page, 
 
 And midnight with the moo]ibeams: — Nature's Look 
 
 Was read by him like some old ringing lay. 
 
 Hast ever climbed some old eternal hill. 
 
 Seared with the thunder-rod, whose awful crags 
 
 Confound thy senses with their stony glare ? 
 
 Hast ever scaled it in the black storm-cloud. 
 
 When the winds rattled 'gainst the thick rain-streams. 
 
 And the blue lightnings, with long forked tongi;es. 
 
 Chiselled their records on its jutting blocks ? 
 
 When Thunder flung his hissing bolts abroad. 
 
 Full of red vengeance, and the earth and sky 
 
 Koared to each other in the dreadful din ? 
 
 Hast ever, muffled in the cloudy night. 
 
 Bent thy stray steps up the untrodden wild. 
 
 With not a single walker at thy side. 
 
 Save those good angels, guiders of thy feet ? 
 
 And have thy thoughts leaped from their secret cell. 
 
 And mingled strangely with the shadowy slabs 
 
 That stooped to meet thee on tby miisiug march ? 
 
 Here the true poet converse held alone 
 
 With shapes invisible and things unseen. 
 
 Clouds, lightnings, winds, rocks, meteors, inisty rains. 
 
 Wild torrents, gentle streams, darkness and light, 
 
 Earth, sea, and sky, filled with the voice of God. 
 
 The mountains were his teachers : crags and storms. 
 
 Wild tumbling waterfalls, low-fluting rills. 
 
 And flowery valleys, fragrant with perfumes, 
 
 Woods, trees, birds, stones, the cattle of the field, 
 
 Stars, constellations, the chaste holy moon, 
 
 The filmy insect with its flashing wings, 
 
 And the dull reptile hiding in the feu. 
 
 Old Ocean, lifting up his awful voice. 
 
 And thundering in the ear of drowsy Night, — 
 
 Each atom of God's glorious universe 
 
 Was the fond teacher of the poet-born. 
 
 He loved the morning breezes, as they came 
 
 Laden with heavy dews : the breath of eve. 
 
 Tuning the tree-tops, stealing down the vale, 
 
 Ai]d murnumng uj) the shaggy mountain's side. 
 
 Was sweet to the poor bard : the lark's shrill song. 
 
 The woodland echo, and the tinkling sti'eain. 
 
 Were things which seemed to mingle with his life. 
 
 His solitary rambles here and there. 
 
 By mead and moorland and the mountain mill, 
 
 And.over giant rocks and echoing down. 
 
 Filled the rude cottagers with wondering awe.
 
 THE FOET AND THE MILLER. 
 
 Wlio lool\('(l upon liim as a vacant man. 
 IIu lovod llic hill-tops of his fatherluiul, 
 And saiij,' ol' home and its I'eHeities, 
 Tliou'^'h wandering' daily with the noisy licrd, 
 Tortured and sad of heart, — longinj,' for rest, 
 And pining' for the patlis of sohtude, 
 Denied him in his battlings sore for bread. 
 
 Then came a day of darkness, dense and drear ; 
 Old friends forsook him. His beloved har[), 
 AVliicIi Nature j,'ave him at hfe's early dawn. 
 Lay rusting mid the cobwebs of his cot. 
 A meagre host of skeletons arose, 
 And followed at his heels by night, by day, — 
 Want, Hunger, Famine, Pestilence, and Care, 
 And pale Exhaustion with his frame of bone. 
 His little childi'en looked up in his face. 
 And cried for lack of food ; his wife grew sad. 
 And tears were streaming down the poet's cheek. 
 Thus crushed and broken, soon he l)ade adieu 
 Tt) home antl country, and, 'neath other skies, 
 In foreign vales his happy children played. 
 
 The rolling billows of the sea of time 
 
 For forty years had washed the cliffs of life, 
 
 When in his native valley once again 
 
 Alone he walked, the I'ilgrim of the past. 
 
 His hair was hoary, time had marked his face ; 
 
 His step was slow, supported with a staff; 
 
 And now and then a tear dropt from his eye. 
 
 As o'er the flowers the peasant minstrel hung. 
 
 He walked into the bower by Nature made. 
 
 The dear old arbour where he sang in youth. 
 
 And wooed the Muses from their breezy heights. 
 
 The ivy clung adhesive to the rock. 
 
 And the wild roses clustered over head ; 
 
 The swallows sported up and down the vale, 
 
 And merry bii'ds were singing by the stream, 
 
 As musical as when he heard them last. 
 
 These seemed the same ; but, coming to his cot, 
 
 The narrow paths along the garden- ground 
 
 Were overgrown with grass ; they looked unprcssed, 
 
 Untrodden for a series of long years : 
 
 The shattered casements and the door unhinged 
 
 Told him of desolation and decay. 
 
 On a low rock the white-haired poet sat 
 
 In agony of soul, weeping aloud. 
 
 And calling on the names of those he loved. 
 
 His kindred had departed, — all were flown : 
 
 A hamlet showed its roof-tops in the vale; 
 
 Tall handsome hinds were ploughing in the meads. 
 
 And stranger-faces peered among the trees. 
 
 None did he know, and he was known of none. 
 
 Forgotten in the valley of his birth, 
 
 Whose woods and streams inspired him with sweet song, 
 
 Calling forth music from his simple soul. 
 
 The image of his home, when far away, 
 
 Appeared before him as he saw it last : 
 
 But Time had changed it in his rapid ilight. 
 
 He wiped his eyes, and tiirned liim from the dell, 
 
 Slowly and sadlj' creeping up the hill, 
 
 And on its sunnuit paused to look again 
 
 Lack on his home. — He never saw it more. 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 
 KLicious Home I within thy sacred shade 
 Tlie weary man forgets the face of Care, 
 I, And the sharp thorns in Labour's hardened 
 hands, 
 
 Smiling triumphantly at want and woe. 
 The mother, bending o'er her beauty-buds, 
 Sings in the breeze, and carols in the blast ; 
 The father sits within thy spring-green bowers, 
 And knows no melody so sweet as thine I 
 The ruddy youth pulls down thy clustering grapes, 
 And gives them to his sisters lovingly. 
 The mourner, poring o'er the blessed Book, 
 Flies to thy closet, ever-welcome Home ! 
 And realizes there the joy of gi-ief. 
 The weary wanderer gains thy fragi-ant seats, 
 All sprinkled o'er with sweets of other days. 
 And fondly woos thee to his wounded heart. 
 The wasted captive leaves his naiTow cell, 
 And rushes homeward with electric speed. 
 The wrinkled warrior sheaths his shining lilado. 
 Which now hangs resting on the pictured wall. 
 And in thine arbours twines the locks of Peace. 
 Thou treasurest x\\) the tales of olden times. 
 And, when the gathering of dear friends is come, 
 Thou dost recite them in thy holy halls, 
 Uniting soul to soul with cords of love. 
 
 Oft when the chain of labour chills my heart. 
 
 Deep in the earth's great darkness, thoughts of home. 
 
 My childi-en's voices, and my wfe's glad smile, 
 
 Come, like the breathings of a seraph's lute, 
 
 Making the sad one joyous ! Free again, 
 
 "With a glad heart I hasten to thy hearth. 
 
 And find no happier spot beneath the sun ! 
 
 Among the rushes in a lonely fen 
 
 The miller lived ; a few small fields were his. 
 
 Which long were handed down from kin to kin. 
 
 His sire and gi-andsire, and his grandsu-e's sire, 
 
 Were born where now the busy miller dwelt, 
 
 And saw his ruddj' children round him rise. 
 
 Delightful 'twas at summer eve to sit 
 
 Among the trees far up the mountain side, 
 
 To list the naurmur of the gentle stream. 
 
 And hear the sheep-bells tinkling in the vale, 
 
 And far away the merry milk-maid's song. 
 
 His days were those of rural happiness. 
 
 Divided with his meadows and his mill. 
 
 Flowing along as smoothly as the brook. 
 
 That tm-ned, and turned again, his wooden wheel. 
 
 But in the midst of his retu-ement sweet, 
 
 Strange rumours reached him of the laud of gold 
 
 Across the mighty main. He rubbed his eyes, 
 
 And dropped his scoop to hear the tale again, 
 
 Which so o'ercame him that he closed his mill. 
 
 And left his little meadows half-uutilled. 
 
 His fences half-repaired, his lambs unmarked. 
 
 The wide field-gaps, where wood-gates should have 
 
 been, 
 Half-built with blocks of granite ; sheds half- thatched. 
 O'er which a meagre family of ropes 
 In his gold dreams were tlu'owu, whose dangling ends
 
 THE LOVE OF HOME. 
 
 Um-avelled in the rain. On tlie smootli lea, 
 Hall'-ploughed, half-planted with nutritious roots, 
 He left his spade still sticking in the earth ; 
 And on the sm-ges of the lucre-storm 
 He rolled into the tield of blazing gems. 
 
 Armies ■vrere there before him ; troops on troops 
 
 Came rashiug on behind, — famed England's sous, 
 
 And Ireland's hardj' swains, the Frenchman gay, 
 
 Old Scotia's mountaineers, and those afar 
 
 In isolated isles, — black men and red. 
 
 From Cornwall's miners, heroes of the rock, 
 
 To the smooth-featm-ed children of the sun. 
 
 Xone seemed to heed his fellow : bent and bowed 
 
 AVith faces to the eai'th, they dug for gold 
 
 From morn till eve, nor did they dig in vain. 
 
 At night-faU in the camp's drear solitude, 
 
 After the gainful labom-s of the day, 
 
 His thatched home came before him, — wife and friends ; 
 
 His pratthng children clambered up his knees, 
 
 And told him stories of the wondrous bean, 
 
 "With strings of other tales, and in his dreams 
 
 He heai'd the waters rushing o'er his mill. 
 
 That wheel is silent now,— he died abroad ; 
 But his last thoughts wei-e with his native vale. 
 And his last blessing was a prayer for it. 
 
 " I cull these flowers to deck my brother's grave. 
 
 He sleepeth in the village-churchyard now, 
 
 (Surrounded with old elms and weeping pines. 
 
 Spreading their branches o'er his quiet tomb. 
 
 My mother rests beside him ; and my she 
 
 Has wandered from us, and retiu'ned no more. 
 
 She sweetly told us on her dying day, 
 
 That God would be our Father and om- Friend ; 
 
 And then she left us : so we Hngered on 
 
 In love together for a little while, 
 
 Until my brother sickened, and then die, 
 
 And yesterday they laid him in the gi"ave. 
 
 And I was left alone in this wide world. 
 
 I bring these flowers to place above his head. 
 
 That when the spring comes, they may blossom here, 
 
 The sweet memorials of a sister's love, 
 
 AVhen I am far away, from whence we came. 
 
 " Tliere is a countiy in the genial east, 
 
 Of which my mother oft has told us much, 
 
 And, as she spoke, the gushing tears would fall. 
 
 I think she called it England, — land of streams. 
 
 The isle of roses and the clime of song. 
 
 This is the country where we both were born, 
 
 And twined hfe's morning flowers in fresh festoons. 
 
 To hang around the beauteous neck of Love. 
 
 I scarce remember now the primrose-bower, 
 
 In ivy-mantled, happy fatherland, 
 
 Where we have played when hfe was fresh and gi-een. 
 
 Biit more than this I know not. In the night 
 
 W'e loft our home upon the mountain's side ; 
 
 And the next day I heard the ocean roar, 
 
 And felt the bUlows toss our bounding bark. 
 
 " On went the vessel o'er the trackless blue. 
 The white-winged eagle of the stormy deep. 
 Careering, hke a wind-god, westward still, 
 Until the ciy of ' land ' bade all rejoice. 
 We stepped ashore, and found the settler's home ; 
 
 how uuhke the dwelling left behind! 
 Soon father fled, and mother pined away. 
 Still wasting, till she dropped into the tomb : 
 My little brother quickly followed her ; 
 
 So swift does sorrow sorrow overtake ! 
 To-morrow I depart, and haste away. 
 To seek once more my earliest plaj'ing-placc. 
 May gentle dews descend on these pale flowers 
 
 1 plant upon the grave of him I love ; 
 And may the sunbeams kiss them into life, 
 And mautle them in rainbow-coloured robes. 
 That they may weep, at holy evening-time. 
 For tlie)se who sleep so quietly below. 
 When I am far away, I know not where ! " 
 
 The morrow dawned : the flapping sails were spread ; 
 
 The ocean-eagle floats along her way ; 
 
 The maiden looked behind her on the land. 
 
 And it had dwindled to an atom--speck. 
 
 One tear of sadness, and she smiles again : 
 
 " My face is tm-ned towards my earhest home : 
 
 Almighty Father ! guide me safely there." 
 
 Her praj'er was answered. Soon her native land 
 Hose fan- and beauteous, clad in Spring's green robes : 
 And she through England's vales in(pimngly 
 Pm'sued the way to her ancestral mount. 
 Behold her at the foot of the old hill, 
 Gathering king-cups and noddmg hyacinths. 
 And kissing them in rapturous ecstasy ! 
 O how she listens while the robin sings, 
 On the old hawthorn, snowy with May-flowers, 
 And lifts her hands, and wipes her streamuig eyes ! 
 Then hastens on across the moorland meads, 
 Where the young lambkins sport among the grass ; 
 And stops and hstens to the cuckoo's voice. 
 
 But who' is he, with sandals sadly worn. 
 
 With dusty garments, and a knotty staff, 
 
 Sitting among the lichen-covered rocks, 
 
 Wrapped in a fit of musing ? 'T is her sire, 
 
 Thus strangely piloted to meet her here ! 
 
 He had been wandering over foreign fields, 
 
 In quest of gold, that glittering deity ; 
 
 And, travelling back to live and die at home. 
 
 He came this Avay, to see the cherished spot. 
 
 More dear to him than hills with cedars crovvned. 
 
 She soon was standing near him : questions rose, 
 
 And rapid answers followed, till the whole 
 
 Came gathering round him, like a murky cloak, 
 
 'Gainst which the keen blast chattered. Pale he stood, 
 
 And pressed his daughter to his beating heart, 
 
 And cried in all the ecstasy of gri^f, 
 
 " I am thy long-lost father, dearest one. 
 
 Come back to cheer thee in thy solitude. 
 
 0, be mine angel tlnough this wilderness. 
 
 And lead me gently downward to the tomb ! 
 
 We'll make this vernal spot our dwelling-place, 
 
 And live together here till life be past, 
 
 In the old cot where both of us were born." 
 
 'T was one of England's a-ncient cottage homes. 
 Straw-roofed, and clasped with ivy. Sweet woodbine 
 Ai'ound the Gothic casements strangely crept, 
 And o'er the porch the clustering roses hung ; 
 Beneatli the eaves the sparrows built then nests. 
 Upon the tree-top httle robin sang,
 
 THE MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 
 
 And sky-lfivks camllcd n'ov it niorrily. 
 Jicliind it, rose tlio luduntaiirs i-.i^r^i'd cr>'st ; 
 ]>osiile it, paced tlie sJicphord with his crook ; 
 Below it, walked the murmiirinff rivulet. 
 A l)ard ini.nlit linpfcr tliore, find hear old rhymes 
 In every V)reczy inunnnr, — winds and waves, 
 And Filent-speakinj:^ Howers, and sinj^inj^-ljirds, 
 And tuneful zephyrs ha)-pin<if on his ear ! 
 
 Delicious Home ! ])eside thy lilazin;^ hearth 
 
 Wliat j^n-ii'ls are softened, and what hruises healed ! 
 
 Wliat loves, what friendships, cherished and matured ! 
 
 "Wliat cares l)eo:uiled to silence ! Little words, 
 
 Conceived witln'n thee, travel on and on, 
 
 Increasin,s>: on their earthly pil^riniaf^-e, 
 
 Till they beccjiue the watchword of their day, 
 
 The flashinpf oracles of mif^hty states. 
 
 The awe of kini^'doms, and f,a-oat Europe's dread. 
 
 They live and move for ever, till the last 
 
 IMre, awful death-groan of the universe ; 
 
 And then these little words appear again, 
 
 In the liright daylight of eternity. 
 
 Radiant with life and immortality ! 
 
 See'st thou that mother, at the evening hour, 
 
 Gathering her children round the cheerful hearth, 
 
 And telling them of God ? Plain her address, 
 
 So that the smallest in that happy band 
 
 May comprehend it, and the elder ones 
 
 Weep, when they hear that tale she tells so oft, — 
 
 The Saviour's love to saA'e us from the fall ! 
 
 Augels are bending o'er then- shining seats, 
 
 To listen to the teacher ; and their hands 
 
 Best, for an instant, on their living lyres. 
 
 The storm that rocks the mountains, tearing off 
 
 Huge, splintered fi-agments of the rifted oak, 
 
 Twilling the liranches of the giant palm. 
 
 And battling with the spirits of the dark, — 
 
 The storm that roars so furiouslj' without, 
 
 Is scarce regarded by this band within. 
 
 They listen to the voice of her they love, 
 
 T5reathing in their rapt ears plain Scripture lore ; 
 
 They drink the gushing music from her lips. 
 
 And feel the first fresh buddings of delight, 
 
 The early promptings of the better part. 
 
 The seed is sown that will spring up again. 
 
 AYe pass along the rush of numerous years, 
 And look into that happy home once more. 
 Strange faces seem to greet us from the hearth, 
 Whose ])eamiug eyes reveal the miud within. 
 They are the same we saw in days gone 'by, 
 In the fresh pastures of Life's April fields. 
 Now standing on the crest of Manhood's mount. 
 Stretching their eagle gaze at Fame's green crown. 
 But where is she who sat among her flowers, 
 Her little children in then- early time, 
 And taught them how to shun the paths of Vice, 
 And walk in "Wisdom's flower-enamelled track '? 
 Stand on her silent grave, — the dust is there. 
 But her freed spirit has gone up on high, 
 To sing the song of Moses and the Laml) ! 
 But that same voice is heard at evening-time. 
 Along the garden walks, beside the stream, 
 In the green fields, and by the hallowed hearth, 
 And coming from the churchyard's sacred sod. 
 In sweetest accents still, for evermore ! 
 
 On conies the rushing Reparation blast, 
 
 Scattering the olive Ijranches of thi'^ liouse 
 
 in diir( rent sections of the busy world! 
 
 One makes his home where the gi-een Islands smile, 
 
 In the Pacific Ocean. Sitting there. 
 
 Beneath the branches of the bread-fruit tree, 
 
 What time Jiis life lay in tlie snows of age. 
 
 These little words, tlie voices of the past, 
 
 Come thronging round him, with their tones of love, 
 
 Bringing fresh tear-drops with them : down he kneels. 
 
 And blesses God for such a parent given ! 
 
 Another carols on the desert sands 
 
 Lays which he heard his sainted mother sing. 
 
 Another plants his dwelling far away. 
 
 Beside the silver lake, in a strange land ; 
 
 And little ones come clustering round his board, 
 
 The joyful issue of the marriage-bed. 
 
 He now has reached the autumn of his years; 
 
 But, coming o'er the summits of the past, 
 
 Along the hills of life, her living words 
 
 Are ringing round him wheresoe'er he goes. 
 
 To her he owes the comforts God has given : 
 
 " It was my mother made me such a man ! " 
 
 Another climbs the toweruig mount of Fame, 
 
 From crag to slippery crag, until at last 
 
 He feels the laiirel pressing on his brow, 
 
 And drinks the voice of praise with ravisheil ears. 
 
 Men bow before him, wondering at his might. 
 
 The awful mystery that wraps him round. 
 
 The unseen halo moving where he moves !. 
 
 He writes his name in living characters. 
 
 To glow for ever in the hearts of men. 
 
 He freely sows the seeds. of life and light, 
 
 Which are to vegetate eternally : 
 
 And, drawing near the banks of Death's dark stream. 
 
 He breathes to those who watch Life's dropping sands, 
 
 " I owe my mother everything I am ! " 
 
 Another, with the Bible in his hands, 
 
 Girdmg the Christian's glittering armour on. 
 
 Goes forth to meet the erring sous of men. 
 
 To tell the simple story of the Cross. 
 
 ]\Iethinks I see him in his pilgrim weeds. 
 
 Way-worn and weary, by the fountain's side. 
 
 Sitting upon the earth. Beside him stands 
 
 The fierce barbarian, stained with stormy strife, 
 
 To whom he tells the tale he loves so well. 
 
 Heard in the halls of home in earlj' time, 
 
 Wlien sitting on his sainted mother's knee. 
 
 The savage hears, and trembles, and believes ; 
 
 Old things are past with him, — all things are new, 
 
 And floods of glory fill the moral world ! 
 
 How honoured are the ministers of Christ, 
 
 The trumpeters of Zion, thus to be 
 
 The messengers of hope to those that mourn ! 
 
 How gloomy are thoT;e frowning j^rison walls, 
 O'er which Despair flaps his dark raven-wings ! 
 Gaze through that grating ; look upon the floor : 
 What's that we see there, sitting on the straw, 
 Looking hke Misery's self? 'Tis an old man, 
 W^asted away to shadow, wasting still. 
 Though twcntj- yenrs have foimd him wasting here. 
 How sad is his lament I and yet a hope 
 Is tingling in his melancholy dirge, 
 Sobbed forth to-day upon the rotten reeds : 
 " Another year of slow revolving Time,-- 
 For, how slow he travels in my cell.
 
 8 
 
 THE LOVE OF HOME. 
 
 Trailing his leatlen limbs along my track ! 
 
 Another year, and yon dark iron tlt>or 
 
 "Will ope, to let the prisoner out again 
 
 Into the %Yorld, unchained, at liberty! 
 
 Where are the friends and kindred of my youth, 
 
 I left behind me in my early home. 
 
 In the green wood o'ershadowed by the elm '? — 
 
 And twenty years have since crept o'er my head ! 
 
 Perhaps they all are gone ! " And the old man 
 
 lioared in the corner of his prison-house, 
 
 So that the echo came, and came again. 
 
 And went and camo ; and still amonj,' the straw 
 
 lie moaned in very bitterness of soul ! 
 
 Pays, months lag on ; and as the period wanes 
 Which brings huu neai'er to the happy hour, 
 Hope kindles in his bosom, Idudhiig still. 
 As, day by day, the added notches rise. 
 At last the old man, through the grating, saw 
 The wished-for morning ope its dewy eye ; 
 For he all night had rolled upon his reeds. 
 Weeping for very joy. It broke at last, — 
 The blushing dawn of libertj' to hun : 
 The severed hnks fell from his wasted arm ; 
 The manacles were hfted from his flesh ; 
 The gi'ating door upon its hinges turned ; 
 And forth he went into the dazzling li<,dit, 
 'Xeatli the blue arch of heaven, free as the birds 
 That sang on high their songs of liberty ; 
 His song as happy and as fi-ee as theirs ! 
 Standing upon a rising hillock, he 
 Surveyed the lofty prison walls behind. 
 And, resting on his staff, wept a farewell. 
 And now he bounds along with jocund tread, 
 Not on the highway, but across the meads ; 
 Now sits him down, recounts his sorrows o'er ; 
 Now runs again, now whirls his staff in air, 
 Now halts and dances with excess of J03-. 
 
 Where are his eager footsteps bending ? Where ? 
 
 List, and you'll hear hiiu as he rushes on : 
 
 " A few miles more, and I shall reach the wood, 
 
 The birth-place of my honoured sire and me, 
 
 Where, years ago, amid the vines I left 
 
 A weeping mother and her little ones. 
 
 I saw them often in my prison-cell. 
 
 In the dim land of dreams, when I lay down 
 
 And groaned myself to slumber on the straw. 
 
 Home came before me, like sweet fairy-laud, 
 
 Even in my darkest moments, gilding oft 
 
 The blackening paU that o'er my dungeon hung ! 
 
 And shall I see my birth-place once again ? 
 
 Quaff the pure breezes murmuring through the wood ? 
 
 1 >rink the clear water from the welcome well, 
 
 And hear the song I heard in days gone by ? 
 
 Shall I, in the old cliamber of my youth, 
 
 ^\'here I was bom amid September fruits, 
 
 ^feet the stem slayer, and lie down and die ? 
 
 O, gi-ant me this, kind Heaven ! I ask no more." 
 
 Wiping the persi>iration from his brow, 
 
 And bi-usliing his hoar locks, away, away, 
 
 "W ith quickened pace, the weaiy wanderer went. 
 
 He had his wish, — had all he wished to have, — 
 And in the chamber where his gi-andsire died, 
 He closed his eyes on all material things. 
 
 " Blaze bright, ye lightnings ! send your steeds of flame 
 
 On messai,'es of death around tJie world ! 
 
 On your flerce fiery travel hiss and burn, 
 
 That cruel man may shudder with affright ! 
 
 Roar loud, ye tlmnders ! echo in your ire, 
 
 And crack yom- sulpliurous ton.gues,tliat scathe the valef. 
 
 And twitch the stone-caps from the mountains' heads. 
 
 Hurling them to destruction ! llend the skies 
 
 With your dread echoes, that the heart of man 
 
 May melt Avithiu him at God's awful voice ! 
 
 Wail loud, ye winds, till the shook welkin splits, 
 
 And the storm-spirits on their rattling cars 
 
 Drag up the forest-trees like shrivelled reeds, 
 
 Turn o'er the villages like tufts of down. 
 
 And stir the ocean deeper than 'tis wont, 
 
 That its proud billows may usurp the land, 
 
 x\.nd pull back to its depths the pride of man ! 
 
 Ye waters, streaming from the muffled cloud ! 
 
 Pour down your rain floods on this grave-dark night. 
 
 Wherein my master turns his slave abroad. 
 
 Whipped, branded, fasting, fettered to the bone. 
 
 To make my bed 'neath this o'erhanging rock. 
 
 Up which the blue flames clamber, leaping high 
 
 From crag to crag, loud crackUng o'er my head ! . 
 
 Stream from j'our secret reservoirs, ye rains, 
 
 And wash the mountains from the woodless wild ! 
 
 " Surrounded with the war of wrestling winds, 
 
 Deserted by the friends of human-kind, 
 
 Forced from my master's dwelling, at this hour 
 
 A vision comes before me : — 'tis my home, 
 
 Far from the slave-man's countrj', far away 
 
 In the sweet vale of reeds. In early youth 
 
 We dwelt together, brothers, sisters, friends, 
 
 Mother and father, in one pleasant liome. 
 
 Loving and loved, a joyous familj^ 
 
 Brief were our days of happiness, too brief : 
 
 Down from the mountains came the fierce white man 
 
 Like an unchained tornado, scattering friends. 
 
 And wringing blood-drops from the patriot's heart. 
 
 " 'T was a bright summer morning ; the jmst night 
 
 I lay down in the corner of my shed. 
 
 And slept so sweetly ! Dreams of fatherland, 
 
 Its streams, its rivers, hills, and aged woods, 
 
 Where the inige, shaggj^ forest-king resides. 
 
 And birds of silvery plumage gem the trees. 
 
 And carol wildly, — dreams of fatherland 
 
 Were floating through the chambers of nry brain. 
 
 For, 0, methought mj' own dear mother came 
 
 And kissed me as I slept, and bade me rise. 
 
 Calling upon her bo_y. I started \\i>, 
 
 And felt a cold hand clasjiing Ijoth mine own. 
 
 Dragging nic swift awaj\ My arms were chained, 
 
 Mj' feet were fastened, and on board a ship 
 
 They brought me to this country, wet with tears. 
 
 " Youth has been broken here on slavery's wheel, 
 Manhood has writhed upon the withering rack. 
 Age has been chilled beneath the tyrant's cliain. 
 Whose gore-dyed rivets fastened on my soul. 
 My life has been an age of servitude, 
 lilack, sunless, woful, winter-like, and di'ear : 
 ,No spring, no summer has adorned the scene : 
 Before, behind, on this side and (Ui that, 
 And over head, oppression's thunder-clouds : 
 The frightful whip ha's dug into my back.
 
 THE SLAVE'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 Until the blnshinj? gore crept tlirongh the holes ; 
 The hissing In-and has biu'nt into my bono, 
 Until I shrieked tlie name of tliat dread God 
 Who of one l)lood has made tlie sons of men. 
 Bvit in the midst of those conflicting pangs 
 And jerks of nature, Afric's sunny home, 
 My forest birth-place, swam before my sight. 
 
 " My wife long since was lim-ried from my side. 
 Ere Time's rude razor had slipped o'er my head, 
 Or his rough ploughshare furrowed up my brow. 
 My children have been sold before mine eyes. 
 And torn from my embrace, and whipped away 
 Where fields are moistened with the mom-ner's tears. 
 And blood is rusting on the planter's spade. 
 And human bones are bleaching in the sun. 
 O'er which the death-bird flaps his heavy wings, 
 And wails in concert with the rocking trees, 
 Filhng the night with dirges, — where is heard 
 The crack of the slave-whip, and the slirill cry 
 
 Of tlie poor sufferer smitten to the earth : 
 Ay, there my children wera compelled to pine. 
 I've drunk the bitter waters of despau-. 
 Shrunk from the frosty fingers of Neglect, 
 Eaten the cinist of bitterness, and bowed 
 Me like a beast of burden to the yoke : 
 But, in the midst of sorrow's briny sea. 
 That fair home-spii-it rode upon the waves. 
 
 " Flash, flash, ye elements, and lay me low ! 
 I'm a forsaken, desolate, poor slave. 
 Cast out from home, and its society. 
 Whom now ye toy with : — whirl me to the grave, 
 That I may hide me there in endless night ! 
 For I shall never see my boyhood's bowers, 
 Or diink out of my native wells again. 
 I'm weary of existence, and would sleep." 
 And from the cleft sky an electric blaze 
 Freed the cold clay from his enfi'anchised soul. 
 
 
 ^vP^^? 
 
 ^0&^§^ I 
 
 ■jf'ffi^^iyfplil^ 
 
 H^ 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 THE 
 
 HONEST WORKMAN. 
 
 HE fairest flowers, the fullest 
 
 sea of sight. 
 The costliest pearls, the most 
 iuAdting gems, 
 The gi'andest, greatest, meekest, 
 
 noljlest minds. 
 Are often shining in this dark- 
 some world 
 
 Where least expected, and their glory's beams 
 Remain unnoticed in the general glare. 
 How many an honest man in homely weeds, 
 ^\^lose name is odour in his little sphere. 
 Dwelling in vale obscure by sea or stream, 
 Or where the city darkens, many-tongued. 
 Or in the hamlet's hollow, as the rill 
 Trickles soft-singing over slippery stones, — 
 How many are there living thus obscm-e, 
 Scarce known on earth, but much esteemed in heaven. 
 The gems of Adam's race, whose royal names 
 Ai-e deep engraven in the Book of Life ! 
 
 So have I heard fi'om some low cottage porch, 
 Eeed-wi'apped and woodbined over hke a liower. 
 With lattice low, and rude walls, boulder-built, 
 Sweet-scented mid the mineral of the mine, 
 What time the milk-maid biiished the early dews, 
 A gentle carol warbled from the lips 
 Of moorland maiden, rarely caught by kings. 
 
 Some com-t " great gluts of people," houses, towns. 
 
 And cities drunk with riot ; but, for me, 
 
 I woo the reedy meadow and the fen. 
 
 Where rushes rustle, or the rock where climbs 
 
 The shining ivy, and the wUd bu-d sings. 
 
 Quaint do ye call me, that I love such scenes. 
 
 For evermore with Nature? Be it so; 
 
 I am her child, and she my mother is ; 
 
 And so you must not blame me. Up the hill, 
 
 And down the vale, and through the breezy bom'n, 
 
 By the sea-shore, and on the ragged ridge, 
 
 I read her legends, living laj'S of love. 
 
 My own old county is my copy-book, 
 
 From which I cull my pictiu-es ; and its leaves 
 
 Are like her mines, exhaustless in their worth. 
 
 My hero-miner is no gilt ideal, 
 
 Pulled in to make a poem, but a man 
 
 Who really lived, and acted, and expired ; 
 
 A noble man, a man to imitate. 
 
 But, see, two riders and then- foaming steeds 
 
 Bm-st from the coppice like a thought of flame.
 
 10 
 
 WAYSIDE PIC TUBES. 
 
 Still onward flashed tbc horsemen. Through the mist 
 Loomed the grey granite crags and castle-Top 
 Of mineral-marked Carn Brea, whose awfiil head 
 "Was drenched with rain, and smitten with the storm. 
 The rabbit cowered within its mossy cell, 
 The wild bu-d sat in silence 'neath the ledge, 
 "With hall'-shnt eye, and beak beneath his wing, 
 As marched the winds across the weltering wild, 
 Hm-hng the rain- drops on the groaning world. 
 Still onward dashed the horsemen. Bank and brier, 
 And deep morass, and ditch with water drowned, 
 And rivers wildly tumbUng o'er their rims, 
 Eongli rnins green with age, or grey with years, 
 And bogs with torture boiling, — all were passed, 
 And in a cottage clinging to a rock, 
 "Where sat a lonely dame in hnen garb. 
 They tm-ned at last for shelter, while then* steeds 
 Stood in an outhouse 'neath a roof ®f straw. 
 
 A Chi-istian had been bm-ied, one whose gifts 
 
 Were great in secret, whose heart-prayers were made 
 
 More in the closet than the crowded church ; 
 
 "Wlio spoke with, pity to the lowest hind. 
 
 And ^\•iped the tear fi-om Sorrow's softened face ; 
 
 Who called the childi-en roimd him when the day 
 
 Expii'ed in pm-ple o'er the forest falls. 
 
 And told them tales, and fed upon their smiles. 
 
 Laughed mth their laugh, and shouted with then- 
 
 shout. 
 Mingling the lays of age ^^dth early life ; 
 Then led them fai' beyond the reefs of time. 
 He stood between the op^jressor and oppressed, 
 Healing the wounds which cruelty had made. 
 He sought the bed of sickness, and, when found. 
 Refreshed the sufferer with his pm-se and prayer. 
 "\i\'ith hberal hands he WTOught most liberal things. 
 The widow fotmd in him a constant friend. 
 The wandering oi-phan, shivering through the world, 
 Ne'er stopped in vain before the good man's gate. 
 His bounty, like the sky-lark's joyous song, 
 Gladdened the hearts of all within its range. 
 He stooped to wretchedness, and, with kind words 
 And kinder deeds, lightened the grey-haired man. 
 Familiar was he with Dame Nature's laws. 
 Nor sealed her book of wonders ; but his soul 
 Held endless converse with the' Eternal "Word. 
 Messiah was his pattern. Mom and eve. 
 And busy noontide, found him toiling on 
 In the Redeemer's footprints. By his life 
 He preached the Savioiu- to the multitude. 
 And cried to all, " "Walk in the narrow way." 
 He stood among his fellows like a tree, 
 Of fohage rare and verdure beautiful, 
 "Whose summer greenness never knew decay. 
 
 The Sabbath bells are ringing, vale and wood. 
 
 And rock, and ridge, and slope with mosses dressed, 
 
 Are hung with echoes ; wandering voices flow 
 
 Upon the spirit, lulhng it to peace. 
 
 And gentle visions fill the naind with heaven. 
 
 Beneath this honeysuckle let me sit 
 
 In quiet meditation. As for man, 
 
 His days are swdfter than the eagle's wing, 
 
 Or river rusliing down the wildest steep ; 
 
 To-day he rises in his summer prime, 
 
 To-mon-ow bends along the vale of age. 
 
 How near the days of happy childhood seem. 
 
 Though forty winters block them up with clouds ! 
 I stretch my arms forth with a gush of joy. 
 And seem to touch my daisy-gathering hoiu'S. 
 Alas ! alas ! old Time hath hurried on, 
 And left them far behind the farthest hills, 
 "With king-cups sparkling over all the land : 
 And now I battle with the storms of Hfe. 
 But there is peace at last for all our woe, 
 And comfort for the weary, if we trust 
 The kind and loving Saviour-, in the home 
 Of Eden-music higher than the stars. 
 
 Peal on, ye gentle preachers. Day is done, 
 
 And Eve steals down the vale in garments grey : 
 
 I ponder in her shadows. One sweet spot 
 
 Is ever with me, as your echoes float 
 
 Above the tree-tops, like the sweep of wings. 
 
 A little grave it is among the hills. 
 
 Beside a Gothic chapel, and I seem 
 
 To hear the tread of those who haste to prayer, 
 
 Through primrose lanes, although I'm far awaj'. 
 
 Here have I long desired to sleep at last, 
 
 "When life, with all its cares, is at an end, 
 
 Among the honest, pious villagers. 
 
 Just at the foot of my old granite mount ; 
 
 That when the cottager, his day's work done, 
 
 Sits in the dusk with baby on his knee, 
 
 "WQiat time the first few tapers gild the pane. 
 
 He, listening to the river at his gate, 
 
 IMay think of him who carolled through his moors. 
 
 Sweet honeysuckle ! let me linger here, 
 Among thy fragrance issued in a shower. 
 How blissful thus to muse where Nature pours 
 Her incense forth in hollows watched with hills, 
 And roofed with stars, and floored with living flowers ! 
 
 what a temple is the leafy wood. 
 
 The rude old rock, the ocean's solemn shore, 
 The valley's bosom, and the meadow's lap ! 
 
 1 love thee, Natm-e, with a fire unfeigned. 
 And ever at thy feet thy cliild would sit 
 In pleasant meditation, where the eye 
 
 Of selfish man beholds not my retreat. 
 In storm or calm, when heaven is blue or black. 
 Learning thy lore, and treasuring up thy truth. 
 Could I have had my choice, my home would be 
 Among the reefs and rivers, fens and ferns. 
 From human hives as lonely as a loch. 
 Here, hermit-like, I'd pass awaj^ my hours. 
 Drinking at Natiire's fountain, undisturbed 
 By trump or tumult, writing simple song, 
 "\Vitli wife and bonny bairns, until life's last 
 Long evening shadow fell upon the plain. 
 But Providence has given me other work. 
 And other wonders, and I bless His name. 
 Now to our stoi-y mid the spreading thjone. 
 
 Tlie dame heaped up the fuel on the hearth, 
 "Which cracked a joyous carol, while the blast 
 Drove the rude rain-drops rushing on the thatch. 
 And hissing on the casement. Then she spoke, 
 "With much of love and Cornish courtesy. 
 *' I give you gi-eeting to my lowly home, 
 Ye storm-caught strangers. Nearer draw you now 
 My firwood fire, and dry your weltering weeds. 
 I have a turf-l)aked cake upon the shelf, 
 And milk and cream upon the pantry board :
 
 THE STRICKEN HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 11 
 
 Pray let me fetcli tliem for you." So she placed 
 lieforo her guests these simple elements. 
 Tliey ate, and drank, and chatted each with each, 
 Giving their hostess space to speak between. 
 
 She told of trials past, and tempests near ; 
 
 Of storms blown over, and of gales to come ; 
 
 Of Idank bereavement, like the rush of war; 
 
 Of kindred lost, and relatives betrayed ; 
 
 Of beauty blighted in her summer morn ; 
 
 Of tear-drops shed upon the infant's grave; 
 
 Of Hunger sitting with the household flowers, 
 
 As still as Death, amid the cliarnel dews ; 
 
 Of sickness entering with its fever-face, 
 
 And laying low a loving family ; 
 
 Of harvest-time, when earth was wet with rain ; 
 
 Of noise and show acquiring shouts of praise, 
 
 And meekness pining in its empty shed ; 
 
 Of Horror, stalking through the heavy night ; 
 
 Of Desolation, coming like the sea. 
 
 With blackened breakers, bearing with a roar 
 
 The hopes of man upon the rocks of doom. 
 
 But more tlian all were they intent to hear 
 
 How first she walked the way of widowhood. 
 
 Her husband was a miner, toiling where 
 
 The light of morning never found its way, 
 
 Or star-beam gilt the gloom ; where night remained. 
 
 Blacker than Boreas when he hides the hills. 
 
 And shrouds the valleys with his dismal wings. 
 
 His eldest boy strove with liim, twelve springs old ; 
 
 A bud in shade, a blossom in the dark. 
 
 And tliey were wont the ladders to descend, 
 
 Tied in a rope. At one end was his sire 
 
 Going down before, and after him tlie lad 
 
 Came clinging to the staves. Ai'ound their waists 
 
 The cord was fastened ; so that, if the child 
 
 Fell, he might save him as he downward dropped, 
 
 And bring him to liis mother and his home. 
 
 He was a tributer ; a man who worked 
 
 On speculation, digging through the ground 
 
 In search of ore, the sweetener of his toil. 
 
 If found, he flourished ; if not found, he fell ; 
 
 Nor fell alone, fell wife and family. 
 
 But mucli of misery was he doomed to feel. 
 
 Long months of disappointment, nights of woe, 
 
 And days of strife, and mental agony : 
 
 He dug, and found not ; dug and dug again, 
 
 Again to be the losei* — all was dead. 
 
 He ventm-ed till his clothes were heavy rags, 
 
 And the last shilling gUded from his purse. 
 
 Yet hope sang with him in the sulphur-rifts. 
 
 And pictured bright to-morrows. And when green 
 
 Tinctiu'ed the rock, or copper stained the stone. 
 
 In fancy he beheld liis stores increase. 
 
 His jjile of mineral levelled on the floors. 
 
 His del)ts discharged, his wife in new attire, 
 
 His household songsters warmly clothed and fed. 
 
 His new home rising by the running brook, 
 
 His farm enclosed, his pretty meadows tilled, 
 
 Poultx-y and pigs rejoicing in the stye. 
 
 And Molly 'neath the hawthorn by the gate 
 
 Chewing her cud in quiet. So he dug, 
 
 With ej^es the home of tears, and heart in heaven : 
 
 But when men elbowed him along the street, 
 
 And frowned upon him in his patched-up vest, 
 
 And cries of hunger echoed in his home. 
 
 His heart sank in him, and the angel Hope 
 For a short season travelled from his side. 
 
 One weary day he laboured in the smoke. 
 
 Pale with prostration, while vexed Fortune's wheel 
 
 Turned round and round in utter emptiness. 
 
 He left his working-place a clouded man. 
 
 And in his white-washed home among the stacks 
 
 A wail o'ercame liim such as Misery mom-ns 
 
 Among tlie famished in her shattered shed. 
 
 His darling childi'en, cold and hunger-pale, 
 
 Cowered in his hovel, crying much for food. 
 
 On a small stool, scoured white with straw and sand. 
 
 His eldest boy bent, broken in the bud. 
 
 Weeping aloud with redness in his eyes. 
 
 A little girl sat sobbing on her chair, 
 
 With hunger-marks upon her lovely cheek. 
 
 In the wood-cradle baby found a voice, 
 
 Thrusting his faded hands in empty air. 
 
 The mother's face, beneath her apron hid, 
 
 Appeared a sky of drops ; while through the gloom 
 
 Words wandered woful, " Father, give us bread." 
 
 Meanwhile the moon's face blushed behind a cloud ; 
 
 Strange footfalls echoed on the threshold stone ; 
 
 The door was rudely opened ; when at once 
 
 Two men rushed in, with wildness in their looks, — 
 
 The landlord and a towering officer. 
 
 Who, spite of tears, and sighs, and hunger-moans. 
 
 Took an inventory of their furniture, — 
 
 Clock, ch-esser, table, settle, stools, and chairs. 
 
 Bed, bedding, clothes-press, pewter pans and plates. 
 
 Old faded pictures, jostled much by time. 
 
 The hour-glass, and the cage without the lark. 
 
 And other items, such as knives and spoons. 
 
 With numerous tin cans shining on the shelf, — 
 
 And, scowhng on the good man, left his home. 
 
 O God of Jacob, succoiu* the distressed ! 
 
 Sleep came at last, and bound them in their tears. 
 
 When he, with many arrows in liis soul, 
 
 Knelt in his chamber, with uphfted voice. 
 
 Praying and sobbing, " Father, hear Thy child, 
 
 hear Thy child ! Have mercy on a worm ! 
 
 Yes, I have sinned against Thee ; with high hands 
 
 And outstretched arms defied Thy just commands. 
 
 Yet, O, have mei'cy on me, for the sake 
 
 Of Thy dear Son, who tasted death for me. 
 
 Give me Thy Holy Spu-it, gracious Lord, 
 
 To lead me in tlie path of rectitude. 
 
 And fill my erring soul with light Divine. 
 
 Thou seest my wasting household : all day long 
 
 Have they been pining in my breadless home ; 
 
 The stamp of famine is upon their face ; 
 
 Weakness in every limb, mist o'er their ej'es, 
 
 And untold gnawings shake through all theii' fi-ame. 
 
 Have mercy on us. Father ; let our cry 
 
 Bring down Thy boimty on oiu" shrouded hearth, 
 
 All-gracious Benefactor. Thou art He 
 
 Who ever feed'st the i-aven of the rock, 
 
 The wild bird of the wood, and all the foi*ms 
 
 Of unseen life tliat throng this wondrous world ; 
 
 And Thou hast promised, tliose that trust in Thee 
 
 Shall feel no lack of anytliing that's good. 
 
 O, Father, Father, shield us from the woe 
 
 Of wasting hunger ; let my httle ones. 
 
 And her that bare them, speedily be saved 
 
 2
 
 12 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 From creeping clown to death with feet of bone. 
 
 Be niercifnl, O God, to sinners vile ; 
 
 Open a door of hope, a path of hfe, 
 
 That we may bless and praise Thy mighty name. 
 
 But if, by Thy inscrutable decree. 
 
 My poor petition may not move Thine heart, 
 
 And we all die. Thy righteous will be done." 
 
 He wiped the hot di-ops from his eyes, and heard 
 
 A voice of sweetness, " Go to Widow Worth." 
 
 The shipwrecked sailor, rescued from the deep 
 
 Moaning in mountains round its struggling prey, 
 
 And tossed hah"-naked on a sti-anger shore, 
 
 Clothed, wai-med, and fed, and giiided to his home ; 
 
 The limb-lopped soldier, hunted by the foe, 
 
 And hidden with the mercy of the good, 
 
 Whose sons and daiighters he had sworn to kill. 
 
 Until the howl of mm-der drooped and fell. 
 
 And he in safety reached his fiiends and fire ; 
 
 The fi-iendless orphan on a winter's night. 
 
 Blue with the blast, and ciying with the cold. 
 
 Snatched fi-om his doom, and sheltered from his fate, 
 
 By those who never knew his father's name ; 
 
 The hungi-y man, in valleys not his own, 
 
 Fed from the table he had never seen ; 
 
 The thii-sty pilgrim, o'er life's bm-uing sands, 
 
 Eefreshed with waters fi'om the Hmpid brook, 
 
 A little gu'l the cheering minister ; 
 
 A star\-uig laboui'er, borrowing precious loans 
 
 From one whose dweUing towered above his own, 
 
 Which saved his feeble wife, and feebler ones, 
 
 From inishing o'er the rapids of despair ; — 
 
 These know the worth of true benevolence. 
 
 Within a quiet, pious fishing- town, 
 
 Snug in the west, resided Priidence Worth ; 
 
 A lady famous for her charity. 
 
 Both in her native place, and far beyond. 
 
 The unsuccessful, striving fisherman, 
 
 Wlio in his httle boat went paddling forth. 
 
 Singing his hjTnns, and looking up to heaven, 
 
 With net, and hook, and bait, to Im-e his prey, 
 
 On the blue fields of ocean wonder-filled. 
 
 Where the great gull rode kingly, and the winds 
 
 Spoke in a language heard not on the shore ; 
 
 Returning when the moon twined her chaste rays 
 
 O'er the white billows breaking on the sand, 
 
 With not a single fish for all liis pains, 
 
 To creep into hiis shed, distressed, and sad ; 
 
 Emptied his sorrows in the widow's ear, 
 
 And felt his wants abundantly supphed. 
 
 The failing farmer in the western vales, 
 
 Cra\ing her bounty, drank it hke a stream 
 
 Of living waters, healing greedy woe ; 
 
 The toiling artisan who sighed for help. 
 
 Found help in her, when other helpers failed ; 
 
 The pale mechanic and the delving hind, 
 
 The heart-cnished struggler sigliing on through clouds. 
 
 The weeping widow and the orphan slim, 
 
 All found in her an angel of relief. 
 
 In the sick chamber, and the home of pain, 
 
 She sat, hke Love, with honey on her hps, 
 
 Dispensing bounty with a smile of joy. 
 
 Like Him, who left the glory of the heavens 
 
 And stooped to suffering manhood, walking o'er 
 
 This woful world with heahng in His heart. 
 
 Both for the bodies and the souls of men; 
 
 So Widow Prudence passed her pilgi-image : 
 Her goodness, like an odom- wafted far, 
 Had reached the honest miner ; and he took 
 His staff in hand to travel to her bower. 
 
 The morning light was wooing the green earth 
 To wake from shimber, when he kissed his babes, 
 And westward turned his face toward the hills, 
 Whose blue peaks caught the sunshine, while they 
 
 seemed 
 To roll him welcomes from their rocky tongues. 
 He walked along, conversing with his thoughts. 
 Which rose in mystic phases, many-hued ; 
 Now winged with hope, now blank with rayless doubt. 
 Thi'ough long, rude lanes he travelled, charmed with 
 
 birds, 
 That trilled sweet measures on the fresh free air ; 
 Or awed with Nature's wonders, mount and mam. 
 And forest full, and river rushing clear. 
 And height, where quiet slumbered, hid in moss ; 
 Or farm, or cottage, peering through the trees, 
 With apple-blossom laden ; and his soul 
 Discom-sed, meanwhile, in silent speech with God. 
 
 He reached the lady's residence, and told 
 
 His simple story, — how iii a dark mine 
 
 " Bad speed " pursued him ; though he laboured long, 
 
 And toiled with zest unchanging, nothing came ; 
 
 And now his goods were all distrained for rent, 
 
 Which would be sold at once, unless a fi-iend 
 
 Would lend him money to escape the blight. 
 
 'T was a great trouble which had touched his soul. 
 
 And so he prayed she'd help him. " Where's your 
 
 home ? " 
 Asked Mrs. Worth ; "pray tell me, — and yom- friends ? 
 For aught I know, you are a wicked man, 
 A drunkard or impostor ; tell me all." 
 
 " O, Madam, I am neither," he replied ; 
 
 " But what I say is honest, simple truth. 
 
 No bread is in my cupboard, and the cry 
 
 Of fainting hunger pierces through my fi-ame. 
 
 My neighbours know, but will not heed, my woe. 
 
 If you will kindly lend me this small sum, 
 
 I promise that, when four short months are flown, 
 
 I'll come and pay you, as I hope for heaven." 
 
 " How much do you requu-e ? " asked Widow Worth. 
 
 " Three guineas," said the miner ; " this would make 
 
 The world a glory and my life a joy." 
 
 Her heart, unused to anything but love. 
 
 Yielded to his entreaty : so she placed 
 
 The money in his hand, saying, meanwhile, 
 
 " Here, take it, though I never see it more." 
 
 And he, o'ercome with gratitude, retired. 
 
 Sobbing between his thanks, " I'll come again 
 
 In fom' short moons, and each bright guinea i)ay." 
 
 BOOK .SECOND. 
 
 CARN BREA. 
 
 / !|l r ow often hast thou fed my early Muse, 
 
 irrj[ Crag-heaped Carn Brea, when from my father's 
 
 (zky^ meads 
 
 I scanned thy front, mist-clad or clear, and deemed
 
 THE TWO LOVERS. 
 
 13 
 
 My mount and thee twin-sisters beautiful ! 
 
 One bright May morn, when violets were rare, 
 
 I tricked old Labour, and C(^uipped myself 
 
 Witli poots' baggage, pencil, sheet, and lyre. 
 
 And, walking o'er the moors, I tmui'd my face 
 
 Towards its summit shining in the dawn. 
 
 As 'twere an old bard welcoming the young. 
 
 I crossed the meadows, followed by our dog. 
 
 Who snuffed the air and barked among the flowers, 
 
 llight happy to be free ! The larks were up, 
 
 Singing among the cloudlets, and sweet song 
 
 Gushed fi-om a hundred hollows. In the fields 
 
 The cottagers were busy with thcii- spades. 
 
 And ploughs, and harrows ; and perhaps they thought 
 
 I was a crazy fellow wandering weird. 
 
 I reached the mountain's base, where an old man 
 
 And a young lad were cutting granite blocks. 
 
 Perchance to build a cottage of their own ; 
 
 And hard enough they worked. So on I went 
 
 To gain the summit of this famous earn, 
 
 Which looked so distant fi-om my father's door, 
 
 That oft in childhood I have thought the sun 
 
 Stopped on the rocks and started forth again, 
 
 llenewed by resting on its ridgy brow ; 
 
 And in my dreams within my own dear bower 
 
 I oft believed, if I could wander there, 
 
 I should be sure to see great Phoebus' bed. 
 
 And mark the door from whence the moon came out, 
 
 And view the' uncovered stars. O, childhood, fair 
 
 Ai-t thou, and innocent as fair, and sweet 
 
 As breeze-blown odom's from the banks of broom. 
 
 And fleet as sweet, — gone like an uncaged bird. 
 
 I gain'd the hill-top, saw its boulders bare. 
 
 Some worn by time, some carved by Diaud art, 
 
 Where oft perhaps the painted Briton prayed 
 
 To Tlior and Woden, offering human blood. 
 
 When moral darkness filled our blessed isle. 
 
 Thank God, the light has come, the living light. 
 
 Chasing the shadows, gilding house and hall, 
 
 And guiiling Albion in the way of truth. 
 
 Even then, boy as I was, I learned to hst, 
 
 Beside the banks and rocks and hedges low, 
 
 For any tones of Nature's i^oetry 
 
 Sti-a;^'ing upon the zephyr ; and methought 
 
 I heard the tramp of feet along the down. 
 
 And saw, as in a mirror, bearded chiefs. 
 
 With battle-bows, and sldns about their loins, 
 
 And paint upon then' cheeks, calling aloud 
 
 On gods which having eyes could never see. 
 
 And ears could never hear ; and such a sound 
 
 Hushed from the rocks, that, snatching up my lyre, 
 
 I hastened fi'om the hill, and at its foot 
 
 Stopped for a moment, gazing up its side, 
 
 To pluck some flowers with white-and-yellow leaves, 
 
 Which I bore home, calling my brothers round, 
 
 And httle sister, giving them the whole. 
 
 They seemed to wonder where such flowers could grow. 
 
 And begged mo I would tell them. Sitting down 
 
 On a gi-een hillock 'neatli our hawthorn tree, 
 
 I pointed to the mountain far away, 
 
 And told them that its rifts were covered o'er 
 
 With these dear beings pale with gentleness. 
 
 They shouted in their mirth, " Brother has been 
 
 Up in the sky, and phxcked those pretty flowers. 
 
 And brought them to us." So they tripped about, 
 
 Well-pleased to have my nosegay for a toy. 
 
 I had been on the mount, and breathed its au', 
 
 Bathed in its gloiy, worshipped in its glow. 
 
 Clambered its stau-s, 1)eheld its chambers huge. 
 
 Paused by the quoit, and listened by the cave, 
 
 Harped on its wild gorseddau,''- light-entln-oned, 
 
 And the rock-basins, stained with mysteries ; 
 
 Eead cantos on the castle, where each ledge 
 
 Is a rude poem from the pen of Time ; 
 
 And felt repaid, and then paid o'er again. 
 
 For my rough climbing ; wishing, too, that May 
 
 Would reign without a rival. Walking-back, 
 
 I travelled on, through song fi'om bird and stream, 
 
 The lark in air, the cuckoo on the bough. 
 
 And, meeting with a cottager, I caught 
 
 The following echoes struggling through the broom. 
 
 The speaker was a pilgiim, and he wore 
 A cloak of beaver, streaming to the grass. 
 His eyes were black and bright, and on his brow 
 There was a diguitj" by thought impressed ; 
 And this the import of his story strange : — 
 
 " The moon was resting on a broken cloud. 
 
 Bright as an angel, when, beside that rock 
 
 Deep-channelled yonder, two fond lovers sat 
 
 Reading each other's faces. As they gazed. 
 
 Tears fell, and sighs were uttered, which the dark 
 
 Eevealed not, as their sweet lips met again, 
 
 And kissed like streamlets. Each far star appeared 
 
 A bm-ning seraph with a harp of joy. 
 
 And the old world was Eden. O'er the reeds 
 
 Glanced white-robed -visions, and the swelling wind 
 
 Wafted then- names upon it. From her bower, 
 
 O'erarched with ivy, Hajjpiness looked forth. 
 
 And sang her tenderest vesper, while the heath, 
 
 Brovra in its beauty, wooed bright angel-feet. 
 
 And shook with solemn breathings. Thus they sat, 
 
 Embowered with blossoms from the tree of bUss. 
 
 How beautiful the dawning of young love, 
 
 Gilt with the glory of the sun of hope. 
 
 Fresh, Eden-odoured ! On the momitain sides, 
 
 In the still vales and hamlets, rustic-robed. 
 
 And clover farms, she hngers, clad in white, 
 
 Amid the ruins of this blighted ball. 
 
 " Like a fair flower had then.' afi"ection grown 
 In the dear dingles of theii" fatherland. 
 Sweet-scenting every action ; first the bud, 
 And then the bloom, and then the perfect rose, 
 Eipe for the white-robed angel. When she walked 
 In gentle girlhood through the peat-hedged meads. 
 To milk the cows beneath the floweiy thorn, 
 He whistled at the gate, and saw her home. 
 And if at eye she took her watei-pots. 
 To fill them at the fountain, there was he, 
 Conversing by her side, and aiding her 
 To cross the narrow stiles with gi'auite steps, 
 Bearing her pitchers even to the door. 
 And when she rode fi'om market, holding fast 
 The basket on her lap, he strove to steal 
 Across the lane, with business on his brow, 
 Or true or false, he cared not, so he caught 
 A smile from her to gladden all his care. 
 And one May eve he washed and combed his curls. 
 And brushed liis best coat lustily, and took 
 Some wild flowers in his hand, which he had plucked, 
 * Judymeut-seat of the Druids.
 
 14 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 Searchins: tlie moorlaucl for tliem when the sxin 
 
 Showered his warm kisses ou the sheltered bauks, 
 
 Or hedges tipped with gi-een, and bent his steps 
 
 Towards her dwelhng, lighted up with love. 
 
 For she was ill, and those sweet oft'eriugs pale 
 
 Were for his Laui*a, beautiful in gloom, — 
 
 Daisies and blue-bells, buttercups and moss, 
 
 And primi'oses, with sonnets on then- leaves. 
 
 The wakening world looked like a petted bard 
 
 Shining in fresh-won lam'el, and the sky, 
 
 Blue in its brightness, seemed the gate of heaven. 
 
 He touched the latch, it rose, and soon the door 
 
 Turned on its hinges, and he found himself, 
 
 For the first time, sitting beside his love 
 
 In her own home. They blushed and blushed again; 
 
 And then the father spoke, the mother too ; 
 
 And the youth felt his tremor wane away, 
 
 Even as the wind falls on a summer eve. 
 
 And leave him chainless. In the porch she came 
 
 At parting, sweetly bidding him good night. 
 
 Thus step by step the Graces led them on. 
 
 " Summer was past, and in the leafless wood 
 Autumn laj' down to die. Deep mourning tones 
 Ai-ose from Nature, and the sky wept tears 
 Upon the sounding earth, as, one gray eve, 
 They climbed the old hill with elastic tread, 
 And, sitting ou a moss-bank, hand in hand. 
 Conversed in whispers. On her path the moon 
 Walked robed in silver, and the white rocks looked 
 Like saints assembled on the hills of heaven. 
 He spoke dehghted ; as he spoke, love words 
 Came thi'onging on him, till his speech surprised 
 The speaker, and the gentle listener smiled ; 
 Then bent her head, even as the lily bows 
 "V\lien the sun blushed too deeply on its face. 
 ' How happy must we be when yon small home 
 Among the rushes shall be wholly ours ; 
 And we dwell there hke honeysuckles dwell 
 In the green covert, shedding sweet for sweet ! 
 How will we tend the crocus, how the rose. 
 And how the woodbine chmbing to the thatch ! 
 How beautiful shaU be our walks at eve, 
 Twilight descending, and the day's toil done ! 
 And when the Sabbath, like a traveller, comes 
 From the peace-shore, with hymns upon its harji, 
 And prayers and praises flowing from its tongue, 
 How will our hearts rejoice beneath the vine 
 Of holy Israel, rich with clustering love ! 
 And should the crow of baby-ones be heard, 
 And baby-feet patter along the floor. 
 And baby-music shiver by the hearth, 
 How wiU we love them for the Giver's sake, 
 And dedicate our rose-buds to the Lord ! 
 Speak, speak, my angel, shall it not be so ? ' 
 
 " He listened, and the silence deeper grew ; 
 The wild bird screamed among the naked blocks. 
 The wind came rusthng, and deep shadows stalked 
 Along the hill-side, whispers filled the ail' 
 Mysterious, weird-like. ' Answer me, my love, 
 My light, my Ufe, my summer in the cold, 
 My fountain in the desert, answer me. 
 Shall not our love grow stronger year by year ? ' 
 StiU no reply, but silence deep as death. 
 Gently he touched her hand, — it fell hke stone. 
 Then, stooping down, he looked into her face. 
 
 Her eyes were fireless, and the roses fled. 
 
 He kissed her lips ; but they were cold as rock. 
 
 A shudder shook him, all his pulses beat, 
 
 And coals seemed heaped upon his biu'ning brain ; 
 
 Life's courses almost stopped, as with a shriek 
 
 Her name rushed fi-om him, echoing o'er the wild. 
 
 He knelt and wailed, then rose, and cried again, 
 
 Ga7.ed on her face, and wondered in her eyes, 
 
 Entreated her to whisper but a word, 
 
 Or smile upon liim ; but she stiller lay. 
 
 And colder grew, and waxed more pale, until 
 
 The truth hissed through him, that the foe had 
 
 quenched 
 An arrow in her heart, and she was dead. 
 Yes, she was dead ! In Love's enchanted bower 
 Blissful she lay, when death came, like a breeze 
 Laden with wings, and lulled her into rest. 
 Her pillow was the moss, her couch the fern. 
 Her canopy the star-bespangled blue. 
 Her curtains Cynthia's tissues, and the rays 
 Which play about the blessed in their dreams 
 Her free attendants. So she gently died, 
 As dies the moonlight on a harvest morn ; 
 And angels came and carried her to heaven. 
 
 " Darkness o'ercame liim, harp and tabor ceased ; 
 
 The glory of the old mount waned away ; 
 
 The face of man grew strange. He sought the fields, 
 
 And sounding wilds, and caverns cloaked with shade. 
 
 And moors with marshes mournful, till his haii- 
 
 Grew as the shaggy common, and his form 
 
 Spare as the lonely alder. Boy, and girl. 
 
 And timid matron, shunned him in their walk. 
 
 And village gossip gave him twihght fame ; 
 
 And one clear evening, when the moon was full. 
 
 Two harvesters retm'uing from the meads, 
 
 Beheld him sitting on his favourite bank 
 
 Where Laura's spirit left her. He appeared 
 
 Like one conversing with some mystic shape, 
 
 Or far-off brightness. Ou his head he wore 
 
 A hat of oaten straw, and in his hand 
 
 He held an oaken staff, rough-knotted round, 
 
 And he was gazing eastward. Days, and months, 
 
 And heavy years lagged by, with sorrow fraught ; 
 
 Yet he was seen not, and retiu-ned no more." 
 
 The peasant vdped his brow, and, sobbing, said, 
 
 " An aged man was sitting by his door 
 
 One quiet evening, listening to the sounds 
 
 That rose from Nature, and a tale he told 
 
 Of war and want, that smote the listener's ear. 
 
 Two sons had he, his comfort and his stay, 
 
 His all in life ; he had no kin besides ; 
 
 For they had ripened quickly, and lay lopped 
 
 Beneath the reaper's sickle. Years passed by, 
 
 And Peace slept in their dwelling, till, one morn, 
 
 The brasen trumpet brayed among the hills. 
 
 And forth they riished to battle. What they saw, 
 
 And what they heard, and what they suffered there. 
 
 Can hardly be imagined : — sounds that made 
 
 The hill-sides tremble, and the stately jiines 
 
 To wag then- weeping tops ; hoarse howls that drove 
 
 The timid beast beyond its trodden lines. 
 
 The wild bu-d from its covert ; dying groans 
 
 Upon the pulses of the laden breeze, 
 
 As if had dawned the dreaded day of doom';
 
 THE WASTE OF WAR. 
 
 16 
 
 The crasli of arms, the roav of musketry, 
 
 The thunder of the cannon, at whose souncT 
 
 The preat rocks seemed to bellow, and the lioijjhts, 
 
 Studded with tongues, appeared one awful clang ; 
 
 The rush of armies, as their spear-pomts met, 
 
 Hustled and wavered like the black north wind 
 
 Among the forest branches ; towns on fire 
 
 And cities roaring in one horrid blaze ; 
 
 The widow murdered, and the fatherless 
 
 Stabbed, shriekingfor their parents : greybeards felled 
 
 At their own table, the sharp-pointed steel 
 
 Pinning their stained locks to the social board ; 
 
 Men dying in the darkness, wailing loud 
 
 For distant fiiends, some with torn scalps, and some 
 
 Witli limbs hewn like a tree ; some hot for thirst. 
 
 With tongues ci'acked and glazed eyes, and some 
 
 Bleeding away in quiet, gleams of home 
 
 And face familiar passing through the mind ; 
 
 Some uttering prayers a mother's love had taught, 
 
 And some with curses on their closing lii^s ; 
 
 Some starving in the biishes, peeled with sliells 
 
 That blazed and crashed, and left them there to die, 
 
 Forgotten by their fellows, who had wheeled 
 
 As the foe drifted, maddened with the charge, 
 
 Lorn now of reason, staring at the stars. 
 
 "A young man by a river stained with blood. 
 
 His school-gift Bible lying at liis side, 
 
 With clotted hair, and jaw-bone rooted off, 
 
 Lay gazing at a locket. 'Twas the shade 
 
 Of one who loved him, where the roses twine 
 
 About her father's cottage. Death had set 
 
 His impress on his features, and full soon 
 
 He crossed the river, and his name was lost. 
 
 A father and his four sous in a trench 
 
 Lay heaped together, marked with many a scar, 
 
 Down-toppled from a rampart. They had fought 
 
 In noise and blood, till, overcome at last 
 
 By pressing thousands, they were speared, and shot. 
 
 And hacked, and sabred, and then wildly tossed 
 
 Upon each other, spear-points broken off. 
 
 Out-gushing from their bodies, and their limbs 
 
 Shattered or lopped ; — in a green vale beyond 
 
 Leaving a mother childless and a wife 
 
 In lonely widowhood and endless tears. 
 
 The old man's boys beheld them lying there, 
 
 The warm blood mingling as it faintly flowed, 
 
 And penned a letter to liim. Hunger sharp 
 
 Was then their portion, watching and fatigue. 
 
 They begged his prayers, and hoped that heaven at last 
 
 Would l)e their meeting-place. They wrote no more. 
 
 In a few days a fearful fever came 
 
 And hurried them away, and in one grave 
 
 They both were tumljled, without board or shro;ul. 
 
 On a lone prauie where the wild beast roars. 
 
 " The tiding reached him, and his hau* turned grey, 
 
 Turned in a single niglit, and the blow bent 
 
 His body, even as the slim reed bends 
 
 When the cold tempest mutters. Tlien, like Jub, 
 
 He stooped sultmissive, asldug for His love 
 
 Who doeth all things well, who gives all good. 
 
 And for oiu" profit taketh it away. 
 
 And oft at eve, when murmurs fill the vale, 
 
 And loiter up the mountain, when the air 
 
 Is faint with softness, and the purple hills 
 
 Seem thronged with angels, many a villager 
 
 Is startled in his cabin as he sings 
 His war-dirge to the moaning of the main. 
 Tlie traveller, passing by his rushy home, 
 Beholds him at his door, oft scattering crumbs 
 To feed the sparrows, or conversing low 
 Witli little redbreast on the hawthorn tree. 
 Straining his eyes beyond the distant hiUs 
 As if he saw the gateway into rest." 
 
 More, more of Thee, my Saviour- : though the winds 
 
 Wail, and the waves rise higher than tlie land; 
 
 Tliough poverty come rushing like a blast. 
 
 Or persecution meet me on my way, 
 
 Or pain or weakness ; Saviour, more of Thee ! 
 
 Even like the mariner upon the plank. 
 
 Whose bark has foundered and whose mates are 
 
 drowned, 
 Not heeding the bright stars above Ms head, 
 Or the full moon of silver, but whose eyes 
 Ai-e rivetted on the approaching ship. 
 Steering to save him, so would I behold 
 The Man of Sorrows crucified for me. 
 More, more of Thee, my Saviour, when the morn 
 Breaks o'er the mountains, or hot noontide pants 
 Along the dingles, or pale Evening sits 
 Singing her vespers by her glow-worm lamp, — 
 More, more of Thee, my Savioiu- ! Though I learn 
 But little of the world and the world's ways, 
 And men pass by me in then* rush for fame. 
 And friends forsake, leaving me lone to pine 
 Where leafless branches rustle, and the ice 
 Of cold neglect hangs on the withered spray, — 
 More, more of Thee, my Saviom- ! Though the bars 
 Of some dark dwelhng shut me fi'om the light, 
 And pains press on my limbs, and I sit there, 
 An utter outcast, gnawing a dry crust. 
 And sipping stagnant waters, while the hands 
 Of Want and Woe pluck off the wasted hau-, — 
 More, more of Thee, my Saviour ! Seas are crossed, 
 Rude lands are traversed, for the dust of wealth. 
 Bright blades are bared, red armies meet in strife, 
 Dark plots are laid, and, 0, what blood is shed I 
 Men ponder night and day, and day and night. 
 How they may fill their coffers. " Give me gold, 
 
 give me gold," cry out the multitude. 
 Pursuing gain in paths all dark with gloom. 
 
 1 sigh not for earth's treasiu'es. As Thou wilt. 
 Thou great Disposer, give or take away. 
 ]\Iore, more of Thee, my Saviom- ! If I walk 
 Through thorns and briers, or o'er beds of moss 
 Where Plenty spreads her table ; if my path 
 
 Is rough wdth trial, or all smooth with joy ; 
 If Favom.- sing my praises in her poems. 
 Or Calumny deface the precious page ; 
 Whatever be my lot, where'er my place. 
 If high or low, or be it rich or poor. 
 In cloud or light, in sunshine or in shade, — 
 jMore, more of Thee, my Saviour, till I gaze 
 Upon Thy glory in the laud of love ! 
 
 How many mercies meet me on my way, 
 Making my life delightful ! Loving friends, 
 Like sunlight in the darkness, wife and home. 
 And little children running at my call. 
 Climbing my knees, and mingling in my joys. 
 And sometimes sliaring in jnj draught of woe. 
 blessed Saviour, thank Thee for the buds
 
 IG 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 Ai-ound my table, lovelier than the gi-een 
 Which robes the valleys redolent with rills. 
 And when I see the pining Uttle one, 
 In other households, or the empty chau- 
 And playthings left in quiet ; when I mark 
 The scalding tear upon the mother's face, 
 From mention of her darling whom the grave 
 Holds in the darkness ; when I sometunes hear 
 The church-bells toll among the solemn trees 
 For childhood in its gi-eeuness ; words of praise 
 Press to my lips, and gush up fi-om my soul. 
 For those thy love preserseth, blooming fair ,-. • 
 In my home -garden by the blue sea-shore, 
 The breeze of health flowing among the leaves 
 Pencilled with hnes of beauty, yielding me 
 An everlasting summer. O what joy 
 To meet them at the hearth when evening comes. 
 Each like a ringing poem, and then- eyes 
 Gleaming with glances of a brighter day ! 
 And when they sit around the fi-ugal board, 
 Enjoying what om- Father has bestowed. 
 My cup of bhss uprises to the biim, 
 Bubbles and overflows, inspu'ing strains. 
 That echo only in the home of love. 
 
 Once more I shake me from duU worldly thoughts 
 
 That twine into my being, and look up 
 
 "VHiere dweUs the' Incarnate pleading for a world, 
 
 Praising Thy name, Jesus. Have I not 
 
 Urmumbered blessings ever at my side. 
 
 Both when I wake and when I rest in sleep, 
 
 ■\\Tiich others know not, and do not enjoy ? 
 
 Troubles I have, in common with my kin, 
 
 And sorrow upon soitow, which all feel 
 
 Whilst journeying homeward through a land of foes. 
 
 But he who saw the humble fishermen. 
 
 On the wild bfllows near Bethsaida, 
 
 Toiling in rowing, and who walked the waste 
 
 Of sm-ging water with majestic step, 
 
 Proving His Godhead, quelling their hot fears. 
 
 And speaking down the tumult of the stonn. 
 
 So that the -ninds fell powerless, and the blast 
 
 Shattered its trumpet, hmrying tlu-ough the void. 
 
 Sees me a toiling rower on the sea 
 
 Of dark distress, tossed with the fretful waves ; 
 
 And in His owti good time will sm-ely corns 
 
 And wliisper, " It is I ; be not afi-aid ;" 
 
 Guiding my vessel to the port of peace. 
 
 Our horsemen linger by the widow's fire, 
 
 "\Miere we may meet at the next chapter's close. 
 
 In fields of stor^-, fresh from fatherland. 
 
 We left om- miner by the lady's lodge. 
 
 Blessing and blest, within his heart a joy 
 
 Tliat gladdened eveiy object, driving far 
 
 The clouds of gloom which hung above his head, 
 
 Filling with light the glowing firmament. 
 
 The trees and dancing flowers, as forth he walked 
 
 Into the glory of the outer world. 
 
 BOOK THIRD. 
 
 FIRESIDE STORIES, 
 
 ©i 
 
 xS^ 
 
 LT\[yr UFFLE thy chords, my harp,— England's dear 
 lYI Queen 
 
 >.±r-' Is now a widow, clad in vridow's weeds. 
 Her heart is bleeding, and a nation mourns. 
 Commerce was rife, the hum of merchandise 
 Eose from the earth, old ocean's argosies 
 Swept shoreward, and the noisy tongue of Time 
 Told of a world in action, when disease 
 Flushed like a sable wamor in the dark. 
 And forced his spu-it fi-om him. The brave Pruace 
 Lay in the Royal castle, hke a tree 
 Torn up in simuner by the fierce monsoon. 
 In all its leaves apparelled, and a cry 
 Of mortal anguish shuddered o'er the globe. 
 Music sat wounded at her instrument. 
 With hot drops running o'er the silent wires. 
 Painting let fall her pencil with dim eyes. 
 And one sad ^-ision on the canvass lowered. _ 
 Poetry, with frozen thought, straggUug for birth, 
 Ean o'er wild walks m blank bewilderment. 
 Amazement seized the senator, and wi-apped 
 His utterances in mom-ning; and a wail 
 Rose fi-om unnumbered hearts, heavy with grief. 
 O wondrous Prince ! drinking the wine of Peace, 
 And dying in her arms, with vest unsoiled. 
 And name untarnished, lea^mlg love behind. 
 O, pray we for our country and our Queen, 
 That red-robed War may never stain our shores. 
 That strength be given her in this hour of need. 
 And all the scions round the Royal board. 
 To bear this dispensation which rolled by. 
 Leaving thick blackness on its midnight trail. 
 The cup is di'uuk, om- widowed Sovereign walks 
 Without her partner. We will hope her heart, 
 Soft as the sunshine on the morning flower, 
 WiU feel yet more for poverty and woe. 
 The widow and the orphan. Thus we pray, 
 " Prince of princes, save our dearest Queen." 
 
 Leave the light boat upon the pebbly strand. 
 The shore is green with verdure, and the leaves 
 Dip down into the waters : mtu-mm-iug streams. 
 And singing birds, and echoes from the dells, 
 And cottages like fabrics of the fays. 
 And flowers as numerous as the hghts of heaven, 
 And many-colom-ed as the bow of truth. 
 Make it a royal haunt where princely feet 
 Brush the bright mosses of a favoured isle. 
 Turn down you lane, loved for its crookedness. 
 Where bats wheel in the twilight, and the vow 
 Of early lovers trembles on the air : 
 And on the green hill's side behold a cot. 
 Guarded by angels. Softly walk ye now, 
 Nor let your gai-ments rustle as ye pass 
 The woodbined window. In that cottage home 
 An old man hes afflicted on his bed. 
 And by his side a lady in dark weeds 
 Sits reading from the Bible. Gentle words 
 Float on the peasant's ear, and visions bnght 
 Pass and repass before him, — battlements 
 Gilt with the sheen of harpers gloi-y-clad,
 
 Tif/-; QUEEN AND THE BIBLE. 
 
 17 
 
 And valleys trod by seraphs, whose white Avings 
 
 Miu-mur delicious music ; streets of gold, 
 
 And cities turreted with fadeless light ; 
 
 Flowers smiling sweetly in the upper sphere. 
 
 Where friends departed mingle ; and he longs 
 
 To shake life's burden off and be at rest. 
 
 And then a silent prayer ascends on high, 
 
 That God would bless the lady, whose dark weeds 
 
 Hang mournfully about her. Blush, man 
 
 Denying truth, for this is England's Queen. 
 
 O happy nation, blest with such a head ! 
 
 Ten thousand voices, Hke the rush of waves, 
 
 Else from the hills, and echo from the vales. 
 
 And thunder fiom the waters, " Saviour God, 
 
 O save our Queen, save, save our dearest Queen ! " 
 
 How are we tossed and drifted ! Each high tide 
 Drags back our hopes into the black abyss. 
 And leaves us floundering on the shore of change. 
 Three pleasant homes, since busy life began. 
 Have closed then- doors upon me, and I've gone, 
 Leaving their feathers dewy with my tears. 
 My first was reed-s\irrouuded and reed-roofed, 
 A cottage on the crag where fi-ee fern-fays 
 And moorland faij'ies danced among the broom. 
 And music trilled o'er Druid-trodden thyme. 
 From bank and boulder, bush and bending brake. 
 Or spanned the welkin like a choir of chords. 
 Silence and Peace walked round it arm in arm. 
 And Poesy sang beneath its shaven eaves. 
 Or warbled by the hearth-stone, and the lore 
 Of lofty legends hngered in its light. 
 
 blessed home, next to my home in heaven ! 
 With sunlight covered, when all else is gloom : 
 
 1 loved thee as a bridegi-oom his young bride. 
 And twined thy buds around my youthful harp. 
 I roamed among thy fissures, like a thought 
 From the hot brain of some fame-foolish bard. 
 I heard within thy echoes trumpet-tongnes. 
 Blown by the blast, and read upon thy rocks 
 Immortal cantos, chronicled by Time, 
 
 And in the twili<4it of the summer eve 
 Visions descried, — great hosts of bearded seers, 
 Or towers far distant on which harpers stood, 
 Or mountains crested with the sheen of heaven ; 
 And travelling through thy thickets, verse-imbued, 
 "WTiispers have floated round me, heard by those 
 Whose lives have lengthened in the love of song. 
 Sweet home, ail-precious, through revolving years ! 
 I turn my thought toward thy rude-built walls, 
 Now prostrate on the common, hke the tar 
 Rowing to land, not seen for many moons. 
 Love drew me from thee with a thread of gold ; 
 But evermore along life's bustling track 
 My spirit meets thee Like a saint from bliss. 
 
 Among the mine-pits was my second hoine. 
 Here gi-ew our earliest flower, still opening fair. 
 In childhood's garden, like a plant fi-om heaven. 
 Until the first dear word tripped from her tongue, 
 Filling our hearts with rapture, and we gazed 
 Into the futm-e, beautiful with hope. 
 Here, too, my harp gave pleasui'e deep and still, 
 Although the hand of hard, incessant Toil 
 Pressed on my hmbs hke metal, and my nerves 
 Tingled with weakness like a crazy chord. 
 My third was 'mid the ruplies I'v tlio rill, 
 
 Babbhng its beauty to the tall blue-bells. 
 
 Which kissed its waters as they sparkled by. 
 
 'Twas a small house, with pleasant garden-ground, 
 
 Built for myself. My own hands raised the stone 
 
 From an adjoining quarry, and our croft 
 
 Yielded me granite, which I split and brought. 
 
 And I had thought to pass my life away 
 
 In its seclusion, till the call arrived 
 
 To leave the shadow for theshadeless shore. 
 
 But, no; it must not be. One autumn mm-n. 
 
 We started up, and left it in the mist 
 
 Which gathered thick between our eyes and it, 
 
 And by the sea-shore with our babes we came. 
 
 Not all. There is a grave beneath the trees. 
 
 Small, daisy-covered, where the glow-worms shine, 
 
 Andgi-een grass grows, and freedom's favourites sing; 
 
 And here one slumbers hke a rose entombed. 
 
 But fifty moons have scarcely come and gone, 
 
 Ere we must leave again, and sorrowing go 
 
 To seek elsewhere a humble dwelling-place. 
 
 But God will surely guide us on our way. 
 
 With my dear wife and loving little ones. 
 
 And harp, and book, and friendly brother-bards, 
 
 A hovel were a home, with hollow walls 
 
 And rended roof wind-swept upon a rock. 
 
 On Cornwall's moors, or 'mid the Alpine snows, 
 
 Sun-streaked with beauty from the isle of love. 
 
 These changes, treading on each other's heels. 
 
 Will stu'ely wean us fi'om this world of woe. 
 
 And bind om- spirits to the home of heaven. 
 
 Oiu- miner left the town, as if a weight 
 
 Was severed from his person. All things changed. 
 
 A grandeiu- filled the universe, and glowed 
 
 Above the highest hill-tops, streaming round 
 
 The gladdened welkin like a zone of gold. 
 
 Sometimes he cried, sometimes he laughed, for joy. 
 
 He travelled on his way, as through a gi-ove 
 
 Of beauteous blossoms painted by the bard. 
 
 The flowers, and trees, and sparkling w'aters smiled. 
 
 With other faces fairer and more dear ; 
 
 And every man and country bairn he met 
 
 Seemed far more friendly than they were before. 
 
 His wife and dear ones rose before his view. 
 
 Wooing his feet like angels, and his eyes 
 
 Beheld them imaged wheresoe'er he turned. 
 
 Elastic was his step, his song all flame, 
 
 And warm thanksgivings rushed up from his soul. 
 
 The sounds of Nature altered ; voice of bird, 
 
 And running brook, and wonder-working wind. 
 
 And humming insect steering o'er the down, 
 
 And ploughboj'' whistling on the sloping lea, 
 
 Were far more musical than heretofore. 
 
 As suddenly as thoughts troop through the brain 
 
 The old dark AVorld had put his Aviinkles off, 
 
 Enamelled with the rosy streaks of j'outh. 
 
 So have I often felt when pay-days came. 
 
 With little hope for that which I requu-ed 
 
 To pui'chase blessings for my famih', 
 
 Denied me, though I labom-ed hard and long: 
 
 If but an unexpected trifle dropped 
 
 Into my pocket, earth was dark no more, 
 
 And, hastening home to kiss my httle ones, 
 
 I felt as hapi^y as a nation's king. 
 
 Eeturn we to the cottage, where the wife 
 And loving mother w^aited weai-ily.
 
 18 
 
 WAYSIDE PIC TUBES. 
 
 The children oft had started in their sleep, 
 
 And uttered sobs of anguish ; now awake, 
 
 They cried for food ; — nor did they cry in vain. 
 
 A neighboui" poor, whose husband was a hind. 
 
 Broke her brown loaf in two, and brought them half, 
 
 Which, with a jug of milk, refi-eshed them all, 
 
 And seemed like manna to their hungry lips. 
 
 But as the day declined, and on the hills 
 
 Huge shadows rested, they ■with tears inquii'ed, 
 
 *' Is father coming ? "Why is he so long ? 
 
 Wherefore is evening here, and he away ? 
 
 "We have been looking through our window-square 
 
 For long, long hom-s, and yet he does not come. 
 
 "Why does he tarry when we feel such pains 
 
 Shooting through eveiy artery like a fiji'e ? 
 
 You told us that a lady of the west, 
 
 "Whose soul was softer than the multitude, 
 
 "^^ould sm-elj' send yom* hungry ones relief. 
 
 Haste, mother, to the corner of the road. 
 
 And see if father's coming." Then she took 
 
 Her faded cloak and bonnet, and crept up 
 
 The narrow path, with thistles overgrown, 
 
 "WTiere stood the waymark with its stony hands, 
 
 Pointing along the comnaon ; but she saw 
 
 No husband through the halo of her tears. 
 
 The moon was rising, and the wild bird slept 
 
 In the still thicket, when he reached his home. 
 
 And dandled baby once more on his knee. 
 
 His children gathered round him, glad to hear 
 
 Of that day's travel, glad to grasp and eat 
 
 The sweetest bread that ever strengthened life. 
 
 He watched them with a heart from whence a stream 
 
 Of waters issued, bursting from his eyes. 
 
 '* Could you have seen us," the pale widow said, 
 
 " KneeUng together in our Httle room, 
 
 And heard my husband's earnest prayer of praise 
 
 For mercies countless as the gi-ains of sand, 
 
 Or drops of dew upon the locks of Morn, 
 
 You surely would have cause to weep anew. 
 
 But darker visions crowd upon my sense. 
 
 Beings of blackness, whose mysterious shapes 
 
 Hid for awhile the simlight from my soul." 
 
 She paused amid her sobbings, which burst fortli, 
 Stronger and stronger, as her tale unrolled, 
 "With sorrow-streaks along each wetted page, 
 Like winds that whistle ere they woimd the woi-ld. 
 Then spoke the horsemen, wondering by the lire. 
 The first, with forehead bold and quiet eye. 
 Peered tlirough the Gothic casement, uttering luud, 
 " How the great mountain like a rocky king 
 Stands silent in the tempest ! Not a gust 
 With water laden, rushing with fierce front 
 Against his temples, but he shakes it off. 
 Like filmy atoms from an insect's wing. 
 The thunder roars upon his rockj' head, 
 Echoing from cave to cave, and every crag, 
 Carved by the Druid in the olden time, 
 Seems like a fiery pillar, as the flames 
 Leap from the clouds, and lash their knotty sides. 
 He, awful in his calmness, shakes his locks, 
 And gazes up into the solemn sky, 
 As if a strain of music shook the air. 
 wondrous mountain, 'neath thy ribs of rock 
 Lie beds of precious mineral, which, when Time 
 With tardy feet hath crept through other years, 
 
 Shall cheer the seeker with their shining store. 
 
 Rude ridge of boulders, cam of polished crag ! 
 
 Eternal utterer of the Deity, 
 
 I muse within thy shadow, and look up, 
 
 As on the face of the Invisible. 
 
 I need no other monitor to show 
 
 The impress of Jehovah. Thou art full 
 
 Of the Eternal, and His voice is heard 
 
 Among the Druid rehcs of Cam Brea." 
 
 Then spoke the second rider, with a face 
 
 All summered over hke a July lake : 
 
 " There's not a sound vibrating from the chords 
 
 Of the hUl's harp but thunders of the Lord, 
 
 The mighty Maker of this beetUng dome. 
 
 Beside yon lodge, with lichen covered o'er. 
 
 Once stood a cottage, where an old man dwelt, 
 
 Grey as the granite round the castle's base. 
 
 He wore an ancient hat, and shaggy coat. 
 
 With buttons white as silver ; on his shoes 
 
 Were shining buckles, and where'er he went. 
 
 His curly dog would bear him company. 
 
 But on his face there was a settled gloom. 
 
 He was a mighty reader, and devoured 
 
 Books by the parcel, books of baser sort, 
 
 Shadowed with doubt, and doleful with despair. 
 
 The Bible he beheved not, never read 
 
 Except to cavil ; and the sun, and moon. 
 
 And silver stars, green earth and sounding sea. 
 
 Were on liis calendar as imps of chance. 
 
 He turned his forehead to the blushing sky. 
 
 And with his lips he uttered blasphemies, 
 
 And madly shouted, ' There's no God, no God ! ' 
 
 He vowed that heaven and hell were fables both. 
 
 And man would perish hke the roving kine ; 
 
 That all went down and rotted in the earth. 
 
 And there it ended. At the judgment day 
 
 He laughed, and wildly laughed at death, and said, 
 
 That when it came, he'd meet it without fear. 
 
 And go to sleep in quiet. Thus he grew 
 
 Yet hard and harder every passing hour. 
 
 Until his soul was crusted o'er with wrong. 
 
 And childhood fair and staff-supported age 
 
 Passed by him, whispering, 'That's the infidel.' 
 
 Poor hopeless outcast, blinded in a blaze 
 
 Of heaven's own glory gilding the great world ! 
 
 Open thine eyes, blank idiot, and behold 
 
 God in the meanest newt or noblest form. 
 
 " The morning sun illumed tbe castle's crest. 
 And shot his rays athwart the solemn steep, 
 As forth he wandered, listening to the lark, 
 Trilling his sonnets on the spu'es of light ; 
 When, minghng with his anthem, he o'erheard 
 A gentle carol trembhng through the dews ; 
 And, looking, he beheld a httle girl. 
 Now halfway up the mountain, climbing still 
 A narrow sheep-path, singing as slie rose, 
 ' I thank Thee, Father, that mine eyes behold 
 Another morning. All night long hast Thou 
 Been my protector, so that no rude thing 
 Came near my dwelling, sickness or alarm ; 
 And now Thy little lamb would come again, 
 gentle Shepherd, asking Thee to guide 
 My youthful feet into the way of life. 
 And when I die, O take me home to heaven.' 
 And every rock and topphng siony heap.
 
 THE MAIDEN'S PRAYER. 
 
 19 
 
 Ancl flower, and forn, and fnrzo-bnsh beautiful, 
 
 And matin breeze, sweet murmuring; o'er tlie down, 
 
 Seemed stranf,'ely eclioing, ' Take me home to heaven.' 
 
 Tliroufijh tlie fresh air, from myriad tongues unseen, 
 
 Floating on cloudlets or the zephyr's wing, 
 
 Or borne by birds across the mossy turf, 
 
 These words came rmging, ' Take me home to heaven.' 
 
 In his dark soul it sounded like a bell 
 
 With muffled cadence, ' Take me home to heaven.' 
 
 The old hill seemed to shout it, and on high 
 
 A shining seraph, sweeping through the dawn, 
 
 Chimed it upon his harp with golden strings. 
 
 He stood, as if with sudden sickness seized ; 
 
 His limbs were paralysed, a heavy weight 
 
 Was resting on his person, all his sins 
 
 Stood naked round him, while dread Tophet's flames 
 
 Seemed redly rising even at his feet. 
 
 He roared like one touched with the tongue of Fire. 
 
 ' There is a God. O yes, there is a God. 
 
 I feel it now, it burns through every vein. 
 
 That httle angel, climbing, with her prayer 
 
 Of simple sweetness, up those quiet heights. 
 
 Seems moi'e than mortal. God has used this child 
 
 To lead an aged sinner to Himself ; 
 
 So that the weak has overcome the strong. 
 
 Be merciful, Lord, be merciful. 
 
 I here renounce my wickedness and crime, 
 
 And fall upon Thy goodness : save, save, 
 
 Tlie vilest wretch that ever trod the ground.' 
 
 " Weeks crept away, with blackness on their wings. 
 
 And still he groaned, in agony untold ; 
 
 Till, one soft evening, as the sun went down, 
 
 A voice came murmuring through the bendingbroom, 
 
 ' I blot thy sins out, for the Saviour's sake ; * 
 
 And he was happy. So his latter hfe 
 
 Was full of faith and deeds of charity. 
 
 He bore the fi-uits of love to God and man. 
 
 His cm'se was tm'ned to prayer, liis sneer to praise, 
 
 And joy was beaming from his aged eyes ; 
 
 The winter of despair had left his soul, 
 
 And summer glory overflowed the void ; 
 
 He di'ank from clearest rills, and walked with God. 
 
 Dying at last, he entered into rest. 
 
 Leaving no scion to prolong his name ; 
 
 And soon his rude-built cottage walls decayed. 
 
 The roof fell in, and on a night of storm 
 
 It lay upon the highland in a heap, 
 
 And now the site is a smooth bed of moss. 
 
 'Tis thus we fall, and perish from life's page." 
 
 Then spoke the rider of poetic eye : 
 
 " To-day a tale came tear-hung to our home. 
 
 Filling our souls with sadness. Woe of woes. 
 
 Death on a door- step 'neath the frosty stars. 
 
 Not age down-drooping, but a green young girl, 
 
 Blackened and ])r<)ken in the porch of June. 
 
 She turned aside from virtue, and went down 
 
 The way of wi'oug, with poison-fruit o'erhmig, 
 
 Shpping at every step, until she fell 
 
 Where tears are shed not, and the heart is rock. 
 
 Behold her in a den of infamy, 
 
 Quaf&ng the cup of crime with front of fire. 
 
 Singing lewd songs, and uttering woful words. 
 
 In fluttering feathers, faded like herself, 
 
 The very queen of Satan's high-fumed coui't. 
 
 Too soon a change passed o'er her : she gi-ew old 
 
 licfore her summer, and the rose of youth 
 
 Died like^a blasted primrose on the moor. 
 
 Her lovers all departed, hope fell dead. 
 
 And tongues of torture shot through every vein. 
 
 She dared not look above : the frowning heavens 
 
 l*oured withering curses on her sinking soul. 
 
 She gazed around, and all her May-day friends 
 
 Had vanished, leaving her to writhe alone, 
 
 With full-eyed Hunger staring from his stand. 
 
 No ray of light gleamed in the cave of gloom. 
 
 The snow fell fast, the wintry winds were loose, 
 
 Rolling their white cars o'er the frozen hills. 
 
 Muffled in rags, she stole into the street, 
 
 And laid her down beside the rich man's gate. 
 
 Within were happy faces, pleasant cheer. 
 
 Great blazing fires, a sounding sea of song. 
 
 Beauty on cushions, mirth and sparkling wines. 
 
 Outside the door, in withering loneliness, 
 
 A dying wreck, with snow, and wailing wind, 
 
 And biting frost, her cruel ministers. 
 
 Thus beaten by the tempest's wing she lay, 
 
 Till from a chasm of the fearful gale 
 
 Death dropped and slew her. Still within went on 
 
 The feast and song, the wine and revelry ; 
 
 And Morning, struggling through her icy doors, 
 
 Eevealed a vision sad as sin can stain." 
 
 D '2 
 
 BOOK FOURTH. 
 
 FIRESIDE STORIES. 
 
 HAD been busy with a httle poem. 
 Making and mending, when I took my book, 
 And started up to walk into the fields, 
 gather inspiration from the flowers, 
 And happy bu-ds, and lyric-laden breeze ; 
 And, tm-ning round a corner by a stile, 
 I saw a blind man with his viohn, 
 Singing and playing to some villagers, 
 Led by a little gu'l of six years old. 
 Ruddy and beautiful, and thinly clad, 
 Who caroled cadence to her father's chime. 
 He wore a coat of bargain, and a hat 
 Long mocked by tempests and the pelting rain ; 
 A green eye-shade concealed liis sightless orbs, 
 And on his face the powder-gi-ains had left 
 The impress of their riot, pits and ruts 
 And fearful scars, with bottoms black and sides. 
 One hand was sphntered, half the fingers gone. 
 And the dried wrist, all blackened with the blast, 
 Seemed Hke a moving cinder of charred wood, 
 Guiding the bow across the warbling strings. 
 what a wreck he looked, a human wreck ! 
 And yet he sang and played so pleasantly,
 
 20 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES 
 
 As if lie were the happiest mau ahve. 
 
 I stood to Hsten, and the pity-drops 
 
 Came to my lids to hear those ringing strains, 
 
 Rising and swelling on the evening air. 
 
 If he were happy, blind and blackened so. 
 
 Half fed and wearj-, on whom wind and rain 
 
 And bitter cold povu-ed all theu" violence, 
 
 How should my song of gratitude arise 
 
 For mercies, numerous as the countless sands. 
 
 Strewn on my path, and clustering round my board 1 
 
 His little girl sang with him, and her eyes 
 
 Oft looked imploringly on those around. 
 
 'Twas a sad sight. Within a reedy shed, 
 
 On a wild height, six little ones were left, 
 
 "Wrapped up in woe, and wrung by wasting want, 
 
 Watched by a loving mother, woe-begone. 
 
 With scarce enough to keep them from the wt)rnis. 
 
 And day by day this pensive couple passed 
 
 From town to town, to sing for daily bread. 
 
 Not only for themselves, but those at home. 
 
 I gave the child a trifle, and passed on : 
 
 But through the rushes and among the ferns, 
 
 Beside the hedgerow and along the lane. 
 
 Over the pools and quivei'ing through the trees, 
 
 Then- touching ditty sounded, and I heard 
 
 The sharp shi-ill sluver of the viohn. 
 
 ye enjoying eyesight, when you gaze 
 
 Upon the beauties of this under-world. 
 
 On moon and stars, comets and wandering clouds. 
 
 That glow serenely in the upper sphere. 
 
 Think of the poor blind player, and relieve 
 
 The wandering- minstrel singing through the gloom. 
 
 His history is soon told. One Autumn morn, 
 He left his cot, and travelled to the mine ; 
 But not before he bent above the beds 
 Where slept his treasures, kissing every one. 
 He hastened down the ladders, and full soon 
 Was at his labour, boring the hard rock. 
 He placed a charge of powder in the hole, 
 FilUng it half-way up, and the top part 
 With a soft stone he had designed to fill, 
 Tamping it to the top. Alas, alas! 
 WTien beating down the second floor, a spark 
 Ignited the closed charge, and off it crashed, 
 Like a great peal of thunder, dashing him 
 Back several fathoms ; and when consciousness 
 Cajne, like a stranger, wondering at the change. 
 His eyesight had departed, and his limbs 
 Hung like the blasted branches of the beech. 
 Lashed with the Uvid lightning. If you ask 
 His first fresh thoughts as he lay gi'oaning there, 
 He'll tell you that his soul was uppermost. 
 And then his wife and children. Poor, poor mau 1 
 'Twas sad to see him, after weeks of pain. 
 And long, long months of anguish, borne in trast 
 And Christian meekness, sitting by his fire, 
 FeeUng the faces of his little ones. 
 And playing with their ringlets, telling th^m 
 That he should ne'er behold their eyes again, 
 Or gaze upon their beauty, but their hope 
 Must now be in the God who made the heavens. 
 And soon they should behold each other there. 
 Then, as his limbs grew strong enough to bear 
 His wasted body, and his children's cries 
 Rose loud for help, he took liis cottage-harp, 
 Which he had jn-actised when he was a boj^ 
 
 And with his little maiden wandered forth 
 Among the hamlets, singing for theu- bread ; 
 And day by day is heard the violin 
 Amid the mountains and upon the moors. 
 
 Then spoke the rider, twisting round his chair : 
 
 " 'Tis sad the havoc the gi'eatfoe hatli made. 
 
 Since first let loose to blight the wicked world. 
 
 Fire, sword, diseases, haggard pestilence. 
 
 Storm, earthquake, famine, with ten thousand ills, 
 
 Like whetted scythes, mow down the field of man. 
 
 I knew a farmer, who went step by step 
 
 O'er misery's steep, until his end came on, 
 
 As sudden as the warrior blade to blade. 
 
 Wine was his mocker, till it madly hurled 
 
 Him, blinded, from the earth before his Judge. 
 
 One market-day he left his injured wife 
 
 And gentle babes, and promised to return 
 
 When evening shadows fell upon the flower. 
 
 But eve approached, a summer eve and still. 
 
 And night with all its stars and blessed th-eams. 
 
 And yet he came not. At the fami-yard gate 
 
 She crept to listen, then went back again 
 
 To weep and wonder. Shadows flitted round, 
 
 Or scowled among the pictures on the wall. 
 
 Perched on the chairs, or sat upon the stools. 
 
 She hid her face, and silent was her prayer. 
 
 The clock struck two ; she sought the gate again, 
 
 Again to feel no comfort ; not a sound 
 
 Passed through the stillness, save the river's moan. 
 
 The clock struck three : she heard the horse's hoofs. 
 
 And, rushing through the door, beheld, sad sight ! 
 
 The steed without its rider. Months lagged on. 
 
 And years of sorrow trailed into the dark. 
 
 The widow's hair turned grey upon her brow ; 
 
 Her eyes had ceased to weep, her heart to bleed. 
 
 Her children gone, she lived in loneliness, 
 
 With heaven before her shining hke a sun. 
 
 And yet no tidings of the lost one came. 
 
 Conjecture's page was rife ; — the assassin's blade, 
 
 The river's bed, the mine-pit's awful gloom, 
 
 The sea's dark .grotto, or the hungry bog. 
 
 Perhaps engulphed him. This is all tliat's known. 
 
 He left the highway inn at one o'clock. 
 
 Weltering in wine, and dizzy with the dose. 
 
 The cunning landlord helped him on his horse, 
 
 Received his money with a gracious smile, 
 
 Bade him good night, and turned the pony's head 
 
 Into the lone lane leading to the moor. 
 
 He swaggered in his saddle, and rode on. 
 
 The widow died, and gone is all her kin. 
 
 Ijong hath the landlord slunk into the grave. 
 
 ^Mysteries have risen, shook then- dark drapery off, 
 
 And stalked about the world in weeds of light ; 
 
 But till this hour a haze has overcast 
 
 The fate of this poor drunkard, which, perhajis. 
 
 Will lie beneath the cloudy hill of doubt 
 
 Until the judgment of the last great day." 
 
 "How differently our friend we left behind. 
 In the green graveyard, 'neatli the castle walls, 
 Lived ! " said the other, resting on his hand. 
 " And living well, he died in perfect peace. 
 The stranger lingering 'mid our lodes, who saw 
 His face among his fellows, and o'orheard 
 The gentle words that murmured from his tongue. 
 Felt in his heart he was a man of God.
 
 THE CHIilSTIAN'S DEPABTURE. 
 
 21 
 
 Tlie April of ]iis life, liis ^ray-dny Lours, 
 
 His summer season and rich autumn brown, 
 
 "Were all devoted to the cause of truth. 
 
 Sobriety sat down in plain attire 
 
 Beside his tal)le, and, where'er he walked, 
 
 It bore the pilgrim pleasant company. 
 
 His conversation, like a purling brook, 
 
 Even for ever, though the rude storm strove, 
 
 Flowed freely, never rushing o'er its bovmds. 
 
 The neighboura prized him, and believed his word, 
 
 And sought his counsel when discomfort came, 
 
 Or trouble rolled upon them, which he gave 
 
 Free, without grudging, tilling life with love. 
 
 The Bible was his compass, chart, and guide. 
 
 He took the lowest place, and deemed himself 
 
 Unworthy as an ofificer of Heaven. 
 
 He feasted with Humility, and sat 
 
 Among the rich grapes in her porch of I'est. 
 
 Eeligion with him was an awful thing. 
 
 Too dread to handle lightly : hence he fell 
 
 In awe before her, all unworthiness. 
 
 He wrestled in his closet, all alone, 
 
 On hill and valley, with the Lord of life. 
 
 'Twas there he won his greatest victories. 
 
 And drank more largely of the wane of heaven. 
 
 At times he lifted up his voice in prayer 
 
 In public places, feeling it a cross. 
 
 At times he uttered words which served to cheer 
 
 The faint disciple of the blessed Christ. 
 
 At times he warned the sinner to repent. 
 
 But all was managed meekly, and nauch good 
 
 Was oft accomplished in his Master's name. 
 
 The great God blessed the labour of his hands, 
 
 So that he prospered daily, and his alms 
 
 Oft di'opped into the shrivelled palm of Want. 
 
 He went about the country like a balm 
 
 For hearts care-broken, by his look, and word, 
 
 And cheerful deed, performed with earnest prayer. 
 
 His hfe was one convincing homily. 
 
 To win the wicked and to serve the saint. 
 
 Death came, and in his little upper room, 
 
 With glorj' tilled, fronting the morning star. 
 
 Bright angels gathered, and he fell asleep 
 
 With Canaan's odoiu's passing o'er his soul. 
 
 " Now take another scene from memory's page : 
 Amid the rocks he dwelt, and waterfalls, 
 And Druid hills with strange-carved crags a-top : 
 An easy man, with brain enough to thuik 
 How cattle sold, and corn, and fanning crops. 
 And just no more : this was enough for him. 
 A small horizon hounded by the heights 
 And drowsy downs, distinguished from his door, 
 In which his mind revolved for sixty years. 
 The seasons came, with wisdom on their wings, 
 And teachings for the thoughtful, morn and eve. 
 And day and night, the sun, and moon, and stars, 
 Telling of God, and whispering of His love. 
 And yet he heard not, saw not, and his soul 
 Grew dark and darker every passing hour. 
 The flowers arose and cast their fragrance forth, 
 Breathing of Him who made them ; and the birds 
 Sang in the valleys their Creator's name ; 
 And every stone, and steep, and rushy rill. 
 And roaring ton-ent, roUing down the rocks. 
 And cowslip clinging to the shelly ledge, 
 And shining insect humming o'er the heath. 
 
 Had each a tongue which trilled the name of God. 
 And yet he heard it not, but closed his ears. 
 And shut his eyes, and gi-oped about in gloom, 
 Quenching the light within him, till he seemed 
 Almost as callous as liis native crags ; 
 And man}' shook their heads in sage debate," 
 Saying, ' Alas ! there's little hope for him.' 
 But good art Thou, Father, and Thy love 
 Extends to every atom Thou hast made ; 
 Chiefly to man, the noblest of Thj\works, 
 Drawing the farthest wanderer to Thyself, 
 Refusing none, receiving all mankind. 
 Not willing that the vilest should be lost, 
 But giving Jesus that the world might live. 
 
 " Strange that within the landscape of his thoughts 
 
 There should be found a phantom men call fame, 
 
 Glistering in raiment brighter than the morn, 
 
 And that, amid the stillness of his home, 
 
 AVhere rushes waved and hawthorns marked the 
 
 meads. 
 This easy man should sigh to be renowned, 
 And hunger after immortality. 
 Yet so it was. On every New Year's Day 
 He dropped a trifle in a small tin box. 
 Which, he had said, when lying with the w'orms, 
 Would buy his tombstone, and his name would live 
 Within the village when the tower turned grey. 
 And so the box remained, a sacred thing 
 Not to be opened till was oped his grave. 
 One April morn, when buds were on the brea, 
 And primrose clusters from the coppice peered. 
 Like angel-eyes, inspiring thoughts of song, 
 And waking melodies that slumbered deep 
 Within the soul, a Bible-reader came. 
 And oped the treasures of the holy book 
 Before his eyes, and bade him gaze and live ; 
 And, passing on, he left him to his thoughts. 
 All this was new to him, a region fau% 
 And bright, and wondertul, and rich with hope. 
 Man lost and ruined, but redeemed and saved, 
 Justice appeased, the Father reconciled. 
 And the great Conqueror spoiling Death and Hell, 
 Opening the gates of glorj^ to a world, — 
 All this was new to him. The Spirit shone 
 Into his heart, and one by one the scales 
 Fell from his eyeballs, till he cleai'ly saw 
 The path of life, and walked the way to heaven. 
 
 " Daylight was done, and ii"ght came stealing on, 
 A night of cloud and tempest. How they rush 
 Above the hills, and hurry through the air. 
 Like muffled monarchs marching on to doom I 
 The angrj' Wind lifts up his dreadful front. 
 And shouts in fury on the trembling heights, 
 Shaking the earth and stirring up the sea, 
 Roaring around the reedy hamlet-home, 
 And knocking like a robber at the door. 
 Such was the world without, as he sat down 
 Beside his fire of peat, with new-born thoughts 
 Thronging the galleries of his wondering .soul. 
 His wife, in linen weeds, and spectacles. 
 Was mending an old garment ; on the shelf 
 The hour-glass stood, with brown sands trickling down. 
 Where pewter plates and pewter teapots shone ; 
 In the wood-corner's entrance slept the cat. 
 And o'er the flower-pots by the lattice hung
 
 22 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 A cage, and bird with beak beneath its wing. 
 
 Gone were their cliildren, married all, and gone ; 
 
 And so life's antnmn closed them in its calm. 
 
 At last he spoke, and said. 'Yes, I'm resolved 
 
 That when to-morrow's snn looks o'er the hill, 
 
 I'll ope my box, and, be it rain or shine, 
 
 I'U take the money to the minister 
 
 To help the cause of Christ. This is my all, 
 
 And long have I been thinking it would buy 
 
 My tombstone, and our famous village bard 
 
 Might write my epitaph, and I should live 
 
 For generations 'mid our moors and meads. 
 
 All this I now abandon for His sake 
 
 T\Tio scattered my tliick darkness with His light, 
 
 Tliat others may believe and feel like me.' 
 
 And year by year he walked with humble feet 
 
 The road to Zion, and his influence. 
 
 Silent as dew, was felt where'er he moved, 
 
 And many feared, and sought and found the Lord. 
 
 His last horn* came. "With shining armour on, 
 
 He stepped into the boat, and reached the shore. 
 
 And landed where a dart is never hurled. 
 
 '* How does it thrill throTigh every chord of life 
 
 To hear of princes clad in peasant weeds, 
 
 Monarchs in frieze, and kings in coarsest vests, 
 
 Or queens apparelled like the cottage danae, 
 
 Wielding the Spirit's sword with mighty power, 
 
 Moving Jehovah on His throne of stars, 
 
 And bringing down upon the sons of men 
 
 A flood of blessing from the sky of Love I 
 
 I knew a mother, living on a moss, 
 
 VTiio quietly pursued her humble way 
 
 Along life's road, communing with her Lord. 
 
 She had a fi'oward son, who took his seat 
 
 Among the scorners, greedj' after wrong. 
 
 He laughed at goodness, in whatever form, 
 
 And ridiculed rehgion, sapng they 
 
 Were easy souls who sought her sacred shade. 
 
 He walked unblushing to the drunkard's den. 
 
 And roared his ragged carol, stealing home, 
 
 With reason reeling round an airy ring, 
 
 Wlien Midnight sat upon the darkened hills. 
 
 Or Morn came blushing through her golden porch ; 
 
 And as he lay, all feverish, on liis bed, 
 
 She softly stole into his room to pray. 
 
 " Time rolled along upon his cloudy car 
 
 By wild-winged coursers drawn, till one spring morn, 
 
 "Wlien buds were btu-sting to the gush of song. 
 
 And rills stole softly round the primrose banks, 
 
 He left his native land, and o'er the seas 
 
 A vessel bore liLm to another clime. 
 
 Here lie remained for years, as rock, unchanged, 
 
 Turning his back upon the cause of Christ, 
 
 And seeking rest to find increasing woe ; 
 
 Tni one rude night, when Hon-or was abroad. 
 
 And thunder rushed from groaning hill to hill. 
 
 As reeling through the forest to Ins shed, 
 
 A change passed o'er him swifter than the light. 
 
 Nought was or is, above, afound, below. 
 
 Without, within, but with an angry tongue 
 
 It raised reproof. In the red tliunder's roar 
 
 Deep condemnation rattled : every sheet 
 
 Of lurid flame that dashed across the dark 
 
 Glared hke a dreadful monster, uttering doom. 
 
 The black pine forest shook its mighty arms, 
 
 And seemed to menace wildly, while his guilt 
 
 Rose like a great hill, covered o'er with clouds. 
 
 He fell upon the ground, and cried to God, 
 
 Eose and pursued his way; then fell again. 
 
 And cried, yet louder. Feehng no relief, 
 
 He reached his injinred home, and wailed till morn ; 
 
 And after many bitter days and nights 
 
 Rose up renewed. He turned away from sin. 
 
 And Uved another life, of faith and love. 
 
 Preaching the Cross he had despised before. 
 
 That praying mother, in her little room. 
 
 By angels guarded, still exists in peace. 
 
 But day is dying, and we fain would hear 
 
 Our widow's story. Will you end it, dame ? " 
 
 The matron wiped her eyes, and thus began : 
 " My path through life has been marked out by Him 
 Who cannot err, and so I know 't is right. 
 Sometimes in cloud, sometimes in brightest sun, 
 Sometimes in mist, sometimes in clearest blue, 
 Sometimes o'er flowers, and oft where thorns abound, 
 Such has my journey proved towards my rest. 
 But life all summer would have chained my heart 
 To lower objects than the bliss of heaven ; 
 Prosperity unbroken would have bound 
 My spu'it to the creature ; aud a walk 
 All smoothness would have led me to the pit. 
 Sweet was my chiltlliood, sweet my hymnful youth. 
 And sweet my womanhood and married life, 
 Though cares came creeping as my steps advanced. 
 And now, when lone and wintry, I look up, 
 With much of thankfulness, aud trust, and hope 
 For help below and happiness above, 
 And like a lonely plover on the moor. 
 With night approaching, I awake my cry. 
 If hajjly I may soon regain my mate." 
 
 And then she told them how, when ripe fruit hung 
 
 Within the orchard, and the harvest-wain 
 
 Rolled laden from the corn-field, when among 
 
 The changing leaves the swallows held their court, 
 
 Ere they departed to a warmer clime. 
 
 And robin sang in silence, drawing near 
 
 The ojien casement with his whistling note. 
 
 Her husband donned his Sunday dress, unlocked 
 
 A little chest, and gladly took therefrom 
 
 Three guineas for the lady. Then he kissed 
 
 His olive-branches, bade his wife good bye, 
 
 And said, "Expect me when the moon's locks rest 
 
 Upon the mountain : Heaven preserve j^ou all ! " 
 
 And, resting on his staff, he crossed the brook, 
 
 And hasted up the footpath o'er the stile. 
 
 And soon was lost among the rising hills. 
 
 She scanned him from the casement, till her eyes 
 
 Grew dim with gazing, and a sudden rush 
 
 Of pale presentment bowed her to her chair. 
 
 Never had warrior to the fearful field, 
 
 Or mariner on long discovering voyage. 
 
 Or traveller to pile of ancient fame, 
 
 Intenser watching than she gave her lord.
 
 THE GBATEFUL TRAVELLER. 
 
 '23 
 
 ■ 
 
 BOOK FIFTH. 
 STERLING HONESTY. 
 
 E walked alonj?, delighted with the worlil, 
 ,^ Delighted with himself, aud all he met ; 
 ^ii^ His eyes beheld, in everything around, 
 The grandeur of the Highest. In the hills. 
 Golden with autumn, he discovered God ; 
 In the rude rocks that raised them, aud the clouds 
 That gathered on their summits, and the Ught 
 Which oped their revelations, clearly ho 
 Saw God ; and in the valleys shining, God ; 
 In the dear wayside flowers, and narrow rills, 
 The trees, and shrubs, mosses, and blades of grass, 
 And humming bees, and sporting butterflies. 
 And white sand-grains along the sea-shore, God ; 
 Above, below, and all around him, God. 
 His mind was full of light, his soul of prayer, 
 As, climbing hills and threading quiet dales. 
 He thus sohlo(iuized 'mid ferns and fens : 
 " What joy to taste the stillness of the moors ! 
 I feel afraid to shake their holiness 
 By breathing freely. Silence, beating heart, 
 And let me listen to the feet of God. 
 He walks among the mosses, where the flow 
 Of Natm-e's anthem mmrmm'S on the ear. 
 I rush away from man, to pour my thanks 
 Forth in her temple fllled up with the Lord. 
 The rivers are my trumpets, and the trill 
 Of tongues unnumbered my sweet choristers. 
 What bliss to worship here beneath the blue 
 Of heaven's broad ceiling, without fear of man ! 
 Sweet breeze, bear upon thy odorous wings 
 The praises of my Saviour ! Hear it, heaven, 
 And echo it, O earth, and roll it far, 
 Thou everlasting ocean. If I die 
 On some sharp crag, alone and hunger-pierced, 
 I'll breathe the name of Jesus. If the sea 
 Eugulph me in its grottoes, struggling hard 
 To foil the monster, that all-precious Name 
 Shall bubble from the breakers. If far off. 
 In some thick forest, where the wild beast roars 
 And serpents lick the dust, the hovering bird 
 Behold me pining, watching for my fall. 
 The name of Jesus from my closing lips 
 Shall but half-scare him from his quivering prey. 
 If, in the quiet of our moorland cot. 
 My spirit breaks its fetters, or withiii 
 The workhouse walls life's burden I lay down ; 
 Or fall on Time's highway o'errun with care ; 
 My latest utterance shall be His great name. 
 
 "I turn my face towards those rock-crowned reefs. 
 
 Silently solemn, feeling that the law 
 
 Of God condemns me, and my trembling soul, 
 
 Beclouded, cries, ' Where shall I look for hope ? ' 
 
 And the deep desert rolls the querj' back, 
 
 ' Where shall I look for hope ? ' The towering trees, 
 
 Nature's true prophets, ranged along the vale, 
 
 Look kindly on me in their green-leaf robes, 
 
 Fresh, beautiful, lyre-hung, and wonder-fraught ; 
 
 And so I ask them, weepuig at their roots, 
 
 ' TMiere shall I look for hope '? ' and their firm trunks 
 
 Echo aloud, ' Where shall I look for hope ? ' 
 
 Over the brook I bond, the wayside brook, 
 
 And kiss its murmuring waters clear as truth, 
 
 And as dear songs float to me, borne along 
 
 By gentle wavelets to its grassy shore, 
 
 I ask the purling poet, loitering through 
 
 The dingle, with its idyls ou its lips, 
 
 ' Where shall I look for Iu)pe ? ' aud the clear stream 
 
 Sobs in the shade, ' Where sliall I look for hope ? ' 
 
 I gaze above, below, on either hand. 
 
 On steep and stone, on river, reef, and I'ill, 
 
 Asking them all, ' Wliere shall I look for hope '? ' 
 
 And back returns, ' Where shall I look for hope ? ' 
 
 The great rocks frown upon me, and the flowers 
 
 Hang down their heads in silence ; bird and beast. 
 
 And grass, and grove, the earth, and sea, and sky. 
 
 Are silent, and my words wander through space 
 
 Like orphan forms, ' Where shall I look for hope '? ' 
 
 O blessed Bible ! let me turn to thee. 
 
 Full of my Saviour, shining with His love ! 
 
 Here is the door of mercy, shut to none 
 
 Who rest on Jesus, the chief Corner-stone. 
 
 Here, here is hope, built on the oath of God. 
 
 Shout it, my soul, and let the happy winds 
 
 Waft it upon their wings to farthest shores, 
 
 Till all mankind rejoice in its embrace. 
 
 Shout, God is love ; He gave His only Son 
 
 To die for sinners, to atone for guilt. 
 
 Vast without compass, piled upon a world." 
 
 And thus he journeyed on, with pilgrim pace, 
 
 As through Elysium, gathering purest joys 
 
 From meditation, where the robin sang. 
 
 Or through the hawthorn soared the shepherd's lay. 
 
 Or from the thickets rose the mighty rush 
 
 Of the rejoicing rivers. On he stole. 
 
 Companioned with the comforts of the skies. 
 
 So soon to be wh6re sin has left no stain. 
 
 Joyous was he ; his sovil was like a well 
 
 Of Uving waters, bubbling o'er its brim. 
 
 As thus he poured his fervid feeling forth: 
 
 " Forbid it, that I e'er should seek for rest 
 
 But in my lo\ang Saviour. Do I not 
 
 Desire Him more than gold, or precious stones. 
 
 Or friends, or fame, or house, or fruitful farm ? 
 
 Thou knowest, Father, that I dare not build 
 
 My hopes on earth's foundations. None but Thee 
 
 Do I desire, precious Prince of Peace ; 
 
 No, none but Thee, nor less than Thee be given. 
 
 But, ah ! -how slowly do I learn Thy love ! 
 
 Like infant faltering o'er its mother's name. 
 
 Or staggering from the cradle to her arms. 
 
 Forgive me. Saviour, and inspire my heart 
 
 With grace and strength to serve Thee more aud more. 
 
 come. Great Spirit, scatter all the mist 
 
 Which hangs about the summit of m* hopes. 
 
 And fill the' horizon of my faith with light. 
 
 Jesus is all, my Comforter, my Friend, 
 
 Ilefuge and Rock, my Fortress and my Tower, 
 
 My First and Last. I drop into His arms." 
 
 Ah, world, how changeful art thou! Morning dawns 
 On hopes in embrj'o, withering ere the Eve 
 Draws her gi"ey cloak around her. All things here 
 Have marks of change upon them, and a sigh 
 Is ever creeping at the heels of Joy. 
 He passed an old man, sitting by a tree,
 
 24 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTUBES. 
 
 "Whose Lair was wliite as winter. He had left, 
 
 Within the churchyard, by the belfi-y porch, 
 
 Each vestige of his kindred ; so that now 
 
 He had no child but Nature, whom he loved 
 
 "With all a poet's fondness. They exchanged 
 
 Few words of kindness, greetings of the heart. 
 
 And then, as quickly parting, went their way. 
 
 He reached Hayle River at the rising tide. 
 
 And, glad to save tlu-ee miles of weary road, 
 
 Resolved to ford the channel. Be it known. 
 
 That in those days no Causeway spanned the void ; 
 
 But Art has now another daughter here. 
 
 His feet are in the water, which becomes 
 
 Deeper at every step, ji'et deeper still ; 
 
 Now at his loins, and now above his breast. 
 
 And now it reaches even to his chin. 
 
 Hope leaves him blinded. A black- chambered wave 
 
 Rolls -n-ith a roar upon him, the loose sand 
 
 Yields underneath, when, thrixsting up his arms, 
 
 A prayer to .Jesus rushes from his lips. 
 
 And down the good man sinks to rise no more. 
 
 "Come, little ones, and lay yom- toys aside," 
 
 Said the fond mother ; '■ kiss me once again. 
 
 Kneel at your prayers, and creep into yom- beds. 
 
 The moon is come before your loving sire. 
 
 I'll sit and read my Bilde." Then they clasped 
 
 Then- httle hands, and prayed that God would bless 
 
 Their father and their mother, make all good, 
 
 And take them up at last to heaven's bright home. 
 
 And, lying on tlieir couches, fell asleep, 
 
 "With summer landscapes sweeping through their dreams 
 
 How sweet is home when day's hard task is done, 
 
 And Labour's forge is silent ; when the song 
 
 Of village milkmaid warbles fi'om the mead. 
 
 And twilight idyls tremble tlu-ough the trees ! 
 
 I oft have felt, when sitting in my cot, 
 
 After a day of trial, such as those 
 
 Who dig in darkness only can conceive, — 
 
 I oft have felt, as round me shook the buds 
 
 With household music which my Father gave, 
 
 To deck my dwelling on the pensive moor, — 
 
 I oft have felt, wlien loving eyes have turned 
 
 Upon my face, and loving words have dropped 
 
 Upon my ears, that I would not excliange 
 
 My Cornish cabin, fragrant with the breath 
 
 Of richest roses, for a gilded court. 
 
 Where little children fill not life with love ; 
 
 And when those gentle song-strains have been hushed 
 
 By sleep's enchantments, and a solemn spell 
 
 Has dropped upon me, I have snatched my harp, 
 
 And its wild music, nishing round my hearth. 
 
 Has quite o'ertumed the wasting wail of care, 
 
 And lulled me in a land of pleasant di'eams. 
 
 She read, re-read, and then read o'er again. 
 The precious page of promise : " Let your heart 
 Be free from soitow ; rest upon My word. 
 Beyond the stars are mansions, where the sun 
 Scorches no more, nor pang is felt of pain ; 
 And those who love Me shall be where I am, 
 And see My face for ever ; " and the tears 
 Fell on the page that cheered the worshipper. 
 " O, there are times," she said, and raised lier eyes 
 From the worn Bible, " when my spirit longs ' 
 To leave this prison, and go home to rest. 
 Like a lorn bird confined in cruel cage, 
 
 Fluttering its wings, and picking at the bars, 
 Longing to break the Avires, and mount away ; 
 So does my spirit pant for its release. 
 But soon the silver cord shall be unloosed. 
 The bird shall leave its cage of closing clay, 
 And like the lark among the morning clouds, 
 Whose song is sweeter as he higher soars, 
 So shall I feel upon my angel-car." 
 
 And then a rustle, like a hundred wings, 
 
 Seemed to sweep by her. Starting quickly up. 
 
 She hastened to the door to look for him, 
 
 Her light in darkness, wondering whj' the stars 
 
 Shone clear, and solemn midnight long had past, 
 
 And he not come to brighten all below. 
 
 She kissed her babes again, and knelt in prayer. 
 
 The night was spent in watching, and when mora 
 
 Called up the ploughboy from liis bed of sedge, 
 
 And robin shook his wings among the leaves. 
 
 And sparrow on the housetop, down the lane 
 
 Came a pale man, with sorrow in his face. 
 
 And words of sadness stealing from his tongue. 
 
 Their import, like a dreadful monster, rushed. 
 
 And felled her to the floor, and when this Hash 
 
 Of faintness left her, she was shattered so. 
 
 They scarcely knew her ; yet with feeble voice 
 
 She gently mm-mured, " God hath given me all, 
 
 And He hath taken, blessed be His name ! 
 
 My dear-loved treasure to the land of tiowers. 
 
 be my Husband, great eternal King, 
 
 And shield my blossoms from the ice of want. 
 
 And as I travel through this lonely world, 
 
 O let Thy face illuminate my path. 
 
 And cheer me with Thy presence, till beyond 
 
 The blue of ether I regain my mate. 
 
 Where Paradise reveals her living streams." 
 
 And then the messenger, with faltering voice. 
 
 Told where her husband in a fisher's shed 
 
 Lay shrouded in a sail-cloth, dead, and drowned ; 
 
 And she informed him, trembling, how he took 
 
 Three guineas, j^ui^posing with it to pay 
 
 Their debt of kindness to good Mrs. Worth. 
 
 He hastened back and puldished what he heard. 
 
 They searched his pockets, but no gold was there. 
 
 They looked along the beach, among the shells. 
 
 And in the sand ; but it could not be found. 
 
 Some one observed his right hand firmly clenched. 
 
 'Twas opened, and Surprise brushed back her hair, 
 
 And AVonder stared with silence on his lijis, 
 
 To see it shining in the dead man's palm. 
 
 His promise seemed to occupy his mind. 
 
 When the last life-string cracked beneath the wave. 
 
 The funeral day came, laden with the mist 
 
 Of lazy clouds that covered all the heavens. 
 
 The mourning train moves down the mossy moor, 
 
 Singing a solemn dii-ge, through hamlets lone, 
 
 And meads all mournful, to the chui'chyard' stile. 
 
 The coffin was lowered down, the good man read 
 
 The sweetly-solemn service, as great sobs 
 
 With heavy utterance labom- from her soul. 
 
 Strangers were there, and loving relatives, 
 
 And neighbours wiped their eyes. His children, too, 
 
 Were there, in weeds of mourning, and their feet 
 
 Sank in the slimy mould which soon will hide 
 
 Their loving parent underneath the ground. 
 
 A little robin on a cypress limb
 
 THE CORN GLEANEH. 
 
 25 
 
 Poiiretl forth a dirRe for tlio departed one, 
 As pensive as the ti'ickle of a sti'eam. 
 
 Hail, honest miner ! such true worth as thine 
 Has more of glory than tlie din of blades. 
 Thou wert amouf? the dwellers of the earth 
 Like moonlif^lit on the mountains, pfuiding feet, 
 All prone to stumble in the t^loom of sin, 
 To haloed bowers of rectitude and rif,dit. 
 Life's closinj:; drama, like the blaze of heaven. 
 Flashed out in darkness ; the black cm'tain fell. 
 With thy free thou^^hts, like sea-beat, missing barks. 
 Steering towards the harbom* they had left. 
 Where friend was longing to embrace his friend, 
 And love to weep upon the neck of love, 
 Fatally foundering even at its mouth. 
 Hail, honest miner ! to thy ashes peace ! 
 Entombed in quiet 'neath the blessed flowers. 
 Where country winds are sighing, and the stars 
 Look down on tower, and tree, and village spire. 
 The great Eecorder, in the land of leaves 
 That never wither, shall reveal thy name 
 Among the noble on Life's mighty page. 
 
 And now the rain had ceased, the wind was gone, 
 
 The clouds had fled behind the farthest hills ; 
 
 The thrush came forth, and on the dripping thorn 
 
 Sang his last vesper to the peering star ; 
 
 The swollen rivers through the valleys rushed 
 
 With lofty voices, each a solemn song ; 
 
 The rustling sea-gull wheeled along the void ; 
 
 The old mount with its altar of grey rock. 
 
 And a few tears upon its shining face, 
 
 Rose in the blue of heaven with quiet crowned. 
 
 Beneath the eaves of a thatched cottage near, 
 
 A miner's cliild was singing to the moon. 
 
 Whose crescent gleamed above the castle's roof. 
 
 Strains softly sweet gushed fi'om a thousand lyres. 
 
 And down the lane beside the lover's well 
 
 The thatchcr whistled walking to liis home. 
 
 Up rose the riders, musing to depart. 
 
 But not before she told them how her sons 
 
 And grown-up daughters left her one by one ; 
 
 Some for the seas, some for the vale of gold. 
 
 Some to seek lands, and some slept in their graves. 
 
 But God upheld her alway. His kind care 
 
 Was like a cloak ai-ound her ; food, and rest. 
 
 And peace, and hope, were with her evermore ; 
 
 And still she trusted that the Lord would bring 
 
 Her safely through the wilderness, and guide 
 
 The weary pilgrim to the home of heaven. 
 
 Buttoning their coats, one to the other said : 
 
 " You know the poor corn-gleaner, with a hood 
 
 Over her bonnet, whom we saw to-day 
 
 Crossing a stile, leading her little girl 
 
 With paleness on her forehead '? Her sad tale 
 
 Would move a heart of diamond. O'er yon hill 
 
 That sends a gale of odour through the moors 
 
 From furze, and fern, and broom with golden bells. 
 
 So that the dweller in the city-street. 
 
 Treading oui- tiu-f and breathing the pure air, 
 
 Exclaims renewed, ' What floating fi-agrance here ! ' 
 
 Over yon hill trod by the feet of bards, 
 
 Who love to walk within its hoary caves, 
 
 And trill their sonnets, smiles a cottage-home, 
 
 With reedy roof, and honeysuckle porch, 
 
 And pretty garden, like an isle of bloom : 
 
 And here, a blithe earn- nymph, she sweetly passed 
 
 Her girlhood, and ten years of marriage life, 
 
 As happy as a princess, love-o'erflowed, 
 
 Until the winds of wild adversity 
 
 Came howling in their chariots, bearing off 
 
 Her summer glory to the land of cloud. 
 
 Then earth appeared a gloomy sepulchre. 
 
 And for a season heaven was hung in black. 
 
 " 'T was summer time, the sun was on his march, 
 The white clouds drifted to their western homes ; 
 Beauty lay down, and dreamt upon the thyme. 
 Or carolled through the thicket; swallows skimmed 
 O'er glassy pools, or dashed athwart the dells ; 
 Breeze followed breeze, in amorous pursuit. 
 Kissing among the rushes, or on high 
 Murmuring their loves in the fresh fields of air, 
 And now descending to the limpid rill, 
 Brushing its wavelets with their welcome wings, 
 Stealing into the little lattice low. 
 Where sickness bound the sufferer, cheering him 
 With freshness gathered from the fields and flowers ; 
 Now shaking through the hoary locks of Ago, 
 Resting upon his thorn-staff, thought-o'ercome ; 
 Now kissing the fair cliild, whose hands were full 
 Of gathered flowers, not fairer than herself; 
 Now murmuring o'er the hamlets, now away 
 Among the lichen by the great sea shore ; 
 Now in the meadow, now along the mine. 
 And now beyond the farthest flight of thought. 
 Song filled the welkin, song o'erflowed the dell, 
 And gushed from every crevice of the cliff. 
 The bright sea-waves stole singing to the shore, 
 With music in their chambers ; and the world 
 Above, below, was one rejoicing note 
 Of love and thankfulness to the Supreme. 
 
 " Her husband was a fisher, and that day, 
 
 On a large rock beneath the Lizard Lights, 
 
 He sat and chimed his psalm, as heretofore, 
 
 With hook and bait, in patient watcMulness 
 
 To capture that which brought his household all. 
 
 Natm'e was grand with wildness ; crag, and creek. 
 
 And curious cliff, and sea-birds perched around. 
 
 Or riding on the waters like a plume. 
 
 All undisturbed within their tuneful doors. 
 
 And scarcely stirring at the approach of man. 
 
 The bright blue skj^ the ever-mo^^ng main. 
 
 And fanes of serpentine o'erflowed with praise, 
 
 While voices rolled fi-om billow, bank, and brake, 
 
 Or crashed from organs hidden in the heights. 
 
 His cottage, up the valley by a brook. 
 
 Was plainly seen, and at its rustic door 
 
 His wife and children watched him on the moss ; 
 
 She knitting, and they playing, bright with liliss, 
 
 When suddenlj' a gi-eat wave, growing still. 
 
 And rising higher as it onward rolled. 
 
 Rushed o'er the rock, and fell in sparkling foam. 
 
 Tumbling him in the water quick as thought ; 
 
 And as they gazed, he struggled with the waves, 
 
 ^Vllich bore him seaward, onward, outward still, 
 
 Until he sank exhausted, and gave up 
 
 His ghost beneath the billows. Still they gazed 
 
 And wrimg their hands, and wailing tore their hair ; 
 
 Thej^ saw his body rise bereft of life. 
 
 It drifted fi-om them still away, away ;
 
 2G 
 
 WAYSIDE PIC TUBES. 
 
 Then from the hi^liest, fartliest, fullest crasf, 
 
 A huge sea-bu\l ch'oppecl on the floating corse. 
 
 They gazed, and wiped their eyes, and wailed again, 
 
 Until the body and the gi-eat sea-bird 
 
 Shi-iiuk into haze, and dwindled out of sight. 
 
 Nothing on earth but merges into change. 
 
 That morning shone on thek unsevered band ; 
 
 The evening saw them lone and desolate, 
 
 The green reed bruised, the blossoms crushed and torn ; 
 
 They fatherless and friendless in the strife, 
 
 She entering on her night of widowhood." 
 
 Full hastUy they sang then- parting lay, 
 Then fi-om then- pm-ses cheered their hostess' heart, 
 Mounted their steeds, and tm"ned a parting look 
 On the calm monarch in the evening's gloom, 
 Marking distinctly just above its base 
 A little fjlow-worm shining in a rift, 
 Channelled long since by the wild water sprite. 
 And garnished over with the god of flowers. 
 They gazed, yet spoke not, pleased with quiet thought; 
 When all at once a meteor, like a stream 
 . Of purest silver, shot athwart the lieavens. 
 And on its march it almost seemed to sweep 
 The summit of the moimtaiu. Tliis aroused 
 Them both to action : they exclaimed, " How gi-and 1 " 
 And onwai'd dashed the horsemen. 
 
 
 J ^-"^ - N. • U.N. . 
 
 BOOK SIXTH. 
 
 THE TRUE HERO. 
 
 ., HO comes along Cornwallia's hills and dales, 
 YfV/ In ministerial garb, with Book and staff, 
 ^-y^ Scattering the doctrines of the Holy One, 
 Like flaming hglits, around on either hand '! 
 And, lo I they drop upon the barren wilds, 
 Giving the rocks a tongue ; in the green vales, 
 And the delicious flowerets smile for joy ; 
 Stream sings to stream, and, in the sliady wood. 
 Trees clap their hands, and murmur their delight ! 
 There's not a village on the low hill's side. 
 There's not a hamlet here with trees embowered, 
 There's not a town in all our western land, 
 A singing bird, a wood, a mound, a stream, 
 A sUent flower, a shining blade of grass. 
 Or granite cross amid the boulders bare. 
 But ever whispers Wesley's wondi-ous name. 
 
 The stars are gUttering in their crystal homes, 
 
 The moon looks o'er the summit of the hill, 
 
 Peace v.alks v,ith Twilight through lier dusky bowers: 
 
 Tlie harper is abroad in the lone vale ; 
 
 You hear the dying music of his lyre 
 
 Float through Eve's cm-tained halls, now high, now 
 
 low. 
 As if an angel sang his holiest song ! 
 A mother bends beside her lowly couch. 
 
 Placing her hands upon her baby-boy, — 
 
 ^YilO kneels beside her like a cherub fair, — 
 
 And prays aloud that God would bless the lad I 
 
 His rest is sweet : he rises with the morn, 
 
 And hastens forth to greet the early lark. 
 
 Soaring and singing high above the mist. 
 
 The sportive lambkin in the emerald mead 
 
 Was not more joyous than that httle one : 
 
 He plucked the flowers, whose eyes wept tears of dew. 
 
 Pressing them to his bosom ; and a voice 
 
 Came in the music of the little birds. 
 
 And in the treble of the piping muds. 
 
 And in the hum of wakening life around, 
 
 " O give thy heart to Me, My little one ! " 
 
 And the young prattler listened, till his lips 
 
 Instinctively repHed, " I will, I will." 
 
 'Twas the Good Spirit striving with him there. 
 
 On ran the boy along his flowery track. 
 
 Till siunmer sunshine Hghted up his face. 
 
 And painted his fail' tresses beautiful ; 
 
 And on his blossomed way the Spirit's voice 
 
 Rang in his ears, still ringing, ringing still, 
 
 "0 give thy heart to Me, My little one ! " 
 
 And the boy wiped his eyes, and said, " I wiU." 
 
 Decided now to be a Piefl-Cross Knight, 
 
 And fight the battles of Immanuel, 
 
 He gnds the Spirit's sword upon his thigh, 
 
 To war with enemies without, within. 
 
 And hastens forth upon the battle-field. 
 
 He joins without delay the Chm-ch of Christ ; 
 
 Becomes in youth a follower of the Lamb, 
 
 And feels the freedom of his new-born soul. 
 
 While many in the Valley of Desire 
 
 Lingered and lingered on, until grey hairs 
 
 Hung on then- temples, and old Time had ploughed 
 
 Deep furrows on tlieu* faces ; till their limbs 
 
 Were palsy-shaken, and they fell at last, — 
 
 Fell in the middle of this murmuring vale. 
 
 And sank into the bottomless abyss ; — 
 
 He stepi:)ed bej'ond its winter-smitten line, 
 
 Into the country where the upright walk. 
 
 And gathered gi'apes which clustered round his path. 
 
 And drank the waters flowing from Life's stream. 
 
 And plucked the leaves that proj^hets feed upon, 
 
 And heard the crj^stal hj-mnings of tlie blest ; 
 
 And, through the living telescope of faith. 
 
 The soul-eye of the Christian, he would oft 
 
 Gaze on the Golden City far away, 
 
 With sheeny battlements, and silver towers, 
 
 And glittering tm-rets, blazing iu the Sun 
 
 Which never sets in all that wide domain ! 
 
 Linger not in the Valley of Desire : 
 
 Dry reeds are here, and ferns, and dwarfish things. 
 
 And vegetation seems but lialf awake ; 
 
 It is the' abode of sullen Discontent, 
 
 Unthankfulness, and withered Unbelief. 
 
 Despair's own cave, hung round with rustj^ swords. 
 
 Clacked scimitars and muskets tanned by time. 
 
 Old haggard ropes, and nails congealed with blood, — 
 
 Despair's own cave, under a beetling crag. 
 
 Is in the centre of this horrid deU. 
 
 Owls hoot within its shadows, and the ghosts 
 
 Of mui'dered thousands nightly visit here. 
 
 Don't huger in this melanchoty vale ;
 
 CHRISTIAN HEBOISM. 
 
 27 
 
 Step o'er the ridge of those dark frowning rocks, 
 Which he between thee and the better path. 
 Don't starve tliy soul, and lose thyself at last. 
 Haste from this dreary valley ; haste ! O haste ! 
 The dread avenger is pursuing thee ; 
 His flaming sword is lifted o'er thy head : 
 Another step, and it may l)e too late I 
 He did not linger here,— with instant speed 
 He quickly crossed its withered boundaries, 
 Left its dark deserts and its windy wilds, 
 Soared high above its blasted scenery 
 Into the region of perpetual spring, 
 Drank the balm-laden breeze of Paradise, 
 And on the hills of liope conversed with God. 
 
 There are within this teeming universe. 
 
 This land of deserts, thorns, and prickly briers. 
 
 This vale of tears, this wilderness of grief, 
 
 This mire of heartfelt sorrows infinite. 
 
 This dungeon-home of Care, this rocky bourn. 
 
 This tangled labyrinth of false complaint, — , 
 
 There are along its valleys, on its hills, 
 
 Beside its streams, in wood and flowery lea, 
 
 Among the ragged. rocks, the wiry heath, 
 
 The sandy deserts, and the hungiy crags, — 
 
 There are green spots, — green in the midst of death; 
 
 Green in the storm-time, when the sere leaves fall ; 
 
 Green in the track of War, when his hot rain 
 
 Is shaking old Time's furrowed battlements ; 
 
 Green when gaunt Famine stalks along the streets, 
 
 With haggard Pestilence upon his heels ; 
 
 Green when the blade is blighted, and the ox 
 
 Is withering in the staU ; green when Decay 
 
 Fastens his putrid fingers on the flower ; 
 
 Green when the heavens are angry, and the great 
 
 Dark cloud of judgment shrouds the weeping sky; 
 
 Green, always green ! e'en in the winter-time, 
 
 When Natm-e wears her covering of snow! 
 
 One of those green spots in the waste of life 
 Is where the children of Messiah meet. 
 To worship at the footstool of the Lord ; 
 To climb the golden ladder Jacob saw. 
 Dropped from the presence of the Deitj' ; 
 To sweep their hands across the holy lyre 
 Tuned by the cherubim in Paradise ; 
 To sit beneath the vine-leaves of delight. 
 And eat the food that angels hve upon. 
 How many spots hke these around us lie. 
 Kissed by angelic breezes ; bowers of bliss ; 
 Gems in the rubbish ; sparks amidst the gloom ; 
 Streams in the desert ; flowers in solitude ; 
 Suns m the chaos ; fire amidst the frost ; 
 Life in the house of bones and rottenness. 
 Watered by living dews from Eden's isle, 
 And warmed with hallowed flames from Love's gi'eat 
 Sun ! 
 
 How often, with the Bible in his hand, 
 Would he wallv up yon narrow shadowy lane, 
 O'erhung with hawthorn and sweet-scented brier. 
 Till Evening put her starry mantle on, 
 And the bat floated by the shadowy gi'ange ! 
 How often would he read his Bible here. 
 Away from noise and stiife, and feel the while 
 As happy as a ransomed man can be ! 
 'T was here he treasiued up those burning words 
 
 £ 2 
 
 Whicli tinged the colour of liis futiu-c years, 
 And made him such a Christian conqueror ! 
 
 Hast ever seen a mine ? Hast ever been 
 
 Down in its fabled grottoes, walled with gems. 
 
 And canopied with torrid mineral-belts. 
 
 That blaze within the fiery orifice? 
 
 Hast ever, by the glimmer of the lamp. 
 
 Or the fast-waning taper, gone down, down. 
 
 Towards the earth's dread centre, where wise men 
 
 Have told us that the earthquake is conceived, 
 
 And gi-eat Vesuvius hath his lava-house, 
 
 Which burns and burns for ever, shooting forth 
 
 As from a fountain of eternal fire ? 
 
 Hast ever heard, within this prison-house. 
 
 The startling hoof of Fear ? the eternal flow 
 
 Of some dread meaning whispering to thy soul ? 
 
 Hast ever seen the miner at his toil. 
 
 Following his obscure work below, below, 
 
 Where not a single sun-ray visits him, 
 
 But all is darkness and perpetual night ? 
 
 Here the dull god of gloom unrivalled reigns, 
 
 And wraps liimseK in palls of pitchy dark ! 
 
 Hast ever breathed its sickening atmosphere ? 
 
 Heard its dread throbbings, when the rock has burst? 
 
 Leaped at its heavings in the powder-blast ? 
 
 And trembled when the groaning, splitting earth. 
 
 Mass after mass, fell down with deadliest crash ? 
 
 What sayest thou?— thou hastnot? — Come with me ; 
 
 Or if thou hast, no matter, come again. 
 
 Don't fear to trust me ; for I have been there 
 
 From morn till night, from night till dewy morn, 
 
 Gasping within its burning sulphur-cloud. 
 
 Straining mine eyes along its ragged walls. 
 
 And wondering at the uncouth passages 
 
 Dashed in the sparry cells by Fancy's wand ; 
 
 And oft have paused, and paused again, to hear 
 
 The' eternal echo of its emptiness. 
 
 Come, let us leave the fields and flowers behind. 
 The murmuring brooklet where the poet walks. 
 Weaving life's cobwebs into silken flowers 
 To beautify the homes of fatherland. 
 Come, let us leave the lovely light of day, 
 The bower of roses, and the Muses' haimt. 
 Where the green ivy roofs us over head ; 
 And go down, down into the earth's black breast. 
 Where, in the bottom of a shaft, two men 
 Prepare e'en now to blast the solid rock. 
 The hole is bored ; the powder is confined ; 
 The fuse is fixed, — it cannot be drawn forth. 
 They negligently cut it with a stone 
 Against a rod of u-on. Fu'e is struck ! 
 The fuse is hissing : and they fly, both fly, 
 Towards the bucket, taking hold thereon, 
 Slu-ieking the well-known signal. Ho above 
 Strove, but in vain, to put the ^\indlass round. 
 One could escape, — delay was death to both I 
 One of them was om- hero. Stepping back, 
 He looked a moment in his comrade's face, — 
 O what a look was that ! — and ci'ied, " Escape! 
 A minute more, and I shall be in heaven." 
 On sped the bucket up the sounding shaft : 
 The man was safe ! Eager to watch the fate 
 Of his sublime deliverer, down he stooped, 
 And bent him o'er the shaft, jiist when the roar 
 Of the explosion rumbled from below.
 
 28 
 
 WAYSIDE PIC TUBES. 
 
 Up came a fragment of the rifted rock, 
 Aiid struck him on the brow, leaving a mark 
 "Wliich changing time Avill never more efface 
 Till Death shall wrap him in his murky pall! 
 
 They soon began, among the fallen rock, 
 To bniTOW for the corpse. At last they heard 
 A cheering voice among the shining tlints. 
 King in the rattUng firagments ! Here he was, 
 Roofed over with the rock, — alive and well ! 
 Forth fi-OHi his fearful grave the hero came. 
 And smiled on aU around him. Daniel's God 
 Had saved His servant in this dangerous horn". 
 All he could tell was, that, when left alone, 
 He sat down in a corner of the shaft, 
 And held a slab of stone before his eyes, 
 To wait the issue. And when asked why he 
 Gave up his hfe to save his friend, he said, 
 " His Uttle childi-en would be wet with grief, 
 While I had none my sudden death to mourn." 
 
 I look abroad on earth's great battle-field. 
 
 And from the hall of heroes, wrongly named, 
 
 I di-ag some laurelled ■n"ight, whose crimson robes 
 
 Are dripping in the blood his hands have shed ; — 
 
 I take the northern Czar, — him who, to build 
 
 A city, and to call it by his name. 
 
 Once sacrificed a hundred thousand men ! 
 
 I take bim with his soul besmeared in gore, 
 
 And place him, crowned, and worshipped, and adored. 
 
 Beside this Christian miner, who to save 
 
 His comrade's life, subhmely gave his own ! 
 
 I take them, and I place them, side by side. 
 
 Upon the world's great platform, and I ask, 
 
 " Which of them is the hero '? " 
 
 Line on line 
 Day dawned along the dingle ; from his hut 
 Among the mosses, where he lived alone, — 
 Except his dog and goat and favourite bii'd, — 
 With flowing beard and forehead high and bi'oad, 
 And eyes that flashed with an unearthly fire, 
 Clad in a garment streaming to his feet. 
 The Mountain Prophet came : while the sweet flowers 
 Drank on the down their cups of morning dew, 
 Waiting among the willows wet with tears, 
 He raised his eyes and sang his matin hymn. 
 
 " Good, gracious Being, throned in endless space. 
 
 And stooping down to such a mite as man ! 
 
 Accept the morning psalm I offer Thee. 
 
 I hear Thy voice flow tlirough the gates of mom ; 
 
 I see Thy hand in every folded bud ; 
 
 I trace Thy wonders in the meanest worm ; 
 
 I feel Thy goodness in the fanning air ; 
 
 I read Thy bounty in the drops of dew. 
 
 Great is Thy name, and marvellous Thy power : 
 
 Thou art the same to-day and evermore. 
 
 Men cliange, and creeds evanish ; but Tliy love 
 
 Unfailing stretches through eternity ; 
 
 And though sometimes to ever-erring man, 
 
 Stumbhng along the stony path of life. 
 
 Thou wrapji'st Thyself in awful mysterj'. 
 
 The grand design is his eternal peace. 
 
 " How beautiful the summer of my life, 
 
 And the young bride Thou gavest mo I Then there came 
 
 The image of her mother, and my l^irp 
 
 Was ever strung to notes of thankfulness ; 
 
 The earth was Eden, Eden were the skies. 
 
 Thou saw'st these were my idols ; so in love 
 
 The fever came and bore them both away. 
 
 How bowed my soul beneath this winter-cloud I 
 
 Ko light broke in from the eternal Sun. 
 
 I shivered like a lost man mid the ice, 
 
 And groped about, not knowing where I went. 
 
 Then rose my soul in prayer, O God, to Thee, 
 
 And poured out all its sorrows : balm came down. 
 
 And gleams of glory glowed through all my frame ; 
 
 And closer walked I with the Blessed One, — 
 
 Lived less on earth, and mingled more with heaven. 
 
 " Years passed ; rich mercies tlu'onged my temporal 
 
 path ; 
 I walked the earth in sunshine : lands increased, 
 And gold and silver, houses, friends, and ianie. 
 The love of lucre chilled my love for Cluist : 
 My heart had gi'own too worldly : then a scythe 
 Was sent by Thee to cut those brittle cords. 
 A storm arose and rent the wateiy waste. 
 And down went ships and costly merchandise ; 
 My cattle perished in the bhghted fields ; 
 And sickness, like a strong arm from Thyself, 
 Pulled me upon the borders of the pit ; 
 And when I woke, like dreamer in strange land, 
 I found myself a poor man in my hut, 
 Alone within this shaggy wilderness. 
 O blessed God, I thank Thee for it all ! 
 This way alone would lead me to Thj-self : 
 My own marked path would issue in despair. 
 Here in these moorlands much I learn of Thee, 
 And riper grow for the white fields above. 
 All praise, all glory to Thy mighty name ! 
 Among the dews of morn I shout Thy love. 
 And with the birds now trembling into song 
 My hallelujahs float into Thine ear." 
 
 And then he changed his theme and changed the key. 
 As starting to his feet he seemed to hear 
 A marvellous echo fi-om the laud of lays. 
 
 "The cniel war had ended ; from the field 
 
 The shooters had retreated, and the sword 
 
 Of the fierce soldier rested in its sheath. 
 
 The dead in heaps were rolled into a pit. 
 
 And bm-ied in their armour. Far away 
 
 The wounded had been carried ; some in sheds, 
 
 And some in barns, and some in hospitals. 
 
 Were panting for dear hfe. Legless were some. 
 
 And some were eyeless, moaning in the dark ; 
 
 Some were bereft of hands, and some of feet ; 
 
 And some had splinters driven into the brain ; 
 
 And some with more than half their faces gone, 
 
 And some whose ribs were shattered, groaning loud, 
 
 And some with bullets pressing near the heart, 
 
 And some with scalps half-blown into the air, 
 
 And some with broken arms and rooted joints : 
 
 And others rolled in fearful agonies. 
 
 With teeth hacked out and slioulders hewn away. 
 
 Gashed in the battle with a hundred blades. 
 
 " Lift up thine eyes, and look upon yon hill ; 
 
 Blood stains the Idushing verdure. Here, last night. 
 
 Huge annics naet in combat, and a name
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 29 
 
 Was won, and wjit iu characters of gore. 
 Here lies a heatlless liero, there the head 
 Split like a shell in halves : yonder a steed, 
 And under it its rider black in death. 
 Phmed to a battery with quick-broken blades, 
 A hapless gunner dangles stiff as steel. 
 Here a grey veteran, grasping hard his spear, 
 Lies dead beside a youth crop2)ed in his teeus. 
 A father and his son, tossed side by side, 
 With stony eyeballs stare into the skies. 
 Here shreds of armour, there a heap of heads ; 
 And here a hand, beside a crimson rill, 
 That strangely grasps a shattered bayonet. 
 And here are legs in wild confusion hurled 
 Of crushed war-steeds and men ; while far away, 
 Beside a rock, a wounded youth has crawled, 
 To read his Bible and lie down to die. 
 A dismal dolour presses on the ear, 
 And over all dark pitchy wings are spread. 
 And Glory, shrieking, flies the bloody spot. 
 
 " In a farm-cottage on the craggy cliff, 
 
 Half-hid with oak and leafj' sycamore. 
 
 Dwelt ritt the ploughman, singing merrily 
 
 Among the skj^-larks and his leaping lambs. 
 
 His wife and children loved him tenderly, 
 
 For whom he laboured with a hajipy heart ; 
 
 Till one dark day, when loiteiing through the town, 
 
 An officer o'ei-wrought him with his speech. 
 
 And he became a soldier, laying down 
 
 The spade of peace to gi"asp the warrior's knife. 
 
 And MTeak it with a vengeance. Then a cloud 
 
 Fell on his dwelling darkening evermore. 
 
 He had been told of glorj^ and he thought 
 
 To win her trappings 'neath the wing of War, 
 
 To have his name enrolled among the gi'eat. 
 
 Green in his covintry's story. Ah poor man ! 
 
 To seek for honour cutting human throats! 
 
 His conscience should have whispered better things. 
 
 And warned him of his error ; and no doubt 
 
 It gently chid him mid his golden sheaves. 
 
 But he was deaf to all but fame's red song. 
 
 Which only lured him from the crimson marsh. 
 
 Poor eiTing wanderer-, dazzled by a spark ! 
 
 The truly generous are the truly great. 
 
 " The night is chill and rainy : tlu'ough the vales, 
 And up the hills, and o'er the boggy plains. 
 The weltering winds are wi-ithing. Sad and slow, 
 The lone hours, one by one, ai-e steaUng out. 
 As by the tire a weary watcher sits 
 In sorrow for the absent, who has been 
 Thi-ough mouths of conflict on the hills of strife. 
 Sometimes her moist eyes gaze into the fire ; 
 Sometimes she listens at the creaking door; 
 Sometimes she lifts her hands with freezing moan. 
 And a chill shiver shatters all her frame. 
 Sometimes she kneels upon the stony floor. 
 And sobs her sori'ows in the ear of Heaven : 
 And then an angel with white wings of hope 
 Calms into peace the conflict of her soul. 
 
 " This stricken creatm-e is the soldier's wife. 
 Once Pitt the village ploughman. Dark the day 
 On which he left his home for tented plain. 
 The flail-staff for the cannon, spades for spears, 
 The reap-hook for the rifle, and the song 
 
 Of the sweet sky-lark for the wail of war. 
 Since his departiure to the field of fate. 
 Sickness blew on the flowerets of his home. 
 And with a fell swoop Death destroyed them all ; 
 And so the mother, desolate and lone. 
 With bleeding heart and eyes that cannot weep, 
 Waits for her husband, who, the letter says, 
 Has left the buttle covered o'er with fame. 
 
 " A few daj's since, when passing by his door, 
 
 I saw the broken hero : he had crept. 
 
 Upborne by crutches, to his garden-gate. 
 
 And looked a corse for paleness. Sad it was 
 
 To see a leg was missing, and his face 
 
 Was scaiTed iu fuiTows fearful to behold. 
 
 'Twas plain he had but little time to live. 
 
 His wife was standing by him, and her cheeks 
 
 Were ahnost fleshless, though her eyes were flame. 
 
 Has Glory nothing more than this to give, — 
 
 Limbs shattered, health destroyed, and life lopped 
 
 short ? 
 Last evening, as the leaves dropped quietly, 
 And robin whistled on the ivy waU, 
 The funeral-bell was echoing ux) the moor, 
 And iu the vale was filled the soldier's grave." 
 
 He paused upon his harp, while o'er him wheeled 
 
 A flock of sea-birds, and the mower's scythe 
 
 Was rasthng sweetly in the dewy gi-ass, 
 
 And, coming down a little pensive lane, 
 
 A village girl was singing an old psalm. 
 
 The smoke curled Irom a cottage chimney near, 
 
 The ploughman to the fm-row led his team. 
 
 As thus he sang among the opening flowers : — 
 
 " 'Twas at the time when early lambs appeared 
 
 In meads half flowerless, that a labouring man, 
 
 A man of books and study, as he walked 
 
 Across the moorlands, thus apostrophized : 
 
 ' gentle Spring, sweet maid of tears and sighs. 
 
 And shining shoots and blossoms mmiberless I 
 
 Hail, hail to thee, thou damsel of the dews I 
 
 I feel thy breath upon my pallid cheek ; 
 
 It floats across the valleys like a balm. 
 
 And all the air seems fuU of imageiy 
 
 The poets jiicture, and my soul of song. 
 
 I know thou comest ; for I feel thy fire ; 
 
 And from the weeping South I welcome thee. 
 
 With primrose clusters for the lap of earth. 
 
 And blue-bell cushions for the pastoral Muse, 
 
 And rills of sonnets for the rural bard. 
 
 Winter away ! we've had enough of thee ; 
 
 Thy storms have almost rocked the ragged hills, 
 
 And tossed the ocean up to meet the clouds. 
 
 Or torn it into rents like gulfs of doom. 
 
 Quick closing o'er the drowning mariner. 
 
 Thy chilly fingers, cold and shining ice, 
 
 Have almost petrified us into stone ; 
 
 So that, when stealing out beside the wood 
 
 In overcoat, and muffled like a bell. 
 
 Our teeth have chattered at thy frigid roar. 
 
 Good bye, good bye ! we've had enough of thee : 
 
 And hail, meek Spring, thou damsel of the dews ! ' 
 
 " And then his thoughts assumed another form. 
 And childhood rose before him, soft with sweets. 
 And milk-white blossoms fi-om the tree of May ;
 
 30 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 His play-lionrs bright, beside the cot of thatch ; 
 
 His mother's story, in the faggot's flash ; 
 
 The prayers of oue he never could forget ; 
 
 The songs he sang behind the hazel plongli, 
 
 Or when he watched the sheep, or threshed the sheaf; 
 
 His father's counsel at the household board ; 
 
 His slides in winter, on the moorland pool ; 
 
 His bird-nest rambles in the ferny creeks ; 
 
 His first departure, his long stormy sail 
 
 O'er seas all billows, and his safe return ; 
 
 His walks \\-ith Mary in the clime of love ; 
 
 His mai'riage-day, when earth appeared a heaven ; 
 
 His firstborn son, his home among the hills 
 
 Shining with treasm-es from the mint above ; 
 
 And standing by the lattice of his cot. 
 
 What time the taper on the table burned. 
 
 He saw bright eyes glance on him through the panes. 
 
 " There is a joyous utterance by the hearth 
 
 Unknown to other bowers, and gentle thoughts 
 
 Flow in ihe fire-hght winged with words of balm. 
 
 Sweet was the converse of that cottage choir 
 
 Which classic chiefs might envy, and Delight 
 
 Sat on the cushion with a smile for all ; 
 
 When at the door was heard the postman's knock, 
 
 And soon a letter with a foreign seal 
 
 Was lying on the table. Much anaazed, 
 
 The chilch'en whispered and the parents smiled, 
 
 Conjecjui-ing whom it came from. ' Break it, sire, 
 
 And let us see what's in it,' said they all. 
 
 And soon they saw the WTiter's autosraph. 
 
 It was a letter fi'om a daughter's baud, 
 
 Penned many miles away, bearing within 
 
 A precious portrait of their absent oue, 
 
 A money- order ,^ and a line to say, 
 
 ' Expect me, mother, with the cuckoo-bird.' 
 
 How much they joj-ed 't is not for bard to sing : 
 
 Sad that such joy should be so near to pain. 
 
 " That niglit a fire devoured them. From the heavens 
 A mass of flame dropped like the arm of Fate, 
 And whelmed them in destruction ; dwelling-house, 
 Barn, corn-rick, store-shop, cattle with theu- sheds, 
 All scorched to aslies, save one little boy 
 Tossed by his mother, in a blanket wrapped, 
 Thi-ough the hot casement on the garden shrubs, 
 As the red chamber sank beneath her scream, 
 And all went down to niin : he was saved ; 
 And when his sister reached her native land. 
 She found him hke a lone bu-d on the wild. 
 And took him to her nest, and hved with liim. 
 And brought him up to manhood, when his name 
 EoUed like an echo through the realm of mind. 
 
 '* How sweet the music of the mellow morn ! 
 Each Ijush that trembles in the dewy dawn 
 Seems a cloaked minstrel bursting into praise. 
 The shining flowers, wet with the tears of niglit, 
 With silent voices sing upon their stems : 
 Each zephyr has a lyre upon its wings, 
 Each fern a harper, each white crag a harp. 
 Up from the rushes flocks of swallows float, 
 Wheel o'er the rocks, and dash into the dell. 
 And glimmer round like brilliant shreds of song. 
 The bard-thrush carols fi-om the golden brake ; 
 The rill sends up an anthem, and tlie wood 
 A shout of i»raises to the Great Suxn-eme. 
 
 How beautiful to catch the first fresji burst 
 Of harmony from Nature's morning choir ! 
 That little cow-lierd, whisthng o'er tlie field 
 To lure the sky-lark in his upward flight, 
 And brushing back his hair to see the sun 
 March from his mansion o'er the tissued mount, 
 Is happier here than Sleep upon his silk. 
 Be mine the joy to watch the breezy Morn 
 With tears upon her face, to breathe her sweets. 
 And Avorship God on Natiire's dewy throne." 
 
 Then kneeling down among the fragrant thyme, 
 
 Alone with silence in her mossy home. 
 
 He bowed before his Maker. On the clouds 
 
 Bright beings floated from the meads of Morn, 
 
 Drifting away in space, and smiled to see 
 
 A pilgi-im praying with his face in tears. 
 
 A stream of joy fell from the Fount of Life, 
 
 Gladdening his happy soul, so that the gorse, 
 
 And ragged rocks, and hoary heights around, 
 
 Seeined gilded with the glow of Paradise ; 
 
 And when he left his closet on the crag, 
 
 A holy light was resting on his brow, 
 
 And peace was flowing through his bounding heart. 
 
 The rich reward of intercourse with Heaven. 
 
 I knew a man who dwelt among the meads, 
 
 A labouring man, a man without a pound. 
 
 Who wrestled with the Lord in mighty prayer, 
 
 Until he moved the heart of the Most High, 
 
 Who sent bread to him by the birds of heaven. 
 
 One morn in Spring, when I was yet a child. 
 
 And had a childish passion for field-flowers, — 
 
 As I have now, though stumbling down the hill, — 
 
 I strolled into the leas in search of buds ; 
 
 And, feeling thirsty, sought this good man's door. 
 
 To ask a cup of water. All alone 
 
 I found him, praj'iug in his only room. 
 
 With hands and eyes raised upward : though I spoke 
 
 Three times in earnest, me he heeded not. 
 
 Entranced in his devotion. God was there. 
 
 And beings brighter than in palaces. 
 
 Such tracks of earth, thus trod by holy feet, 
 
 Are hallowed gi'ound for ever. He who walks 
 
 Amid those grottoes treads the skirts of heaven. 
 
 Again I spoke, but spoke once more in vain ; 
 
 And so I left him talking with the Lord. 
 
 One eve in April, as the primrose flowers 
 
 Closed in the coppice 'neath the twilight star, 
 
 His soul went forth to rest for evermore. 
 
 O, many years have passed away since then, 
 
 And many images of by-gone days 
 
 Lie in the chambers of forgetfulness 
 
 Mid skeletons dust-covered ; but this saint 
 
 Alone with Jesus in his humble home, 
 
 Grows brighter still as old Time steals away, 
 
 Bringing me nearer to the door of death.
 
 SABBATH BLESSING. 
 
 31 
 
 BOOK SEVENTH. 
 THE MOUNTAIN PROPHET. 
 
 ^r'oos filled tlie world with strivers. In his 
 
 ■j\j> bower 
 
 „l'J/rhc Troph 
 
 -,,\> iiiu X rophet mused enraptured : swallows strove 
 ^ To peer upou him in his (juietude, 
 And moorland breezes fanned liis flowing hair. 
 Oft in the fever of the fulsome town 
 Such dear haunts rise before me, full of God, 
 And running over with the breath of praise ; 
 And tears How down for what I can't enjoy. 
 The genii of the Muses hover here, 
 And sweep the mosses with their starry wings ; 
 And oft at evening in the primrose time, 
 When my dear home was on the golden height, 
 And Silence drew me from my reedy cot 
 Into her moss-house hung with leaves and flowers, — 
 When wandering softly in the falhng dews, 
 I seemed to hear the footsteps of the Lord. 
 The very stones are precious in my sight. 
 And the peat hedges thrill like chords of song. 
 My spii-it, panting throiigh the universe. 
 Floats back to it, and settles down in peace. 
 Though clouds are heaped upon the world like hills 
 From zone to zone, sunshine is always here. 
 My thoughts turn to it in my sea-wash'd home. 
 And the pale liowers and springs among the ferns, 
 And crags that cry to the wild tempest's shout, 
 Rise on my view like ministers of liojje. 
 
 Mid such a scene, in such a golden grot. 
 
 The white-hau-ed Prophet mused at burning noon : 
 
 " Methinks, as Ustening on this bed of thyme, 
 
 I hear a voice across the distant waves : 
 
 ' Come to me, darlings, cluster round the log. 
 
 Get near the fire, and warm you in the blaze. 
 
 Snow hangs upon the mountains, and the pines 
 
 Look white as angels in their feathery robes : 
 
 The rills are silent, and the shaggy bear 
 
 Prowls in the darkness near the homes of men. 
 
 I've brought a treasure from the British shore, — 
 
 That blessed book, the Bible ; and I fain 
 
 Would read a portion to you ere we rest. 
 
 The Minister who freely gave it me 
 
 Said how it told of God who made the world, 
 
 And Jesus Christ, His well-beloved Son, 
 
 Who suffered for oiu- sakes, and went to heaven. 
 
 And I desire to know those things myself : 
 
 So I have called you round our happy hearth, 
 
 And ask you now to hsten.' Then he read 
 
 And wondered much, and read and wondered more ; 
 
 And every night and every day he read. 
 
 Till light streamed in to cheer them, and thoy walked 
 
 In golden sunshine through a clime of clouds. 
 
 " Yonder, beside the orchard, sad and slow, 
 A funeral train moves on ; the dead a man 
 Who dearly loved his Bible, and who lived 
 lu close coninnmion with the Lord of life. 
 He leant upon the precious promises. 
 Like trembling traveller on his long-used staff. 
 Disease o'ertuok him on his mid- way course, 
 
 And laid his hot hand on him. On his couch. 
 
 Beside liis pillow, lay the Book of God. 
 
 I saw him when the green corn clothed the meads, 
 
 Clasping the Bible to his throblnng breast; 
 
 His eyes were full of waters, wliile liis lips 
 
 Showered forth the everlasting promises. 
 
 A few days since, upon a car of light 
 
 His spu-it passed the boundaries of the world, 
 
 And rested on the everlasting hills. 
 
 O Love eternal ! thank Thee for the Book 
 
 Above aU books, that shows the way to heaven I 
 
 No charter like the Charter of the skies. 
 
 Its gold gems glitter mid the dust of time 
 
 To woo the weary to eternal rest. 
 
 A full free river, clear and beautiful, 
 
 Its healing waters gladden every land. 
 
 It cheers the peasant, and exalts the j)eer ; 
 
 It sheds a halo o'er the hedger's hut. 
 
 And adds a glory to the noble's hall. 
 
 In every clime, in every age the same ; 
 
 Black men and white men, freemen and tho slave, 
 
 All learn salvation from the written Word. 
 
 "How beautiful the measures of the day, — 
 
 Morn, noon, and eve, and legend-loving night. 
 
 When stars and comets and the floating moon 
 
 Teach their Creator in the blue-built heavens, 
 
 And musing Silence, by the ruined tower. 
 
 On tjie dark steep, and in the village lane. 
 
 Or stealing hke a presence through the streets, 
 
 Is softly whispering, Holy One, of Thee ! 
 
 Then when the week is ended, and its sighs 
 
 And crushing soitows, prayers and burning tears, 
 
 Are all recorded by a seraph's pen. 
 
 How hke an angel in its snowy robes 
 
 The Sabbath comes, Avith blessings on its brow ! 
 
 And in its stillness men think of then- sins. 
 
 And lift their hearts in prayer, God, to Theo. 
 
 A holy anthem fills the universe. 
 
 And heaven and earth are mingling into one. 
 
 " Jesus, I thank Thee for the Sabbath-day, 
 When grapes are given me from the tree of life. 
 And angels, climbing hill-sides pm-ple-hued. 
 Gleam on my vision, lifting me with song ! 
 What myriads throng Thy coiu-ts at Sabbath-time, 
 To bow before the Eoot of Jesse's stem, 
 xlnd climb communion's halo-covered head ! 
 Ye brooks and breezes, summer's gentle lyres ; 
 Y''e ferns and fiu-zes, birds and bleating kine ; 
 Rock, tree, and flower, and grasses numberless ; 
 Ye shining rushes, ch'inkiag at the rills ; 
 Ye rills, that murnmr music as ye flow ; 
 Y^'e mosses, blinking at the waterfalls ; 
 Y'e waterfalls, that crash with endless praise ; 
 Y"e thunderbolts, that cleave the flmty hills ; 
 Ye lofty hills, that lift your fronts to heaven : 
 Earth, sky, and ocean, every living thmg, 
 Man, beast and reptile, fish and floating fl)', 
 Join with a worm to laud your Maker's name, 
 And praise Him for the healing Sabbath-daj'. 
 Shout Hallelujah ! shout it high, ye winds, 
 And let the rain-drops pour it from their m-ns. 
 And zephyr bear it on its tvmeful ■wings : 
 Glory to Him who made the Sabbath-day ! 
 
 " How calm the spirit brooding over all !
 
 32 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 Beside yon rock, wliite in its licheii robes, 
 
 A being sits with beauty on lier brow. 
 
 Sweet notes gusli from her, like to those we hear 
 
 A pensive poet placing on his harp, 
 
 When he forgets tlie world and the world's cares. 
 
 She wears a vest of blossoms ; in her hand 
 
 She holds a corn-sheaf, on her head a crown 
 
 Of burning berries beautifully bright, 
 
 And words of love and plaintive tenderness 
 
 And free goodwill are flowing fr-om her lips. 
 
 Men drive her from the city ; so she hides 
 
 In lonely places, praying evermore 
 
 That war and discord and distress may die. 
 
 Her name is Peace, her home is with the good. 
 
 Though born in heaven, she glides the warring globe, 
 
 And woos the nations 'neath her leafy wings. 
 
 She woos them, but they will not come to her ; 
 
 Rave, rush, and stab, and stumble in then- gi-aves. 
 
 Yet Peace will soon appear : she comes, she conies, 
 
 To link the world in lo\Tiig brotherhood. 
 
 " Night waned away in silence ; then the morn 
 
 Broke hke a mystery o'er the ancient hills, 
 
 Filling the vales with music. By a stream 
 
 A humble cottage, perched upon a mound, 
 
 O'erlooked with sycamore and English oak, 
 
 "Where rooks were cawing and gray sparrows chirped. 
 
 Glowed in the glory of the rising sun. 
 
 Nature awoke all dewy from her rest, 
 
 And donned her cloak of sunbeams, while her heart 
 
 Poured fo'-th a flood of God-accepted praise. 
 
 Each bird and bee, and sweetly-flowing stream. 
 
 And crag and creek, and sun-iUumined height. 
 
 And moor and mead and marsh, and stirring wood. 
 
 And common brown, and chff and murmuring sea, 
 
 Sent up its anthem in the ear of Heaven. 
 
 " Pause we a moment by this mstic porch, 
 And gaze upon the cottage. Sweet indeed 
 Are tree and trellise, walk and hanging flower. 
 And reedy roof, and chimneys iA'y-wreathed ; 
 But yet a sombre sadness hangs o'er all, 
 Pressing into the spirit, and a voice 
 Seems sadly sobbing of decay and death. 
 No eyes peer tlirough the lattice ; by the door 
 No meny voices mingle ; on the seat 
 Beneath the woodbine, in the grotto still, 
 No father sits to breathe the morning balm ; 
 Blinds hang o'er all tlie windows ; not a sound 
 Is echoing here, but all is still as death. 
 A few daj's since, within that upper room, — 
 You scarcelj' see the casement for a fir, 
 Whose graceful branches fall like folds of air, — 
 A mother lay a-dying, and her face 
 Was pale as marble, yet more beautiful. 
 At the bed's foot two little sisters sat, 
 The only children of the sinking one, 
 Conversing in a tone subdued and low, 
 With tears upon the roses of their face. 
 
 " ' Don't weep, Eacele : oer yon frowning steep. 
 And higher up, beyond those gathering clouds, 
 And higher stiU, behind the solemn sky, 
 Amid the stars, upon His throne of light 
 Our heavenly Father sits, and He looks down 
 To bless the weeper trusting in His care. 
 Have we not often heard our mother say 
 
 That not a sparrow drops upon the ground 
 Without His notice, and the very hairs 
 Upon our heads are numbered by His love ? 
 And when dear father perished in the wood, 
 That night of snow and roaring hurricane. 
 She sweetly told us of the God of heaven. 
 And bade us cower beneatli His spreailing wing. 
 Have not our wants been hitherto supplied '.> 
 And if our mother fade away from earth. 
 And walk an angel mid the sweets of bhss, 
 And we are left alone upon the world. 
 Our father's God will feed and clothe His own.' 
 
 " But dear Eacele's eyes still rained hot tears. 
 
 And throlibed her little heart as if 'twould break, 
 
 As, looking in her sister's face, she sighed : 
 
 ' But 'tis so very, very hard to part ; 
 
 To have no mother when my tears run down. 
 
 And my sad heart is wounded ; all alone 
 
 To feel the stinging hand of poverty. 
 
 And plod my hungry way across the world ; 
 
 To lose her look, her smile, her healing kiss. 
 
 And never more to hear her speak to me ; 
 
 To leave our home, and go I know not where. 
 
 O, this is hard indeed ! But I submit ; 
 
 And as you say our Father up in heaven 
 
 Will feed us then, so I believe it all. 
 
 Indeed the prayer she taught us says so much. 
 
 So I commit my future ways to Him.' 
 
 The mother's face grew paler, paler still ; 
 
 And as these two, alone and comfortless, 
 
 Gazed hard upon her, suddenly her lips 
 
 Moved slow in prayer, while from the streets of gold 
 
 A glory beamed upon her countenance, 
 
 And, like the moon behind a summer hill, 
 
 Her spirit passed into the land of stars. 
 
 " The day is strangely quiet ; far away 
 
 Is heard the mill-wheel in the rushy vale. 
 
 And robin sings among the shining sloes. 
 
 The flowers seem praying on their mouldering stems, 
 
 Before they drop into their autumn graves. 
 
 The hedger whistles on the spacious moor ; 
 
 And down the river by the changing wood 
 
 The boatman carols to the falling leaves. 
 
 Within a churchyard sloping to the sea, 
 
 Where mounds rise thick on the uncA'en sward, 
 
 And the thatched belfry in its ivy-robes 
 
 Stands like a Druid o'er the epitaphs. 
 
 And yew-trees shadow many a silent urn. 
 
 Two orphan girls are kneeling on a grave. 
 
 O'er which a rose-tree dangles its last flower. 
 
 They both are sad, and both are shedding tears ; 
 
 Below them sleep their mother and their sire, 
 
 And overhead an unseen presence floats 
 
 With fragrance in its pinions, gazing down 
 
 Upon her orphans in this world of woe. 
 
 " Behind yon hedge with hawthorns covered o'er, 
 
 Behold a weaiy toiler : drops of sweat 
 
 Are falling from his forehead, and Ins face 
 
 Is seamed and saddened with the plougli of care. 
 
 Old Time has led him till his hair is hoar. 
 
 And now he totters down the steep of Age 
 
 Into the vale of skeletons below. 
 
 Where Death sits monarch on his throne of skulls. 
 
 The sun shines hotly on him ; his dr^' lips
 
 THE FUNERAL OF WAR. 
 
 83 
 
 And burning tongue arc almost cracked lor thirst. 
 
 From mora till noon has he been hard at work, 
 
 Ti-imming the sod to make his winter fire, 
 
 His body bent to earth, liis thoughts iu lieaven ; 
 
 He looketh upward througli tlae mists of time 
 
 b'or the grand coming of the Blessed One, 
 
 With flaming seraph and the trump of God. 
 
 Poor happy toiler, rich in royal hopes ! 
 
 Time passed and left the weak one weaker still. 
 
 One day, when snow was falling, he lay down 
 
 And fell asleep. High o'er the highest hill 
 
 His spirit mounted on ethereal wing. 
 
 They dxig his grave among the falling snow ; 
 
 And when the earth was white, they bm'ied liim. 
 
 And mid the snow his funeral rite was read. 
 
 He left no wife or child or living thing, 
 
 And, like a bird whose mates were gone before. 
 
 He passed away into the twilight sphere." 
 
 Now gazing on the West, before him passed 
 
 A svmset vision, beautified by prayer. 
 
 As thus his song unrolled upon the breeze : — 
 
 "Eve changed to purple, piu'ple were the skies, 
 
 The clouds were pm-ple, and the distant hills. 
 
 And wliispering trees, and lone heights summer-still. 
 
 The far- oil lake, the flags upon its brink. 
 
 Sweet little flowers that gemnaed the banks of moss, 
 
 Rills di'opping music down the mountain sides. 
 
 Sea, rock, and castle, and tbe soft sweet air 
 
 That filled the heavens, were purple, pm'ple all. 
 
 And 'neath the purple canopy a saint 
 
 Walked with his Bible ; as he walked, he prayed ; 
 
 And up to heaven was borne his earnest cry, 
 
 And rich the blessing falling on tbe good. 
 
 " Again he prayed ; again tlie liigb heavens oped, 
 
 And filled his soul with visions. He beheld 
 
 The war-god's funeral in the land of peace : 
 
 He wasted till the fiend could waste no more, 
 
 And then he died in horrors : so he lies 
 
 On smashed artillery, shells, and broken blades, 
 
 C'racked dagger-edges, knives and shattered spoars, 
 
 Gore-nisted shields, and prongs with poisoned 2)oiuts, 
 
 Bullets, gunpowder, rifles, tomahawks ; 
 
 Down deep in earth, with hills heaped o'er his head, 
 
 And seas of blood upon him, while the heavens 
 
 llesound in thiinders, ' War shall rise no more ! ' 
 
 And earth re- echoes, ' War shall rise no more ! ' 
 
 He saw the Jews all gathered to their home, 
 
 Jerusalem re-built, and Christ their Lord. 
 
 He saw Idolatry daslied fi-om his tin-one, 
 
 Sad Antichrist and Error ; and he heard 
 
 Messiah's songs thrill through the universe. 
 
 The lion fondled with the snowy lamb. 
 
 And kids and tigers played among the flowers, 
 
 And little children joined them in their sjtorts. 
 
 From hill and valley, stream and rocldng sea, 
 
 Hamlet and oily, the wide wilderness. 
 
 Island and rock and broadest continent. 
 
 Mine, moor, and mead, and solitary hut. 
 
 One universal song swept up to heaven : 
 
 ' Jesus, Immanuel, Savioiir of the world ! ' 
 
 " Yes, Jesus, Thou art all, and over all : 
 Thy love is stamped on all created things ; 
 Thy gloiy blazes through these lower worlds ; 
 
 And Thou art heaven itself, where heaven is found. 
 
 Thy power is potent o'er the rich round globe, 
 
 And where the moon and stars and sun converse. 
 
 Thou shinest like a jasper in Thy Word, 
 
 And more than Adam lost we gain in Tliee. 
 
 Have we a hope-prop, plodding down life's steep ? 
 
 That prop is Jesus, and that hope Thj'self. 
 
 Have we a solace in the shadow-land 
 
 Over whose hills the wings of Death are spread ? 
 
 That joy is Jesus, and that comfort Thou. 
 
 Have we a heaven when dust returns to dust, 
 
 A land of fadeless beauty far away. 
 
 Where waters mui'mur by the tree of life, 
 
 And seraphs dij) their w'ings in lakes of love ? 
 
 'Tis all througli Jesus ; He the First and Last, 
 
 The gi-eat Beginning and the mighty End. 
 
 I strip myself of eveiy selfish tlu-ead, 
 
 And fall a beggar at Thy blessed feet. 
 
 Hail, Jesus, Saviour, hail for evermore !" 
 
 Night stole forth pale with moonbeams : o'er the fanns 
 
 And wayside hovels, "woods and hamlets lone, 
 
 Wide whispering wastes, bright rills and beaded flowers. 
 
 And ivy-pulpit grey with Druid lore, 
 
 Old hazel-hedge, still bluff, and daisy-mead. 
 
 The silver network hiing, tissuing the locks 
 
 Of Silence musing in her rushy robes. 
 
 High on the white crags of his own dear hill 
 
 The Mountain Prophet stood, with hands upraised, 
 
 While flaming meteors flashed along the sky. 
 
 Beneath the bm-ning stars he morahzed : — 
 
 " How dark j^on dwelling by the solemn grove ! 
 The woodbine is neglected, and the gi-ass 
 Grows rank around the doorstep ; wildest bu-ds 
 Perch on the roof and hover o'er the place ; 
 The very an- that staggers tlnough the trees 
 Is sick with moaning, and the moon looks down 
 Upon a pictiu'e stained with loneliness. 
 A stoi-y meets you with a tear upon 't. 
 Here dwelt a pair beloved by earth and Heaven ; 
 Child after child was added to their home, 
 Until fom- sons stood at their father's side, 
 And helped him in his laboiu's. Tidings came 
 That o'er the seas the river-banks were gold, 
 And gold was sliining in the river-sands. 
 And glancing brightly in the torrent rifts, 
 And lying heavy in the gi'eat bear's den. 
 Or heaped upon the summit of the hills ; 
 That folk went there, and verj' soon returned 
 As rich as Crcesus in his gilded court. 
 And so the father and his four brave boys 
 Sailed for the gold-land, leaving Euth behind. 
 
 " Years passed ; a letter came with lines of cheer. 
 And words of sweetest comfort. When tlie S2mng 
 Brought golden sunshine, flower and meadow-song, 
 She might expect them in their English home, 
 ^^'ith gold enough to drive lean Want away. 
 But how unsearchable to human ken 
 Are Thy dread ways, O God ! My soul adores 
 And breathes enchained among Thy lesser works, 
 Nor scarcely dares attend Thy loftier march. 
 The stately ship rode safely o'er the waves, 
 Till fi-om the deck the sire and son beheld 
 The castle-cliffs of England. Fancy drew 
 Theii- joyous meeting on a sheet of light,
 
 34 
 
 WAYSIDE PICTURES. 
 
 "Where tears and kisses blended, till they sat 
 "Witliiu tlieir dear home, telling ravellers' tales. 
 
 " Then rose the winds and sighed among the cords, 
 
 Still rose and sighed again, and heavy clouds 
 
 Assembled seaward, mounting to the stars ; 
 
 The lightnings strode the welkin with blue swords, 
 
 Followed by moaning thunder rattling loud ; 
 
 The sails cried in the rushing river-rains. 
 
 The vessel gi-oaued for tortiu'e, as the stoitn 
 
 "Waxed loud and louder, tossing the torn bark 
 
 Upon the breakers, where it rolled in two, 
 
 And down went every soul into the deep. 
 
 A few were saved on spars and floating casks ; 
 
 And some were killed, whose life-blood stained the 
 
 waves ; 
 And some did pray, and some did wildly scream ; 
 Some clasped their hands, and sank without a word ; 
 Until the seething waters foamed o'er all, 
 And morning saw the beach with treasure strewn, 
 Large heaps of wreck, and corpses stiff and j)ale. 
 The father and his sons were seen no more. 
 
 " Euth fainted at the tidings ; a dark cloud 
 Passed o'er her being ; reason reeled and swam. 
 And left her a sad maniac, till she died 
 In the asylum on yon lonelj- heath. 
 
 " In a clay cottage, on the common's edge. 
 
 Dwelt a pale widow with her little one, 
 
 Unknown to ahnost all the wan-iug world, 
 
 liings, nobles, heroes, wielders of the pen ; 
 
 Or even those a few short miles away : 
 
 Unknown to them, but not unknown to God. 
 
 He watched her in her weeds of widowhood, 
 
 And cheered her with His presence. On a day 
 
 "When rains had fallen on the weltering world, 
 
 And earth and heaven were once more free fi-om mist. 
 
 And they tlu-ee days had fasted in their hut 
 
 Without complaining, save a mouldy crust 
 
 Broken between the two, in water soaked 
 
 And eaten with their tears ; the widow drew 
 
 An old chair near the fireplace, when she kissed 
 
 A wasted tear-drop from her daughter's cheek. 
 
 And in a low voice whispered, ' Kneel, my love, 
 
 And let us ask our Father u]i in heaven 
 
 To send us bread, so that we perish not.' 
 
 " One eve that summer, as the sinking sun 
 Tinged the white faces of the hilly steeps, 
 And spread his gold-clouds o'er the distant heights. 
 Her husband sat within their cottage porch, 
 Heading his Bible in the holy hush, 
 "When suddenly, without one warning step. 
 Death came and took him. Ere a week had passed, 
 [ With stealthy stride he stole away two girls, 
 I Her brightest and her best ; and she was left 
 I With one lone floweret on life's wilderness. 
 And now those two are kneeling side by side, 
 Pleading the faithful promises of Heaven ; 
 And up the hills, and o'er the mountain pines. 
 And far above the vapours of the marsh. 
 Beyond the clouds and blue bright firmament, 
 And higher than the highest ciystal orb. 
 Up through the vales of Eden rose their prayer, 
 And moved Jehovah on His lofty throne. 
 Seraphs were bending o'er their shining seats, 
 
 And looking down upon them, while their harps 
 Hung for some moments on the Tree of Life. 
 
 " Who stands -ndthout that dwelling on the down. 
 
 Wrapped in sweet thought, with basket on his arm, 
 
 And hand upon the latch, listening with awe. 
 
 And ever and anon wiping a tear, 
 
 And lifting up his eyes towards the sky, 
 
 As if he saw an angel with his lyre '? 
 
 It is a farmer from a distant field. 
 
 Who in the furrow left liis ancient plough 
 
 And oxen standing still ; for, as he toiled, 
 
 A voice came to him from the depths of heaven : 
 
 ' Believe the widow on the common's side.' 
 
 And so he filled his basket to the brim 
 
 With bread and meat and eggs and wholesome cheese, 
 
 And came and heard them praj-iug. Joy was there 
 
 And holy harpings in that humble home 
 
 ^^^lich emperors might envy. Thus saith God : 
 
 ' Before thou callest, I will answer thee.' 
 
 " I knew a rustic poet by a brook ; 
 
 He woke one morn in boyhood's golden dream. 
 
 And, while the lark was singing o'er the mist, 
 
 God placed the Ijtc within his trembling hands. 
 
 It was a priceless treasm'e : day and night. 
 
 In cloud and sunshine, here was joy for him. ' 
 
 When sorrow smote, or cruel Death bereaved, 
 
 The Muse brought comfort to his stricken heart. 
 
 But though Ills soul was as some precious thing. 
 
 Dwelling apart among the works of God, 
 
 And shining hke a diamond in its cell, 
 
 So verj- humble were his ways and words 
 
 That men passed by him as a common thing, 
 
 Xor heeded they his mission. Like a well 
 
 That bubbles up among the village homes, 
 
 And glides into the meadows unperceived, 
 
 Befreshing fern and floweret on its way, 
 
 And adding greenness to the thing that's green, 
 
 And beauty to the already beautiful ; 
 
 So passed the poet through this weary world. 
 
 I met him yester-eve among the rocks : 
 
 I knew him by his striking breadth of brow; 
 
 And, pausing where the banks were gay with flowers, 
 
 He looked towards the setting sun, and said, 
 
 ' I have two visions with me evermore : 
 
 One is an aged matron, kind and good ; 
 
 The Bible her chief comfort, heaven her home. 
 
 She dwells upon the borders of a croft. 
 
 In a low dwelling fronting the grey morn. 
 
 This is my loving mother. Hid with firs, 
 
 Within a valley watered by a rill, 
 
 A lonely chapel stands in Gothic garb 
 
 And dim seclusion, holy as a saint : 
 
 Before it a small gi-ave-yard always green. 
 
 Save when a new tomb opens ; and a mound 
 
 Beneath a young elm, whore the daisies gi'ow. 
 
 Is ever with me — 'tis my daughter's gi'ave. 
 
 She faded quickly, home's all-cheering flower, 
 
 Even while I gazed upon her loveliness. 
 
 Then heaven's bright portals let her in to God.' 
 
 And down the ravine stole the pensive bard. 
 
 " In moonlight mantles these hoar rocks stand up. 
 And woo me to their cloisters. I have learnt 
 In whatsoever state to be content. 
 Tliis Thou hast taught me. Father. I feel not
 
 THE POSTMAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 '6b 
 
 The least desire to leave my native heights. 
 
 This mountain is my world, these crags my throne, 
 
 And ghmcing fairies are my retinue ; 
 
 The night-bird is my poet, and the rill 
 
 My sweet musician trickling down the rocks ; 
 
 Winged spirits, bearing harps, my ministers ; 
 
 And God my audience, looking down from heaven. 
 
 hear me while I lift my heart to Thee I 
 
 1 thank Thee for Tliy guidance : Thou art Love ; 
 Tliy name is sweeter tlian the breath of flowers ; 
 Thy heart is full of holy tenderness. 
 
 Ilast Thou not promised to uphold the weak, 
 To be the pi-op of age, and in the stream 
 Of death itself to cheer the trusting saint ? 
 O what a strong tower has Thy presence been 
 In days of darkness and in nij^hts of woo ! 
 When the fierce tempter, as a lion roused, 
 Rampant and huge, alarms the quaking wood. 
 The rushes raving through the tangled brake, 
 With red fire flaming from his rolling eyes. 
 Lashing his great sides with his shaggy tail, 
 And shaking dew-drops from his monster mane ; 
 So rushed the devil down upon a worm. 
 But Tliou didst save me in that perilous hour, 
 And drive the monster back into his sinoke. 
 And Thou wilt save me to Thyself at last, 
 And clothe me with a fair immortal vest. 
 Safe in the jasper home of the redeemed. 
 
 " Enter yon room, and mai-k that praying one : 
 
 No voice to hers responded. Through the heavens 
 
 The black clouds wandered weeping evermore, 
 
 With thunder on their fronts and wings of flame. 
 
 Dark were the moon and stars, the frantic winds 
 
 Rushed down the mountains like a sea of waves, 
 
 So that the gi-ateful cottar in his home 
 
 Thought of the sailor through a shining tear, 
 
 Half-oped his door, and murmured, ' What a storm ! 
 
 High in her chamber, all alone with Heaven, 
 
 As she was wont, a pious mother prays 
 
 That God would bless her and her household train 
 
 With gi-ace to bear the chastenings of His hand, 
 
 And lead them all to Christ the lo\'ing One : 
 
 And peace hung brooding o'er her brightened soul. 
 
 That day Disaster like a sheeted ghost 
 
 Stole through her dwelling, scaring each in turn. 
 
 The boys shrank from the spectre, some to play, 
 
 And some to riot with companions rude, 
 
 And some to revel in the glow of wine, 
 
 AYhich only makes the sad one sadder still ; 
 
 The maids to di'ess and parties, she to God : 
 
 They to return with anguish naore intense ; 
 
 She, bright \vith radiance fi'om the' eternal throne. 
 
 " Hers was an influence quiet as the dews 
 That drop at nightfall on the golden flower, 
 To cheer it opening in the light of morn ; 
 And day by day thus secretly she shed 
 A holy halo over all her house. 
 Till by the Spirit love filled up the place. 
 For one cold winter's eve, beside the fire. 
 Her six brave sons, to ruddy manhood grown, 
 Were sitting musing on the chequered past. 
 When down upon them fell the bi-eath of heaven. 
 And one by one prayed silently and still ; 
 And one by one determined for the Lord ; 
 And one by one confessed the second birth, 
 
 And passed from darkness into Zion's light ; 
 
 Till all embraced the promised Comforter, 
 
 Rejoiced in liope, and praised the Trinity. 
 
 How grand the gracious scheme to save mankind, 
 
 Wrought in the halls of old eternity, 
 
 And perfected on Calvary's rocky crest! 
 
 The living doctrines of the Saviour hang 
 
 Like golden sunbeams round the icy north. 
 
 And span tlie summits of the spicy south ; 
 
 And soon their hght shall fill the gladdened globe. 
 
 " Time ti-a veiled on with much of care and change ; 
 Her children had departed ; some at sea. 
 And some on land, and some were in their graves ; 
 All, save a darling daughter, like a bud 
 Left by the IMarcli blast on a stricken spray. 
 And so she loved her with life's latest love, 
 That hngored in her bosom like a brand. 
 Go to the church beside the ancient bridge. 
 When Sabbath songs are caroled by the choir : 
 They both sit down together side by side, 
 That widowed mother, and her darUng dove. 
 With tearful eyes fixed on the Minister. 
 
 " No day without its mercies : how tliey throng 
 The gates of morning and the doors of eve, 
 Blessing each horn- and moment of our lives, 
 Aud teeming round om- path, a loving host ! 
 I knew five men who labom-ed in a mine. 
 Five in one party in a cave of tin, 
 And o'er them hung huge rocks as if by hairs, 
 Noddmg to fall ; aud yet they knew it not. 
 These five were teachers in a Sabbath school : 
 And one bright siunmer noon they were regaled. 
 With tea and cake, in a wide field of flowers. 
 These five were present ; then- dark cell below 
 Was empty then ; and at that time there fell 
 Some tons of flint upon the A-ery spot 
 Where they were standing just twelve hours before, 
 Aud where no doubt they had been standing then, 
 To be all marred and mangled, crushed to death. 
 Had not the Lord in His compassion drawn 
 Their hearts to serve Him in His blessed work." 
 
 Just then the post came rushing up the hill ; 
 Aud as the horn rang tlu-ough the village trees, 
 A pensive pictm-e passed upon the page : — 
 
 " Soft eve was still with worship ; flowers slept sweet 
 
 On beds of down ; and bkds that loved the brake 
 
 Sang not, save here aud there a pensive note 
 
 Passed with the djing dayUght. On his bed 
 
 Within a cottage, by the elfin elm, 
 
 The postman lay a dying : wiping off 
 
 The perspiration fi-om his bm'ning brow, 
 
 He gazed upon his little girl, and said, 
 
 ' Run, Anna, to the fountain in the dell. 
 
 That bubbles up among the shining moss. 
 
 And bi-ing some water to your sinking sire, 
 
 Clear, bright, and beautiful, that I may drink 
 
 And be refreshed once more before I die.' 
 
 So, taking a clean cup, the httle girl 
 
 Ran to the well, and soon was back again 
 
 In that lone chamber, when the dying mau 
 
 Kissed her pale face, di'ank heartily, and said, — 
 
 " ' May Heaven reward thee, child, when I am gone, 
 F 2
 
 S6 
 
 AN INDIAN STORY. 
 
 And be tliy fricncl find father. This cool dranght 
 Is sweet indeed ; bnt sweetei* fav within 
 I feel the waters of the Well of Life 
 Flowiucr thi-onph all my fi-ame. ^\^len I was young, 
 I sought this Fount, and it was sweet indeed. 
 Ten thousand times suice then I've come to drink, 
 And it has always cheered me ; hut its streams 
 Have ne'er refreshed me as they do to-day. 
 'Tis Chi-ist, my darling, in the trusting soul. 
 Fai-ewell, my love : the white-robed choir is come. 
 And hymnings not of earth float on my ear. 
 I soon shall be where thirst is never known.' 
 Then at the bed-side knelt she in the hush 
 Of that dim chamber, praying to her God, 
 Wliile Death with soft feet stole in to her sire. 
 Again she wiped her eyes, and prayed again ; 
 And as the postman's horn rang o'er the reeds, 
 Her father's spu'it floated up to heaven. 
 
 " Two youths I well remember : gentle, one, 
 
 And kind and loving, striving to obey 
 
 The laws of God and man : the other, fierce 
 
 And cniel as a sei'pent, swearing loud 
 
 And plotting mischief on his midnight bed. 
 
 And once they met together in a town 
 
 "^Tiere the meek youth had business, and he strove 
 
 To turn him to the harlot's guilty shed. 
 
 And stain his soul with sulphur : but he flew 
 
 Far fi-om its shadow, and knelt down to pray. 
 
 God heard his prayer, and filled his mind with peace ; 
 
 And he went on his way with praise and song. 
 The other staid behind him till dark night 
 Looked down upon him sinning, and tlie stars 
 Blushed as they sank behind the liills of morn. 
 A few short years of infamy and crime 
 Passed o'er him, and upon a foreign land 
 He died alone within the wilderness. 
 Without a friend to Uft his sinking head, 
 Or breathe the name of Jesus to his ear : 
 And now the wild beasts Jiowl upon liis grave. 
 The other lives, a loved and honom-ed man, 
 Striding to labour for his Lord and Christ, 
 His back upon the world, his face to heaven. 
 
 '* How the bright stars, conversing as they shine, 
 Invite my gaze among them ! Eyes of love, 
 They smile upon me in my hill of rock. 
 And bid me think of summer homes on high. 
 Where wife and husband, child and parent meet, 
 To part no more for ever. Bless the Lord ! 
 While I have In-eath, I'U bless and praise the Lord. 
 The song dies on my Hps, but when at last 
 This clog of clay is shook off in the grave. 
 And my freed spuit walks with the redeemed. 
 How will I sing and bless and praise the Lord I 
 Praise, praise the Lord ! bless and j)raise the Lord !" 
 
 So, taking up his staff, he passed away 
 Among the moonlight shadows, with his face 
 Bright as an angel's. 
 
 A ^w^ j-ifti ?.w^ ^tr-^ j-w-^ -Its '^A -u- <z~' -u- -Tj- -rf-^ -Tf- 't^'- -rl- rEP a^-^ ^^ 
 
 »^"^ 'iW:- ' '. ..I.,- rfZr.- ■; -CiT;/ 'TJJy.i ^-viJiiJ '<i^V:J ■ '». ■' ■ ■' ' -,} " '-^ » ..-' '•„.».,'.-; ^-C^ ./ » - j' -' ^--Ti^J^ziT-' ^^ 
 
 AN INDIAN STORY. 
 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 usic among the mountains ! How 
 it streams 
 
 Along the liollows where the fern- 
 queen trills I 
 
 Melodious matins by her door of 
 moss, 
 
 Shakes the bright ivy shimmering 
 on the rock, 
 
 Tlirills through the thicket hlic a thi'obbing trump. 
 And overflows the happy voiceful vale ! 
 It is a queenly morning : the gi'cat globe 
 Is rife with whispers from a world of wings, 
 Each bush and tree a temple. How the psahn 
 Of the gi'een wood soars in a sound of praise, 
 And every quiver from the brambled brake. 
 Dew-pearled and gleaming in the rising sun, 
 Is hke a priest conversing with the Lord ! 
 I'U bow me down and worship : — 
 
 Ijord of life ! 
 Great Spirit in the centre of all worlds I 
 Thou King eternal, lone, mvisible. 
 Monarch of all things, mighty Potentate ! 
 Giving, upholding, guiding, Thee I praise. 
 And dare approach, tlu-ough Jesus Christ, Thy Son. 
 I thank Thee for the morning, when the earth 
 Is adoration, and the heavens are praise.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN MAID. 
 
 37 
 
 I bless Tlice for the noontitle fall aixl froo, 
 
 Wlien every wiklinj^ by the leaping brook, 
 
 Or grass-blade shining where tlie soaring lark 
 
 Sings up his glory-path, repeats Thy name. 
 
 I laud Thee for the evening's holy hush, 
 
 When over all things fall the wings of rest ; 
 
 For night, and stars, and sleep ; for all fair forms, 
 
 And beautiful and bright ; for wind and rain ; 
 
 For gentle airs and dews on sumiiur Howers ; 
 
 For teaching seasons changing evermore ; 
 
 For Sabbath days ; for food and reason rich, 
 
 Eyesight and hearing, and the springs of hope 
 
 Which bubble up among the mounds of care ; 
 
 For childhood blossoms and the fruits of age ; 
 
 For promises which fill the Hol}^ Book ; 
 
 For manna in the desert ; for soft slopes 
 
 Along life's pathway, thickly gemmed with gi'eeti ; 
 
 For hill and vale, and sunsets flocked with clouds — 
 
 Like one I saw a few fair eves ago, 
 
 As if the gate of glory met my gaze ; 
 
 For songs that fill this lovely universe ; 
 
 For thunder rixmbliug through the startled void ; 
 
 For shepherd's pipe, and ocean's solemn roar ; 
 
 For solitude, and books, and fireside friends ; 
 
 For light and dai'kuess, and teu thousand joys, 
 
 W^hich die unuttered on my stammering tongue ; 
 
 But, more than all, for intercourse with Thee 
 
 Through Him, my ever blessed Substitute, 
 
 'Neath temple-roof, or where the crags are still, 
 
 Adored for ever be Thy holy name ! 
 
 The velvet moss is voiceful. I have heard — 
 
 In bygone summers streaked with rUddy youth, 
 
 Stealing among it with my shouldered harp — 
 
 Words never uttered by the tongue of man ; 
 
 And when I've stretched me in my father's croft, 
 
 In boyhood's brightness, with the sky above 
 
 And the great world around me, each small cuj) 
 
 By fairies handled, shaken with the breeze, 
 
 Seemed a rich goblet with rare nectar full. 
 
 O, how I loved it and the rocks around ! 
 
 And when the quarry-man, with drill and wedge, 
 
 SpUt an old crag on which I've often stood 
 
 To watch the storm twist up the angry heavens, 
 
 And battle through the welkin, when the sky 
 
 Was one vast echo of the grandest song, 
 
 I seemed to lose a portion of inj'self. 
 
 And in the thoughtful, sober autumn-time. 
 
 When leaves were falling on the quiet earth, 
 
 And robin whistled on the meadow-gate. 
 
 How have I joyed, perched on some granite block, 
 
 When echo almost mocked the linnet's chirp. 
 
 To clap my hands and hear it in the vale ! 
 
 Where mosses climb, there Nature teacheth much, 
 
 And poets learn what schools cannot instil. 
 
 Hark I what is that ? What music do I hear ? 
 'Tis not the lark, though he is up betimes 
 To cheer the morning with his passion-lay ; 
 I marked him long ago rise from the corn. 
 And shake his wings, and soaring sunward sing. 
 'Tis not the lark, or the tree-loving thrush, 
 Piping his pleasure on the dewy thorn. 
 Though every crevice in the old hill's side 
 Seems studded thick with harpers. List again ! 
 A breeze comes full and breaks among the ferns. 
 O, what a shower of notes ! See ! there she steals 
 
 Along the pathway leading to the gate, 
 
 Straw hat in hand, Lila, the Mountain Maid I 
 
 Her hair falls loosely on her shoulders white, 
 
 Her arms are bare, her eyes are largo and Idack, 
 
 Her brow like cliiselled marble, her fair cheeks 
 
 Outvie the lily by the moorland brook, 
 
 Herself a lily shedding odour round. 
 
 And then her mind, 0, it is like a well 
 
 Of clearest water, clieering where it flows. 
 
 She is her aged mother's only child ; 
 
 A gentle widow wandering down to death ; 
 
 They live together in a reedy home 
 
 By the wood's entrance, near the old highway ; 
 
 And the sole light the stricken mother has 
 
 Is this lone planet and her God in heaven. 
 
 So very humlile is the mountain maid, 
 
 She scarcely knows that she is beautiful. 
 
 Or deems that she is good. — On in the dews, 
 
 And this her carol : — 
 
 "Father, hear Thy child. 
 My mother taught me to obey Thy voice. 
 And praise Thee for Thy goodness. Flowers are 
 
 Thine, 
 And forest, fen and fountain, hill and vale, 
 Ocean and sky, and everything I see, — 
 The little birds that twitter on the boughs, 
 The cattle grazing on a thousand hills. 
 Thou feedest all, and givest them their meat : 
 And yet Thou mindest me ! I'U praise Thy name 
 While I have being. Let me trustful lay 
 My hand in Thine, and Thou shalt guide Thy child." 
 And sweeter than the music of the morn, 
 Down the hill-side, and up the sun-full vale, 
 And over the thick forest, music-stirred. 
 These words swelled sweetly, " Thou shalt guide Thy 
 
 child." 
 
 Under a hawthorn, lonely as a cross 
 
 Upon the common, William Collingi-ew, 
 
 A youth half through his teens, a peasant's son. 
 
 Who guides the plough along his father's fields, 
 
 Sits watching Lila with a lover's gaze : 
 
 His right hand shades his eyes, on which the curls 
 
 Of brown hair fall bright with the kiss of dawn. 
 
 The hjTnn she sings with morning at her feet, 
 
 Floats through his soul like some angelic lay ; 
 
 He heedeth not the skylark o'er his head, 
 
 The river at his side, leaf-hidden thmsh. 
 
 Or song-burst from the thicket, but, enwrapt. 
 
 Bathes in the music of the maiden's psalm. 
 
 He watches her till down behind the hiU 
 
 She sinks in beauty like the moon at morn. 
 
 Young CoUingrew was nurtm^ed on the heights 
 Where echo answered echo 'mid the rocks. 
 And waterfalls went tumbling down the steeps. 
 His mother taught hun early to obey 
 The laws of God and man, to shun all vice. 
 Which stains too oft the morals of mankind, 
 And heed the Spmt's monitory voice : 
 And much she laboured to instruct her boy 
 To practise evermore the Golden Rule, 
 Which the despised Redeemer gave the world, — 
 To love his neighbour as ho loved himself, 
 And give to others as he would receive. 
 Pleasant it was, on evenings passed away, 
 To hear that mother's counsel to the lad.
 
 38 
 
 AN INDIAN STOBY. 
 
 VTlio by lier side sat gazing in her face. 
 
 She told hiin of the new iinpeopled earth ; 
 
 Of Adam in the land of Paradise ; 
 
 Of Eve, the mother of tlie human race ; 
 
 Of our first parents' sin, whereby all fell ; 
 
 Of Jesns Christ, the Savioiu- of the lost, 
 
 Promised to Adam and his sinning seed ; 
 
 Of Cain, who killed his brother ; of the Hood 
 
 Of whelming waters, with the ark and dove, 
 
 And the fii'st rainbow spanning the great sky ; 
 
 Of Hagar wandering in the wilderness ; 
 
 Of Isaac and the altar on the hill ; 
 
 Of Joseph sold and prisoned, coi;rted, tln-oned. 
 
 And saving those who would have spilt his blood ; 
 
 Of Israel's bondage in the laud of cruue ; 
 
 The plagues, the flight from Egypt, when the kiug. 
 
 Cruel and cold, and harder than a rock, 
 
 In the red waters perished with his host ; 
 
 Of Samson and Delilah ; of fair Ruth, 
 
 The maid of Moab, gleaning in the field : 
 
 And oft she told him of the shepherd-boy 
 
 ^Vho slew the great Gohath with a sling 
 
 And a smooth pebble from the silver brook ; 
 
 And how he afterwards became a kiug, 
 
 And sang the glory of Messiah's reign ; 
 
 Of the three Hebrew chikli-en and the fire ; 
 
 Of Daniel in the darkness of the den, 
 
 "Where lions roared and glared into his eyes ; 
 
 Of Jonah, swallowed by the mighty whale. 
 
 And mom'ning underneath the smitten gourd ; 
 
 With other stories from the pen of Ti'uth, 
 
 ^Vllich shed a sweetness o'er his opening mind. 
 
 But, more than all, that mother taught her boy 
 
 Of One who, stable-born, gi'ew up to man, 
 
 And lived a life of holiness and love : 
 
 He healed the sick, and raised the buried dead ; 
 
 Opened the bhud man's eyes, so that he saw 
 
 The teeming wonders of the universe ; 
 
 Hushed the wild tumult of the raging sea 
 
 By the sweet breath of peace. The ear, sealed up 
 
 With stony deafness, opened was by Him, 
 
 So that sweet sound filled the awakened soul. 
 
 He walked the waters of the troubled deep. 
 
 And reached the ship where His disciples moTirned, 
 
 Clieering them with His presence. The great storm, 
 
 "With broken wings, fell powerless at His word, 
 
 Mm-muring for lack of might. Forgave He, too, 
 
 The sinner's sins, bidding him err no more. 
 
 The dumb one spake, and praised the Healer's name ; 
 
 The leper felt His touch, and rose renewed ; 
 
 Back from the land of death the damsel came, 
 
 When He exclaimed, " Ai'ise ! " and at the gate 
 
 Of the full city, standing by the bier, 
 
 He speaks the 'dead to life, and the fair youth 
 
 Leaps from the cof&n to his mother's arms. 
 
 Listened the pupil, while his earnest orbs 
 
 Were full of wonder-gleams and passions strange ; , 
 
 And gentle were the teacher's simple tones. 
 
 As she described the suffering Son of Man, 
 
 Maker and Monarch of the universe, 
 
 Not having any place to lay His head ; 
 
 Seeking His lodge upon the mountain-top. 
 
 And praying in the valley. Birds had nests, 
 
 Btit He no home or shelter from the storm. 
 
 Wild creatures of the forest, the wise fox 
 
 In the great thicket had a safe retreat ; 
 
 But He no cover save the roof of heaven. 
 
 His life was nought but love and charity, 
 
 Yet sin and hate pursued Him, till at last 
 
 The hour of darkness rolled i:pon His soul 
 
 In agony unuttered. Drops of blood 
 
 Pressed through His skin, and spread the blushing 
 
 ground. 
 Crushed in the Garden of Gethsemane 
 With the world's wrongs, the sins of all mankind, 
 His prayer arose, and smote the ear of Night : 
 " My Father God, if it be possible. 
 Remove this cup, which is so hard to drink ; 
 However, not My will, but Thine be done ! " 
 And down from Eden shining angels dropped, 
 And ministered unto Him. Through the gloom. 
 With torch and staff, the wretched Judas came, 
 And with a kiss betrayed Him. Then they dragged 
 The lowly One to Pilate's dreaded bar. 
 And scoffed and mocked Him, hooting in His ear. 
 Crowned Him with thorns, and spat upon His face ; 
 They beat Him with their palms, and plucked His hair ; 
 Then stretched Him on the wood, and hammered nails 
 Into His flesh, and crucified the Lord ; 
 And as He hung upon the hfted cross 
 Between two thieves, they gave Him gall to drink. 
 And pierced His side, and howled in anger round. 
 " Father, forgive them," said the dying Lamb ; 
 " They know not what they do." And then His last 
 Atoning utterance through creation rolled : 
 " 'Tis finished ! " and He bowed His head and died. 
 All Nature shuddered, the great sun grew dai'k. 
 Light left the universe, day reeled and fell ; 
 Clouds rushed against each other ; sheeted dead 
 Rose from the tomb, and glided tlu'ough the streets ; 
 Rocks, bulgmg from the hill-side, crashed and rent, 
 And one great groan filled up the astonished void : 
 The unbehever, startled at the scene, 
 Cried out, convinced, " This was the Son of God I " 
 
 And the boy listened as she told him how 
 They laid Him in a new tomb in the rock ; 
 And when three days had passed,' the Saviour rose, 
 And soared to heaven, a conqueror over death, 
 Where He now lives to intercede for ruan : 
 That He requires us to obey His voice. 
 And yield our hearts to Him, by which we gain. 
 In life and death, the promise of both worlds : 
 That all mankind are only travellers here, 
 Swift- journeying to the shores of the unseen ; 
 To-day the tree is clothed with foliage fair, — 
 To-morrow stripped, and whistling in the wind. 
 The only stay for erring man is Christ — 
 All other props rest on the unsettled sands, 
 Which in the eddy of the last great whirl 
 Shall be dashed down to darkness. By and bye 
 The dread archangel shall descend from heaven, 
 And blow liis trumpet on the drifting cloud. 
 At whose huge echo the high firmament 
 Shall be liurut up like to a shrivelled scroll, 
 The sun shall blaze no longer, and the moon 
 Shall glare like blood upon the plain of night ; 
 The stars shall fall, and heaven be desolate ; 
 The crashing eartli be one great globe of flame ; 
 Thunder shall liowl to thunder, horrid, high ; 
 And lightnings follow lightnings, till the wreck 
 Sweep utterly across the empty air ;
 
 LILA AND WILLIAM. 
 
 39 
 
 And Time shall tumble from his azure throne. 
 But those wiio love the Saviour -will not fear 
 This host of liorrors, but sliall safely sail 
 Into the city on a sea of fire. 
 
 Listened the boj% with aspirations hij^li 
 
 Sunned vi'ith this solemn teaching. He grew up 
 
 Familiar with the verities of God, 
 
 E'en from his very cradle. In the wind 
 
 He heard His voice, and in the linnet's lay; 
 
 And when Ills mother joined his hands in prayer, 
 
 As Eve came pensive musing in the dews, 
 
 Sometimes a tear would glisten in his eye. 
 
 Thus he grew on, a sapling pruned by truth ; 
 
 He dared not lie, he dared not swear nor steal ; 
 
 Vile words he never uttered, but obeyed 
 
 The voice of conscience, l)y the Spirit led. 
 
 When old enough, that mother taught her son 
 
 To read the Bible, which he valued much. 
 
 Good books were his companions, which he searched 
 
 Under the trees, or by the river sides. 
 
 Or on the rocks at sunset purple-hued. 
 
 Or by the log-fire in his mother's home, 
 
 Soul-full of pleasure exqi;isite as light ; 
 
 And many friends had \Yilliam Collin grew. 
 
 How like his home to mine, where childhood dwelt 
 
 Ajnong the low peat barriers ! Here I caught 
 
 The spell of song high-Ufted on the hill, 
 
 IMidway between two worlds. , The strife of tongues, 
 
 The blast of bickering, and the howl of hate 
 
 l\oars not among its caverns. Nature here 
 
 Trills her own carols with the pipe of peace. 
 
 She woo'd me from my marbles ; her sweet voice 
 
 ]\Iade me her lover ere I was aware ; 
 
 And so I trod the rhyme-fields, quill in hand, 
 
 Diverted with my whistle. Fleeting years 
 
 Have only bound me to my teacher more, 
 
 With bands that death can only rend away. 
 
 How long I now to hide me in the heath. 
 
 Where man cannot behold me, rapt with strains 
 
 That murmui' fi-om the higher firmament ! 
 
 He wandered where the hilly heather, hung 
 
 O'er brake, and bank, and bm-row. Here he dwelt 
 
 In his own temple, placid as a priest, 
 
 Harped to by winds and waters ; not a thought 
 
 Buliied his spirit ; tranquil as a lake 
 
 Among the hills, till underneath the thorn 
 
 Love wounded him, and left him in amaze. 
 
 Then wallved he wilds, paced the great rugged tarns 
 
 And sounding fens, with Silence at his side. 
 
 Or meadows green, with footpaths like a cord. 
 
 If haplj- he might meet the mountain majd, 
 
 And whisper how he loved her. One stiU eve, 
 
 Just when the full moon rose upon the moor. 
 
 He met htr by a stile, and sptke to l.er. 
 
 With trembUug in his speech : and s-he was free, 
 
 And kind, and gentle ; so he tiu'ned aside 
 
 From his own track, scarce knomug what he did, 
 
 Chatting and smiling till they reached the door, 
 
 Where stood her waiting mother ; then she breathed 
 
 The sweet good night, and left him blind with bliss. 
 
 Soon intercourse grew thicker than the weeks 
 That pressed on one another. In the woods 
 They walked at sunset, — she his sun and hght ; 
 
 Wandered by streams which murmured Lila's name ; 
 
 Travelled through lanes where love tuned everj' tree ; 
 
 Discoursed on fiower banks, — she his fairest flower. 
 
 Where the low thyme was sweetly eloquent, 
 
 He told her of the deep well in his soul. 
 
 Which with love-waters freely bubbled o'er. 
 
 Oft when the eve came like a gentle dove 
 
 In twilight valleys, arm in arm they walked 
 
 Where hawtliorns flung their fragrance, hearing sweet 
 
 Celestial music in the earth and heaven. 
 
 Day wanes among the willows ; the great sun 
 Has disappeared behind the western hiUs, 
 Leaving his purple track upon the sea. 
 Headland, and hoary height. Along the lane 
 The thatclier whistles, followed by the bat ; 
 And gentle murmurs fill both hemispheres. 
 Lila has cleaned her cottage, swept the floor, 
 And laid the hearth in order. On a chan- 
 Her mother sits, with needle in her hand, 
 In linen cap, and " spectacles on nose," 
 Clean as a. pebble on the sandy shore. 
 The cat purrs on the cricket ; the pet bird 
 In the small cage is musing like a bard. 
 While the clock ticks upon the oaken stand. 
 She drops her book, and, by the hazel door. 
 Peers down the narrow lane, and soon descries 
 Young Collingrew come pacing up the liiE, 
 Twirling his stick for gladness : on the air 
 Is borne his whistle, floating 'neath the eaves. 
 What holy transport rushes through her soul ! 
 Soon the door opens, and he enters in. 
 Cheered with a smile from Lila, and a glad 
 " How do ye do ? " from the cap-crested dame. 
 At first he's slow and bashful ; by and bye 
 Speech trickles freer — then it flows — and then 
 They are all chatting, mother, maid, and youtli. 
 How swift the moments fly ! The wicked clock 
 Seems bent to gallop with an untold ]iace. 
 And then he slowly rises, takes his hat, 
 Still lingering in the doorway, lingering still, 
 Till forced to part within the ivy porch. 
 
 Next evening spoke the widow, as they sat 
 
 Drinking their tea, what time the twilight fell, 
 
 And listened Lila, purple •ndtli the speech : 
 
 " I have respect for WiUiam Collingrew. 
 
 He is an honest lad, and Inmible, too. 
 
 Taught at the feet of sterling piety. 
 
 liike thee, he looks a cowsliji by the well, 
 
 Hanging its head in native loveliness. 
 
 No tx-eachery Im-ks beneath his trustful glance, 
 
 Nor in his smile deception. I have seen 
 
 Much of mankind, and read it in liis face. 
 
 The looks of some men tell us what they are. 
 
 Th it thou art thus esteemed by CoUingi-ew 
 
 Much pleaseth me, mj- daughter. j\Iay he be 
 
 A husband like thy father, kind and good. 
 
 And gentle as the fanning wind to-night ! 
 
 Well I remember now our wooing days, 
 
 And what dear bhss it brought us : not a breeze 
 
 Or woody warbler sweeter than his speech, 
 
 Or hmpid runnel clearer than his eye ; 
 
 No room was in his soul for aught but love. 
 
 And then we married. Om- small home was bright, 
 
 As if an angel dwelt beneath the roof: 
 
 And surely angels harboured with us then,
 
 40 
 
 AN INDIAN STOBY. 
 
 And liarboiir with us still ; for they abide 
 
 Unseen •\vithiu the dwellings of the good. 
 
 \Mien thoii wert born, how swelled my prayer of praise! 
 
 We walked to chiu'ch together, read at home, 
 
 And served tlie Lord in spirit. Years passed on, 
 
 And not a hand-cloud rose upou om- sky. 
 
 Or drop was dashed out of our cup of joy. 
 
 On market days we rode into the town, 
 
 Eeturning when the wood-bhd sought its nest. 
 
 Old Time for us had sunshine en his face. 
 
 Then darkness fiUed the horizon : sickness came, 
 
 And Death j)ut out the Ught of our abode, 
 
 And snatched yoiu- father from us. In the dark 
 
 How bowed I low, dripping with soitow's raiu I 
 
 But there was light above this fearful gloom : 
 
 I looked, and saw my Sa\-iour. ' Unto Me 
 
 Commit thy way, and I'll du-ect thy path.' 
 
 This pi-omise stayed me as it were an arm. 
 
 And, in a dream which came to me one night, 
 
 I saw your father standing by a lake 
 
 As clear as crystal, in the land above. 
 
 Clad in white robes, and white wings graced his sides ; 
 
 A crown of glory glittered on his head, 
 
 And in his hand he held a golden harp ; 
 
 And, sweetly smiling on me, I awoke. 
 
 He is in heaven, my Lila. When he died, 
 
 His last words were, ' I'm safe through Jesus Christ.' 
 
 And then he slumbered like a weary child. 
 
 But soon I go to meet him, where the trace 
 
 Of pai-tiug tears shall never more be seen." 
 
 Soon into autumn slid the shortening days ; 
 
 The fruits were gathered in ; the leaves fell fast ; 
 
 The ploughman and his team were on the mead ; 
 
 The sportsman was abroad, — echo was rife 
 
 With shout and halloo sweUing on the air ; 
 
 The plovers whistle o'er the ancient tarn. 
 
 And whirl and whistle, whistling round and rcuud. 
 
 Until they di'op to be the fowler's prey. 
 
 'Tis pleasant now to leave the city's smoke, 
 
 And be alone with Nature. I'usty fern, 
 
 Cloud-catching peak, stern ruin, grasses grey, 
 
 And tree-bough season-streaked, have each a psalm 
 
 Of holy cadence for the hstening ear. 
 
 Lila is watching by her mother's bed 
 
 With all a daughter's fondness ; she had been 
 
 For long, long days afflicted. On a thorn 
 
 Beside the casement little robin sings; 
 
 And through the open window floats his song, 
 
 Cheering the weary sufferer. Then she speaks : 
 
 " Come, read to me, my daughter, — read once mure 
 
 Of the bright streets of gold in Eden-land, 
 
 "\\Tiei-e rest the good for ever, — where the King 
 
 In beauty dwells, and I shall soon appear. 
 
 I feel my days are numbered ; every hour 
 
 Adds to my weakness : ere another sun 
 
 Is lost behind the waters, heaven is mine. 
 
 Nay, do not we< p, my daughter; think of Him 
 
 Whose word is tinner than the firnaament ; 
 
 TiTist, and He'll be thy helper. Lift me up, 
 
 That I may once more see the autumn hills 
 
 Kissed with the lingering simset. Now good bye ; 
 
 I see a chariot coming on the cloud, — 
 
 Fue are the horses, fire the charioteer, 
 
 And fire the car which takes me through the an- ! 
 
 Hark ! don't you hear the rambling of its wheels ? 
 
 Nearer it comes, and nearer ! O what light ! 
 
 The room is full, — 'tis glory everywhere ! 
 Dear Jesus, I am coming." Then she fell 
 As falls a meteor when the skies are clear. 
 
 Now, with an aunt lived Lila l)y a brook, 
 Beneath a bending moiiutain. Here were fields. 
 And there a green wood, com'ted by the thrush ; 
 And on the right a dingle full of notes. 
 Here Lila wandered often, like a bird 
 Whose nest was beaten by the howling blast 
 And blown to ruin ; here she wandered oft 
 In pious meditation, filled with thoughts 
 Wliich only cluster round the mind of peace ; 
 But much she felt the woe of orphanage 
 In such a world of evil, where the good 
 Are oft pui'sued by hunger and distress, 
 Or left to perish in the biting air ; 
 Then like a fi'iend, beside her ever walked 
 This precious promise, cheering her with Kght, 
 " When all forsake thee, I will take thee up." 
 And where was Collingiew ? In vales remote 
 Across the seas he worked, from dawn to dusk, 
 With Lila's presence ever by his side. 
 
 One summer eve — the twilight had begun. 
 
 And murmm-s filled the forest, when she walked 
 
 Down her accustomed pathway. Over head 
 
 The grand old hill seemed clad in priestly robes, 
 
 Sounding his solemn vespers. On the winds 
 
 A voice came mm-muring, " We must work and wait." 
 
 And every echo in the far-off fen 
 
 Took up the utterance, " We must work and wait." 
 
 Her spirit felt it, "We must work and wait." 
 
 For Collingrew had promised to return 
 
 And take her o'er the waters, where a home 
 
 Awaited her beneath the beechen bough. 
 
 But days, and weeks, and months had slowly passed. 
 
 And yet he came not, lingering, lingering stiib; 
 
 And still she felt that she must work and wait. 
 
 With staff and bundle, pleasant to behold. 
 Comes o'er the bridge, across the village stream, 
 A tall young man, with candour in his face. 
 And sunshine in his features. By the door 
 Of a lone cottage, where the ivies climb, 
 He asked a mother, kissing her sweet babe. 
 If Lila, whom they called the Mountain Maid, 
 Still dwelt beside the forest ? Then she paused. 
 And raised her head, and softly answered, " No ; 
 Her mother died when leaves began to fall ; 
 She's buried in the churchj'ard on the hill, 
 And Lila's home is with an aged aunt. 
 Among our damsels she the fairest is. 
 The kindest, best, the gentlest of them all. 
 And happy he who wins her." So he turned 
 Out of the road, taking the narrow path 
 With rushes skirted, singing like a bird : 
 'Twas William Collingrew couie home again. 
 
 They mot among the bushes. Yes ; they met, 
 Lila and William, sudden as the moon, 
 Which then came up behind the eastern hill. 
 Round, full, and fair, paler than she was wont. 
 They met, and kissed each other. 0, what joy 
 Held that dear moment, bursting with dcli'dit ! 
 Earth cannot give a holier cup tlian this, 
 Nor can it offer one shnilitude 
 So rich in precious treasure. A new thought
 
 THE PlilMEVAL FOREST. 
 
 41 
 
 Wliich fires a poet's fancy, Bhooting life 
 
 Throughout his being, is a symbol tame. 
 
 They met, ami kissed each other. Her fair fiice, 
 
 Silvered with moonHght, and suffused with grief. 
 
 Had never looked so beautiful Ijefore. 
 
 They drank from cisterns purified by tears, 
 
 And fed upon tlie fragrant fruits of love. 
 
 Then, as he led her down the village lane. 
 
 He tokl her of his laboiu's in the west. 
 
 Where the Red Inchan hunted ; how a home 
 
 Awaited her beneath the forest boughs, 
 
 Built by liis own hands, near the river side. 
 
 Where Plenty sat, and pressed the juicy grapes ; 
 
 Though, till she came, no light illumined it, 
 
 But it was dark and cheerless. "Would she go ? 
 
 And Lila bowed her head, and answered, " Yes, 
 
 I'll go and share it with you." Throbbed liis heart, 
 
 And beat his pulses quicker than before ; 
 
 And earth and heaven seemed blended into one. 
 
 Soon after this, the village bells rang out 
 
 Then- merry chimes upon their wedding day. 
 
 And they were one for ever. Blessings piire 
 
 As crystal rain-drops fell upon their souls 
 
 From man and matron, as they walked from church. 
 
 Clad in then- bridal gaiTaents. Flowers were sti-ewn. 
 
 Hymns gaily sung, quaint psalm-lines chanted o'er, 
 
 And joy o'crflowed the hamlet. Then they sighed 
 
 A gentle farewell to their native land. 
 
 And sailed upon the waters. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Ox 
 
 WAYS the primeval forest like a sea 
 Stirred with sweet summer breezes 
 
 the gi-eat 
 
 trees 
 
 Sigh in the silence of the summer air, 
 Eife with poetic fancies ; their strong arms 
 Are lifted as in prayer, and every leaf 
 Trills tuneful tribute to its IMaker's name. 
 In venerable ripeness stands the wood, 
 A miracle of grandetur, flinging back 
 Reproof in showers upon the scoffer's head. 
 Here silently, for centuries unperceived, 
 Natm-e has used her only husbandry 
 To cultivate the soil of solitude, 
 And rear her trophies nm-tm-ed with the dews. 
 And rain, and air, and sunshine beautiful ; 
 No planter's spade has ever delved the gi-ound, 
 Or settler's hatchet trimmed the stm-dy boughs ; 
 She is her only pruner, lopping off 
 And rooting up by hurricane and time. 
 Her book is full of wisdom : read it well, 
 And thou shalt feel there is a great Fkst Cause. 
 The swaying forest sighs, " There is a God ; " 
 And every leaflet on the hfted bough. 
 Tuned with the zephyr, murmm-s, " There's a God 
 And the mysterious thicket, " There's a God." 
 The beasts that shelter in the underwood ; 
 
 The birds that gleam and sing till set of sun ; 
 The thimder crashing through its arches gi-aud ; 
 Tlie lightnmgs flaming up its avenues ; 
 The tempest striving with the creaking trunks ; 
 And every whisper slowly walking where 
 The tendi-ils cluster, echo, " There's a God." 
 
 Within a clearing by a rushing stream 
 Is a log hut, and a low barn of logs. 
 And several log sheds, by a farmer used. 
 For cattle, pigs, and poultiy. The few fields 
 Have each log fences, saving here and there 
 A tree is left to grow, half lopped perhaps. 
 Half green, half dry, and there a heap of stumps 
 Piled up to form a barrier. The rich mould 
 Requires Ijut little culture, bringing forth 
 Abundant crops to cheer the settler's soul ; 
 Fruits in their season, corn, and milk, and wine, 
 And game in handfuls, captured without toil. 
 Children are playing underneath the porch. 
 And by the river is a gentle boy 
 Sailing his boat : his mother calls him now 
 To meet his father at the supper-board, 
 And sisters sweeter than the lotus-flowers. 
 This is the home of William Colhngrew. 
 Long has he laboured, toiling many a year, 
 And this his increase blessed by Providence. 
 
 Sometimes they sailed upon the wooded lake 
 With fishing-tackle 'neath the maple boughs. 
 Where perched the mocking-bird and robin red. 
 Catching the bright fish, Wilham and his boy. 
 Sometimes they wandered in the forest dim 
 To watch the squirrel on the hickory tree. 
 And pull the berries from the bounteous brake : 
 And when the winter came in garments white. 
 Sometimes they tracked the rabbit in the snow, 
 Or swiftly sleighed across the open ground, 
 Hooded and fui'-clad, wondering at the speed. 
 Then sweet it was to cluster round the log 
 In the wide chimnej^, happy boy and girl. 
 To hst to Lila's lays of early Hfe 
 In blissful England, where tkroughout the year 
 Dear daisies gi'ow, and lawns are always green. 
 She told of tracks her youthful feet had trod. 
 Of banks where violets grew mid moss-cups rare, 
 Of rivers warbling music ; of the cot 
 Among the nishes where her mother dwelt, 
 And where she grew beside her, simned hy love ; 
 Of evenings spent with story, nights with di-eams, 
 And days vdth visions bnrning far* bej'ond ; 
 Of her dear parent, and her teachings pm-e. 
 But when she whispered of the little church 
 Among the pine trees, where she worshipped oft, 
 And found the Lord, and bade them seek Him too, 
 Tears trickled slowly over every face. 
 
 Some cannot bear prolonged prosperity : 
 "Wlien all is pleasant, thej' forget themselves. 
 And Him who gives the blessing ; sitting down 
 And rising up without a thought of thanks ; 
 Going out and in unmindful of the Lord. 
 And such was WiUiam. Fu'st, he ceased to pray 
 Within his closet : then the sacred Book 
 Remained unopened on the dusty shelf 
 Month after month, with no desu-e to search 
 The oracles which testify of Chi-ist ; 
 
 G
 
 42 
 
 AN INDIAN STORY. 
 
 And then his hps nnwatched would utter wrong, 
 Slowly at first, then Hke a rushing stream. 
 His heart gi-ew cold, and selfish was his soul. 
 Forgotten were the teachings of his youth, 
 His years of love forgotten. Like a skiff 
 Borne by the ciuTent in an adverse course, 
 In spite of brawny arm and well-set sail, 
 So th-ifted he upon the tide of wi'ong. 
 This fell like hail upon the settler's home. 
 
 It is a soft and lovely eve in June : 
 The sun is set, though over all the sky 
 Glow radiant tints, which fiU the gazer's soul 
 With visions of the futm-e land of rest, 
 Where Eden's waters murmur, and the gleam 
 Of seraph wings falls on the holy lakes ; 
 The full moon mounts above the solemn pines, 
 And cherry trees, now rich ■with crimson fruit, 
 And Indian corn just biu-sting into ear, 
 KeveaKng every featiu-e of the scene. 
 Tall, muscular, and strong, prej^aring scythes 
 For the approaching hay-time, CoUingi'ew 
 Is sitting on the door-step of his home, 
 Busy at work, so that he does not see 
 An Indian hunter drawing near his door. 
 Until he speaks in supplicating tone : 
 " Will you not give a poor unfortmiate 
 Some supper and a lodging for the night, 
 "Whose way has been mistaken in the wood ? " 
 
 The farmer eyed him with a look of scorn. 
 
 Auger was in his eyes as he rephed, 
 
 Uucourteous and cruel : " Heathen dog ! 
 
 Begone, begone, you shall have nothing here ! " 
 
 The Indian turned, then, facing Collingi-ew, 
 
 In accents low and musical he said : 
 
 " But I am veiy hmigiy ; it is long 
 
 Since I have eaten. Only give a cmst, 
 
 A bone to cheer me on my weary way." 
 
 Then answered he with fmy and a fi'own, 
 
 " Go, get you gone, you red-skin heathen hound ! 
 
 I've nothing for you ; get j'ou gone, I say." 
 
 A struggle seemed to rend the hunter's breast, 
 
 As 'if two beings were contending there 
 
 To gain the masteiy, — fainting want, and pride. 
 
 The former conquered. With weak voice he said : 
 
 " Give me a cup of water, cool and pure ; 
 
 For I am very faint, and fear to fall." 
 
 E'en this appeal moved not his heart of rock. 
 
 He bade liim seek the river. Turned he then ; 
 
 His weak steps showed that he was much in need : 
 
 Haughty and high, necessity was sharp 
 
 To m-ge him thus, the warrior of the wood. 
 
 And so he turned from one of Christian name 
 
 With proud yet mournful an*, as turns a king, 
 
 When all his hopes are in the battle lost. 
 
 But woman's heart is tender : to the ciy 
 
 Of suffering sorrow she will lend an ear. 
 
 Whether in deserts, or in cities fail*. 
 
 Hushing her infant, Lila heard this speech, 
 
 And through an open casement watched the steps 
 
 Of the weak dusky native, till he sank 
 
 Exhausted near her dwelling. Then she took 
 
 Some bread and milk, parched corn, and roasted kid; 
 
 And soon was at his side, when, bending down, 
 
 Slie whispered with a voice of tenderest love : 
 
 '• Will my red brother rise, and eat and drink '? " 
 
 He rose and fed ; then, kneeling at her feet, 
 He pressed her hand so gently to his lips. 
 And thus spoke he in soft melodious tone : 
 
 " The eagle shall not pounce on the white dove, 
 
 For Carcoochee will save it. For her sake. 
 
 The unfledged young shall shelter in their nest, 
 
 And her red brother seek not for reA'enge." 
 
 Then drawing from his bosom a gay branch 
 
 Of heron's pliuxies, he took the longest out. 
 
 And, giving it to Lila, spoke once more : 
 
 " When o'er the hunting-gi-ouudsthe white dove's mate 
 
 Flies in the chase a-near our dear wigwams, 
 
 Bid him to wear this feather on his head." 
 
 Then with a graceful nod the wari'ior tm-ned, 
 
 And, ghding through the woods, was lost to view. 
 
 The slunmer passed, the harvest came and went, 
 The wheat and maize had all been gathered in. 
 The garden pumjjkius graced then- winter-homes, 
 And tints adorned the forest, which the hand 
 Of Autunau paints upon the changing leaves. 
 It was the time of hunting. A small band 
 Asked Collingrew to join them in the chase, 
 Beyond the river and the vale of pines. 
 Active and bold, he used the hatchet well ; 
 Expert, too, with the rifle, and his joy 
 Had heretofore been much to scour the wood ; 
 But now his heart misgave him. The dark form 
 Of the poor Indian he had so abused 
 Struck terror through his spuit. Night and day 
 It haunted him with hoiTor unsui'passed. 
 At length he called his gentle wife, and said: 
 
 " My conscience lashes me hke thongs of fire, 
 
 I have a wounded spirit hard to bear. 
 
 You know the native who last summer came, 
 
 And begged some bread, and begged of me in vain ; 
 
 It haunts me, it haunts me. Ever since 
 
 All that my mother taught me has been here, 
 
 My duty to my neighbour' and my God : 
 
 Both have been much neglected, I repent, 
 
 And live a difi'erent future. No, dear wife, 
 
 I cannot join to-morrow in the chase. 
 
 For I have strange misgivings in my mind. 
 
 Say, would you go, my Lila ? " 
 
 Then she smiled. 
 Gazed in his face, and told him how she fed 
 The exhausted red man, keeping to herself 
 This flower of kindness fragrant in her heart. 
 For fear she might offend him. From the press 
 She fetched the heron's feather, teUing him 
 The Inchan's words, that he had ncmght to fear. 
 If this bright plume was seen upon his head. 
 Then Collingrew : 
 
 " These Indians ne'er forget, 
 Nor evermore forgive an injui-y." 
 
 " Nor let a kindness unrewarded pass," 
 
 Said gentle Lila, with her hand in his. 
 
 " I'll sew this feather in yom* hunting-cap ; 
 
 Then tnist you to God's keeping, though I know 
 
 He could take care of you as well without ; 
 
 Yet we must use the means. My father said, 
 
 ' Trust hke a child, and labour like a man.'
 
 THE HUNTER'S ENCOUNTER. 
 
 43 
 
 Would we have help, then we must help ourselves. 
 No miracles are wrouf^lit on onr behalf, 
 Wliile we do nought but idly fold our arms. 
 O we are wrong ; dear Wilham, we arc wrong. 
 Let's humbly bow before the Lord our God, 
 And ask His mercy." And that night they knelt. 
 For the first time, in earnest social prayer. 
 
 The morn was clear, the forest beautiful ; 
 
 Kusih, rush the trees, shook with the western wind ; 
 
 No cloud was on the brow of CoUingrew, 
 
 His fears had vanished with the rising sun. 
 
 The himters had assembled, dogs and guns 
 
 Showed underneath the maples, and his heart 
 
 Was beating high with a prospective joy. 
 
 So buoyant were his spirits, that he seemed 
 
 Inclined to take the feather from his cap. 
 
 When Lila held his hand, and whispered, " No." 
 
 And he obeyed her, saying, " If you think 
 
 The plume will save me from the redskin's knife, 
 
 I'll wear it for yom- sake." Then on he put 
 
 His hunting cap, shouldered his gun, and soon 
 
 In the wild woodland gladly sought for game. 
 
 Then day grew dim, and night came calmly on ; 
 The hunters sheltered in a mossy cave. 
 Which was a bear's they killed at red sunset, 
 As he came out upon the river's bank. 
 His flesh made steaks for supper ; his soft skin, 
 Spread on a bed of leaves, pillowed their heads 
 Tliroughout the night ; and, when the dawn began, 
 They left their rude room, and resumed the chase. 
 With ardent footsteps, following a fawn, 
 William became bewildered in the wild. 
 Apart from his companions. Not a mark 
 Could he discover which would tell him where 
 To bend liis footsteps, so that he might leave 
 The gi-eat thick forest shutting out the sim. 
 He could not read the lichen on the trees, 
 "N^Tiich served as wajinarks to the Indian tribes ; 
 And thus for hours he wandered on in vain. 
 Ofttimes he started, fancymg he beheld 
 The bright gaze of a red man in the bush ; 
 And, hasting on, was more bewildered still. 
 
 The trees grew thinner as the sunset came ; 
 And then he reached a prairie stretching far, 
 Covered with long grass, and with brushwood low. 
 Through this extensive tract a river ran, 
 Bursting in freshness down the solitude : 
 On its low banks wei*e bushes. CoUingi'ew 
 Approached with caution, being weak and faint 
 From fasting since the morning ; and his gun 
 He held half-cocked, for fear of beasts of prej^ 
 When on its brink, he paused, for he could hear 
 A sudden rustling in the underwood ; 
 And the next moment a huge bufi'alo 
 Eushed out hke wind unloosened. His gi-eat liead 
 I He bent full low, and on the intruder dashed, 
 , Who raised his gun, and fired : the beast, though hit, 
 I Drove on with fiercer fmy. His strong arm 
 i Was weakened in the march, but danger nerved 
 1 His soul for battle ; and he seized the brute 
 By the long hau' which on his forehead hung, 
 Drawing his knife, if haply he might strike, 
 With his left hand, his adversary's throat. 
 Unequal was the combat. On the ground 
 
 G 
 
 The buffalo had hurled him, ere he trod 
 
 The prostrate man to death ; when, in his woe, 
 
 The sharp click of a rifle smote his ear ; 
 
 And, in an ijistant, the fierce animal 
 
 Sprang roaring in the air, and then fell dead, 
 
 Partly upon the wounded Colhngrew. 
 
 Then, in a moment after, a dark form, 
 
 In Indian garb, came gliding through the grass, 
 
 And in the neck of the dead buffalo 
 
 He plunged his hunting-knife, then stood erect, 
 
 While Colhngrew was struggling to his feet. 
 
 Who thus addressed the red man at his side : 
 
 "From dawn till dusk have I been wandering here, 
 
 Apart from my companions in the chase ; 
 
 Cut with the hanging trees and tangled brake. 
 
 And mocked lij^ vistas opening to deceive ; 
 
 Now this, now that way huiTying ; shouting now, 
 
 And now as silent as the falling leaf. 
 
 With bleeding feet I reached the prairie's edge, 
 
 And sought the river, when this startled brute 
 
 Came roaring down upon me. All the rest 
 
 Is known to thee to whom I owe my hfe. 
 
 I have a wife and pleasant httle ones 
 
 Waiting to greet me to mj" forest home, 
 
 Sheltered by oaks and melancholy pines. 
 
 Canst thou direct me to the nearest town 
 
 Where my white bretlu'en cluster? " 
 
 " If, till morn, 
 The weary hunter will consent to rest, 
 The eagle will dii'ect him where to find 
 The nest of his white dove." 
 
 And then he took 
 Him by the hand, and led him through the dusk 
 To an encampment by the river side, 
 Under the trees that grew upon its banks. 
 Here the kind-hearied Indian bade him sup 
 On hominy and venison ; spreading out 
 Some bison skins, the trophies of the chase, 
 He signed that he should take them for his bed, 
 And then he left him to his lone repose. 
 
 The east had scarce a shimmer of the dawn. 
 
 When Colhngrew was wakened by his host : 
 
 And, after sitting to a shght repast, 
 
 They started on their journey. In advance 
 
 The Indian kept, through the still darkened wood, 
 
 Precise and rapid, showing that he knew 
 
 The secrets of the forest, led by signs 
 
 Which never failed him in the hour of need ; 
 
 And, ere the sun had once more clothed with gold 
 
 The far-off Eocky Mountains, CoUingi-ew 
 
 Stood gladly gazing on his precious home. 
 
 Yes, there it lay, in gentle, calm i-epose ; 
 
 And, at the sight so dear, a cry of joy 
 
 Burst from the hmiter's soul. 
 
 " I thank thee much 
 For thj' gi-eat kindness. Yonder is my home, 
 Which, but for thee, I should have seen no more. 
 Lo, there my children come, and there my -nife, 
 Straining their eyes along the forest paths, 
 And wondering much that I so slow return. 
 Hark, dost thou hear the crow of baby boy ? 
 Accejjt my thanks, who cannot thank enough."
 
 44 
 
 AN INDIAN STORY. 
 
 The wamor tiimed, antl fi-ontecl Collingrew : 
 ' His face had not been seen by him before, 
 Save in the glimmer of his rude wigwam : 
 The Sim's rays fell iipon him, and revealed 
 To the astonished settler, smitten dumb. 
 The features of the red man, who had been 
 Five months before repulsed so cruelly. 
 Yes, this was he whom he called " Indian dog," 
 When di-iven fi-om liis dwelling. In his face 
 A chgnified, yet mild, rebuke was seen, 
 As he addi-essed him : 
 
 " Five short moons ago, 
 When I was faint and hungiy at your door. 
 You called me ' heathen hound,' and drove me forth 
 Into the woods, a weak and famished man, 
 I might, last night, have sated my revenge. 
 And felled you in the forest. The white dove 
 Fed me, and called me ' brother.' For her sake 
 I spared her mate, and led him through the wild ! 
 Now Carcoochee would bid you hasten home : 
 And if hereafter you should ever see 
 A red man need yom* kindness, do by him 
 As Carcoochee has treated you this day ! " 
 
 He waved his hand, in tm*ning to depart ; 
 
 But the abashed and humbled Collingrew 
 
 Now sprang before him, with entreaty fi-ee : 
 
 " As one dear proof of your forgiving love. 
 
 Come with me to my dwelling ; there my wife, 
 
 My gentle LUa, shall prepare you food 
 
 Fit for a pi-ince's table. .The best chair 
 
 Our room contains shall be your welcome seat ; 
 
 And httle loves shall blossom on yom- knees, 
 
 A.nd shed sweet fi-agi-ance round j^ou. By the well 
 
 We have a field ; and in the field a lamb. 
 
 As white as snow, and nurtm-ed tenderly ; 
 
 The choicest of the flock : this shall be yom-s. 
 
 O, come and sup with us, and I shall know 
 
 That we are friends for ever," And, at last, 
 
 He gave consent, and to his cottage came. 
 
 Lila beheld them walkmg down the wood, 
 
 As in the door she held her baby up. 
 
 Who crowed to see his father. O, what joy 
 
 There was in meeting ; and Wliat gratitude 
 
 The wife expressed to noble Carcoocliee, 
 
 Who thus repaid her for her deed of love ! 
 
 T]>e red man here was now an honoured guest, 
 A brother, and a blessing. Oft he came 
 To visit them, with joy from friendship's store ; 
 And once he told them how he had escaped 
 Upon the bm-ning prauie. He had rode. 
 With his companions, far into the noon, 
 Wlien, lo, beliind them, the great fiery flood 
 Flushed like a seething monster. On they dashed. 
 Spurring their coursers, racing for dear life ; 
 AVhile fiercer, faster, flashed the flaming sea ! 
 The horses glared for ten-or : trees stood charred 
 To sohd blackness : the high lieavens were red. 
 And flared hke crimson : roared the beasts of prey 
 
 Before the rocking, rolling element : 
 Bu-ds whirled and fell, and turned to cinders dark : 
 And all was whelming lioiTor. Stopped they then. 
 And, leaping to the ground, tore the long grass 
 Up with tlieir hands, till a clear space was made ; 
 And with a flint and steel they struck a light, 
 Burning the gi-ass around them. The black spot 
 Grew larger stiU, on which they led their steeds : 
 And when the great fire reached the place, it fell 
 For lack of fuel ; and they all were saved ! 
 
 And Collingi-ew the grandest lesson learnt 
 From the untutored savage : how to love 
 His fellow-men, as sons of one great Sii'e ; 
 To give to others, as he would receive : 
 And, step by step, he clixnbed a holier height, 
 Led by the Si^u-it where the Savioui* hung. 
 Upon the cross ; and heard His pardoning voice, 
 And felt the sweetness of the second birth. 
 And Lila, too, was changed ; she gave her heart 
 To Jesus Christ, and fed upon His love : 
 Together walked they to the land of rest, 
 'Mid luscious fruits they never plucked before. 
 
 And, by and bye, light came to Carcoochee, 
 
 And liberty, and life, the hght of truth, 
 
 Fi'om love's piu'e firmament ; in which he read 
 
 His sins forgiven, and saw his Eden liome. 
 
 The teaching of his white friends had been blessed 
 
 To his conversion ; and the prayer of faith 
 
 Had oped for him the treasiuy of the skies. 
 
 And, when the white-haired Missionaiy came, 
 
 Some two years after, in the river-waves, 
 
 Baj)tized was Carcoochee : the first to join 
 
 The infant chm-ch among the forest-rills. 
 
 Now, the red wanior, who had wielded long 
 
 The tomahawk in slaughter, went forth, aimed 
 
 With weapons from the armomy of Heaven, 
 
 To battle for the mighty Prince of Peace ! 
 
 And thus he laboured for his living Lord, 
 
 Till age crept slowly on him : then he sought 
 
 His white friends' home, where he might die in peace. 
 
 His last hours passed in simple jiraise and prayer : 
 
 And, like a sailor coming into port 
 
 From voyage of hazard, brightened with his home, 
 
 So lay he gazing on the gi'eat unseen. 
 
 One cloudless summer morning, when the winds 
 
 Wei'e vocal with a thousand mstriunents. 
 
 And the soft airs were laden with perfimaes, 
 
 He closed his eyes, and slept the sleep of death. 
 
 Years, long and many, through the silence swept ; 
 The CoUin.gi'cws are sleeping in their gi'aves 
 Within the churchyard, on the forest edge, 
 Where he the bones of noble Carcoochee. 
 But their descendants in the township dwell : 
 And oft the grey-haired grandsire, seated low 
 Beneath the gi'eat magnolia, teUs this tale 
 To his gi-andchildren, gathered on the grass. 
 And what he teaches them, was taught by Christ : 
 " Give unto others, as ye would receive ! " 
 
 *
 
 REUBEN ROSS, 
 
 DRAMATIS PERS0N;E. 
 
 Reuben Ross 
 A Woodcutter. 
 A Country Woman. 
 Mata ..... 
 A Cottager. 
 
 A WELL DRESSED MaTRON. 
 
 An aged Widow. 
 
 The Storm King, &c 
 
 A rclurncd Emigrant. 
 A Village Maiden. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Scene — Hill-Top. TniF.—Noon. 
 Reuben Ross alojie on the heath. 
 
 euhen Ross. On this liill-top whose 
 face looks up to heaven 
 
 Again I'm breathing freely. Years 
 have passed 
 
 Since last I left it with a great 
 resolve, 
 
 Which filled my soul hke water fills the sea, 
 Or air the welkin to the distant poles, 
 Leaving no vacuum for a lesser good ; 
 And I have won it, which the years shall tell 
 And marriage hells shall jingle. This fi'esh air 
 Lifting my locks is like the kiss of love, 
 When the moon gilds the ash leaves. Thus it is 
 In hfe's encounter : from the conquered heights. 
 The thorny plain, and moor with boulders strewn. 
 And rough ascent, seem nothing. Conflicts past. 
 Fierce storms outrode, and dangers overcome, 
 Give zest to om* existence. True, the scars 
 Of wasting warfare are xipon my flesh. 
 And my arm fails in fighting; the reward 
 Of honest labour recompenses all ; 
 So that the earth rejoices in the wealth 
 
 Of summer suns, blue seas, and lovely flowers, 
 
 ^Vhence incense rises ever. Bh'ds have wings 
 
 To sweep the air aliove the loftiest pines. 
 
 Where blast to loud Ijlast rattles : fishes sport 
 
 In ocean's chamliers which the heart of man 
 
 Has never sounded : beasts are fleet of foot 
 
 To scour the earth with hoofs that aid their flight. 
 
 With instinct strong and mighty as their speed : 
 
 But man is king of all : he holds the rein, 
 
 And beast and bu'd obey him. [He still soliloquizes. 
 
 Let me turn. 
 And view the scene all other scenes beyond — 
 My own dear bu-thplace. There the old house stands. 
 With woodbine wall and windows near the eaves, 
 With roof of thatch, and hawthorn by the gate. 
 And white lambs feeding in the quiet fields. 
 As when I was a boy. Long years have run 
 Since last I saw it, when a mother's lips 
 W^ere pressed to mine, with the sad slow farewell ; 
 And I passed forth beyond its sacred porch. 
 With the great world before me, a lone man. 
 To tread the way of life, to face its fi-owns 
 And guard against its smiles. I crossed the yard. 
 Passed o'er the stile, and entered on the leas ; 
 Then tmrned and saw her standing by the door, 
 Holding her apron to her weeping eyes. 
 Watching her child depart. This was enough : 
 I could hold out no longer, and a sigh 
 Which seemed to rend my bosom scared the birds 
 Among the withs, and tears ran down my face ; 
 My heart beat loud and knocked against my side. 
 And my knees trembled like the branches shake 
 "WTien Thunder leaves his closet, and poiu's out 
 His smoking censer on the quaking hills. 
 I thought I should have fallen to the gi-ound. 
 But her jirayer smote my ear and smote my heart. 
 And I passed onward. O how oft since then 
 Have I in fancy seen her by the door, 
 Watching my slow departm-e ! and her prayer 
 Like some sweet spell has lingered round my steps. 
 And o'er the roar and tumult of the world 
 jMy mother's voice has sounded. Is it well ? 
 Does she still hve, and is my father here ? 
 And by the shoulder of that sloping moss, 
 AVith one tree near it hke a watching saint, 
 Does IMata dwell, — the fair, the beautiful ? 
 The Maiden of the Mountain, whose love-gleams 
 Lit up my path and sunned my soul with hope
 
 46 
 
 REUBEN ROSS. 
 
 ■WTien youth was in its mornint:: ? Sportin.f^ roiTinl 
 
 The gentle bu-cls hop on from twig to twig 
 
 With bright eyes turned upon me ; but their notes 
 
 Have no reveaUngs which I fain would grasp 
 
 Like miser hugs his hoard. I soon shall know. 
 
 But, hark, a footstep ! [Enter a Village Woman. 
 
 Village Woman. It is pleasant here. 
 
 Art thou a stranger 'mid our silent moors, 
 
 "SMiere wild birds breed, and airy echoes hide, 
 
 And Cupid shoots his arrows ? Ilast thou heard 
 
 The news that om small valley gives the world ? 
 
 The parson's maid is married, and the liind 
 
 Of Farmer Ford is much in love with Rleg, 
 
 The thatcher's younger daughter. Felix Fir 
 
 Has oft been seen near Widow Watson's cot, 
 
 WTiat time his horses have left off the yoke, 
 
 Eetm-ning home by moonlight : gossips say 
 
 There must be something brewing in the wind. 
 
 Last night the seines were sliut by Raddo's Rock, 
 
 Enclosing fish in hundreds. Miner Joe 
 
 Has cut a lode of copper in his croft. 
 
 Ben White has signed the pledge ; 'twas time he 
 
 should, 
 For drink had stripped him to the very skin. 
 Old miser Riff has starved himself at last, 
 And his poor bones are bmied. I have seen 
 Him hobbhng forth with holes along his hose. 
 And in his shoes tied up with draggling yarn. 
 Through which his blue skin gazed hke hungiy eyes 
 Upon the frowning Winter. Bless you. Sir, 
 His clothes were rags, his bed a heap of filth, 
 His food diy cnists and water. When he died 
 Tliey foimd a brown bag underneath his head 
 Stuffed full of gold he had no heart to spend. 
 They say the old fool's ghost is in the lane 
 When midnight stars are sliining ; but I think 
 He's far too lean to walk this world again. 
 Reuben Ross. Thy words bring pleasure to my hsten- 
 
 ing ers ; 
 Like one long pent in darksome prison house, 
 Longing to flee, but cannot break his bars, 
 Who, when his cup of sorrow is o'errun, 
 Hears the sweet voice of Mercy. Dost thou know 
 Aught of a damsel li\-ing by the brook 
 With a fair face and an- of gentleness, 
 Modest, retiring, bashful in her speech, 
 As fall of goodness as a bubbling well, 
 Whose name is Mata ? 
 
 Village Woman. Bless j'ou, know her ! yes ! 
 
 A gentler soul ne'er walked the whispering world. 
 She wovdd not bruise a spider, and they say 
 She has a love for evei-y living thing. 
 I saw her once beside a \vidow's bed. 
 In a small cottage underneath the oaks, 
 Reading the blessed Bible. On her brow 
 A hght was resting which was not of earth. 
 And her words floated tlirough the sufferer's room 
 Like whispers at the sunset. Gifts were there, 
 And little services her hands had wrouglit, 
 Which di-ew the tears upon the sick one's face. 
 I sat in silence overcome with awe, 
 And felt the place was holy. If this world 
 Has one fair angel, Mata must be she. 
 Reuben Ross. That there are angels we cannot deny. 
 Whose wings sweep by us at the hour of prayer 
 And in the time of danger. Let me hear 
 A httle more of Mata : speak, I pray : 
 
 Thou canst not talk too much of such an one. 
 
 ]\Iy ears would not be weary, though thy speech 
 
 Ran on into the thickest of the night, 
 
 Or till the day broke smiling. 
 
 Village Woman. It is well 
 
 To feel we have a watcher at our side. 
 
 Upholding us in conflict. By the brook 
 
 Grew up a stripling straight as river reed. 
 
 In all his actions just. He scorned to walk 
 
 In the dissembler's path, made God his Guicte, 
 
 And studied Nature with an artist's eye. 
 
 No wonder Mata loved him. Like the leaves 
 
 Expanding in the perfect light of heaven, 
 
 Or the corn-stalk to ripeness, so their love 
 
 Grew into fulness in the fields of hope. 
 
 But duty called him unto other climes, 
 
 From whence his letters cheered her, tiU the sound 
 
 Of wailing rose that he was fading fast 
 
 Under the hand of sickness. Then the maid 
 
 Sighed in her chamber, calhng on his name ;. 
 
 Her joyfulness departed ; sorrow's shade 
 
 Blent with the lines of beauty on her face. 
 
 The weight became too heavy : she arose 
 
 And packed her trunk and paid he;r passage fare, 
 
 And now awaits the stately steamer's sail. 
 
 A love like this makes our poor world a heaven. 
 
 Reuben Ross (aside). How oft the heart is gladdened 
 
 in its grief 
 By Hps unconscious ! Gold could not procure 
 What this good dame has brought me. Mata Hves, 
 And loves her Reuben. This is everything. 
 I walli through roses and by lily lakes. [Exettnt. 
 
 Scene — Wild moor. Time — Midnight. Enter the 
 Storm King. 
 
 /S^ormE^mr/. Amidtheseboulders let me raisemy throne, 
 And cease awhile to ravage. Thus I fold 
 My ebon wings, and on these huge blocks sit. 
 Resting my chin upon my cloudy hands. 
 Swift-staring through the blackness. Strange exploits 
 Have been performed by me and my compeers, 
 Since Night sat in his chamber. O'er the hills 
 I've turned my steeds, where they have raced imreined, 
 Pawing the clouds beneath them, champing loud. 
 With manes of flame, and hoofs of thunder-stone. 
 Beside a well, where ferns and ivy grew, 
 And rushes raised their plumes, two lovers sat. 
 When Eve came forth to sing her twilight song ; 
 No fairer she than this delightful maid. 
 Her eyes were like the beams of Jupiter, 
 When no cloud walks the farthest firmament : 
 Her hair was bright as gold ; her cheeks were pale. 
 Her fair hands small and snowy, and her waist 
 No bigger than a brook-nymph's. Down we came, 
 And smote her lover with the roar of fate, 
 Dashing him headlong in the treacherous spring ; 
 And while her cry went up in agony 
 For him who struggled there and grasped at leaves, 
 Her foot slipped, and they perished. In the vale 
 She had an aged mother, he a sire ; 
 And when the tidings reached them, oA^erpowered 
 With a great sorrow, they fell suddenly 
 As the fruit falls when blasted. 
 
 [He still soliloquizes. 
 On the cliff 
 A young wife watched a ship upon the sea, 
 And raised her handkerchief with words of cheer
 
 THE STOliM KING. 
 
 47 
 
 When she hchekl hor husband on the deck, 
 
 And felt how soon he'd press her in his arms, 
 
 And give the kiss of welcome. In her home, 
 
 Among the woodbines near the narrow creek, 
 
 Tlio cottage fire was bm-ning, the cloth laid. 
 
 The supper cooked, the favom-ite book prepared, 
 
 His chair wheeled in the corner, and the lamp 
 
 Keady to be rekindled. Fierce I spoke. 
 
 And at my roar the angi-y waters rose. 
 
 And swallowed the proud bark and all the crew, 
 
 As if it were a nutshell ; down it went. 
 
 With a great shriek that shook the shattered trees. 
 
 She stood upon the beach and saw it all. 
 
 Her hah- blew wildly round her. Once she spoke. 
 
 In piercing tones which rose above my rage, 
 
 " O God, I am a widow ! " Days and nights 
 
 Beheld her watching on the lonely clitf. 
 
 And then she wandered far from sight and soimd. 
 
 [He still soliloquizes. 
 A straw-thatched dwelUng rose beside a wood 
 Where an old dame was knitting. Years had passed 
 Since first she owned it, led there a young bride 
 By him whom storms can never more afl'right. 
 Beside it towered an elm which was a tree 
 At her own mother's wedding. Far it spread 
 Its knotty arms, and swung them in the air, 
 And its huge trunk noteworthy was for girth ; 
 Fair childhood loved it, and old age admired ; 
 It was the praise and glory of the glade. 
 This tree was in om- passage. With one shout 
 We rent it like a giant rends a reed, 
 And hm-led it on the cottage. Morn arose 
 With tears upon her eyelids, but the dame 
 Lay 'mid the ruin, raised beyond alarm. 
 A ferryman came rowing in liis boat 
 A pleasant damsel ; half the passage crost, 
 She sat admii-ing Natm-e. Up we came 
 And rolled om' fury on them, driving back 
 The rended craft against the broken quay. 
 Shivering it into h-agments. The old man 
 Clung to the raihng with a desperate grasp, 
 While the white waves beat o'er him. Tiles were 
 
 tossed 
 From warehouse-roofs, tall chimneys quick destroyed, 
 And slates went hissing by the traveller's ears. 
 The maiden had sunk once, and when she rose 
 The boatman caught her by her spreading dress, 
 And soon the two were safe upon the land. 
 I drove my coiu'sers onward at swift pace, 
 And the proud bent to hear me ; the young child 
 Clung to its mother, the dumb cattle moaned. 
 Woods rocked, and were uprooted ; but I know 
 There is a Power that holds my might in thi-all, 
 And chains my rage within a given sphere. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene — The Hill-Toj) again, 
 and a Woodcuttek. 
 
 Enter Eeuben Koss 
 
 Woodcutter. Good day, young master ! May I 
 
 make so bold. 
 Is not this prospect charming to the eye. 
 Where wood and waters mingle, and blue hills 
 Hise in the distance with a crown of clouds? 
 O what a place to t;reathe in ! It was hard 
 And much exhausting, toiling up the turf. 
 And twenty times I wiped the sweat away 
 
 Amid the pauses of my upward march ; 
 But here I am, with heaven above my head, 
 O'errun with beauty, and great thoughts hko ships 
 Gliding across the waters of my soul; 
 The earth below me like a teeming mart. 
 So renovated, so refreshed am I, 
 If I had wings I'd flash into the air. 
 And strive with all the marvel of a sage 
 To grasp this growing grandem-. In the woods 
 At summer twilight, I have heard strange songs 
 Travelling among the shadows, and my strength 
 Grew as the notes waxed louder, till I felt 
 The sinews of a giant, and strode on 
 With supple limbs through seas of solemn sound, 
 Feeling no weariness, forgetting pain. 
 And followed by an angel. But this height. 
 So near the chamber of the Mighty One, 
 Brings organ sweUs, and crash of lifted trumps. 
 And sounding odes from choirs whose wings are flame. 
 Whose harps are moulded in tlie fires of love, 
 That I gi'ow big with blessing. 
 Beicben Boss. This bright world 
 
 Has much good gifts to comfort cheerfulness, 
 AVhich grumblers never win. If I have light, 
 And bread and water, and a soul to feel, 
 This is full theme for praising, and, I hear 
 A thousand harps among the ripening corn. 
 That cottage yonder by the forest side 
 Is my own bu-thplace. It has power to draw 
 The hot tears from their fountains, though I've been 
 'Mid other scenes for long eventful years, 
 Struggling with hardships which I overcame. 
 And left behind in ruins. O how sweet 
 To view the porch, the waUs, the roof of home, 
 After long travel ! Trees have disappeared. 
 Boulders have vanished, lakes have left the land. 
 And barren wastes grown fruitful ; but below 
 Is the dear sanctum of my early life. 
 Wooing me like a vision, and I weep. 
 And clasp my hands in prayer. 
 Woodcutter. Coming here 
 
 I j)assed a poet where the moss was close. 
 And rushes waved, and willows. By his side 
 A gray rock rose with lichen on its front. 
 And overhead from out the gi'eat hill steep. 
 With roots half bare for lack of helpful mould, 
 A tree gave grateful shadow. He was pale, 
 Much worn with musing, and his pensive eyes 
 Were wells of thought where hallowed figm-es hid, 
 Eeady to flash forth at the sound of song. 
 I saw he had been weeping. By him lay 
 A written fragment, moistened with his tears ; 
 And when I spoke of homes and warm firesides, 
 With books and loved companions, I could see 
 Him freely use his kerchief, and I knew 
 The mountains were his closet. Oft I hear 
 Subhme intonings when my sharp axe strikes 
 The monarch of the forest : then the woods 
 Ai'e full of murmurs solemn as the sea, 
 Nor need I other harpings. 
 Eeiihen Buss. Ever flows 
 
 From Nature's lyre the voice of harmony. 
 Has this provincial bard the holy fire 
 Which the Divine One to His true-born gives? 
 And has he written words which stu- the soul ? 
 Woodcutter. The world should thank him for his 
 wondrous book,
 
 48 
 
 BEUBEN BOSS. 
 
 "Wliicli lives when tombs are ashes : but lie's poor, 
 And hence neglected. Money rules the world 
 And bridles genius. By him dwells a man 
 "Whom Fortune has much favom-ed : gold and land 
 Have come almost unsought for, and he's rich. 
 He gives of his abundance to the poor ; 
 He builds a home to shelter widowhood ; 
 And praises crowd upon him. Slaves bow down 
 And worship at his footstool, and his deeds 
 Shine in the columns of the jom-nahst. 
 Men meet in conclave, and theu- voices shout, 
 «' His charity shall be his monument : 
 A noble man, the noblest of his kind." 
 And they ai-e satisfied, and so is he. 
 Amid this swell of praise the bard is lost. 
 Although his lofty thoughts shall burn and blaze 
 When monuments are powder. Comes the moth, 
 The i-ust, the ravage, water-fiend, and fii-e ; 
 And riches vanish: but the poet's lay 
 Shall eild the globe with glory evei-more. 
 
 [Exit Woodctitter. 
 Eeiiben Ross (aside). How like the full moon o'er 
 
 the castled hill, 
 With scai-ce a sign to herald her approach, 
 Wooing the earth to watch her loveUness, 
 Steals the time poet on the wakeful world ! 
 No flash of arms, no boom of brazen guns, 
 No sound of trump, no clang of linging bells, 
 Announce him to his feUows ; but he spreads 
 His thoughts before them hke the silent heavens. 
 Hark ! hai-k ! what music ! these dear vales are full, 
 And every moss bank has a harper on't ; 
 The doors of song seem open, and out pom'S 
 More melody than tliis smaU sphere can hold. 
 Is it some angel wandering near the world ? 
 Again the music ripples on mine ears. 
 Again it swells and rises, and the flowers 
 Shake with the sweetness. On my fancy steals 
 A lovely %'ision, which was wont to cheer 
 Me in the bUss of morning when my life 
 Was heavy with the honey of dehght. 
 My precious Mata ! it is sm-ely she. 
 Thus I repose and Usten, 
 
 Mata sings in the distance, 
 
 Tliere gi-ew a flower on Albion's strand, 
 The fairest flower in all the land : 
 But came the winds one cloudy day, 
 And swept my gentle rose away. 
 
 There sang a bird by English lakes, 
 No sweeter caroled from the brakes : 
 But sighed the seas, my tlirush was flown, 
 And now I'm in the world alone. 
 
 In British woods a sapling throve, 
 A greener never graced a grove : 
 But burst the lightning's livid glare, 
 And passed my plant I know not where. 
 
 O Reuben, Eeuben, where art thou ! 
 
 My rose, my thrush, my greenwood bough I 
 
 The hiUs may melt, the valleys flee, 
 
 My love shaU not depart from thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 Scene — Cave on the cliff ivith Eeuben Eoss before it. 
 Time — Morning. 
 
 Eeuhen Eoss. No Providence ! The thought itself is 
 
 sin, 
 And bums like lava. Hence, ye cloudy doubts, 
 And hide with Error in his vaiilt of gloom, 
 ^\^lere never dayhght pierces ! In the heavens 
 I see His hand, and trace it on the earth. 
 The hiuTicaue that travels in the dark 
 With ruin on his wings ; the northern winds 
 That twist the oaks hke straws ; the thunder roar 
 That awes the rocking mountains ; the gi-eat sea, 
 The forest-tnimpets, the swift river's voice, 
 The changing seasons, sun and moon and stars, 
 Comets and clouds, the hues of morn and eve ; 
 Bu'ds on the boughs, the flowerets of the fields, 
 The rain among the roses, sounds and sights 
 At every angle, fill their cups of praise, 
 And gladly hymn the God of Providence. 
 He feeds the widow and her weeping babes. 
 Though to the cold world strangers. The poor man 
 With sackcloth on his loins, begging his bread 
 From door to door, the road his only home, 
 Has his wants met by Him who succom's all. 
 Once in a cottage by a shelly creek 
 I saw an aged matron at her meal, 
 A crust of bread and water. I had found 
 Her door half open : so I entered in 
 Somewhat abruptly. At her table's end # 
 By a small window, sheltering a few flowers, 
 Sat this contented pilgiim. Need I say, 
 Her linen weeds and Unen cap were clean 
 As when they left the mangle ? Her two hands 
 Were clasped together and her eyes upraised. 
 I watched her face, and saw two tears upou't 
 Shining like crystal, slowlj^ gliding down 
 Where wiinkles long had wasted. 'Twas a sight 
 To fix the gaze of angels, a fit theme 
 To engage the artist's pencil, this grey saint 
 Left lonely in the desert, praising God 
 For a dry cnist and water. May not kings 
 And thankless princes learn a lesson here ? 
 
 [He still soliloquizes. 
 " There is a Providence," the hills reply, 
 When shouting to each other : valleys lU'ge 
 The echo onwards to remotest delis. 
 And wood and waste proclaim it. Cities vast, 
 And hamlets brown, and cottages of reed 
 TeU the same holy story. Cornfields wave 
 The truth in Hving billows, and the vine 
 For ever whispers its Creator's name. 
 I see Him in the firmament of stars, 
 And in the blue of ether ; in the clouds 
 Marshalled at sunset round the crimson west, 
 With banners stained with glory; in the flowers
 
 THE MIDNIGHT STORM. 
 
 49 
 
 That fnnn;e thn skirts of Nature ; in the leaves 
 That rustle music to the milkmaid's sonfj; 
 In the proud eagle's wing-flash, as he leaves 
 The highest peaks behind him ; in the wren 
 That chu'ps among the ])raml)les ; in the rain, 
 The ice, the snow, tlie sunshine, and the gloom : 
 The merest atom, the sublimcst height. 
 The heavens, the earth, are full of Trovidence. 
 Nor do I fail in meaner things to trace 
 The hand of the Upholder. The poor swain 
 Whom ills detained to roach the bark in time 
 Which foundered in its passage ; the young girl, 
 Met in her sorrow 1)y the hand of love 
 Which led her to the altar ; the old pair 
 Drifted witli adverse winds o'er angry seas, 
 Swift-sailing till the currents di'ew the hulk 
 Safe into harbour where the woods were green ; 
 The book left open whore the scoffer read 
 Words sharp as an-ows, leading him to liglit 
 And bliss which never endetli : these attest 
 Tlie grace and guidance of the Power Divine. 
 Nor do I fear to titist Him, though the way 
 Is blocked with marble higher than the hills, 
 And no path lies before me. He is God, 
 And will not leave His people. 
 
 [He still soliloquizes. 
 Hear, ye hills, 
 And Ust, ye solemn valleys I Did I not 
 Do all for Mata? labour, live for her, 
 Keep her before me like a rose-leaf shiino, 
 All pm-ity and odour ? Did she not 
 In fancy follow me fi-om place to place 
 With silent footstep, raining on my soul 
 An influence steeped in Eden ? Did I stand 
 Among my fellows trafficking for gold ? 
 Her bright eyes seemed to scan me. Did my gains 
 Swell more and more, as the slow years crept by, 
 Until the wine of riches warmed my brain, 
 And the gi-eat earth put out her garden flowers 
 To summer's fullest music ? on me beamed 
 A smile hke Mercy's from my Mata's face. 
 Did I encounter winds, and flismal rains, 
 And thunder shocks, and rushing lightning fires, 
 'Mid barrenness and blackness ? Mata's mien 
 Shone in the conflict, till the mighty storm 
 Staggered amid its triumph, and fell back 
 Tamed with its own great passion. She was all. 
 My Hght, my life, my sum of happiness. 
 The spring of every action ; and the sky 
 Which canopied my futxu-e, seemed to be 
 All blue with Ijeautj'. Home I came at last 
 To claim her as my own for evermore 
 Without a jot of hinderance, when a spell 
 Mysterious as the darkness covered all : 
 I heard her voice, a hving voice it seemed, 
 Wliere harebells bent their faces. Thrilled I was. 
 And ran to meet her at the cottage porch, 
 WTiere we had whispered love in other days : 
 But Mata was not there. I shrieked her name 
 Till echo mocked me and the I'ocks replied. 
 And yet she came not ; no, she never came. 
 The earth gi'ew dark ; its gloiy disappeared : 
 I sought this cavern. Oft the little birds 
 Come twittering round me ; but they cannot tell 
 ^\1lere I may find my IMata. Silence, speak : 
 Is she on earth, or dwells my love in heaven ? 
 Does she wear weeds that fauy fingers weave, 
 
 Or is she clad in robes which angels own ? 
 How big arc my surmisings ! but no sound 
 Reveals the secret ; and I harbour hero 
 Amid the trumpets of the mighty crags, 
 Till death shall solve the riddle. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ScKNK — Mountain Top. 
 the Storm King. 
 
 Time — Twilight. Enter 
 
 Storm King. Wliat of tears ? 
 
 Tliink you my heart will soften for a sigh 
 
 From weaker woman? that a few poor moans 
 
 From stricken starvelings will affect my soul? 
 
 Think you a prayer fi-om Agony's lean hps 
 
 Would thwart my pm'pose, or my plans subvert, 
 
 Stay my ripe fierceness, or impede my march ? 
 
 Shall I for shrieks fi'om a few timid swains 
 
 Fold my black wings, and cower behind the poles ? 
 
 Shall babes afh'ight me on their mothers' knees ? 
 
 No truly ! Though old age twitch his white hair. 
 
 And beat his hard palms goiy ; though the rose 
 
 Fade out of Beauty's visage, and her eye 
 
 Lack all its living lusti*e ; though the voice 
 
 Of wailing rise like ocean in his wrath, 
 
 And hot tears roll in rivers ; though Distress 
 
 Lift up his wrongs in thunder, I'll go forth 
 
 With savage tread, and on the hmnbled earth 
 
 Poiu- out the vengeance of my fiuy-cup. 
 
 How will I shake the mountains by their hair. 
 
 Until the valleys tremble ! how arouse 
 
 The spirit of the ocean, till the waves 
 
 Boil m their anger, siu'ging ship and crew ! 
 
 The pines shall ring for fear ; the awful rocks 
 
 Grind in theii* chambers ; the gi-and cedars mourn ; 
 
 Man in the uproar of the earth and heaven 
 
 Shall lowly bend and worship. Love shall sigh, 
 
 Mirth drop his mask, and Pleasiu'e hide her head. 
 
 Fair habitations bitilt upon the rock 
 
 Shall reel and waver, wailing to then- fall ; 
 
 The strong trees raise their arms, to be dashed down 
 
 And rise no more for ever. A gi-eat s^ell 
 
 Shall surge across the land and smite the sea, 
 
 Hiding the heavens from vision. Babes shall cling 
 
 Close to their mothers, wondering at the woe, 
 
 And lift their eyes to scan the saddened face. 
 
 Cloud shall meet cloud, and wreck ride over \vTeck, 
 
 As 'twere the end of all things ; but I'll sit 
 
 Upon my tlu'one, and lift my hands, and roar 
 
 At the tremendous frolic. Thus I blow 
 
 My azm'e trump, and call my seiTants round. 
 
 Go ye and do my bidding ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene — High Cliff. Time — Morning. Enter a 
 Cottager. 
 
 Cottager. All night long 
 
 I've heard oppressive moaning, and dull sounds 
 
 Have walked the moors with ^liduight. I came out 
 
 And paced my Little garden, musing much ; 
 
 Then leant upon the ticket. O how black 
 
 Was everything aromid ! I strained mine eyes 
 
 In vain to pierce its thickness, raised my hand, 
 
 But coidd not see it, tkrust it in the gloom, 
 
 And drew it back with a mysterious chill. 
 
 The mighty heavens and the big earth seemed one. 
 
 And still those sighs ! I sought my door again ; 
 
 II
 
 50 
 
 BEUBEN BOSS. 
 
 Crept to my chamber ; pressed my pleasant bed ; 
 
 But sleep forsook me. So when jMom aroso 
 
 With dew npon her hair, before her veil 
 
 Was laid aside, I sought this lofty chff 
 
 To look and Hsten. Yonder comes a boat 
 
 Without a rower, di-iftiug here and there, 
 
 At mercy of the billows. Strange indeed ! 
 
 Let me descend this pathway to the sea, 
 
 And labom- to seciu-e it. [He secures the boat. 
 
 ■WTiat is this ? 
 No oar, no oarsman, but a maiden fair 
 Lies in the small boat's bottom. On her face 
 The cm-Is ai-e clustered. how white that face, 
 How beautiful those hands ! That snowy neck 
 Is full perfection ; and that lovely brow ! — 
 Can so much beauty be in league with death ? 
 I almost fear to test it. Heavens ! she breathes. 
 Still hves the gentle maiden. From what isle 
 Has such a blossom drifted ? and where dwells 
 The idol of her being '? Is her home 
 "\iMiere palms are graceful, and the honey-bee 
 Lays up her stores, where the gay red-bird breeds ? 
 Or is her garden by this beetling cliff, 
 A\Tiere sea flowers woo the waters ? See, she moves, 
 And opes her eyes like Summer to the dawn. 
 But comes a stranger singularly clad, 
 Pi-j-hig about him with an earnest look. 
 As if he sought adventure. [Enter Eeuben Boss. 
 Reuhen Ross. Truly this 
 
 Has been a night of roanng. Down and dell, 
 And fen and forest, earth, and sea, and sky 
 Appeared one awful trampet, uttering woe. 
 My cave became too small to hold my thoughts, 
 And so I left it for the great sea-shore, 
 To watch the waves and wonder. In the rage 
 Of loosened elements methought I heard 
 A voice like Mata's, calhng on my name : 
 A hundi'ed times I heard it, as I paused 
 A hundi-ed times to hsten to the gale. 
 AMiat mean these symbols in the arc of strife ? 
 The sweetest word that ever channed mine ear 
 Is hurled along the air in shocks of doom 
 With hoiTor and the thimder. It foretells 
 Intelhgence as rapid as the roar 
 Of whirlwinds on the desert. "What is this ? 
 A peasant with a boat upon the sand, — 
 Perhaps a smuggler. Ho ! what have you here ? 
 Cottager. As I stole out to watch the angry deep. 
 This boat came tossing, which with my two hands 
 I pulled where now thou see'st it. Start not back : 
 It holds a damsel fairer than a queen, 
 The diamond of the waters. Speak to her, 
 If thou hast aught that presses to thy lips. 
 Reuhen Ross. A precious freight ! \Vhy is it thou art 
 
 here, 
 Voyaging across the salt sea all alone, 
 Like daughter of the ocean ? Is the ship 
 That bore thee WTecked, and thy companions gone ? 
 Or didst thou lose thy way, and lose thy oars, 
 And toss thou knew'st not whither ? Let me know : 
 Tell me thy name, and wherefore art thou thus. 
 Maiden. Give me a little water, and I'll speak. 
 I had a lover once, a kindly youth ; 
 And if he Uves, I'm sure he loves me still. 
 He left me for the seas, and came no more : 
 But night and day I seemed to see his face 
 And hear his voice, so like an April bird ; 
 
 And then a rumoiir reached me he was ill 
 
 And fading among strangers. This was sad ; 
 
 And every hour it sadder, heavier, grew. 
 
 Till I no more could boar it. Tears I shed 
 
 And bm-ning sighs, imtil the listening Night 
 
 Grew i^aler as it watched me, and a voice 
 
 AVas strangely soiindiug, souuchug evermore, 
 
 " Go seek liim where he suffers." So I turned 
 
 From home and its endearments, su'e and friends. 
 
 With a great love hke fire within my soul, 
 
 Burning more fiercely as the dangers swelled ; 
 
 And in a ship careering o'er the sea 
 
 I met the raging tempest. Days and niglits 
 
 Om* bark was tossed and battered, driven back. 
 
 And then advancing, then again repelled 
 
 With sevenfold fm-y, till the timbers groaned 
 
 And the seams sucked the water. Back we came, 
 
 iVnd neared the shores of England, when a rock 
 
 Drew her upon its flint, and all was lost. 
 
 I sprang into a boat, and drifted here. 
 
 The rest I need not tell you. God is good : 
 
 He willeth not the sinner's overthrow. 
 
 But rather all should turn to Him and hve. 
 
 Now guide me to my mother : by the wood 
 
 Is her abode, with ivy overgrown. 
 
 Where, when the swallows wheel along the moors, 
 
 I'll kneel and pray for Eeuben. 
 
 Reuben Ross. Maid, thy name : 
 
 Thou hast not told me this. What is thy name ? 
 
 Speak quickly, firmly : gaze into my face. 
 
 Thou canst not tell the weight that hangs on it : 
 
 No alchemist had ever such a power : 
 
 It has a spell to change these rocks to gold, 
 
 To turn December into pleasant May, 
 
 My painful nit^ht to morning. Speak, speak ; 
 
 A world of sweetness hangs upon thy name. 
 
 Maiden. If my poor name is such a weight with thee, 
 
 I blush not to reveal it. Ever since 
 
 I've known the sweetness of a mother's love. 
 
 And at her feet put up my evening prayer. 
 
 When all the earth was holy ; ever since 
 
 I've worn a necklace of dear daisy-flowers, 
 
 When hand-in-hand with Innocence I walked. 
 
 And shouted to the cuckoo ; ever since 
 
 I've been a child, and now when older grown. 
 
 They simply caU me Mata. 
 
 Reuben Ross. Blessed girl ! 
 
 Come to my arms, thy Eeuben meets thee here : 
 
 Misfortune's winds which strangely stranded us 
 
 Have brought us thus together. Night is gone. 
 
 And sudden morn has dazzled me with joy. 
 
 Let's kiss thy face, more lovely in distress. 
 
 [He liisses her. 
 Another, and another. Precious maid ! 
 This is no dream : no, no : I am awake, 
 A spirit cannot charm as Mata does. 
 I seem to tread a sphere where goodness dwells. 
 And sin approaches never. This great bliss 
 Walks with me like a moon, so that my path 
 Is on through glades of silver. Kiss me, love : 
 I have a histoi-y long and intricate, 
 Which if unravelled now would tire thine ears ; 
 Suftice it that this horn- all pleasui'e-fraught 
 Atones for years of anguish. Let it go. 
 I grasp the future, 'mid the rush of song 
 From copse and corn-field ; and sweet marriage-bells 
 Seem floating o'er the waters. Mata, come. [Exeunt.
 
 MAlililAGE BELLS, 
 
 51 
 
 ScKNE — Country lane. Time- 
 Ekuuen Koss and Mata. 
 
 -Evening. Enter 
 
 lieuben Ross. How sweet these woodbines arcliing 
 
 overliead ! 
 But sweeter is thy breath than honey-flowers ; 
 'I'liy speech than lark's sprini,' warble. Look on me, 
 And let me read the mystery in thine eyes: 
 Within their depths ai*e imagos of light 
 With snowy wings, reclining in theii* dreams 
 On emerald banks, where droop the buds of peace. 
 How lovely does my Mata make the world ! 
 Her presence fills the desert with perfume, 
 And clothes the waste an Eden ; the dry ground 
 Is ])arrenness no longer ; verdure smiles. 
 And lilies grow amid the water-springs. 
 The coming years, with plenty in their arms, 
 liise on my vision hke a pleasant poem, 
 AVhich it is rapture to bend o'er and read. 
 We'll walk the world together ; let it frown, 
 And both oiu' hearts are wounded ; let it smile, 
 And summer suns shall kindle up our souls : 
 Thus will wo share the bitter and the sweet. 
 Lean on my arm, dear I\Iata. Did I hear 
 A munuur in the thicket ? It was Love 
 Wooing us to her arbour. Here we'll sit, 
 And lose cm-selves in kisses. 
 
 Scene — A small Village, 
 well-dressed Matron. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Time — Noon. Enter a 
 
 Matroyi. how true ! 
 
 Whate'er we sow, that shall we also reap ; 
 
 The thistle-seed will never bring forth figs ; 
 
 Nor yields the hawthorn grapes. A life of wrong 
 
 Will cause remorse and soitow, and the stings 
 
 Of deep contrition, wretchedness, and woe. 
 
 Sobriety shall win its own rewai'd. 
 
 And gain a solid footing. Give me this. 
 
 Although the straggle ends where heaven begins. 
 
 Let Eeuben Ross this truthful lesson teach : 
 
 He gave his hand, his heart, to honesty, 
 
 And in a land where strong temptations lure, 
 
 He struggled with his fate. Slowly he rose. 
 
 Step after step, gaining the world's esteem, 
 
 And adding gold to gold, till he was rich. 
 
 And now he comes to pass his latter days 
 
 Beside his native fountain. Hark, the bells 
 
 Among the oaks are ringing merry peals, 
 
 And maid£ in white come ti'ipping o'er the stiles ; 
 
 It is a wedding : Reuben takes to wife 
 
 My only daughter Mata. Thus 'twill be 
 
 When the young world gi'ows older, bells will ring, 
 
 And bridal feet go brushing through the flowers, 
 
 Whde mom'ners j)ass them with the silent bier. 
 
 \_Entcr an aged Widow. 
 Widotv. My prayers for Reuben. Those are truly 
 
 good 
 Wlio live for others, overcoming self. 
 How many hearts have Reuben's gifts made glad ! 
 How many widows thanked him ! Wreaths of praise 
 Have circled up to heaven, and readied the throne. 
 Which shall descend in blessings on his path. 
 Like rain upon the verdure of the fields. 
 O how much better would the wide world be 
 
 The fatherless and widow, and where'er 
 
 The toiling pilgrim trod with weary feet 
 
 Would hail him as a brother ! It will come, 
 
 Although the clouds are congi-egated now 
 
 Upon the distant mountains, and the roar 
 
 Of rude artillery rattles : it will come, 
 
 The golden age of plenitude and peace, 
 
 When Friendship's arms shall circle all the globe. 
 
 Bless you, these bells are ringing showers of joy, 
 
 And wafting gladness to a hundred hearths ; 
 
 'Twould do you good to see the gladdened dames 
 
 In straw-roofed sheds, with clean washed garments on, 
 
 Talldng of Mata, Reuben's happy bride. 
 
 And calhng her an angel. Earth has frowns. 
 
 Which often chill the tender leaves of Hope, 
 
 And on the face of Meekness force the tear ; 
 
 But days hke this bring balm for other hom'S. 
 
 {Exit Winow. 
 Matron. 'Tis always best to take the pleasant path. 
 And leave sharp thorns behind us ; always best 
 To hand the cup of kindness, and to gi-eet 
 Mankind as brethren on the march of life. 
 How many are there using rough command, 
 And treading on their fellows, causing pain. 
 Where kindness would bring pleasure ! Not a blow 
 Should fall on human form to cause a tear. 
 Or harsh word wound the spu-it, could my prayer 
 But win an echo in the soul Divine. 
 A traveller climbing up a rugged hill 
 Beheld before him in the hanging mist 
 An object which he thought was some wUd beast 
 Slow-prowling through the stubble. On he passed, 
 The huge thing getting nearer, and it seemed 
 More hideous than before. He wiped his brow 
 And struggled onward ; but when face to face, 
 He found 'twas his own brother. Thus it is 
 Upon the highway to the upper hills. 
 But here is Reuben's home. I'll enter in 
 Amid the bridal music. 
 
 [Singing in the distance. 
 
 The world may seem an endless round. 
 Through briers and thorns and stony gi-ound. 
 Still up the steep with strife and strain ; 
 But virtue its reward shall gain. 
 
 The winds may frown, the earth be bare. 
 And we like those who beat the an- ; 
 But corn-age ! corn-age ! danger's past, 
 And vu-tue wins the prize at last. 
 
 Why should we hang oiu- heads and moan ? 
 The shepherd sometimes gains a throne ; 
 And perseverance shall succeed, 
 For wtue wins its honest meed. 
 
 Gay vests of silk and broadcloth rare 
 Oft hide a bosom genius-bare ; 
 And though from these we be debaiTed, 
 Yet virtue wins its own reward. 
 
 Then let us chant our songs to-day 
 In praise and hope, as well we may. 
 And pour our psalms forth full and fast ; 
 
 For vu-tue shall succeed at last. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 If there were other Reubens, men who fed 
 
 H 2
 
 THE MINE. 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OME from liis pit among the reeds 
 
 ami flags, 
 Whore lie liad dug for months, and 
 yi^i \i t^-, ^- --^^ dug in vain, 
 
 i V "J^X \ 1 "^^^ P^^® -^^^ came to dinner, 
 r V I y&i^ ^°^* ^^ thought, 
 
 \ ^^Y^^ Upon a Lench, and the low table's 
 end, 
 He ate the remnant of theiir only loaf. 
 His lean dog scanned liixa by the three-legged stool, 
 And in a cage beside his lattice small 
 An old thiiish chattered with a marvellous glee. 
 His wife, her face upon her wasted hands, 
 Sat in the chimney by the red peat fire, 
 "Watching the smoke ascend the smutty stack, 
 i\a.i\. lost meanwhile in wondrous reverie. 
 Laj-ing his knife upon the wooden plate. 
 He broke the silence with a heavy sigh : — 
 
 " 'Tis no use, Maggie, digging any more. 
 
 I've ventm-ed till we've only one goat left, 
 
 Tlie weakest of the flock : the kids are gone. 
 
 And all the sheep and lambs have long been sold : 
 
 The cows have vanished fi-om the untilled fields, 
 
 And all the horses have been driven away. 
 
 Save that poor pony, lean, you see, and long : 
 
 The pigs and poultry feed in other yards. 
 
 And every sack of corn has left the barn. 
 
 I sold the straw last night to farmer Jones, 
 
 And om- next neighbour bought the rick of hay. 
 
 Not a potato in the outhouse hes : 
 
 The furze is taken from the under croft, 
 
 And all the turf is can'ied from the carne. 
 
 ^ly bran-best hat and breeches waterproof, 
 
 My buckled boots, my best, my yollow-tox^pcd, 
 
 l^.ridle and saddle, and my darling cane, 
 
 With silver head and silver studded o'er, 
 
 I bought when we were mamed, — all are gone. 
 
 And I am left alone, a iniined man. 
 
 Dame, look aroimd you : where the chest of drawers ? 
 
 Where all the pewter ? where the copper pans ? 
 
 Where the old china, rich indeed for age, 
 The bright tin teapots, and the oaken chairs '/ 
 Gone ! and the cracked panes echo, ' Gone ! ' 
 I've worked until my bones are almost bare, 
 And Hope has weeping left me ; and, to fiU 
 This dark-hued cup to overflowing quite. 
 Our only boy could bear distress no more, 
 And so last night he left us for the seas. 
 O God, have mercy on us and the lad I " 
 
 The poor man groaned and shook his streaming locks. 
 
 Resting his back against the cupboard door. 
 
 He fixed his eyes upon an empty shelf. 
 
 Then Maggie's full heart poured its treasures forth. 
 
 She told of many men of humble birth 
 
 Who persevered in duty's upward path. 
 
 And won estates, rich forfunes, and a name. 
 
 "Last night," she said, "I dreamt 'twas summer-time, 
 
 And we were walking by a hmpid lake. 
 
 Whose face was crystal as the mu-rored heavens, 
 
 And overhead the tall trees shadowed us, 
 
 And shook then- leaves with gladness. We sat down, 
 
 And hstened to the buxls, and marked the kine 
 
 Feeding upon the lawn, wliile round us lay 
 
 Orchards of fruit and fields of waving com ; 
 
 And all was om's, and all the gift of Heaven. 
 
 But I awoke, and, lo, it was a dream." 
 
 And then she bade him not to be dismayed, 
 
 But ti-ust in God, who made the mighty hills. 
 
 And placed the minerals in theh hidden cells ; 
 
 That nothing came of him who ceased to act, 
 
 And wept at every steep he had to chmb. 
 
 The navigator, hoping against hope. 
 
 Still steered his vessel over darksome seas, 
 
 Untn new lands were added to his chart. 
 
 So he should never give despair a place, 
 
 But go and try again another week. — 
 
 That week brought fortune in a mine of wealth. 
 
 It happened thus. Down from a distant moor 
 An old man came, with wisdom in his face ; 
 Mean his attire, and homely was liis speech, 
 But warm his heart that beat beneath a frieze ; 
 And calling at the tinner's rustic door 
 Tlie following morn, he gently knocked, and said, 
 " Cheer up, faint heart : I'm come to give thee aid." 
 And fortli upon the plain of pits they went, 
 Conversing by the way of lodes and veins. 
 Meanwhile a cloud went marchiug up the sky,
 
 THE OLD DOWZEIL 
 
 53 
 
 Ami blacker pi'cw and Llackor, mounting' liif,'lier, 
 
 Until it reeled and staj,'gered o'er tboir heads, 
 
 And sent forth streams of fire that rolled along 
 
 The rocky valley like a Haniinj; beast. 
 
 The two "men gazed, and cloud and lire were gone. 
 
 Then much they chatted in the light of morn. 
 
 Spoke the old man with warm heart wrapped in frieze, 
 
 " This is tlu! dragon of the mineral vault : 
 
 He's out but j-arely, and his presence shows 
 
 A mine of riches wheresoe'er ho rolls. 
 
 His track was down the sheep-path by the oak, 
 
 Close to the pit where you were digging last, 
 
 Sad and discom-agod. But this augurs well 
 
 For you, my neighbour: and we'll try once more 
 
 What virtue's in the famous dowzing-rod." 
 
 So from a white thorn, with his large clasp-knife, 
 
 The old man cut a twig formed like a V, 
 
 And, holding it in both his steady hands 
 
 Point i;ppermost, he paced along the vale 
 
 From north to south, till, near the ancient oak, 
 
 The point turned downwards with a sudden twitch. 
 
 And rays of joy shot from the old man's eyes. 
 
 Then back he went, and forth he came again. 
 
 Holding the rod point upwards as before. 
 
 And down it went over the same marked spot. 
 
 So he was satisfied, and said, " Sink here : 
 
 There is a mineral-chamber underneath 
 
 Will well repay you for youi' little loss. 
 
 Behind yon mount o'er which the sun has soared 
 
 They saw a fire hke this : I used the rod. 
 
 And where it turned, two laboiu'ers sank a pit, 
 
 Who now have coaches, titles, and estates. 
 
 I'll wager, sinking here, you'll have a mine." 
 
 And o'er the hills the dowzer passed away. 
 
 The vale is silent, silent are the trees, 
 And still the waters of the sleeping lake : 
 The lark's last note has floated up to heaven. 
 And down the stream the merry boatman ghdes, 
 And louder sings as ih-awiug nearer home. 
 The smoke is curling upwards o'er the pines, 
 And merry voices ring among the flowers, 
 As Eve reposes in a glade of green. 
 Amid the reeds a gentle damsel sighs 
 Like harper in the tliicket, and the wren 
 Puts out his ear among the springing ferns. 
 To listen to the sorrows of the maid, 
 
 " He's gone, he's gone, my loving Henry's gone : 
 
 To-day we parted by the village gate, 
 
 AV^hat time the sun had reached his highest noon. 
 
 He shook my hand, and tears came in his eyes ; 
 
 And seeing his, mine own were dim with rain ; 
 
 And when he told me he should sail away 
 
 Across the ocean to a land of heat, 
 
 And seek his fortune in a grot of gold. 
 
 Because his father with a hero's heart 
 
 Lost all his httle digging for a mine. 
 
 My heart seemed bursting in me, and I thought 
 
 1 should have sunk upon the flinty ground. 
 
 " ' Dont weep,' he murmured ; ' when a few short years 
 
 Have passed like visions, Henrj^ will return. 
 
 And the chiu'ch bells shall ring our wedding chime, 
 
 And we be one and happy. Far away, 
 
 Alone with strangei's and a selfish world, 
 
 Thine image shall be with mc, going out 
 And coming in, and sitting by my cliair, 
 And mu-iTored on the universe of light. 
 I'll wear thee visioned on my heart of hearts ; 
 And when the daylight dies among the hills. 
 And Eve steals onward with her urn of dews, 
 I'll think I see thee by thy cottage door, 
 And hear thy song float o'er the listening trees. 
 And feel thou prayest for thy Henxy gone.' 
 He kissed my hand, and soon was out of sight." 
 
 In a rude land he laboured with success. 
 
 Till one bright morn beneath an ancient tree 
 
 A gi'oup of men are standing. Some have rings, 
 
 And some have purses, little boxes some ; 
 
 And some have letters crammed with Hues of love ; 
 
 And some have bits of gold, and some have coin ; 
 
 And some have strings of pearl, and some have shells ; 
 
 And some have portraits of their household flowers. 
 
 Loved, happy faces, gi'ouped in miniature ; 
 
 And souie have books, and some have ciu-ls of hair, 
 
 And ribbons some, and some have metal pens. 
 
 And some have landscapes lengthened on a leaf, 
 
 And some have little poems wet with tears. 
 
 All eyes are bent upon a fan- young man. 
 
 With staff in hand and bundle on his back, 
 
 And face towards his home in fatherland ; 
 
 And these are trifles for their distant hiends. 
 
 Child, mother, wife, and lover : so he placed 
 
 Each tiny treasure in his traveUing-bag, 
 
 Shook hands with all, and hastened on his way. 
 
 Eeturn we to the tinner of the moor. 
 Soon as the dowzer left him, he went home, 
 And took his pickaxe, pipe, and well-worn spade. 
 And ancient canteen swinging in his hand. 
 And down the sheep-path once more travelled he 
 Into the place of pits, a hopeful man. 
 Lajang aside his outer vest, his eyes 
 Instinctively tui-ned upwards, and he sighed, 
 " O Father, if it be Thy holy wiU, 
 Prosper the labour of Thy servant's hands. 
 The gold is Thine, the tin and cojiper Thine : 
 Du-ect me where to labom' with success. 
 However, not my will, but Thine be done." 
 And down into the earth the pickaxe went. 
 As if a giant dashed it in the gi'ound. 
 
 Down went his shaft thi'ough various strata-crusts, 
 
 Thick layer after layer, till he came 
 
 Upon a hope-reviving bed of blue. 
 
 He brought up samples with a gladdened heart. 
 
 And washed them in the rill among the reeds. 
 
 And they produced some grains of precious tin. 
 
 Next day a boy came with liim, and they placed 
 
 A windlass on the shaft, and wound the ore 
 
 Up in a goatskin fashioned like a bag. 
 
 Each day the lode grew richer, and more tiii 
 
 Was lying on the sm-facc. Then he made 
 
 A wooden wheel, and placed it in the vale, 
 
 And on some stakes of oak piit u'ou heads. 
 
 To stamp the rough stones into powder fine. 
 
 Then o'er the wheel he tm-ned the lunpid stream. 
 
 And round it went ; up rose the heavy heads. 
 
 And falling bruised the stones to mineral sand. 
 
 So cleaning it, the old man's pony bore 
 
 The treasm-e to the far-off smelting-house ;
 
 54 
 
 THE MINE. 
 
 And he retumecl with twenty ponncls or more. 
 AntI as it chimed within his mole-skiu pm'se, 
 How Maggie's bright eyes twinkled with deUght ! 
 That eve a grateful prayer rose up to heaven. 
 
 Then weeks and months and seasons passed away, 
 
 And tin was wound up in the goatskin bag, 
 
 And cleaned, and carried to the smeltiug-liouse ; 
 
 And he returned with guineas in his pm'se ; 
 
 Till one still eve he sat upon his bench 
 
 Much pondering. Leaping cpiickly up, he said, 
 
 " I have a whim now whnhng in my brain : 
 
 I'U work it out to-morrow. " When day dawned. 
 
 And to the covert slunk the full-fed fox. 
 
 He cut down wood and nailed it like a cage 
 
 With horizontal slabs and slabs oblique, 
 
 And through the centre a rough forest tree 
 
 Placed for an axle, and from out its side 
 
 Ran two anns like a giant's. Near the shaft 
 
 He set it up, and round it twined a rope, 
 
 Brought o'er a pulley by the tin- pit's mouth; 
 
 And to the rope a wooden barrel swung. 
 
 Made by a cooper in his ^illage shop. 
 
 He harnessed pony to the great wood arm. 
 
 And round and round and round again it went, 
 
 PuUing the ban-el up and down the shaft, 
 
 Till heaps of tin iipon the surface lay. 
 
 And fortune filled his mole-skin purse with gold. 
 
 And seasons came and passed, and came again ; 
 
 Eaius fell, and sunshine kissed the gladdened earth 
 
 The crops grew up and fell before the scythe ; 
 
 Men wooed and maiTied, feasted, failed, and died. 
 
 Levels were driven, and other shafts were sunk ; 
 
 An adit from a valley di'ained the mine ; 
 
 Great heaps of tin upon the surface lay, 
 
 And still went rouncl the whim and waterwheel. 
 
 There dwelt among the hills a thoughtful boy, 
 
 TMiose mother was the model of her sex ; 
 
 And he was veiy forward for his years, 
 
 Fond of good books and study. Other lads 
 
 Were only happy when engaged in play ; 
 
 He when with God and nature. On a time, 
 
 As he sat musing by his cottage-gi-ate. 
 
 The boihng kettle hissed upon the hearth. 
 
 And so he stopped the steam and stuTcd the fire. 
 
 His mother looking on with chiding eyes, — 
 
 Until the power confined thi-ust out itself, 
 
 And burst the kettle in his rage for fame. 
 
 This led the student on to higher things, 
 
 From steep to dizzy steep, until at last 
 
 He made the great steam-engine, when the world 
 
 Ileceived a boon to bless it evermore. 
 
 And so Watt's name is carved among the gi-eat. 
 
 And chimed in song, and decked with summer flowers. 
 
 Meanwhile the mine extended and grew rich. 
 And every month the workmen multiplied ; 
 The water gushed from countless cracks unseen. 
 Ran down the levels' sides, and bubbled up 
 Within the adit, keeping the bold men 
 J'rom sinking far beneath it, till tlie wheel 
 Was laid aside, and in its place arose 
 A small steam-engine newly wonderful ; 
 And wonderful the ease with wliich it wrought. 
 Dra inin g the mine as strangely as a spell. 
 
 After the shaft was sixty feet in depth, 
 
 Ends were extended eastward, westward far ; 
 
 Then winzes sunk for au- from level to level ; 
 
 And so it ever was and ever is. 
 
 And as they sunk from rugged stair to stair. 
 
 The troubled entrails of the rifled world 
 
 Changed hard as marble. Drills were introduced. 
 
 And mallets rang where picks had clinked before. 
 
 Then holes were blasted in a dangerous way. 
 
 By rushes thrust into the powder-charge 
 
 Through a small hole made by a copper wu'e. 
 
 Igniting it as sudden as a thought ; 
 
 Ere the poor wretch could say one word of prayer. 
 
 Destroying limbs and often hie itself. 
 
 Then quills were used. Still very dangerous they 
 
 And more expensive. Lastly came the fuse. 
 
 Unparalleled for safety. Turn we from the fields. 
 
 And ladder after ladder quick descend. 
 
 Until we reach a labourer's working-place. 
 
 It is the hour of morning : on a plank 
 
 A father and his elder son sit down, 
 
 A boy with fourteen Aprils on his face. 
 
 With thought of home and brothers in his mind. 
 
 And sunny slopes and lawns of laughing flowers. 
 
 Denied him here, denied the lad so soon. 
 
 A flask of water dangles to a nail. 
 
 And here a can of powder ; candles there, 
 
 A pau' of scissors, and a bunch of quills. 
 
 Their dinners lie beside them, and beyond 
 
 Are dr-ills and hammers and long iron bars. 
 
 Ere they begin to laboiu", child and sire 
 
 Kneel down among the rocks, and that dark cave 
 
 Is visited by angels, whose bright wings 
 
 Float through the darkness to the voice of prayer. 
 
 Aloud the father intercedes with Heaven 
 
 For blessings on the labour of their hands. 
 
 And blessings on his darling ones at home. 
 
 That He would spare them, if it were His will. 
 
 To meet at eve around the supper board. 
 
 But if they fell and died among the rocks. 
 
 He prayed that they might dwell in heaven, and sit 
 
 Down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb. 
 
 And then he wi'estled for his comrade-boy ; 
 
 And in his earnestness he seemed to grasp 
 
 The arm of the Most High, and so prevailed 
 
 That heaven kissed earth and dropped into the mine. 
 
 Could you have peered into that youngling's face. 
 
 Hidden in both his hands, you would liave seen 
 
 Great shining tear-drops roll down on the stones. 
 
 That boy gi-ew up to bear the cross of Christ. 
 
 * 
 
 I
 
 THE MULE-DRIVFjR. 
 
 05 
 
 PART II. 
 
 llx^KARS stole away ; the rich mine richer grow ; 
 jfV^' Another lode was added richer still : 
 :']K;\ It strangely shot oiit in the engine-shaft, 
 
 -""^ And so he hailed it as a friend wiili gems, 
 Who came to pour the treasm-es in his lap. 
 Tt was a vein of copper hright as brass, 
 Which soon became the theme at every hearth. 
 Copper has colours different in the ores, 
 As various as the rainbow, — black and blue 
 And gi-een and red and yellow as a flower ; 
 Gold-colonred here, there dimly visil)lc. 
 Though rich the same in measure and in meed. 
 'Tis found alike where glittering granite gloams, 
 ^Vhere killas darkens, and where gossans shroiid, 
 And oft where wise ones wi-ite it cannot be, — 
 Thus wisely scattered by the Hand Divine. 
 Tin is more secret far, -svith duller eye 
 Oft hiding in the river's shingly bed, 
 Or the flint's bosom, near the central fires. 
 In chambers wide, or veins like silken lace ; 
 So that the labourer, stumbling on a start. 
 Wipes his hot brow, and cries, " Lo, here is tin." 
 
 The shme of earth is only on the skin ; 
 
 That of the serpent stains into the soul. 
 
 The honest miner, pale and sulphur-streaked. 
 
 Basks in the brightness of the eternal Sun, 
 
 And muses through the halls of intellect 
 
 As largely as the man of wealth and power, 
 
 And walks as blest with calm-eyed Piety. 
 
 T5ehold him in his honeysuckled home. 
 
 Kissing his children in the day's young prime. 
 
 Even while they lie sweet-smiUng in their dreams ; 
 
 Then hasting forth with prayer upon his lips 
 
 To tug with Danger in his darksome den 
 
 Beneath the hills' foundations. Noon arrives, 
 
 And in a level far below the light. 
 
 With flint on either hand, a band of men. 
 
 From different chambers of the mighty cave, 
 
 Frieze on their loins and slime upon their limbs. 
 
 Sing, pray, and praise the Lord, and fruit Divine 
 
 Is gathered by them from the banks of bliss. 
 
 Old Tunmy was the diiver of the mules. 
 
 And he kept sixty shaggj' skinny things, 
 
 Fed upon gi-ass and very httle grain ; 
 
 And with his mules he visited the mine, 
 
 A tramping troop, to carry off the ores 
 
 In little bags upon then- bony backs, 
 
 Two upon each, up hill and down deep dale. 
 
 To the sea-port where it was shipped away 
 
 Across the waves, and fused to metal slabs. 
 
 And years passed by, and still he drove his mtiles 
 
 Through cloud and sunshine, storm and pleasing cakn, 
 
 Summer and winter, smoking as he went. 
 
 Or whistling tunes and cracking his short whip. 
 
 Telling strange tales to singing birds and flowers, 
 
 Famihar with each hedge, and crooked turn. 
 
 And ragged rut from long lane's end to end. 
 
 Till he gi'ew grey as the grey herd he drove : 
 
 Then, as the ores increased, the farmers came. 
 
 Witli waggons wide and woeful, and lean Rteeds, 
 
 Which panted o'er the highways rough and rude, 
 
 With pers^m-ation droj^ping off like rain, — 
 
 A sight to sadden every sorrowing heart. 
 
 But one spring morn, awaking from his di-eams. 
 
 He hoard the steam-horse rushing o'er the rails, 
 
 Beai-ing more ores behind it than his troop 
 
 Could carry in a fortnight. So he tm-ned 
 
 His old friends on the common, where they failed, 
 
 And failing failed, till they could fail no more. 
 
 And Winter slew them with his sword of frost. 
 
 He could not weep, for all his tears were gone ; 
 
 And in his reedy lodge a hea^'y sigh 
 
 Let out liis ghost hito the laud imseen. 
 
 His gi-ave is by the chancel of the church ; 
 
 And on it many years a gi-ave-board stood ; 
 
 But time has blotted out the epitaph, 
 
 And left him sleeping in a nameless shroud. 
 
 A travelling youth hastes doAvn the village lane 
 
 All fevered with excitement. By the well 
 
 He meets a matron who her pitcher bears ; 
 
 And as she dips it in the crystal fount. 
 
 He asks her, pointing with his hazel staff, 
 
 " Who lives across the coppice in yon house 
 
 They say was haunted many years ago ? 
 
 Though for my part I can't believe a ghost 
 
 Would quit the bowers of angels for this place. 
 
 To dwell with rats and cobwebs. Fie on it ! 
 
 I've heard my fatlicr say how oft strange lights 
 
 Would flare along the damp rooms windowless, 
 
 And solemn chrges at still midnight rose. 
 
 And songs were heard when nought but winds were 
 
 there : 
 And so the people said the manor-house 
 Was haunted with the strangest, wildest things. 
 Old women's fancies ! why, I've walked o'er graves. 
 And fields of dead, and mounds of rotting bones, 
 When stars were blinking in the deeps of heaven ; 
 And I have often prayed to see a ghost. 
 If ghosts are palpable to mortal ken ; 
 But not a phantom raised his shadowy arm. 
 "Wlien last I saw this dwelling, years aero, 
 'Twas weeping in its niins : now it looks 
 The abode of plenty, where red faces meet. 
 Pray, can you tell me who the owner is ? " 
 And when she told him that its present lord 
 Was once the tinner living on the moor. 
 Who ventured till the mice forsook his shelf 
 And leanness seized upon him, he exclaimed, 
 " change of changes I 'tis my father's home." 
 
 Full soon he crossed the gi-eenwood, praising much 
 The grand old trees tliat seemed to welcome him 
 To linger in then- cloisters. Then he stood 
 Within the ivy archway, lost in thought. 
 And now his hands are playing with the vine 
 About the porch ; and now he knocks the door, 
 And soon is weeping in his mother's arms. 
 Then father comes, but how unlike the man 
 He left half-starved within his fi-igid hut, 
 Still struggling, striving, hoping ai?ainst hope ! 
 A portlj^ person now with manly air. 
 And much that's pleasant peering from his eye. 
 Then tales were told and loving questions asked, 
 And lengthy queries answered, till the moon 
 SUd into midnight with her suite of stars,
 
 56 
 
 THE MINE. 
 
 
 And prayer iiprose amons: the listeniuc; trees. 
 Then be lay down to dream of other days, 
 And one bright v-ision flitted though his brain. 
 
 Next morn his father took liun on a hill 
 Witliin his own estate, where cattle grazed 
 And finest sheep were feeding. Far below, 
 Upon the veiy spot the ih'agon rolled, 
 "Where the bold honest tinner lost and won, 
 A mine spread out its vast machinery. 
 Here engines, with then* huts and smoky stacks. 
 Cranks, wheels, and rods, boilers and liissing steam. 
 Pressed up the water from the depths below. 
 Here fire-whims ran till almost out of breath. 
 And chains cried sharply, strained with fiery force. 
 Here blacksmiths hammered by the sooty forge, 
 And there a crusher crashed the copper ore. 
 Here guis were cobbing under roofs of straw. 
 And there were giggers at the oaken hutch. 
 Here a man-engine glided up and down, 
 A blessing and a boon to mining men : 
 And near the spot whore, many years before, 
 Tm-ned roimd and round the rude old water-wheel, 
 A huge fire-stamps was working evermore, 
 And slimy boys were swarming at the trunks. 
 The noisy lander by the trap-door bawled 
 With pincers in his hand ; and troops of maids 
 With heavy hammers brake the mineral stones. 
 The cart-man cried, and shook his broken whip ; 
 And on the steps of the account-house stood 
 The active agent, with his eye on all. 
 
 Below were caverns grim with greedy gloom, 
 And levels diimk with darkness ; chamliers huge 
 Where Fear sat silent, and the mineral-sprite 
 For ever chanted his bewitching song ; 
 Shafts deep and dreadful, looking darkest things 
 And seeming almost running down to doom ; 
 liock imder foot, rock standing on each side ; 
 Hock cold and gloomy, £i-owning overhead ; 
 Before, behind, at every angle, rock. 
 Here blazed a vein of precious copper ore, 
 "Uliere lean men laboxired with a zeal for fame, 
 With face and hands and vesture black as night, 
 And down their sides the perspu-ation ran 
 In steaming eddies, sickening to behold. 
 But they complained not, digging day and night, 
 And mom and eve, with lays upon their hps. 
 Here yawned a tin-cell like a cliff of crags. 
 And Danger hu-ked among the gi-oaning rocks. 
 And ofttiraes moaned in darkness. All the air 
 Was black with sulplnu- bm-ning up the blood. 
 A nameless mystery seemed to fill the void. 
 And wings all pitchy flapped among the flints, 
 And eyes that saw not sparkled mid the spars. 
 Yet here men worked, on stages hung in ropes. 
 With drills and hammers blasting the rude earth. 
 Which fell with such a crash that he who heard 
 Cried, " Jesu, save the miner ! " Here were ends 
 Cut through hard marble by the miners' skill, 
 And winzes, stopes, and rizes : pitches here. 
 Where worked the heroic, princely tributer, 
 This month for notlung, next for fifty pounds. 
 Here lodes ran wide, and there so very small 
 That scarce a pick-point could be pressed between ; 
 Here making walls as smooth as polished steel, 
 And there as craggy as a rended hill : 
 
 And out of sparry vagnes the water oozed, 
 Staining the rock with mineral, so that oft 
 It led the labom'er to a house of gems. 
 Across the mine a hollow cross-coiu'se ran 
 From north to south, an omen of much good,; 
 And tin lay heaped on stiills and level-plots ; 
 And in each nook a tallow taper flared. 
 Where pale men wasted with exhaiistion huge. 
 Here holes exploded, and there mallets rang. 
 And rocks fell crashing, lifting the stiff hair 
 From time-worn brows, and noisy buckets roared 
 In echoing shafts ; and through this gulf of gloom 
 A hollow mm'mur rushed for evermore. 
 
 And then the father and his wondering boy 
 Crossed the rude moors, conversing as they went. 
 When the youth learnt his sire had sold the mine 
 For thousands upon thousands, keeping still 
 Large shares of profit for himself and son. 
 And as they lingered by a broken stile. 
 Watching a flock of rooks wheel o'er the wood, 
 And lireathing odours fi-om the banks of flowers, 
 A group of mining men came down the lane. 
 With footsteps fleet, and very sad of face. 
 Bearing a burden on some unplaned boards 
 Nailed carelessly together. 'Twas a youth 
 Wlio left his mother on the lonely wild 
 At dead of night, to dig within the mine. 
 He was her only son ; the rest were drowned, 
 And so this boy became her sole support. 
 And rumour ran he courted a fair maid. 
 Whose fame was like a rose-bud, and next moon 
 They would be married in the village church. 
 But Providence had ordered otherwise ; 
 For while he laboured, tamping up a hole 
 In a hard cross-cut, ninety fathoms down, 
 It crashed ai'ound him, killing him outright ; 
 And so his mangled foiin, lashed to a spar, 
 Was drawn iiji through the shaft, and borne along 
 By his sad comrades to his mother's hut ; 
 And fleetly passed they over hill and dale. 
 Till lost among the rising mists of morn. 
 
 There was a miner living by a rock 
 
 They called " The Giant's Marble :" with him dwelt 
 
 His wife and six young children, and he strove 
 
 By dint of labom- with his head and hands, 
 
 Early and late, above groimd and below. 
 
 Both in his little farm and in his pitch, 
 
 With manly courage wondrous and sublime, — 
 
 More of the hero than the man of spears, — 
 
 To feed the flock the Shepherd of the world 
 
 Placed in his fold upon the brambled plain. 
 
 But months passed by, and he no mineral found 
 
 Within the rock he blasted : pay-days came. 
 
 But not for him ; and on his famished check 
 
 Despair had almost stamped his frif^ditful name. 
 
 Late one long eve the weary tributer 
 
 Was digging in the darkness, when he found 
 
 A prill of copper larger than his fist. 
 
 Which led the laboiu-er to a course of ore ; 
 
 And ere three weeks had passed, the worthy man 
 
 Had gained enoitffh to cheer his drooping wife. 
 
 To pay his debts, and buy liis fruitful farm. 
 
 A cottage girl is wandering by a brook. 
 
 Gathering wild flowers, and singing, " From the isles 
 
 I 
 
 1
 
 THE COUNTRY MANSION. 
 
 57 
 
 My love is coming with his heart for me. 
 
 His letters luivo been sweet witli tentlerest lore, 
 
 And musical with gladness. Since he left, 
 
 His sire one morn awoke in rilled rags; 
 
 And ere the sun went down behind the waves, 
 
 He was a rich man, courted and caressed. 
 
 And will success estrange mj' only love. 
 
 And lure him to some less devoted maid ? 
 
 Away with sncli a thought ! it cannot be ; 
 
 And so I pluck these tlovvers to bind his brow, 
 
 And kiss them as they smile baptized with dews. 
 
 He loves the primrose : thus, ye cherubs, come, 
 
 And let me pull you for an offering sweet." 
 
 And as she drew them from their homes of moss. 
 
 Pressing them gently in lier little hand, 
 
 A fair young man came tripping down the banks, 
 
 With summer sunshine glowing in his face. 
 
 It was her Heury, and full soon their tears 
 
 And sighs and kisses mingle as they flow. 
 
 " Why do the bells ring out such merry chimes ?" 
 
 An aged dame asked, pausing on the road 
 
 To meet her daughter from the market town 
 
 With basket huge and heavy. " All this morn 
 
 A sea of echoes has been rolling round. 
 
 So that the rooks have scarcely had a note 
 
 To offer to the sunshine ; peal on peal 
 
 Has travelled through the vallej^s, and the hills 
 
 Have almost thrust their ragged caps aside. 
 
 I've seen the horses prick their pointed ears, 
 
 And pause amid the clover ; and the dogs 
 
 Have barked and danced, not knowing what they did. 
 
 Boys clap their hands, and maidens sing for glee. 
 
 And matrons, arms a-kimbo o'er the fence. 
 
 Converse and smile, and kiss then- wondering bairns. 
 
 Why, every tree now shining in the sun 
 
 Seems wagging with a bell upon each branch. 
 
 I never heard such stunning peals before ; 
 
 No, not when our good squire and lady fair 
 
 In bridal robes walked to the dear old church. 
 
 Do tell me, daughter, why the bells ring so." 
 
 " It is a marriage, mother. The rich man 
 
 Who lives in yon high house across the gorge, 
 
 Envii'oned with a wood of EugUsh oak. 
 
 Who drew his riches from a mining pit 
 
 When almost dead with fasting, this still morn 
 
 Has seen his son united to a girl 
 
 As beautiful as summer, whom he loved 
 
 When Want stood shivering in his father's home 
 
 With Famine on the doorstep. Far away 
 
 The young man laboured, prospered, and retm-ned 
 
 To find liis father rich in friends and fame. 
 
 Himself a partner in his hard-earned gains. 
 
 But richer to his eye the cottage girl. 
 
 Who sang among the green fields like a bird. 
 
 Than heaps of diamonds piled up to the moon, 
 
 Or farms, or friends, or any other thing : 
 
 For he was true, and love to him was heaven. 
 
 So they are married, mother, and the bells 
 
 King that the grand old steeple seems to nod." 
 
 See'st thou that mansion on the woody slope, 
 "WTiere trees stQop down and kiss the river-waves. 
 Or whisper on its marge ; and gi-aceful sails 
 Glide up and down, and sea-birds float and dive ? 
 Along the shrubbery walk a lady comes 
 
 Leading her children by the evergreens, — 
 
 Two boys, with brows like bards and eyes like space ; 
 
 And one bright girl, with April on her cheeks. 
 
 Grey deer are leaping round them, snowy swans 
 
 Steer over silent lakes, and cooing doves 
 
 Drop from tall trees to drink at glassy falls, 
 
 Wliilst in the noble dwelling Wealth sits down 
 
 Dangling his shining keys with wagging sides. 
 
 This hall is Henry's, his that lady fair, 
 
 And his those children beautiful as morn, 
 
 Now placed among the worshipped of the world. 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Adit — An opening beneath the surface of the earth, 
 
 to carrj' off the water from the mine. 
 Cobbing — Breaking the stones with an iron hammer, 
 
 to separate the miner^^l from the refuse. 
 Course of ore — A wide vein or lode. 
 Cross-course — A hollow vein intersecting the lodes. 
 Cross-cut — A level driven to intersect the lode. 
 Crusher — A sort of iron mill used to crush the ore. 
 Dowzing-rod — A white thorn used by the ancient 
 
 miners to ascertain the position of uncut lodes. 
 Dragon — A fiery meteor, said to be indicative of the 
 
 earth's riches. 
 Drill — A bar of steel used for l)oring the rock. 
 End — A local name for level, the extremity of the sub- 
 
 teiTanean passage. 
 Fire-stamps — A steam-engine used to stamp the rough 
 
 ores. 
 Fire-ivhim—k. small steam-engine used to draw up 
 
 the broken earth. 
 Fuse — A flexible material, similar to common yarn, 
 bound with twine, and filled with gunpowder ; used 
 in blasting. 
 Gigger — One who sifts the ores through a small sieve 
 
 into a hutch or large box of water. 
 Gossan — Consists principally of per-oxide of iron, 
 
 mixed with earthy matters, quartz, &c. 
 Killas—A dark-coloured stratum of rock, composed of 
 
 clay, slate, &c. 
 Lander — The man who empties the bucket when it 
 
 reaches the mouth of the jnt. 
 Level — An excavation along the mine. 
 Level x>lot — A floor of wood where the miner fills the 
 
 bucket. 
 Lode — A mineral deposit, generally running from east 
 
 to west. 
 Man-engine — A machine to let the miners up and 
 
 down the shaft. 
 Mine — An excavation of the earth. 
 Pitches — Cells of copper or any other mineral, where 
 
 the labourer has a certain tribute. 
 Prill — A lump of solid mineral or metal. 
 Rises — Chambers raised fi'om beneath. 
 Smelting -house — A place where raw ores are converted 
 
 by fire into metal. 
 Start or sturt — Among miners an extra month's wages ; 
 chiefly, the good fortune of tributers.
 
 58 
 
 CALEB CLIFF: A DBAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 Slopes — The upper aud lower parts of levels broken 
 up by miners. | 
 
 StuUs — Large beams of -wood across tlie lode, on: 
 which rough boards are nailed. 
 
 Tinner — One who works on tin. | 
 
 Tribute)- — One who works for a certain part of thej 
 profits of the ores he may raise. I 
 
 Trunks — Hutches let into the groimd. 
 
 ]Vindlass — A simple roller of wood with an iron han- 
 dle, around which is wound a rope or chain, which 
 is let up and down the pit. 
 
 Winze — A sink from one level to another. 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 CALEB CLIFF: 
 
 A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Scene — Wild Moor. Time 
 — Sprinrj Morning. Tra- 
 veller alone on the heath. 
 
 ravellcr. The larks sing April 
 welcomes. Here they soar 
 
 And carol in their gladness ; 
 there they float 
 In streams of song along the firmament ; 
 Now bubbling like a fountain, tender now, 
 In quivering drops out-gushing from the clouds, 
 Filling the muser's listening ear with love. 
 The moors are full of music : everywhere 
 These blessed warblers kindle up delight, 
 Suddenly dropping with their viols full 
 Of holy sound o'erflowing all the air, 
 As if heaven's gate half-opened, and let forth 
 Bright jets of fervour. Here on banks they stand 
 Warbhng and whistling, till mine eyes are full, 
 And praises leave my lips. AU thanks to Thee ! 
 The earth has stLU some lays of Paradise. 
 But what poor wretch is this ? — a female form 
 Half-clad in weeds, and by the hand she holds 
 
 Her white-faced boy. I'll cross the heath and see. 
 How pale she is ! how pale ! 
 
 Scene — Beer-shoj) on the common, ivith the traveller 
 and the poor woman before it. 
 
 Poor Woman. Alack, alack ! 
 
 Sir, my heart is breaking. See my boy. 
 
 The first dear flower that graced our marriage home. 
 
 Came other flowers, and flowers they passed away : 
 
 I'm thankful to my God that it is so. 
 
 Or my dark sea of woe would wider be. 
 
 And the waves thicker, blacker, and the storm 
 
 Beat with a fiercer fmy on my head. 
 
 Why, dost thou ask? Because this slender thing. 
 
 My Hubert here, pines now for lack of bread ; 
 
 And if they faded not upon their stems, 
 
 1 should even now have other moiiths to fill. 
 But they are with the worms, thank God for that, 
 Where I too wish to be. 
 
 Traveller. I grieve to mark 
 
 A form like thine so sadly sori'ow-stripped, 
 Though life is in its summer. Shipwrecked bark, 
 Fierce-flashed with storms and on the breakers bulged, 
 With shrivelled shroud and mast rent like a reed, 
 Looks not more desolate. What is thy wrong, 
 And what its soui'ce ? 
 
 Poor Woman. My wrong were great to tell, 
 
 High as a hill, and wider than the waste. 
 And bigger than a mountain. How it swells 
 Even as I turn to face it ! Shade thine eyes, 
 And look across the dingle. Thou canst see
 
 THE WIFE'S STOIiY. 
 
 59 
 
 That little dwelling standinf^ by the Btream, 
 With a few trees beside it, and behind 
 The great blue ocean surging on the shore. 
 Here was I born, and there my mother taught 
 Her child to pray to the great God of lioaven ; 
 Yes, yes, to j^^'cy •' why don't I do so now? 
 
 [She weeps. 
 Traveller. Go on until thy tale wears to a close : 
 'Tis good to pour out sorrow to a friend : 
 Thus the heart drops its burden. Pray go on. 
 Poor Woman. I grew up with the flowers, like one 
 
 of them, 
 With summer all around me : hill and vale 
 Were clothed in sunshine, and my heart was glad. 
 The future looked a garden full of sweets 
 Zoned roimd with beauty ; and I dared not dream 
 Of coming winter settling on the soul. 
 How could I, when my leaves were fi'ee from stain 
 As are the lily's ? By and bye the years 
 Led me to womanhood, when from the hills 
 Down came a youth with honest open face, 
 And saw me in my freshness. I was fair, 
 I know I was ; and he was handsome too. 
 I thought him then like David with his sheep. 
 How my heart fluttered when he spoke to me ! 
 And I blushed so and turned away my face. 
 Yes, he was handsome then, and so was I. 
 But now — I really shudder to go on. 
 
 [Here she trembles, and wipes her eyes. 
 Traveller. Proceed, I pray thee. My attention gi-ows 
 And interest deepens as thou lead'st the way. 
 Like pilgrim di-awing near some fabled shrine. 
 Poor Woman. The months brought frequent visits 
 
 from the youth, 
 With joys love-winged, full fraught with holiest bliss. 
 ]\Iy parents knew him well, and praised him much. 
 Oft by the sea we wandered, and the waves — 
 So thought I then — would murmur Caleb's name : 
 The sighing streams sang sweeter ; rill and rock 
 And dale and down were love-clad. How we joyed 
 To hear the larks sing o'er the mossy moor. 
 And watch the clouds at sunset ! Still theii* strains 
 Fill up the welkin, but I heed them not. 
 The evening clouds drift seaward purple-hued, 
 And hang around the doorway of the dark, 
 As if to light the dim day to repose ; 
 But grief has such a dwelling in mine eyes 
 That all is bitter blank. Alas ! alas ! 
 That sin's dark wings should sully so much sweet I 
 Traveller. Sit on this bench, and let me hear thee out : 
 Thy legs shake with much standing. Give the child 
 This bread and cheese : he looks half-dead with want. 
 No wounded hart wrecked by the hunter's gun. 
 And hid among the bushes, seemed more bare. 
 How eagerly he eats it ! 
 
 [The child eats. 
 Poor Woman. Yes, poor WTetch ! 
 
 He's fasted all the morning, and two crusts, 
 Broken and hard, were all the day before. 
 With one small cup of milk. But to my tale. 
 Which bears me on to blackness which thou secst 
 Thick-gathered i-ound me and mj^ hungi-y child. 
 Suffice it that we married. No two doves 
 So happy dwelt as we within our nest ; 
 For Caleb loved me and his pleasant home. 
 We read our Bible ; to the church we went. 
 And worshipped God together; and I've thought. 
 
 Ay, often thought, no household was so blessed. 
 
 And then our boy was born ; he looked a rose 
 
 Dropped down from Eden. Other children came, 
 
 And, as I told thee, died as soon as born. 
 
 Thus time passed by until seven years were gone, 
 
 And then a cloud came gathering o'er om' path. 
 
 At first 'twas small and scarcely visible. 
 
 And then it grew as lai-ge as human hand, 
 
 And then it spread and widened, spreading still 
 
 And blackening as it rose, until the heavens 
 
 AVere sackcloth, and the great round sunless earth 
 
 Reeled on in blindness. Groped I in the shade. 
 
 And shrieked in anguish, shrieking still in vain. 
 
 Even as thou seest me. 
 
 Traveller. Sad it is to hear 
 
 From sorrow's lips the sigh of misery, 
 
 But sadder still to feel its fellest fang. 
 
 Now to thy stoiy, for T wait thy will. 
 
 Poor Woman. Yes, thou shalt hear it. Caleb took 
 
 to drink ; 
 Yes, took to drink, which brought with wind and hail 
 A sea of ruin on us. Fu-st he walked 
 With heedful step along the slippeiy blink. 
 And said, " I'll go no further." Then he strode 
 A little nearer, nearer, nearer still. 
 When one thick morn, entirely off his guard. 
 And charmed with poppies gi'owing near the brink, 
 He slipped and fell, and dragged us all below. 
 I groaned, and cried, and wrung iny hands, and prayed, 
 But it was all in vain, yes, all in vain ; 
 For still he flounders in the black abyss. 
 Traveller. Wilt thou be somewhat more minute and 
 
 clear 
 In thy description of his downward coui'se ? 
 Poor Woman. One eve retm-ning from a sharp day's 
 
 work 
 In the pine forest, loading some large trees. 
 He met with Edmund Connor on the moor. 
 Which thou didst cross when coming o'er to me ; 
 And Edmund asked him to go in and take 
 A glass of ale in the Spread Eagle here. 
 Only a glass, and then they'd leave full soon. 
 So Caleb went and drank ; and the next eve 
 Was there again, and drank a little more. 
 And praised the ale, and said 'twas really prime ; 
 Then sang a song, and left at ten o'clock. 
 So it went on, my Caleb drinking still. 
 And wildly wasting what should bring us bread. 
 I watched for him at night, at first with sighs ; 
 And then with tears that fell upon the floor. 
 And prayed upon my knees, and prayed again : 
 But the high heavens were brass. How changed he 
 
 grew ! 
 His love all left him — Caleb cast me off, 
 And this was like a dagger in my soul. 
 He learnt to swear. Still I was kind to him, 
 And hoped for better things. We could not starve, 
 I and my boy ; for wages there was none ; 
 And so I parted with my wedding-ring. 
 And then the presents which my mother gave, 
 And then the trinkets treasured fi-om a child, 
 And then my Sunday di'esses one by one, 
 And then the plates and dishes, chairs and stools, 
 And other items, tiU the walls were bare. 
 But why should I go on ? An attic now 
 Is oiu" abode within a filthy court. 
 Where ragged lu'chins in the puddles scream. 
 
 9,
 
 60 
 
 CALEB CLIFF: A DBAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 Traveller. 'Tis a sad tale, ami saddens me to hear. 
 But where is Caleb now '? From what thou sayest, 
 I cannot doubt he is a drunkard still. 
 Poor Woman. No change for good. His heart is 
 
 harder gi-own, 
 His soul more sottish, and his ruin sealed. 
 My home — 'tis scarcely worthy of that word — 
 Is hke a desert trodden with simoon. 
 The only thing for which I care to hve 
 Is this poor babe, now worse than fatherless. 
 Often at night I lay liim on the straw 
 Covered with rags, and then beside the grate, 
 Fireless and frigid, watch I for his sii-e. 
 Sometimes I moan, and wring my withered hands, 
 And wail to Heaven. Sometimes I pace my room 
 Hungiy and sad, and stare upon the walls. 
 Sometimes I strive to weep, but the tears freeze 
 In their worn channels. Oft I leave my shed, 
 "SMien the gi-ey tower-clock treads the hour of twelve, 
 To hst his footfall sounding down the yard. 
 
 heavens ! the stars look angry, and the moon 
 In mockery smiles upon me : shadows strange 
 Frown fi-oni the doorways, and my tattered shawl 
 
 1 tighter draw, and hasten back again 
 "Where ilisery meets me with a startling howl. 
 Then by and bye he comes, mouthing the night, 
 Eeeling and banging, roaring like a storm : 
 
 He swears for supper, — what have I to give ? — 
 
 And then he swaggers forward to the child, 
 
 "Who screams afirighted at the drunken man. 
 
 I bow my head upon my wasted hands. 
 
 And blows come down upon me, blows from him 
 
 Who swore to shield me from the cruel world : 
 
 Then dizziness and darkness, and a prayer 
 
 For peace where worms run riot. 
 
 Traveller. 'Tis indeed 
 
 A history woful which thy lips declare : 
 
 And well may all who love the voice of truth 
 
 And peace and joy unite in earnest toil 
 
 To roll the the headless monster in his grave. 
 
 Is thy tale finished ? 
 
 Poor Woman. Earth has no such woe 
 
 As weighs upon the wife of him who walks 
 
 The broad highway trod by the drunkard's feet. 
 
 Oft when the snow has fallen I've gone forth 
 
 With shivering limbs, desirous of a meal ; 
 
 Smote with the joy of firesides comfort-crowned, 
 
 Snug blazing hearths, the smell of viands rich, 
 
 "NMiere songs of childhood trickled, winning love 
 
 And sweetest kisses from a father's hps : 
 
 Here Happiness amid the circle sat, 
 
 With eyes upturned to heaven. Alas for me. 
 
 Companioned with the storm ! The fierce winds struck 
 
 With swords of ice into my very bone. 
 
 So that Ufe halted with excess of strife. 
 
 And the soul knocked against its prison walls 
 
 To be let forth for ever. Back I crept. 
 
 The monster Hunger following to my shed. 
 
 Where he lay down and gnashed his horrid jaws 
 
 With glare unearthly. Groaned my boy and I, 
 
 And the blast mocked our sorrow. 
 
 Traveller. The land mourns 
 
 With the red vintage, adding woe to woe. 
 
 And cramming gaols and churchyards. Hastthou done ? 
 
 Poor Woman. A few more drops from the full cup 
 
 of grief 
 Will end my canto. Yesterday at four 
 
 He left our attic, staggering then with drink. 
 See'st thou this mark upon my beaten brow, 
 Wliere his hand smote me '? Yes, my husband's hand ! 
 All night I watched, but Caleb never came ; 
 The cock crew and the owl hooted no more, 
 While from his grassy nest springing the lark 
 Sang up his morning path ; a sparrow chh-ped 
 And knocked our lattice, when I dressed my boy 
 In the few rags thou see'st upon him now. 
 And brought him fasting forth. Cupboard and shelf 
 Were bare as the black beach ; the vei-y mice 
 Have ceased long since to come there ; and the cat 
 Sleeps on another floor, starved out of place,— 
 Starved out of place, I say. A wicked thought 
 Frowned, smiled upon me : poison — that was it. 
 I staggered, reeled, half yielded, then I rushed 
 Into the alley followed by my brat 
 Who screamed to see my terror. Here we came, 
 And found his father in this wretched den. 
 Drunk, by the dirty table. Though I've asked, 
 Yet he won't leave this dark ill-fated place. 
 Beseech him for me : he may heed thy voice : 
 'Tis not so low but I may grasp at hope. 
 
 [The traveller enters the beer-house, when 
 the drunken man sings : 
 
 Here I'll sit, and here I'll sing, 
 Till the ancient rafters ring ; 
 Here I'll sit, and here I'll drink, 
 Till the tallow candles wink. 
 
 What care I what parsons say ? 
 I vnll drink till break of day. 
 What care I for child or wife ? 
 Halloo, landlord, this is life. 
 
 Hurrah ! hiuTah ! 
 
 Traveller (aside). Poor drunken idiot ! his tossed 
 
 brain is hot 
 And melting in the fire. 'Tis ever so 
 With him who tramples on sobriety. 
 Breaks o'er the fence, and roves the wilds of wrong. 
 
 [The drunken man sings : 
 
 Fill the tankard to the top ; 
 I will drain it evei-y di'op. 
 This is life indeed for me, 
 This is rarest joUity. 
 
 What care I though moon may wink ? 
 What care I though stars may blink ? 
 What care I for child or wife '? 
 Halloo, landlord, this is life. 
 
 Hurrah ! hun-ah I 
 
 Traveller (advancing towards him). Outside the 
 porch, standing beside the gate. 
 
 One waits to see thee with a message strange ; 
 
 And I'm desired to ask thee to go forth 
 
 And take it with good will. 
 
 Drunken Man. Ha ! ha! good Sir, 
 
 I'm not the chap to launch your squibs upon. 
 
 Try some one else. My tankard holds some dnnk, 
 
 And drink holds me ! so I won't move an inch, 
 
 Tliough a prince beckons with a royal nod. 
 
 Traveller. I'm grieved to hear tliis answer. 'Tis a 
 friend 
 
 I
 
 THE INEBlilATE'S DESCENT. 
 
 61 
 
 Who craves thy audience, and no smooth-faced foe 
 
 With daf,'ger 'neath his mantle : 'tis the weak 
 
 Wlioni we are called to snccour, and lift o'er 
 
 The thorns and thickets of this Keltlsh world. 
 
 I would not care to bear him company, 
 
 Or call him man, who tlioujjht but of himself, 
 
 And shut his oars to every cry of pain. 
 
 Away with such a fellow from the world. 
 
 And let him herd with tillers, bears, and brutes ! 
 
 Mankind can do without him. Come, good man, 
 
 And meet the weak one at the gate of grief. 
 
 Drunken Man. A sermon truly ! I'm too deei? in 
 
 drink 
 To be drawn out by any crotchy text 
 Or verse of Scripture. You talk well, you do. 
 And my old granny taught me several things. 
 Long words of meaning winged with points of law, 
 Which once I thought were very wonderful. 
 But now have quite forgotten. 
 
 [Here he strikes the table and sings : 
 
 Drink, more drink ! 
 
 Why should I care if others swim or sink ? 
 
 Traveller. Listen, man : 
 
 We have no warrant for our length of life. 
 
 Or health or strength, which we receive from Heaven. 
 
 He gives. He takes, and none can stay His hand. 
 
 What if the lightnings from the gates of fire 
 
 Should lash thy limbs, and singe away thy sight. 
 
 And lay thee riddled on the hungry earth ! 
 
 What if disease dry up the fevered blood, 
 
 And leave the body prostrate ! Would'st thou not 
 
 Thank some kind hand to wipe away thy tears, 
 
 And feed thee with the bread that perisheth. 
 
 And smooth thy passage to the land of worms ? 
 
 Tliink well and answer truly. 
 
 Drunken Man. Yes, indeed ; 
 
 I feel as if a cord were drawing me 
 
 Towards the doorway whither you would guide ; 
 
 But see, I stagger, take me by the hand. 
 
 [They leave the beer-house, and join the poor 
 woman, when the drunken man proceeds : 
 Ha. ha ! my wife and little dirty brat ! 
 What brought you here ? You've seen me dnink before, 
 I guess you have, and reeling like a bark 
 Smote by the moaning billows. Have you brought 
 My breakfast from the cupboard ? O, I feel 
 As hungry as a serpent. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 I'm glorious this gi-and morning. Go away, 
 If you have nothing for me : go away. 
 And let me di-ain the tankard. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Drunken man sings : 
 
 Fill the tankard foaming o'er ; 
 For I love it more and more. 
 I will drink till bhnks the day ; 
 I will drink while parsons pray. 
 
 Fill the foaming tankard, fill ; 
 For I'm thii'sty, thu'sty still. 
 I will drink while misers snore ; 
 Then I'll tumble on the floor. 
 
 Hiu-rah ! hm-rah ! 
 
 Traveller. Behold thy wife whom thou hast sworn 
 to love 
 
 And shelter from the tempest, and the child 
 Whom God has given thee, beaten with the blast 
 liaised by thy furious folly. See them stand 
 Like reeds upon the mountain stripped and bare 
 And peeled by thine own fingers. On their cheeks 
 The tomb-flower glitters, gi-aven Ity thy hand. 
 O mark them pelted with the ire of hate 
 And woe and want, wliicli by thyself is hurled. 
 Does it not grieve thee that they shivering stand, 
 Starved in the porch of shelter ? Shame on thee ! 
 Dost think thou wilt escape the thunderbolts 
 Of angry Heaven ? I tell thee, sinner, nay. 
 Repent, and do thy duty : love thy wife. 
 And take her to thy bosom : let thy cluld 
 Feel that he has a father. Snatch the cup. 
 The inebriate cup, and dash it from thy lips, 
 And ask thy God to help thee. Turn, turn. 
 Or on thy head fierce judgment will be poured 
 In hissing streams from the unfathomed gloom. 
 Ah-eady art thou branded " infidel," 
 And cm-st by Him who made thee. Fly, fly, 
 Or ere the ground shall ope to take thee in. 
 Or unseen monsters di-ag thee to thy doom. 
 Drunken Man. O Lord, have mercy on me ! Eound 
 my head 
 [Here the drunken man labours under delirium 
 tremens. 
 Whirl fiery circles, and the moor is full : 
 Imps with long tongues are licking at my brow, 
 And snakes with wings of flame crawl up my breast ; 
 Huge monsters glare upon me, some with horns. 
 And some with hoofs that blaze like pitchy brands ; 
 Great trunks are some, and some are hung with heads. 
 Here serpents dash their stings into my face 
 All tipped with fu'e ; and there a wild bird drives 
 His red-hot talons in my bm-ning scalp. 
 Here bees and beetles buzz about my ears 
 Like crackling coals, and fi-ogs strut up and down 
 Like hissing cinders : wasps and water-flies 
 Scorch deep like melting mineral. Mm-ther ! save ! 
 What shall a sinner do ? 
 Traveller. Pray to thy God, 
 
 And ask Him for forgiveness. On thy knees, 
 And supplicate His favour and His ai-m 
 To help thee in thy trouble. 
 
 [He falls on his knees. 
 Drunken Man. Pity me. 
 
 Great Lord : I'm drunken Caleb Cliff. 
 Thou knowest me, the wicked Caleb Chff. 
 pity me : I'm drunken Caleb Chff. 
 Without Thy help I'm weakness. 
 Traveller. Come along, 
 
 And let us seek thy dwelling with thy wife. 
 And fading scion, whom thy love must prune. 
 For there is love yet in thy hardened soul 
 Which will thaw out and flow in tenderness 
 Under the streaming sunhght. Take my ami: 
 Come home and read thy Bible. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 62 
 
 CALEB CLIFF: A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 ScEHv:— Lecture Hall— Cai^hb Cliff on the Platform . 
 
 faleb Cliff. Five years, dear friends, Lave run 
 theii- cycles out 
 -,^^ Since I came here, a melancholy man, 
 T\'ith gi-ief enon^'h upon my -WTetched self 
 To hide the highest moimtain. Know you not 
 That men looked at me as a blazing ship. 
 Ensiling to inun, InuTied by the stoi-m ? 
 The great Disposer saved me. Though the masts 
 And sails and spai-s flamed to the water's edge, 
 Thank God, by one gi-eat effort I escaped. 
 And leaped upon the rock of temperance. 
 An d so was saved, — I who before was steeped 
 So deep in sm that I sank down below 
 The sti-ong-hornedbnite. And ask ye why, my friends ? 
 No, no : you know how Caleb CUff has left 
 His wife who loved him when he cm-sed her name. 
 And smote her with these hands, to starAe in rags. 
 And that dear boy whose cries went up for bread 
 At morn and eve, went up for bread in vain : 
 He pined like roe amid the forest firs 
 Left by his mates in fear. I heeded not, 
 But sucked the cup of fire, and kissed the rim, 
 "VMnle my child starved and staggered, and his eyes 
 Gleamed in the midst of famine. Fool I was. 
 And raving maniac, humed strangely on 
 By appetite more foul than gorging wolf: 
 Biat came a hand, and stopped me, bless the Lord ! 
 A mighty ann which dragged me from the mire. 
 And placed me where I stand. 
 
 [He still joes on : 
 Five years ago 
 I entered this same hall more desolate 
 Than watch-tower in the waters. On my back 
 ■^'ere hanging rags that hissed in every wind : 
 I wore no shirt, nor had I for a year : 
 My hat was bulged and battered like a drum 
 Left with the slain upon the battle-day ; 
 My uncombed hair in knots banged round my brow : 
 My beard was hke a forest ; and my hose 
 Cracked, gashed, and gaping. On my feet were shreds 
 Of hardest leather which had once been shoes. 
 Tied up with dastard strings, and worn awry. 
 Through which my toes peered as I passed the street : 
 And these were all I had, yes, all I had. 
 The drink had drowned my best coat long ago, 
 And left it steeping in the butt of sin. 
 I blushed to show my face or lift my head ; 
 And my limbs shook like rushes when the moor 
 Is walked by "Winter, and the savage winds 
 Lift up their fists like robbers. On my heart 
 A rocky burden rested, and my eyes 
 "Were hke a blind man's. Thiice I tried to speak, 
 And tluice the words died in me, till at last 
 "With one tremendous effort up I sprang. 
 The great sweat-drops down-hanging from my hair. 
 And (fropping from njy chin and finger-tops. 
 And splashing thickly on the floor like rain. 
 This was a moral combat, and I fought 
 "With foes dart-armed and fiercer than the fire, 
 
 And threw them all at last, and victory gained. 
 "With one tremendous effort up I sprang, 
 "W^hile my voice shivered through the edifice, 
 And angels bore the news to Paradise : 
 " I'll turn my feet, yes, Caleb Cliff will turn." 
 A weight that moment tumbled from my heart, 
 A biu'den from my back, and the thick film 
 Left the eye-sockets, while the name of brute 
 Slipped from me, and I shouted like a boj', 
 " By God's good help, the cup of scorching drink 
 Shall never pass these Ups of mine again ! " 
 Then the bad angel left me : in his place 
 A seraph stood, and he is with me still. 
 Yes, he is with me still in robes of white. 
 To lead me by the hand when paths are dark, 
 And keep my feet fr'om dashing on the stones. 
 
 [He still goes on : 
 Good news this for my wife. I hastened home. 
 And told her all : but she, poor thing, looked strange. 
 And deemed me crazed. But when I washed my face 
 And combed my hair, and left her for my work, 
 I thought I saw a brightness in her eye 
 "Which had been hidden in the dark for years. 
 I worked on tlu-ough the week, though oft a crust 
 "V\^as all I got for dinner : yet I smUed, 
 Nor ever uttered mui-mui', and it seemed 
 As sweet as honey. Drank I of the streams 
 That miu-mm-ed from the hUls and murmur still. 
 Yet oft Temptation hke a warrior came 
 With buckled armour on, and hurled his darts 
 So thickly that I shoiild have sm-ely fallen 
 But for the right arm of Omnipotence 
 Which held me up amid the horrid whii'l. 
 I looked to Him, and He was nigh to save. 
 The sixth day ended, and I hastened home, 
 And threw the whole week's earnings in her lap ; 
 Then sidled round to watch her. First she smiled, 
 The only one that I had seen for years ; 
 Then a few tears came out upon her face ; 
 And then a ring of joy rang through the room ; 
 And then she clasped her hands in words of prayer. 
 And lifted up her eyes towards the heights 
 Where dwells the King of Glory. I was dimab, 
 I could not bear it, and I gently came 
 And fell upon her neck, and kissed and wept 
 And prayed to be forgiven. Forgiveness came, 
 And with it an embrace which angels give, 
 And kisses such as angels can bestow. 
 " Yes, Caleb dear, we may be happy yet." 
 
 [He still goes on : 
 1 left the room and rushed into the light : 
 The future lay before me : — fields of grain 
 Ripe for the harvest, orcliards wide fruit-hung, 
 And vines with clusters juicy, which I felt 
 DeteiTnined to do battle for and win. 
 I stood upon the earth a different man ; 
 The sun of heaven was shining on my lirow. 
 And Hope was at my side with hand outstretched 
 To lead me on to summits yet beyond. 
 I went into the world with giant power 
 To -wi-estle with its liatred, woe, and wrong, 
 And do the right, that I the right might gain. 
 And if at times the warfare grew too fierce. 
 And the blows Imlged my shield, hei words came back 
 Like balm to bless me on my battle march. 
 I have an angel watching in my home. 
 And all good wives are angels breathing afrs 
 
 I
 
 THE POET AND THE HURIilCANE. 
 
 03 
 
 That taste of Eden and its holiness. 
 
 The way were long to lead you how we throve : 
 
 Suffice it that we struggled, strove, and prayed. 
 
 And worked together, and success was sure. 
 
 Fh-st from the pledge-shop came the furniture, 
 
 And then the other items. Soon we dressed 
 
 In Sunday suits, and sought a place of prayer. 
 
 And howed in humbleness before the Lord, 
 
 And found Ills mercy. By and bye we changed 
 
 Our place of residence, and bought a shop 
 
 In the front street, which proved a great success. 
 
 We added house to house and field to field, 
 
 Until they call us rich. A ship of mine 
 
 Now sails upon the ocean, which I trust 
 
 Will anchor here to-morrow. Am I not 
 
 A wonder uuto many, saved fi-om woe 
 
 Both in this world and that whicli is to come ? 
 
 None could sink lower down than Caleb Cliff 
 
 Who stands before you by the grace of God : 
 
 So there is hope for all. Come let us sing. 
 
 [TJieij sing : 
 
 There is no drink like water clear 
 That gushes through the silent mere, 
 Or bul)bleH from the mossy well, 
 And murmurs down the rushy dell. 
 So give me water, water clear. 
 That gushes through the silent mere. 
 
 The traveller 'neath Arabia's sky. 
 Whose water-skins have long been dry ; 
 The miner in the mineral cave ; 
 The sailor wrecked upon the wave ; 
 Feel there is nought on earth so dear 
 As sparkhug water fresh and clear. 
 
 There was a time, alas ! alas ! 
 
 I loved to drain the drunkard's glass : 
 
 But this to mine brought deepest woe, 
 
 And darkened everything below. 
 
 So now I'll diink from year to year 
 
 Nought save the sparkling water clear. 
 
 A little well among the trees, 
 
 Where sports in love the passing breeze. 
 
 And bu'ds are hopping on the brink, 
 
 And pretty children come to drink, — 
 
 This is a sight I love full dear : , 
 
 So give me water, water clear. 
 
 How pure it is in cup or glass, 
 Or sparkling onward through the grass, 
 Where little lambs delight to play. 
 And maidens meet at close of day ! 
 I'll not forget, while wandering here, 
 To thank the Lord for water clear. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — A Hill — Poet musing on a Bank. 
 
 Poet. what a storm we've had ! the wild sea rocked 
 
 And roared in all his caverns, and the waves 
 
 Rolled headlong over hoary crag and chff 
 
 Into the very cornfields. I stood here 
 
 And listened to his great grand awful voice. 
 
 Until the gi-ound shook which I trod upon, 
 
 And the broad ash-trees trembled. The huge winds 
 
 Twisted and wrangled like a host spear-armed, 
 
 And coast and cliff were while with sparkling foam. 
 I never heard such thundering, though mine ears 
 Wait, watch, and wonder at the gates of souad. 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 \He is joined by a Coast Guard. 
 Coast Guard. Hast heard the mournful news ? 
 
 Last night the " Lila" on the gull-rock struck. 
 And foundered like a bullet. All were lost. 
 Except a damsel fair and beautiful, 
 Washed on a rude planlv to the rocky shore. 
 Thou shouldst have seen her rescued from the deep. 
 Her black hair dripping with the salt sea-wave. 
 Falling upon her shoulders, and her face 
 White as a seraph's 'mid the trees of heaven : 
 Thou shouldst have seen her ; it were subject good 
 For poet or for painter. "I'm right glad 
 The sea has lost the maiden ; for I hear 
 She'll soon be wedded to our countryman, 
 Young Hubert Chff the merchant. 
 Poet. I came out 
 
 Last eve to watch the sunset. By and bj'e 
 A httle cloud rose from the ocean's rim, 
 No bigger than my lady's photograph, 
 And scudded up the heavens with wondrous speed ; 
 And then I lost it. Soon a larger one 
 With edges ragged started on the chase 
 With blacker crest and bolder : then a mass 
 Sprang from the water, circling half the heaven ; 
 And then a never-ending multitude 
 Without a chink of daylight, covering all. 
 The reeds sighed heavily, the forest-tops 
 Moaned to the rising tempest, ocean boiled 
 And fi-etted, tossed, and floundered, sea-birds screamed 
 And dashed along the breakers. Then came night, 
 And then — 
 
 Coast Guard. I am right glad the "Eagle" rode 
 In safety through the tempest, and now lies 
 Moored and secui-e behind the castle's head. 
 She is a queenly vessel, strong, well-built. 
 And manned wdth British heroes : for I deem 
 The mariner who battles through the blast 
 In the pitch night, while Wealth snores on liis down, 
 To swell his country's comforts, rightly wins 
 The name of hero. Glad am I, I say. 
 That Caleb's ship rode safety tlu-ough the dark. 
 Whose sails now whiten in the gentle ah-. 
 There's no lack, sm-e, of subject for your muse. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — A Country Village — Traveller advancing.. 
 
 Traveller. I've been delighted -nath the pealing bells, 
 
 As I came o'er the meadows. How I love 
 
 To hst and linger to these holy sounds, 
 
 Eising and swelhng over the gi-eat earth ! 
 
 It seems as if an angel raised his voice 
 
 And uttered words of sweetness. List, my soul, 
 
 And fall before thy Maker. But to-day 
 
 They ring a merry peal, as if they said, 
 
 "Rejoice, rejoice ; the earth is beautiful. 
 
 And there is more of heaven than woe and sin: " 
 
 And I beheve it. But I'll ask this dame 
 
 Dancing her baby in the morning sun, 
 
 Why all this jingle ? 
 
 Country Woman. There's a marriage, Sh : 
 
 Young Hubert Cliff has won his Hannymead,
 
 64 
 
 BTJLO. 
 
 And brought liev from her birth-l.inrl. She is good, 
 
 They say, and rich, and very beautiful ; 
 
 And well does he deserve her. He's a youth 
 
 As noble as the noblest ; and his sire, 
 
 Though once a poor man, lives in that high house 
 
 With trees around it on the shaven lawn, 
 
 "^liere dines the wedding party. He has lands 
 
 I cannot tell liow much, and sheep and kine, 
 
 And ships, and gold, and servants plentiful ; 
 
 And poor men's praj'ers go up to heaven for him. 
 
 To whom his hand is hberal. For my part, 
 
 I say it frankly, I am always glad 
 
 When the good prosper. 
 
 Traveller [pursuing his way). Yes, the very same 
 
 "VNTiom I found wrecked upon life's broad highway. 
 
 An abject slave of vice in fron chains ; 
 
 Reformed and lifted in the moral scale ! 
 
 But nothing is too wonderful for Him 
 
 ^Mao guards and guides the rolUng universe. 
 
 That he is rich astounds me. But it comes 
 
 From walking in the land of soberness. 
 
 And hstening to the counsel of his God : 
 
 His blessing only can true riches bring. 
 
 But here is Caleb's dwelhng. Song and mirth 
 
 Are sisters in it. What if I go in 
 
 And see my daughter's husband, Hubert Cliff? 
 So be it. iSIow I'll knock. 
 
 [Door opens, and he enters. Villagers surround 
 
 the house, and sing : 
 
 Sing we low, and sing we high ; 
 Let our strain soar up the sky, 
 And bring blessings white as May 
 Down on Hubert's marriage-day. 
 
 Every boy and maiden meet. 
 Beating cadence with their feet, 
 Join to chant a cheerful lay 
 Now on Hubert's marriage-day. 
 
 Little birds on twig and tree. 
 Sing youi" carols lustily ; 
 While the dancing lirooklets play 
 Hymns on Hubert's marriage-day. 
 
 Hubert's bride is rich and fafr ; 
 Hubert is his father's hefr : 
 Strew the leaves and roses gay 
 Now on Hubert's marriage-day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 BULO. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON^E. 
 
 Selaxdo 
 Akleaf 
 
 BULO . 
 PiUPEDO 
 
 Walla . 
 Faebo 
 Tajison 
 Itaea 
 
 A City Merchant. 
 
 His Wife. 
 
 Their Daughter. 
 
 The Serving Man. 
 
 A Shipivreched Mariner. 
 
 A Shrimp Catcher. 
 
 His Wife. 
 
 A Street Organist. 
 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Scene — A country residence near 
 the sea. Time — Midnight. 
 An'LEAF and her daughterhVLO 
 in their sleeping apartment. 
 
 nleaf. And still this knocking ! 
 What inti-uder scares 
 
 CoUNTRrVVOMAN. 
 
 Teemu . . . . A Lost Child. 
 
 An Australian Stockman. 
 
 Ditto Shepherd. 
 
 The Lost Child's Mother. 
 
 First Reaper. 
 
 Second Ditto. 
 
 The dark-winged Night, and luu'ries sleep away 
 Where torrents lift their voices, and the bat 
 Sports with the moonbeams in the old church lane 
 Beside the woodman's cottage ? Bulo, up. 
 And call tlie ser^'ing-man. The racket roars 
 As if a cliff had tumbled headlong on the beach 
 And dammed the roaring ocean. Ring, I say, 
 And let the bell cry something terrible, — 
 That Jeopardy stands frowning. Strange the dark 
 Should harbour deeds that injure honest worth 
 Which lives as innocently as the flowers. 
 And would not harm a beetle : strange, I say, 
 That brazen Wickedness should swagger fortii 
 In garb unseemly, lifting his harsh voice. 
 And trampling vfrtue, honour, so that thorns 
 Are often scattered on the good man's path, 
 And prickles in his pillow. So it is,
 
 THE GENEIiOUS INDIAN. 
 
 65 
 
 Wliilst wc as pilgrims travel o'er tlio eartli, 
 Whicli in itself is lapped in loveliness : 
 The sober suffer for the woes of wrong. 
 But hark, the door is opened, and methinks 
 I hear the sound of footsteps. AVhat is it? 
 Eupedo calls my name. 
 
 A room hclow. Enter Rupedo, the servinrj-vian, 
 leading Walla, a shipwrecTced sailor. 
 Bu2)edo. I found this poor man, Madam, at the door. 
 He says he's shipwrecked. See, his hands are cut 
 With climbing up the cliff, and the salt sea 
 Is dripping from his garments. Does he not 
 Demand great succour in this hour of need? 
 
 [Exit EuPEDO. 
 Walla. Necessity needs small apology : 
 A starving man will eat a mouldy crust, 
 Nor think to gi-owl for butter. If my hoxise 
 Were burning round me, and the sound of " fire " 
 Smote on my ears and flamed before mine eyes, 
 Think you I'd scorn the only gate of hope. 
 To leap half-naked in the crowded street ? 
 What if the ice should break beneath my ti-ead, 
 Bearing me outward, onward ? think you I 
 Should be ashamed to shout and shriek for help, 
 So that the echoes wondered in their caves? 
 No, Madam, life is precious. Gold and gems 
 Are sordid dust compared with such a boon 
 Alike to prince and peasant : all we haA'e 
 We give for it, and deem the bargain cheap. 
 Last night the hurricane o'ertook our bark. 
 And dragged it on the breakers. I alone 
 Escaped with life, flung high upon the land. 
 And, feeling through the darkness, crossed the downs, 
 And found your door. 
 
 Anleaf. Right welcome art thou here. 
 
 May life surcease when Charity expires ! 
 She is the queen of virtues, suffering long 
 And ever hopeful ; blessing those that curse. 
 And showering smiles where harrowing frowns are 
 
 hurled. 
 I saw her once in weeds of modesty, 
 With long hair streaming, leading by the hand 
 Towards her door her bitter enemy, 
 To feed him at her table. Ever since 
 She's been my guest and guardian in my home, 
 Where now her bright face cheers us. 
 Walla. Not alone 
 
 With one small nation does this angel dwell. 
 Or race or people, howsoe'er refined. 
 Once, marching through the forest, I was lost, 
 And left by my companions. Eve passed by, 
 Tiie night closed round me, and another day 
 Broke burning through the heavens. Hanger 
 
 thirst, 
 Faintness and fever, had their work fulfilled 
 And dashed me earthward. Prostrate there I lay, 
 Gasping away mj'' being. The great winds 
 Went thundering tlu'ough the prairies, and 
 
 beasts 
 Howled in close coverts, till their voices fell. 
 Seeming none other than a small bird's chii'i?. 
 A few more tugs and life would be o'erpowered 
 And lose the solemn conflict. O'er me crept 
 The haziness of watching, and I longed 
 To mingle with the sleepers of the past ; 
 When from his war-path biu'st an Indian chief 
 As swiftly as a fire-tougiie. Ai-med he was 
 
 aud 
 
 wild 
 
 With bow and arrow, spear and scalping-knife, 
 
 And on his forehead waved the heron's plume. 
 
 He wore a belt of wampum, a skin cloak 
 
 Hung from his shoulders, and his eagle eye 
 
 Flashed as he scanned the arches of the wood. 
 
 And mark you. Madam, this same warrior chief. 
 
 This red marauder, by his wrongs had sworn 
 
 To be the white man's endless enemy ; 
 
 For they had slain his children, burnt his home. 
 
 Destroyed his all, and sent him naked forth 
 
 Amid the wild and woful wilderness, 
 
 A houseless wi'etch, the last of all his race. 
 
 Bido (aside). I never heard a voice like his before, 
 
 Or saw a face so charming. Nature keeps 
 
 Her treasures in the shadow, hid sometimes 
 
 By leaf aud rock and water. Speak again : 
 
 If all who go in ships are like this man, 
 
 Then I would wed a sailor. 
 
 Walla. Seeing me 
 
 All pale and gasping underneath the leaves, 
 
 With Famine watching on a horrid rock. 
 
 And in the tree-top a big bird of prey 
 
 Whetting his beak against the broken boughs, 
 
 And eyeing me with ardour, he drew near. 
 
 And in his language spoke most soothing words. 
 
 Which fell upon my ear hke summer rain ; 
 
 And then he brought me water from the stream, 
 
 And ripe fruit from the thicket ; took my hand. 
 
 And bade me rise, and led me to his tent. 
 
 And fed me from his table. Night came on, 
 
 When I lay down upon the red man's mat. 
 
 And slept till morning. Three whole days I stayed 
 
 Within his wigwam : then he gave me bread 
 
 And steaks of venison, bade me seek my band, 
 
 And took me o'er the deer-tracks, till I saw 
 
 Our fort beside the river. 0, his words 
 
 Were hke a hai-per's echo. " Go," said he, 
 
 " And mingle with thy people ; trim their fires 
 
 And gladden them with laughter : let fair maids 
 
 Rejoice to hear thy music, and young men 
 
 Thy pleasant story. Cheer thy mother's heart. 
 
 And guide thy father's footsteps to the grave ; 
 
 Water the tree of peace, and may its leaves 
 
 Hide thee for ever from the flame of war : 
 
 Be thou iliy nation's lilessiug. But, amid 
 
 The summer of thy comfort, cherish still 
 
 The forest wai'rior whom the white man's hand 
 
 Stripped in the blood-feud, cutting off his sons 
 
 And loving daughters like hoar frost the flowers, 
 
 Leaving his home all winter : think of him 
 
 Feeding his enemy with his own bread 
 
 And rendering good for evil : think of him. 
 
 When sitting calmly with thy pale-face friends, 
 
 And go aud do thou likewise." 
 
 Anleaf. Deeds like these 
 
 Ai-e watched by angels, and by angels loved ; 
 
 So God-like is their natm'e. Does He not 
 
 Lift up the weak to overthrow the strong, 
 
 Aud silence wisdom with simplicity ? 
 
 I've seen a beggar tottering on his staff, 
 
 Whoso answers were sublime philosophy ; 
 
 And much I've wondered. I remeiuber well 
 
 A palsied man slow hobbhng tlirough a lane, 
 
 Of whom a child said, " Mother, can you see ?" 
 
 This smote his ear, and smote the old man's heart. 
 
 He paused upon his staff, and sharply cried, 
 
 *' Ay, little maid, and what is it you see ?
 
 G6 
 
 BULO. 
 
 A poor old wanclerer in a suit of rags. 
 
 I've been in places where I've seen the king, 
 
 AVho ne'er said, ' Can you see ? ' " The moral here 
 
 Is worth presei-ving. But strip off thy weeds, 
 
 And put on dry apparel ; take some food, 
 
 And rest a little ; then we'll gladly hear 
 
 The finis of the matter. 
 
 [Exit Walla 
 Bulo {aside). Yes, he is 
 
 A veiy prince in action. Sweetly shines 
 A moral dignity upon his brow 
 
 "Which dwells not with the wasteful. His high mien 
 Becomes a monarch. And this kingly man 
 Has been abroad upon the dreadful deep, 
 Smote with the hurricane, and tossed ashore 
 Amid the drift-wood hke a useless cork. 
 Some wondrous genii must have led him here 
 To fill my soul with longing. My poor life 
 AVas like a flower for ever in the shade, 
 But he has brought it sunshine.- Shine, sun. 
 And let no cloud force its black breast between 
 Vntil my plant is perfect. Hark, he comes. 
 I'll watch him like a fowler, and may be 
 An aiTow from my lids, a shaft of light, 
 May wound him at a venture. [Be-enter AValla. 
 Anleaf. Once I stood 
 
 Beside a roaring torrent. Down it dashed 
 With foam and shiver, shaking the great gi-ound; 
 And wondermg there my foot slipped, and I fell : 
 A peasant's arm sustained me. Seeing how 
 The grass-tufts left my hands, and I slid on 
 Towards the thunder, he sprang down a rope 
 And caught me falling. This was Providence ; 
 For chance and luck are liars. Ope thine eyes, 
 And thou shalt see He fills the universe. 
 Now let us hear the story of thy woes. 
 Walla. ' It was a night of watching 
 
 heavens 
 Strange voices broke, and muttered in the cloiids 
 Blue rills of fire flamed through the hemisphere. 
 Succeeded by the thunder ; and the sea 
 Boiled in tlie strife, and struggled, surged, 
 
 swelled. 
 Our bark rose like a feather on the foam, 
 And then sank down into the horrid depths ; 
 And thus we drifted, losing all command, 
 Tlie miglitj- winds being master. Soon the holm 
 Broke, and the creaking masts crashed overboard. 
 *' Lost," cried the captain, and the face of Dcatli 
 Frowned in the flashing foam. We had with us 
 A lovely maiden fi-om another isle, 
 AMiose tale of love was passing pitiful. 
 Her look was not unhke your daughter's here. 
 A chieftain wooed her, of a noble race, 
 And came the eve of man'iage. Hark ! the storm 
 Is rolling in his chariot ! rains descend. 
 The rivers rise, and valleys overflow ; 
 A hapless ^\•^•etch is stnigghng in tlie flood ; 
 The chieftain strives to save him ; botli drift down 
 Towards tlie ocean, and return no more. 
 She saw him from the window, shrieked, and fell ; 
 And when she rose another day had dawned, — 
 The eai-th liad lost its gloiy. She was rich ; 
 And, gathering up her golil and precious stones, 
 She bade farewell, and left her home beliind. 
 To seek the sons and daughters of distress. 
 And cheer them in their sorrow. Gentle maid ! 
 
 from the 
 
 and 
 
 A wa^•e came thundering, and I saw her borne 
 
 Into the arms of ocean : her black hair 
 
 Streamed on the water, and her white hands rose. 
 
 Then sank for ever on a bed of shells. 
 
 Bulo {aside}. How much I love the dear old country 
 
 lanes, — 
 The songs tliey bring, the pleasures thej' impart ! 
 The flowers have gentle teachings, and the leaves' 
 Are all o'erwritten with the psalms of truth. 
 And if the bells among the churchyard trees 
 Peal out in sweet devotion, and I see 
 A grey tower in the twilight, earth appears - 
 Imbued with rouch that Eden must bestow ; 
 The soul is healthier here, breathes more of bliss. 
 And walks with One who loved to be alone. 
 But all sweet sounds that changing Nature yields 
 To his dear words are harshness. I have heard 
 Woman commended for her soft sweet tone, 
 Which is a virtue much to be desired, 
 And one which scatters discord ; but this man 
 To my poor ears outdoes my gentler sex. 
 And overpowers me with sweet harmony. 
 What if the Fates have ordered that I should 
 Be wedded to a sailor? Let it be. [Exeunf. 
 
 Scene — A village on tlie sea-coast. Time — Early 
 morning. Enter Fardo, the shrimp catcher. 
 
 Fardo. Hang it ! Ill luck attends me. The east 
 
 wind 
 Came blow, blow, blow, banging my net about ; 
 And, ere I was aware, iip came a tide 
 And hemmed me in a gully. There was I, 
 With rocks around me, all the blessed night ; 
 And the cold crags had faces, and great eyes 
 As big as a chair-bottom. I heard sounds 
 Unlike to human, — barkings, such as dogs 
 Make when they dream of robbers,— piercing screams, 
 More shrill than wretches drowning, and my hair 
 Turned white upon my forehead. I'll go round 
 And speak to my old woman. Bless her heart ! 
 Tanison {at thetvindow). Who's there ? I have been 
 hot with fear and ghostly surmisings all night, so that 
 excitement has bathed me in perspiration. I believe 
 my head is much swollen, for the beating was intoler- 
 able. I heard such sounds in the chiuauey and on the 
 roof I and every gust of wind seemed the footfall of 
 my dear old man. To make the matter worse, the 
 magpie upset my snuff-box, and the cat threw down a 
 flower-pot, and broke a pane of glass. I never passed 
 such a night in my born days. And I all alone here, 
 with no old man to comfort me ! But who are you ? 
 Fardo. I'm Fard(j tlie shrimp catcher, your old nian, 
 Who led you to the altar. Ope the door, 
 And let me kiss you. 
 
 Tanison. Go along with you ! You have white hair, 
 but Fardo's hair is as Iduck as the featliers of tlie raven. 
 I'ardo's face is red with the sun and sea, but yours 
 is sallow and sunken. Go along with you ! I know 
 that wonderful things happen now-a-days : fire horses 
 run upon wlieels, men go up in the air in bladders, 
 and love-letters are sent along on the bottom of the 
 sea : but if your white head belongs to Fardo, why, 
 this is the strangest thing of all. And now I recollect, 
 Fardo was once injured so that his left hand is like a 
 rake : hold it up and I shall know. [Fakdo ]iulds up 
 his liand.] Well, it must be Fardo or his spirit. I
 
 THE BLIGHTED LOVER. 
 
 67 
 
 ain in one solid tremble, and was never so nervous 
 since the blind fiddler kiioc-kcd at my bittice. I'll let 
 this apparition in ; and may all f^ood an^'els help me 1 
 But it is the strangest tiling that has happened since 
 yhakespeare wrote his Hamlet. \Ej-eiiiit. 
 
 [lie-enicr Anlkaf, Bulo, and Walla. 
 Walla. how strange 
 
 The last few days with their events appear ! 
 A dream had never such significance. 
 Allow mo, Madam, now my heart is full, 
 To make anotlier mention. In om* crew 
 There was a man it is a grief to see, — 
 A desperate drunkard. He had spent his lands 
 And drunk away his houses ; with them went 
 His reputation, and lie lost his all. 
 His children sufTcred ; his heart-broken wife 
 Sighed in the sorrow of her home's eclipse. 
 The light of love Hashed out, and by the hearth 
 Sat desolation witli black wings outspread. 
 Friends stared, and left her weeping in her woe. 
 He fell as low as erring man may fall. 
 We took the wretch on board ; and wlien our ship 
 Sailed from the harboui', on a neighbouring hill 
 She watched us from the rocks, and we could see 
 Her rags wave in the distance, and her hand 
 Pointing to heaven. Just then the half-moon dipped 
 Behind a bank of cloud, and she was gone, 
 And our bark met the tempest. Still he drank, 
 Though the wild winds inarched in dread fury forth. 
 Grasped the great waves and dashed them in his 
 
 face, 
 And spoke of death and darkness : still he drank. 
 Although tlie tlumder in the opening heavens 
 Echoed rebuke, and the red streams of fire 
 liit up his horrid visage : still he drank. 
 Till madness seized him, when, with yells insane, 
 As a fierce thunder-bolt tore up tlie deck. 
 He sprang into the blackness of the night. 
 And perished shrieking. Madam, this is'sad; 
 But bad ways have bad ends. 
 
 A)ileaf. Yes, it is true. 
 
 The way of wrong is oft a smooth incline 
 Which tempts the careless footstep. On and on 
 The unwary go, till, passed the porch of cri-me, 
 They rush to deeds that shame the face of day. 
 Of the first step beware. 
 Walla. I love to hear 
 
 Your words of wisdom : for they take me back 
 To trustful childliood, when my mother's hand 
 Passed through my curls, and pointed me to heaven. 
 We had a poet witli us, one who read 
 The secret signs of Natm-e. Born he was 
 Of lowly parentage, and learnt to sing 
 Among the breezy moorlands. Streams and flowers, 
 Birds, buds, and mosses, taught the truthful Itard. 
 This was his one great object which he sought 
 In joy and sorrow, jingling evermore. 
 His brother-toilers up the hill of life 
 Cared not to pause and listen, and he lay 
 Neglected 'mid his music : so he left 
 His native moors and wandered o'er the world, 
 Taking his song-love with him. I have seen 
 Him, when the brilliant meteors were alroad. 
 And the big stars were brightest, feed his thought 
 With earnest glances up the deep profound 
 Until his eyes brimmed full of lofty lays. 
 Some say a nymph was ever at his side, 
 
 K 
 
 To us invisible, still breathing airs 
 
 As sweet as rose-scents to his listening soul. 
 
 He stood amid the storm like one entranced. 
 
 And shouted to the thunder. With one hand 
 
 He grasped the stern, and gazed into the sea. 
 
 So bending forward that the curling waves 
 
 Lapped him in foam, at which he strangely laughed. 
 
 The hui-ricane grew stronger ; the crushed ship 
 
 Lurched to its fate ; and he went singing down 
 
 To meet the mermaids where the sea-weeds shine. 
 
 Anleaf. No race is more erratic than the bards ; 
 
 This moment low, then towering o'er the hills ; 
 
 Sighing in shadow, smiling in the sun, 
 
 And visited with visions pearl-beset. 
 
 Theirs is a wondrous mission, and the world 
 
 Grows brighter for their beauty, deserts bloom. 
 
 And crime is chased where wildernesses moan. 
 
 That he should perish tlius is the world's loss. 
 
 Walla. I fain would close with one whom love did 
 
 blight, 
 A native of the forest. He grew up 
 Amid the pine trees, softened with their sound. 
 Once, near a brook which shimmered 'neatli the 
 
 leaves. 
 He met a maiden. They had met before 
 Beneath the leafy ceiling of the gi'ove 
 With interchange of words ; but now they stood 
 Long lingering in the twilight, till the youth 
 Felt he was passion-wounded. Days passed by. 
 And months sped onward with an even course. 
 Opening his love-bloom, when a cloud arose 
 Whicli covered him in sackcloth. She was cold, . 
 And shunned his presence, would not heed his words. 
 And frowned when he addressed her : it was plain 
 Her spirit was another's. This great blow 
 Smote like a hammer, and he reeled and fell. 
 His native woods grew painful. Battle rose : 
 He rushed into the thickest of the fight, 
 And longed to die, but left the field unscathed. 
 Wherever Danger forced his fiery front 
 Amid the blazing ruin, there was he. 
 He sought the seas and sailed to many lands, 
 Aimless and hopeless, like a wildered bird. 
 We took him in our bark, that pale, sad man. 
 With mystery in his eyes ; and when the storm 
 Eolled o'er our heads, he sat quite motionless. 
 With his hands clasped, gazing into the gloom. 
 And sank without a sigh. 
 A nleaf. Our mortal hfe 
 
 Is rife with wonderful vicissitude, — 
 Sighs, sorrows, smiles, — to-daj'' a quiet sky. 
 To-morrow rent and darkened. This should tend 
 To lift us higher than the hills of earth. 
 Where truest rest remaineth. 
 Walla. Madam, good-bye. 
 
 I thank you much for what j'ou've said to me. 
 And much for what you've done. When death comes 
 
 quick. 
 And snatches all your mates and leaves you lone. 
 Bruised and bewildered in the sudden strife. 
 To babble forth the story, much that earth 
 Calls sterling gold takes wings and disappears. 
 The honom-s of the world are but a dream, 
 And fame a leaf the wild winds howl away. 
 There is a greater, more enduring good 
 Which beacons my pursuit. I'll search it out. 
 And wear the jewel nearest my poor heart ; 
 2
 
 68 
 
 BULO. 
 
 My good resolve is strengthened by yoiu' speecli. 
 'Tis kind of you and yom- fail- daughter liere, 
 This patient audience. When I 'ni far away, 
 Amid my native valleys, you shall be 
 A portion of my study. There in hope 
 Waits an expectant mother, who is now 
 This moment praying for me. All ! her prayers 
 Have saved her boy and snatched him back from 
 
 death. 
 If you could see her, Madam, love would be 
 Let loose to bind her captive. Dear old saint ! 
 Her face is shining -with the Ught of heaven. 
 And there my father dwells ; his silver hair 
 "\Miite as the moonhght falling on the hills : 
 And there my little sister, like a fawn. 
 Will climb to kiss me on my glad return. 
 Forgive me, Madam, if I say her eyes 
 Ai-e love-full hke yom- Bulo's. Thrice a day 
 She climbs the green to watch the passing ships, 
 O'er anxious for her brother. Tears are come : 
 The fount of feehng is fresh broken up. 
 And down my face it courses. Thus I'll sing : 
 
 [Walla sings. 
 
 The fierce, foul winds the ocean tossed, 
 "\Mien sliip and comrades all were lost. 
 And I was cast ashore to find 
 The faii'est form of womankind. 
 
 I've seen bright beings o'er the sea, 
 ^^^lere wealth and song for ever be. 
 But Bulo's beauty makes me bUnd, — 
 The fau'est form of womankind. 
 
 Now, like a star behind a cloud, 
 
 Or flower with sudden sunshine bowed, 
 
 I bear away within my mind 
 
 The fairest form of womankind. 
 
 [Exit Walla. 
 
 Bulo (aside). He's gone, and my heart with him. 
 
 O, I feel 
 I've passed from sunlight into sudden gloom, 
 Blinded with darkness. Hush, ye rising sighs ! 
 'Tis only woman's weakness. Let it be. 
 No king were half so dignified as he ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ^■^3:^ 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 Scene— ^n nffice in the city. 1'ime — Morning. 
 Selaxdo, the merchant, alone at his books. 
 
 '&elando. Round goes the world, and round Ij 
 /^ go with it I 
 
 J^In ope wild whirl of business ! Day by day i 
 
 My face is earthward, stained with sweat and dust. 
 
 And yet what profit do I win withal, 
 
 But raking straws together wliich ere long 
 
 The fi-etful fire may suddenly consume ? 
 
 Within my ears are heard for eveiinore 
 
 The wheels and cranks of Commerce. On I go, 
 
 Beating the air and grasping at a shade. 
 
 My thought peK-boimd within this naiTow arc. 
 
 Joy sometimes meets me with a few poor smiles, 
 
 And then the blast of soitow wounds mine eyes. 
 
 Accounts to-day, accounts again to-moiTow, 
 
 And thus my years are made up with accounts. 
 
 So hot has been the battle, so severe 
 
 The earnest struggle, that this world was all. 
 
 Though uouglit is certain here but grief and pain, 
 
 Twin-sisters in the combat. Houses, lands. 
 
 Fame, fortune, friends, pass from us hke a dream ; 
 
 And I've been plodding on step after step. 
 
 Forgetting that I have a child in heaven, 
 
 A seraj^h in the city, clad in white. 
 
 For ever watching her poor father's feet. 
 
 God, forgive me ! quicken my poor life. 
 And lift me from the closing webs of care ! 
 Her angel presence visits me again ; 
 
 1 yield to tears and watching. [He weeps. 
 
 [Enter Itara, a street organist. 
 Itara. Piest I here. 
 
 'Tis no use playing in the street to-day ; 
 The town is all excitement : children run ; 
 Old age is in the doorway, mute with doubt ; 
 And matrons mount to windows opened wide ; 
 Youths on the roof-tops huddle, — some climb trees, 
 And some high garden walls ; whilst two o'er-bold 
 Tall workmen scale the lofty monument, 
 With eyes towards the north, and all ciy, " Fire !" 
 My organ-pipes are silenced in the din. 
 With not an ear to heed me. All this morn 
 I've turned my music-barrel round and round, 
 Glanced high and low, with face this way and that, 
 Nodded and winked, and looked what I would say. 
 Nor won a single farthing, though I know 
 Not wliere to get my dinner. Bu'ds have nests, 
 The fox a shelter, and the mole a bed ; 
 But I am friendless, houseless. In the heavens 
 There is a God who fills the world with good. 
 Who sends the wren his satisfying meal. 
 And rears the cony by the naked rock. 
 And He will be my helper. 
 Selando. Answer me, 
 
 In what direction is this fearful fii'e, 
 Which so alarms the people ? 
 Itara. Hearing much, 
 
 I climbed a hill and looked towards the sea. 
 And saw tlie fire -fiend fling his anns about. 
 The very waves tliat broke upon the beach 
 Were ruddy with his anger, and the sky 
 Appeared enkindled. Never saw I sight 
 That flashed me with sucli wonder. I have been 
 Amid the ranks upon the battle plain. 
 Stood face to face with War, and saw him drink 
 The gore of captains, raze the city walls, 
 And in his winepress tread the pride of kings. 
 His fiery l)reath has scorched the fighting ships. 
 As if they were a shaving, and whole fleets 
 Have vanished at his thunder : but this fire 
 Propels alarm like to a comet's birth. 
 I'm frightened at the uproar. Let me say,
 
 ALONE WITH NATURE. 
 
 69 
 
 All wars arc wicked, all attacks of arms 
 
 The grossest insult to the King of love. 
 
 The time is speeding when the reign of swords 
 
 And hattle-spears shall ho for aj^e o'erthrown, 
 
 And peace shall fill the world with holy song. 
 
 Sclando. Is there a wood beside this monster fire, 
 
 The trees in rows and sloping to the ci'eek, 
 
 And to the right a castle and a moat, 
 
 Where slowly walks the warden on the wall ? 
 
 Tell me, for I am anxious. 
 
 Itara. Even so ; 
 
 And to the loft a river winds along. 
 
 With boats upon its bosom. Furthermore, 
 
 There are fair farms around it ; in the fields 
 
 The teams stand idle ; for the workmen go 
 
 Where the high flames shoot forth and lap the air. 
 
 And rooks scream in the tree-tops, liumoiir says 
 
 There is a damsel 'mid this wasting wreck 
 
 More fair than ever decked an Eastern hall 
 
 In danger of destruction, and the bells 
 
 Throughout the district ring the rage of fire. 
 
 How fearful to awake and feel the tlame 
 
 Upon our foreheads, knowing that our all 
 
 Wliich life has given us smoulders into smoke, 
 
 To be regathered never ! 'Tis a thought 
 
 All winter woe and utter wretchedness. 
 
 But you are ti-embling. Master ; on your brow 
 
 The perspiration stands. Thanks for yoiu- coin : 
 
 I pray no human life may suffer wrong 
 
 In this great conflagi'ation. Thus I go, 
 
 And trust for bread and water. 
 
 [Exeunt^ 
 
 Scene — Farmyard. 
 Fardo 011 horseback. 
 
 Time — Moonlight. Enter 
 
 Fardo. Gee up, gee, 
 
 Gee, gee, my Hannibal ! Thus I ahght, 
 
 And the horse goes to stable. I have had 
 
 A gleesome time, such riding with the fays ! 
 
 These httle velvet-coated gentlemen 
 
 Would perch themselves upon the horse's ears. 
 
 And clap their hands, and shake their silver swords, 
 
 While their gay helmets, like a bead of dew. 
 
 Gleamed in the moon's white fulness. Such a host 
 
 Swung on the leaf-tips over Mary's grave 
 
 Who died for love, that I could scarcely pass, 
 
 And Hannibal grew restive. Then the king 
 
 Of all the fays came riding on a moth. 
 
 His rein a cobweb crossed upon his neck. 
 
 And pressed a shining goblet to my lips, 
 
 Wliich filled me with, excitement. I rode on 
 
 Through long dark arches lit by glowworm lamps. 
 
 While from the distant ruin the dull owl 
 
 Shook out his sobs of dolour : so I took 
 
 A little drop of whisky from my flask. 
 
 Shouted, and sang, and i-cached this pleasant bed, 
 
 And press at once its whiteness. 
 
 \He goes in the horsepool and lies doion. 
 
 Where am I '? 
 Where, where am I ? murther, where am I ? 
 The waters rise around me. What looked sheets 
 So smooth and thin upon a pleasant bed, 
 Was only treacherous moonlight, and I'm lost I 
 O yes, I'm lost ! my Tamson, I am lost ! 
 Do you not hear me cb-owning ? I am lost, 
 And I shall never, never see you more. 
 
 treacherous ! treacherous ! yom- own Fardo's lost ! 
 [Tamson rushes from the house to his rescue. 
 Ti(mson. What is here ? Fardo in the horsepool ! 
 This is more than I can stand. I shall give way under 
 this, like the side-wall of Jeremiah's house, and fall 
 flat upon the gi-oimd. Some people are always ancle- 
 deep in mud, and the reason is, they take the wrong 
 way in the beginning. The wrong way I I wonder who 
 isn't going in the wrong way. As if my poor old 
 slu-imp catcher couldn't jog quietly home and come in 
 to me without taking a bath in this green gutter I But 
 it all comes from the flask of whisky. I should be so 
 glad if all the wliisky in the world was in the bottom 
 of the sea. A pretty piece of business, isn't it, to be 
 watching and waiting for him whom I have loved and 
 cherished for more than forty years, and to hasten 
 forth and find him disgi-aced like this ? there is a 
 cm-se in the whisky, a curse in the whisky ! But I 
 suppose it is best to pull him out ! 
 
 [She pulls Fardo out of the horsepool. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — A luide common. Selando amid the rocks. 
 
 Sclando. And is it come to this ? In one short hoiir 
 
 Disaster puts his fiery fingers forth ; 
 
 And what I owned is shrivelled, into nought. 
 
 And mounts the clouds in smoke. But yesterday 
 
 Men called me squire, and doffed their hats and 
 
 smiled ; 
 To-day I'm hm-led upon the stony groimd 
 With but a beggar's portion. What is life 
 But the bright gauze upon the insect's wing. 
 Bruised by the Ijlast, up-broken, and is gone? 
 The fire which comforts oft o'erleaps its right, 
 And like an angry giant strips me bare, 
 And thrusts me naked on a selfish world. 
 O what a blow is tliis ! my very bones 
 Seem broken in the struggle, and my flesh 
 Smarts 'neath the cruel, keen, dissecting blade, 
 And on the earth has dropped a huge black shroud, 
 Behind which frown the Fiuies. Piince Divine, 
 Have mercy on a sinner ! 
 
 [Enter Anleaf and Bulo. 
 Anleaf. Here we are 
 
 Amid the roots and berries. Natm-e's hand 
 Spreads a moss carpet for us, soft as down ; 
 The clear lakes are our muTors, and the clouds 
 And graceful moonbeams curtain us to rest ; 
 Bright bii'ds our glad domestics, and the sun 
 In the gi-eat heavens our gi-and chronometer ; 
 The twilight is our poet, when the dells 
 Are full of harpers and the heights of praise ; 
 Our books are leaves and the pure eyes of flowers ; 
 Our music, murmuring waters, brooks, and streams ; 
 Our fm-niture, the drapery of the hills ; 
 Our friends, the bees and pleasant grasshoppers ; 
 And more to be desired are they than man. 
 Whose heart is like a cage of unclean birds, 
 A desert of deceit, where poison flowers 
 Flaunt in the woful herbage. God hath given. 
 And He hath taken what was never ours ; 
 For all is His, and we too are the Lord's. 
 Dear husband, do not miirmur. From the dust 
 Jehovah raiseth princes, and the seed 
 Of the low labourer fills the seat of kings. 
 In ha\-ing you I feel I am not poor. 
 And Bulo, too, is left. Let the winds rise
 
 70 
 
 BULO. 
 
 And rage iipon then* conrsers, let the snow 
 
 Come in a wliivlwiml, Imryintj half the glohc, 
 
 Let the hot thuuJer dash his brands about, 
 
 Let rivers rise and ocean oveiHow, 
 
 Till the deep din atTri,i,'ht the humbled world,— 
 
 In having you 111 face it. Hunger, thirst, 
 
 Fatigue, and pain are feathers in the scale. 
 
 Content can lead me A\ath you over seas 
 
 Where icebergs hold their revels, or by tracks 
 
 Where lions roar and serpents lick the sand, 
 
 Where wild men wander and where mountains burn. 
 
 Think you I'll wound your ears with foul complaint '? 
 
 No, never, never, thougli these bristling rocks 
 
 Be all the home the wicked world affords. 
 
 I'U sing you songs as when om- youth was green, 
 
 Lull you to rest with tales of other years, 
 
 Soothe you in sickness, humour you in joy. 
 
 Weep when you weep, kneel by you when you pray. 
 
 And travel star-ward with no thought of loss. 
 
 Selando. O queen of women, best of mothers, wives ! 
 
 Thy words revive me like the richest wine. 
 
 Earth had no spring if woman ceased to be, 
 
 But darkness would possess it, such as ne'er 
 
 Assailed a globe so rich in light as ours. 
 
 I sigh no more. The pangs at our great loss 
 
 Were much for you and Bulo. Let all go : 
 
 I still am rich in the most costly gilts. 
 
 Whilst I have you to Mght me on my way. 
 
 What if our table be the solid slab 
 
 With hchen fretted, and om- seats the sod ? 
 
 What if our dinner be a mess of herbs, 
 
 In wooden bowls, with water from a shell ? 
 
 What if our bed be rushes, and the heath 
 
 A pillow for us in the rudest hut ? 
 
 What if a fir-cone sei-\-e to give us light. 
 
 As roimd the hearth we gather, where the thorns 
 
 Crack, tlash, and blaze, and suddenly expke ? 
 
 What if our clothing be the hmnblest weeds 
 
 A centiuy from fashion ? — I would bear 
 
 The whole of this, ay, doubled o'er and o'er. 
 
 So you complained not, looking up to Him 
 
 In simple confidence for better things. 
 
 How beautiful upon the mountain tops 
 
 Where Morning walks, and in the silent vales 
 
 Where Twilight muses, on the mighty sea, 
 
 In the dim wood and echoing wilderness, 
 
 Is the dear goddess Nature ! Fair is she 
 
 In all her changes, gemmed with sun or star. 
 
 Man stains whate'er he touches : his rude hands 
 
 Despoil the landscape and corrapt the scene. 
 
 Here we shall be her children, loving much, 
 
 In lier gi-eat temple swept with airs Divine. 
 
 Anleaf. Still weeping, Bulo ? Dry your maiden's 
 
 tears. 
 And leave with Heaven the future. How He leads 
 His trusting children o'er the safest patli ! 
 Bethink you how the fire enwrapped our house. 
 Leaping from beam to beam, while you stood pale 
 And sluieking at the window ? Know you not 
 Who scaled tlie wall, and saved you in his arms ? 
 The sailor whom we succoured. He, it seems. 
 When passing by on business near at hand. 
 Perceived the fire, and rushed to rescue life. 
 Thus kindness hves insuring its reward. 
 Bulo. This sudden change has left me quite o'cr- 
 
 powered. 
 Like one swift-passed from sunlight into gloom. i 
 
 I seem not to be Bulo ; yet these hands 
 
 Belong to me, and those two feet are mine. 
 
 Let me rejoice that I possess so much ; 
 
 And since I have my parents, all is well. 
 
 I cheerfully bow down to humble things. 
 
 Content with you, whatever may betide. 
 
 Like a white vision in the vale of night 
 
 Comes the young sailor, and my sweetest dreams 
 
 Are tell-tales of his pi-esence. Never more 
 
 Can I forget a sympathy so strong, 
 
 And yearn I to repay it. 
 
 Anleaf. Glad am I 
 
 That we so oft the pilgrim's heart have cheered 
 
 With the full cup of kindness. Not a child 
 
 Or hoary sufferer asked us alms in vain. 
 
 And as we sow, so may we hope to reaj). 
 
 I trust as truly the Eternal Word 
 
 As a meek child its mother. Corn and oil 
 
 Are for His people as Jehovah wills. 
 
 A cup of water given in His name 
 
 Shall win rewards which swords cannot attain. 
 
 The earth shall be destroyed, the heavens shall burn. 
 
 The stars shall rush to ruin, the fah moon 
 
 Blush into blood, thick darkness seize the sun. 
 
 And Nature fall an overwehning wreck. 
 
 But His sure word shall never pass away. 
 
 [Enter a Country Woman hearing a hashet. 
 Country Woman. Weeding the corn, I heard of 
 
 your distress, 
 And came with these few trifles. Once you saved 
 My little luaid from starving, when we lay 
 Beneath the fever's fury, and my prayer 
 Has been for you e'er since that trying hour. 
 May His bright sunshine soon dispel the clouds 
 And fill your sky with glory ! Pray accept 
 What love returns for benefits received. 
 How oft tlie good are smitten with distress. 
 And earthward bowed by sorrow ! tears are shed 
 In homes whose aspects are exti-eme delight. 
 How sad that these should suffer ! Once I lay 
 In the cold clime of hunger : work was none. 
 And sickness smote my husljand. He was good, 
 Gave alms and read his Bible ; thrice a day 
 He prayed within his closet. Bound me fiocked 
 My four small children, sol)bing sharp for bread, 
 With features pinelied and looks of utter woe ; 
 And I had none to give them. Ah ! that cry 
 Grew shai'iier, shriller, wounding my poor licart ; 
 And then I prayed that He who fed the flocks 
 Upon a thousand hills would help afford. 
 O how I jiraj^ed ! and succour soon arrived. 
 Yes ; Anleaf came herself on a wild night 
 With Bulo, smiling, and our wants were met. 
 My children ate their food and crowed for joy. 
 Whilst I stood gazing through my mother's tears, 
 And lifting up my thanks. A love like this 
 Meets from the Master its supreme reward. 
 The time may seem to linger, but at last 
 It comes like spring with cheering song and flower. 
 
 [Exit Country AVoman. 
 Anleaf. Eggs, bread, and fish, a knife, a fork, and 
 
 spoons, 
 Cheese, bacon, milk ! How kind of the dear dame ! 
 Come, husband, take your dinner. Bulo, round. 
 This moss well serves us for a table clotli ; 
 And whilst we eat, om* thankful thought shall claim 
 Elijah and the ravens. See, the thrush
 
 THE ANGEL OF CONTENTMENT. 
 
 71 
 
 Is waicliinf? us on the gi-een liolly liou^li, 
 
 And fiies hir/.z o'er the feru-brukes : ilovvers stiuul 
 
 roniul 
 ■\Vitli urns of ])('rfnnio fiUinp; tlio frosli air, 
 Whilst over all a \vatchlul presence broods. 
 A cheerful grace, my Bulo. 
 
 [JjUlo repeats grace, ivlicn tlinj all eat. 
 Selando. O how sweet 
 
 These viands to my taste ! the honeycomb 
 AVas never more delicious. Circumstance 
 Oft smoothes its own ascent, and on the wild 
 Creates an arbour whore the bramble blooms. 
 Wealth has no wings when sickness bows it down. 
 I'd rather be a herdsman on the heiglit, 
 Whistling my dog, and watching my few kine, 
 SvuTounded with the mysteries of the mooi's. 
 Sustained by humble fare in humblest shed, 
 Contentment fur my guest, than I would reign 
 A thankless monarch on an irksome thi-onc. 
 Of all the graces in the golden train 
 Contentment stands the fairest. Her sweet face 
 Has never frown nor wrinkle, and she smiles 
 Alike when barns are full and harvests fail. 
 Then let us court her presence. She is here 
 At our moss board, encirchng us with love. 
 Though pain assail us wandering on our way, 
 Hunger and thirst, and huiTicane, and fire ; 
 Though we plod tlu-ough bereavement, where the vale 
 Is full of bitter w^aters, and the winds 
 W^ail through the weeping willows ; though no friend 
 Stand by us in our trial, she shall be 
 
 \_Thcij sing. 
 
 Our smiling guest for ever. 
 
 Who hastes to heap up gold shall find 
 
 A heavier burden on his mind : 
 
 liut happy he who is content 
 
 With what the hand of Heaven has sent. 
 
 Contentment is the loveliest lot : 
 She dwelleth oft in lowly cot 
 With him who is of hminde mind. 
 And leaves the palace far behind. 
 
 C>f all the nymphs in Virtue's train 
 That haunt the wood, or hill, or plain, 
 However low my lot may be, 
 O may Contentment dwell with me ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 Scene — Section of the Victoria gold fields. Time 
 — Summer evening. Selando, Anleaf, and Bulo 
 in a shepherd's hut. 
 
 y.-kinlcaf. How the sun glows behind the western 
 
 ,?/\ creeks ! 
 
 'J^^ And round about liim the soft gorgeous cloiids 
 
 Are marshalled in much splendour, — jmrple isles, 
 With crimson turrets on their floating crests, 
 Fantastic in their changes. O, I love 
 To think these cloudlets are the golden gate 
 Which lets the spirit home to perfect rest, 
 Behuad which shines the city. Do they not 
 Ilemind us of a country far away. 
 Where tower and church would woo the feet to prayer 
 When solemn bells are pealing ? We have sat 
 Within the doorway of our dearest home 
 When Evening walked the meadows, blest with sounds 
 From English hill and valley. O what love 
 O'erflows my heart for precious fatherland ! 
 This well of waters never will dry up 
 TiU the last tear is bottled and I dwell 
 Amid the upper pakns. 
 Selando. These purple strips 
 
 That strangely stream along tlie firmament 
 And stain the tree tops, speak to me of home. 
 I used to watch them from my native hill. 
 With all a jjoet's w^onder, till they seemed 
 The paths of angels through the silent heavens. 
 Oui" God is with us here : His Spkit tills 
 This boundless wilderness, and gives us joy. 
 My wearied thought will oft fly back with yours 
 To Albion's pleasant valleys, where the springs 
 Bubble among the mosses, and the lark 
 Soars singing up the ether ; then the drops 
 Fall from my eyes unbidden. Oft the smell 
 Of fi-agi-ant hayfields seems to greet my sense. 
 When rooks are swinging to then- evening home, 
 Which fills me with such longing. Happy years 
 Wei'e ours in native England, till the fire 
 Came in swift fury, scorching up our joy ; 
 Deeds, notes,checks,parchments, fed the furious flame. 
 Alas ! our earthlj^ all, the fruits of hfe. 
 Lay at our feet a cinder. This was best, — 
 A chastisement of mercy. 
 
 [Enter a Stockman, leading a little Boy. 
 StocTiman. Audience, all ! 
 
 My herd was out upon the wilderness. 
 Where human life puts forth no other sign 
 Than the dark wild man's trail in the long grass, 
 Towards the river's angle. Here free winds 
 Sweej) the low myal whicli the cattle love, 
 And eagle-hawks and tlocks of curious quail 
 Flash o'er the clear lagoon. The kangaroo 
 Revels unscared along the river banks, 
 A\1iere the great emu sometimes comes to drink ; 
 Far off the gum trees nodded, their white trunks 
 Gleamed in the sunset like the robes of saints ; 
 And crimson parrots, green, and snowy white. 
 Whistled and shrieked among the winking leaves.
 
 72 
 
 BULO. 
 
 The Day was tli'iviug clown liis twilight path, 
 
 Drawn in his cmiison car by crimson steeds, 
 
 And round about him his attendants hung 
 
 Like servants at his bidding, when I tm-ned 
 
 My drove towards the sundown. 
 
 Anleaf. Take a chair ; 
 
 Much standing makes us weary, and the tongue 
 
 Runs all the freer when the limbs have rest. 
 
 Give the poor child this morsel ; he looks thin. 
 
 As if a woe had passed him. [The Child eats. 
 
 Stockman. Tln-ee full days 
 
 Had we been journejiug when we reached the sand, 
 
 A waihng desert sick with poison-air. 
 
 And travelling o'er it felt the pangs of thirst. 
 
 Then came a laud of blackness, silent, lone ; 
 
 The earth was cracked, the heavens appeared on fire ; 
 
 I gnawed a leaden bullet, whicli allayed 
 
 The fierceness of the fever ; and the herd 
 
 "With lolling tongues lifted their heads and moaned. 
 
 And then came water, verdure, and a prayer 
 
 Eose fi'om my heart to Heaven. 
 
 Anleaf. * How beautiful 
 
 Bubbles a well of water ! No rade sounds 
 
 Foretell its issue as it gurgles forth 
 
 Amid the moss in hmpid loveliness, 
 
 lieffeshing all around it, murmuring on 
 
 In streams of blessing till it reach the sea. 
 
 So would I choose to pilgi-image through Hfe. 
 
 StocJiman. As I sat listening a gay cockatoo 
 
 Which kept the marsh in motion, a faint cry 
 
 liose fi-om the brashwood ; hearing which, my dog 
 
 Did prick his ears and raise a feeble whine. 
 
 Then dashed into the dingle. He came back. 
 
 And licked my hand, and looked mto my face. 
 
 Barked, scampered round my feet, then closed liis teeth 
 
 Upon my garment, and I followed him 
 
 Into the bush a winding round and round. 
 
 The little cry that scarcely stirred the air 
 
 Still waxing louder, when he dropped his gi'ip. 
 
 And barked and bounded from me. By a tree, 
 
 With white hands clasped and "mother" on his lips, 
 
 I found this httle stranger. He came out 
 
 To gather hemes, when he lost his way. 
 
 And could not find his parents. He had called 
 
 And called again, and wandered farther on 
 
 Until his clothes were torn, his small feet bled, 
 
 And his eyes burned with weeping. The full moon 
 
 Eose o'er the wilderness, and he sat down 
 
 Calling upon his kindred in great sobs, 
 
 Even where I found him. 
 
 Selando. Is there then no clue 
 
 To find his parents ? "^liat a vacant i)lace 
 
 He makes in one sad household ! 
 
 Stockman. 1 have urged 
 
 This rumour onward with the speed of tongues ; 
 
 The pen has babbled it, the printed sheet 
 
 Borne it far north and south ; but it remains 
 
 A mystery of the futm'e, which tlic scroll 
 
 Of other years may open to the light. 
 
 To me he looks a wanderer from the stars, 
 
 Where he was ow'ned of angels. What bright hair 
 
 And loving eyes and pretty mouth are liis ! 
 
 He is too tender for a stockman's tent. 
 
 So often pitched, so often struck again ; 
 
 And yet 'twere pain to lose him. 
 
 Anleaf. Leave him here : 
 
 We'll feed him at om* table, nurture him, 
 
 Teach him to read, and fold his hands and pray. 
 As if he were our offspring. Seek thy herd. 
 And follow thy employment ; and when time 
 Permits thy absence, visit us again. 
 And we will cover nothing. 
 Stockman. So be it. 
 
 And may Jehovah bless the boy and yoii ! 
 
 [Exit Stockman. 
 I could not deem it was so hard to part. 
 This pretty wanderer rescued in the wood 
 Has stolen o'er me like the breath of prayer. 
 Making my life more lioly. Seeds of ti-uth 
 Sometimes spring up thus quickly, growing on 
 Until the flower is perfect. 
 Bido. Pretty child! 
 
 He says his name is Teemu, and his home 
 Is where the parrots flutter. There he left 
 His wooden horse, his whip, his battledore. 
 Mother and brother, and his box of toys ; 
 And now he's pouting for them. Come to me. 
 And let me be thy sister. Teemu, come ! 
 
 [Exeu7it. 
 
 Scene — A surgery in Victoria. Enter Tamson. 
 
 Tamson {addressing the doctor). su", my husband's 
 
 ill, my husband's ill ! 
 One eve, when shrimping by the Lady's Eock, 
 A tall mermaid, with bright shells in her haii* 
 And pearls about her neck, rose suddenly 
 What time the moon came out above the trees. 
 And fixed her eyes upon him. They were large 
 And shining like a furze-brand, and her feet 
 Were covered o'er with seaweed. Thrice she waved 
 A wand of coral, and then .disappeared. 
 Leaving a hght upon the yielding wave. 
 This was a sign, he said, of something wrong ; 
 And five nights after, when the sky was clear. 
 By some mischance he got into a pool, 
 From which I dragged him not a tick too soon. 
 And Fardo has been ailing ever since. 
 0, he grew worse on shipboard, ay, much worse, 
 And saw a sad thing standing on the deck, 
 A week's fair sail fifom England. Woe is me ! 
 And now he's ill, he's ill, my Fardo's ill ! 
 O come and save him, ply him with your pills. 
 Hasten, dear doctor, do not risk delay. 
 He's precious to me, precious ! and the means 
 Are ours to practise : Heaven will do the rest. 
 Quickly, good doctor, mount your handsome horse ; 
 Ride to our dwelling ; I'll come on behind. 
 Carry youi' phials with you, drench him well. 
 
 save my Fardo, save the old shrimp-man 
 Who saw the mermaid, and my silver box. 
 My marriage portion, ring, and all, is yours ! 
 Would I could shout still louder. Save my man, 
 Good doctor, mighty doctor, save iny man ! 
 
 The tendcrest, kindest, very best old man ! 
 Mount, gallop, spm* youi' horse, O save my man ! 
 
 [On her return Tamson meets Fardo. 
 Fardo. I'm better, Tamson, better. All my fears 
 Have taken wings and flown I know not where. 
 The powerful medicine set me on my legs ; 
 No second dose was needed, and I ate 
 A roasted chicken and came off to you. 
 
 1 hope to-morrow, if the day be fine. 
 
 To yoke my oxen to the new swmg-plough,
 
 THE MOTHER'S SORROW. 
 
 73 
 
 Ami labour in tlie paddock. Don't look scared : 
 Dangers wlicn boldly fronted shrink away. 
 Tavison. Well, this heats everything. This beats 
 all, — Napoleon, Shakespeare, and everybody. To think 
 I should leave my old man dying, hasten for the doctor, 
 and then meet him walking without a stick on my 
 return home ! I wonder what the world is coming to ! 
 Perhaps we may soon have Hying ships and railways 
 in the air. Well, I never ! I am perfectly smashed 
 with amazement, O dear ! dear I O dear ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ScKNE — Settler's home. Time — Morning. 
 Mother in inuch sorrow. 
 
 The 
 
 The Mother. Heavy blow ! O heavy, heavy blow I 
 
 The days 
 Drag on in twilight with the rain of tears, 
 And bring no comfort, for they bring not back 
 The gentle Teemn to his mother's arms. 
 Perchance the wild beasts have him, or he's di-owned 
 Within the dull lagoon ; perchance he sits 
 Star\ing amid the thicket, and his cry, 
 Feebler than when a baby on my breast, 
 Lags with the name of mother. If I knew 
 That he had crossed Ufe's threshold, and gone o'er 
 Into the awful future, it would be, 
 Methinks, a glad relief : but this suspense. 
 This dread uncertainty, is like a fire 
 That scorches up my marrow. Such a woe 
 Is surely gi-eatest in the list of ills : 
 To lose a child whose tender, pleading face 
 Meets you at every tm'n from Memory's shore, — 
 To lose a boy so beautiful as mine, 
 With such a brow and such a depth of gaze, 
 And know not where he lies, — this is a blow 
 That cannot be repeated. But I bend 
 Beneath the stroke, and sigh, " Thy will be done ! " 
 
 [Enter a Shepherd tuith a lamb in Jits arms. 
 Shc];)hercl. As this white lamb went straying fi-om 
 
 the fold, 
 Torn by the hanging branches, I pursued, 
 And overtook it by a shallow pit 
 Where coiled the reptiles. The bewildered brute 
 Knew my familiar voice, and when I spoke 
 Came bounding at my caU, licking my hand 
 And baaing with delight, as if it said, 
 " Dear master, pity me ! " I took it up. 
 And bore it in my arms across the bush ; 
 And liy a gully where a path was made 
 I found this chip of paper, which I've brought 
 For your especial reading. May it be 
 A messenger of comfort ! [Exit Shepherd. 
 
 The Mother. What is this ? 
 
 A cliild found by a stockman in the bush, 
 With curly hair, black eyes, and handsome face, 
 Whose age is near four summers, and his name 
 Is only Teemu. This must bo my boy; 
 The angels have been with him, and he's spared ; 
 And I shall surely see his face again, 
 Look in his eyes, and read his loving thoughts, 
 And feel his kiss, and wonder at my joy. 
 Already the horizon of my hopes 
 Glows like the kiudhng morning. I stand here 
 And look into the future, and his arm 
 Supports my feebleness, and leads me down 
 Into the vale of dimness, where the winds 
 
 Leave the same point for ever, and the house 
 Shakes with its keepers while the grinders cease. 
 But let me run with this news uppermost 
 To give my neighbour word. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — Selanclo's hut. 
 Teemu within. 
 
 Selando, Anleaf, Bulo, and 
 
 Selando. There is a stranger coming o'er the flat, 
 And he seems much in haste. Lifting his cap. 
 He wipes the perspiration from his brow, 
 Swinging his arm, and taking rapid strides, 
 As does full oft a courtly messenger. 
 'Tis evident he makes our house his aim ; 
 He's o'er the fence, and nearing the fruit trees. 
 I'll ask him in. Thus hospitality 
 Has sometimes sheltered angels. 
 
 [Enter Stranger. 
 Stranger [embracing Teemu). Yes, 'tis he ! 
 
 Thou art my darling brother. "Wliy is it 
 Thy httle feet have borne thee thus away ? 
 Dost know thy mother has refused her food ? 
 That smiles have left her face, and light her home? 
 That tears have been her portion, and Distress 
 Sat by the hearth in sackcloth ? Her dear boy. 
 Her younger-born, had left a vacant seat. 
 Nor could she catch a whisper of report 
 Whither her love had drifted. How shc'U clasp 
 Her treasm-e to her bosom, sing for joy, 
 And cover thee with kisses ! Thanks to those 
 Who rescued thee fi'om ruin, and who gave 
 Thy hapless head a shelter. 
 Bulo (aside). 'Tis no di-eam 
 
 That thus o'erpowers me with deliciousness : 
 I am awake and conscious, and I hear 
 A voice like falhng waters. What is this 
 That overtakes me as the news of home ? 
 I wander in a garden, and appear 
 Like one swift passed from utter barrenness 
 Into a land of blossoms, where the bnds 
 Warble among the roses, and the an- 
 That fans the lake is thick with harmony. 
 I'U. screen me in this pleasant summer bower, 
 Peer through the leaves and Listen. 
 Anleaf. Take a seat. 
 
 This child was brought to us by one who found 
 Him starving in the swamp. An unseen chain 
 Of many Unks full oft unites events. 
 And draws the whole together. Didst thou not 
 In thy loved England rescue from the fire 
 A timid maiden, as the beams gave way, 
 And roof and raftei-s Hashed into the hall ? 
 Behold her in this dwelUng ! 
 Bulo (aside). Yes, 'tis he ! 
 
 The mystery of my being, the one star 
 For ever twinkling in the sky of of love : 
 A star no longer, but a blazing sun. 
 I would I were the little earth it warmed 
 And kissed into perfection. 
 Walla. This great joy 
 
 Flows o'er me like a tide, and leaves me stunned 
 Amid the waters. I have this to crave, 
 Which if denied me fills the world with shade, — 
 Yom- daughter's hand in marriage. I have gold 
 And flocks of kine enough for us and you. 
 Come, let us Uve together. Three months since, 
 When with a coun-ade digging by a tree,
 
 74 
 
 BULO. 
 
 We found a nnggct in the native soil, 
 
 "Wliich I struck with vaj pick, and when unearthed 
 
 We soki the monster for nine thousand pounds. 
 
 It was God's hand that led me, whom I serve. 
 
 Selando. We place no barrier in cm- daughter's way. 
 
 But leave her free to take or to refuse. 
 
 This, not because thou art increased in goods, 
 
 And that much gold is added. "What is gold ? 
 
 A glittering ruler seizing on the heart, 
 
 A sliining burden crusliing comfort out ! 
 
 How hardly shall a rich man enter heaven ! 
 
 No, not because of this, Init for His grace 
 
 Who calls thee to repeutance. Hear me out. 
 
 I would not have my Bulo wed a man 
 
 For money only, whose all-gi'aspiug hands 
 
 Are stained with avarice, wliose eyes are dull 
 
 To beauty's vision and alTection's power, 
 
 Who views the world through the false glass of pelf 
 
 And barters truth for gain, who ever weighs 
 
 Life's dearest interests in the scale of wealth. 
 
 And stoops to coin more than to sterling worth. 
 
 I would not have my Bulo wed this man 
 
 If he had half Golconda. Verily 
 
 I'd rather pick a can-ier from-the yard, 
 
 Wliose soul was glowing with the beautiful, 
 
 "Who felt the force of Heaven-born charity, 
 
 Than she should marry such a gilded clod. 
 
 How many limbs are torn on Mammon's wheel ! 
 
 How many homes are darkened by his wings ! 
 
 How many Uves are yearly sacrificed — 
 
 I)aughters and sons — upon his altar fii-e ! 
 
 Unions for gold are marriages for strife. 
 
 One drop of love is worth a titled name ; 
 
 One spark of pui-e affection is more dear 
 
 Than the most noble dowry. Give me love, 
 
 And then let Fortune treat me as she wiU. 
 
 Love makes an Eden of the wilderness, 
 
 A palace of the cottage, and green fields 
 
 Where only di-y reeds rustle. Would my voice 
 
 Could girdle the great globe, I'd raise it high 
 
 Until it marched like thimder through the land, 
 
 Till hill and valley caught it, and 'twas rolled 
 
 From clime to chme upon the hunying winds, 
 
 Arresting human ears like shrill cloud-trumps : 
 
 " Don't wed for gold ! let marriai^^e be for love. 
 
 Beware ye be not yoked unequally ; 
 
 Tliis brings a bhght upon the lovely world. 
 
 Follow affection, prize it more than pelf. 
 
 Begin with Heaven ; and let Heaven's finger guide. 
 
 And earth shall yield the fraits of Paradise." 
 
 Scene — A moonlit arbour. Enter Bulo and Walla. 
 
 WalJa. On this old tree trunk by the river side 
 
 We'll bathe ourselves in moonlight. See what spii'es 
 
 Of shining silver gem the forest boughs. 
 
 And shoot along the Jiill sides in a shower. 
 
 What purity of sweetness ! far more pure 
 
 Because thy Lips are here to welcome mine. 
 
 Tlie little faj's are fairer in thy smile, 
 
 And lovehness more lovely. Ne'er a king 
 
 With dainty helpmeet was so blessed as I : 
 
 So perfect is mj' measure of dehght 
 
 Another drop would mar it. Bend thy face. 
 
 And kiss me once again. On these white clouds 
 
 Slow sailing through the ether, it is said. 
 
 The angels glide at evening, looking down 
 
 Upon this little planet. Can their bHsa 
 
 In saintly vestm-e far exceed mine own ? 
 
 Methought sweet sounds rose from the distant bank : 
 
 'Twas the dear music of thy beating heart. 
 
 Still rest it on my bosom, it is thine. 
 
 While stars sliiue down approval. When the sun 
 
 Creates another day, we two are one, 
 
 Blent hke the light and rose-leaves. Blessed hour ! 
 
 I seem to bfi,the in nectar, and the waves 
 
 Come murmiiring round me more delicious still, 
 
 A preface to my volume of dehght. 
 
 Now let mo lead thee homeward at slow pace, 
 
 Loitering at every turn, as lovers will. 
 
 Creating seraphs out of every leaf. 
 
 And theme for dalliance from the softest sound. 
 
 Thus we depart with kisses. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — Harvest field. 
 Reapers. 
 
 Time — Noon. Enter Two 
 
 First Beaper. O how cool 
 
 The shade of this old tree ! Let's rest awhile, 
 
 And listen to the music of the bells 
 
 Across the woody dingle. It is sweet 
 
 To pause sometimes amidst our earnest toil. 
 
 And think how we are steering o'er the tide 
 
 Of solemn waters all so fleetly cross. 
 
 The bells teach much if we would understand. 
 
 Second Bea^yer. Oft when my sickle cuts the precious 
 
 stalk. 
 And it lies flat upon the stubble ground, 
 I think of human life and hiunan ends. 
 And pray that when the silent mower comes 
 I may be ripe and ready. But to-day 
 It seems ill-timed to hm'ry sadness on. 
 To cloak the brow, and play the hypocrite. 
 When Joy has wings and ]\Iu-th is drunk with bliss. 
 The miner leaves his gold, the smith his fire, 
 The shepherd boy his flock upon the plain. 
 The stockman's axe is silent ; in the shade 
 The driver's team is restiag, and the boys 
 Throw up their caps and wildly dance and shout. 
 Ring out, sweet bells, over the vales away; 
 Let the world know 'tis Bulo's marriage day ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — Stocl-man's dwelling. Time — Sunset. 
 Walla a^id Bulo standing before the hut. 
 
 Walla. Dost like this lodge, m,y Bulo ? To mine eyes, 
 
 A cottage home among the watching hills. 
 
 Where the brook babbles, and the roses cling, 
 
 And hawthorns guard the gateway, is more fair 
 
 Than towering palace in the city's roar. 
 
 And when I die, methinks if I could choose 
 
 The place of my departure, it would be 
 
 A lonely dwelling by the waterfall. 
 
 Encircled with the mountains, from whose tops 
 
 My ransomed spmt should escape to heaven. 
 
 Sec how the roses o'er the doorways hang 
 
 Along the fair verandah ! The high posts 
 
 Look fragrant pillars sweetly budded o'er. 
 
 Festooned with creepers and bright passion-flowers; 
 
 Grspes hang about the lattice; on tlie roof 
 
 Of strong tree Ijark the water-melons gi'ow, 
 
 And bees hum here when morn is in the vales ; 
 
 Behind it rise the fruit trees. Here the beans
 
 THE MARRIAGE FEAST. 
 
 75 
 
 And blossomed peas stand up in even ranks, 
 
 While fowls aro roosting on the spreading boughs. 
 
 Dost like this lodge, my Bulo ? 
 
 Bulo. Beautiful ! 
 
 No fairy ever had a homo more sweet. 
 
 IMine eyes drop tears to see it. Blessed spot ! 
 
 Which cherubs visit when the night is young. 
 
 Its influence moves me like a sacred psalm 
 
 From lips propjietic. O if it were mine ! 
 
 Walla. And it is thine, my Bulo ! all is thine ; 
 
 These hands have reared it for thee. Bay by day 
 
 I've toUed and tugged with sunshine in my heart ; 
 
 And when I fixed a stake, or raised a beam, 
 
 Planted a rose bush or an ai)ple tree, 
 
 Fashioned a lattice, or planned out a door. 
 
 Modelled a path, or raised a rm-al fence, 
 
 Delved the rich soil, or pruned the pleasant vine, 
 
 I felt 'twas all for Bulo. This great joy 
 
 Of yielding it to my dear lady love 
 
 Knocks at my soul for language, but it fails ; 
 
 The bliss is far too exquisite for words. 
 
 See how the siinset lingers 'mid the leaves, 
 
 Kissing the rose-buds in their bowers of green, 
 
 As if to sanctify our future home. 
 
 Here we will dwell in Love's own tenement, 
 
 Watched by the smiling Graces. Futm-e years 
 
 Shall only mellow what has been begun, 
 
 Which ripens in the fields without a cloud. 
 
 Beyond the swelling Jordan. I have been 
 
 Year after year like poor neglected bard. 
 
 Longing for quiet, chased from room to room 
 
 And door to door, nursing his new-born thought. 
 
 Till driven forth beneath the pitying sky 
 
 To woo his Muse : so have I longed for rest. 
 
 To find it here with Bulo. Come, my love. 
 
 Let's ope the gate and enter. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — Room in Walla's dwelling. A table sj^read 
 ivitlb -provisions. Enter Selando and Anleaf. 
 
 Anleaf (embracing Bulo). Darling child ! 
 
 This is a home befitting thy true love. 
 And thou art worthy of it. May no wind 
 With foulness laden ever bhght its walls. 
 And its green roof-tree have perpetual spring, 
 Fed with the dews of goodness ! Well thou know'st 
 The Gospel precepts lodged within thine heart : 
 Now let them sway thy future. Without this, 
 The fairest bower becomes a brambled brakis, 
 Where wild beasts tread the thicket. Live for love. 
 And rather bleed thyself than woimd thy friend. 
 Serve only for thy husband. Be his sun 
 When clouds assemble, his adviser sweet 
 When foes assail or di'eadful crosses bm-u, 
 His harp in storms, his lute in piercing winds. 
 His star* in sorrow ; and when sunshine bathes 
 Your groves in bbauty, his expandintj fiower ! 
 Then in your lives shall earth and Eden meet. 
 Selando. I'm pleased with all I see, with all I feel, 
 With all my ears are greeted. It is good 
 To stand upon life's hill-side, and look o'er 
 The history of om- joui-ney. One great Hand 
 
 Upholds and governs all things : let this be 
 The comfort of my daughter. 
 
 [Enter Walla's Mother, leading Tekmu. 
 The Mother. Sit, my boy, 
 
 And wait till all is ready. Bulo cornea 
 To kiss thy face and stroke thy shining curls : 
 She now is Teemu's sister. Pi'etty place, 
 Where all is ordered in simplicity ! 
 How bright and shiny aro tlie knives and forks 
 Laid on the strong deal table ! Of blue delf 
 Are all the plates and dislics. On the hob 
 Potatoes steam, and simmer pease and greens ; 
 The smell of pork, peach \)ie, and orange tart 
 Mingle with beef und mutton, and a smilo 
 Is on the faces of oui' honest friend^s. 
 
 [Enter Itaka the organist. 
 Itara. You meet with grumblers, walk which way 
 
 you will. 
 The world, say they, is drifting on thi'ough space 
 In a false orbit, soon to be a wi-eck. 
 There is no order : everything is laimched 
 Upon a sea where false winds roar and rage 
 And roll from every quarter. Government 
 Is on the shoulders of poor sightless Chance, 
 To toss and writhe for ever. Out on ye ! 
 I dare not hug such jargon. Earth has love. 
 And love makes heaven : the strongest poweT is love. 
 And earth has smiles and sunshine, Ught and flowers, 
 Music and friendship, and fan- childhood's wiles. 
 And hopes in rainbow clothing. For my part, 
 I seem o'erwhelmed with blessing ; and my woes 
 Ai'e as a feather weighed against my gifts. 
 I thaw to see you, friends, to feel your joy, 
 And quaff your cup of welcome. We will keep 
 Our glad hearts warm with praises, then the clouds 
 Dare only show their fi-outlets in the sky. 
 And hm-ry off like shadows. Let us leave 
 Rank weeds and thorns, and pluck the fragrant flowers 
 That cluster ever round our daily track. 
 As free to reach as thistles. By your leave 
 We'll sit and dine, and then in simple tones 
 My organ-pipes shall gi'eet you. 
 [They surround the table, after tuhichlTAiiA sings. 
 
 Along the streets and through the lanes 
 I long have woke my simple strains, 
 And love has been from year to year 
 The theme which I have simg so dear. 
 
 The shepherd-boy upon the moor. 
 The maiden by her mother's door. 
 Have paused amid their sighs to hoar 
 The theme which I have sung so dear. 
 
 In every clime it telleth time ; 
 
 'Tis ever old and ever new ; 
 
 It bringeth on the cheek the tear. 
 
 The theme which I have sung so dear. 
 
 And thus its power will ever be 
 Acknowledged wide from sea to sea. 
 The sweetest strain from year to year, — 
 The theme which I have sung so dear. 
 
 [Exe7j,nt. 
 
 L 2
 
 A TALE OF THE MANACLES. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON^E. 
 
 Mkexa .... 
 Erno .... 
 First Boatman, 
 Second Ditto. 
 Meena's Daughter. 
 Cottage Woman. 
 ElDO. .... 
 Meena's Husband. 
 
 Storm Spirits, 
 
 The Drunhard's Wife. 
 A country Maiden. 
 
 Meena's Son. 
 &c. 
 
 Scene — A Common in 
 ''' Cormuall. Time — 
 Evening. Meena 
 walking up the hill. 
 
 I 'S^ S'\ yM^^ eena. The sky is red and glowing; 
 VSrak;^ I'M all below 
 
 Is streaked with beauty, whether 
 
 cloud or crag, 
 Wind-waving fern or wondrous 
 
 firmament, 
 Pine-clump and peak and river 
 fringed with reeds ; 
 And there are ehcoes from the hollow hills 
 And mystic marshes, which tlie busy noon 
 In the full saving of labour heedeth not. 
 My motlier oft, when Eve lay down to di'eam, 
 Watclied by the gathering twiliglit, called me near. 
 And bade me hsten while the moon arose 
 Above the crags that watched us, turning tears 
 To beads of silver on her thoughtful face ; 
 And then she pointed westward, where the light 
 Was like a crimson curtain, whispering low. 
 As if her words were harsh 'mid sucIj a psalm 
 From lutes unstrained by action : " List, my child, 
 These muiinuring voices are the sounds of prayer 
 From thickets thronged with trumpets, eacli a tongue 
 Which utters praises in the ear of God ! " 
 Then came a blast with poison on its wings, 
 Smiting her in its march, and she dropped down 
 Where bitter dews were falling, and the sigh 
 Of sickness swelled upon the leaden air. 
 A second blast, and when a thii-d arose. 
 
 Eushing with i-olling force, she smiled no more, 
 
 But lay upon her bed in love with death, 
 
 Pale as a lily when the storm descends ; 
 
 And throiigh the portals of tlie purple sky 
 
 Her spu-it passed into the field of flowers. 
 
 From the high hills of heaven she watches me, 
 
 And knows my i)ath of sorrow. [She weejjs. 
 
 Let me weep ! 
 These thoughts bring tears, and tears will ease my load. 
 They have not flowed like this for many a day ; 
 For the cold hand of Care has dammed them up 
 With walls of tribulation. Blessed tears ! 
 I'll thank the Giver for these rills of truth. 
 In which I see the hopes of other days, 
 Fair plans and prospects, figm-ed and achieved. 
 Then from the poison-marshes rolled a stream. 
 Thick, black, and l»iu-ning, bearing hfe away, 
 Leaving behind it brokeuness and death. 
 Wliat am I now but a storm- wrangled wall 
 Which the great sea of grief has undermined, 
 And still the waves come dashing to its doom ? 
 My home is a wild wreck upon the deep, 
 Swept with big billows, where sea-monsters herd 
 And shapes unnamed by mortal : on it drives 
 By shores of thunder with the hghtnings torn. 
 Nd food is in my dwelling ; on the straw 
 A dying daughter with no fire to warm 
 Or cordial to refresh her. By the hearth 
 With brand unkindled. Famine sits and scowls. 
 And sparrows pick the casement paper-blotclied, 
 Alarmed to hear her wailings, fluttering off 
 To other doorsteps joyous for a meal. 
 Methinks her sorrow, like a phantom slim. 
 Follows for ever, treading in my steps. 
 And sigliing in mine ears, and meeting me 
 With ashy features wheresoe'er I tiu-n. 
 Her father is a drunkard. Once his hght 
 Illumed our dwelling, chasing gloom away ; 
 Slie ran to meet him wlien his work was done. 
 And in Iiis arms he held her high in air, 
 At which she crowed and clapped lier pretty palms. 
 She told him stories sitting on his knee, 
 Sliared in his meals and laughter, nor withheld 
 Her earnest kisses, sweet as gales of May. 
 O, liome was holy then ! beneath our vine 
 An angel sat with benedictions bright. 
 And tlie soft music awed i;s into prayer. 
 Too soon was it supplanted : in its place 
 A thing of gloom lay cowering all day long.
 
 ERNO'S TBIAL. 
 
 77 
 
 And moanin<^ until morning : lip^ht w.as pone, 
 And darkness crammed it to the very roof. 
 The voice of prayer died out, and fiercely wild 
 Hose words of clamour. Drink has done it all ; — 
 Affection, friends, health, hapjjiness, and home, 
 lleason and right, wisdom and heaven for drink ! 
 In these poor rags I've wandered through the lanes, 
 If haply I might meet the wretched man. 
 And lure hina to his dying dauglitcr's side, 
 Whose wasting cry is lifted up for help. 
 So soon to bo a seraph. Let me go 
 Where aU the miseries meet ! 
 
 [Enter Ekno, a countnj maiden. 
 Emo. Is sorrow thine 
 
 Beyond a pilgrim's portion, that thy face 
 Is channeled like a hill-side by the sea, 
 Where meet the fom' winds, followed with the rain 
 And sounding thunder ? Sighs thy bosom Iieavc 
 Like her deserted when the rose of love 
 Seems bending to her fingers, and thine eyes 
 Deep-set and shining flash forth more than words. 
 Would talking ease thee ? 
 
 Meena. » I have much to bear. 
 
 Mine is a great woe wresting life away. 
 Filling the laud with hailstones. Summer fruits 
 Ai-e changed to rottenness, and the green grass, 
 By the huge grief-cloud diifting up my path. 
 To prickly stubble where strong reptiles brood. 
 Thou mayest draw near and look with pitying eyes, 
 But canst not reach such agony as mine. 
 Erno.^ All have their suffering: some a greater share. 
 And some a lesser : some have grievous ills 
 Out-jutting on theii* joiu-uey, sharp as swords ; 
 And some have angry seas where waves run high, 
 And whirlpools roar, and winds come tuml)ling down ; 
 And some have valley, meadow-path, and stream: 
 Sunshine have some, clear sky and level plain ; 
 And sonae more days of darkness than of dawn : 
 Thrice happy he who takes what Heaven assigns 
 With grateful heart, and rests iipon His rod ! 
 Meena. What is there in the feverish swamp of ills 
 With mien more mournful than the drunkard's wife, 
 Crushed out of comfort by a weight of wi'ong, 
 Heaped on by him whose hands siiould hold her up ? 
 And such am I, with all my garments stained. 
 Far better be a watcher in the fields 
 Till the moon rises, lonely as the lark 
 AVliose mate fell when the winter winds were wild. 
 Pass by om* garden : there the nettle stings, 
 And brier and bramble riot ; thistles wave, 
 And dock-weeds flaunt and frolic. The low fence 
 Is broken to the tm-f, and the lean hog 
 And hungry horse prowl o'er it at their will. 
 The hovel's roof is gi'eatly reft of reed, 
 So that the wood lies bare. The monster blast. 
 One muttering iiiglit when darkness drowned the moon, 
 Thrust in his hands, close followed by the snow, 
 And opened cruel gaps which wider stared 
 As the north raised its trumpet. The porch rose 
 Is draggling in the earth, with no fond hand 
 To train it to the timber : once it won 
 The praise of all who saw it ; now, like me. 
 It is a target for the darts of scorn : 
 Yet still I trim the Kngering Inmp of love. 
 Emo. 'Twere ill to banish hope, and let the mind 
 Drift like a feather. I ha\e had my share 
 Of what the world calls trial. Once a fire 
 
 Came in the darkness when the citj' lay 
 
 In a still sea of shimlior, stretching out 
 
 Great hu'id arms wliich stained the firmament; 
 
 And when I woke tlie room was full of sparks, 
 
 And red tongues smote the lattice. Tlien a hand 
 
 Came through the sulphur, taking hold of mine, 
 
 And the next moment there were sliouts of joy. 
 
 Ah ! I was but a cliild, and my first care 
 
 Was for my mother, whom I saw no more. 
 
 My fatlier too fell ill from harms received 
 
 That fearful hour, and shortly after died. 
 
 Leaving an orplian in the workhouse walls. 
 
 Soon I was sent to service. Cruel hands 
 
 Inflicted bruises on my tender fi."ame, 
 
 Which would command the tears from eyes like thine. 
 
 Long suffered I in silence -with a prayer 
 
 To Him who seeth in the secret place ; 
 
 And when my gi'ief increased with stripes of pain, 
 
 I ran away and begged from door to door. 
 
 Sometimes I hungered much, and lay in barns, 
 
 Or by the rich man's jjillar ; oft a crust, 
 
 Soaked in the stream on whose gi-een banks I siglied, 
 
 Sustained me from the morn till morn again. 
 
 My feet were shoeless, my thin garments torn, 
 
 ]\ly tangled hair uncovered. Once a voice 
 
 Pi<ang in me when the hunger pang was high : 
 
 " Steal 1 " and I trembled as my wasted hand 
 
 Was stretched to take what never had been mine : 
 
 I drew it back, and cried, and cried again ; 
 
 Then prayed for help, and soon the Helper came. 
 
 A lady found me on the rift's rough edge. 
 
 And led me thence, and placed my willing feet 
 
 In other paths, where flowers of knowledge gi'ew; 
 
 But trouble followed still. Beyond the woods 
 
 Young Piido dwelt, of asjiect delicate 
 
 And loveful as a river. We met oft 
 
 Where branching elms gave shadow, and one theme 
 
 Entranced us ever, mm-muring in the brook 
 
 And ringing in the echoes of the trees. 
 
 He sought for me when eve came down the west, 
 
 And led me to the door, and talked of love ; 
 
 And oft some little present would he bring : 
 
 But stern his father, "\\nien the truth came out, 
 
 How his son wooed an orphan, he was wroth ; 
 
 And in the night, when rain-floods roused the hills, 
 
 And torrents rumbled through the rocky gorge, 
 
 He drove him forth with many a bitter word 
 
 And stamp of foot, forbidding his return 
 
 Till the pure love-plant perished in his soul. 
 
 I cried until my tears appeared like fire 
 
 Burning upon my lids, and my limbs shook 
 
 With daily fasting ; yet he never came : 
 
 And still I hsten when the eve is calm, 
 
 And the mill-brook is gurghngroxmd its banks, 
 
 To hear his whistle ; but no whistle rings. 
 
 'Tis dark without him : when will it be light ? 
 
 Meena. 'Tis even so : the earth has woes for all. 
 
 But mine ai'e blacker, bolder, more intense, 
 
 IMore fraught with horrors, saddening human ears, 
 
 Than those that throng the pathways of the world. 
 
 AVliat bhghted being is so sad as she 
 
 "Wlio shivers in the ruin of her home. 
 
 Made blank by drink which scorches lilce a fire ? 
 
 I stand like one for whom the ocean roars, 
 
 Cast lorn and naked on the hungry strand, 
 
 AVliose earthly all is in the waves entombed. 
 
 [Exit Erxo. Meena soliloquizes.
 
 78 
 
 A TALE OF THE MANACLES. 
 
 Mccna. How strange the leaflets of our hmiiau life ! 
 
 Some are replete witli conflict, some as smooth 
 
 As lakes in summer ; some have jets of song, 
 
 And some adventiu-e crammiug haK the page. 
 
 Why has this maiden crossed my weary path, 
 
 MuiTQiuring for love ? and Rido is my son. 
 
 Yes, Eido is my son. His angry she, 
 
 ■\\Tien full of di-iak and swaggering in his weeds. 
 
 Bade him be gone and seek his home no more, — • 
 
 Bade him be gone because an orphan ghl 
 
 Had won liis heai-t's affection. how sad ! 
 
 He did not know her beauty or her worth ; 
 
 Dowerless and friendless was enough for him ; 
 
 There was no gold, and so the balance turned. 
 
 And merit was rejected. This is life. 
 
 Or be he bard or barber. Show yom- pm'se, 
 
 And cuiming tongues wiU praise your cleverness. 
 
 n you have none, why, you have friends to seek. 
 
 No strains of music can atone for this ; 
 
 No lofty talent, no invention huge ; 
 
 The gilded idol wins the bended knee. 
 
 And yet she loves oui' Rido, weeps for lima, 
 
 And watches all the passes of the hills 
 
 "With eyes that weary not and heart that yearns. 
 
 And what is gold to this '? a water-drop 
 
 To seas of milk and honey ! Shame, shame ! 
 
 This maiden is a treasm^e unsui"passed ; 
 
 A garden of sweet spices. Who wins her 
 
 Will have a fortune in her. Once our boy 
 
 Has written, and the letter reached our shed. 
 
 Rough seas were crossed, and plains and rivers wide ; 
 
 And in a country thick with tangled wood 
 
 He trod the hou's track, and heard the woK 
 
 Howl in the coming darkness : the wild man 
 
 Peered fi-om the bushes, and the condor screamed. 
 
 He may be on the sea or on the land, 
 
 Or in his gi-avc : God knoweth, and not I. 
 
 But for this damsel's sake I'll pray once more 
 
 That Heaven may shield him. Now I sadly go 
 
 Where ills are gathered, shutting out the daj^ 
 
 Worse than Egj-ptian darkness. [Exeu7it. 
 
 Scene — A cottage on the Cornish cliff. Time — Mid- 
 night. A storm. Enter Two Boatmen. 
 
 First Boatman. Perils huge ! 
 
 I've been abroad in gloom and savage strife, 
 
 When heaven and earth were roaring, and the 
 
 sound 
 Was hke a falling mountain; but to-night 
 The waves rise high untU they bm'st themselves 
 In frantic fury, weltei-ing o'er their bounds, 
 And flash and foam into the very streets. 
 No craft can stand such anger. Crags are torn 
 From their primeval footing, and gi-eat trees. 
 That watched the centuries, cry as if in pain. 
 Uprooted like a bulnish. Hark ! a gun 
 Speaks in the tumult. Let us to the door, 
 And watch the flash upon the heaving sea. 
 Second Boatman. A flash again ! If my discernment 
 
 serves. 
 It must be near the jutting Manacles, 
 Wliich all night long are watching for their prey. 
 Methinks I hear the shouting mariner. 
 Or was it the wild echoes of the mere ? 
 Another gim, and there the signal lights ! 
 Let's to the rescue : duty needs no guide. 
 
 [Exeunt Boatman. Enter Meena, leading her 
 daughter. 
 Meena. We have no home, my daughter, but the 
 
 heath 
 Where vapours haunt the marshes ; rain and storm 
 Vent their ill humour on us, and the cold 
 With wakeful harshness maketh life severe. 
 O, we had friends when siinshine was our lot. 
 And mirth and music, conversation bright. 
 Nod and hand-shaking; but when trouble came, 
 Stark want and ruin, by the demon drink, 
 Then fi-iendship's face was hidden, and cold eyes 
 Froze sheer into the spirit. I stood lone 
 Among my sex witli a great gulf between, 
 Wliich wider yawns with desperate doors of doom. 
 As my thin rags grow thinner where they hang. . 
 It grieves me, child, to mark thy pallid face. 
 Severely hast thou fasted, tiU thy life 
 Seemed swinging by a hair ; then the sun shone. 
 And the crushed lily raUied. Mine own woes 
 Ai-e hmping dwarfs, nor worthy to be named. 
 And dwindle into straws, whilst thine are trunks 
 Whose girth might shield a lion. Watched I long 
 And saw thee sinking with a dearth of bread, 
 And heard thy sorrow while rehef's high gates 
 Were barred up by thy father, and dark waves 
 From whose cold chambei-s issued wailing words 
 Went washing through my dwelling. How I sighed 
 None but Jehovah and the angels know. 
 And then came food fiom whence I cannot tell, 
 But it was Heaven who sent it. Yet he drank. 
 And reeled from slope to slope still lower down. 
 Whirling with greater force, till the last plunge 
 Was most terrific, levelling every hope 
 And dashing it in anger to the ground. 
 Then my brain reeled, thick darkness veiled mine eyes : 
 A shadow lay before me. When I woke, 
 My home was gone and its endearments changed, 
 A heap of wasting ashes. A gi'eat sigh 
 Swelled to the clouds, and underneath the stars 
 We wandering went, thou whispering in mine ear, 
 "I'll go where mother goes, and starve with her ; " 
 Till the wide south grew angry, and htige clouds 
 Rose from the roaring waters ; darkness dropped 
 Upon tbe mountains, and along the rifts 
 Walked the wild thunder, — we were in the storm. 
 Thanks for the safety of this reedy shed 
 And a kind-hearted hostess ! 
 Cottage Woman. Let my hands 
 
 Be free to help a sister in distress. 
 And shield the daughter of calamity. 
 We all are drifting on a sea of change. 
 And know not where the tide may carry us. 
 Monarchs to-day in regal vestments clad 
 Are mendicants to-morrow, and the hall 
 Where music sits enamoured of itself, 
 And painting spreads the canvas, yields to cells 
 Where stone and plaster are the ornament. 
 Right welcome are you to abide the gale. 
 Which its own rage must shatter in the clouds. 
 As now I help, let timely aid return. 
 Meena. I have two storms which roar upon mo now 
 Like fields of icebergs, — one a ruined home. 
 And one the horror of this hurricane 
 Marching the earth in fury. On the sea 
 My boy may now be drifting, thrust with winds 
 And thunder-heavings. If 1 look above, 
 
 I
 
 THE SniPWRECKED YOUTH. 
 
 79 
 
 There is a black arch wliich I cannot pierce, 
 And on each side a ibarful wall of black, 
 And black beneath me. Once the sky Avas fair, 
 And bright stars journeyed with the watery moon, 
 And tjay flowers decked the landscape : now I stand, 
 Like some fond lover of the beautiful. 
 With lakes beneath, beyond the wavinj? pines, 
 liehind bluff tarns and peaks with sunset stained. 
 And in the distance barks and the blue sea, 
 And a high hymn of praise to gladden all. 
 I stand like one thus blest witli loveliness ; 
 And as I gaze the glory disappears, 
 And a waste wilderness, where monsters breed 
 And reptiles batten, quickly hems me in. 
 The children know me, strangers read my curse, 
 Neighboiu-s forsake, the wealthy wag their heads, 
 And gather in their garments as they pass 
 For fear of great pollution ; and the brutes 
 Which stand on theu' own level seem to feel 
 By wondrous instinct I'm the drunkard's wife. 
 Like one who toils through trial, treading on 
 And strugghng eve and morn until he rears 
 A dwelling by his birthplace, saying oft, 
 " Now I shall rest securely," but whose door 
 Is much besieged by callers whose free talk 
 So interrupts his quiet ; or hke him 
 Whose hand did aid his fellows, struck with ago 
 And withering siclcness, pushed aside and scorned 
 As if unworthy of the ground he trod ; 
 Or the poor wretch who labours for a fire, 
 And when it is enkindled, is thrust out, 
 And others feel the comfort of the flame : 
 Too faint these emblems are of woes Hke mine. 
 O, why do not the elements unite 
 In rage unwonted, and with one vast turn 
 Of the strong key which looses the dread bolt, 
 Unravel the great futm-e ? Better lie 
 In the still grave, watched by the loving moon ! 
 Cottage Woman. O what fierce arrows of blue scorch- 
 ing fire 
 Shoot through the heavens! The wild, crag-shaking war 
 Of thimder rises, roaring as it rolls 
 More stunning still the last ear-piercing peal. 
 Disaster's catalogue will swell to-night. 
 New widows mourn and orphans, and the sea 
 Entomb its sleepers without board or shroud. 
 Hear'st thou the minute gun ? Trim the night lamp 
 Which blazes in the window: it may be 
 A guide to some poor sailor. Now sit down 
 And take this cup of tea and slice of bread. 
 You both look famished. Never pai't with hope : 
 It is the spirit's anchor ; and a calm 
 Follows the storm and lulls the ruftled wave. 
 
 [Meena and her daughter eat. Enter the Storm 
 Spirits, singing in a circle. 
 
 From cloudy chariots we unchain 
 The noisy winds that march the main. 
 Uncurbed, unchecked, — away, away, — 
 They sweep the earth, they lift the S2)ray, 
 They hoist the sea with haughty swells 
 Around the mighty Manacles. 
 
 The stately vessel homeward bound. 
 Where wealth and absent friends are found, 
 Piich-fi'eighted from yon spicy shore. 
 Shall plough the emerald waves uo more. 
 
 Her keel shall bruise the hidden shells 
 That stud the mighty Manacles. 
 
 The maiden at their base shall sleep. 
 While mystic watch the mermaids keep ; 
 The ancient maiiner shall rest 
 With ocean-pearls upon his breast, 
 Where everlasting silence dwells, 
 Down by the mighty Manacles. 
 
 Here dirges rise from deep sea-caves, 
 
 And foam is ever on the waves. 
 
 In storm and calm, by day and night, 
 
 When boards are cleared, when fires are bright. 
 
 And roar the waves the rock repels, 
 
 "Beware the mighty Manacles." [Exeunt. 
 
 [Ee-cnter the Two Boatmkn, lead'mg a youth. 
 First Boatman. A splendid bark, with all her boards 
 
 unbulged 
 And not a stain upon her ! j'et she seemed 
 A very plaything on the angry deep. 
 Rocked like a fairy's cradle, till she fell 
 Plight in the rage of the stern Manacles, 
 Which gi-ound her to destruction. Sounds arose, 
 And muffled echoes which I dare not name. 
 And shi-ieks which rent the darlaiess ; then the x'oar 
 Of the great ocean overwhelmed the whole. 
 All hands were lost, except this ruddy youth. 
 Who bound himself to the disabled inast. 
 And, when the timbers parted, washed ashore. 
 We found him lying in the awful surge. 
 Cut the wet ropes, and set the prisoner free. 
 His eyes were closed, his locks were wet with brine. 
 Part of his clothing wrested from his limbs, 
 And a black bruise upon his shining brow. 
 With proper treatment he was soon restored, 
 And we have brought him hither. 
 Meena {aside). Do I dream. 
 
 Or gaze I on a vision ? This fair youth. 
 Sea-washed, sea-smitten, sm-ely is my son ! 
 He has his eyes, his hair, his smiling mouth. 
 His graceful bearing, and his look of truth. 
 His speech will soon convince me. Passions strange 
 Light up their fires, and heat me at the blaze, 
 And such a shaking overtakes my limbs 
 As I have never witnessed. See, his lips ' 
 Tremble to speak ! I wait to catch the word. 
 Youth. I thank you, friends, for these your deeds of love. 
 I have a mother somewhere on this moor. 
 Bruised with an early sorrow, whose kind cj^es 
 And gentle words have followed in my steps ; 
 And, looking homeward, I have seen her tears. 
 I left a sister, too ; a staggermg su'e. 
 Draining the cup of wrong, whose hquid light 
 Dazzled the halo of our holy home. 
 And piled around it hills of horrid gloom. 
 His anger fell upon me hke a rock. 
 Crushing and grinding ; and when I came forth 
 With hideous scars and bruises, I was forced 
 To leave the maiden whoin my soul adored. 
 And face the cold world and its fi'eezing frown, — 
 This at my father's bidding. I took ship. 
 And on the deck beheld the hills recede. 
 The play-paths of my childhood, and through tears 
 The cot where roses hung and Erno dwelt. 
 O how I mourned the maiden ! Day and night.
 
 80 
 
 A TALE OF THE MANACLES. 
 
 In sun and rain, my heart was sad for her ; 
 And every wave which washed the vessel's side 
 "Would mnrmnr, " Erno ! " I have suffered thirst, 
 Cold, nakedness, and hunt^er : savage men 
 Have been my rude companions, and my feet 
 Bled with excessive travel. Once a bear, 
 Warm fi-om his bolster, iiished forth for a meal, 
 And I escaped him favom-ed by a tree. 
 In tliis great storm oui* ship was overwhelmed ; 
 But more I need not mention. Know you now 
 If my dear mother lives, and Erno too. 
 My sister and my father '? 
 
 Meena {rushing into his ai-77is). Precious boy, 
 Behold thy lo^■ing mother ! Let this kiss 
 
 [She Jcisses him. 
 Suffice for thee that tenderness like mine 
 Is not extinguished by the winter winds 
 Or frosts of dark December. Frowns may drop 
 Like two-edged swords upon a mother's soul. 
 Lean-featured Want confront her on the way. 
 The cry of hunger murmur through her house. 
 The night of separation fill the void, 
 And those she bore neglect her, — but her love 
 Onthves the fire, the flood, the fever's touch. 
 The flight of days, the changing hues of years, 
 The blast of desolation, and siUTives 
 The roughest rigom- and the keenest care. 
 
 ScEN'E — A narrotu valley. Time — Evening. Enter 
 limo and Erno. 
 
 Bido. Does not this moimdofmorsw'th ferns o'erhead, 
 
 And at our feet the river, seem a shrine 
 
 AVhere lovers worship when, the moon is young ? 
 
 List to the waters ! "\Miat a low sweet hymn 
 
 They mm-miu- forth upon the ear of Eve ! 
 
 I never heard the wavelets washing so. 
 
 Methinks the reeds are harpers, and the flowers 
 
 Upon its margin throng with tuneful elves. 
 
 It is thy presence, Emo ! all the earth 
 
 Is music where thou walkest, and thy steps 
 
 Are pretty poems musical as May. 
 
 Tlie sorrows of my Hfe, my wi'ong, my woe, 
 
 !My parting straggle, my distress and fear. 
 
 Hardship and hunger, bonds, imprisonment. 
 
 Stripes, shipwi-eck, travel, — all appear as nought. 
 
 Light as the seed-down wafted by the wind. 
 
 Now thou art with me. O ! thy precious smile 
 
 Uplifts me hke the morning, and the light 
 
 Of thy dear eyes imparteth second life. 
 
 Bend on me now another tender gaze. 
 
 Like those bestowed by angels. Seas of bliss 
 
 Smile in the distance, on whose silver tide 
 
 Sail ships of merchandise and vessels fair, 
 
 From climes where blaze the topaz ; on tlicir shores 
 
 i\xe trees of orange, grape, and cinnamon, 
 
 \\liere birds of eveiy colom* flutter free. 
 
 And rich fruits ripen for us. In om- bark 
 
 AVe'U float among the islets where the rose 
 
 I)ips in the crystal water, and the world 
 
 \Vith lovely Emo shall be Paradise ! 
 
 Such tenderness doth now abide with me, 
 
 'Tis Paradise already, and the sky 
 
 And earth and ocean burn witli hues Divine. 
 
 Come, love, a httle nearer. One kiss more. 
 
 One golilet of pure nectar, and we leave 
 
 This holy place where chei-ubim abide. 
 
 And ere another moon shall gild with light 
 
 The ivy of the chapel, we shall be 
 
 One in our joys and sorrows. 
 
 Erno. It is sweet 
 
 To hear the falling waters, and afar 
 
 The mminuv of the forest, the rich song 
 
 From yonder cottage window, where a gM 
 
 Sings at her sewing ; but my Eido's voice 
 
 Is more delicious, far more exquisite : 
 
 Nor find I on the teeming earth around 
 
 The faintest shadow of simihtude. 
 
 I revel in the future, which spreads out 
 
 In lawn and shining laurel. Let it be 
 
 As Eido willeth ! [Singing in the distance. 
 
 How many homes in every land 
 Made sacred by the household band, 
 "WTiere prayer arose when night had fled 
 And friendship's smile was hourly shed. 
 Have had their altars overthrown 
 By darkly, deadly diink alone ! 
 
 How many wives in England dear 
 
 For ever shed the bitter tear. 
 
 On whom the winds and rains have power 
 
 In scanty clothing hour by horn*. 
 
 Whose hopes and hearths are overthrown 
 
 By darkly, deadly drink alone ! 
 
 ^ How many damsels bright and fair. 
 With flashing eyes and flowing hair, 
 A brother's pride, a mother's stay, 
 A father's prop when hairs are grey. 
 Now sleep beneath the clnurchyard stone 
 By darkly, deadly drink alone ! 
 
 Then let us aid as best we may 
 
 To lift tliis cruel cui-se away. 
 
 The source of untold wrongs and cares. 
 
 The darkest blot which England bears, — 
 
 To such unkind proportions gi'own, — 
 
 The darkly, deadly drink alone ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — Farmhoiise in an orchard. Time — Noon. 
 Enter Eido, Erno, Meena, her Daughter aiid 
 Husband. 
 
 Meena s Husband. Bright and blessed time ! 
 
 I need not tell you that my happiness 
 
 Is only now completed. I have been 
 
 Like some lone traveller floundering through a marsh, 
 
 iVnd every plunge, drawn by the iviU-o'-the-wisj), 
 
 Increased my blindness. Dawn at last appeared. 
 
 And then day broke along the splendid skies ; 
 
 The green trees clapped then- hands; and from the reeds 
 
 Tlie rills sent up an anthem. I beheld 
 
 The glowing landscape, and rejoiced to feel 
 
 The healing breezes. 0, what music rose 
 
 From valleys new-created, where the dews 
 
 Of morning glittered on a thousand flowers ! 
 
 Bright bu'ds of beauty flashed along the lakes. 
 
 And winged the woody moimtains. The strong chain 
 
 I forged myself with liquid links of fire. 
 
 And wrapped so tightly round mc, was rent off 
 
 And hurled into tlie darkness. I went forth 
 
 Without my shackles. The Almighty King 
 
 Has sent His angel, and the lion's mouth 
 
 I
 
 THE COMING CALM. 
 
 81 
 
 Is closet! on me for ever. My dear wife, 
 
 So cruslied witli care and watchinp;, now revives 
 
 In social sunshine, kindled by our love. 
 
 Unnumbered blcssintrs on her ! When the waves 
 
 Of bitter waters rolled her hopes away, 
 
 A.nd she sat cold and huugi-y, shedding tears 
 
 As salt as sin can mingle ; when the heavens 
 
 Were brass above her, and the earth was ice, 
 
 And I drank on in spite of fearful dreams 
 
 And shrieks and visions ; her affection burned 
 
 As steadily as starlight. Words of scorn 
 
 And bitter menace, rough as raging fire 
 
 And rude as thunder, could not quench the flame 
 
 Or thrust the idol from its saintly throne. 
 
 She watched for me when night-newts were abroad. 
 
 And phantoms throng the moorlands, when the bats 
 
 Float by old ruins, and the churchyard gates 
 
 Creak in the silence, and bold chanticleer 
 
 Proclaims the day-streak. Yes, she watched for mo 
 
 With tears upon the furrows of her face. 
 
 And hunger in her bosom. Then her love 
 
 Won me to deep repentance. I stole forth. 
 
 And kissed her brow, and bade her hope and live. 
 
 She smiled as angels do, and I shed tears. 
 
 And lifted up a cry to the great God 
 
 For help iia time of need ; and sue :'Our came. 
 
 Thou knowest this, my Meena. Like a plant, 
 
 Long trodden in the mire, now lifted up 
 
 And cherished and restored, so dost thou raise 
 
 Thy gladdened eyelids to another morn. 
 
 Meena has saved me with the power of love. 
 
 How beautiful along this fallen world 
 
 Stands lovely woman, perfect in herself ! 
 
 Her footsteps leave a sweetness where they pass. 
 
 And cheer the desert like the gentle rain. 
 
 Refreshing man with visions of the skies. 
 
 Without her earth would have small trace of heaven. 
 
 Eido. The trees which bend above us seem to bear 
 
 xV record of our pleasure, and the birds 
 
 Are full of grateful welcomes. For my part, 
 
 I feel like one siu'prised with siidden calm 
 
 After a night of tempest most intense. 
 
 Erno makes May, and May is beautiful. 
 A thousand blessings on that lioly man. 
 Who, in the chapel by the torrent's track. 
 Twined the white bonds about ns, love-impelled, 
 To be unravelled with the hand of death. 
 Meena. My husband gives to you these fruitful lands, 
 Orchards, and tenements, — an uncle's gift, 
 Bequeathed by will : enjoy them and live long. 
 We have enough to last life's passage out, 
 And satisfy the sexton. Darkness reigns 
 Throughout the night, but at the morning's dawa 
 Joy floateth on the sunbeams. 
 
 [Singing in the distance. 
 
 The wells are clear, the rivers free, 
 A glory hangs upon the sea ; 
 A mystery fills the shady wood. 
 Expands the flower, unfolds the bud, 
 By lonely cave or fountain's brink : 
 But earth is darkened by the drink. 
 
 The heavens receive a solemn strain 
 From waste and water, mount and main ; 
 And notes of sweetness float along 
 Where hamlets chant their vesper-song. 
 And sparrows 'neath the tliatch-roof clink : 
 But earth is darkened by the drink. 
 
 The seasons speak by moor and mead. 
 
 That he who runs may ever read ; 
 
 Their voices rise in holy lays. 
 
 However long or short the days. 
 
 When skies are black or luoonbeams blink : 
 
 But earth is darkened by the diink. 
 
 Yet comes the time when love shall reign 
 • From vale to vale, from plain to plain ; 
 When sti'ife and hate shall be o'erthrown, 
 And peace extend from zone to zone, 
 When truth shall conquer link by Hnk, 
 Nor earth be darkened by the drink. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 THE LAND'S END, 
 
 PART I 
 
 there are 
 the Past, 
 rise from old 
 solitudes. 
 
 And sound along the crowded courts of 
 
 men. 
 They flow among the roses of the spring. 
 
 On the stream's wavelets, in the wooing winds, 
 And mid the fresh drops of the vernal shower. 
 They ride upon the coursers of the storm. 
 Wail round the ruins of the lonely shed, 
 voices, echoes of ; And mm-mur by the cold forsaken hearth. 
 They float upon the billows of the deep, 
 Or howl among the breakers near to laud : 
 They tremble m the flowing forest-odes. 
 And sing beneath the hamlet's spreading trees. 
 When morn is breaking, or the early Eve 
 Calls home the swallow 'neath her dusky robe ; 
 
 Earth's silent 
 
 ji
 
 THE LAND'S END. 
 
 Or -u-hen old Ni.^lit is -n-alking with the stars. 
 The earth is full of utterances sublime. 
 
 For me the rocks have lauguage, ancT I've thought, 
 
 "^'iieu gazing on those lichened chroniclers, 
 
 So stony-still, hke giants clad in mail, 
 
 And slumbering on in awful th-eamiuess, 
 
 Of wondrous things that wallv below the moon, 
 
 And feed on niglit-winds by the coppice-cave, 
 
 Or drink the dew fi'om woven cups of moss, 
 
 Or dance upon the gilded Uly leaves, 
 
 Or swing within the chalice of the flowers. 
 
 And ghde around with golden imagery. 
 
 Nor gaze I on those hoary sentinels, — 
 
 By iield or fell, by castle or by cliff. 
 
 Lone in the waste, or by the village stream, 
 
 Or piled in dreadful heaps, ci'ag over crag, 
 
 Like those around the wondrous Loggan Kock, 
 
 Bare in the sunhght, dimly scanned at eve, 
 
 Tissued with moonbeams, garnished with the stars. 
 
 Or fi-owning 'neath the sable weeds of night, — 
 
 But tones of olden times come back again, 
 
 "With dreams of song and visions of romance. 
 
 I walked the stonn- swept, boulder-bound Land's End, 
 
 And mused within its sea-washed galleries, 
 
 "Whose granite arches mock the rage of Time. 
 
 I revelled in the mysteiy of its shades, 
 
 And my soul soared up on the wings of song. 
 
 I treasm'ed up the lore the sea-gulls taught, 
 
 "^Vhich in white clouds were cooing to the breeze. 
 
 I quaflfed the music of this granite grove. 
 
 And read rade cantoes in the book of crags, 
 
 "When morn was breaking, and the light-house seemed 
 
 An angel in the waters, and the rocks 
 
 Eang to the music of a thousand throats. 
 
 I looked upon it as an awful poem, 
 
 "V\'rit with the fingers of the Deity, 
 
 "\Miilst the proud billows of the mighty deep 
 
 Kolled on their crests the awful name of God. 
 
 Who told thee that the scenes of other lands 
 "Were far more beautiful than aught in mine ? 
 "\Mio told thee that the soothing sounds of song 
 Fell on the ear from classic fields afar 
 More musical than down om* thymy braes ? 
 "Who told thee that the Alps and Apennines 
 Had more of wildness in their very names 
 Than all the wonders of our Cornish coast ? 
 Ilamble among our valleys, climb our hills. 
 Gaze on our bulwarks red at setting sun, 
 Mai'k well our baj-s strewn with the whitest sand. 
 Muse on our moors, and wonder in om* mines ; 
 Linger among our ivy-covered walls; 
 List the sweet breezes playing tlirough the ferns. 
 Where sings the robin, and o'erhead tlie lark ; 
 Stand b}' oui* castles and our monuments. 
 Our towns and hamlets and religious fanes ; 
 And look upon tlie dark-green rocks that he 
 Beneath the Atlantic surges, or on those 
 That tower on high in awful craggj' peaks. 
 Boiling eternal diapasons wild 
 To the great billows' bass ; and when within 
 The pillared grotto of the famed Land's End, 
 Bethink thee of the scenes of otlier shores. 
 And let thj- heart be friendly to mine own. 
 
 Oft in my sleep I've trod the land of dreams. 
 
 And worshipped mid its still sublimity. 
 
 I've climbed the back of some dark jagged cloud, 
 
 Kolling througli chaos ; and methought I've heard 
 
 The breathing spirit of infinity. 
 
 I've wandered by clear streamlets far away. 
 
 Which seemed moi-e musical than aught of earth ; 
 
 I've travelled valleys starred with radiant flowers. 
 
 And wept upon my silent harp for joy ; 
 
 I've scaled black mountains where the huge rocks rose 
 
 In grim array, a ghostly multitude. 
 
 Lifting their rough heads to the icy moon, 
 
 And shivering there in silent majesty ; 
 
 And I have walked among them joyously, 
 
 Feasting my spirit on their visioned forms, 
 
 And then, awaking, wondered 'twas a dream. 
 
 But when I found me on the rough Land's End, 
 
 Conning the numbers which the winds and waves 
 
 Had channelled on its pillars, not a dream 
 
 But seemed outrivalled by this craggy host. 
 
 Time plucks the coronet from kingly brows. 
 
 And scathes the laurel in the wreath of fame ; 
 
 The glory of man's greatest work departs, 
 
 And o'er it drops the drapery of decay. 
 
 The hero, and the hero's blazoned deeds, 
 
 Though carved in marble, drizzled o'er with blood, 
 
 From memory fade, and shrink into the dark. 
 
 The fancj'-palace built up by the bard 
 
 With its own echoes breaks and disappears ; 
 
 But those eternal everlasting rocks 
 
 Sing the same cadence to the solemn sea. 
 
 And stand up strangely in their bright shell-cloaks. 
 
 With their great Maker's name upon their tongues. 
 
 As when King Arthur to the midnight marsh 
 
 Eesigned his diamond-girt Excalibar. 
 
 The morn is breaking, and the dayhght flows 
 
 Among those bearded bards, and from the sea 
 
 A freshness and a melody uprise 
 
 Which seem to tremble from another sphere. 
 
 A pretty boy is playing by the peak, 
 
 A rosy little fellow, and the lark 
 
 Is wooing liim to imitate his song. 
 
 He whistles wildly to the poet-bird 
 
 With eyes uplifted, while his flaxen locks. 
 
 Sparkling with dew-drops, stream upon the breeze. 
 
 He has no brother, and his sister fell. 
 
 When putting forth her earliest leaflets green. 
 
 Beneath the sickle of the woi-ld's great foe. 
 
 Thus sisterless and brotherless he plays 
 
 Upon the down, deeming the wondrous earth 
 
 A glowing garden of unplucked delight. 
 
 Sometimes he sits upon the mossy mounds 
 That fill our moors like hillocks o'er our chiefs, 
 Weaving the rusliea into httle boats, 
 In imitation of the fisher's craft. 
 Straining his eyeballs o'er the rolling sea, 
 And wondering where the bounding billows rise, 
 And why tliey lash the cliffs for evermore. 
 And why tlie ships come sailing every day. 
 And where they swim to on that great blue pool ; 
 And if the moon's home is upon the waves. 
 Or if the red sun on his evening car 
 Goes down into the brine deptlis fathomless, 
 To rise again on t' otlier side the world:
 
 THE MOORLAND BOY. 
 
 83 
 
 • And when the wild winds howl among the rocks, 
 And the sea-foam is hurriod o'er his head, 
 And sounds of sorrow fill the furious air, 
 Sporting among the muttering elements, 
 He seems to dally with the angry storm. 
 
 Thus lived the hoy, the scion of the liills, 
 
 A wanderer in this rocky wilderness ; 
 
 And there were hreathings which he sweetly heard 
 
 At morn, and noon, and softened cvening-timc ; 
 
 Mysterious throhbings of the outer world 
 
 To the young heart within. From flowers they came 
 
 That tipped the hedge-rows round his reedy lodge, 
 
 From hnipid runnels dinning down the cliffs. 
 
 From pebbles polished by the restless wave. 
 
 From birds and breezes mid the waving corn, 
 
 From rocks and rushes and the hollow reeds, 
 
 Or rising from the gorse-brakes wooingly : 
 
 And oft, when playing in the shell-paved rifts, 
 
 These mystic monitors addressed his soul. 
 
 In a low hut among luxuriant ferns. 
 
 Where heath is plentiful and rocks abound, 
 
 Near a deep bay not far from the Land's End, 
 
 Dwelt the fond parents of tliis lonely lad. 
 
 His father was a famous fisherman, 
 
 And knew the secrets of the finny tribe. 
 
 His mother carolled at her spinning-wheel, 
 
 Turning the hour-glass with its drifting sands. 
 
 She kissed the forehead of her little one. 
 
 And bade him cheerfully to go and play. 
 
 He rode their i^ony o'er the prickly down. 
 
 And gathered grasses for him by the spring ; 
 
 And father praised the boldness of his boy. 
 
 But words of admonition or reproof 
 
 Were never uttered in that youngUng's ear. 
 
 And soon he wandered from his native hearth. 
 
 And as we journej'ed from the Loggan Rock 
 
 Away, away towards the famed Land's End, 
 
 Up hill and down hill, through the muddy moors, 
 
 And over heath-crofts, 'gainst a driving mist 
 
 Which wrapped the mountains in a dropi)iug shi'oud. 
 
 Stopping the harvester amid his sheaves. 
 
 And hiding Natm-e's wonders from our ken ; 
 
 Two weary worn pedestrians, pilgrim-aimed; 
 
 We glanced among the noisj' peasant-lads, 
 
 Thinldng he once had played in these old lanes, 
 
 And rode his pony o'er those misty mounds. 
 
 The crooked hedges, as we passed along. 
 
 Seemed full of tongues as well as searching eyes ; 
 
 And murmm-s straggled from the ferny brakes. 
 
 From brambled dykes and rippling i-ushy pools, 
 
 And clambered over ruins ivy-clad. 
 
 And rose from plants upon the ancient stones, 
 
 And rolled along the highway of the waves, 
 
 And wallved tlie chambers of the simimer air. 
 
 In a lone vale, a few miles to the south, 
 
 An old tin-streamer dwelt, who long had been 
 
 The hoary oracle of all the hinds. 
 
 The dells he ransacked for the precious ore, 
 
 Delving and digging with huge might and main. 
 
 Large boots he wore when standing in the stream. 
 
 Washing the dirt, to find the poUshed grain ; 
 
 Boots reaching to his knee, with wooden taps, 
 
 And upper leather almost bullet-proof : 
 
 And when the clouds were heavy, and thick showers 
 
 M 
 
 Pattered upon the pooIe, lie shelter found 
 
 Within his peat-shed by the reedy dyke. 
 
 Covered with rushes chopped up by his spade. * 
 
 A httle girl lived with him, like a flower 
 
 Among the rough rocks of this western wild. 
 
 Tradition says, he found her by the sea. 
 
 And reared her u]) to cheer his lonely life : 
 
 For he no mother had, or wife, or babe ; 
 
 And so she called him father, which he loved. 
 
 She brought his dinner to him at the stream. 
 
 And sat down with him in his nishy hut. 
 
 While he devoured it with an eager zest. 
 
 Giving a portion to the little one. 
 
 She climbed upon his knees, smoothed his thin locks. 
 
 And kissed him as she left him at his work ; 
 
 And when the shades of evening gathered round, 
 
 And the red sun seemed sinking in the sea. 
 
 Before the redbreast crept into the bush. 
 
 She ran to meet and lead him to his home. 
 
 The boy, all brightness, plaj'ing on the down, 
 When life was budding, left his fatlier's roof, 
 And found a home within the streamer's shed. 
 He ate his brown loaf off the old man's board. 
 And drank the milk his speckled goats supplied. 
 He slept upon the ground-floor of his cot, — 
 The only floor that hollow dwelling had, — 
 And dreamt till morning brought him to his meal. 
 He laboured with the old man at the stream. 
 And chatted to him at his honest work : 
 He jogged home with him at the close of day. 
 And seemed to love him ixiuch more than his su-e : 
 And when at evening in the chimney-nook. 
 The huge old chimney full of smouldering peat, 
 Whilst the old man was smoking di'eamily, 
 He glanced into the pretty maiden's eyes, 
 As if he saw a thousand wonders there. 
 
 Sometimes they stole into the silent earn, 
 Mid mossy hedges and low banks of thyme. 
 To gather whortle-berries fi-om the brake : — 
 Not altogether for the fi'uitage sweet. 
 Sometimes they wandered by the limpid stream, 
 Wliile she in beautiful simplicity 
 Sang to the waters that went singing by : — 
 Not altogether that the waves might hear. 
 Sometimes they chatted in the lowly dell. 
 What time the cuckoo sang his wandering song, 
 Pulhng the blue-bells wet with eA'ening dew : — 
 Not altogether for then- love of flowers. 
 Sometimes they sat upon a rising knoll, 
 Where the wood-sorrel blinks among the ferns, 
 Watcliing the sunbeams stream upon the earth, 
 Themselves as beautiful as rays at dawn. 
 Thus they grew up together year by year. 
 As much in love as blossoms and the hght. 
 
 It cheers the soul, when angiy stoi-ms are gone, 
 
 To breathe the quiet of the soothing calm: 
 
 It fiUs the mind with high poetic glow 
 
 To press the foot-marks of earth's gifted ones : 
 
 It gives the flow of thought a keener zest 
 
 To hear the trickling waters after rain : 
 
 It adds a beauty to the beautiful. 
 
 When eyes' of love are mingling with our own : 
 
 It warms the spirit's innermost recess 
 
 To view the picture-halls of snowj^ eld : 
 
 2
 
 84 
 
 THE LAND'S END. 
 
 It stii-s the deepest fountains of the soul 
 
 To lisUthe rolling echoes of the past. 
 
 So thought I in this rocky citadel, 
 
 Stretched on the moss in morning's early light, 
 
 "While round me th ronged a thousand mysteries. 
 
 I musing lay amid the marvellous, 
 
 ^Vhile the blue breakers bounded at my feet, 
 
 A nd the wild sea-birds screamed to me of wreck 
 
 And sad disaster by the Lady's Rock, 
 
 And fearful drownings in those ghostly rents. 
 
 O, if old Johnson's Head had but a tongue, 
 
 What chapters would it chatter, till the flowers 
 
 Wept at December's dismal tragedies ! 
 
 I lay among the golden buds and bells 
 
 And meads of camomile and fragrant song, 
 
 When morning breezes chimed their instruments, 
 
 And larks were singing at the gates of dawn ; 
 
 And down upon this host of stony bards 
 
 A gentle breatlxing fell, a soothing cahn, 
 
 Which seemed to flow into my inner soul. 
 
 Then Fancy led me past those hoary kings 
 
 To my low cottage by the streamlet's rim, 
 
 Where oft the Muses deign to visit me, 
 
 And oft the song of thankfulness is heard ; 
 
 And other rocks and other rills uprose, 
 
 And other scenes came crowding on my brain. 
 
 The bower I love, the paths across the peak, 
 
 The streams all fringed with boyhood's fairest gems, 
 
 The meads that slope adown my mountain's side, 
 
 The rugged niins on its fm-rowy crest. 
 
 The fi-iends that winter with me on the moor. 
 
 The few choice books that stand upon my shelves. 
 
 The mine whose caverns mock my smothered groans. 
 
 And, in the churchyard by the ivied wall. 
 
 The small green gi-ave of my beloved one, — 
 
 All marshalled round me musing on the moss ; 
 
 And. as my tears fell on those craggy leaves, 
 
 I started up to travel on my way. 
 
 My heart is wounded, and it will not heal : 
 
 I pray not that it should ; no, let it bleed. 
 
 The world is cruel ; there's relief in tears ; 
 
 I pour them out upon the far Land's End. 
 
 Methought a spii-it winged and glistering 
 
 In Eden vesture sat upon the rocks. 
 
 And cried, " All flesh is grass, and like the flower 
 
 So fade awaj- the beautiful of earth. 
 
 All flesh is gi-ass. The prophets, where are they ? 
 
 And where the fathers of an ancient age ? 
 
 Ay, where the travellers of the mighty past. 
 
 Who roamed among those fearful trampeters, 
 
 And drank the echoes of this mammoth choir ? 
 
 Gone hke the exhalations from the fen ! 
 
 The tiiily wise obey their Maker's voice, 
 
 And love the Being that created them. 
 
 They arm themselves to meet the fleshless foe, 
 
 Ere he overtake them mid the damps of time. 
 
 All flesh is grass." And the Atlantic waves 
 
 Thundered the spirit's dirge, " All flesh is gi-ass." 
 
 ^:3^ 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 MlJ'aunt of the sea-bu-d, city of the crag, 
 ^J^x Kingdom of granite, gallery of the Muse, 
 ®ij jPoem of wonders, page for poet's eye,- — 
 Storm-brewing chamber, whence the winds are loosed 
 That crack and tumble through the universe, — 
 Nature's great organ-hall, where blasts of song 
 Shiver among her mossy-mantled priests. 
 And swell across the mountains and the vales. 
 Thundering at storm-time, murmurmg in the calm, 
 Flowing at day-dawn, rumbling through the dark, 
 And crashing mid the music of the main. 
 Stirring the soul's depths like a lofty psalm, 
 When standing here with Kature and with God ! 
 How thy full chorus lifts the wanderer ! 
 
 The Cornish streamer was a rare old man : 
 Strange stories by the firehght he would tell. 
 When angry winds went roaring round the rocks, 
 And not a star looked down upon the snow. 
 His audience were the petted girl and boy, 
 And on the oak-stock's end the favom-ite cat. 
 Strange stories bordering on the marvellous : — 
 How once these valleys were brim-full of tin, 
 Before King Solomon's great fane was built. 
 When Jews did smelt within those cvu'ious coves ; 
 And oft a streamer's fortime had been made 
 By stumbling on a Jews'-house wonderful ; 
 Of giants living in those mighty rocks, 
 With heaps of pearl and waggon-loads of gold ; 
 Of shining creatures coming froni the sea, 
 And maldug poor men richer far than kings ; 
 Of horses running swifter than the winds. 
 And bearing fury comets on their backs ; 
 Of httle pixies, wearing small red cloaks, 
 And nightly riding timid wights to death ; 
 Of wizards changing brands to silver bars ; 
 Of fiery dragons rolling through the air. 
 Uprising from old Cornwall's copper-caves ; 
 And one dark evening, when the winds were high. 
 And the fierce lightnings hissed across his shed, 
 And thunder rumbled up the steep Land's End, 
 He filled his pipe and told these cheerful tales : — 
 
 " I knew an old man living in a cave : 
 
 White locks had he, white as the vnnter snow; 
 
 And he was washed here on a vessel's wreck; 
 
 He told of countries where gold nuggets lay 
 
 As thick as pebbles roll upon our beach ; 
 
 Of towering trees, whence honey sweetly gushed ; 
 
 Of forests with the fragrant cedar filled. 
 
 Where birds of every colour sat and sang ; 
 
 Of boats, whose rowers handled golden oars, 
 
 And played on instruments of orient dye ; 
 
 Of strange men strutting round in silver boots, 
 
 And wearing silver caps upon their heads ; 
 
 Of little ponies drawing silver ploughs, 
 
 And lazy labom-ers plying silver spades ; 
 
 Of ladies clad in robes of glittering gold. 
 
 And bearing A'essels studded o'er with gems. 
 
 And once I saw him with a golden wedge 
 
 A dark chief gave him in this fabled isle. 
 
 And as he came, so passed this hoary man : 
 
 One wild November night he sailed away
 
 THE DAMSEL'S DEE AM. 
 
 85 
 
 Upon a portion of a Btranded ship. 
 
 I've heard my p^ranny, older tliau the pines, 
 
 In hnen cap, and liooded cloak of red. 
 
 When cowering o'er the smouldering brands of wrecks, 
 
 Say, how into the west a wizard came, 
 
 And told the miller's man a silver tongue 
 
 Was hidden by a hawthorn in the vale ; 
 
 And if he travelled there at dead of night, 
 
 Nor spake one word to any whom he tnet. 
 
 And dug the earth up with his fingers' ends, 
 
 He'd find this strange thing 'neath the prickly tree. 
 
 He went and dug, and found no silver tongue, 
 
 But heaps of gold, and chests of glittering coin." 
 
 That night the bright boy slept not ; through his brain 
 
 A thousand thoughts were wandering, and his soul 
 
 Drank from the founts which stole o'er golden sands. 
 
 So when the light of morning clothed the hills, 
 
 And thatcher whistled on the reedy eaves. 
 
 And CoUn carolled in the clover meads, 
 
 What time the sparrow shook him from his rest, 
 
 Awakened by the mower's rustling scythe. 
 
 He started up, and bade adieu to all. 
 
 But as he hasted down the rocky road 
 
 Which slid into the valley awkwardly. 
 
 He looked behind him, and the maiden ran 
 
 To pour the streamer's blessing on his head. 
 
 And shake hands with him by the violet-bank. 
 
 She said, " When absent, shall I be forgot ? " 
 
 And Edwin wiped his eyes, and murmured, " No." 
 
 Within the gold dells of a fabled chme 
 
 The young man wrought and prospered. Year by year, 
 
 He added something to his little store, 
 
 AVith which he hoped to cheer the loving maid. 
 
 He heard her voice among the giant trees, 
 
 And saw her image in the crj-stal lakes. 
 
 The unknown flowers, with dew upon their lids, 
 
 All spake of her, and told him of her love : 
 
 The gorgeous bii'ds that sang upon the boughs 
 
 Made the hills ring with her beloved name : 
 
 The rivers rolled it to the wandering winds, 
 
 Which trilled it back upon his eager ear : 
 
 It sighed among the thickets, and it sobbed 
 
 In the sweet murmiu's of the si;mmer eve. 
 
 So, after years of absence which had made 
 
 His love the stronger, gathering up his all. 
 
 He stepped into a vessel far away. 
 
 And turned his face towards his dear Land's End. 
 
 The sky is blue, the earth is beautiful, 
 
 A gentle gale flows sweetly from the shore, 
 
 And, though November, 'tis a quiet time. 
 
 A ship comes uj) the Channel ; all her sails 
 
 Are filled with wind and spread before the breeze ; 
 
 The sailors idly lounge u]3on the deck. 
 
 And carol songs of risuig fatherland. 
 
 But in the black rifts of that wandering cloud 
 
 The spirits of the angry elements 
 
 Ai'e brewing mischief in their airy caves. 
 
 Another hour, and all things wear a change. 
 
 The gulls are flying shorewards, and the leaves 
 
 Are flapping on the branches. The wild winds 
 
 Now wrestled fiercely with a strife insane. 
 
 The huge black billows bounded o'er the rocks, 
 
 Until the Light-House seemed a hill of foam. 
 
 The sea-bii-ds screamed ; the pitchy night came on ; 
 
 The ship heaved in the waters awfully ; 
 
 A sea stove in her starboard, and away 
 
 Went binnacle and compass in the deep. 
 
 The captain shrieked in agony of soul, 
 
 " Lost, lost ! " and the wild stonn howled, "Lost ! " 
 
 Great consternation fell on all the crew ; 
 
 And when consulting whither they should steer, 
 
 The life-blood curdled in their freezing veins 
 
 To hear those awful words, " Breakers a-head ! " 
 
 And the next moment she was on a rock. 
 
 The sea beat over her with furious howl ; 
 
 Her masts went one by one, her bowsprit split, 
 
 Her rudder was rent off, and the wild waves 
 
 Rushed through her bottom with terrific roar ; 
 
 Despair seized all ; the sailors were confused. 
 
 And to the rigging clung the passengers. 
 
 A wild shriek rose, — the vessel split in two, 
 
 And hills of foam rolled o'er the Indiaman. 
 
 How rapid are the changes of the earth ! 
 
 How fall tlie mighty, and how sink the brave ! 
 
 Death still devom's his millions at a meal. 
 
 On sea and land, above ground and below. 
 
 With stealthy step he strides along even here. 
 
 And reaps his harvests mid those granite hills. 
 
 The flight of years, the withering blasts of time. 
 
 Have acted on the dwellers of those cliffs. 
 
 And left them mouldering on their huri-ied march, 
 
 Or changed from boyhood into manhood's form. 
 
 While those huge heaps still wear the vest of youth. 
 
 The story-teUiug streamer is no more : 
 
 The little girl he picked up on the sands 
 
 Is gi-own to womanhood, and lives among 
 
 The healthy farmers of those western wilds; 
 
 And on the evening of that stormy night 
 
 Which made the sea so fretful, she had climbed 
 
 A heathy hillock, gazing on the ship. 
 
 And wondering if the boy of other days. 
 
 Whose image she has worn within her heart, 
 
 Was coming back to bless her with his love. 
 
 " Why art thou lingering thus, my loving one ? 
 
 How long I've waited for thee ! Spring has passed. 
 
 And other springs have put forth other leaves, 
 
 And summer after summer taken flight ; / 
 
 But still thou comest not. I had plucked for thee 
 
 A bunch of violets from our parting-bank ; 
 
 But they have long since withered. Come away ! 
 
 My eyes are dim with watching for my love. 
 
 And day and night I feed upon his name. 
 
 My couch is wet with weeping, and the earth 
 
 Is cloaked with shadows, flying in his light. 
 
 O, is he in that ship ? If it were so. 
 
 How quickly would mj' feet be on the foam ! 
 
 " Last night I di'eamt we wandered on a hill. 
 To take our farewell of the setting sun. 
 Which sank before us like a golden globe. 
 A lone thrush whistled on an aged thorn. 
 And by the fovmtain sang the village maids. 
 A pilgrim, leaning on his knotty staff. 
 Whose white locks floated in the evening breeze, 
 Carolled his vesjiers, moving o'er the marsh. 
 Methought my Edwin pressed my hand in his. 
 And kissed my cheek, — the dew is on it still, — 
 And gazed into the galleries of mine eyes 
 So tenderlj', so kind and lovinglj",
 
 86 
 
 THE LAND'S END. 
 
 That very qiiickly they were blind with tears. 
 And theti he talked to me of forei,t::u fields, 
 Of countries strange, of perils on the deep, 
 Of home, sweet home, among those mineral hills, 
 And futm-e hapjiiuess when we were one. 
 Methought his voice was like an angel's lyre. 
 But when the moon came snddcn on my sight, 
 Like a chaste vestal wandering on her way, 
 My loving Edwin vanished fi-om my side, 
 And I awoke, loud caUing on his name. 
 
 " How oft at sunset have my weary feet 
 
 Climbed up this nigged path ! How oft I've strained 
 
 My aching eyeballs o'er the glassy sea, 
 
 "Watching the ships that near mj^ native strand. 
 
 Another comes, with white saUs fully spi-ead ; 
 
 And is my Edwin gazing from the deck 
 
 Upon the rude hills of his rough birth-land ? 
 
 Thou gi-eat Builder of the universe, 
 The God, the Guide of all created things, 
 
 "UTio studded heaven with stars, the earth with flowers, 
 The sea with isles, its hidden caves with gems, 
 And filled the ah with music exquisite ! 
 
 1 worship on my knees among the dews ; 
 
 I lift my hands, my heart, my soul to Thee I 
 O spare the mariner, my Edwin spare. 
 And lead liim home to fatherland and me ! " 
 
 Yes, he was in that bark ; his eyes e'en then 
 Beheld the white cliffs of his own dear land, 
 "Whilst tears of thankfulness ran down his cheek. 
 Kind Providence had blessed him far away 
 "VN^ith gold and sUver and the choicest gems. 
 And home he carae to share it with his love. 
 Then Memorj- stood beside him on the deck, 
 And bade him look upon her gilded scroll, 
 The panorama of his early life, — 
 His first old home, the fisher's home of thatch, 
 His plaj'-morn on the common near the sea. 
 The tunes he whistled labouring at the stream. 
 Old stories heard here many years ago. 
 And, rising like an angel on his gaze, 
 The gh-1 he loved m darkness and in light. 
 'Twas on the eve of merry Hallowe'en, 
 "^1ien after long, long years the hills of home 
 Rose on the vision of the voyager. 
 Then Hope stood by him like a damsel fan*, 
 And di-ew the curtain of the futm-e back, 
 When dazzling images burst on his sight : 
 "Uliere he had played upon the echoing down, 
 A polished villa rose, with flowers and shrubs. 
 And lam-el walks, and sweet laburnum bowers. 
 Within a parlour, reading the good Book, 
 The western floweret sat, his life's bright star, 
 "With matron meekness shining in her face ; 
 \Miile round him danced his laughing httle ones. 
 But he was startled from his sunny trance 
 By howhng billows struggling with the storm, 
 The crash of shipwi-eck, and the shriek of dread. 
 
 The stout bark in the anger of the gale 
 Writhed like a hving thing, and then the winds 
 Twitched her in pieces with tremendous rage. 
 And hurled the fragments howling on the rocks. 
 Or drove them shivering high upon the heath. 
 Edwin is riding mid the seething waves, 
 
 Which ope their foamy mouths and moan for prey, 
 
 And snap the ringing crags : lo ! Edwin rides 
 
 Upon a portion of the wrenched mainmast, 
 
 "\Vliich dashed him fainting 'neath the cliff's high brow. 
 
 With mighty effort he climbed up the crags, 
 
 And sat above the beating of the sea 
 
 By the same hillock where at set of sun 
 
 The faithful maiden knelt and prayed for him 
 
 Who now, hah-dead, lay bruised upon the turf, 
 
 Lone in the darkness, till the light of morn 
 
 Fell like enchantment on this rocky world, 
 
 And the first thing the shipvwecked youth beheld 
 
 Was the fair Eda, his soul's dearest life. 
 
 Imagine what he felt. A sudden light 
 
 Seemed shed upon him from the hills of heaven. 
 
 He gazed like one awoke from some sweet dream ; 
 
 And, gazing long, he knew her. They embraced 
 
 And parted, and full soon embraced again. 
 
 And kissed each other in the rosy light. 
 
 And wept and smiled, gazed long, embraced again, 
 
 O'ercome with sweetest transport. Then he told 
 
 The sad slow story of his own distress, — 
 
 How the great sea had glutted all his store. 
 
 And tossed him naked on his native strand. 
 
 With nothing left her but his heart's true love. 
 
 " Lament not that thy treasure is concealed 
 In solemn ocean's silent house of shells. 
 Adversity jnay strip thee of thy all, 
 And poverty may freeze thee with its frost. 
 Thy love is what my hungry soul requhes. 
 Ay, should we travel o'er this barren world 
 In beggar's weeds, 'twere Eden with thy love. 
 O, let me kiss the tear-drops from thy face, 
 And smooth thy ringlets wet with ocean's brine, 
 And bless thee with the yearnings of my heart. 
 I have the streamer's savings in my trunk : 
 "TwiU throw a sunshine o'er our future path. 
 How pale thou lookest, love ! Come, come away." 
 
 And now, Land's End, the pilgrims would return ; 
 
 The voice of duty summons from the shore. 
 
 Yet let me linger 'neath thy rugged robes. 
 
 And kiss thy forehead golden with the dawn. 
 
 I thank thee for the breeze thou givest me, 
 
 Fresh, full, and flowing with eternal song. 
 
 I thank thee for the visions which the Muse 
 
 Has seen among thy channelled monuments. 
 
 I thank thee that I ever turned aside 
 
 From life's rough track and plunged into thy calm. 
 
 Awed by the lore of ocean's lofty voice. 
 
 The Almighty's name is pencilled on thy flowers. 
 
 And deeply graven on thy gi'anite leaves. 
 
 Glittering within the mosses of thy vest. 
 
 And rolling through the thunders of thy harp. 
 
 I leave thee with a bright thought in the bud, 
 
 And on my eyelash a fresli falling tear. 
 
 There's much that thrilled me in thy eloquence, 
 
 And drew the waters from my flowing soul. 
 
 Thy aspect, like the face of faithful friend, 
 
 Will often cheer me mid life's weariness ; 
 
 And when I'm gasping in the smoky mine, 
 
 And pining for the fresh breeze of the hills, 
 
 Thy wind-awakened melodies shall soothe 
 
 My panting spirit like the song of hope.
 
 mWiWWi^ 
 
 RADO REEF. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONyE. 
 
 Eado Ekef . 
 Polly Pekr 
 Philip Reef . 
 Myla . 
 
 Flower Girl. 
 Poor Wojlvn 
 
 The reformed Inebriate. 
 The S'torij-teller. 
 Son of Bade Beef. 
 An Orphan Maiden. 
 Dawfjhter of Bado Beef. 
 Wife of Ditto. 
 
 Children of Eado Reef, Singers, etc. 
 
 Scene — A sea-port. 
 *gj^ Time — Noontide. Rado 
 ■>jwi;- Heef ivalking from the 
 
 quay. 
 
 ado Beef. How longs my sotil for 
 
 quiet ! Like a si)ar 
 On tlie wild waters where the rocks 
 
 are rude, 
 Now wafted landward, now drawn 
 
 back again. 
 Bleached, blackened, bended, scarred 
 
 with josthngs huge 
 Into the boiling billows, — so am I 
 Upon the sea of trouble. Mates, farewell 
 For a long season ! and our own good sliip, 
 Wliich bore me safely, unimpaired by leagues 
 And change of seasons, heat and piercing cold. 
 Hailstone and thunder, o'er the endless deeps, 
 From clime to clime and distant isle to isle. 
 Until the years wore on, like silken tlu-eads 
 Unravelled by Time's fingers, fare thee well ! 
 "We part like brothers when the harvest fails 
 And provender is little. In my heart 
 I'll wear thee like a jewel, though the siu'ge 
 Of the world's warfare welter to my feet. 
 But who is this in cloak of crimson di'est, 
 And ciu'ions long-shai^ed bonnet, creeping down 
 The narrow lane that leads into the wood ? 
 'Tis Polly Peer, or I am not alive ; 
 Old Polly Peer, the story-telling dame. 
 Who hved in a reed cottage on the earn, 
 Built with rude boulders, with one boulder stack 
 
 And two quaint- casements. How we loved to sit 
 The twilight out Ijeneath her cottage-eaves, 
 Wiiilst she her knitting handled, listening mucli 
 To histories tinged with fiction, though we deemed 
 In boyish rapture they were sterhug truth ! 
 I'll much my footsteps quicken, and perchance 
 Shall soon o'ertake her. Thus I walk the world. 
 
 [He overtakes her. 
 Good day to Polly ! Let mo have your hand. 
 The same that stroked my curls by boyhood worn 
 When other summers filled the earth with joy. 
 Well met where roses cluster ! I have been 
 A wanderer fi'om my kindred, with no rest, 
 No solid footing ; now upon the sea. 
 Driven like a vapour ; now upon the land, 
 Toiling and wasting. Yes, your eyes are dim. 
 Wipe from your spectacles those grains of dust. 
 And then survey me. Ah ! I know I am changed 
 As much as man can be ; this bushy beard, 
 These cheeks of bronze, and brow where fmTOws hide, 
 Are not like Rado Reef's. But I am he, 
 Come back to home once more. 
 Polly Peer. A welcome then 
 
 With all the waiTnth of age ! My strength is changed 
 Since thou hast left us, and is changing still ; 
 My knees are weaker, weaker are my hands, 
 And my feet fail me, while my feeble gaze 
 Deals oft in fiction, and the trees go round 
 The fields and hedges ; but my heart's the same, 
 I welcome Eado back to home and rest. 
 Bado Beef. To rest thou sayest ? let me find it so. 
 And cease my wanderings, though it may not come, 
 Shut out of Satui-n. How the love of home 
 Burns in my bosom standing hy this stile, 
 And overpowers me hke the rush of song 
 From master spirits ! See, the road-side trees 
 Reach out their arms of gi"eeting, and the leaves. 
 Shook -nath the min-mur of the gentle an*. 
 Are like melochous voices heard at eve 
 Wlien the dew droppeth, each a welcome home. 
 Tlie faces of the hills assume no change ; 
 Their sun-crowned heads are lovely, and the vales 
 And shadowy hollows wear theif ancient hues. 
 And gi'eat tarn-temples, while the little brook 
 Glides through the grass as ever. Where, where. 
 Are those that loved me, father, mother, wife, 
 j My sons and daughters ? to the gi-ave gone down 
 'Where all is dust and dai-kness ? Or ahve
 
 88 
 
 BADO BEEF. 
 
 Breathe tliey npon these moorlands with sad tlioiight 
 
 For him who gi'ieved them, waiideriug from theu" fire ? 
 
 He Cometh ! yes, he cometh with the tear 
 
 Of penitence nnbottled. Knowest thou, 
 
 Good Polly Peer, aught of the suffering Eeefs, 
 
 And where located ? 
 
 PoUij Peer. Small my scrap of news, 
 
 And scarcely readable. Bethink I now 
 
 These voices by the fire one winter's eve, 
 
 "When the gi-eat comet awed us, and the heavens 
 
 Seemed full of thrusting swords and horsemen huge 
 
 That pawed the staggering moon, — bethink I now 
 
 How through the darkness came a sti-ugghng voice, 
 
 " The Eeefs are scattered ! " Then my lire died out ; 
 
 The flaming comet through the door of stars 
 
 Passed on its orbit, the white moon went down 
 
 Behind a sea of silence, and the morn, 
 
 Like a green hunter, travelled thi-ough the woods. 
 
 I hstened near the lattice, and a rush 
 
 Passed by my grating, sharp as eagle's wing. 
 
 And in the rush the same mysterious words, 
 
 " The Eeefs are scattered ! " and I heard no more. 
 
 Save overhead the waiUng of the wind 
 
 AVhich smote the thatch and left the rafters bare. 
 
 They travelled none knew whither. May'st thou have 
 
 Much joy in meeting ! [Exit Polly Peer. 
 
 Bado Beef {soliloquizing). Let me say Amen, 
 
 Though with a faintness lagging fi-om my lips ! 
 
 But He who giveth darkness, bringeth hglit. 
 
 The Eeefs are scattered ! Yes, hke towering sparks 
 
 When Boreas blows the embers. Have I not 
 
 Passed through more anguish than my fellows share, 
 
 Eiddled with doubt, and stunned with monster thrusts 
 
 From enemies in armom* who came down 
 
 In sheets of mist and left me with the slain ? 
 
 Have not the clouds of famine lowered their wings 
 
 And hemmed me in with barrenness and death "? 
 
 Have I not stood among the naked peaks, 
 
 "With arm uplifted, caUing on the winds, 
 
 "Whose war-trumps rattled through the rended skies. 
 
 To whirl their chariots, by the Furies drawn. 
 
 And I would ride with them through watery ways 
 
 Over the edge of the tremendous globe ? 
 
 Have I not sat on ledges with my heels 
 
 Dangling o'er gulfs a huntlred feet below, 
 
 TiU the great burden of mj' loneliness 
 
 Drank the clear rill of reason, and I raved 
 
 Like one whose finger-tops were bui'nt with fire ? 
 
 Have I not drifted on a doleful log, 
 
 Washed with the moaning waters, till my linibs 
 
 With the salt sea were hardened like a rock, 
 
 And my orbs gave no vision save quick gleams 
 
 Like wild-wood flashes ? Have I not stood lone 
 
 And shivering in the tempest, craving help. 
 
 And earaing thongs of hate and cords of jeer. 
 
 Till my knees smote together and my tongue 
 
 DecUned its office, dry as withered leaf? 
 
 Have I not wept till tears would come no more, 
 
 And my hot temples burned v/ith fever-pain. 
 
 And great sighs mocked each other as they rose ? 
 
 And why all this ? All ! I have played the fool. 
 
 And the game overmatched me ; down I fell, 
 
 To rise with ashes in my twisted hair. 
 
 I pressed the fire-cup to my heated hps. 
 
 And drank my senses wild. Oft was I wax-ned 
 
 And oft entreated with the voice of love ; 
 
 And yet I kept within this dangerous clime. 
 
 Where maniacs rove, and lords in foul attire, 
 And women (\xj and shrivelled, wrapped in weeds. 
 With fierce eyes flashing ; merchants clad in rags. 
 With ruin on their foreheads, and good men. 
 Brought down to dust, raved by the boiling springs 
 Where herbage withered and the hollow earth 
 Was hot and smoking as a burning hill ! 
 
 [He still proceeds. 
 No tears could move me, no appeals avail ; 
 The voice of cliildhood cliarmed not : hunger-cries 
 And Famine's awful groan smote my deaf ear. 
 Winter and cold and nakedness and want 
 Lifted their hands in anguisli, but no sound 
 Touched my seared spirit. Mid the ranks I reeled. 
 Where foaming tankards in foul fulness winked. 
 Till all my honour vanished, and my name 
 Was like a rag thrown to the muddy street. 
 My children starved, or begged, or died for me. 
 And curses pierced my wife like points of steel. 
 High Heaven was challenged : I could sink no more ; 
 Then justice seized me. To avert its arm 
 I fled my native place, and far away 
 Sorrowed and sighed and sought the Lord in jirayer, 
 Dashing the dregs of misery to the ground. 
 Trailing my chain of suffering, till the links 
 Left fearful channels which will never fill. 
 And now I come to seek those precious ones 
 Whom my shame bruised and bended, and a voice 
 Sobs from the moorland and the wide morass, 
 " The Eeefs are scattered ! " This the fruit of sin ; 
 And I must reap what I have swiftly sown. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 I 
 
 Scene — Path on the cliff. — Time — Evening. 
 Philip Eeef and Myla. 
 
 Enter 
 
 Philip Beef. Ai't thou an orphan in this world of wrong, 
 
 Drooping uujjropped, hke a luxurious rose 
 
 O'erfed with richness ? Lean upon my arm : 
 
 I'll be thy glad supjjorter. Nevermore 
 
 Shall bramble wound thee when my hand is near, 
 
 Stone strike thy foot, or prickle pierce thy frame. 
 
 Dost thou remember oui' first meeting-place ? 
 
 The moon was full just as she is to-night, 
 
 And in the woods the mm-miu- had begun 
 
 Which comes at twihght, when from distant stars 
 
 Good sjiirits visit us with hymns of heaven ; 
 
 Beside the lake, pulling white tufts of down 
 
 From bending rushes, thou alone didst stand. 
 
 My sheej) were penned, and I was loitering home, 
 
 Humming an ancient ditty which describes 
 
 The blessedness of loving, when my feet 
 
 Bore me towards the mere. Beside a bank 
 
 With one hand on my crook lake-ward I looked, 
 
 And on the further side beheld thy face 
 
 Eeflected in the water. Pardon me. 
 
 But I stood speechless, pialseless, feeling sure 
 
 It was an angel ; nor was I deceived. 
 
 Thou art an angel, Myla, pm-e and good, 
 
 And wearing in thy soul the gem of truth. 
 
 I glided round and bade good eve to thee. 
 
 Met thy sweet gaze and wondered. Then I pulled 
 
 Some feathery rush-tufts, offering thee the whole. 
 
 Bringing the thanks upon thy pretty lips. 
 
 No farce was used, no artifice contrived ; 
 
 But love grew up uncultured, gi'owing on 
 
 Until the tree-boughs bend with ripened fruit.
 
 PERSPECTIVE BRIGHTNESS. 
 
 89 
 
 The next eve found us there, and eve by eve. 
 
 The rest needs no narration. Here we are 
 
 In moonlight chambers wliere no sound is heard 
 
 ]]ut love's soft footfalls on the mossy floor, 
 
 l']nriched with one another. Winds may howl, 
 
 Wild winters beat, huge thunders split the heavens, 
 
 But nought shall sever the eternal cord 
 
 Tliat binds our souls together. Myla, speak ! 
 
 Mijla. Thou know'st my portion. Little birds have nests 
 
 And beasts their shelter : I have nothing here, — 
 
 No gold, no silver, no ancestral fame ; 
 
 Nought but a spirit overcharged with love 
 
 Which pours it out to bless tlice. Seek'st thou more ? 
 
 Thou canst not have it, for I give thee all. 
 
 Phili}) Reef. I am contented, gladdened, overjoyed. 
 
 Delighted beyond language. My poor heart 
 
 Is hke to burn with sunshine. In mine ears 
 
 Are shafts of music like the summer trees 
 
 Shake when the rose is brightest. This is love, 
 
 And gold to it is granite. These two hands. 
 
 If God gives health, shall bring whate'er we want ; 
 
 And kings can have no more. A shepherdess 
 
 Shall Myla be among the little hills, 
 
 And all the lambs shall love her. We will live 
 
 Where flowers are freshest by the waterfall, 
 
 And bu-ds are building in the hoUow glen 
 
 Where echo foUows echo, dingle-born. 
 
 Attended by the seasons ; and orn- songs 
 
 Shall blend with morning matins and eve chimes. 
 
 The spreading globe in all its gear of green 
 
 Shall seem created for us : rivers, woods, 
 
 And rising mountains shall be om's alone. 
 
 On the weu-d heights we'll offer sacrifice 
 
 Of praise and prayer and loving gratitude, 
 
 Like priest and priestess. The great God above 
 
 Created us to cheer each other's hearts 
 
 Along the journey of our mortal life. 
 
 Thy mother sleeps where the lone belfry stands 
 
 With ivy arches, and the restless sea 
 
 Entombs thy father ; sister thou hast none. 
 
 Nor loving brother. I am these to thee ; 
 
 And more than brother, more than father, friend. 
 
 Eest thou on me, and I will bear thee up. 
 
 We met like two stray fawns where leaves were green, 
 
 "Wlio sought companionship, and fondly found 
 
 A well to slake their thirst and food to cheer. 
 
 Om- Hves were lonely, till love's crown of flowers 
 
 Adorned thy temples ; then the weariness 
 
 Of winter vanished, and sweet spring returned. 
 
 And the glad tmile triimiphed in the trees. 
 
 [He still 2:>roceeds. 
 Thou know'st my father through the wine-cup fell, 
 And with him all om- house. 'Twas a sad day 
 When mother wept, and little sisters sighed, 
 Because he went and never more returned. 
 We waited until midnight, and the moon 
 Bent down behind the castle ; then our tears 
 On the worn floor fell splashing, Food and fire 
 Were long extinguished, and no candle burned ; 
 And in the agony I plainly heard 
 Our hearts beat wiklly. Morn awoke like fire 
 Where sand-plains widen, and my mother's voice 
 Rose in a shriek tliat scared the early bird, 
 " The deadly drink has triiimphed 1" She went wild, 
 And then they tore her fi-om us. With my hands 
 On a lone hill held star-ward, I resolved 
 Never to taste the poison, that my drink 
 
 Should be the sparkling waters cool and pure 
 From Nature's fountains, which the midnight heard, 
 And the great darkness, spreading out its wings, 
 And over all the Presence of the heavens ; 
 And I have kept it, and I hope to keep 
 This earnest vow till silence sealeth all. 
 But, see, a stranger ! On his face are lines 
 By travel written : he essays to speak. 
 Let's step behind these willows ! 
 
 [Rado Reef advancing. 
 Rado Reef (aside). It is sad 
 
 To lay our hopes in disappointment's tomb, 
 And bury up our prospects. It is sad 
 AVhen early love is overborne by wrong. 
 Nipt with the hoar-frost of a sudden fall ; 
 And sad it is to tread our native land 
 After an absence of a few brief years, 
 And find no face to greet us. Such am I 
 Among my mountains, like some wandering bird 
 Which man can name not. Old familiar spots, 
 The spring, the lane, the seat beneath the vine. 
 The hamlet trees, the old barn near the stile. 
 The cottage where we dwelt when joy was ours 
 And bliss and blessing, seem to wear no smiles 
 Or looks of greeting. Why had I not died 
 Ere the great foe o'ercame me, and I fell 
 As falls a city when the earthquake roars ? 
 Beneath the ruins lay my little ones 
 And loving wife, with haughty heaps hemmed in ; 
 And when they crept into the searching light. 
 Their countenances altered, and they sat 
 Amid the wreck and moaned to the gi'eat moon. 
 Whose pale gleams showed then* faces paler still. 
 Thick rains fell splashing down, the wild winds rent 
 Their hau- in anger, thunder-echoes rolled. 
 Hunger and famine mocked them, theii* bare limbs 
 Stiffened with frost, and ice di'ank up their blood. 
 Whilst I stood swaggering by, — the cause of all, 
 Without one thought to help them. Wicked man ! 
 The censer of His vengeance then o'erturned. 
 And my scorched spirit yielded. I went forth 
 To wet my bread with weeping, where the hills 
 Were smote with bitter blasts and cut with stoi-ms ; 
 And no man cared to take me by the hand, — 
 The woful wages the inebriate earns. 
 And now, unknown, where childhood lay in dreams, 
 And wove the web of fancy with bright tlu'eads, 
 Supremely golden, would I raise my voice 
 So that the farthest hill-tops catch the cry, 
 And the deep hollows all reverberate, 
 " Look not upon the wine when it is red ; 
 In it an adder coileth which will sting 
 Thy soul to sadness, shouldst thou not forbear ! 
 Receive what nature giveth : fountains cleai- 
 And wells hke crystal gushing at thy feet. 
 Receive it, and be grateful ; then thy life 
 Shall be as pure as the breeze-breathing roe 
 Or chamois of the fastness. Lofty thoughts 
 Shall visit thee at even, when the stars. 
 Those angel-ladders, throng the heights of space ; 
 And to the grave thou shalt at last go down. 
 Crowned with hoar hau's, the glory of thy lot." 
 
 [Exit Rado Reef. 
 Philip Reef. How like my father ! His warm words 
 
 were winged 
 With fire enough to shake me where I stood. 
 And bring the scalding tears upon my face.
 
 90 
 
 BADO BEEF. 
 
 I scarce refrained from rushing to liis arms, 
 
 So strongly was I cfrawn, and a whole life 
 
 Seemed centred in a circle. This foretells 
 
 A fiit;u'e hnng with fiiiitage, where bright streams 
 
 Glide over golden pebbles, and the lawns 
 
 With kine are studded for my love and me. 
 
 But, hark ! a canzonet among the clitls ! 
 
 Lean on my ai'm and hsten. [Singt)ig in the distance. 
 
 'Tis sad, 'tis sad, where all is gay, 
 Where Uttle children dance and play, 
 Where old men talk and matrons sing. 
 And maidens linger bj- the spring, 
 "^liere tales of love and soug have birth, 
 To be a sti'anger at the hearth. 
 
 The buds are bursting on the trees, 
 The corn is springing in the leas, 
 The swallow floateth o'er the plain, 
 The wild rose bloometh in the lane, 
 The valley-bowers are gay with mirth ; 
 But I'm a stranger at my hearth. 
 
 The wi'en is twittering 'neath the leaves. 
 The thatcher shaves the cottage-eaves, 
 The lark is singing overhead. 
 The flowers adorn the path I tread. 
 The woodman trills of trodden worth ; 
 But I'm a stranger at my hearth. 
 
 'Tis sad, 'tis sad, 'mid scenes so dear, 
 
 Which witnessed many a pleasant year. 
 
 And where I deemed my life would close 
 
 In quietude and dear repose. 
 
 To feel this sympathetic dearth, — 
 
 A stranger at my native hearth. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene — Buin on the sea-shore. 
 PiEEF amid the ivy. 
 
 Time — Noon. Eado 
 
 Bado Beef. ■ Much I love 
 
 To muse where ruin moulders, v/hei-e the stones 
 And broken fragments lift their voice in sighs 
 For beauty bowed for ever. Eveiy block 
 Where ivy fastens and smooth mosses blend 
 Is an historic chapter, graven o'er 
 With strange occm-rence and unique event. 
 Which should command the study of the wise. 
 Oiu- human hopes, our human plans .and schemes. 
 And best contrivances, too often fail 
 Like these rent walls and loopholes. On the arch 
 Sits Desolation, with a mocking laugh 
 At liis own mischief, Imddled at his feet. 
 Is not this iTiin emblematical 
 I Of my poor state amid the ways of men ? 
 I I bring my soiTows to it. Fall, my tears, 
 I And wash the ivy from these prostrate stones ! 
 . 'Twill ease a heart where Miseiy long has lodged, 
 ! And his dark-\-isaged partners. Here we feel 
 I How little earth can offer from its store 
 I To ease a wounded spirit. List ! a voice : 
 i Some wandeiing maiden selling summer sweets. 
 i [Enter a Flower Girl. 
 
 Flotver Girl (singing). Primroses from the lane? I 
 
 "VMio buys ? who buys ? 
 With frag-rant hps and pretty yellow eyes ! 
 Bado Beef. Come hither, Uttle maid, and speak to me. 
 
 Thou lookest worn and hungry, and thy dress 
 
 Like one who sits where suffering beaveth rule. 
 
 Hast thou no father to supply thy wants ? 
 
 Where is thy mother ? Where thy humble home ? 
 
 Do let me hear : thy voice will comfort me. 
 
 Flotver Girl. You judge me hungry, and you judge 
 
 me right. 
 I have not tasted bread since yesterday, 
 And then I earned a crust by selling flowers. 
 And shared it with my brother ; but to-day 
 I've travelled through the town from end to end 
 Without one ear to heed me : so I turned 
 With sad steps homeward. Is it very wi'ong 
 To ask you if you ever purchase flowers 
 For your dear children ? Pray forgive me, Sir. 
 Bado Beef. Go on, go on ! I wait to hear the end. 
 Here, take this money-piece ; 'twill do thee good. 
 
 [He gives it to her. 
 (Aside.) A wondrous mystery shineth in her eyes ! 
 Flower Girl. My thanks are many more than I can 
 
 speak. 
 How will it help my mother, pale and thin. 
 And overcome with watching ! 'Tis the Lord : 
 He brought you here to cheer her broken heart. 
 When I knelt down this morn, and clasped my hands 
 To say my prayer, she sweetly told me this. 
 That all oiu- blessing cometh from His love ; 
 And prayed I in the street from door to door 
 As I walked onwards, knowing 'twould be so. 
 Though all hearts hardened : and relief has come. 
 I thank you, Sir, with gratitude unfeigned. 
 Bado Beef. My precious child, thouhastnot told me all. 
 Where is thy iather ? where thy home ? and where 
 Thy loving mother, teaching thee so much, 
 A knowledge above ruldes ? 
 
 (Aside.) O what strength 
 Has simple innocence ! Her words refr'esh 
 My sinking spfrit as a water-spring 
 The traveller of the desert. On my ears 
 Old tones come back I had forgotten long, — 
 The music of my merry marriage bells, 
 And hymns which floated round the festal board. 
 Flotver Girl. There is a cabin halfway down the chff : 
 You see it from this arch-stone. There we live, 
 And there you'll find my mother. Poverty 
 Weeps on the woven rashes ; and long grass, 
 Kent from the hollow, is our only bed. 
 I have no father here ; he ran away ; 
 Perhaps he's dead, perhaps he's living yet, 
 And may come back again and kiss his child ; 
 For every day at morn and even-star 
 I pray for him, with face upturned to heaven, 
 " O blessed Saviour, send my father home ! " 
 I know he'll come to make the promise sure. 
 Bado Beef. What was thy father's name, my pretty 
 
 child ? 
 Flotver Girl. The people simply called him Piado Pteef. 
 Tliey say the drink destroyed him. But the low 
 Are not too prostrate never more to rise : 
 Our Father helpeth those who help themselves. 
 Would he were come ! then I should have a sfre, 
 Like other children, and be clothed and fed ; 
 For evei-y day I pray he may be good. 
 Now let me lead you where my mother mourns. 
 
 [Thcij enter the hovel. 
 Bado Beef (addressing the Woman]. I met your 
 
 child beside the abbey walls.
 
 THE WIFE'S AFFECTION. 
 
 91 
 
 And she has brought me hither. You look pale, 
 Much searched by sorrow, and your pensive eye 
 Tells of a pressure wearisome to bear. 
 You have a ti'easure iu this lU'ctty gu'l : 
 She told me how the dark cloud rose and fell 
 "With heightened horror on the hills of hope, 
 Leaving no streak of glory on your path ; 
 And yet she prays that father may come home. 
 Has he sent letters ? know you if he lives ? 
 And whether j'ou may hope his safe return ? 
 Poo7' Woman. The whole is so mysterious I am blind. 
 What I have suffered let no chronicler 
 Reveal to mortal. Shipwrecked mariner, 
 Bound to the mast, dashed onward through the dark, 
 Bruised, thunder-smitten, was not more forlorn, 
 Or miner in the cavern, with his lamp 
 Crushed out and blackened. Once the sun was high. 
 And beauty filled the landscape, bii'ds sang sweet, 
 And flowers were filled with perfume. Love arose 
 And stocked the universe with hidden sweets. 
 Matured by seasons and the march of years. 
 I little thought the wind would come so soon 
 And overturn my hive, and fill with dust 
 My cells of honey, whirling all around. 
 Yet so it was. The husband of my youth. 
 The idol of my girlhood, tore away 
 The prop that stayed me, leaving me to fall. 
 Like a bruised tendril draggling on the stones. 
 Suffice it that the fire-wave scorched his soul, 
 And burnt affection out. And yet I loved, 
 Though bruised by hands I oft had kissed before, 
 And would kiss then, but that his rage was high. 
 And then he left me, — left me with my babe 
 And other children, — left me without food. 
 Or fire, or raiment, or a single friend, 
 Like a dismasted hulk amid the seas : 
 And yet I loved him, and I love him still. 
 Although he should despise me, and his words 
 Wound me like daggers, — though his hard hand falls 
 Upon my face, leaving its trail behind, — 
 Though he should spm'n me from him with his foot, 
 And lift his threatenings higher than the hills : 
 I still will love him, faithful unto death ! 
 Bado Beef. My dearest wife ! come to my arms once 
 more ! \Emhraclng her. 
 
 I am thy Eado, softened and subdued. 
 Unworthy of a treasure like thyself : 
 But let the past be bimed. Coming years 
 Shall prove my true repentance, and great griefs 
 Shall be outbalanced by thy greater joy : 
 Thy woes and wrongs are ended. Lift thine eyes. 
 And see a summer spreading o'er the earth ; 
 The blackness has departed, and soft aii's 
 Come steaUng up the valleys. Let this kiss 
 
 [Kisses her. 
 Atone for long desertion, crime, and care. 
 And come, my darling daughter, fling thine arms 
 About my neck, and kiss thy father's face. 
 
 [They embrace each other. 
 Thy prayer is answered and thy heart made glad. 
 Thou wert my guide to lead me to your door. 
 Without thee I might long have stimibled on. 
 Not knowing where you sheltered. From henceforth 
 Your lot is altered. I have gold and lands . 
 Enoiigh to fill the year with ripened fruits. 
 Come, leave tins hovel ! [Exeunt. 
 
 N 
 
 Scene — Village in the valley. Time — Morning. 
 Enter Polly Peer. 
 
 Polly Peer. dug ! ding I dong ! 
 
 Ding! dong! the Itells are swinging ! Phihp Reef 
 
 Has man-ied Myla, and the village rings. 
 
 His father now is }-ich, and Woodclose Farm 
 
 Is given to Philip as his marriage dower. 
 
 I'll linger here and mark the wedding train 
 
 Pass on among the lindens. It is meet 
 
 To make a holiday and fling joy-shouts 
 
 Upon the air of summer. May their path 
 
 Be overshadowed by the wing of peace. 
 
 As free from envy as their hearts from guile. 
 
 Till in the western sky their red sun sinks. 
 
 The scattered Reefs are sweetly gathered home ! 
 
 [Exit Polly Peer. Enter Philip Reef, Myla, 
 Rado Reef, his Wife and Children. 
 Philip Beef. Beyond these trees thou see'st that 
 
 pretty home : 
 It is thine own, my Myla. There thy hands 
 Shall twine the rose and woodbine, and sweet bird* 
 Shall sing thee to thy slumbers. In Love's bower 
 The months shall glide so smoothly that old Time 
 Shall be astounded at his rapid marcli, 
 And rub his brow and ponder. We will drink 
 Nought but dear Nature giveth pure from Avells 
 And bubbling fountains and rush-hiddeu rills. 
 Our moderation shall be known to all. 
 Under the piu-ple heavens we'll worship God, 
 And thank Him for om- mercies. Swajdng pines 
 Shall give us music, and clear waterfalls. 
 And far off rivers thundering down the steeps ; 
 And the true seasons, as they travel round. 
 Shall teach us solemn lessons, till we fall. 
 And loving children sorrow o'er our tomb. 
 Myla. Joy fills my heart so that it overflows. 
 And my poor lips are silent. Let it be ! 
 In weal or woe thj^ Myla clings to thee. 
 Bado Beef. One sweetness brings another. Not 
 
 alone 
 Is he who tastes it : other hearts rejoice. 
 And so the circle widens, widening still. 
 So that a whole community is cheered. 
 This is om" portion. These good people round 
 Catch the contagion, and shouts wound the clouds. 
 Of all my days wove in the loom of Time 
 This has the happiest visage, and I feel 
 Like one awakened from some dismal trance, 
 Walking where blossoms dip into the pools. 
 Your joy, my children, gives my joy new wings. 
 So that I soar where goodness sits enthi'oued, 
 And majesty and beautj', and the au* 
 Is one vast concert of eternal praise. 
 The trial-land from which we have emerged. 
 Led by our guardian angel, leaves a voice 
 Of mercy in om* souls, a lesson sage 
 Which we should hold with hands tliat slacken not. 
 And strength that never wanes, — to trust in God, 
 And never hang an issue on oiu'selves ; 
 Forego the poison, use what Natm-e gives ; 
 Love all as bretlu'en ; rather give than take ; 
 Uphold the weak, encourage those who strive ; 
 Thrust not a suppliant from the beaten path ; 
 Labour to bring upon the sons of men 
 The reign of the millennium, when the earth 
 Shall bud and blossom with the trees of heaven. 
 2
 
 92 
 
 CHANONCHET AND WET A AWE. 
 
 [Voices singing in the orchard. 
 
 The eartli in spring and summer dress 
 
 Has mucli of Eden's loveliness ; 
 
 "What pnrity appears below, 
 
 Even in its winter robe of snow ! 
 
 Nor God nor Natm-e has decreed 
 
 That man the tempter's voice should heed. 
 
 Resist thy foes on every hand, 
 
 And He shall give thee power to stand ; 
 
 Pursue thy way with zeal unfeigned, 
 And love and fame and gold are gained ! 
 Due strength be thine till day is done, 
 The conflict past, the victory won \ 
 
 Along the heavens a voice is heard ; 
 
 The vales, the mountain-peaks are stuTed : 
 
 On, on it speeds throughoiit all lands ; 
 
 The hstening nations clap their hands : 
 
 That sword and strife and wrong shall cease, 
 
 And earth repose in perfect peace, [Exeunt. 
 
 CHANONCHET AND WETAMOE. 
 
 AXM was the waning hour : the day 
 On the gi'eat hill-tops died away ; 
 The setting smi's last golden gleam 
 Had tinged the ripples of the stream ; 
 The fan- young moon's chaste robe 
 was thrown 
 
 O'er tangled wilds and mountains lone ; 
 
 The fox was peeping from his lair. 
 
 The squirrel munched his evening fare ; 
 
 The wolf had planned his midnight prowl ; 
 
 Astir was seen the ghostly owl, 
 
 Staring from out his ivied den. 
 
 To hoot within the haunted glen. 
 
 A wigwam, by the blue lake's side. 
 Whose simple door was open wide. 
 In moonhght shadow might be seen ; 
 And, entering now, with placid mien, 
 An Indian youth, with locks of jet. 
 Smoking his peaceful calumet. 
 Beside the hearth-stone's flickering ray, 
 Sat a bright girl, as sweet as May, 
 Fair as the Morning's orient eye, 
 In the blue landscape of the sky. 
 To her he gave the pipe, and she 
 Quenched it in sweet simphcity. 
 He pointed to the lake's calm face, 
 Which winded round the mountain's base. 
 And forth she walked beside him there, 
 With dark blue eyes and flowing hair. 
 And wondrous music Ln her voice, 
 That bade the hstening woods rejoice. 
 
 rapturous hour ! He silence brake, 
 And thus it was Chanonchet spake : — 
 
 " Thou know'st my sire in battle died. 
 And with him fell our country's pride. 
 Crn-st be the white man's pale-faced host, 
 That prowl along our wooded coast ! 
 And cursed be their savage hands, 
 That fired our towns with lightning-brands ! 
 Like angry gods they strangely came. 
 And scorched us with their hissing flame. 
 
 Till all the hero died. 
 Covering the warrior's face with shame. 
 
 Scattering destruction wide ! 
 My father in the centre stood, 
 Fierce, although wounded ; and the blood 
 Was rushing through his swelling veins. 
 Spurring his spirit's warrior-reins. 
 The pale-face chieftain by his blade 
 Was on the trampled wood-sward laid: 
 And ere his reeling followers came. 
 My father smote with deadly aim. 
 O'ercome with numbers, — sad to tell, — 
 At last my sire heroic fell, 
 
 Covered with wounds, with death-stripes crossed, 
 On half an army's sword-points tossed, 
 His manly features pale and gory, — 
 Ha, ha! they falsely called it glory ! 
 I saw him on the battle-plain ; 
 I strove to stanch the oozing vein. 
 The blood was clotted on his cheek, 
 And thrice I heard the red man sjieak : 
 ' Come hither, son, and let me trace 
 My image in my darling's face. 
 Wet my dry lips ! how they burn ! 
 I go from whence tliere's no return ; 
 Thy father dies ! My only son, 
 Revenge my death when I am gone ; 
 Let the war-cry thy bosom swell. 
 And chase them witli thy angry yell.
 
 THE FOREST WIGWAM. 
 
 93 
 
 So shall my sated ghost be blest, 
 When hunting in the' unclouded West.' 
 He said, aud sank upon his side, 
 yhivered his shattered lance, and died. 
 
 " Athwart yon dell our wigwam shines, 
 
 Sheltered by trees and clustering vines, 
 
 Where oft at eventide is heard 
 
 The carol of the forest-bird ; 
 
 "Where Hower-buds, tinged with rainbow-hues, 
 
 Are drinking up the suiumer-dcws. 
 
 Sweet Howers ! Can I forget them ? No, 
 
 For oft I twine them round my bow, 
 
 And cease to hunt the leaping roe. 
 
 Can I forget my fleet canoe. 
 
 That ghdes across these waters blue, 
 
 As swiftly as the eagle flies ? 
 
 Dear are ye in Chanonchet's eyes. 
 
 And she who hugged me on her knee, 
 
 And sung her wild-strained lullaby ; 
 
 Who often kissed my boyish face. 
 
 And nerved and clad me for the chase ; 
 
 how she praised my courage, when 
 
 1 slow the panther in the glen, — 
 The first that 'neath my arrow bled, — 
 And dragged it to our wind-rocked shed ! 
 She told me I should hunt the deer. 
 And cause the pale-face man to fear ; 
 Should scare the lion from the wood, 
 And thrice revenge my father's blood I 
 Yet at thy name, a magic word. 
 
 What throbbings of my heart are stirred ! 
 
 Strange tremors through my body run, 
 
 Falters the song ere well begun. 
 
 And I impatient watch the day 
 
 That lingers ere it haste away. 
 
 When night's first star, mid skies of blue. 
 
 Shall light me to my Wetamoe. 
 
 Then in the mild beam of thine eye 
 
 I thrill with holiest ecstasy. 
 
 Dost thou perceive what makes me tame. 
 
 And darts hke lightning through my fi'ame, 
 
 When whispering Wetamoe's sweet name ? 
 
 Dost know ? — 'Tis love's celestial fire. 
 
 The gushing flood of pure desire : 
 
 Thy fond Chanouchet knows to feel 
 
 What time may soften, but not heal. 
 
 To-morrow both our lives shall run 
 
 Like two clear streamlets into one." 
 
 He spoke. — The young moon smiled on high, 
 A star or two looked through the sky. 
 The fishes sported in the lake, 
 The eve-bird warbled in the brake. 
 The dew-beads hung upon the trees. 
 And distant harp-notes filled the breeze. 
 'Twas solitude and silence here, — 
 An emblem of the' Elysian sphere. 
 
 He would not deem, beneath this sky. 
 
 That danger was so very nigh ; 
 
 But, suddenly a host of thieves 
 
 Came leaping from among the leaves, — 
 
 White savages, men-stealers they ! — 
 
 Who pounced upon their helpless T^vey, 
 
 Careless of colour and of clan : — 
 
 How true that " man's worst foe is man ! " 
 
 Resistance would have been in vain ; 
 It only would increase tlu-ir pain; 
 And so they yielded to the chain. 
 
 How quickly are our prospects crossed, 
 And every ray of hope is lost I 
 Tlie sun withdrawn, the sky o'ercast. 
 And young buds full before the blast ! 
 Chanonchet, and the cherished flower 
 He deemed would deck his forest bower. 
 Are severed by the Christian's hand. 
 And quail Itencatli Itlack slavery's brand : 
 To ditlereut districts both are (Mven, 
 From love, and home, and kindred riven. 
 
 It was Chanonchet's fate to be 
 Surroimded with the sugar-tree, — 
 A slave, where all save man was free ! 
 And he would sigh, with grief oppressed. 
 When labouring pains upheaved his breast ; 
 And oft he sought the wUd wood's shade ; 
 And there, where many waters played, 
 He mused upon his banished maid. 
 His cruel master whipped him sore. 
 And blushed not when he saw the gore, 
 But cut and lashed him with a frown. 
 And beat him till the blood ran down, 
 And poor Chanonchet sank away 
 With faintness on the crimsoned clay. 
 
 Deem not, when tortured and oppressed. 
 
 Home-feelings died within his breast. 
 
 Ddem not, at this afflictive hour 
 
 He had forgot his boyhood's bower ; 
 
 Or that the proud opp/ressor's steel 
 
 Benumbed him, that he could not feel. 
 
 no ! his home was with him there ; 
 
 And, floating on the balmy air, 
 
 He heard his own melodious birds. 
 
 And hstened to his mother s words. 
 
 Drank Wetamoe's soul-stii-ring strain, 
 
 And lived his childhood o'er again. 
 
 And when the world was drowned in sleep, 
 
 It was Chanonchet's time to weep. 
 
 To pace his little gaiTet-room, 
 
 And wring his hands, and wail his doom ; 
 
 And, througli his broken casement, he 
 
 Would oft peer forth upon the sea, — 
 
 What time the moon had decked the night, 
 
 Flooding the solitudes with hght, — 
 
 Smarting beneath the tyrant's rod, 
 
 And muse upon his native sod. 
 
 One night, — thick darkness veiled the sky, 
 And not a star-beam shone on high ; 
 The clouds, in wild commotion hurled, 
 Were striking terror through the world ; 
 The angry tempest-spu'it growled, 
 And every outward aspect scowled ; 
 The household had retu-ed to sleep. 
 The patient sufferer to weep ; 
 For from Chanonchet's back, that day, 
 His master whipped the skin awaj'. 
 He raised hmi fruiu his straw-made bed. 
 And paced his murky prison-shed. 
 Poor fellow ! O how sad was he, 
 Eesolviug in his mind to flee ! —
 
 94 
 
 CHANONCEET AND WETAMOE. 
 
 " The angry wiutls I hear without, 
 TMiirliug the rifted pines about, 
 Ei%-ing the knotty oaks in twain, 
 And shaking Neptune's dread domain, 
 Ai-e far more pitifi;! and kind 
 Than those -wild bears I leave behind : 
 Therefore I'll nerve myself for flight, 
 Aaid leave this cruel house to-night." 
 
 He said, and through the lattice flew ; 
 The wild-bird shrieked as he withdrew ; 
 And, creeping onward tlu'ough the dark. 
 He thought he heai'd the bloodhoimd's bark I 
 He reached the gloomy wood, and there 
 In silence knelt him down to j)rayer, 
 That the Great Spii-it's hand would guide 
 Him to his native valley's side. 
 Within a hollow tree he crept, 
 Lay down at night, and sweetly slept, 
 Forgetful of the fmuous boar, 
 And scared not with the tiger's roar ; 
 And when the morning broke, he rose, 
 Cheerful and gay, and off he goes 
 He with his knife and hatchet here 
 Lived happily on forest cheer ; 
 Vessels of earth he fitly fi-amed. 
 Rubbed the diy wood until it flamed, 
 Made bows and aiTows wondi-ous strong. 
 Killed wild game as he hied along. 
 Plucked clustering berries fi-om the tree. 
 And di-ank fj'om livers pure and free ; 
 The earth his bed, his roof the sky, 
 He fattened where a wolf would die. 
 
 At last be reached his native wild, 
 
 "VMiere he in life's blight morning smiled. 
 
 And, fi-om the hill's head, down he gazed 
 
 WTiere erst the festive faggot blazed. 
 
 "What were his feelings when he found 
 
 His cabin prostrate on the ground. 
 
 The peace-tree scathed, his mother gone, 
 
 And not a kinsman left, — not one ! 
 
 He asked, — he heard the sad, sad tale : — 
 
 The white men stalked into the vale, 
 
 Killing and burning as they came ; — 
 
 His mother perished in the flame ! 
 
 'Twas told him, — and he sought the wood, 
 
 To end his days in solitude. 
 
 A mossy cave became his den. 
 
 And here he lived apart fi'om men, 
 
 On herbs and roots, with naked breast, 
 
 The Indian Hennit of the West. 
 
 The river's side, at close of day. 
 Where Wetamoe was stole away. 
 He oft would visit, and his mind 
 Would picture scenes of saddest kind. 
 He saw her tortured, whipped, oppressed. 
 With mighty woes and wrongs distressed, 
 Bruised, broken, scourged, made duml) with pain. 
 And bending earthward 'neath the chain. 
 And wlien this rose before his eyes, 
 The wild wobds echoed with his cries. 
 
 One eve he left his mossy cave, 
 And sat beside the limpid wave, 
 And sang his naelancholy song. 
 That floated sad the trees among : — 
 
 *' The young cub seeks its mother's breast, 
 
 The eagle hastens to his nest. 
 
 The lion slumbers in his lau', 
 
 A shelter has the shaggy bear ; 
 
 The wanderer to his mates will come ; 
 
 But poor Chauouchet has no home ! 
 
 My father, on the battle-field. 
 
 Fell conquered on his broken shield ; 
 
 And, hark ! along my native coast, 
 
 I hear my mother's wandering ghost, 
 
 Invoking me fierce war to wage. 
 
 And scathe the foeman in my rage. 
 
 Who thrust her to the smouldering fire, 
 
 And biu'iit our wigwam in his ire. 
 
 My mother and my sire are gone : 
 
 I've not a kinsman left, — not one. 
 
 And she, poor sad Chanonchet's sun, — 
 
 How quickly were we both undone ! 
 
 She loved me ; — this I felt, I knew, 
 
 And for it loved my Wetamoe : 
 
 But they have dragged my flower away, 
 
 Turning to night my sunny day ! 
 
 My sweet wigwam, alas ! is missing ; 
 
 The angry serpent there is hissing. 
 
 And where the son and mother slept. 
 
 The fierce envenomed snake hath crept : 
 
 And there the owl his haunt is making. 
 
 And the wild beast liis fast is breaking. 
 
 No hmnau voice is heard ; 'tis dumb. 
 
 And poor Chanouchet has no home ! 
 
 Where now shall the sad lone one flee ? 
 
 The red wild warrior misses me ; 
 
 The grey deer round my. cave is leaping. 
 
 And there the soft young fawn is sleeping. 
 
 Yes, this is all that does me gladden ; 
 
 For sights of other objects sadden : — 
 
 My wigwam burnt, my father slain ; 
 
 My mother's ashes strew the plain ; 
 
 My Wetamoe for ever banished. 
 
 And every ray of hope evanished ! 
 
 No, not a star is in the sky ; 
 
 There's nothing left now but to die ! " 
 
 Backward he turned ; his tears were streaming ; 
 
 Blue lights were on the mountain gleaming. 
 
 Black clouds were gathering thick before him, 
 
 And the wild winds were wailing o'er him, 
 
 Clashing with fmy on his ear : 
 
 He paused, the striving storm to hear. 
 
 When suddenly around him came 
 
 A flashing sheet of livid flame. 
 
 And awfully athwart the heaven 
 
 A blazing thunderbolt was driven ! 
 
 It rived an aged tree in twain, 
 
 "Which fell and shook Chanouchet'g brain, 
 
 Shattered the skull, and cleft the head. 
 
 And in a moment left him dead, — 
 
 A piteous corse, with gore imbrued. 
 
 Hallowing the awful solitude ! 
 
 But who across the gi-een wood liies, 
 
 A bow upon her shoulder slung. 
 Sad sorrow streaming from her eyes ? 
 
 She weeps, although so young. 
 'Tis Wetamoe. — The bitter cup 
 Of slavery hath the maid drunk up ; 
 And now the wild wood does she rove 
 In search of him, her only love !
 
 THE WILDWOOD WANDERER. 
 
 95 
 
 She dreamt — within theu" wonted bower 
 They sat, at summer's twilight hour, 
 Charmed with the note of many a bu'd, 
 Tliat in tliese soHtudes was heard, 
 Breathing forth vows of love and tnitli, 
 And smiling in the' embrace of youth ! 
 Again she dreamt — at eventide, 
 "Wlieu roving through the forest wide, 
 A bristled boar, with foaming bound, 
 Struck poor Chauonchet to the ground, 
 Was tearing the live liesh ; — and she, 
 Shrieking, awoke in agonj' ; 
 And, rushing from the tyrant's den, 
 Alone she sought her native glen. 
 In hunter's garb the maid doth go 
 With battle-axe, and spear, and bow, 
 lioaming the woods, devoid of fear. 
 In search of hina, to her so dear. 
 
 Hast thou not seen the little flower. 
 The earliest spring-bud of the bower, 
 
 Sraote by the wintry blast ? 
 So the struck maiden bowed her head, 
 When first she saw her lover dead ; 
 
 Her life had nearly passed ; 
 And, with a shriek that rent the sky. 
 As dark clouds dimmed her closing eye, 
 Slic fell beside his mangled clay, 
 And fluttering reason fled away ! 
 At shut of eve, across the dale, 
 What tune is heard the nightingale, 
 The ]\Iauiac Maid will quickly pass. 
 Brushing the dew-drops from the grass. 
 Her clustering ringlets, sunny-brown, 
 Dishevelled, fall her shoulders down ; 
 Unplumed, uuT)onuetted is she, 
 The vacant child of misery. 
 
 She pauses oft, and oft her song 
 
 Of melancholy floats along. 
 
 Which seems some wild, unearthly strain, 
 
 Flashing across her tortured brain : — 
 
 "Behold, on high the eve-star gleams, 
 
 Silvering our rippling, flower-fringed streams ; 
 
 But though so winning, mild, and clear, 
 
 'Tis not Chanonchet's fit compeer ; 
 
 For he, upon his leafy stem. 
 
 Would far outshine this sparkling gem. 
 
 I'll tell you where my love is laid: 
 
 O stranger, hear the Maniac Maid ! 
 
 Beneath the tree he slumbers sweet ; 
 
 Wild wood-leaves are his winding-sheet ; 
 
 And sapless boughs that o'er him wave. 
 
 The victory-scalps that deck his grave. 
 
 The forest-bird sobs for him ever, 
 
 Nor stops his plaintive murmur never! 
 
 His spirit through Elysium wings 
 
 Its rapid flight, and sweetly sings : 
 
 Or with his ponderous, twanging bow 
 
 Sweeping the forests he doth go, 
 
 Hiuiiug his cedar-shafts with dread. 
 
 And stalking o'er the prostrate dead ! 
 
 Of all our tribe he was the flower. 
 
 The best, the brightest in om- bower ! 
 
 His heart would bleed when sorrow came. 
 
 And danger roused his slumbering flame. 
 
 They stole him when our hope-tree budded, 
 
 And with green leaves the boughs were studded ; 
 
 And when again I sought and found him. 
 
 The hungi-y wolves were roaring round him. 
 
 The eagle o'er his head was screaming. 
 
 How shrill ! — but, ! my love was ch'eaming. 
 
 He sleeps beneath the tall tree's shade : — 
 
 O stranger, hear the Maniac Maid ! " 
 
 KYNANCE COVE. 
 
 1 
 
 
 O 
 
 'vE been to faiiy-land, and seen 
 
 the fays 
 Unvested in their workshop. 
 
 Scenes ai'e here 
 That hold a poet captive with 
 
 their charms, 
 And mock his fancy like a thing 
 
 of gloom. 
 The wondrous chffs are poUshed 
 
 with the waves. 
 
 And flash and flicker like huge mineral walls. 
 
 Then' scaly sides are clothed with leafy gold, 
 
 And burn with beauty in the hght of day. 
 
 The sands that he on this Elysiau cove 
 
 Are all ring-straked with painted sei-pentine : 
 
 The hollow caves the waves have fretted out 
 
 Axe dashed with images of flowery hues ; 
 
 And on the rocks, like beautiful psalm-leaves, 
 
 Ai-e odes of music lovely as the hght. 
 
 Trilled by the sca-nymphs in then- wateiy robes. 
 
 I'm fond of travelling old deserted paths. 
 Searched by the winds and soft with solitude ; 
 Of matchless Nature in her robe of crags. 
 Or fi-mged with flowers, or edged with velvet moss ; 
 Of gi-and old forests, where the trees stand up
 
 96 
 
 KYNANCE COVE. 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 And sliout together, " God hath made xis all ! " — 
 
 Of odorous heaths, that oft iusphe luy Muse, 
 
 And lift me high ou luspiratiou's steep ; 
 
 Of musing lonely by old Ocean's shore. 
 
 And roaming widely through the fields of thought ; 
 
 "\Miile castles, towers, and palaces uprise. 
 
 Built with chaste hght, and roofed with burning gems. 
 
 But, stai'ting fi.-om my song-trance one bright morn, 
 
 And tiirning down yon crooked curious lane, 
 
 These fancy-pictures tioated in the dark. 
 
 As rock on rock uncurtained to my gaze, 
 
 And rolled upon my vision like a spell. 
 
 Hail, fau-y-featiu-ed, beautiful Kjniance ! 
 
 A lo^ing smUe is ever on thy face. 
 
 And Beauty revels mid thy gold arcades. 
 
 Along thy glittering gi-ottoes tones are heard 
 
 Like songs at evening by some distant lake. 
 
 Thy coloured crags, on which the sea-bu'ds perch, 
 
 Are timeftil with the tread of tiny feet. 
 
 No harsh discordant sound is heard in thee ; 
 
 And he who journeys through these sculptured creeks, 
 
 And gazes on those hills of serpentine, 
 
 "^Tiere Nature sits upon her chiselled throne, 
 
 Smiling benignly in her samphire robes, 
 
 ^\'earing her best, her craggy crown of gems, 
 
 "When clustered once more in his loving home, 
 
 Will feel a sweetness flowing throi;gh his heart, 
 
 And more exalted views of Natm-e's God. 
 
 Why seek for beauty in the stranger's clime, 
 When Beauty's state-room is the gay Kjmance ? 
 "UTiy seek for ^-isions courted by the Muse ? 
 "WTien Kynance opens hke a mine of gems ? 
 Why seek for language from the waves' white lips, 
 When ocean's organ fills this pictured Cove ? 
 Why seek for caverns striped with natural lays, 
 TNTien they are stained here by the surging sea ? 
 Why seek for islands girdled with the main, 
 When KjTjance holds them in her feathery folds ? 
 So mused I in the sea-damp Drawing-Room, 
 "While through the Bellows rushed a flood of song. 
 
 Heath! heath! what forests fill those fragrant fields 1 
 
 My lot has been to dally with these flowers, 
 
 And walk among them like my kind compeers. 
 
 I twined them with my boyhood's tissued wreath. 
 
 And manhood found me roving mid theu' sweets. 
 
 I bound them into brooms so beautiful 
 
 To decorate my rhjTne-mill on the moor. 
 
 I wove them with my lyre-chords lovingly, 
 
 And ran to meet them with a smile of joy, 
 
 At dawn, at noon, and music-breathing eve ; 
 
 And fi-om life's early mom these moorland fays 
 
 Have chimed around me with their bolls of gold. 
 
 Till now they seem a portion of myself. 
 
 But 0, those poets of the rocky range 
 
 Stand up in armies round the fair Kynance, 
 
 On hedge-side, moss-bank, field, and craggy chff. 
 
 Streaking the valleys, carpeting the hills. 
 
 And wooing kisses from the amorous sea ; 
 
 So that , when wandering with those sweet-robed queens 
 
 That July mom, my cup of joy ran o'er. 
 
 Behold this Uttle creek among the thyme, 
 Whose sloping sides abruptly tumble down 
 To meet the tide that statedly rolls up 
 
 To kiss the shell-fish thickly clustered here. 
 
 The rocks are golden, like the flowers they screen. 
 
 And every cell is hung with ornaments. 
 
 That seems the palace of Kmg Oberon. 
 
 Here graceful swallows ghde, and singing bu'ds 
 
 Mingle their music with the billows' lay. 
 
 It is in sooth the song-house of the Muse. 
 
 And as I lingered by a tiny stream 
 
 That trickled'neath some flat rocks fringed with flowers, 
 
 A comely Image issued from the ledge. 
 
 Like studious pilgrim clad in thymy robes, 
 
 With shoes of moss and hose of ivy-stems, 
 
 Inwoven with the gi-asses of the glen : 
 
 Upon his head, among the rushy hair. 
 
 Were gems of hght that shed a halo round ; 
 
 And, leaning on his knotty holly-bough. 
 
 He oped a worn book strangely charactered, 
 
 And read, hke some old bard, these mystic chimes : — 
 
 " There is a valley deep among the loills. 
 Split down by Nature in a passion-freak ; 
 And evermore it wears its wild rough weeds, 
 And lies a cold untrodden wilderness ; 
 And evermore a melancholy wail 
 Moans through its hollow caverns, and a sound 
 Like grief's dark dirge is labouring on the blast. 
 And in its centre, by a rapid stream, 
 That brawls among the shingles, lies a cot, 
 Torn into ruins, called ' The Haunted Home.' 
 
 "The sun was setting on a summer's eve, 
 
 And all the gentle brooks were full of song ; 
 
 The swallows glanced and wheeled along the wild ; 
 
 The white lighthouse seemed whiter in the dusk ; 
 
 The sea-birds gathered on the gilded chffs ; 
 
 And soon a holy quietude came down, 
 
 That filled these moorlands with the breath of heaven. 
 
 A pious youth is kneehng here alone. 
 
 And praying to his Father. O'er his head 
 
 Angels are hovering with their wings of flame ; 
 
 Smiles play about their lips, like rays of light 
 
 When morn is breaking o'er the woody hills, 
 
 To see a Christian wrestling with his God. 
 
 The young man prays, and as he prays, his face 
 
 Grows bright and glorious ; in his eye a ray 
 
 Of heaven's own light is Idndled, and his soul 
 
 Is full of love and tenderness divine. 
 
 He rises from the earth celestialized ; 
 
 And when again he mingles with the world, 
 
 Men mai'k him for his kindness, and they smell 
 
 The sweets of heaven upon his earthy robes. 
 
 " For many happy days and months and years 
 
 The pious youtli ran well : he watched, he prayed, 
 
 He read the Bible in his closet-home, 
 
 And worsliipped God amid the groves and fields, 
 
 And bowed before Him in His holy fane. 
 
 He served his Maker with a perfect heart, 
 
 And did his duty with a willing mind. 
 
 Thus life below foreshadowed bliss above. 
 
 But in an evil hour the tempter came 
 
 With soft sedxicing. See him listening now, 
 
 And now resisting, till the wily fiend 
 
 Entrapped him in his meshes, and he fell 
 
 Deep in the nnre of sin, to rise no more. 
 
 "Within a lone cot by an aged mill. 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 THE MARINER AND HIS MOTHER. 
 
 97 
 
 O'er which a hollow aklor spreads its arms, 
 
 Twisted aud turned by many a winter storm, 
 
 A simple maiden dwelt, as innocent 
 
 As blooms the white rose by the; waterfall. 
 
 Her song was sweeter than the throstle's lay. 
 
 And Eve unveiled hei» face among the dews, 
 
 And stood on tip-toe in the murky marsh, 
 
 To hear it rippling on the vesper bi"eeze. 
 
 She loved the vales andmountains, woods and streams; 
 
 And Nature filled her heart with melodies, 
 
 And taught her wisdom with a silent tongue. 
 
 Nor was the God of Providence forgot. 
 
 To whom she prayed in young simi^licity. 
 
 Thus lived she with a sire of hoary haii"s, 
 
 And aged mother bending to decaj^ 
 
 Uiffiisiug light and Ijeauty everywhere ; 
 
 Till the seducer with a flattering tongue 
 
 Ruined aud left her a poor (shattered wreck, 
 
 Over which angels mourned aud cherubs grieved, 
 
 To pine and die in want and loneliness. 
 
 " A few years glided by like noiseless dreams. 
 Though oft he trembled when the unseen hand 
 Had written strange lines on his closet-wall, 
 And conscience smote him with a fiery sword. 
 The wild night-winds, unbridled from their steeds, 
 Crack through the welkin with an echo rude ; 
 And in the inky blackness of the storm 
 He strangely perished on the hedgeless height." 
 
 The tall Cam Prophet turned the lengthy leaves. 
 
 And trilled distinctly : " Streams are beautiful 
 
 That run along among the rushy tufts 
 
 With silvery clearness ; blossoms on the trees. 
 
 Or flowers among the grasses of the field, 
 
 Or rich with beauty in the garden-ground, 
 
 Are passing lovely ; but the poet's child 
 
 Was lovelier than the best ; she far outshone 
 
 The sweetest tints of Flora, growing up 
 
 As grew the lily by the running brook. 
 
 How much he loved her is a thing unknown ; 
 
 But sickness came, and weakness and decay ; 
 
 And in the sweetness of the Sabbath morn. 
 
 When earth was worshipping in hallowed rcbes. 
 
 Her loving spirit passed to Paradise, 
 
 " Now sadly weeping in the hawthorn shade, 
 
 When Slimmer dews are hanging on the flowers, 
 
 And evening shadows walk the dim hill-sides, 
 
 A gentle vision haunts him in his tears, 
 
 And gleams upon him from the heights of heaven. 
 
 Along the living slopes of Eden-laud, 
 
 Where fadeless roses fringe the shining banks. 
 
 His angel-babe is gHding, and her robes 
 
 Are whiter than the snow-wreath. Wandering here 
 
 Amid the sun-bright scenerj-, her fair hands 
 
 Are filled with treasui-es from the tree of life. 
 
 And fragrant flowers that never know decay. 
 
 " If thou shouldst meet on this romantic cliff 
 A pensive man with tear-drops in his ej^e 
 And hand upon his breast, scanning the rocks, 
 Or looking mournfully upon the deep, 
 Or pausing when the distant chui-cli-bells sound, 
 As if he read a memoir in theii" toll, 
 Distiu'b him not : this is the stricken bard. 
 His thoughts are climbing hill-tracks far away, 
 
 And glancing o'er the journey of his life. 
 His Sabbath hours, his children, wife, and home, 
 AVith all the sweet endearments of the past, 
 Throng tearful round him : bo disturb him not." 
 
 The Vision paused a moment, turning o'er 
 
 The thick book-leaves that noisy rustling made ; 
 
 Then read again in sad funereal tone : 
 
 " There is a lone grave on this golden cliff, 
 
 Where long has slept a shipwrecked mariner. 
 
 A broken oar thrust in the mossy mound 
 
 Serves as his monument : long grass and heath 
 
 Aud prickly brambles mingle on his tomb. 
 
 Tradition says, one night a storm arose, 
 
 Aud a small craft was dashed upon the rocks, 
 
 And fell in fragments. When the Morning rose 
 
 With tears upon her lids, two fishermen 
 
 Secured a body roiled up by the sm-f. 
 
 And bui-ied it a few yards from the sea : 
 
 Aud here it lies in silent loneliness. 
 
 A Bible with his name inscribed thereon 
 
 Was all they found on him, which one of them 
 
 Lodged on a shelf within his reedy home. 
 
 " Time passed, years fled, the fishermen were gone ; 
 
 An only daughter occupied the shed. 
 
 Married and blossom-blessed, when one dark night 
 
 A wrinkled grandam stepped the threshold o'er. 
 
 Strange were her vestments, and her tale as strange : 
 
 Her only son had left his mother's home, 
 
 Aud sailed upon the seas ; and he had said 
 
 That after three long years he'd come again. 
 
 And give his mother much. Three years expired, 
 
 And three times three brought no relief to her. 
 
 The wanderer came not. Then Distress and Want 
 
 And Hunger chilled her with then- grisly stare. 
 
 Pier household trifles went : the bench and stools. 
 
 And pewter plates upon the di-esser-shelves. 
 
 The clothes-press quaint, carved chest of ancient make. 
 
 Table and form, and old clock on the stairs, 
 
 The tin canteen and bottle with-entwined, 
 
 Tili, not a vestige left, she wandered forth 
 
 To beg the cold world's colder charity ; 
 
 And lying one night by a moorland hedge, 
 
 She dreamt she found the Bible of her boy, 
 
 With his own name upon the known fly-leaf. 
 
 "If, when the trees are stript and fields are bare. 
 And roar the winds along the hungry coast, 
 You see an old crone on the moaning earn. 
 Sitting upon the sad grave with bare head. 
 Catching the big rain in her wasted palms, 
 And chattering strangely wild, O turn and weep I 
 This is the mother of the mariner." 
 
 A heavy groari rose upward from the rocks. 
 
 Rushed from the waves, out-rumbled from theclouc:^, 
 
 And rolled across the moor in phunes of black ; 
 
 And as it died away, the Seer began: 
 
 " In a rude dwelling shivering on the cliff, 
 
 An old blind pilgrim dwelt, whose eyes were dimmed.. 
 
 When Beautj' wove a garland for his brow. 
 
 'Tis sad to think of this afflicted one. 
 
 Suffice it that he loved a gentle maid, 
 
 And she returned her own into his heart ; 
 
 And they had purposed on their marriage-day 
 
 To walk among those flower-robed choristers
 
 98 
 
 K7NANCE COVE. 
 
 That trill their silent hymns alone; the strand. 
 But do^Ti upon them came a feai-fiil doom ; 
 Pale sickness seized her like a hungry beast, 
 And dragged her to the dust, and, as he mourned, 
 Pierced to the soul with son-ow's briny sword. 
 Blackness crept o'er his vision, and dull night 
 Dammed up its natm-al doorways, till he gi-oped 
 About in darkness like a frame of bone. 
 You might have seen him stimibhng o'er the heath, 
 Creeping towards the chiu-chyard in the dusk, 
 Where every new gi'ave is a noveltj'. 
 Searching among the rank grass with his hands, 
 Until he felt the small board o'er her head ; 
 "WTiere he would sit and moum most dolefully. 
 
 "Don't pass that thatched cot,whose low roof is crushed, 
 
 With one lone tree upon the garden-hedge ; 
 
 Kor think of the old bhnd man. Here he hved 
 
 His life away in darkness, and was fed 
 
 Nobody could tell how. The neighbours say 
 
 That oft at evening gentle songs were heard 
 
 Around his lonely casement rose-entwined, 
 
 Like angels singing in the fields of air. 
 
 And when he died, he passed away to heaven." 
 
 The shining Phantom paused with heated brow : 
 
 Wiping his forehead with a tuft of ferns, 
 
 He gave the last page of that song unread : 
 
 " The bii-ds are joyous on the garden-trees, 
 
 And noontide floods the welkin. In her home 
 
 A mother sings her pensive lullaby 
 
 To Uttle baby in his cradle-couch, 
 
 Who thrusts his anus up in a fit of rage. 
 
 And sobs his dawning-odes. ' Hush, little one ; 
 
 Thy father plougheth in the sloping field ; 
 
 I pee him where the limpid fountain springs, 
 
 And cheerfully he guides the labouring team. 
 
 Art weeping so to call thy father home ? 
 
 'Tis thy fond mother rocks thee patiently. 
 
 O sleep, my pretty one, sleep, sleep, my love I ' 
 
 " A few stray zephyrs meet upon the hills. 
 Kiss in the hollows, separate and run 
 Among the rocks in very wantonness. 
 Sunshine is streaming down upon the vales, 
 And decking Xatxu-e in her robes of gold. 
 Among the lambkins on the grassy lawn, 
 New kite in hand, behold a happy boy. 
 Anxious to see it fly. He tries and tries. 
 And, though he often fails, he tries again. 
 Till in the air it rises, rising still 
 And fluttering o'er him like a thing of life. 
 He shouts, he haUoos, dances, shouts again ; 
 
 So that the very flowerets of the field 
 Are gently shaken with his gust of joy ; 
 And when at supper by his mother's side, 
 How does he talk of what he has achieved ! 
 
 "A studious youth is wandering where the rocks 
 Ai-e bright with sonnets woven with the waves. 
 There is a mystic brightness in his eyes, 
 And strange outbeamings from their inner depths. 
 He seeks not intercoiu'se with selfish man. 
 But fellowship mth mountains and the muse ; 
 And in a hollow grot of serpentine, 
 Where dwell the genii of the snowy surf, 
 He reads aloud the song-lines on the walls, 
 Sweet mingling with the harmonies of eve : — 
 
 ! " ' The gentle Anna, sweeter than the rose. 
 And bright as waters sparkling through the grass. 
 Sat at cool twilight in her lover's bower ; 
 And pleasant was then- language learned by love. 
 They talked of streams that tinkle down the dells. 
 Of reed and ragwort wooing in the moss. 
 Of flowers and trees, blue hills and setting suns, 
 And golden summers many years away ; 
 Whilst Pro^^dence was worshipped and adored ; 
 And roaming mid the pictures of Kynance, 
 Leaning upon her Edward's arm, she cried, 
 " O Cove enchanting ! much is said of thee ; 
 But of thy beauty half has not been told." ' 
 And as the young man opened from his dream 
 Amid those gems from Natm-e's lavish hand. 
 He shouted high in joyous ecstasy, 
 ' Cove enchanting ! haK has not been told.' " 
 
 He closed the volume with a magic clasp, 
 
 And hid it in his bosom. How I longed 
 
 To woo it from the stranger, that kind friends 
 
 Might joy to trace its wonders, and my soul 
 
 Be gladdened with the freshness of new thought ! 
 
 But through the golden doorways of the rocks 
 
 He vanished while I gazed ; and, looking round, 
 
 The twihght had descended ; far away. 
 
 My lingeiing mates were caUing ; the great sea 
 
 Was sounding Hke an organ : so I turned, 
 
 And turning turned to look a long farewell. 
 
 One word at parting from thee, fair Kynance. 
 
 Although I travel to my inland bower, 
 
 And mingle in the war of busy Hfe, 
 
 With many a mile between thee and my home, 
 
 There is a cell within my memory, 
 
 Where thou shalt nestle hke a song enshrined. 
 
 And oft thy beauty, like a sky of gold. 
 
 Enclose me in a ^vilderness of gems.
 
 LUDA: 
 
 A LAY OF THE DRUIDS. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 THE ALARM. 
 
 there not on the ground we tread, 
 In the I'ough rock-heaps round us 
 
 spread, 
 In every hollow of the hill. 
 In flowing river, creek, and rill, 
 [n silent dingle, down, and dell. 
 And shady wood, and mossy cell, 
 On crag and cross, and castle lone, 
 On tor, and tarn, and Di-uid-stone, 
 Some olden tale the Muse to lead. 
 So that whoever i-uns may read ? 
 Who has not heard at evening hour, 
 "When seated in some lonely bower, — 
 What time the ploughman leaves the lea, 
 And dances baby on his knee, 
 And down the lane the milkmaid sings, 
 As she the full pail homeward brings, — 
 "UTio has not heard from fern and fen, 
 From whispering wood and gi'assy glen, 
 From mystic marsh, and ruin wild, 
 And altar-stone on stone up-piled, 
 Mj'sterious voices, song-o'ercast. 
 The genii of the mighty past ? 
 
 'Tis eve, 'tis calm ; the winds are still ; 
 Not e'en a whisper walks the hill ; 
 In silent groups the hhes he. 
 Nor tremble as the stream steals by; 
 The closing flowers in garments fair 
 Beneath the twilight seem at praj-er ; 
 The rushes stu- not by the lake. 
 The bramble bends not in the bi*ake ; 
 The oak is moveless on the moor ; 
 The hawthorn near the herdsman's door, 
 The larch adown the lengthened lane. 
 The willow by the warrior's fane, 
 The ivy o'er the fortress gray, 
 No leaf is lifted on the spray. 
 And Peace in many a fan- festoon 
 Is singing to the rising moon. 
 
 With cautious footstep's up Carn Brea i 
 
 A palmer climbs in vest of grey. 
 
 A staff he carries, and a Book, 
 
 In which he solemnly doth look ; 
 
 And oft he lifts his pensive eye 
 
 In prayerful glance towards the sky, 
 
 As if for souls of guilty men 
 
 With Heaven he interceded then. 
 
 His face was brown, his hair was long, 
 
 His agile limbs were spare and strong ; 
 
 A shaggy deer-skin cap he wore ; 
 
 A horn within his belt he bore ; 
 
 A wallet from his shoulder feD, 
 
 Wliicli held his roots and diinking- shell ; 
 
 His sandals were both soiled and worn, — 
 
 'Twas plain long travel they had boi-ne ; 
 
 And on his brow were lines of care, 
 
 As if distress had been his heir. 
 
 In sooth he was a thoughtful man. 
 And seemed to study Natm-e's plan. 
 He scanned the rocks as if he read 
 Strange records where the lichens spread. 
 He watched the flowers wdth rich delight. 
 And kissed the little mosses bright. 
 The bu-ds that glanced fi-om tree to tree. 
 Or 'mid the berries carolled fi'ee ; 
 The hmpid brooklet dancing down ; 
 The curling smoke from cottage brown ; 
 The drifting clouds that travelled by. 
 Like seraph-ships across the sky ; 
 The evening airs that round him stole. 
 Brought echoes from the palmer's soul : 
 And when the wind with gentle swell 
 Passed slowly through the eastern deU, 
 Fanning the heath as it rose higher, 
 And miuTnuring like a lonely lyre, 
 FiUing with melody the place, 
 The tears came out upon his face. 
 
 A moment pause, to mention here 
 A soothing scene he deemed most dear. 
 Beside a cromlech on the bluff, 
 Upheld by pillars rude and rough, 
 A youth with raven hau- and eyes 
 Walked underneath the evening skies, 
 Di-i\ing his wandering, grazing herd. 
 While homeward flew the latest bird ; 
 And thus in pensive strain sang he : 
 
 '2
 
 100 
 
 LUDA : A LAY OF THE DEUIDS. 
 
 " Come, pretty maiden, live with me : 
 My home is where the ring-doves call 
 Beyond the foamy waterfall. 
 I have no silver Aessels fair, 
 But love's rich roses blossom there. 
 A rushy mat is at my door, 
 A rushy mat is on the floor ; 
 My couch of sedge is softly spread, 
 Where thou canst gently lay thy head. 
 A guileless heart I give to thee : 
 Then, maiden, come and hve with me. 
 
 " And are there those who offer more. 
 And promise thee a greater store '? 
 Let not then- flattery lure my dove ; 
 For riches cannot purchase love. 
 The httle rill with noiseless flow. 
 That ghdes along so clear and slow. 
 Is more refreshing in its course 
 Than von dark river swift and hoarse. 
 That little rill am I to thee : 
 Then, maiden, come and hve with me. 
 
 " Thou canst not tell how much I prize 
 The holy hght within thine eyes. 
 I ever feel, when thou art near, 
 'Tis smnmer-time and always clear. 
 It can't be darkness where thou art: 
 The clouds to see thee quickly jjart, 
 And shding shadows fleetly fly, 
 While sunshine fills the earth and sky. 
 Thy face brings joy where'er I be : 
 Then, maiden, come and hve with me." 
 
 Before the castle wall he stood. 
 
 Gazing around on rock and wood. 
 
 The scene was gi'and from sea to sea, 
 
 From east to west, ft-om tarn to tree. 
 
 From brock to brook, and stream to stream. 
 
 Which through the withs and rushes gleam. 
 
 A few small huts in brakes apart, 
 
 ^S'here dwelt the hunter of the hart. 
 
 Or rude marauder, shimned and feared, 
 
 Were nearly all that then appeared. 
 
 Some sod-fenced farms, refreshed by rills, 
 
 Like sentinels among the hills. 
 
 Where cornfields waved and orchards smiled,* 
 
 Were thinly scattered o'er the wild. 
 
 !No mine-heaps on the surface lay, 
 
 No engine-ttacks to dim the day; 
 
 No hiss of st«am, no ha mm er's bang. 
 
 Or anvil's ring, or bucket's clang, 
 
 Or iron horse through hill and dale 
 
 Swift hurrying on the wondrous rail ; 
 
 But Solitude and Silence lone 
 
 Sat musing on a seat of stone. 
 
 I said no mine-heaps filled with gloom 
 Those hills and vales of fragi-ant broom : 
 But here and there, where rushes grow. 
 And where the streams in clearness flow, 
 A solitary man was fouiid, 
 Tm-ning with eagerness the ground. 
 And washing it in search of tin. 
 Which lay concealed the sand within. 
 And Fortune on him oft bestowed 
 A prill of copper from a lode, 
 
 Which served in after years to show 
 The way to hidden heaps below. 
 Tall trees bend o'er the Umpid lake ; 
 The wild bhds whistle fi-om the brake ; 
 The gi-ey fawn in the dingle feeds ; 
 The ducks flash up from delis of reeds ; 
 The fish abound in crystal streams. 
 And Nature murmurs in her dreams. 
 
 The palmer saw it all,"and smiled : 
 A voice seemed echoing from the wUd, 
 Which floated over wold and wood : 
 " And He pronounced it very good." 
 
 " There are," said he, as on the dell 
 And distant scene his vision fell, 
 " 'SYlio walk the eai'th, and yet deny 
 The power of Him who made the sky. 
 I hear His voice in every breeze 
 That shakes'the tresses of the trees. 
 I see the impress of His hand 
 On every flower that gems the land ; 
 And morn and eve, and day and night. 
 The changing seasons in then* flight. 
 The harvest waving in the vale. 
 The shining gi'asses of the dale. 
 The moon and stars, the earth and sea. 
 Proclaim the power of Deity. 
 The wind at midnight moaning loud. 
 The lightning breaking fi-om the cloud, 
 The welkin wide with thunder trod. 
 All tell me plainly there's' a God. 
 
 " I\Iy native land, my native land. 
 With healing gales of fi'agi-ance fanned ! 
 How sweet to climb thy hills once more, 
 Replete with legendary lore ! 
 How like a dream thy glades appear, 
 Where streams are gliding fresh and clear ! 
 Below me is the dell of thj-me 
 Where I have passed my early piime. 
 And drunk of brooklets issuing lone 
 From fairy fountains hope-o'ergi-own. 
 Then su-en %oices lui-ed me on 
 To richer scenes when years were gone. 
 I cannot tell how much I prize 
 Thy greenwood glades and placid skies, 
 Thy rivers murmm-ing to the sea. 
 Each rock and rill, each tarn and tree. 
 When oft I've climbed some foreign mound, 
 And heard the sighing winds around, 
 No matter where I chanced to roam, 
 They seemed to mui-mur songs of home, 
 And gentle forms would round me rise. 
 Until the tears streamed fi'om my eyes. 
 The dreams of youth may pass away. 
 And fifiendship's flowers droop and decay ; 
 Dark clouds of care hang o'er the land ; 
 Old age may lead us by the hand ; 
 Our shattered idols roimd us lie ; — 
 The love of home will never die." 
 
 He knocked the castle's heavy gate : 
 The warder asked him why so late. 
 And what his message was ; and he 
 Told him of journeyings by the sea.
 
 THE PALMEB AND THE CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 101 
 
 Of wanderings over hill and dale, 
 
 Of prayers in lonely forests pale ; 
 
 Of frequent fastings far away, 
 
 Where the fierce robber prowls for prey ; 
 
 Of battle-fields where dying men 
 
 Blessed him for words of love, 
 Before their lingering spirits took 
 
 Their fiight to joys above. 
 Oft had he stood, this praj'erful man. 
 Beside the lonely cai'avau, 
 And marked the pang and heard the sigh 
 Wlien the last bottle had been dry, 
 And on the sand sank son and sire, 
 As thirst drank up their blood like fire. 
 And hardly flapping over head 
 The great bird's heavy wings were spread ; 
 Encouraging with promise high 
 The fainting ones so near to die. 
 
 More had he seen. Suffice it now 
 That he had reached the mountain's brow 
 Through peril huge o'er waste and wold,. 
 With message for Eouanes bold ; '•' 
 Escaping spear and arrow keen, 
 When winding through the forest green. 
 And fording rivers where the roe 
 Drank only underneath the sloe, 
 Pursuing tracks the beasts had made 
 Down mossy moor and dim arcade. 
 Sustained by truth and love to save : 
 And now quick audience would he crave. 
 
 The castle by the old green wood * 
 On a vast ledge of granite stood, 
 With hollow arches in the stone, 
 O'er which a bridge of rock was thrown. 
 The walls were thick with holes, to show 
 And shoot no doubt the approaching foe, 
 Through which the arrow whistled oft, 
 As the hot Dane came up the croft. 
 The owl along the turret flew ; 
 The oak among the boulders grew ; 
 A mystery hung upon the rocks, 
 And walked in whispers 'mid the blocks. 
 
 The warder drew the bolt aside, 
 And oped the castle portal wide, — 
 A hole it was the rocks among * 
 Beneath the rude foundation strong, — 
 And bade him enter with his prayer, 
 For holy men were welcome there. 
 An inner screen was open flung ; 
 Here shields and hea\^ crossbows hung, . 
 With many a battle-axe and spear. 
 And antlers of the graceful deer 
 Arranged in order on the wall, 
 Within the chieftain's audience-hall. 
 A mastiff by the chimney lay, 
 Which was with age and service gi'ey ; 
 And as the palmer passed the door, 
 And placed his foot upon the floor 
 So strangely paved with gi-anite rock, 
 From end to end one solid block, ^ 
 
 ♦ Rouanes — Among the Britons a name of dignity, signi- 
 fying " Koyal." — BoELASE. 
 
 He raised his head and growled, and then 
 Lay down in loneliness agen. 
 
 Eouanes was advanced in years, 
 And taller far than his compeers. 
 Of aspect stern, and strong of limb ; 
 To dare and do was part of him. 
 His small grey eye had fire enow, 
 A few spare locks were on his brow ; 
 His nose was large, his eyelids gi'cy, 
 His beard had all been trimmed away ; 
 A scar was frowning on his face, 
 A trophy of the war or chase ; 
 And his huge hands and arms of length 
 Showed that he was a man of strength. 
 
 The chieftain bowed with courtesy meet, 
 And bade the palmer take a seat ; 
 For he looked travel-stained and tired : 
 And then his message he desired. 
 The stranger rose, and thus replied : 
 
 _ " Returning home from travel wide. 
 Yes, home where first I saw the hght. 
 And watched the moon steal o'er the height, 
 And felt devotion's holy flame. 
 And murmui'ed mild a mother's name ; 
 And in the cot yon rill above 
 I sat beside the maid I love, 
 The gentle Luda, whose blue eye 
 Has followed me when none were nigh. 
 I ever hear her voice of song, 
 Wliether the winds be still or strong, 
 Vv^iether the moon be young or old, 
 Whether the year be hot or cold. 
 Whether the oak be green or bare ; 
 Like note Elysian on the air, 
 A spell to cheer my footsteps on : 
 But, warrior, more of this anon; 
 For thou hast weightier words to hear. 
 And draw thy hand towai-ds thy spear. 
 
 " Yestreen beyond the Dniid's ford 
 I passed a dell with lichen stored. 
 Whence issued by a foimtaiu small 
 A band of Northmen fierce and tall. 
 Their ships were Ijang near the strand 
 A few yards from oui' western land. 
 A sword of brass their chieftain wore. 
 And heavj' spears his followers bore ; 
 And wildly scanned these wan-ior men 
 Each hill and dale, each glade and glen. 
 Then- armour rattled as they rose, 
 As if they were in view of foes. 
 I hid mj'self behind an oak ; 
 When thus the Danish leader spoke : 
 
 " ' To-morrow when the hght is spent, 
 And stars adorn the firmament ; 
 When silence like a robe shall rest 
 Upon the forests of the west. 
 Your fearless captain leads the way 
 Towards the castle on yon brea, 
 Where you, m}^ warriors wild, once more 
 Shall dye yoiu- blades in pinnces' gore, 
 Shall trample on the furious foe. 
 And lay the haughty archers low.'
 
 102 
 
 LUDA: A LAY OF THE DRV IDS. 
 
 " He said, and waved his sword on high ; 
 I saw it flash as they passed by, 
 And heard then- tramp, and felt then- u-e 
 Burn through my being hke a fire. 
 The raven wheeled and croaked o'erhead ; 
 The tall trees trembled at their tread ; 
 The fox slank off as if in fear. 
 And scampered by the timid deer ; 
 And birds that chii-p and birds that sing 
 "Were fi-ightened all, and all a-wing. 
 
 " And here beneath the boughs I lay 
 Till eve and night had passed away, 
 And Morning, hke a lovely bride, 
 Came steahng down the mountain side, 
 Brashing the dews with naked feet. 
 And walking vales with roses sweet. 
 Then I rose up, pom-ed forth my prayer. 
 And read my Book with serious air : 
 Ate my dry roots, and drink did I 
 From the clear stream which babbled by, 
 Asking His guidance whom I see 
 In every flower and every tree ; 
 For in a land where strangers dwell, 
 Whose kindness caused my heart to swell, 
 I found a higher, greater good 
 Than Dmid ever taught in wood,^ 
 Or cave, or earn the crags among, 
 In pleasing fable or in song. 
 Kor ever felt I such desire, 
 "When standing near our altar-fire. 
 "What think you was the lesson high ? 
 That there's a God who made the sky. 
 The earth, the sea, each stream and stone ; 
 And we must worship Him alone. 
 
 " So when the shades of eve again 
 FeU like a covering o'er the plain. 
 And by the spring the glowworm's lamp 
 Was sparkhng 'mid the mosses damp, 
 I left my covert on the moor. 
 And stood before thy castle-door. 
 The rest thou knowest. Bestir thee then, 
 Call up thy hardy battle- men. 
 Forbid it that their cruel hands 
 Should bind our sons in captive bands. 
 Despoil onr wives and daughters brigJit, 
 And quench in blood our household light, 
 Or dash our darlings on the stones, 
 And fill the land with guilt and groans. 
 Another hour may be too late ; 
 The foe, the foe is at thy gate ! " 
 
 Eouanes strode across the hall, 
 And reached the warder on the wall. 
 And bade him blow his whistle shrill. 
 Which echoed sharp from hill to hill ; 
 "When from each shed and oak-clump round 
 The war-men started at the sound. 
 Some rose from ferns which shield the fox, 
 And some from hollows in the rocks ; 
 Some up from thickets strangely dashed, 
 Their helmets in the moonlight flashed. 
 They hastened to the castle lone, 
 For well they knew their chieftain's tone ; 
 And thus he spake : 
 
 " There's danger near : 
 Amid my band I've nought to fear. 
 Our valour and our arms are tried ; 
 Full oft we've conquered side by side. 
 Let the foe near its if they dare 
 To beard the tiger in his lau- : 
 Oiu' homes are dear, our households bright ; 
 For them we yield not iu the fight. 
 The Danes approach us. Watch, my men;^ 
 They'll find us lions in the den. 
 Our blades are sharp, our spmts high, 
 And fall we may, but will not fly. 
 Each to his post be firm again, 
 And we shall triumph o'er the Dane, 
 And save the dwellings of our bii-tli : 
 Our battle cry. Our Home axd Hearth !" 
 
 Thus spake the spearman bold, and then 
 
 AiTanged in order his brave men. 
 
 Some high, some low, some here, some there, 
 
 Behind the battlements with care"; 
 
 And through the loopholes they could see 
 
 The approach of fiiend or enemy. 
 
 By this the moon rose o'er the mere. 
 
 The stars did in the heavens appear ; 
 
 The thi-ush was silent by the lake. 
 
 When, hark! a crackling in the brake. 
 
 The tread of feet upon the hill ! 
 
 " The Dane, the Dane ! be stUl, be still." 
 
 The warriors watch the approaching foe, 
 
 Each with his hand upon his bow. 
 
 I 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK FIEST. 
 Note 1, Page 99. 
 
 With cautious footstep up Cam Brea 
 A palmer climbs in vest of grey, &c. 
 
 Cam Brea is an enormous tor in Illogan, Cornwall, 
 crowned with gi-anite blocks and boulders, having an 
 ancient castle on its head. — See history of the palmer, 
 &c., in Boelase's "Antiquities of Cornwall," p. 335. 
 
 Note 2, Page 100. 
 Where cornfields waved and orchards smiled. 
 
 " The island is well peopled, full of houses, built 
 after the manner of the Gauls, and abounds in cattle." 
 — CjEsar. See Dr. Smith's " Pieligion of Ancient 
 Britain," p. 29. 
 
 Note B, Page 101. 
 
 The oastle by the old green wood. 
 
 " Cam Brea hill has all the evidences that can be 
 desired of having been appropriated to the use of the 
 British religion. The top of this hill is tliick set with 
 karns, and the spaces between and below were in the 
 memory of the last generation filled with a gi'ove of 
 oaks. The castle is footed on a very irregular ledge 
 of vast rocks, and the architect has contrived so many 
 arches from rock to rock as would convey the wall 
 above. The walls are pierced everywhere by small 
 holes, to descry the enemy, and discharge their 
 arrows. This is certainly a British building, and 
 erected in those uncultivated ages when such rocky 
 hideous situations were the choice of warUke, rough, 
 and stern minds." — Borlase's " Antiquities of 
 CornwaU," pp. 113-319.
 
 THE DBUID AND THE MISTLETOE. 
 
 1U3 
 
 Note 4, Page 101. 
 A hole it was the rocks among, &c. 
 
 " It" (the castle) "hath but oneway of access or 
 entrance into it, through a hole artificially cut in the 
 rock under the fovmdation of the wall."— Gilbert's 
 " Parochial History of Cornwall," p. 237. 
 Note 5, Page 101. 
 From end to end one solid block. 
 
 "■\Vliat they call the parloiu- here, marked in the 
 plan of the castle, is floored with one rock." — Borlase's 
 ♦' Antiquities of Cornwall," p. 115. 
 Note 6, Page 102. 
 Than Druid ever taught in wood, &c. 
 
 "Parents and guardians thought they could not do 
 better for children of the highest birth than send 
 them to the Druids to be instructed. This instruction 
 was instilled into youth in the most private manner ; 
 some cave, or retired and sacred wood, or some rocky 
 karn, being the appointed place of tuition ; their 
 education not being completed in less than twenty 
 years. Under the direction of the Druids, the most 
 singular part of instruction was that of learning a 
 gre^t number of verses by heart. They used also 
 allegory and fable."— Borlase, pp. 81, 82. 
 
 Note 7, Page 102. 
 
 The Danes approach us. Watch, my men, &c. 
 
 " Plunder and power were the sole and darling 
 objects ef the Danes ; and by degi-ees they came to 
 use the Cornish as bad as the rest of the kingdom. 
 They practised every kind of severity unprovoked; 
 fire, sword, and desolation attending tkem wherever 
 they marched; so that Cornwall is supposed to have 
 been utterly ruined by them, and to have continued 
 as a forest for several ages."— Borlase, p. 49. 
 
 ^ 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 
 THE SUSPENSE. 
 
 /^ ^ 
 
 ^ he furze and heather are in bloom, 
 
 J-V The moors are fi-agrant with perfume ; 
 
 Ki^A Afar is heard the hum of bees, 
 
 Wliose murmurs mingle with the trees. 
 
 The waters flow the fens among, 
 
 The skylark fills the glades with song. 
 
 And in the wood where Summer strays 
 
 The throstle hke a poet plays. 
 
 O now to tread some liillock high. 
 
 To catch the breeze that murmurs by 
 
 From banks of thyme and beds of flowers, 
 
 Where Nature rears her own gi-een bowers, 
 
 And tunes her harp, and sings for aye 
 
 Her soothing everlasting lay ! 
 
 My Cornwall ! what a land is thine 
 
 For crag and cross, for moor and mine I 
 
 Thy hills are zoned with copper ore ; 
 
 Thy vales yield tin, a precious store ; 
 
 The greenest gi'ass thy glades afford ; 
 
 Thy sheltered bays vnth fish are stored ; 
 
 Thy granite earns are castle-crowned. 
 
 Where altar-heaps and forts are found. 
 
 No brooks are clearer than thine own, 
 
 Which steal by cave and cromlech-stone ; 
 
 And every hill-top in the land 
 
 Is marked by rude tradition's hand. 
 
 Sweet wild-liowers hang their lamps of lovo 
 
 By path below and rift above. 
 
 Thy sons are brave, thy daughters fair, 
 
 And none can with thy wives compare. 
 
 The sun was shining on the lake, 
 When the good palmer sought the brake. 
 Leaving the castle on the right. 
 He walked along the ledgy height 
 Towards an opening in the wood, 
 Where a rough Druid temple stood.^ 
 For well he knew by sight and sound, 
 From distant vale and rising ground, 
 And cottage nestled by the mere, 
 That a rehgious rite was near : 
 And hence he travelled on, and strove 
 Before mid-day to reach the grove '■' 
 Beyond the i*ude gorseddaii-scat,^ 
 Where the wild worshippers would meet. 
 
 Adown the glen on palfrey white * 
 And aged Druid comes in sight : 
 His long beard on his breast is spread, 
 And oaken leaves adorn his head ; 
 A sash does round his body meet. 
 And shoes of wood are on his feet ; 
 His snowy garments reach his heels, 
 Which the hght prancing palfrey feels ; 
 And figures on his vest appear, 
 A serpent's head and crescent clear. 
 Six different badges mark his store ; 
 The King could only wear one more. 
 The horse-rein doth his right hand hold. 
 His left uphfts a hook of gold ; * 
 And as he climbs the sacred mound. 
 His eyes are fixed upon the ground. 
 Behind him comes a motley thi'ong. 
 Thus chanting as they walk along : 
 
 " The crescent moon, the crescent moon,'' 
 Is six days old this pleasant noon : 
 Again the new year is at hand, 
 Green leaves and flowerets fill the land. 
 So to the silent gi-ove we go 
 To cut the golden mistletoe.^ 
 
 " Tramp, tramp along, tramp, tramp along; 
 Teutatcs is om- war-god strong,^ 
 And he will save us from the host 
 Of wicked Danes that spoil our coast. 
 So to the silent grove we go 
 To cut the golden mistletoe.
 
 104 
 
 LUDA: A LAY OF TEE DRUIDS. 
 
 " The sliady trees, the shady trees, 
 How pleasant here to feel the breeze 
 "We kuow oiu" great Taranys' power 
 Will save us in the battle-hour. 
 So to the silent grove we go 
 To cut the golden mistletoe." 
 
 They reached the oali, — a sturdy tree, 
 Ajid yet withal 'twas fair to see, 
 With green leaves fluttering in the light ; 
 And then the priest, in robe of white ® 
 And golden hook, ascends the bough. 
 And cuts the shining mistletoe, 
 Which on a snowy cloth is laid. 
 Spread for that pm'pose in the shade. 
 Two white bulls, never yoked, are there ; 
 And so they for their feast prepare, 
 With rismg shouts that seeui to shake 
 The veiy blocks among the brake. 
 
 Subsides at last that echoing ciy; 
 Oak-leaves upon the altar lie,^" 
 And sprinkled is the holy ground, 
 "VMiile the assembly wait around : 
 Some naked forms are standing there 
 With paint upon their bodies bare. 
 The Druid's prayer is now begun ; 
 Tm'ning his body to the sun,!^ 
 He walks aromid the excited thi-ong, 
 His thick beard streaming white and long. 
 The fated victim's hom- is come ;^2 
 •The trumpet clangs, and sounds the drum ; 
 Shake the hoar rocks, and bows the wood; 
 Full fifty aiTOws di'ink his blood. 
 The altar-fire flames up the sky, 
 And the straw image blazes high : 
 Intemperance howls with hideous roar — 
 Thank Heaven, these rites will rage no more. 
 
 The palmer left this savage scene, 
 
 And walked along the brakes between, 
 
 Until he reached a fountain lone, 
 
 That bubbled from a gi-anite stone 
 
 Far from the Druid's holy pile, 
 
 And musing sat him down awhile. 
 
 The fairest ferns were hanging there. 
 
 And little velvet moss-cups rare ; 
 
 Green rushes in the hollow grew, 
 
 And dainty flowerets white and blue ; 
 
 Delicious muiinurs filled the vale, 
 
 And floated dov/n the quiet dale, 
 
 And every zephyr seemed to say 
 
 That cruel man was far away ; 
 
 And, stretched the whispering reed among. 
 
 He sweetly sang this tender song : 
 
 " Whate'er I do, where'er I be, 
 I have a presence still with me, 
 A whispering angel by my side, 
 To cheer me o'er the desert wide. 
 She comes, she comes, by day or night ; 
 For Luda is the palmer's light. 
 
 " Sometimes, where clouds and darkness are, 
 She shines upon me like a star: 
 Or do I climb the chflf of care, 
 She is my moon to guide me there ; 
 
 And oft within the blooming bower 
 My Luda is the loveliest flower. 
 
 " come, my Luda, come away : 
 Without thee it is never day. 
 Dost thoii not hear thy palmer sing 
 His lay of love beside the spring ? 
 My light, my hfe for ever be ; 
 O lovely Luda, come to me! " 
 
 The pensive palmer ceased his strain, 
 And wiped the falling tear again ; 
 Shouldered his wallet, and essayed 
 To leave the fountain in the glade ; 
 When suddenly a form he saw 
 Which filled his very soul with awe. 
 Was it some vision of the night, 
 That lovely lady clad in white, 
 Stealing along from mound to mound. 
 Whose feet seem scarcely on the ground ? 
 He gazed again. Who can it be, 
 So bright and beaiitii'ul to see, 
 Fair spiiit of tlie wilderness 
 In garb of youthful Druidess ? 
 Her hair and outer robe were white ; 
 Her Knen cloak with clasp made tight ^^ 
 And snowy gown were without speck, 
 And plaited ringlets graced her neck ; 
 A brass-work girdle bright she wore, 
 And in her hand a rod she bore, 
 Which was in sooth a magic wand. 
 And oft she waved it o'er the land. 
 
 Yes, who was she, that vision bright, 
 
 So hke an angel clad in white, 
 
 Steahng beside this little v/ell 
 
 Of limpid water in the dell. 
 
 Whose naked feet scarce move the grass, 
 
 As they among the flowerets pass ? 
 
 She started like a timid hare 
 
 When she beheld the palmer there. 
 
 And tm-ned to flee, still looking back. 
 
 As if love bound her to the track. 
 
 Until in holy hour their eyes 
 
 Met underneath the smihng skies. 
 
 The gentle lady's magic wand 
 
 Dropped useless from her trembling hand : 
 
 She had no will or power to flee. 
 
 But sweetly faltered, " Yes, 'tis he ! " 
 
 Then down the pretty maiden sank 
 
 In faintness on the flowery bank. 
 
 You should have seen the palmer then, 
 
 And heard him sighing in the glen, 
 
 As he supported Luda's head 
 
 Upon its soft and thymy bed. 
 
 For this was Luda : yes, 'twas she. 
 
 The cooing doves came forth to see ; 
 
 The robin sang his wonder-lay ; 
 
 The wren kept twittering on the spray ; 
 
 And fleet- winged swallows brushed the hair 
 
 Of breathing 13eauty slumbering there. 
 
 Of broadest leaves he made a fan 
 
 To cool her cheek, this pious man. 
 
 He bathed her forehead from the well, 
 
 Bringing the water in his shell ; 
 
 i 
 
 I
 
 THE MEETING BY THE WELL. 
 
 105 
 
 And prayod he in this lonoly place, 
 And kissed with tears that lovely face. 
 
 At lenp[th she smiled, and oped her eyes ; 
 More blue they were than summer skies ; 
 Then passed her hand across her brow, 
 And wliispered, 
 
 " "Where is lAida now ? 
 Is this Elj'sium that I see, 
 And is my palmer here with me ? 
 I left my home when noon was high, 
 To travel to the grove to die : 
 For it was rvnnoiu-ed in mine ear 
 That he to me than life more dear 
 Had perished by the ruffian's hand, 
 And lay entombed on savage strand. 
 And so the Druid of my clan, 
 A learned, brave, and powerful man, 
 Who eats and drinks and takes his rest 
 In yon high palace of the west,^* 
 And sways upon a golden throne 
 A powerful sceptre all his own. 
 Bade Luda give her life away ^^ 
 Upon the funeral pile to-day. 
 And I my palmer's love should gain, 
 And meet him on the spirit-plain, 
 "\^liere heaps of scattered riches lie. 
 But tell me, palmer, where am I ? " 
 
 " Rise, Luda, let me kiss thy face : 
 Smrely thou know'st this pleasant place. 
 When we met here a while ago. 
 The naoon was like thy father's bow. 
 Dost thou remember how she hung. 
 And radiance o'er the grove-tops flung '? 
 Rise, Luda, call me thine once more : 
 I'll guide thee to thy mother's door. 
 From travel wide did I return. 
 And sought thee mid thy native fern : 
 For thou art dearer to mine eyes 
 Than rocks and hills and smnmer skies. 
 Or war- steed strong, or armour bright, 
 Or tempting gold, or silver white : 
 And as I lay beside this well, 
 Thou camest : the rest I need not teU. 
 But, dearest, show thy palmer now 
 "Why like a Druidess art thou ; 
 "Wh}', Luda, dost thou talk of fire, 
 And bmniug on the unholj- pyre ? " 
 
 " Yes, thou shalt hear. First fill thy shell 
 "With water from my native well. 
 And let me drink, O palmer mine. 
 And then my secret shall be thine. 
 The months with heavy feet trod on 
 And came again since thou wert gone, 
 "When one dark eve a horseman rode 
 In fury to our loved abode. 
 And told us that a savage throng 
 Waylaid my love the hills among. 
 And slew him ; and a cloud of black 
 Hung evermore upon my track. 
 'Twas when October's face was pale,^® 
 And through the tree-tops rose the gale 
 To hear November's heavy tramp 
 Come sounding down the hollows damp. 
 
 Our holy fires were blazing bright 
 On stony earn and sacred height, 
 When forth I went, procured a brand, 
 And bore it homeward in my hand 
 To light within our dwelling lone 
 The faggot on the chimney-stone : 
 And as the sepulchre I passed. 
 And readied the old hill's foot at last, 
 I met a Bard. Slow was his pace. 
 And much high thought was on his face ; 
 And as he walked, iiis mystic verse " 
 In solemn tone did he rehearse ; 
 His eyes were fixed upon the ground : 
 Methinks e'en now I hear the sound. 
 And see the Druid. Much said he 
 Which I've not time to tell to thee. 
 
 *' Once when the dog-star broke the skj'. 
 Nor sun nor moon appeared on high, 
 Tliej^ stood within the silent glade 
 To dig the vervain in the shade, ^^ 
 By which the futm'e thej' foretell. 
 Distempers heal, and fevers quell. 
 An kon instrument they use. 
 And honey on the earth diffuse. 
 Around the plant with the left hand 
 They make a circle on the land ; 
 And then they lift it from ilfs bed, 
 And wave it high above then* head ; 
 Then dry it, and the same infuse 
 In water which they ever use. 
 When laughter lags, and feasts are slow, 
 That merry staves may men-ier go. 
 
 " He said by this the Eubates knew,^* 
 And by the selago that gi-ew *" 
 In quiet places fresh to see. 
 That thou wouldst ne'er retm'n to me. 
 That morn, as neighed their horses white, ^^ 
 The same dark image came m sight ; 
 So then the gi-eat Bard bade me pi"ay 
 To Jupiter, and went his way ; 
 But not before he showed that I 
 Within the sacred fire should die, 
 Wliich was the only way to be 
 In immortalitj' with thee. 
 This I believed ; and wdien the flame 
 Up from om- stony altar came, 
 I sought the scene, and reached the fire, 
 The wild cries ever mounting higher, 
 And in the pile a letter Inn-led ^* 
 To cheer thee in the other world, 
 And bid thee watch the doors of day. 
 For Luda soon would come away. 
 
 " See'st thou that little cave of moss 
 Just a few steps the brook across. 
 Where stone-crops hang the entrance o'er. 
 And reeds and rushes make the floor ? 
 There oft methought I've heard thy name 
 In every gust of wind that came. 
 And felt thy voice, and seen thy face. 
 And wept I in this lonely place. 
 Behold this wTeath : I wove it there ; 
 That shining knot is Luda's hair. 
 And these dear flowers did sweetly grow 
 A few yards from my lattice low :
 
 106 
 
 LUDA: A LAY OF THE DBUIDS. 
 
 And this was thine, with roses set, 
 "\Mien on the shores of joy we met. 
 No words ai"e strong enough to name 
 The anguish which devoured my frame. 
 When thou didst roam mid stranger men : 
 I\Iy heart was hke a ruin then. 
 To-day I donned this sacred dress 
 Worn by the British Druidess, 
 And left my mother moaning loud 
 To die auaid the excited crowd, 
 And join my palmer in the isle 
 Where everlasting pleasm-es smile. 
 Hark ! sacred sounds o'ertop the height, 
 Sc;u-ing the wood-dove in his flight. 
 Tliou know'st the sequel. Wipe the tear : 
 Miueiwa's blessing crowns us here." 
 
 The palmer gently raised her now ; 
 A light seemed beaming on his brow. 
 And shining genii thi-onged the glade. 
 As stooping down he kissed the maid ; 
 Then in a voice both sweet and clear 
 These wor^s fell softly on her ear : 
 
 " Dear Luda, one brief hour of bhss 
 So sweet, so exquisite as this. 
 Is worth long years of toil and care, 
 And much of penitence and prayer. 
 How have I waited, sweet, for thee ! 
 And this is rich reward for me : 
 Another kiss, and yet one more, 
 And then an endless love in store. 
 But, Luda, list, our gods are wi'ong ; 
 Thy palmer now reveres the Strong. 
 To Him alone direct thy prayer, 
 The one great Euler everywhere. 
 Whose presence speaks in every place, 
 The one Eedeemer of our race. 
 I've seen your sacred rites to-day. 
 And sad and sighing turned away ; 
 And as I walked among the trees 
 So gently miu-muring in the breeze, 
 A voice came floating fi'om the cloud 
 "\Miich down the western hill-peak bowed 
 ' Your heathen feasts and holy fires, 
 Tlie dark religion of yom* sires. 
 Your Druid lore and temples lone, 
 ShaU very soon be overthrown : 
 Your powerless gods shall faint and fall, 
 And He shall reign that ransomed all.' " 
 
 Could you have seen that maiden's face, 
 So lovely in this lonely place. 
 You'd surely deem some angel bright 
 Had wandered from the land of light, 
 The bUssful chme of the forgiven. 
 To cheer the earth with glearns of heaven. 
 She spoke not, as along tlie glen 
 They walked in holy transport then ; 
 But thought was beaming in her eyes 
 Like fields of blue in rainbow skies. 
 O'erhead a lark sang sweet and long, 
 Filhng the moorlands with liis song, 
 Whose gushes gladdened all the air. 
 As if a cherab's home v/ere there. 
 Like raindrops when the sunshine fills 
 The April valleys and the hills, 
 
 Ghttei-ing from clouds through quiet skies ; 
 So fell the tears from Luda's eyes. 
 
 Along the dingle then they hied 
 In sweetest converse side by side. 
 Charmed with the ripple of the burn, 
 And swallows wheeling mid the fern. 
 The bramble-bud and woodbine there 
 Flung showers of fragrance on the air ; 
 And tangled tvifts of heather smile 
 By pleasant banks of camomile. 
 Beneath a hawthorn on the moor. 
 The nearest to her mother's door, 
 Whose spreading top with flowers is white. 
 They stand at last, and view the sight : 
 When thus the palmer : 
 
 " All things here 
 
 Aj'e changing with the changeful year. 
 
 Oft Gentleness is left to moan, 
 
 Wliile Pride has much to call his own ; 
 
 And Pomp with high caress appears, 
 
 While Merit walks in weeds and tears. 
 
 Love is beneath the sj)reading sky 
 
 The only thing that wiU not die : 
 
 And such is ours. Distress may come 
 
 And famine crouch within our home ; 
 
 The wolf of want may stand and stare 
 
 Upon our table blank and bare ; 
 
 Disease may smite us with his hand *, 
 
 As in the clime of cold we stand, 
 
 Our half-clad limbs benumbed and spare 
 
 May shiver in the icy air ; 
 
 Mid thunder-roar or lightning-flame 
 
 Om* mutual love is still the same, 
 
 To die not till our spuits rise 
 
 To walk the groves of Paradise. 
 
 " But listen, Luda, bend thine ear : 
 Thy palmer knows there's danger near. 
 The foe, the foe, — the cruel Dane 
 Is stalking through the land again. 
 I've seen within you shaggy glen 
 A portion of their armed men. 
 How flashed their blades so reckless thrown ! 
 Their words were shaqi as pointed bone. 
 Our homes and friends we hold so dear 
 Are all unsafe while they are near. 
 Eouanes' mandate is gone forth 
 From east to west, from south to north, 
 To summon all his warrior train 
 To shield their own firesides again, 
 And save their wives and blossoms bright 
 From cruel fate more dark than night. 
 My path is ta'en : I see mj^ way : 
 I see it, love, and must obey. 
 This is no time for sighs and tears 
 And gentle lays to lady's ears : 
 My country calls me, and I go 
 To meet the bold invading foe ; 
 ^lay be, some fainting chief to cheer. 
 When strife is high, and death is near. 
 Another kiss. Love, do not weep. 
 Hark, hark, the trumpet on the steep ! 
 Carn Brea is rife with spear and bow : 
 We meet in heaven or meet below."
 
 NOTES FROM BORLASE. 
 
 107 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK SECOND. 
 
 Note 1, Paok 103. 
 
 Where a rough Druid temple stood. 
 
 " It is by no means to be questioned Imt that they " 
 (the Druids) "retained and pubhcly exercised their 
 other more innocent rites of worship, — and in private 
 it is much to he suspected that they continued also 
 their ancient bloody customs, — even till Christianity 
 itself appeared. Indeed, after Christianity their fond- 
 ness for human victims continued; and some of their 
 rites seem also to have reached down far Ijelow the 
 date of their conversion to Christianity." — Boelase's 
 "Antiquities of Cornwall," pp. 148, 149, 334. 
 
 Note 2, Page 103. 
 Before mid-day to reach the grove. 
 
 " The principal times for ordinary devotion were 
 either at mid-day or midnight." — Boelase, p. 119. 
 
 Note 3, Page 103. 
 
 Beyond the rude gorseddau-seat. 
 
 Gorscddau — " seat of judgment." See Boelase, 
 "Antiquities," p. 114. 
 
 Note 4, Page 103. 
 Adown the glen on palfrey white, &c. 
 
 The Druids were clothed in white. On theii- head 
 they had a diadem or tiara. They wore a badge of 
 honour on their garments next in dignity to that of 
 sovereign princes. The Druids had the privilege of 
 wearing six colours in their robes, the king and queen 
 seven, the nobles five. Their shoes were of a singular 
 shape, made of wood, of a pentagonal form. The 
 general distinction of then- order was the figure of a 
 serpent's egg. They wore also on their garments a 
 crescent. The Druids had white horses. The younger 
 Druids were without beards, the old had very long 
 ones, and sometimes a wi-eath of oaken leaves round 
 their temples. Their garments reached down to their 
 heels, and generally their ej^es were fixed upon the 
 ground. — Borlase, pp. 120, 121, 134. 
 
 Note 5, Page 103. 
 His left uplifts a hook of gold, &c. 
 
 In gathering the mistletoe they used only the golden 
 hook. — Ibid., p. 92. 
 
 Note 6, Page 103. 
 The crescent moon, the crescent moon, &c. 
 
 The beginning of theii- year was July, the moon 
 six days old ; and an age or generation was thirty 
 years. When the end of the year approached, they 
 marched with great solemnity to gather the mistletoe 
 of the oak, inviting all the world to assist at this 
 ceremony with the words, " The new year is at hand : 
 gather the mistletoe." The Druids accounted nothing 
 more sacred than the oak mistletoe, which was 
 approached with great reverence, principally when 
 the moou was six days old. — Ibid., pp. 91, 92. 
 
 Note 7, Page 103. 
 
 To cut the golden mistletoe. 
 
 The mistletoe was of a golden colour, an adventitious 
 plant of the climbing kind ; and therefore the golden 
 bough is compared to it by Virgil. — Ibid., p. 92. 
 
 Note 8, Page 103. 
 
 Teutates is our war-god strong, &c. 
 
 " Mercury was their chief deity. After Mercury 
 they worshipped ApoUo, whom they called Balenus, 
 and sometimes Be lis : by him they meant the sun. 
 Then i\fars, whom tliey called Ilctus, and Teutates. 
 Then .Jupiter, called also Taranys, i.e., the Thunderer; 
 and next Minerva. Apollo cured diseases ; JMinerva 
 taught all works of ingenuity and handicraft ; Jupiter 
 reigned in heaven, and Mars presided in war." — Ibid., 
 p. 104. 
 
 Note 9, Page 104. 
 
 And then the priest, in robe of white, (fee. 
 
 "They prepare the sacrifices and religious feasts 
 under the tree, and lead forth two white bulls, never 
 yoked, nor their horns till then bound with ropes : the 
 priest, clothed in white, ascends the tree, and with a 
 golden hook cuts off the mistletoe, which is received 
 in a white garment spread for that pm-pose." — Ibid., 
 p. 92. 
 
 Note 10, Page 104. 
 Oak-leaves upon the altar lie. 
 
 Without the leaves of the oak were first strewed on 
 the altar, no sacrifices could be t-egularly offered. The 
 priest first prayed, then the victim was offered, wine 
 and frankincense attending. — Ibid., pp. 150, 120. 
 
 Note 11, Page 104. 
 
 Turning his body to the sun, &c. 
 
 The Druids turned their bodies sun-ways in their 
 worship, and during the prayers walked round their 
 assemblies, their holy earns, and their religious fires. 
 —Ibid., pp. 124-127. 
 
 Note 12, Page 104. 
 
 The fated victim's hour is come, &c. 
 
 "Variety of deaths they had for those miserable 
 victims. Some they shot to death with arrows ; 
 others were crucified in their temples. One Druid 
 sacrifice was still more monstrous. They sometimes 
 made a huge image of straw, which they filled -nith 
 human beings and wild beasts, biu'niug the whole 
 together in honour of th'ek gods, the dmms and 
 trumpets drowning the cries of the miserable victims. 
 Intemperance in di'inking generally closed the 
 sacrifice." — Ibid., pp. 122, 123. 
 
 Note 13, Page 104. 
 
 Her linen cloak with clasp made tight, &c. 
 
 " The Druidesses are described by Strabo to have 
 had white hau", white gowns, hnen cloaks joined 
 together by clasps, to have been gii't with a girdle of 
 brass work, and thcii* feet naked. In theh hand they 
 cai'ried a magic rod." — Ibid., p. 121. 
 
 Note 14, Page 105. 
 Im yon high palace of the west, &c. 
 
 The Dniids sat on golden thrones, lived in large 
 palaces, and fared sumptuously. They were the 
 principal governors of the state. — Ibid., p. 79. 
 
 p 2
 
 108 
 
 LVD A: A LAY OF THE DRUIDS. 
 
 ^ Note 15, Page 105. 
 
 Bade Luda give her life away 
 Upon the funeral pile to-day, &c. 
 
 Some willingly tlu'ew themselves into the fimeral 
 pile of their* friends, in order to live with them after 
 death. — Borlase, p. 94. 
 
 Note 16, Page 105. 
 
 'Twas when October's face was pale, &c. 
 
 The Druids had their solemn fires on the eve of 
 November, to which the people were obliged to resort, 
 and re-kindle the private fires in theii' houses from 
 these consecrated fires of the Druids, the domestic i 
 fires in every house ha^•iug been for that pm-j)ose first 
 cai-efully extinguished. — Ibid., p. 180. 
 
 Note 17, Page 105. 
 
 And as he walked, his mystic verse 
 In solemn tone did he rehearse, &c. 
 
 The Druids comprised all the particulars of their 
 religion and morahty in hymns, the number of which 
 was so great, that the verses which comjiosed them 
 amounted to twenty thousand. The bards were 
 remarkable for an extraordinary talent of memory, 
 and teaching by verse was very likely their office. — 
 Ibid., pp. b3, 84. 
 
 Note 18, Page 105. 
 
 To dig the vervain in the shade, etc. 
 
 "The Di-uids were excessively fond of the vervain. 
 They used it in casting lots and foretelling events. 
 Anointing with this they thought the readiest way to 
 obtain all that the heart could desire, to keep oflf 
 fevers, to procure fr-iendships, to heal all distempers. 
 It was to be gathered at the rise of the dogstar, with- 
 out being looked upon either by sun or moon ; in order 
 to which the earth was to be projiitiated by a libation 
 of honey. The iron instrument dedicated to the rite 
 was to describe a circle round the plant, and then dig 
 it up ; in doing which the left hand was to be used, and 
 to wave it aloft after it was separated from the gi'ound. 
 Tlie leaves, stalk, and roots were to be separately 
 dried in the shade ; and if their couches were sprinkled 
 with an infusion of it in water, the feasts were thought 
 in a fair way of being much the menier for such a 
 sprinkling. "-^/Jic^., p. 91. 
 
 Note 19, Page 105. 
 
 He said by this the Eubates knew. 
 
 Tliere were three degrees of Druids. The superior 
 class were called the Druids. They had under and 
 next them the Bards, who, though inferior in rank, 
 are said to be prior in antiquity. These were the 
 poetH of tlie Britons and Gauls. The Eubates, or 
 Vatea, were of the third and lowest class. Their 
 business was to foretell future events. — Ibid., p. G7. 
 
 Note 20, Page 105. 
 And by the selago that grew, &c. 
 
 " AVith great care and superstition did the Druids 
 gather the selago. Nothing of iron was to touch or 
 cut it, nor was the bare hand thought worthy of the 
 i honour ; but it was first covered with a sacred vesture 
 taken privately from some holy person. The gatlnrer 
 was clothed in white, his feet naked and washed in 
 
 pure water. He was first to offer a sacrifice of 
 bread and wine. The selago was then gathered, and 
 carried from the place 6i its nati^•ity iu a clean new 
 napkin." — Ibid., p. 23. 
 
 Note 21, Page 105. 
 That mom, as neighed their horses white, etc. 
 
 The Druids had certain white horses, which were 
 carefully fed in their sacred gi'oves ; by observing the 
 neighing of which future events were foretold. Not only 
 the common people, but the nobles and priests, placed 
 great dependence on this way of divining. — Ibid., 
 p. 134. 
 
 Note 22, Page 105. 
 And in the pile a letter hurled, &c. 
 
 " Others threw letters into the funeral pile, to be 
 read by the deceased in the other world." — Ibid., 
 p. 94. 
 
 WTher 
 I Its 
 
 BOOK THIRD. 
 THE ATTACK. 
 
 iere is a Book all books above ; 
 
 — every line is traced by love. 
 (iy^ Here gems and choicest pearls aVjound, 
 
 And richest mines of wealth are found. 
 Here streams of hving waters run. 
 To gladden all beneath the sim; 
 Destined to cheer the seeking soul 
 Fz'om zone to zone, from pole to pole, 
 Through every age, on every shore. 
 Till changing time shall be no more. 
 The son of suffering here may find 
 A solace for his burdened mind ; 
 The child of want and woe and wrong, 
 The poorest pauper of the throng, 
 The beggar-man, the harlot ill, 
 The rich, and whosoever will. 
 May open it themselves, and read 
 Of such a Saviom* as they need. 
 
 How brightly does this teaching shine 
 Amid the oracles Divine, 
 That war shall die the wide world o'er, 
 And man shall trample man no more ! 
 From battle sword and spear shall cease, 
 And change within the land of peace 
 To implements of c<mifort rare. 
 The pruniug-hook and shining share ; 
 And on each vale and mouutam-head 
 The knowledge of the Lord will spread, 
 Until the earth o'ei-fiowed shall be 
 As swelling waters fill tlie sea. 
 The wolf within the fioweiy mead 
 Shall -wiQi the sportive lambkin feed : 
 The leopard and the lion strong 
 The little child shall load along ;
 
 THE BATTLE AND THE BOULDEIiS. 
 
 109 
 
 And o'er all lands in sweetest strains 
 Sliall flout, " Immanukl evku rkiuns." 
 Tlic time mnst come, it will not stay ; 
 His word sliall never pass away. 
 
 I can't forget a lonely Lower, 
 
 O'ergrown with moss and many a flower, 
 
 A gentle covert mid the hills, 
 
 llefreshed by reeds and monntain rills, 
 
 Where swallows wheel and robins sing. 
 
 And glowworms sparkle by the spring: 
 
 I love it much, because I found 
 
 IMy harp within its sacred bound ; 
 
 And thought revisits it full oft. 
 
 And finds a sanctum in the croft, 
 
 Though I am now so far away 
 
 IVlid human suffering and decay. 
 
 Here childhood has its story told, 
 
 Some faii-y tale or legend old, 
 
 AVhich charmed the listening Eve until 
 
 The harvest moon rose o'er the hill. 
 
 And Georgie with the empty wain 
 
 Came trotting down the Lovers' Lane. 
 
 These days are gone like dreams which were, 
 
 But tale and legend linger there. 
 
 Tradition says on Cam Brca land,^ 
 Near where the rough rock-basons stand, 
 A dreadful battle once was fought 
 'Twixt saints and Satan on this spot. 
 With fury fierce huge Ijlows they wage, 
 Then hurl these boulders in their rage, 
 Shaking tlie old hill to its bed. 
 And echoing through the an- o'erhead, 
 Till beaten Beelzebub gave way. 
 And groaning in the valley lay. 
 But other theme demands our verse, 
 Which now we hasten to rehearse. 
 
 The castle-gi-ound is thronged -nath men. 
 And warriors hasten from the glen 
 On horse, a-foot, all armed and bravs, 
 Kesolved their own firesides to save. 
 To fall or conquer in the fray. 
 But ne'er to yield : true patriots they. 
 And soon the foemen are in view 
 Marching in fury near Bcddrew. ^ 
 A savage band they are, and strong. 
 And haughtily they dash along, 
 Spoihng the land from stage to stage 
 In spite of innocence and age. 
 
 Eouanes saw them fi-om the wall. 
 And bade his warriors heed his call, 
 And form themselves in phalanx good, 
 Then boldly sally from the wood, 
 And march to meet this robber-horde, 
 Nor suffer them to cross the ford. 
 He blew liis trmnpet loud and shrill : 
 Its echoes rolled from hill to hill. 
 From peak to peak, from plain to plain, 
 Over the woods, then back again. , 
 
 The stag rose up and snuffed the Ijreeze, 
 Then fleetly bounded through the trees : 
 The charger neighed to hear the sound, 
 And flocks of wild birds wheeled around. 
 
 The foe stood still that blast to hear, 
 And seemed at once o'erta'eu willi fear. 
 So sudden was it, they fell back, 
 Their spear-heads resting on their track. 
 Upon that issuing host of men 
 The Normans fixed their eager ken. 
 As down the mount with armom- bright 
 The British bowmen came in sight. 
 From rank to rank the Druid flies,* 
 The wild fire flushing in his eyes. 
 With drawn sword and extended spear, 
 Bidding the soldiers banish fear. 
 
 *' Behold," said he, " yon plimdering baud, 
 How ravage they our native land ! 
 Our gods will surely shield the right, 
 And aid our warriors in the flght. 
 With Lifted hands for you I pray, 
 Who to the rescue rush to-day. 
 Go forth and conquer. In the shock 
 Stand, spearmen, like your native rock. 
 By signs that sweep before my view 
 I know that victory waits on you. 
 Wade deep in slaughter. Let your bow 
 Twang to the downfall of the foe. 
 But should you on the field be laid. 
 And fall beneath the Northman's blade, 
 A pleasant passage you shall gain 
 Into the land where riches reign. 
 And fragrant gales from fadeless flowers 
 Float on you in Elysiau bowers. 
 Then j^our accounts shall settled be * 
 When the fau' groves of love you see, 
 And mid the stars ye speed along 
 In bodies beautifid and strong. 
 There you shall ride on horses fleet,^ 
 In glittering armoui* most complete ; 
 And food and clothes and riches own 
 Which on the earth were never known. 
 So, warriors, onward ! Fight, or fall I 
 A rich reward awaits you all." 
 
 The Druid waved his sword on high, 
 Wliich cleft the air as he' strode by. 
 
 Rouanes in his chariot rode ; •> 
 
 The horses' full manes richly flowed : 
 
 Of polished yew the beam was made. 
 
 Its seat with smoothest bone inlaid ; 
 
 Sharp scythes and hooks, made thin and bright, 
 
 Were to the axis fastened tight. 
 
 High sat the kingly charioteer ; 
 
 In his left hand he held a spear ; 
 
 A quiver full of arrows keen 
 
 Behind his shoulders might l)e seen; 
 
 And o'er the steeds he somewhat leant, 
 
 As if to aid them as they went. 
 
 Before him marched his spearmen strong, 
 
 Behind him came the archer thi'ong. 
 
 With many a noble charioteer. 
 
 And troops of horsemen close the rear. 
 
 Swept down the hill this warrior train, 
 
 And drew up grandly on the plain. 
 
 No spear was thrust till eve appeared, 
 
 And then the war-steeds foamed and reared :
 
 110 
 
 LUDA: A LAY OF THE DBUIDS. 
 
 Phimes rose .and fell, band fronted band, 
 
 Now foot to foot and hand to band,. 
 
 From lifted anus the broad swords dashed, 
 
 The trmiipets brayed, and helmets crashed ; 
 
 The aiTow fi-om the twauj^iug bow 
 
 Let out the life-blood of the foe, 
 
 And shi-ieks of fiuy rent the air, 
 
 For Slaughter's gory arm was bare. 
 
 The sun went down in skies of red, 
 
 And scarlet were the clouds o'erhead ; 
 
 And scarlet were the crags which lay 
 
 Like watchful waiTiors on Cai-n Brea; 
 
 And scarlet were the tree-tops then 
 
 On mountain peak, and echoing glen, 
 
 And castle-top, and narrow pass ; 
 
 And ciimsou di'ops were on the grass, — 
 
 The blood of men with weapons gored, 
 
 "Which stained the waters of the ford. 
 
 The warfare had not long begun 
 
 Ere many daring deeds were done, 
 
 I only mention Corma's might. 
 
 For ever foremost in the tight. 
 
 Born was he by a Cornish loch, 
 
 And reared amid the mountain block. 
 
 A Briton brave, a wan-ior bold. 
 
 Nor shrank he fi'ora the heat or cold. 
 
 His arm was like an ann of oak, 
 
 "Wliich felled the foe at every stroke ; 
 
 Nor thnist he e'er his lance in vain. 
 
 But left behind him hills of slain. 
 
 Once, near a rift where water flashed, 
 
 Tlu"ee daring Noi-thmen on him dashed 
 
 With brazen blades and darts of bone ; 
 
 But mighty Corma stood like stone : 
 
 He stooped to avoid a well-aimed blow, 
 
 Then dead in dust he laid his foe. 
 
 Amazed the second Norman stands ; 
 
 He lopped his Limbs like willow-wands ; 
 
 Then tlunist him thi-ough ; the strong blade bent 
 
 And snapped wdthin the goiy rent. 
 
 His third naan dealt him thinists of wrong 
 
 With sinewy limbs and muscles strong, 
 
 So quick and sui'e that one of these 
 
 Caused him to stagger to his knees : 
 
 Then to his feet gi-eat Corma sprang 
 
 Amid the battle's rising clang, 
 
 And caught the Viking ■'■ by the locks. 
 
 And flung him o'er the fi'owning rocks ; 
 
 And ere he reached the chasm's floor. 
 
 An an-ow drank his issuing gore. 
 
 Eouanes bade his men fall back 
 
 A few feet from the river's track. 
 
 Form in a mass, and then nish o'er 
 
 With flasliing blade and thundering roar. 
 
 And deal a desperate final blow 
 
 Upon the already quailing foe. 
 
 Till every Northman left the land 
 
 Or fell before the British band. 
 
 Sudden as thought they wheel around, 
 
 Then clear the river at a bound, 
 
 Wliich through the invaders stiikcs dismay. 
 
 For like a wall, of blades were they. 
 
 • Sea-King 
 
 The Normans paused, and shook, and fled, 
 
 Leaving the hill-side strewn with dead. 
 
 The chieftain mid his followers stood, 
 
 And left his chariot by the wood. 
 
 At once the swift piu'suit began. 
 
 And rushed along each aiTxied man : 
 
 Rose lip to heaven an awftd cry. 
 
 O'er liill and dale, and down they fly. 
 
 The arrow hisses through the air. 
 
 The sword and spear are flashing there ; 
 
 Huge blows are dealt by heroes strong ; 
 
 Victor and vanquished rush along. 
 
 Away, away, by dyke and deU : 
 
 At every thrust a Northman fell : 
 
 Away, away, o'er moss and mound, 
 
 Tlirough wood and waste and rocky gi'ound ; 
 
 Away, away, o'er hillocks high, 
 
 Away, away, beyond Karn-hei ; 
 
 Away, away, through mineral lands. 
 
 Where now my native Camborne stands ; 
 
 Away, away, p>ursued and pressed. 
 
 Towards the waters of the west ; 
 
 Away, away, by tor and tarn, 
 
 Tin war-men rose on eveiy cam. 
 
 Just then an arrow sped full fast 
 Which pierced Eouanes as it passed ; 
 And in a moment they fell back, 
 The gore -drops falhng on thek track. 
 They laid him on their weapons strong. 
 And bore the wounded chief along ; 
 His martial cloak they o'er him threw. 
 And crossed the ford Ijeyond Reddretv ; 
 Then up the hUl-side wound their way. 
 And reached the castle on Carn Brea. 
 The ancient hall they quickly passed, 
 And placed him on his couch at last. 
 He drained the silver goblet dry. 
 And thus addi-essed his warriors nigh. 
 
 " My end is near, an end of bhss : 
 Eouanes always longed for this, — 
 To fall where Battle's banners wave. 
 And gain^ the booty of the brave ; 
 To give life's latest hngering sand 
 In striving for my own dear land. 
 Akeady in the clime of stars 
 I see the dwelling-place of Mars ; 
 He beckons me to come and share 
 The treasm'es wliich await me there. 
 The foe is routed, never more 
 To pillage on our sea-washed shore. 
 How did oiu" swords like hghtning fall, 
 And blanch and bhght the Northmen all ! 
 The field is om-s. 'Tis gloiy now 
 To feel the death-dew on my brow. 
 Farewell, farewell ! So rest thee, blade ! 
 Entomb me Avhere our chiefs are laid. 
 But hark, methinks I hear the drum ; 
 I would that holy man were come." 
 
 The palmer up the mountain strode 
 Towards the chieftain's high abode ; 
 For as he o'er the wounded bent. 
 And by the dying warrior leant, 
 Whose latest words a blessing bore 
 For him whose love was known before,
 
 THE STAINEJ) RILL AND ITS STORY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 But whose clear face serene and mild 
 Now seemed some genius of the wild, 
 Sent by tlie gods to calm theii' ills 
 With waters from Elysian rills, 
 And give their passing souls relief, — 
 He knew the danger of their chief. 
 So, with a priest of hoary liair, 
 WTiose acts of love were sacred tliere, 
 He left his feeble charge, and went, 
 On "mercy's holy mission sent, 
 Towards the castle on the brea, 
 "Where in his wounds Eouanes lay. 
 
 And as he through the bracken pressed, 
 With serious thought within his breast, 
 A sharp sluill sound afflicts his ear. 
 Like one deep pierced with pain or fear. 
 It seemed some female voice, and he 
 Tiu'ned from the narrow path to see 
 From whence and whom this utterance came 
 Which sent a shudder through his frame : 
 When, lo, beside a narrow rill 
 Which trickled slowly down the hill, 
 Whose shallow edge with blood was dyed, 
 A maiden lay and faintly sighed. 
 An arrow from the flying foe 
 Had laid the gentle damsel low ; 
 And here upon the turf she lay, 
 As ebbed her lovely hfe away. 
 
 The palmer reached this fading flower. 
 Thus strangely biniised in Nature's bower; 
 And spoke some words of holy trust 
 From Him whose ways are true and just, 
 "Wliose path is on the earth and sea, 
 \ATiose grace for all is rich and free. 
 And as he laved her forehead white. 
 And laid aside her tresses bright ; 
 He gazed upon her features fan*. 
 And knew 'twas Luda dj'ing there, 
 H!is Luda : and the palmer sank 
 Beside her on the mossy bank ; 
 Then lifted up his hands and prayed, 
 As oped her eyes the sinking maid. 
 She knew him, and a loving smile 
 Passed o'er her beauteous face the while : 
 Her pale hps mm-mured faint and clear : 
 
 " My precious palmer, art thou here? 
 I httle deemed that this would come. 
 When last we parted near my home, 
 Stoop down and kiss my icy brow : 
 Our tree of hope is bhghted now. 
 Death comes to smooth my latest bed : 
 Hark, hark, I hear his welcome tread. 
 With thee, my love, the flowers, and sky. 
 And tAvittering birds, 'tis bliss to die. 
 And now a faintness on me falls ; 
 Upon the cloud a spirit calls. 
 How sweet the music floats along ! 
 The very heavens are filled with song. 
 Your words are bulged my heart within : 
 There is a God who pardons sin. 
 I trust in Him ; there's safety there, 
 And not in any Druid's prayer. 
 Another and another kiss, 
 And then for aye the heaven of bUss." 
 
 The breeze sighed slowly o'er the tarn, 
 
 Stirring the heather of the earn ; 
 
 Passed through the tree-tops ben ling nigh, 
 
 And shook the ferns as it stole by. 
 
 The lark soared up his path of air. 
 
 And sang as if no woe were there ; 
 
 The swallows sported o'er the heath. 
 
 Though sin and suffering lay beneath ; 
 
 And gales of fi-agi-ance filled the moor. 
 
 And spread the rocky mountain o'er. 
 
 Across the hill, the gorse among, 
 
 An aged woman walks along : 
 
 Her piercing scream is on the air, 
 
 Her head and streaming locks are bare : 
 
 And as she hastens through the wild, 
 
 She sadly sobs, " My child ! my child !" 
 
 She heedeth not the raven's wing. 
 
 She heedeth not the rabbit's spring. 
 
 She heedeth not the earth or sky. 
 
 Or shining flowers that blossom by. 
 
 Or singing bird, or mossy stone ; 
 
 But eveiinore she makes her moan, 
 
 Whose echoes reach the mountain's brow. 
 
 " My dying daughter, where art thou ? 
 Call on om* gods, and they shall come, 
 And take thee to their glorious home. 
 Great genius of the rocks and glens, 
 Thou silent watcher of the fens. 
 Whose powerful voice I ever hear, 
 
 lead me to my daughter dear. 
 That I may see my child once more, 
 Before she gains the richer shore." 
 
 She hastened on with earnest pace, 
 With griefs dark shadow on her face ; 
 But ere she reached that brooklet's bed. 
 Her lovely Luda's life had fled. 
 The palmer kissed her marble brow ; 
 His burning tears fell freely now, 
 And uttered he such sighs of woe 
 As severed love alone can know. 
 But though a shadow veUed the sim. 
 His heart rephed, " Thy will be done !" 
 Then in the stricken matron's care 
 He left that lifeless form so fair. 
 And climbed the earn with trembling feet 
 Towards the warrior's rough retreat ; 
 And as each footfall bore hun higher. 
 These words rang from him like a lyre : 
 
 " How soon the earth is d£y^'k for me ! 
 How soon the gi-een has left the tree ! 
 How soon life's choicest flower is flov/n, 
 And I am on my path alone, 
 With no star beaming over head 
 And hope's inviting landscape fled ! 
 I've nothing now to lure my stay, 
 But Heaven's behests I must obey. 
 Henceforth my life shall only be 
 A wilhng sacrifice for Thee, 
 To spread the knowledge of His name 
 Who for the vilest rebel came. 
 
 1 hear the holy tidings now 
 
 IloU gi-andly o'er the mountain's brow, 
 That war and wickedness shall die. 
 And perish underneath the sky ;
 
 112 
 
 LUDA : A LAY OF THE DRV IDS. 
 
 Nov ronud the world shall hattle moan ; 
 For Christ shall reign, and Christ aluue." 
 
 He hastened on at duty's call, 
 
 Is or paused he till he reached the hall, 
 
 And saw the warrior lying low, 
 
 "Whose great life ebbed at every throe. 
 
 O, he had only time to read 
 
 From his best Look that better creed. 
 
 And one short prayer of import high, 
 
 "When thus Eouaues made reply : 
 
 " I thank thee for thy words of love : 
 Another light breaks from above, 
 Another gloiy meets my view. 
 My waiTiors all ! a last adieii : 
 The air is full of swords and spears. 
 And battle-trumpets shake mine ears. 
 My horsemen, on !"' — 
 
 And down he lay, 
 "With nothing left of him but clay. 
 
 And when the moon at twilight hour 
 "Was rising over brake and bower, 
 "Within the dim religious gloom 
 They laid the war-chief in his tomb, 
 Within a stone-chest by the flags. 
 Just underneath the old hill's crags. 
 In his kist-vaen they placed his spear,^ 
 His battle-bow, and war-trump dear. 
 His helmet, huntmg-cloak, and shield, 
 And brass sword which he oft would wield, 
 AVhen War walked wildly on his way, 
 And victory led him in the fray ; 
 Then blew their trumpets loud and long, 
 And chanted thus his bm-ial-soug : 
 
 •' Rest, chieftain, rest! The rocks around 
 Shall watch for aye the hero's mound. 
 The plover oft shall wing the hill. 
 And drcjp for thee his whistle shrill, 
 And Hchen-leaves and mosses spread 
 Above Eouanes' battle-bed. 
 
 ""We leave thee now 'neath clouds and stars, 
 Thou favoui'ed of the mighty ^Nlars. 
 The crossing lightnings here shall flash, 
 And thunders o'er thy crag-house crash, 
 And wailing winds and tempests strong 
 For eveiinore thy fame prolong. 
 
 " Lie down, lie down. The seasons here 
 Shall watch our mighty leader's bier; 
 And mom and eve and Ustening night 
 Repeat the mystery of thy might. 
 Until the earth gi-own old and gi'cy 
 In flaming fire shall pass away." ® 
 
 Then down the mount the warriors came. 
 And left the chieftain to his fame, 
 With nothing there to mark his bed, 
 Save the big boulders over head. 
 
 Beside a war-path on the brea 
 An mm with Luda's ashes lay, 
 
 And oft the palmer sought the hill 
 To visit it when winds were still ; 
 And here, when twihght filled the land, 
 His head oft resting on his hand. 
 He sat and listened, while his eyes 
 Were fixed upon the distant skies, 
 And drops fell down his thoughtful face. 
 And wet the mosses of the place. 
 
 One eve, what time the moon was new, • 
 And all the sky was clear and blue, 
 He bade farewell to scenes so dear. 
 And parted from them with a tear, 
 To preach in homes the hills between 
 The doctrines of the Nazarene. 
 Nor paused he till our western land 
 Had heard the Saviour's just command, 
 And where the thorn choked up the wild 
 The Rose of Sharon sweetly smiled. 
 And when the Roman rose to reign, 
 Then fell the Druid and the Dane. 
 
 With Ai'tluu-'s name we close om- tale, 
 
 Who fought in Vellan Drucliar vale. 
 
 When not a Sea King hved to tell 
 
 How swift then' latest remnant fell. 
 
 In Genvor Cove the daring Dane 
 
 Had landed from his ships again ; 
 
 And here and there along the land 
 
 They pillage armed with spear and brand. 
 
 The beacon-fires threw out their ray 
 
 From rude Trecrohhcn to Cam Brea : 
 
 St. Agnes and Cadharrow black 
 
 Soon flung an answering signal back. 
 
 And Boughtor and Brownwilhj high 
 
 Sent up their war-sign to the sky, 
 
 Which roused King Arthur and his men. 
 
 Who at Tintagel feasted then ; 
 
 And buckhng on then- armour bright. 
 
 Forth sallied many a vahant knight. 
 
 Nme full-armed kings with Arthur go, 
 
 And in two days they reached the foe. 
 
 And fought with such a desperate will 
 
 That blood was shed which worked the mill." 
 
 The wind arose with du-geful roar. 
 
 And cast theu' ships upon the shore, 
 
 And blades were snapped and helmets cleft, 
 
 Till not a single Dane was left. 
 
 Like seers fi'om the recording seat 
 The cycles of the ages meet. 
 No savage frowns their features mar. 
 No thu'st for blood, no battle-scar : 
 The sword of strife is spent with rust. 
 The spear is splintered in the dust, 
 The bow lies broken on the plain, 
 And fi-iendship"s arms embrace the Dane. 
 She comes, she comes, the Princess fair. 
 From Dcmnarh's dells to Albion's Heir ; 
 And welcome Alexandra brings 
 For England'' s isle a hue of kings.
 
 WILLIE WHITE'S RETURN. 
 
 113 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK THIRD. 
 
 Note 1, Page 109. 
 
 Tradition says, oa Carn Brea laud, &c. 
 
 Sco Elihu Burritt's " Walk from LoutTon to the 
 Laud's Eutl, and back," p. 329. 
 
 Note 2, Page 109. 
 
 Marching in fury near Reddrew. 
 
 " In this hill of Karnhrea we find rock basins, 
 circles, stones erect, remains of cromlechs, karns, a 
 Strove of oaks, a cave, and an enclosure of a religioias 
 kind ; and these ai'e evidences sufficient of its having 
 been a place of Druid worsliip. The town about half 
 a mile across the brook which runs at the bottom of 
 this hill was anciently called Red-dreiv, that is, the 
 Druid's Ford, or Crossing of the Brook. Bcd-d)-eio = 
 Pi.edruth." — Borlase's " Antiquities of Cornwall," 
 p. 116. 
 
 Note 3, Page 109. 
 
 From rank to rank the Druid flies, &c. 
 
 The Drnids frequently attended military expedi- 
 tions, praying with great fervency to tlieir gods with 
 hands uplifted to heaven. Their presence was ex- 
 tremely useful in the field ; for in tlie day of battle 
 their office was to animate their troops by inculcating 
 tlie immortality of the soul, and assuring tliem either 
 of victory or a passage into a state of happiness. — 
 Ihid., p. 79. 
 
 Note 4, Page 109. 
 
 Then your accounts shall settled be, &e. 
 
 " So confident and assm-ed of a future life were the 
 Druids, that they very often put off settling then- 
 accounts till they met in the other world." — Ibid., 
 p. M. 
 
 Note 5, Page 109. 
 
 There you shall ride on horses fleet, &c. 
 
 " They imagined tliat in the other life the man had 
 all the same wants and the same passion for horses, 
 armour, food, clothes, the same riglits and claims to 
 money, slaves, and every other property, which he 
 had in the present life." — Ibid., p. 9G. 
 
 Note G, Page 109. 
 
 Rouanes in his chariot rode, &c. 
 
 For description of British war-chariot see Du. 
 
 p. 29. 
 
 Smith's "lieligion of Ancient Britam 
 
 Note 7, Page 112. 
 
 In his Icist-vaen they placed his spear, (fee. 
 
 Kist-vaen — "stone chest." "They inserted such 
 things in the grave, urn, or funeral pile, as the person 
 deceased used or delighted in when aUve." — Borlase's 
 " Antiquities of Cornwall," p. 96. 
 
 Note 8, Page 112. 
 In flaming fire shall pass away. 
 
 " The Druids believed in a future state, the immor- 
 tality of the soul, and that the world would be 
 destroyed by fire." — Ihid. 
 
 Note 9, Page 112. 
 
 That blood was shed which worked the mill. 
 
 Arthur gave the Danes battle near Vellan Drucliar. 
 So teiTible was the slaughter that the mill was worked 
 with blood that day. Not a single Dane escaped. See 
 Hunt's " Popular Eomances of the ^Yest of England," 
 Second Series, p. 62. 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 nt WILLIE WHITE'S 
 
 RETURN. 
 
 foreign coimtrios Willie "Wliite 
 
 Roamed seeking gold and fame, 
 Leaving behind him in the glen 
 
 A poor but loving dame ; 
 Leaving a sister and a sire, 
 
 A brother by the streams, 
 And Maiy, cherished more than all. 
 
 The angel of his (h-eams. 
 
 The sun was shining on the lake. 
 
 The lark was in the sky. 
 The milkmaid carolled by the bridge, 
 
 As Willie Wliite passed by. 
 He saw the mill-wheel in the vale, 
 
 Which filled his heart with joy, 
 Where oft he whistled by the brook, 
 
 A careless happy boy. 
 
 And then his cottage came in sight, 
 
 He marked it through his tears ; 
 0, he had not beheld its roof 
 
 For many, many years. 
 Conflicting feelings filled his soul. 
 
 As he stood listening there ; 
 And from his lips warm praises rose. 
 
 And from his heart a prayer.
 
 114 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 His brother ploii.2;herl tlie liill-sicle fai'in 
 
 Beside the orchard hedge, 
 "Where httle robiu built its nest 
 
 Anioug the moss and sedge ; 
 His sister to the great round pond 
 
 Drove down the thriving kine ; 
 He waved his cap, and called their names, 
 
 And they retm-ned the sign. 
 
 His father shouted from the yard, 
 
 "Where he the reed did spin, 
 " Here's our own "WiUie home again ; 
 
 Come in, my boy, come in !" 
 His mother left the cake untiirned 
 
 Upon the great fu-eplace, 
 And rushed into his open arms, 
 
 And wept upon his face. 
 
 The hours sped fast, as tales went round ; 
 
 And when the day was flown. 
 Two blue eyes met him in the dusk : 
 
 O, they were Mary's own ! 
 He clasped the maiden to his breast^ 
 
 And all his secret told ; 
 And she that night had "WiUie's heart, 
 
 And WilUe's bags of gold. 
 
 ■c 
 
 THE FATHER'S GIFT. 
 
 oiiK, John, we'll cease a-i)loughiug now : 
 
 You turn the horse a-iield. 
 And bring the cows into the yard, 
 Their luscious milk to peld. 
 Build up the old gap by the cam, 
 
 "While it is evening light ; ■ 
 Then hasten home ; for I have there 
 A gift for you to-night." 
 
 John trotted down the narrow lane, 
 
 To let the horses drink ; 
 And while they quaffed tlie cooling di-aught, 
 
 The boy began to think : 
 " I wonder what my father has 
 
 At home to give to me : 
 A httle orphan lamb perhaps ; 
 
 I know not what 'twill be." 
 
 A-feeding in the grassy mead 
 
 He left the weaiy team ; 
 And, jjlodding on his homeward way, 
 
 Indulged in many a di'eam. 
 And soon he passed the clinking mUl, 
 
 The stUe, the bam of thatch. 
 And stood within his father's porch, 
 
 ^Vith hand upon the latch. 
 
 The supper ended, grace was o'er. 
 
 The plaj'ful girls and boys 
 Enjoyed themselves in leafy nooks 
 
 With pictm-e-books and toj's ; 
 "When, sitting on a grassy seat 
 
 Beside his rustic shed, 
 The old man called the boy to him, 
 
 And thus he sweetly said : 
 
 " I offer thee no bags of gold, 
 
 Or gems fi-om fabled mine ; 
 No jewels bright, or costly robes, 
 
 Or title-deeds are thine. 
 But thou, with health and honesty 
 
 And industiy and care, 
 Canst win those treasm-es for thyself. 
 
 If thou wilt do and dare. 
 
 " But what I now present to thee 
 
 "^"ill prove of higher worth, 
 If rightly read and understood, 
 
 Than all the gems of earth. 
 O, take this Bible from thy sire ; 
 
 And may its light Divine 
 Illummate thy path of life. 
 
 As it has brightened mine ! " 
 
 Then kneeling down among the flowers 
 
 In twilight's deepening shade, 
 Placing his hands upon his boy, 
 
 The good old father prayed. 
 0, sweetest music filled the void. 
 
 Low mm-mmiug o'er the shed. 
 Floating upon the evening clouds 
 
 From angels over head. 
 
 Time passed along with rapid flow, 
 
 And upward gi-ew the boy 
 To manhood's form : his father's gift 
 
 "Was evermore his joy. 
 He prized it more than ghttering gold : 
 
 And now he takes his stand 
 Among the gifted of the earth, 
 
 The "honom-ed of the land. 
 
 SAMSON SIDD. 
 
 AMONG the miners, Samson Sidd 
 "Was undergroimd a digger ; 
 He loved a damsel of the down, 
 A graceful fau-y figiu-e. 
 They told him gold shone in the gi'oimd 
 
 A month's fail- sail from Dover, 
 Aud those who sought it always found : 
 
 Said Samson, 
 
 " I'U go over ! 
 
 So he took ship, and sailed away. 
 
 Leaving the maiden weeping ; 
 And through the years their fii-st fresh love 
 
 She in her soul was keeping. 
 The winds bkw loud, the winds blew still, 
 
 Tlu-ough all the seasons swelling ; 
 But she was faithful to her vow 
 
 "Within her mother's dwelling. 
 
 One eve when bats flew by the church. 
 
 Where yew-trees stood so stilly. 
 The tea was on the cottage-board, 
 
 Where sat the gentle Milly ; 
 When on the porch a timid tap 
 • Came in the spaiTows' chatter. 
 And up the mother gently rose ; 
 To see what was the matter.
 
 MY MOTHERS VOICE, 
 
 115 
 
 And when tlio door was opened wide, 
 
 Among the wall-rose bnslies, 
 A handsome man was standing tliere, 
 
 And, O, liow Milly IdushesI 
 Yon'll guess, I know, 'twas Samson Sidd, 
 
 With gold and jewels laden. 
 And a true heart within his breast, 
 
 Come back to claim the maiden. 
 
 The old man rose to welcome him. 
 
 And held his hand out hghtly. 
 Stepping across the kitchen floor, 
 
 And Samson grasped it tightly. 
 His wife smiled much to see him come. 
 
 As she the biscuit buttered, 
 And brouglit the fresh cream in the cup, 
 
 While Milly's bosom fluttered. 
 
 They placed the best chair on the mat. 
 
 And kindly hhu they greeted : 
 Blush after blush warmed Milly's face, 
 
 And Samson soon was seated. 
 And oft along the table-top 
 
 With deep delight he glances ; 
 As Milly meets his look of love. 
 
 Her heart with pleasm-e dances. 
 
 And then he told them how his path 
 
 Had been where gold was shining. 
 And that his fortune still held on 
 
 Without the least dechning. 
 And ere a month had passed away, 
 
 Its bUssful visions bringing. 
 For Samson Sidd and Milly May 
 
 The marriage bells were ringing. 
 
 T- 
 
 REVERIE. 
 
 HOUGHT now is like a bark. 
 Tossed where the waves are dark, 
 Drifting bewildered on some nameless clime : 
 And so I tm'n my skiff. 
 And clear this dangerous cliff, 
 And anchor in the peaceful port of rhyme. 
 
 Here soothing sounds delight, 
 
 And on my gladdened sight 
 Stretch emerald landscapes, sweetly summered o'er: 
 
 Castle, and old grey tower, 
 
 Iliide i\-j--mantled bower, 
 And haqiers, rush-screened, trilling on the moor. 
 
 No hom's so sweet to me. 
 
 With harp upon my knee, 
 On some smooth moss-bank, cfrcled round with fays: 
 
 Or be it wild with broom. 
 
 Or still with solemn gloom, 
 'Tis ever sunshine, where I chant my lays. 
 
 If from my lattice low. 
 
 As evenings come and go, 
 The mountain tops and purple clouds I see ; 
 
 Or hear the shepherd's strain, 
 
 The wind, or gentle rain, 
 I'm not alone — this is enough for me ! 
 
 Through the hot dust of strife, 
 
 On the bruad road of life, 
 The rhyme-paths of my yf)ut]i my dim eyes fill : 
 
 When morn, and noon, and night, 
 
 Deep vale, and dizzy height. 
 Wore robes song- covered, as they ever will. 
 
 0, bliss I to .turn my feet 
 
 To some old cave's retreat. 
 Far from the tmnult of the tortm-ing crowd ; 
 
 Where notliing meets the eye. 
 
 But sea, and earth, and sky. 
 And Cynthia riding o'er a snow-white cloud ; 
 
 To hear the tinkling rills. 
 
 To mark the fading hills, 
 To watch the hght wane fi-om the marshy moor ; 
 
 To catch the labourer's song. 
 
 As home he hies along, 
 To kiss his children, watching by his door. 
 
 Perchance, some old wefrd mill, 
 With buckets bulged and still. 
 
 May on the common, like a Druid, stand : 
 \\1iose shadow in the lake 
 Shall sweet psakn-dreams awake, 
 
 Leading the muser into fauy laud. 
 
 O, may this joy be mine, 
 
 Even till hfe's dechne, 
 At dusk of day to wateh the dwindhng spire I 
 
 So, take the crowd for me ; 
 
 I am content to be 
 Alone with Natm-e, and her mighty Sire I 
 
 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 
 
 m;: 
 
 mother's voice ! it haunts mo when 
 I'm sitting in my cot. 
 Surrounded with my little ones, 
 The shai-ers of my lot ! 
 Their voices chime, like music-chords. 
 
 Within my hunil)le bower : 
 But this is heard above them all. 
 In sunshine and in shower. 
 
 I hear it when the midnight winds 
 
 Ai'c rushing o'er my head, 
 And busy thought drives sleep away 
 
 From visiting my bed. 
 It comes on shuuber's downy wings, 
 
 'Tis blG|>ded with my dreams, 
 WHien wandering over imknowTi lands, 
 
 iVmong the ci'ystal streams. 
 
 I hear it when the storm is high. 
 
 And when the winds are still ; 
 I hear it in the sheltered vale. 
 
 And on the stomi-beat hill. 
 Yes ! floating o'er its locks of heath, 
 
 That silvery voice I hear, 
 Above the niins of the past, 
 
 In cadence sweet and clear. 
 
 Q 2
 
 116 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 I lieai' it in the busy tlu'ong ; 
 
 I hear it when aloue ; 
 I hear it in the darksome earth, 
 
 The same melodious tone I 
 I hear it when my heart is sad, 
 
 And when my hps rejoice ; 
 It floats around me everywhere, 
 
 That same mysterious'voice ! 
 
 It leads me back when hfe was new ; 
 
 Tells of those happy hours 
 I passed in childliood's sunny vale, 
 
 Among the opening flowers ; 
 Brings back again ray earlj home, 
 
 That home of homes to me, 
 Engraven on my heart of hearts. 
 
 For ever there to be I 
 
 The music of this voice I hear. 
 
 Above tlie world's rough roar, 
 Like whispers from another sphere, 
 
 Some calm Elysian shore ; 
 Sweet harp-notes from the Ijre of Time, 
 
 Ai-ouud me and within. 
 They gush with conquering ecstasy 
 
 To lure my soul fromi siii. 
 
 I hear it in the moonlight bower, 
 
 And bj' tlie murmuring stream ; 
 I hear it when spring's earliest flower 
 
 Smiles in the sun's glad beam. 
 In weal, or woe, where'er I be 
 
 On this rcvoh-ing sphere, 
 Above the thunderings of the world 
 
 My mother's voice I hear ! 
 
 BESSY BRIGHTON. 
 
 (( 
 
 P' 
 
 UT on yoiu" hat, my darling : 
 
 The summer sun is bright ; 
 Tlie greenwood leaves are beautiful. 
 And winking in the hght ; 
 The gossamer is floating 
 
 Along its ^Aanding way : 
 So you may kiss your mother, dear, 
 And go an hour to play." 
 
 Then little Bessy Brighton, 
 
 Eight years of age or more, 
 Witli eyes as clear as dew-drops, 
 
 Skipped from her cottage-door ; 
 And down a sandy channel 
 
 Among the rocks ran she, 
 Wliere shells and shining shingles 
 
 Were washed up by the sea. 
 
 Her mother plied her needle 
 
 As fleet as rhymer's lay, 
 And scarcely thought of Bessy 
 
 Wlio had gone out to play. 
 But wlien upon the talde 
 
 The tea-things all were spread, 
 She ran in haste to seek her 
 
 Witli an uncovered head. 
 
 She called the name of Bessy 
 
 Among the Aveepiug flags ; 
 She shrieked the name of Bessy 
 
 Among the ringing crags. 
 Nought but her own wild echo 
 
 Came back upon her ear. 
 Or moaning of the ocean. 
 
 Which filled her soul with fear. 
 
 A peasant lad, returning 
 
 From labour on the lea, 
 Said, " Pretty Bessy Brighton 
 
 Is floating on the sea. 
 I saw her as I travelled 
 
 Around the fretted caves ; 
 I saw, but' could not save her ; 
 
 She's drowned among the waves. 
 
 She shrieked not at the tidings. 
 
 But meekly bowed her head, 
 And quaked for inward anguish : 
 
 "It is the Lord," she said. 
 Now in her cottage lonely 
 
 Her daily task she plies. 
 With tears upon her pale face, 
 
 And Eden in her eyes. 
 
 QUEEN VICTORIA AT THE ROYAL 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 IN Windsor's Royal Chapel, 
 The nobles of the land. 
 The flower of dear old England, 
 Assemble heart and hand ; 
 And mitred Bishops cluster 
 Ai'ound the Royal Pair, 
 Far Denmark's bud of beauty. 
 And Albion's noble heu*. 
 
 Within this holy structure, 
 
 How many prayers ascend 
 For the good Prince and Princess, 
 
 That Heaven would them befriend ! 
 Standing before the altar. 
 
 Their precious vows to plight ; 
 Whose futiire oped in glory, 
 
 A hemisphere of light. 
 
 See, in the Royal Closet, 
 
 The (Jueen in sad attire ; 
 Weeping, and wiping tear-drops, 
 
 As crashes forth the choir ! 
 Singing, in stately numbers, 
 
 A chorale of the kind 
 "Albert the Good," who vanished. 
 
 Leaving a light behind. 
 
 Intrude not on her sorrow. 
 
 But bless those sacred tears. 
 Which flow from visions rising 
 
 Out of departed years : 
 The dawn of love ; the Viridal ; 
 
 The first delicious flower ; 
 Bud after bud ; at'lli(;tion ; 
 
 And the sad parting hour.
 
 MY LITTLE WIFE AND I. 
 
 117 
 
 Intnxclo not on her sorrow, 
 O, let the foniitnin ilow ; 
 There's sweet rehef in weepinji:, 
 
 It blunts the edge of woe. 
 It softens much that's earthy, 
 
 And sheds a power benign 
 Upon the chastened spirit, 
 
 Wliich surely is Divine. 
 
 Did not our blessed Saviour, 
 
 On hill and grassy glen 
 In hamlet-horae, and city, 
 
 Weep as He walked with men? 
 Then, break not oil her sorrow. 
 
 But let the drops run down 
 Upon her sable garments ; 
 
 " She wept to wear a crown ! " 
 
 0, voices by the river, 
 
 And voices on the sea, 
 In city, cot, and castle. 
 
 On lawn and flowery lea, 
 Ujjrise fi-om hearts unnumbered, 
 
 While tears flow down the while, 
 "God bless our dearest Sovereign, 
 
 The Queen of Britain's isle ! " 
 
 TO MY BOWER. 
 
 DEAR natural bower ! what a pleasure to greet 
 Thy heath-hanging roof and thy moss-covered 
 seat! 
 'Tis not very long I have fled from thy sight ; 
 Yet since, in perspective, I've seen thee so bright. 
 So clothed with a mantle of sky-coloured light. 
 That I'd leave the great world at this tear-dropping 
 
 hoiu'. 
 Could I muse once again in my heath-covered bower ! 
 
 From the bustle of life how dehcious to steal 
 
 To this grotto of quiet, my sadness to heal ! 
 
 'Tis like balm to my spirit, like rest to my frame, 
 
 'When I gaze on the height whence my forefathers came. 
 
 How familiar each rock in its ivy-clad throne ! 
 
 How each hedge to my eye-ball distinctly is known ! 
 
 How I love the fresh breeze ! How I prize the young 
 
 flower 
 That smiles forth at spring in my heath-covered bower ! 
 
 How sweet in this cave of retirement to kneel. 
 When the hallowing awe of devotion I feel ! 
 And when to the God of my being I l^ray. 
 Who has guided me over life's thorn-piercing way, 
 How delicious the feast 'neath the mantle of even, 
 To drink of the streamlet meandering from heaven ! 
 'Tis a sacred retreat where the song-spirits cower, 
 And sing theu' soft lays in my heath-covered bower ! 
 
 AVe've been friends a long tune in sorrow and glee ; 
 
 Each day thou art dearer and dearer to me. 
 
 I love thee so well, I cannot but sigh 
 
 When I think, — O, how sad ! — we mui-t part by and bye. 
 
 The sigh of the rill in the distance is heard. 
 
 And mingled with this is the plaint of the bird ; 
 
 A seraph's bright pinions are brooding above, 
 And around me is floating the music of love ; 
 Angelical lays, on the drops of the shower, 
 FaU down from the sky in my heath-covered bower ! 
 
 And when the wan moon, from her throne in the sky. 
 Gilds the mountain's crisp heath-locks that rustle 
 
 hard by ; 
 When the sky-lark has hung his mute lyre on the 
 
 cloud. 
 And the hght dews are dropping on twihght's dim 
 
 . shroud ; 
 Wlien under the hawthorn my closet is made, 
 And I look to my Father, imploring His aid ; 
 Methiuks I then feel such a life-givmg power. 
 As hits me to heaven from my heath-covered bower I 
 
 "^Hiat a peaceable spot ! Not a motion of strife 
 
 Disturbs you, or rii)ples the cui'rent of hfe. 
 
 The din of the city afh-ights you no more : 
 
 At peace you may talk with the heroes of yo^-e. 
 
 With spirits that long have departed on high. 
 
 To the home of the blest in the beautiful sky ! 
 
 'Tis the fane of the Muse, where no sadness can lower : 
 
 The breezes have lyres in my heath-covered bower ! 
 
 It is rough in its aspect, when seen from afar ; 
 But to me it shines forth like a beautiful star. 
 'Tis more precious to me, the lone warbling one. 
 Than the wood-waving land where my kindred have 
 
 gone. 
 I would dwell in its quiet my life's httle day ; 
 And when the tirerl spirit shall flutter away, 
 lay me to rest where will bloom the wild flower. 
 And the breezes sing sweet, — in my heath-covered 
 
 bower ! 
 
 MY LITTLE WIFE AND I. 
 
 OLD Time has run with rapid race 
 His jom-ney to the tomb. 
 Since first I met my own dear Jane 
 AVJiere honeysuckles bloom. 
 I wonder, as I sit and muse. 
 
 How swift the seasons fly ; 
 For we've been married tv/enty years, 
 My httle wife and I. 
 
 Our path is sometimes overgrown 
 
 With thorns and thistles drear ; 
 But ofteucr it is smooth and sweet 
 
 From changing year to year : 
 And if to-day the heavy clouds 
 
 Should gather in the sky. 
 We have a moon of cloudless blue, 
 
 My httle wife and I. 
 
 When first I met her b.y the stile 
 
 Within her native leas, 
 Sbe was the fau'est, daintiest flower 
 
 E'er kissed by summer breeze. 
 Dame Nature kindly petted her; 
 
 No gold her worth can buy, 
 As we go toiling on our way. 
 
 My little wife and I.
 
 118 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Now cliiltli-en clnstor roiincl oiu- board, 
 
 Wliich oft is siniplj- spread ; 
 With thauld'iil licai'ts and beaming eyes 
 
 They eat then- daily bread ; 
 And though my locks are thinning fast, 
 
 As down the hill we hie, 
 We take the stonj- with the smooth, 
 
 My little wife and I. 
 
 Oft when my rhyme-scrap is complete, 
 
 A\Tiate'er that scrap may be, 
 I read it to my gentle Jane ; 
 
 A foithfiil critic she : 
 She stops her needle for a while. 
 
 The thread hangs from the eye, 
 As we con o'er the written sheet, 
 
 My Uttle wife and I. 
 
 And how we chat above the brand 
 
 That flickers m our home ! 
 We make the best of what we have, 
 
 And tmst for days to come. 
 There is a lo%"iug Providence 
 
 "^Tio watches from on high, 
 And He will guide and He will guard 
 
 My httle wife and I. 
 
 ^Miat though we own no equipage 
 
 Or servants in our tram '? 
 Though lords and ladies know us not. 
 
 My bu'dies or my Jane ? 
 We have our legs to carry us 
 
 O'er mead or mountain dry, 
 Whex'e Xatiu-e's beauties ever charm 
 
 My httle wife and I. 
 
 How leniently these forty years 
 
 Have led her in then- flight ! 
 No place is like her own fireside. 
 
 Her home is her delight. 
 We strive to hve within our means. 
 
 No useless things we buy. 
 Nor do we spend " 'tis buts " in di'ink, 
 
 My httle wife and I. 
 
 I reck not where our lot may be 
 
 On this broad field of care ; 
 Give me my wife and children dear, 
 
 I'm happy anywhere. 
 Thus hopeful, trustful, on wo go ; 
 
 And when at last we die, 
 O lay us where the daisies bloom, 
 
 My little wife and I. 
 
 TO THE SWALLOW. 
 
 "I ITfjxome, welcome, little swallow, 
 \ 1/ Floating round my heathy hollow, 
 » • Stooping down to kiss the flower 
 
 Eoi'dering my balmy bower ! 
 
 Many a by-gone tale thou bringest, 
 
 As away, away thou wingest, 
 
 Ghding o'er my native heath. 
 
 Sweeping down the vale beneath ; 
 
 Through the merry meads thou strayest. 
 With my mountain's locks thou plaj-est ; 
 Now above my head thou wheelest, 
 Now through yonder dell thou stealest. 
 Welcome, welcome, little swallow. 
 Floating round my heathy hollow ! 
 
 Bird of bright and glossy wing, 
 Coming to lis in the spring ! 
 Dost thou love these rocks so rude ? 
 'Tis the cave of sohtude. 
 Here I've lingered many an hour ; 
 Bii-d, this is the poet's bower ! 
 Float around me, Httle stranger ; 
 Float around me, — there's no danger. 
 StartUng sounds won't here alarm thee ; 
 Can a poet's musings hanu thee ? 
 Other bii'ds, the woods among, 
 Cheer us with their summer song ; 
 But thou'rt welcome, little swallow, 
 Floating round my heathy hollow ! 
 
 DAVIE DEAKE. 
 
 A COTTAGE ixiid the moorland reed 
 Smiled by the faii'ies' turning ; 
 And there it was that Davie Drake 
 First saw the light of morning. 
 He had a pleasant lo^dng face ; 
 
 His eyes with joy were beaming ; 
 And he among his native flowers 
 Appeared hke April dreaming. 
 
 The seasons ran their annual rounds. 
 
 The sun and stars grew older ; 
 Ambition seized his thoughtful soul, 
 
 And Davie Drake was bolder. 
 A voice seemed sounding on the hill, 
 
 And whispering tlu'ough the brier : 
 " Climb, Davie, cliixib ; the way is fi'ee 
 
 To higher things and higher." 
 
 His fi'iends were poor, his kindred few ; 
 
 His father was a hedger ; 
 His only uncle on the cliff 
 
 A weather-beaten dredger. 
 He had no one his mind to guide 
 
 To teach him e'en the letters : 
 So Davie said, " I'll teach myself, 
 
 And climb towards my betters." 
 
 The way was long, the hill was high. 
 
 The rough ascent distressing ; 
 But Davie boldly persevered ; 
 
 Still step by step progressing. 
 Hope walked beside him, chanting sweet, 
 
 In rainbow-rich attire : 
 " Climl), Davie, climb ; the way is free 
 
 To higher things and higher." 
 
 The people raised uncertain sounds. 
 Which through the air were sighing, 
 
 As they looked on with folded arms, 
 " 'Tis no use, Davie, ti-ying."
 
 THE CHILD'S FIRST PRAYER. 
 
 119 
 
 He placed liis fingers in his cars, 
 Impelled by warm desire, 
 
 And upwards through the mist arose 
 To higher things aud higher. 
 
 At last he reached the golden height 
 
 With streaks of glory laden ; 
 He gained the Lily of the Loch, 
 
 The banker's matchless maiden. 
 He gained the honour of his race, 
 
 Who bowed before his lyre. 
 Still Davie Drake this motto boars : 
 
 " To higher things and liigher." 
 
 GREEN FIELDS. 
 
 HOME of the healthy breeze, 
 Ye song- inspiring leas ! 
 I wake my reed upon your lap once more ; 
 And not a dear wild flower, 
 That woos the sun and shower. 
 But seems more lovely than in days of yore. 
 
 Here oft, beside this stile, — 
 
 The moon looked down the while, — 
 Have I sat gazing on the village spire ; 
 
 And as the solemn bell 
 
 Pealed through the hollow dell, 
 My buried thoughts rose high o'er mound and pyre. 
 
 All ! what is human life. 
 
 Its constant toil aud strife ? 
 What, but a Spring bud beaten by the blast ? 
 
 Or cloud at dawning-time. 
 
 Or mist at morning's prime : 
 So soon they vanish, and so hfe is past. 
 
 Beside this hedge of thorn. 
 
 How sweet to muse at morn, 
 Wiat time the skjdark shakes him in the grass ; 
 
 Then spreads his dewy wings, 
 
 And soaring sunward sings, 
 Pom-iug his IjTe-notes in a liquid mass ! 
 
 Around me steals his song, 
 
 Soft, musical, and strong. 
 Trickling amid the mosses of the mead ; 
 
 Or where the daisies lie 
 
 With dew-tears in their eye. 
 Or swelling sweetly thi-ough the oaten reed. 
 
 Dear riu-al sight aud sound, 
 
 W^ith pastoral graces crowned. 
 Throng round me musing by this meadow gate ; 
 
 And sheep-bells far away 
 
 Blend with the thatcher's lay. 
 While wren in earnest calls upon his mate. 
 
 O, sweet from man to fly, 
 
 Aud mid your flowers to lie. 
 Winding my simple fancies into rhyme ! 
 
 And sweet youi- halycon cahn, 
 
 Aud sweet j'our breezy balm, 
 Like fi-agrance wafted from some holier clime. 
 
 I dare not love the town ; 
 
 Its full stream bears me down ; 
 But here my soul Ijreathes fetterless aud fi'ec ; 
 
 And round my vision tlu'oug 
 
 The genii of sweet song : 
 0, life is joyous passed upon the lea. 
 
 And when eve's purple vest 
 
 Hangs round the sleepy west, 
 And twilight's dusky gates wide open stand, 
 
 I ask no higher bhss. 
 
 No fuller cup that this. 
 To rove in rhyme-dreams o'er the meadow laud. 
 
 And so, gi'een fields, to you, 
 
 'Neath heaven's ethereal blite, 
 A pensive poet turns his weary feet : 
 
 For none will miss him here, 
 
 None mark the falling tear. 
 But the great Father on His shining seat. 
 
 THE CHILD'S FIRST PRAYER. 
 
 WEARY with play, the little boy 
 To his fond mother ran. 
 Who kissed his pretty smiling face 
 As only mother can : 
 And bending o'er her little one. 
 
 She wept, although she smiled. 
 And tauglit him this, his first sweet praycr,- 
 " Oui-' Father, bless Thy chHd 1 " 
 
 Along the fragi-aut fields of May 
 
 He and his mother walked : 
 Simimers and winters had passed by : — 
 
 How lovingly they talked ! 
 Sweet was the music of their lips 
 
 That so the hoiu- beguiled: 
 He knelt among the flowers, and said, 
 
 " Our Father, bless Thy chnd ! " 
 
 Behold him in the churchyard shed 
 
 Tears, bitter tears of woe : 
 His mother weej)s beside him, too : — 
 
 His father is laid low ! 
 But suddenly he stiUs the storm * 
 
 Of bursting passion wild ; 
 And, bending o'er the grave, he says, 
 
 " Om- Father, bless Thy chUd ! " 
 
 He stood upon a foreign shore, 
 
 To stately manhood gi'owu ; 
 His mother to the better land 
 
 A long, long tipie had flown. 
 And here, where Natiu'e's sentinels 
 
 In frowning ranks were filed. 
 He raised his eyes to heaven, and said, 
 
 " Our Father, bless Thy chHd ! " 
 
 This, thi'ough the changing scene of life, 
 
 Did not from memory part ; 
 His mother's voice was in his ear, 
 
 Her lesson in his heart.
 
 120 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 I 
 
 And wLcresoe'er liis lot iniglit be, 
 lu storms and tempests wild, 
 
 This was the pilgrim's sweetest prayer,- 
 " Om- Father, bless Thy child ! " 
 
 His locks were silvered o'er with age, 
 
 And dim his thoughtfnl eye, 
 "\^'])ou on a Christian Sabbath-eve 
 
 He laid him down to die. 
 He fell aslcfcx' so peacefully. 
 
 And, O ! so sweetly smiled, 
 And whispered with his dyino: l>roath, 
 
 " Oiu- Father, bless Thy child!" 
 
 THE STOEY OF EOBIN REDBREAST. 
 
 I've been down in the valley, and O, I have seen 
 Young Spring tripping on in her mantle of green : 
 A garland of buds on her forehead she wore : 
 I sang her a song, for I'd seen her before, 
 Fhnging daisies and buttercups round the rough brae. 
 And studding the vales with the gems of young May. 
 
 By the brink of the rill, as it murmured along. 
 On a bud-bursting twig I awoke a new song, 
 And I saw whei'e the waters delicious did lave 
 A cluster of primroses kissing the wave, 
 And a violet or two seemed to welcome my trUl, 
 As I mingled my notes with the plaint of the rill. 
 
 Tlien I hopped on a bough of the green-budding thorn, 
 
 "Where my mother has told me Cock Eobin was born. 
 
 In an ivy-lined hole I directed my eye, 
 
 "Where sightless and featherless once I did lie : 
 
 And when I beheld it, I warbled for glee, 
 
 That Robin was hatched in this bud-covered tree. 
 
 I flew o'er the valley, and rambled at will 
 To a straw-covered cot on the brow of a hill ; 
 "Where I crept from the tempest a short time ago, 
 "U'hen "^"inter was puffing around the white snow. 
 And I sang a whole day, but they gave me no meat, 
 And poor httle Robin had nothing to eat. 
 
 So I fluttered away, faint, hungry, and weak. 
 
 The home of a good-natured poet to seek ; 
 
 Crept forth to the door, hopped up on the sill. 
 
 Shook the snow-feathers off, and then knocked with 
 
 my bill ; 
 When out came the bard, and he gave me my fiU. 
 So I sang him a song, with significant look ; 
 He nodded, and wrote it all down in his book. 
 
 Night closed in around me, and feaiful to say. 
 How affrighted I shrank from the storm-spirit's fray. 
 The frost-dews adhered to my ice-bitten toes. 
 And I thought my faint breathings were come to a 
 
 close. 
 I saw a poor sparrow drop down from the thatch. 
 And flutter and die underneath the cold latch. 
 
 Then off to a snow-covered eow-house I crept, 
 Where in a cold cranny I shivered and wept ; 
 
 And a pert httle wren from the rafter did prate, 
 And no single whit seemed to pity my fate. 
 The stoiTQ howled tremendous, and gi'oaned overhead, 
 And at midnight it tore off the roof of the shed. 
 
 I thought the fire-cu-cle, amid all the crash, 
 ^ii-ound httle Robin incessant did flash ; 
 And I deemed I was dead, but here I am still, 
 On the walls of the cow-house awaking my trill. 
 'Tis a trill of affection. But poor little wren 
 Has never been seen by Cock Robin since then. 
 
 How gloomy the fields were a short time ago ! 
 But now they are covered with daisies, — not snow. 
 How fearful the wind was that wailed through tlie trees J 
 But now there is mirth in the voice of the breeze ; 
 And poor httle Robin exulting can sing, 
 "Hail, hail to thy coming, Spring, beautiful Spring !" 
 
 MANKIND ARE ALL REDEEMED. 
 
 THERE is a glorious sentiment 
 Which earth and heaven rehearse ; 
 It flows fi-om all material things. 
 It fills the universe. 
 It rolls along hfe's rugged path. 
 
 It on our fathers streamed ; 
 'Twill echo down Time's latest march, 
 " Mankind are all redeemed." 
 
 A thatcher at the early morn 
 
 Sang on the roof-top clear. 
 And in the dew-damp sycamore 
 
 The spaiTows bent to hear. 
 The daylight, quivering through the brakes. 
 
 O'er mine and mountain streamed, 
 As with a cheerful voice he sang, 
 
 " Mankind are all redeemed." 
 
 A miner in his smoky cave, 
 
 Amid his coarse employ. 
 In clouds of darkness visible. 
 
 Thus sweetly sang for joy. 
 His toil-wet face and brow were pale. 
 
 And veiy ill he seemed. 
 When carolling those thrilling words, 
 
 " Mankindare all redeemed." 
 
 A sailor, sailing on the seas, 
 
 A hundi-ed leagues from land. 
 Amid the angiy hunicaue, 
 
 Pom'ed forth his carol bland : 
 And though the lightnings flashed around, 
 
 And through the rigging gleamed, 
 His voice was heard above the storm, • 
 
 " Mankind are all redeemed." 
 
 A shepherd on the low hill's side 
 
 Sat in the trees' cool shade. 
 While round him fed his fleecy flock 
 
 Upon the tender blade. 
 Bright visions filled his thoughtful mind, 
 
 As 'neath the oak he dreamed ; 
 And lifting up his voice he sang, 
 
 " Mankind are all redeemed."
 
 THE EMIGRANT'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 121 
 
 A pilf^rim by the waterfall 
 
 Suug in the light of eve ; 
 A poet saiTntering by the rill, 
 
 A cheerful song to weave ; 
 A woodman in the breezy dells, 
 
 Where fragrant flowerets teemed ; 
 A palo mechanic at his board, — 
 
 " Mankind are all redeemed." 
 
 A little girl went singing where 
 
 A streamlet sHd along ; 
 And sweeter than the brooklet's flow 
 
 Arose that maiden's song. 
 Methought the high hills roUed it back, 
 
 That with eve's glory gleamed ; 
 And every valley echoed it, 
 
 " Mankind are all redeemed." 
 
 STEEE STEAIGHT FOR ME. 
 
 T 
 
 (HE fog is thickening, mother, 
 And hanging o'er the bay ; 
 I fear my dearest father 
 Will miss his homeward way. 
 He kissed me much this morning 
 When stepping fi'om oiu* door ; 
 Then in his boat he left me, 
 And pushed it from the shore. 
 
 " Look how it spreads and darkens 
 
 On creek and cliff the same ; 
 I'll hasten o'er the shingles. 
 
 And call my father's name. 
 Perchance his daughter's message 
 
 At once he'll understand. 
 And my dear lo-\dng father 
 
 Will safely steer to land." 
 
 And then the little maiden. 
 
 With soft and silken hair, 
 And eyes brimful of beauty. 
 
 And featiares round and fair. 
 Ban down the sandy hollow, 
 
 And reached the sighing sea, 
 And, stooping to the billow. 
 
 Cried, "Father, steer for me." 
 
 Bewildered in the darkness, 
 
 He knew not where to glide ; 
 When her sweet words of welcome 
 
 Came floating o'er the tide. 
 'Twas like an Eden whisper 
 
 From shores where seraphs be. 
 That murmur on the waters, 
 
 " Steer, father, straight for me." 
 
 He shouted in his gladness 
 
 To hear liis daughter's cry. 
 And soon upon the pebbles 
 
 His boat was safe and dry ; 
 And he had clasped the maiden 
 
 Within his fond embrace. 
 And lovingly imprinted 
 
 Sweet kisses on her face. 
 
 O with what joy at evening 
 
 They told the stoi-y o'er. 
 When safely by the ingle 
 
 They sat in peace once more 1 
 And how he loved his daughter, 
 
 And felt his bosom swell 
 With gratitude unuttered, 
 
 Is not for bard to tell. 
 
 Soon after this she sickened, 
 
 And then she gently died. 
 Upon her hps " Our Father," 
 
 Like rose-bud in its pride : 
 But from her gi-ave it echoed 
 
 Beneath the old yew tree, 
 "I'm up in heaven, dear father. 
 
 And so steer straight for me ! " 
 
 'Tis said that he was careless 
 
 Of precious Gospel lore, 
 But his dear daughter's message 
 
 Came fi'om the higher shore, 
 W^hei'e angels walk in whiteness 
 
 Beside the glassy sea : 
 " I'm up in heaven, dear father. 
 
 And so steer straight for me ! " 
 
 These words were with him ever. 
 
 At morning, noon, and night: 
 " Steer straight for me, dear father. 
 
 On Canaan's holy height ; " 
 Till, jdelding to the Spu-it, 
 
 He prayed, and was forgiven : 
 And now he's with his daughter 
 
 Upon the plains of heaven. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 HE stood upon his native mount. 
 And gazed along the sky : 
 'Twas bluer than 'twas wont to be. 
 Or looJced so to his eye. 
 And when the evening sun went down 
 
 Behind the wavy west. 
 The tear-drop glistened in his eye, 
 And heaved his labouring breast. 
 
 The music of the evening bells 
 
 Came on the harping breeze ; 
 And O how sweet, how passing sweet. 
 
 It floated through the trees ! 
 Dame Nature tuned her sweetest lyre. 
 
 Or seemed to tune it, then : 
 He never heard such melody. 
 
 Nor hoped to hear again ! 
 
 The peasants in the vale below 
 
 Were at their evening meal ; 
 And when the meri-y village hixm 
 
 Did o'er his senses steal. 
 He turned away his saddened eye 
 
 From scenes so dear beneath. 
 And dropped a tear in sohtude 
 
 Upon the rastling heath.
 
 l-'.2 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 ! there were notes too sweet to last, 
 
 Full oft through sorrow's portals 
 
 That trembled o'er the plain ; 
 
 I sadly enter in 
 
 And there were shadows of the past, 
 
 Where want and wrong are lying 
 
 That swept across his brain : 
 
 Upon the couch of sin ; 
 
 And there were in his watery eye, 
 
 And pallid f^ces meet me 
 
 Ai'ound him and above, 
 
 In many a mouldy spot : 
 
 In eveiy portion of the sky, 
 
 How yearn I in the clamour 
 
 Sweet images of love ! 
 
 To be where man is not ! 
 
 He thought the first bri<^ht flowers of May 
 
 And oft where woe is wasting, 
 
 Had never looked so fair, 
 
 ^Vhere noise and tumult reign, 
 
 As when his last long Mngering glance 
 
 "Where pomp and pride are worshipped. 
 
 He bent upon them there. 
 
 •And crowned with wondrous fame ; 
 
 Ho kissed the httle mm-mm-ing stream 
 
 Where merit hes in shadow 
 
 "Within his native deU, 
 
 To struggle with its lot ; 
 
 And, as the evening star came forth. 
 
 I long with tears for ever 
 
 He sighed his last farewell ! 
 
 To be where man is not. 
 
 The moon arose, and showered her beams 
 
 
 Upon the i%-ied rocks, 
 
 ' 
 
 And twined her silver tissues with 
 
 
 The mountain's murmm-ing locks ; 
 
 THE MOTHER'S TEACHING. 
 
 "\^Tien, with his hawthorn staff in hand, 
 
 
 He left his cottage door. 
 
 T-jrTiTHOUT, the angiy elements 
 
 And wandered to a foreign land. 
 
 V V ^^6re raging in tlieu- u'e ; 
 
 To see his home no more. 
 
 T f Within, the mother spoke of Christ 
 
 
 Beside the cheerful fire. 
 
 
 Her httle ones were sitting round, 
 
 
 To whom the world was new, 
 
 
 Drawing the honey from her lips, 
 
 TO BE WHEKE MAN IS NOT. 
 
 Like flowerets drinking dew. 
 
 i JHD the emerald meadows 
 
 She told how Christ a baby was 
 
 /\ The lark luafolds his vraigs, 
 
 In Bethlehem of old ; 
 
 -LJl And in the blue of ether 
 
 He came from heaven in human form ; — 
 
 He high and higher sings : 
 
 So holy men have told. 
 
 The slender harebell bendeth 
 
 He came from heaven in himian form, 
 
 Where mosses mark the spot : 
 
 His frame a hmnan clod ; 
 
 How sweet in sUent musing 
 
 He suffered, wept, and died below. 
 
 To be where man is not ! 
 
 And then went back a God. 
 
 To walk by falling waters, 
 
 The seed thus sown in early hfe 
 
 And Httle lonely liUs, 
 
 Was like the precious gi'ain, 
 
 Which murmur 'mid the rushes 
 
 When warmed by vernal suns, and cheered 
 
 Among the watching hills : 
 
 By spring's re&eshing rain. 
 
 0, here the swallow ghdeth 
 
 Dark days of weariness and cloud 
 
 By many a fairy grot : 
 
 May often intervene ; 
 
 How sweet in solemn silence 
 
 But then the little blade smiles forth, 
 
 To be where man is not ! 
 
 And then the ear is seen. 
 
 The murmur of the forest, 
 
 The parting blast of years hath blown 
 
 The woodbine and the rose, 
 
 Upon this httle band, 
 
 Tlie thona and tangled tliicket, 
 
 And scattered them, Uke forest-leaves. 
 
 Along the dingle ilows. 
 
 Ai-ound then- fatherland. 
 
 No music is like Natm-e's, 
 
 And that loved mother sleeps below, 
 
 By bird and breeze begot : 
 
 Beside the village fane ; 
 
 How much the soul may profit 
 
 But, written on the earth and sky, 
 
 To be where man is not ! 
 
 Her living words remain. 
 
 0, could my wish be granted, 
 
 Those lessons by the holy hearth 
 
 My dwelling-place should stand 
 
 Are travelling on and on. 
 
 Alone amid the mountains. 
 
 Although the voice which uttered them — 
 
 "With woods on either hand. 
 
 That mother's voice — is gone. 
 
 "^Tiere limpid runnels ripple, 
 
 From age to age their course will be 
 
 And thrush-notes link the thought ; 
 
 For evermore the same. 
 
 Contented thus for ever 
 
 Till children's children joy to bless 
 
 To be where man is not. 
 
 That mother's sainted name.
 
 MY OWN BELOVED HILLS. 
 
 128 
 
 THE VILLAGE LANE. 
 
 O'krshadowed, fitill retreat, 
 Track trod Ly tuneful feet, 
 Haunt of the swallow, robin's rich domain, 
 The freehold of the wren, 
 The fairies' chamber when 
 The moon is fullest ! welcome, village lane. 
 
 Beneath the spreadinp; trees. 
 
 Shook by the sighing breeze, 
 A few roods past the last house and the mill, 
 
 Bubbles the village well. 
 
 Where lads and lasses tell 
 The hamlet's wonders when the day is still. 
 
 How sweet to wander here, 
 
 When vespers murmur clear. 
 Tuning my harp betwixt the day and night ! 
 
 Then pictures, fairer far 
 
 Than sky or peering star. 
 Throng on my vision o'er the dusky height. 
 
 At such a quiet hour 
 
 There comes a soothing power, 
 Found only in the path of solitude ; 
 
 And voices in the breeze. 
 
 And voices in the trees, 
 Are richly laden with the spirit's food. 
 
 Why crowd the sickly street, 
 
 With noisy, feverish heat, 
 Where not a bud or living leaf is seen. 
 
 But hills of brick and stone. 
 
 Where weary wretches groan, 
 "^lien you may wander where the walls are green ? 
 
 Come to the village lane, 
 
 Enjoy its calm again. 
 As Eve steals forth to bead her favom'ite flower ; 
 
 Beneath the woodbine sit. 
 
 Where bats in silence flit. 
 And muse on life beyond earth's little hour. 
 
 KATE. 
 
 SHE stood beside the old field-gate. 
 Wiping her eyes, poor homeless Kate. 
 Her lover played the traitor's part, 
 And left her with a bleeding heart : 
 To distant lands the sinner stole 
 With crime like fire within his soul. 
 
 Dark, blank, and wild the future lay 
 Before her without hope of day ; 
 The hills were hung in clouds of gloom. 
 The vallej^s looked hke dells of doom ; 
 A frown was on the earth and sky, 
 And Kate, poor Katie, wished to die. 
 
 WTiere should she turn, where hide her head? 
 
 Her lover gone, her parents dead I 
 
 A stain was on her honest name. 
 
 Upon her cheek the bhish of shame ; 
 
 The tears kept gathering in her eye, 
 
 And Kate, poor Katie, wished to die. 
 
 The night came on ; no liomo had Kate : 
 Still stood she by the old field-gate ; 
 The rains came down, the winds did blow, 
 And smote her bosom white as snow : 
 She drew her torn cloak round her head, 
 And in the morning she was dead. 
 
 Best, maiden, rest : there's peace for thee 
 
 Beneath the solemn cypress tree. 
 
 The voice of slander comes not near 
 
 To violate thy sleeping ear ; 
 
 But little birds in twilight's gloom 
 
 Shall t%vitter ditties o'er thy tomb. 
 
 And shall the wi-etch who thus betrayed 
 The lovely, honest orphan maid, 
 And left her desolate to die. 
 Escape the judgments of the sky ? 
 No, surely no. A poisonous dart 
 Shall ever rankle in his heart. 
 
 MY OWN BELOVED HILLS. 
 
 Mi 
 
 R 2 
 
 •Y own beloved hills I 
 How beautiful ye rise, 
 .In all your silent majesty, 
 Ascending to the skies ! 
 A cottage here and there 
 
 Is glancing from your crest. 
 
 And many a little tender flower 
 
 Is nui-sed upon your breast. 
 
 My own beloved hills 1 
 
 My thoughts will to 5'ou soar, 
 When deep in Plutus' copper-caves 
 
 Hard-toiling for the ore. 
 My own beloved hills ! 
 
 The dwelling-place of Rest, 
 The summer-home of Solitude ! 
 
 Of silent heights the best ! 
 
 And when I dream of x^eace, 
 
 I always di-eam of you : — 
 Of sublunary happiness ? 
 
 Then ye are present too ! — 
 Of spots of purest joy. 
 
 Gladdened by sun and shower ? 
 O, then my spu'it quafts the breeze 
 
 Within my mountain bower ! 
 
 And here I am again 
 
 On Natm*e's rocky throne. 
 Weaving the locks of Solitude ! 
 
 Once more I am alone ! 
 And as on each dear spot 
 
 I rest my watery eye, 
 I'm thauki'ul that I have again 
 
 The happiness to sigh ; — 
 
 The happiness to weep 
 
 Apai't from human eyes, 
 Watched only by the bh'ds and flowers 
 
 Of myriad hues and dyes !
 
 1^ 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Watched only by my Father God, 
 
 AYho all creation fills, 
 "^Tio made the flower-enamelled vales, 
 
 And my beloved hills ! 
 
 CILDA AND THE SAILOR. 
 
 DAYLIGHT on the yellow moors 
 "With the dusk was dying, 
 Cilda by the empty board 
 In theii' cot was sighing. 
 " "We ai'e hungry, mother dear. 
 
 Sadness is our measure ; 
 Can we have another meal ? " 
 " I have none, my treasure ! 
 
 •' And we owe a twelvemonth's rent, 
 
 "Which augments oui- soitow : 
 The hard landlord turns us out 
 
 In the lanes to-morrow. 
 Houseless, homeless, we must be, 
 
 Smote in form and feature ; 
 But there is a Providence 
 
 O'er the meanest creature. 
 
 " Sure I hear a manly step 
 
 "Where the elms are rocking : 
 'Tis a sailor clad in blue : 
 
 Hai-k ! my love, he's knocking. 
 Ope the door and let him in, 
 
 Our sad secret keeping : 
 Do not show the mariner 
 
 That we have been weeping." 
 
 " Can you tell me, mistress, say. 
 
 Where hves Thomas Tilly? 
 Is it somewhere hereabouts 
 
 \Miere the fields are hilly ? 
 Tears have passed since last we met, 
 
 Ere I was a whaler. 
 Sailing over swelhng seas : — 
 
 Hear an honest sailor." 
 
 *' In the grave he heth low ; 
 
 There the thrush is singing ; 
 Freshly too the churchyard grass 
 
 O'er his head is springing. 
 I'm his widow : Cilda here 
 
 Is his only daughter : 
 For the sake of Tilly gone. 
 
 Welcome o'er the water ! " 
 
 " Thomas Tilly lent me gold 
 
 When I was in trouble : 
 Jack will nothing do by halves, — 
 
 Here it is, and double ! " 
 Saying this, ten guineas shone 
 
 In her hand together : 
 "Honesty shall -win at last, 
 
 Spite of wind and weather ! " 
 
 O'er the threshold then he stepped 
 "VMiile their tears were flowing. 
 
 And along the river walked 
 With a bosom glov/ing. 
 
 " Bless the Lord ! " the mother cried ; 
 
 " He hath seen oui* soitow." 
 " Yes," said Cilda, " He will give 
 
 Strength for every morrow." 
 
 THE MOTHER'S CLOSET. 
 
 THERE is an elm-tree by the rock. 
 Within a hollow glen : 
 A branchless trunk it is, and far 
 From the abode of men. 
 It is indeed a lonely place. 
 
 Scooped out by Natm-e's hands ; 
 0, there is sohtude enough, 
 
 "^Tiere the old elm-tree stands. 
 
 It must be many years ago 
 
 When it was in its prime. 
 Because they say it flourished there 
 
 Before my father's tinae. 
 But now the old trunk stands alone, 
 
 Clasped with the ivy gi-een : 
 And not a bud e'er decks its crown. 
 
 The pilgrim of the scene. 
 
 Once on a time the woodman came, 
 
 With shai-pened axe in hand. 
 To cut it down, and cast it forth, 
 
 Like refuse of the land. 
 But, thinking when he was a boy 
 
 'Twas beautiful to see. 
 He dropped his axe, and walked away, 
 
 And spared the old elm-tree. 
 
 O, blessings on his hoary hau-s. 
 
 And blessings on his brow. 
 And blessings on his children dear. 
 
 For sparing it till now I 
 For where would pious Mary pray, 
 
 Where would her closet be, 
 If hands of other days had hewn 
 
 The ti-uuk of this old tree ? 
 
 But now 'tis Mai-y's holy haunt ; 
 
 The twihght finds her here ; 
 She kneels and prays with weeping eyes 
 
 For those she holds so dear. 
 Bright angels watch her from the skies ; 
 
 For unto them 'tis given 
 To minister unto the wise : 
 
 Her prayers were heard in heaven. 
 
 MY LITTLE MAID AT SUPPER-TIME. 
 
 TUE daylight on the hills 
 Was fading fast away ; 
 The labourer to his home returned. 
 And children tfred of play ; 
 When, in my own dear home, 
 
 Beneath our Father's eye. 
 We sat down to our evening meal, 
 My httle ones and I.
 
 KIND WOBDS. 
 
 125 
 
 Tliat clay had been a day 
 
 Of trial and of care ; 
 And I was musing on the past, 
 
 Not heeding who were there. 
 I fear I ate my moal 
 
 Not thinkhig whence it came ; 
 Not thanking God at supper-time, — 
 
 I speak it to my shame 1 
 
 But when my Httle maid 
 
 Had laid aside her cup, 
 And kissed her mother many a time, 
 
 And picked the fragments up, 
 She clasped her hands, and said. 
 
 As sweetly as could be, 
 " I thank Thee, Father, for my food. 
 
 For sister and for me." 
 
 My heart is not all stone ; 
 The adamant gave way ; 
 
 My child had taught me in that horn- 
 Just what I ought to say. 
 
 The simplest note we hear. 
 The humblest flower we see. 
 
 Oft teach us. Father, in dark^days, 
 Our gratitude to Thee ! 
 
 I STEAL AWAY TO WEEP. 
 
 THE day is come I long have^wooed : 
 'Tis April's budding horn-, 
 And I, with sister Solitude, 
 Am seated in my bower. 
 Across the lawn the zephyr's chime 
 
 Melodiously doth sweep ; 
 But, though it is the budding-time, 
 I steal away to weep ! 
 
 The lark is singing in the sky, 
 
 The redbreast on the wall. 
 And, in the rushy moor hard by, 
 
 I hear the cuckoo's call : 
 The sparrows on om- dear old cot 
 
 Then- merry-makings keep ; 
 But, though they seem so musical, 
 
 I steal away to weep I 
 
 The furze-bush waves its golden bells 
 
 Where vernal breezes ran, 
 And every httle daisy tells 
 
 A story to the sun ; 
 Blue violets, 'neath the hawthorn tree, 
 
 And nodding cowshps peep : 
 But, though a thousand flowers I see, 
 
 I steal away to weep ! 
 
 Around I hear the shout of joy. 
 
 Yet shim the meriy choir : 
 A mother loves her singing boy, 
 
 A sister and a sire ; 
 A loving wife, a daughter dear, 
 
 Ai'ound my heart-strings creep : 
 But like a banished man L'm hero, — 
 
 I steal away to weep ! 
 
 And when my comrades smile bo gay, 
 
 So jubilant and glad, 
 I wonder why I turn away, 
 
 And seem so veiy sad. 
 I wonder why within my bower 
 
 Alone I love to creep, 
 And, though it is the budding-hour, 
 
 I steal away to weep. 
 
 't; 
 
 KIND WORDS. 
 
 'rr^rs strange to feel, as on we plod 
 O'er the rough patli of hfe, 
 A\niat power is in a few kind words, 
 Breathecl in the midst of stiife, 
 Or murmm-ed o'er the sick man's bed, 
 
 Or in the orphan's ear. 
 Or by the hearth so desolate, 
 The widow's heart to cheer. 
 
 Once, winding through the noisy streets, 
 
 I met an aged hind ; 
 His face was shaded o'er with .gi'ief, 
 
 The reflex of his mind. 
 I took the stranger by the hand, 
 
 And spoke with gentle air : 
 The clouds departed fi-om his brow, 
 
 And sunshine settled there. 
 
 By the road-side, beneath a tree 
 
 A weary wight sat down. 
 With gai-ments patched and dust-bedimmed ; 
 
 His face and hands were brown. 
 " Man, look to God," a soft voice said, 
 
 " And cast on Him thy care : " 
 The beggar rose as if new life 
 
 Were granted to him there. 
 
 The day was fading into eve. 
 
 When by a lowly cot 
 A pretty maiden, weeping much, 
 
 Bewailed her lonely lot. 
 A few kind words fell on her ear 
 
 Like music fi-om above. 
 And gi-ief and sorrow, dread and fear, 
 
 Were swallowed up in love. 
 
 A poet, sobbing o'er his lyre. 
 
 Sat in the hawthorn shade ; 
 Its silent strings were rusted o'er. 
 
 And not a note they made. 
 A kiud fi'iend cheered him with his voice. 
 
 Who thi-ough the vale did plod ; 
 The poet sang as if his strain 
 
 Dropped from the hills of God. 
 
 Within a dingy shop, smoke-black, 
 
 A husband and a su'e, 
 Whose hands were bronzed with iron toil, 
 
 StiiTed up a fm*nace-fire. 
 Why does he work so fi-ee to-day. 
 
 The foremost of his clan ? 
 A few kind words have made bim feel 
 
 And know himself a man.
 
 126 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Is gold a thing too great for tliee ? 
 
 Ai-p gems beyond thy reach, 
 To give to cheer thy fellow-man ? 
 r Thon hast the gift of speech. 
 Speak kindly to the weai-y one, 
 
 The eiring souls that stray : 
 So shall thy deeds like sunshine sti-eam 
 
 Along life's rough highway. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S PEAYEE. 
 
 a /^ CD bless thee," said the mother, 
 I -IAs her boy did by her stand, 
 VJ With his bundle on his shoulder, 
 And his hawthorn in his hand. 
 
 " God bless thee on thy pilgiimage 
 Along life's rugged race ! " 
 
 And o'er the threshold stepped the lad, 
 "With tears upon his face. 
 
 He wandered down the rushy ilat. 
 
 Oft pausing in his dream, 
 And gazing back to see once more 
 
 His old home by the sti-eam : 
 And eveiy bird and fly and bee 
 
 That gladsome himimed along 
 Seemed with the silver brock to sing, 
 
 " God bless thee," in their song. 
 
 A mill-wheel turning round and roimd 
 
 Beneath a willow bank, 
 Where swallows dipped their flashing wings 
 
 And merry robins drank, 
 "Where he with his bright-eyed compeers 
 
 A-playing had been found. 
 Seemed echoing his another's prayer, 
 
 When turning round and round. 
 
 On board a ship and o'er the seas 
 
 Now sailing on in haste. 
 The flapping sails, the piping cords, 
 
 The weai-y watery waste. 
 The mystic voices heard around 
 
 On ocean and in aii". 
 Were all replete "with words of life, — 
 
 His mother's holy prayer. 
 
 This nerved him as he toiled thi'ough lands 
 
 Unknown to poet's song, 
 "WTien son-ow smote, or gi-een-eyed grief. 
 
 And disappointment strong. 
 And in the silent hush of life, 
 
 Tliough crushed with cruel care. 
 His soul drank in this healing strain, 
 
 And felt his mother's prayer. 
 
 And when the God of Providence 
 
 So blessed him that his name 
 Was hallowed by the great and good. 
 
 And trumpeted by Fame, 
 His mother's prayer rang in his heart, 
 
 And filled his soul with joy, 
 Making a paradise of earth : 
 
 " God bless thee, precious boy ! " 
 
 THE DEATH OF MY FATHER. 
 
 THE month of song is come, 
 The murmur of the bee, 
 The cuckoo voiceful roimd our home, 
 The blackbu'd from the lea : 
 The skylark in the sky 
 
 Strikes his enchanting lyre ; 
 But gushing tears are in mine eye 
 For my departed sire I 
 
 He fell, and, falHng, found 
 
 The victory he implored ; 
 Death's sting had been extracted by 
 
 The God whom he adored ! 
 And, with his dying breath. 
 
 Sweet words of comfort came : 
 He whispered, pierced by cruel Death, 
 
 His strong DeHverer's name ! 
 
 Stretched on affliction's rack, 
 
 The iron in his bones. 
 No muiTum' passed his sainted hps. 
 
 No murmur in his gi'oans. 
 Piesigned, submissive, meek. 
 
 He waited for the change, 
 Wlien angel-bands would guide him hence 
 
 Thi-ough fields of light to range. 
 
 I saw him face the foe. 
 
 And close his languid eye : — 
 Sm-e, fiends at such a scene might weep, 
 
 To see a Christian die ! 
 He doffed his weeds of care 
 
 For an angehc vest. 
 And on a Christian Sabbath eve 
 
 He gained the promised rest ! 
 
 My father Hves in heaven ! 
 
 I weep not though he's flown : 
 I have a sainted xmrent now 
 
 Before the' eternal throne! 
 O may his weeping wife 
 
 And orphan children see 
 Him feasting in those stany fields ! 
 
 " Amen 1 so let it be ! " 
 
 He left no wealth behind. 
 
 No riches but his name ; 
 No honour but his honesty : 
 
 He was unknown to fame. 
 His grave is with the poor. 
 
 The rude, unlettered clan ; 
 But from the tomb a voice breaks forth, 
 
 " He was an honest man ! " 
 
 Thank God for such a sire ! 
 
 He taught my lips to pray, 
 And bade me bend my infant knee 
 
 In childhood's early day. 
 Thank God for such a sire ! 
 
 'Tis much to be thus riven ; 
 But now he strikes a golden lyre. 
 
 And swells the songs of heaven !
 
 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 
 
 127 
 
 THE DRESSMAKER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 , ttT^OEs it rain much, my Andoo '? 
 I I Open tlic iloor and see." 
 J-/ "Yes, mother, and the gi'eat wind 
 
 Roars loudly through the tree ; 
 And it is dark, very ; 
 
 But I don't fear to go 
 And take the work you've finished 
 At onco to Mrs. Snow." 
 
 Thus answered Ella's daughter, 
 
 Her only one and best : 
 To-morrow was the Sabbath, 
 
 The day of holy rest. 
 No food had they or fuel. 
 
 And baby-boy was low : 
 Throuj^h tears the mother whispered, 
 
 *' Yes, Andoo, you must go." 
 
 Once they had many comforts 
 
 Which earnest toil procured ; 
 Nor dreamt they then of hardship 
 
 Such as they now endiu'ed. 
 Her husband join'd the army, 
 
 Against the foe to stand ; 
 And ramour said he perished 
 
 When fighting for his land. 
 
 She took the Httle parcel 
 
 Bound up secm-e and plain ; 
 Then wrapped her shawl around her, 
 
 And stopped into the rain : 
 And soon amid the tempest 
 
 AVhich everywhere did roar, 
 She stood, the darling Andoo, 
 
 Before the lady's door. 
 
 Within the work was taken : 
 
 It was my lady's ball ; 
 She had no time for Andoo 
 
 To speak to her at all. 
 Distress and sorrow seized her: 
 
 She wept and trembled too. 
 And cried in bitter anguish, 
 
 " What will my mother do V" 
 
 On through the street she plodded ; 
 
 The great big drops came down, 
 The rain-flood in a river 
 
 Was ruslung through the town : 
 And this her only murmur. 
 
 Which sad and sadder gi'cw. 
 As she approached the alley, 
 
 "What will my mother do ?" 
 
 0, need I speak of weeping 
 
 Within that dwelUng small ? 
 And tins because my lady 
 
 Was busy at the ball ! 
 O, need I speak of hunger ? 
 
 O, need I speak of prayer, 
 And cold, and ciy, and darkness 
 
 Within that hovel bare ? 
 
 The mother kissed the maiden, 
 And pointed to the skies : 
 
 Even as I think upon it. 
 
 The tears are in mine eyes. 
 
 O, she was woni and wasted ; 
 It was a bitter cup : 
 
 " Weep not, my dearest Andoo ; 
 The Lord will take us up." 
 
 Why do the rich thus trifle 
 
 With industry and worth ? 
 AVliy do they not remember 
 
 The toiling ones of earth ? 
 Why swell the tide of sorrow 
 
 With this neglect, O why ? 
 For which the righteous Giver 
 
 Will judge them by and bye. 
 
 Ere midnight there was succour ; 
 
 The Lord had answered prayer ; 
 From battle came her father. 
 
 And found his Andoo there ; 
 And found liis dearest Ella, 
 
 Who sat so long in night, 
 And kissed away then- soitow. 
 
 And cheered them with his hght. 
 
 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 
 
 (c-r OOK through the lattice, Laui'a, 
 I Look out upon the main : 
 JLi 'Tis time yom* fisher father 
 
 Was at his home again. 
 The winds are waihng wildly. 
 
 The great waves lash the strand : 
 Sa^'iour, save the fisher, 
 And bring him safe to land !" 
 
 And Lam-a throvigh the casement 
 
 Gazed o'er the sand-hills brown 
 Upon the fi-etted ocean. 
 
 Which rolled in fmy down. 
 No vessel met her \'ision. 
 
 Or boat, upon the blue, 
 But hiUs of foamy water. 
 
 And clouds of pitchy hue. 
 
 " Look, look again, my Laiu-a : 
 
 How fast comes on the night ! 
 O how the hghtning blazes 
 
 Around the rugged height ! 
 The pent-up rains are falhug. 
 
 The thunders meet in strife : 
 O, when will come the fisher. 
 
 The sunshine of my life ?" 
 
 And Lam-a's eyes are gleaming 
 
 Again upon the sea : 
 No boat is seen approaching, 
 
 Or fisher on the quay. 
 The sun has sunk in shadow, 
 
 A thick black darkens space : 
 Her heart beats hard and harder. 
 
 And tears are on her face.
 
 128 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 " Now trim the midniglit taper, 
 
 THE PARTING SCENE. 
 
 And, Laiira, let us creep 
 
 
 Together to the doorway, 
 
 f 1 ^HE parting knell was rang ; 
 
 And back again to weep. 
 
 1 A scene of tumult reigned ; 
 
 The storm is raging louder, 
 
 Jl. Hands clung to hands, and eyes of love 
 
 And deeper moans the sea ; 
 
 Were on each other strained. 
 
 The dismal darkness thickens ; 
 
 Those eyes which never wept 
 
 No fisher comes to me." 
 
 For many, many years. 
 
 
 W^ere shedding, for departing friends, 
 
 And when the hlnsh of morning 
 
 A gush of hallowing tears. 
 
 Himg on the brightening aii", 
 
 
 They early sought the sea-side. 
 
 The mighty steamer moves 
 
 To weep in soitow there. 
 
 Along its watery track. 
 
 For one a su-e and lover, 
 
 And oft the weeping emigrant 
 
 And one a husband found. 
 
 Turns round and gazes back. 
 
 "Washed dead upon the shingles — 
 
 His friends are on the beach 
 
 The fishermen were drowned. 
 
 "Within his misty view : 
 
 
 He waves his hat, and silently 
 
 You see that cottage yonder ; 
 
 Breathes forth a last adieu ! 
 
 The thatch is old and gi-ey : 
 
 
 There Lam-a and her mother 
 
 A son is in that ship ; 
 
 Are hving to this day. 
 
 A father on the shore ; 
 
 And one is fi'esh as summer. 
 
 And silently he paced along 
 
 One winti-y, reft, and riven ; 
 
 Beside the breakers' roar; 
 
 And both wear weeds of widowhood, 
 
 And, when the flying bark 
 
 And both prepare for heaven. 
 
 Out of his vision swept. 
 
 
 He turned his fiuTowed face away, — 
 
 
 He turned away and wept ! 
 
 
 I saw him wipe the tear 
 
 TO THE OLD HILL. 
 
 From off his cheek that day ; 
 
 
 The secret workings of his soul 
 
 >^NCE more to climb thy rocky brow, 
 
 No poet can portray. 
 
 1 p\Tien early buds are peeping ; 
 
 He saw his son no more 
 
 V_/Once more to muse where breezes blow. 
 
 Beneath the spreading skies ; 
 
 And white young lambs are leaping ; 
 
 And now the tears are wiped away 
 
 To brash thy hau- thi'ough croft and mead. 
 
 For ever from his eyes .' 
 
 Eefreshed with venial rain ; 
 
 
 0, this is luxury indeed. 
 
 
 And glads my heart again ! 
 
 
 Once more, and yet once more, old hill. 
 
 
 I kneel upon thy crest ; 
 
 
 Of all those moimtain-peaks around, 
 
 THE EOBIN'S MONODY. 
 
 Thou art the brightest, best. 
 
 
 The flowers that gem thy rusth'ng locks. 
 
 r 1 i|HE silent snow came down, 
 
 And stud thy forehead fair. 
 
 1 Manthng the woods and leas. 
 
 Are peeling from among the rocks, 
 
 JL And hanging beautiful festoons 
 
 To me beyond compare. 
 
 Upon the forest-trees ; 
 
 
 Shrouding the hamlet's face. 
 
 Once more, my native movmt, once more 
 
 Powdering the mountain's locks. 
 
 The welcome Spring is come : 
 
 And spreading chaste white drapery 
 
 How fi-eshly steal the soft south winds 
 
 Over the mossy rocks. 
 
 Along my mountain home ! 
 
 
 And flowers, as when a boy, come forth, 
 
 My little ones and I 
 
 Clinging to moss and stone ; 
 
 Were sitting round our hearth, 
 
 But ah 1 they look a different look. 
 
 Secm-e from wintry uiiids without. 
 
 And speak a different tone. 
 
 Cheered with the faggot's mhth ; 
 
 
 Pitying the poor old man 
 
 Once more, within my quiet bower. 
 
 Who came that day to beg, 
 
 I hear the skylark's song : 
 
 Bringing his scars from Waterloo, 
 
 How wildly come his warbh'ngs down, 
 
 Where he had left a leg. 
 
 Those bending brakes among ! 
 
 
 Blessed be the God of Providence ! 
 
 'Twas when the storm was high 
 
 His name will I adore, 
 
 Against the window-pane. 
 
 "Wlio spares me on my pilgn'm, way 
 
 Among the feathery, falling snow, 
 
 To visit thee once more. 
 
 A httle Eobin came,
 
 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 129 
 
 And san<:», in moltinj:j tone. 
 
 His own pathetic lay ; 
 And as his notes came dropping forth, 
 
 To us ho seemed to say : — 
 
 " I'm tired, and hungry too. 
 
 In callinfT here and there, 
 Imploring food, and getting none, 
 
 Because they've none to spare. 
 I asked my cousin, wren. 
 
 Within his mossy shed ; 
 But ho looked angry while I spoke, 
 
 And shook his feathery head. 
 
 " I asked the sparrow, who 
 
 Was chattering in his glee, 
 If he could give me anything 
 
 To feed upon — not he. 
 He ruftled up his plumes. 
 
 And scratched himself in ire ; 
 Looking unutterably cold, 
 
 lie bade_mo to retire. 
 
 " The linnet^could not hear ; 
 
 The blackbii-d could not stay ; 
 The lark, in music's mellow tone, 
 
 Said, ' Come some other day.' 
 I visited the thrush, — 
 
 He might have grain in store : 
 He had indeed, but not for me 
 
 Who was BO very poor. 
 
 " A finch and I were friends 
 
 In summer's flowery prime ; 
 I sang her songs at morning horn-, 
 
 And holy evening time. 
 I saw her yesterday, 
 
 With meat before her spread ; 
 I nodded, but she knew me not, 
 
 Nor word of kindness said. 
 
 " O, give poor bird a crumb. 
 
 List to the Robin's cry. 
 And I will sing another song 
 
 To you before I die." 
 We ran and gave him bread 
 
 Upon the window sill, 
 And watched him picking up the crumbs 
 
 In his small horny bill. 
 
 So then he flew away. 
 
 The feathery flakes among, 
 And 'ncath a shining icicle 
 
 He thanked us with a song. 
 I know not when I felt 
 
 Half so replete with joy ! 
 0, how much better 'twas to feed 
 
 That Robin, than destroy. 
 
 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 LITTLE music-breathing lyre ! 
 Once again 1 toiich thy wire ; 
 Once again a song I raise, 
 Pensive warbler, in thy praise. 
 On my father's broomy height. 
 In life's morning, clear and bright, 
 'Neath the craggy rocks, which ho 
 With white faces to the sky, 
 
 Lichenod o'er with many a lay 
 Of the old times passed away. 
 Stony chroniclers outspread 
 On my mountain's heathy head, — 
 In their mystic shadows lone, 
 FiiTst I heard thy plaintive tone ; 
 First my hands essayed to bring 
 Music from thy trembling string, 
 And my soul's mj'^sterious firo 
 Warmed to hear thee, little lyre ! 
 
 Tears have passed away since then: 
 I among the walks of men 
 Toil and sweat with wounded heart, 
 'Neath lean Care's oppressive dart : 
 But, when digging in the ground. 
 Oft thy tones are tingling round ; 
 Oft I hear thy simple strain 
 Floating over hill and plain ; 
 And when Danger's self is near, 
 And I see the face of Fear 
 Peering o'er some ragged rock, 
 Falling with a dreadful shock 
 In the mine's dark chamber, I 
 Think upon thee with a sigh. 
 Little, honest, simple fiiend, 
 Be thou with me tiU the end ; 
 For, unnoticed though thou be. 
 Thou art more than gold to me ! 
 
 Oft when evening shades close o'er 
 Mead and mountain, mine and moor ; 
 When the hedger's task is done, 
 Thi'ough the rushes let us run ; 
 And beside the pool we'U sit, 
 Where the sportive swallows flit. 
 And the spotted fishes play. 
 Watching daylight die away ; 
 And the sparrows on the eaves, 
 And the robins mid the sheaves, 
 And the flowers, with garments bright, 
 AU shall minister dehght. 
 Then the night-bird will awake 
 His low ditty from the brake, 
 And sweet spirit-notes shall come, 
 MingUng with the millaiiaid's hum. 
 When we have an horn- to spend. 
 Wo will haste there, httle fiiend. 
 
 In some old cave, dank and dim. 
 We will chant our vesper-hymn. 
 When the winds, with angry sweep. 
 Drive theu' com'sers o'er the deej), 
 And descends the beating rain, 
 Falling on the sounding plain. 
 In the bower where Silence dwells, 
 We will hst the evening bells. 
 And their merry chimes shall raise 
 Memories of our April days. 
 Tlu-ough the hamlet we will stray, 
 Where the happy children play. 
 In the deep romantic glen 
 Musing on the waj's of men. 
 Over rock, by ruined tower, 
 In the poet's broken bower. 
 Under hawthorns white with May, 
 We Avill muse at close of day.
 
 130 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BOEN. 
 
 Night's inky mantle cloaked old Egypt's head, 
 "Wrapping her towers in gloom : Silence wastlicre, 
 And Shmiber nodded on the battlements ; 
 Labotu- lay down, and pressed his wearv- brow, 
 Unclosed his hardened hands, shnt his dull eyes, 
 And fell asleep as sweetly as a child. 
 The task-galled Hebrew, slumbering on his couch, 
 Forgot his cruel master's uvm yoke, 
 And ceased to roam the ragged stubblc-field. 
 The babe lay nestled on its mother's breast. 
 And the young bridegroom clasped his blooming bride, 
 Deeming the eai'th a Paradise of bliss ! 
 The music of the lute had died away ; 
 And he who framed the awe-crowned pyramid 
 That looks and laughs at the destroyer, Time, 
 Laid doTVTa his chisel and forgot his plan. 
 The munnur of the ocean came and went ; 
 And the lone nightiugalc, on the gi-een palm, 
 "Warbled such music to the crescent moon, 
 That showers of dew-beads fell upon the gi'ass. 
 The sporting billows, on the glassy Nile, 
 Kept up their love-race on its heaAlng breast, 
 Kissing the lotos-flowers upon its blink, 
 And ciu'hng round the ancient pottei-y-float. 
 Amidst such lovehness, at this calm time, 
 Forth walked the dark Destroyer, and his feet 
 Echo alike in corridor and cot ! 
 
 Armed with dread power, lo ! the death angel comcs> 
 And sweeps away the fh'st-bona in his u-e, — 
 The rose-bud opening 'neath its mother's eye. 
 The school-boy di-eaming of his lexicons. 
 The youth, with aU his distant primrose paths, 
 The bridcgi-oom, and his newly wedded bride, 
 The middle-aged man, and him who crept 
 Adown the hill of time, gi-ey-hau-ed and slow ; 
 The peasant, slmnbering on his bed of straw. 
 And him who trembled on liis princely couch ; 
 The wakeful mourner, sigliing with his j)ain, 
 And the slow-pacing, silent sentinel ; 
 The beggar, weeping in his blasted rags, 
 And him who bended o'er his shinmg heaps. 
 All these, in one short hoiu-, death-struck and stiff. 
 Became the sweeper s prey 1 
 
 On, on he goes. 
 Lopping off branches from the household tree, 
 Sprinkhng the hearth with tears, and pauses not 
 Till on the door-posts marks of blood arc seen ; 
 For here the Hebrew slumbers ! Pharaoh rose, 
 And called liis servants foi'th ; and a gixat cry 
 "Was heard in Egypt, wailing for tho dead. 
 The morning broke, and not a single hair 
 "Was bruised on Israel's head I The Lord their God 
 "S\\is leading them into the Promised Land, 
 And Egypt's spires were dwindhng into nought. 
 
 FATHER COMES TO-DAY. 
 
 11 
 
 ASTE, mother, to the garden gate, 
 iVnd look across the moor ; 
 The train is hun-ying by tho wood ; 
 sec it from the door. 
 
 "Whilst you did rub the pewter cans, 
 
 I heard you softly say 
 Til at we must make our cottage neat, 
 
 For father comes to-day. 
 
 " And borne upon the wandering breeze 
 
 The engine-puffs are loud ; 
 And see the steam which evermore 
 
 Doth follow like a cloud. 
 O Benny, Benny, clap your hands, 
 
 And cease awhile to play ; 
 And let us watch beside the door, 
 
 For father comes to-day." 
 
 Full soon a traveller, staff in hand. 
 
 Came walking o'er the green ; 
 And oft he paused beside the stile. 
 
 To mark the pleasant scene. 
 He saw his childi'en by his home, 
 
 And dashed the tear away. 
 And shouted as they raised their arms, 
 
 "Yom' father comes to-day." 
 
 And then his footsteps quickened so, 
 
 As he drew near the gate. 
 Like one whom royal duty urged, 
 
 So that he dare not wait. 
 And soon they felt his warm embrace, 
 
 And on his bosom lay, 
 "While Sarah sobbed amid her tears, 
 
 "Yom' father's come to-day." 
 
 Beside the fire they chatted long. 
 
 How little Pedo's feet 
 Would take her out no more to sell 
 
 Her cresses in the street ; 
 And Benny would be clothed and fed 
 
 Beneath affection's ray : 
 And O what prayers arose to Heaven 
 
 For father come to-day 1 
 
 'SEED-THOUGHTS. 
 
 A DOWN the lane a traveller hied, 
 "What time the cuckoo told 
 His oft-repeated pleasant tale 
 Among the green and gold ; 
 And o'er the white clouds floating slow, 
 
 Their western way along, 
 The skylark, hidden in the height, 
 Poured forth his sweetest song. 
 
 A group of children, by a tree, 
 
 Were playing in the sun ; 
 And much this thoughtful traveller joyed 
 
 To see them dance and run. 
 In their sweet strain of innocenco 
 
 His glad soul took its share ; 
 As it gushed gladly from their lips, 
 
 And rang upon the au*. 
 
 And as he joined them in their sports, 
 
 And helped ■them in their play, 
 These httle seeds from Truth's full store 
 
 He scattered by the way. 
 "Our Saviour God came down from heaven, 
 
 And died upon the tree ; 
 Ho says of children, ' Suffer them 
 
 To come, and follow Me !'"
 
 THE SAD HARPER. 
 
 181 
 
 Thon onwfird down the sliady lano, 
 
 Near whicli a streamlet ran, 
 With holy sweetness in liis face, 
 
 Passed on that pleasant man. 
 And in the distant futm-e j^cars, 
 
 As slowly on tliey came, 
 The seed sprang up, and bore much fruit 
 
 To the llodecmer's uamo. 
 
 One gained a Missionary's meed, 
 
 A Missionary's grave ; 
 And one a Pastor much beloved, 
 
 Who all to Jesus gave. 
 And one, ho was a man of peace, 
 
 The pen his battle-blade ; 
 With which he noble victories won. 
 
 And mighty conquests made. 
 
 And planting thus those seeds of thought, 
 
 A largo increase was given ; 
 When watered by the Spirit's hand, 
 
 And blessed by bounteous Heaven. 
 Still let the Gospel sower strive 
 
 To bless this smitten clime : 
 For, lo, a mighty har\est waves 
 
 Along the vales of time. 
 
 Y' 
 
 HEDGES. 
 
 E living boundary-Kneg, 
 Wliere pensive thought reclines, 
 And gentlo song in moss or ivy bower 
 Trills strains of music rare 
 Upon tho upland air, 
 All hail, ye temples where tho Muses cower. 
 
 I love yo at all hours ; 
 
 Wlien morn awakes the flowers, 
 Or when the lark at noontide carols free, 
 
 Or Eve her silent song 
 
 Sighs the gi-een vales among, 
 And mystic legends float o'er lake and lea. 
 
 In spring, in summer's prime. 
 
 In autiunn's golden time, 
 When har\'est odes uprise the meads among. 
 
 Or when old Winter roars 
 
 Adown the hollow moors, 
 I love to Usten 'ncath yoiir roof of song. 
 
 And when soft rains come down 
 
 On corn and common brown. 
 What joy to hide where honej^suckles crowd, 
 
 Or hawthorns snowed with spring. 
 
 And ivy tendi'ils cling. 
 To drink the poetry of the floating cloud ! 
 
 The briony is here. 
 
 And many a wilding dear, 
 And gentle whispers heard not in the street, 
 
 And fays at eventide 
 
 On the long grasses ride, 
 Or climb the mosses with their velvet feet. 
 
 And when tho mom of IMay 
 
 llesouuds with Nature's lay. 
 And primi'oses among yoiur green shoots shino, 
 
 Or from yom' sunned sides di'op, 
 
 Or smile in troops a-top. 
 Vision of visions, — O what a joy is mine ! 
 
 The lively chii-ping wren, 
 
 The cuckoo of the glen, 
 Tho black1)ird, with his rich, refreshing lays, 
 
 Tho all-melodious thrush. 
 
 The sparrow of the bush, 
 With other songsters, fill yom- brakes with praise. 
 
 And, 0, to share tho joy 
 
 Of village girl and boy. 
 When blackberries are on the brambles strung ; 
 
 Pulhug yom: clusters down. 
 
 When ye are autumn-brown. 
 What time tho harvester's last song is sung,! 
 
 And hero the bard retires 
 
 From tumult's hissing fires. 
 Nought but the ruin rising on his ken ; 
 
 And, sheltered in your shade, 
 
 He woos the musing maid, 
 WliosG simple sonnets mm-mur through tho glen. 
 
 O leave the city's hum, 
 
 To the still hedges come. 
 And Icarp tho lessons taught at dying day ; 
 
 The voice of the Great Sire 
 
 Is heard among the brier. 
 And silent thoughts come stealing, ' ' Kneel and pray . ' ' 
 
 THE SAD HARPEE. 
 
 O'er the valley's green-robed breast 
 Tho evening shadows fall, 
 The daisy sleeps in its grassy nest, 
 And the rose-tree 'neatli the wall ; 
 Wliile from tho tower of the \illage church 
 Old Time is heard to call. 
 
 In the silence of the falling dews, 
 By the brooklet thi-ough the leas, 
 
 A harper wandered, aU forlorn. 
 Whose heart was ill at ease ; 
 
 And thus ho sang his moiu-nful du-ge 
 Under the spreading trees : — 
 
 " Why do the loveliest flowerets fade. 
 
 And die away so soon ? 
 Wliy do all gentle things of earth 
 
 So i)erish iu then* noon ? 
 Ah ! why aro Beauty's roses dimmed 
 
 Even in the morn of June ? 
 
 " 0, one there was whom much I loved, 
 
 A darhug daughter bright, 
 "^^Tio passed away bo suddenly ' 
 
 Into the land of light. 
 The mystery almost blinded me, — 
 
 I grope about in night.
 
 132 
 
 MINOB POEMS. 
 
 "Don't wonder that tho strickeu bard 
 
 Poiu's fortli a solemn lay ; 
 Tliere's nought below, however bright, 
 
 But fadeth with decay." 
 And the hai-per's thoughts flew past tho stai's, 
 
 As ho wiped the tears away. 
 
 TELLING US OF GOD. 
 
 BESIDE a little murmuring stream 
 I saw two chilih'eu play, 
 What time still Evening came along, 
 Clad in her sober grey. 
 The one a little ruddy boy, 
 
 So beautiful and fair ; 
 The other was a sweet young gu'l, 
 Fresh as the mountain air. 
 
 They ran along the brooklet's side. 
 
 Until they both grew tu-ed : 
 "Wliat does the stream say, sister dear?" 
 
 The little lad inquu-ed. 
 " 0, does it of my father tell, 
 
 "Who crossed the ocean-wave, 
 And never, never more came back. 
 
 To weep o'er mother's gi-ave ? " 
 
 She gazed into her brother's face, — 
 
 How sisterly ! how dear I 
 Brushed back the ringlets o'er his brow, 
 
 And kissed away the tear ; 
 Then raised her flashing eyes to heaven 
 
 From earth's corrupted clod : 
 " This httle streamlet, mm-mm-ing by, 
 
 Is teUingus of God." 
 
 And now, whene'er I stand beside 
 
 A little tinkling stream, 
 The image of those pretty ones 
 
 Is with me in my dream. 
 The birds that carol, and the breeze 
 
 That fans tho flowery sod, 
 All Nature's sweetest murmurings 
 
 Are TELLING us OF God. 
 
 TnE DISTRESSED MECHANIC. 
 
 THE hawthorn leaves were fading ; 
 Its fiiiit was ripe and red ; 
 It dangled down in clusters 
 From the old tree's prickly head. 
 Cock-robin only whistled 
 
 Where the autumn berries bui'ned, 
 As the dinnerless mechanic 
 To his hungry ones retmned. 
 
 lie left them in the morning 
 With liis nightly fast unbroke. 
 
 And all day long has laboured 
 In the cold oppressor's yoke. 
 
 And oft his hungry household 
 
 Would on his vision start, 
 As he returns at evening 
 
 With a cloud upon his heart. 
 
 lie was an honest workman, 
 
 And diligent and good, 
 A sober, loving, pious soul ; 
 
 And yet ho wanted food. 
 O shamo upon his country, 
 
 And shamo ujion his race. 
 To trample eterling honesty. 
 
 And brand it with disgrace ! 
 
 O, see him slowly trailing 
 
 His wasted limbs along ! 
 lie who was once so brawny. 
 
 So stately and so strong I 
 A tear glides down the furrows 
 
 Upon his sunken cheek ; 
 His eyes are lifted heavenward, 
 
 Like suffering martyr meek. 
 
 Deem not that unattended 
 
 This faithful man crept on : 
 No, angel eyes were bended 
 
 Upon this weeping one. 
 And chimes from Eden's rivers 
 
 Through all liis being flow, 
 Too sweet for ears unholy 
 
 In dolls of death below. 
 
 Who meets him on the door-step ? 
 
 Ilis own beloved boy : 
 Drops glitter in his bright eyes. 
 
 Which damp a father's joy : 
 And in the straw are huddled 
 
 His baby and his wife. 
 Fading away for fasting 
 
 And feebleness of life. 
 
 Once many household comforts 
 
 Were sweetly round them spread ; 
 But they with these have parted 
 
 To purchase daily bread. 
 All but a few dear volumes, 
 
 Which stand in sad array. 
 Like favourites round their chieftain, 
 
 Upon tho battle-day. 
 
 Now see him clasp his children 
 
 Within his fond embrace : 
 One up his knee is climbing. 
 
 And one will kiss his face. 
 In spite of countless tear-di'ops 
 
 That fall upon the floor, 
 And echo in the silence : — 
 
 Could monarchs sorrow more ? 
 
 And now a prayer is offered 
 
 Tliat God would grant them power 
 To kiss the hand that smites them 
 
 In this afflictive hour. 
 His dear ones kneel around him. 
 
 And share in his distress : 
 The busy world forgets them, 
 
 But He looks down to bless.
 
 Tim HAPPY cnoioE. 
 
 183 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 WITHIN the house of God, 
 I saw her bend the knee, 
 Aud Uft her pcusivo cyca to hcaveu 
 In silent ap;ony. 
 Tears trickled down her face, 
 
 And on the altar fell ; 
 The varied thoughts that stin'od her soul, 
 No human tongue can tell ! 
 
 Perchance she mused on him 
 
 Who from her side had llown, 
 And left her in this desert land, 
 
 A widow, all alone. 
 And were it not for One 
 
 Who heard her orphan's cry, 
 It would indeed be happiness 
 
 To lay her down and die. 
 
 Perchance she mused on Jiomc, 
 
 That land where all is fair, 
 The peaceful palaces of heaven ; 
 
 Her husband restcth there ! 
 O'or its bright battlements 
 
 She oft liad seen him gaze, 
 Clad in a golden vestm'e bright, 
 
 And harping hymns of praise. 
 
 I know not why she wept, 
 
 Uut tears ran down apace, 
 Aud by her side her httle boy 
 
 Gazed in her sad pale face. 
 And when ho heard the sob 
 
 She strove in vain to stay, 
 I saw him shrink within himself, 
 
 And turn his head away. 
 
 Dark mourning weeds they wore, — 
 
 That mother aud her love, — 
 And both knelt down aud worshipped there 
 
 The God that reigns above. 
 The widow's heart was full ; 
 
 No words I heard her speak ; 
 But evermore the silent tears 
 
 Were stealing down her chock. 
 
 I know not why she wept ; 
 
 She communed there with God ; 
 Porchanco she felt resigned to bear 
 
 The chastenings of His rod. 
 A peace the world knows not. 
 
 Poor stricken one, is thine, 
 A calm that smooths life's troubled wave. 
 
 The balm of love divine. 
 
 LOST AND FOUND. 
 
 THE garden-gate wide open swung ; 
 A blooming pair passed by ; 
 The old man 'neath the beech-tree sat 
 With sorrow in his eye. 
 He heeded not the lark o'erhcad ; 
 
 His gaze was on the gi'ouud : 
 For he that morn his daughter lost, 
 Aud she a husband foiuid. 
 
 He watched tliom down tho lonely lano. 
 
 And o'er the village stile 
 Beyond the hollow by the wood 
 
 Where honeysuckles smile ; 
 And birds were singing by tho brook. 
 
 And whistling on the trees ; 
 And oft the maiden's handkerchief 
 
 Was waving on tho breeze. 
 
 FuU soon beyond the old man's view 
 
 Tho youthful couple passed : 
 He dropped liis face upon his hands, 
 
 And tears fell free and fast ; 
 And other days came back to him 
 
 With hopes and fears sublime. 
 When eartlx with buds was beautiful. 
 
 And love was in its prime. 
 
 And then a mystic stillness fell 
 
 Upon his waiting soul. 
 And echoes from the higher hiUs 
 
 Over his sjiirit stole. 
 He lifted up his fiuTowcd face, — 
 
 Serene it was aud mild, — 
 And breathed these earnest words of prayer : 
 
 " O Heaven, direct my child ! " 
 
 Days passed, and months, and then there came 
 
 A little stranger fair. 
 With milUon mysteries in her eyes, 
 
 Soft cheek and shining hair ; 
 And smallest feet were toddhng round 
 
 Upon his cottage floor. 
 And sunny smiles went up to him, 
 
 And he was glad once more. 
 
 And thiis the tale of human hfo 
 
 For evermore is told : 
 To-day the sky is overcast. 
 
 To-morrow tinged with gold. 
 One joy departs, another comes 
 
 To till tho vacant x^lace ; 
 And so 'twill be till death assails 
 
 Tho last of Adam's race. 
 
 THE HAPPY CHOICE. 
 
 A LITTLE boy, one harvest-day. 
 Sat under a shady tree ; 
 And a voice came whispeiiug through tho leaves, 
 
 ♦' Child, give thy heart to Me." 
 " I will, I wiU," said tlie little boy ; 
 " My Saviom- mine shall be." 
 
 'Twas a golden choice that boy had made. 
 
 And from the hills of God 
 A halo seemed to fringe the flowers, 
 
 And glorify the sod. 
 And hang aloft in the upper ah-, 
 
 Aud ilame the path he trod.
 
 134 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 In a lint among the moorland rcoJs 
 
 A briilcirroom and his bride, 
 \Miat tunc the moon still evening wooed, 
 
 Were kneeUng side by side ; 
 And their prayer nprose on the vesper breeze, 
 
 As the quivering daylight died. 
 
 Beside the fire in an old homestead, 
 
 A middle-aged hind, 
 With a nest brimful of singing birds, 
 
 Upon his hand recliaed ; 
 And thoughts of hai-ps and streets of gold 
 
 "Were rushing through his mind- 
 In a cottage on a craggy cHfif, 
 
 Like a lone tree stript and bare. 
 An old man sat u-ith the best of books ; 
 
 TMiite-silvered was his hair ; 
 And his eyes were tm-ned to the gates of bhss ; 
 
 For he knew he was almost there. 
 
 On a humble bed in a lonely room 
 
 A djing saint was laid ; 
 Bright angels came, and bore him where 
 
 The riUs of Eden played. 
 'Twas the boy who gave to Christ his all. 
 
 And wise was the choice he made. 
 
 MY LITTLE MAID WHEN FOUR MO^'TUS OLD. 
 
 MY Httle maid, what joy to see 
 Thee dancing on thy mother's knee ! 
 Thy fair white brow, how bright it seems, 
 And fi-om thine eye what pleasure gleams I 
 O, every random glance that's given. 
 Seems like a messenger fi-om heaven, 
 ^^^lich here unconsciously hath strayed, 
 To visit me, my little maid. 
 
 My little maid, thou canst not tell 
 
 IIow we are charmed with this bright spell : 
 
 Two wanderers o'er the hills of care, 
 
 Who love the fields and flowerets fail*, 
 
 To meet on such a wild as this 
 
 A cherub newly dropt firom bhss. 
 
 It cheers our hearts that here hath strayed 
 
 An angel in our little maid. 
 
 My httle maid, I drop a tear, 
 To think what thou may'st suiTer here ; 
 These earnest beaming eyes of thine 
 May soon be dimmed with sorrow's brino, 
 And thy smooth cheek, so soft and fair, 
 Be furrowed with the plough of care ; 
 The cottage flower may fleetly fade, 
 And death devour my httle maid. 
 
 My httle maid, this feverish climo 
 StiU changes with the flight of time ; 
 And though thou twinest round my heart. 
 The moment hastes when we must part. 
 But, daughter dear, there is a home. 
 Whore change can never, never come, 
 ■\Miere Spring's yoimg roses never fade : 
 There may wo meet our Uttle maid. 
 
 My little maid, when all is o'er, 
 
 And I am " chained to earth no more," 
 
 When in the dark cold grave I he, 
 
 O come beneath the evening sky, 
 
 And bring, bring the carUest flower, 
 
 That blooms within my mountain bower. 
 
 An ofi'ering to thy father's shade, 
 
 And I'll bo with my little maid. 
 
 THE HEROIC MINER. 
 
 THE world has real heroes, 
 "Wliose minds with truth are stored. 
 Who never bled in battle, 
 "Who never wielded sword : 
 True helpers of the people. 
 In moral warfare strong ; 
 Whose hves have passed unheeded. 
 Whose names are not in song. 
 
 And such I deem the miner 
 
 "Who, when his work was done, 
 Ascended in the bucket. 
 
 He and his little son. 
 0, how tliey fondly chatted, 
 
 As up the shaft they sped. 
 Of those who waited for them 
 
 "Where their own board was spread ! 
 
 When, hark ! a crack which fills them 
 
 With sharp and sudden pain : 
 The rope, the rope is breaking, — 
 
 Two strands are snapped in twain ; 
 One, only one remaineth, — 
 
 The strain doth it destroy ; 
 It cannot bear much longer 
 
 That father and his boy. 
 
 noble, noble parent ! 
 
 " Sit still, my child," said he. 
 " 'Twill bear you up in safety. 
 
 And do not gi'ieve for me." 
 And then that lo^^ng father 
 
 Sprang out into the gloom. 
 And found within the darkness 
 
 A Christian hero's tomb. 
 
 How grand is such an action 
 
 In this full world of strife ! 
 Such deeds are deeply graven 
 
 Within the Book of Life : 
 And coming years should honour 
 
 The noble miner's name 
 In metal and in marble 
 
 With everlasting fame. 
 
 THE AGED CHRISTIAN COUPLE. 
 
 (C 
 
 TIE driving clouds are densely dark. 
 The moon is looking ill, , 
 The winds are at their wildest freaks 
 By moadow-stno and mill ; 
 
 T:
 
 THE PEOniOAL'S RECEPTION. 
 
 185 
 
 And as I tlirongli the lattice-panes 
 
 Gaze out into tlio niglit, 
 I siu'ely see the liglitninf,'s gloaui 
 
 Along the rocky height. 
 
 " You've been complaining all the day 
 
 Of keen rheumatic pains, 
 And showers at noontide filled the pools 
 
 With water in the lanes. 
 Oiu' elder son is with us here, 
 
 From voyaging long at sea ; 
 And leaves again to-morrow moni 
 
 For unexijlored countrio. 
 
 " To kirk we've gone on Sabbath evo 
 
 For forty years or more : 
 Shall we for once now stay at homo, 
 
 And close our cottage door ? 
 Old Time has turned these locks of ours 
 
 As white as chiveu snow, 
 And weakness fastens on our frame : — 
 
 Say, Lucy, must we go ? " 
 
 The old dame placed her Bible down 
 
 Upon the cushioned chair, 
 And, gazing through her spectacles, 
 
 She said vsdth gentle au* : 
 " Whilst I can travel through the lanes, 
 
 Or walk across the sod, 
 O let me in the holy j)laco 
 
 With Christians worship God ! " 
 
 That night, upon an ancient scat 
 
 Within the sacred place, 
 An aged couj)le might be seen 
 
 With sunhght on their face : 
 And while the meek-eyed minister, 
 
 In language sweet and clear, 
 Told of the rest for those that moiu'ucd. 
 
 They felt that heaven was near. 
 
 Then hobbling homo across the fields 
 
 Beneath the shining moon, 
 The chatting dame forgot her pain. 
 
 Her heart was so in time. 
 Then- converse was above the stars ; 
 
 For they by faith had striven ; 
 And soon on wings of seraphim 
 
 They gained the highest heaven. 
 
 THE BOY BARD. 
 
 A THOUGHTFUL lad was missed one day, 
 And his mother had folt ho was long away ; 
 So she ch-opped her work, and closed the door, 
 And wallved a httle way down the moor ; 
 And found him musing under a tree. 
 And cried, " Come home, my son, with mo.'' 
 And the lad replied, " I will, I will ; 
 I was learning the lore of the gentle riU. 
 O wist ye not that j-our boy hatli striven 
 To tune the harp which the Lord hath given ? " 
 
 And the words which rose on the summer air 
 Were treasured up by that mother there ; 
 And those gentle tones she ever heard. 
 Like forest sounds by the breezes stirred, 
 Whether reading low by the evening fire, 
 Or spreatUng the meal for his labouring sire ; 
 Wlietlier she plied her needle bright. 
 Or milked the cow mid the daisies white, 
 In dark or light, in calm or storm, 
 She heard his voice, and she saw his form. 
 
 The boy grew up like a floweret wild, 
 For he was Nature's favourite child. 
 SI 10 taught him with her book of moss, 
 Iler beethng cliff, her crag and ci'oss, 
 Iler sounding seas, her rivers wide. 
 Her hills and vales where streamlets glide. 
 The face of man, and blooming boy, 
 Or maiden, like an April joy. 
 Till he achieved undying fame, 
 And won a poet's noble name. 
 
 TO MY NATIVE VALLEY. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL vale, with thy rippling stream ! 
 IIow like a pictine of youth dost thou seora ! 
 Blushing with hope-buds, and sparkling with flowers, 
 And gushing forth harp-notes from all thybright bowers ! 
 Beautiful vale, with thy riiipliug stream. 
 How hko a picture of youth dost thou seem I 
 
 On my dear native hill I sit midst the heath. 
 Gazing down on the tree-covered \'illage beneath. 
 Where oft I have played, in the spiing-tidc of youth. 
 When Natui-e's sweet voice was the music of truth. 
 Like birds from then* nests thy white cottages gleam, 
 Beautiful vale, ■ndth thy ripplmg stream ! 
 
 The swallow floats roimd, as the gi'asshoppcr sings. 
 And bx'ushes the locks of my moimt with her wings ! 
 The sky-lark is mounting to heaven, with his song 
 Ovci-flowing the dell, as he flutters along ; 
 And with mirth and with music thine avenues teem, 
 Beautiful vale, with thy rippling stream ! 
 
 A thousand past scenes, too munerons to speak. 
 
 Rush into my eyes, and roll over my cheek. 
 
 I think of a brother with whom I have played, — 
 
 A sister who sat with me under the shade. 
 
 They have crossed the wide sea ; but surelj' they dream 
 
 Of my beautiful valo, with its rippling stream 1 
 
 THE PRODIGAL'S RECEPTION. 
 
 (c r>t TELL wait we for liim, Reuben, 
 ^ iVlthough the year is old ; 
 KJ And down the ban-en ridges 
 In -wild gusts sweeps the cold : 
 
 To-night the stars are hidden. 
 The moon has lost her way. 
 
 StUl look wo for him, Reuben, 
 And wait, and watch, and pray.
 
 13(5 
 
 MINOB POEMS. 
 
 •' Five PiTinmprs have departed, 
 
 Five lingering aiitxinins fled, 
 Since we one morning missed him. 
 
 And uioiu-ned om* boy as dead. 
 Still we for liim are waiting, 
 
 Though he in rags may come. 
 To give him warmest welcome 
 
 To father, mother, home. 
 
 " Did not the gate clink, Renhen, 
 
 Beside the rose-tree's stalk ? 
 And now I hear a footstep 
 
 Upon the garden walk ; 
 Now at the door a knocking 
 
 As timid as can be : 
 O I ope it qniekly, Eeuben, 
 
 My precious boj', 'tis he ! " 
 
 The fire was soon rekuidled ; 
 
 The milk was in the can ; 
 The best cheese on the table; 
 
 The meat hissed in the pan ; 
 The china left the cupboard ; 
 
 The lost was in their home ; 
 The kiss upon his forehead ; 
 
 The prodigal was come. 
 
 e\t:xixg prayee. 
 
 AMID the purple skylight 
 Is fading out the day, 
 And Vesper thi'ough the twihght 
 Is hghting it awa3\ 
 Over the pool the swallow 
 
 Is wheeling his last flight, 
 Wliile in the rushy hollow 
 Is heai'd the bii"d of night. 
 
 A solemn hush is stealing 
 
 Upon the holy an*. 
 As two dear childi'en, kneeling, 
 
 Repeat their evening prayer ; 
 A sister and a brother, 
 
 AMth early beauty bright ; 
 ■^Tiile o'er them bends their mother 
 
 In the rehgious hght. 
 
 0, mark this hopeful creature, 
 
 This trustful parent-dove ; 
 •' Our Father," says the teacher ; 
 
 " Our Father," says each love. 
 And as, like flowerets folded, 
 
 They slept in fond embrace, 
 Tear-drops by memory moulded 
 
 "Were stealing down her face. 
 
 Thoughts crowd on one another ; 
 
 Her childhood rises there, 
 Her Lible-lo^ing mother. 
 
 Her early simple prayer, 
 All from the past are gleaming, 
 
 Like sunsliine through the rain. 
 As her hot tears are streaming. 
 
 When at her prayers again. 
 
 And from that land all shadeless, 
 
 Where there is no more sea. 
 And freshest flowers are fadeless. 
 
 Bright beings bent to see : 
 And angel notes are swelling. 
 
 And lyres of glory shine, 
 Filling that humble dweUing 
 
 With melody divine. 
 
 MY GRANNY JOAN. 
 
 MY Muse has silent been of late. 
 Unkindly winds have blown ; 
 But once again I com't her smile. 
 To sing my granny Joan. 
 In boyhood's simple garb attired. 
 
 And hands half filled -with broom, 
 I loved to view her honest face 
 Within her cozy room. 
 
 And siu'e a cozy room it was ; 
 
 Let's paint it, if we can ; 
 The mantel-piece so dazzled me. 
 
 Shining with cup and can. 
 Small Scriptm-e pictures on the wall, 
 
 Iving David's sling and stone. 
 Our Saviour in His manger-crib. 
 
 How loved my gi-anny Joan! 
 
 Two items only will I name. 
 
 Which, in my boyish eyes. 
 In careless gi'andem' on the shelf, 
 
 I ever deemed a prize. 
 One served to edge his razor-blade. 
 
 Grandfather Benny's hone; 
 The other was the snuff-box bright. 
 
 Which cheered my granny Joan. 
 
 How orderly all things appeared. 
 
 Arranged with cottage gi-aco ! 
 She had a place for everytliing, 
 
 Gave everything its place. 
 With earnest hands laer work was done : 
 
 "It saves us many a moan 
 To do the thing in proper time," 
 
 Oft said my granny Joan. 
 
 A fire of fm'ze and smouldering peat 
 
 The spacious chimney cheered. 
 Where she potatoes oft would roast 
 
 When autumn days appeared. 
 And how I crunched my piece of cake 
 
 Baked on the rude hearth-stone. 
 With ashes of the moorland tm'f. 
 
 By my old granny Joan ! 
 
 O cake was cake in those old days 
 
 Of simpleness and trust ; 
 Potato-cake, how good it was ! 
 
 No stoves to sj)oil the crust. 
 At dusk, I mind me creeping in 
 
 With business of my own. 
 To get my share, and say my prayer. 
 
 And bless my granny Joan.
 
 TO THE ROBIN. 
 
 137 
 
 The whitewashed walls must also be 
 
 Remeiiiberecl in my lay, 
 The hour-glass, with its running sands, 
 
 "Which told the time of day, 
 But ceased, as night and rest came on, 
 
 To still the sufferer's moan. 
 When by her Benny's side she lay, 
 
 And slept my granny Joan. 
 
 The dresser held the pewter plates 
 
 Which shone like silver bright. 
 Used only when the feast came round 
 
 To cheer some famous knight ; 
 And here were teapots great and small ; 
 
 And on the peg alone 
 A paper bag of di'ied herbs hung, 
 
 Preserved by granny Joan. 
 
 One book had she, which, hke a lamp. 
 
 Shed brightness on her track : 
 And here she laid her spectacles 
 
 Upon its green baize back. 
 The Bible was her constant friend : • 
 
 When other helps were flown, 
 She always found a helper here 
 
 To cheer my granny Joan. 
 
 Upon the first fly-leaf appeared 
 
 Her own and Benny's name ; 
 And underneath, their family 
 
 In order as they came ; 
 Their date of birth, their time of death. 
 
 If, 'neath the churchyard stone. 
 She laid them down in peace to rest, 
 
 AU dear to granny Joan. 
 
 On the pine cricket, tabbj^ cat 
 
 Would watch the approaching mouse ; 
 WTien with her broom of heath was swept 
 
 Her cleanly sanded house : 
 And then she took her knitting down, 
 
 And in her dwelling lone 
 Who knows what holj^ visions filled 
 
 The mind of granny Joan ? 
 
 T\Tien day was done, and Benny's hat 
 
 Was hanging on the nail, 
 She changed her ch-ess, and hastened to 
 
 The meeting in the vale. 
 There psalms were sung, and prayer arose 
 
 In earnest solemn tone ; 
 And much the burden then would fall 
 
 From off my granny Joan. 
 
 Two goats, tlu-oughout the hvelong year, 
 
 In snowy vests wei-e seen. 
 Climbing the banks, or cropping bare 
 
 The herbage on the green. 
 And morn and eve they yielded milk, 
 
 With richness all its own, 
 Setthng upon the dairy shelf 
 
 With cream for granny Joan. 
 
 The sparrows, fi-om the thatch, looked o'er 
 When summer daj's were fair. 
 
 As she, beside her cottage door. 
 Sat knitting on her chair ; 
 
 And robin on the garden tree. 
 
 When evening sliados were thrown 
 
 Athwart the halo of the hill, 
 Sang loud for granny Joan. 
 
 Her strongest beer was water clear 
 
 Brouglit from the meadow well. 
 With whicJi made she her cup of tea. 
 
 As tolled the curfew bell. 
 Poor Benny tippled now and then. 
 
 Till quiet was o'erthrown. 
 " 'Tis best, I think, without the drink," 
 
 So preached my granny Joan. 
 
 If trial came, or pinching want. 
 
 She uttered no complaint. 
 She ate her crust with simple trust, 
 
 As thankful as a saint. 
 With patient hope, her load she bore 
 
 In silence and unknown. 
 "A better day, thougli fur away, 
 
 Will come," said granny Joan. 
 
 In person she was somewhat short. 
 
 With face as clear as day. 
 Her eyes were black and bright, her hair 
 
 Had fallen into grey ; 
 Her gait was slow, her voice was low 
 
 As any brooklet's tone ; 
 And " everything was for the best," 
 
 So said my grajiny Joan. 
 
 ■WTiene'er she walked abroad, she wore 
 
 A cloak of burning red, 
 ■\i\1iose dimpled hood would nearly hide 
 
 The bonnet on her head : 
 And how the little ones would run, 
 
 When forth she walked alone, 
 And cluster lovingly around 
 
 The path of granny Joan ! 
 
 She never gadded, never housed. 
 
 And never tasted strife ; 
 But patiently would bow and bear 
 
 The trial-blast of hfe. 
 And I declare, mid all the glare 
 
 That now-a-day is shown, 
 I cannot find, among them all, 
 
 A match for granny Joan. 
 
 TO THE EOBIN. 
 
 LITTLE Robin, tell me now. 
 Why thou warblest from that bough. 
 Nearly all the leaves are fled. 
 And the branch is sere and dead. 
 Dropping, dropping, one by one. 
 Surely all will soon be gone. 
 Winds are whistling round the latch. 
 Sparrows trembhng on the thatch. 
 Little Piobin, tell me now. 
 Why thou warblest from that bough.
 
 138 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 " I'm a winter wai-bler: -Nvlien 
 
 Where rills and rushes be ; 
 
 Silence creeps o'er bill and glen ; 
 
 Kow up the heights, now down the dales, 
 
 When yom- summer friends are mxite, 
 
 On by the village tree. 
 
 Lark and blackbii-d lose their lute ; 
 
 
 Ti'hen the Hnnet and the thrush 
 
 At sitch a tii^e the musing man, 
 
 Trill not from the holly-bush ; 
 
 When wandering thi-ough the mead. 
 
 Then I brave the blasts, and sing 
 
 Left to himself and to his God, 
 
 Notes as mellow as the spring." 
 
 Of Nature's self takes heed, 
 
 X tJ 
 
 And feels the earth is beautiful, 
 
 Little Eol^, tell me why 
 
 0, beautiful indeed. 
 
 Tears are bm-sting from mine eye ; 
 
 
 Fire within my bosom burns, 
 
 Pass we those graceful linden-trees 
 
 Hope and Memory smile by tm-ns. 
 
 Beside the gi'ay cliurch wall : 
 
 Still I strive, but know not why 
 
 Now wind among the -village gi-aves, 
 
 Teai's are bm-stiug fiom mine eye. 
 
 With tombstones quaint and small ; 
 
 
 And now beneath the vaulted roof 
 
 " I'm a little red-breast bird, 
 
 We hear the Gospel call. 
 
 And my song is scarcely heard, 
 
 
 When the woods are echoing loud 
 
 0, wealth is here in cushioned pews ; 
 
 "With the timeful vernal crowd. 
 
 And many a lady fair. 
 
 Then the red-breast hves alone, 
 
 In cliains of gold and diamonds bright, 
 
 Then the red-breast sings unknown. 
 
 In beauteous braided hair. 
 
 But, when all beside is dumb. 
 
 And flowing robe of richest silk. 
 
 Then I seek thy silent home ; 
 
 Joins in the solemn prayer. 
 
 And, to cheer the winter long, 
 
 
 Pour out all my soul in song. 
 
 But who is this, forlorn and sad, 
 
 Then thou hear'st me waxing stronger, 
 
 And desolate and poor ? 
 
 And I'm imknown bird no longer ; 
 
 A weeping widow, clad in weeds, 
 
 Memoiy tells thee how a shower. 
 
 Inside the sacred door, — 
 
 Sweet as this, in childhood's hour. 
 
 Only just inside ; and behold, 
 
 Fell upon thy hstening ear. 
 
 She kneels upon the floor. 
 
 And again thou di-opp'st a tear." 
 
 
 
 The cushioned pews are closed to her, 
 
 Little Robin, thou art mine ; 
 
 Not so the gates Di\ane : 
 
 Little Eobin, I am thine. 
 
 In the dim aisle the Saviour comes. 
 
 Ai-t thou hungry ? 0, come home ! 
 
 And whispers, " Thou art Mine ; 
 
 I will give thee many a crumb. 
 
 And all I have, poor child of want. 
 
 Then I'U sit, in pleasing mood. 
 
 Yes, all I have is thine." 
 
 See thee swallow down thy food ; 
 
 
 Screen thee from the frost and snow ; 
 
 None notice her, or mark the tears 
 
 Little Eobin, wilt thou go ? 
 
 That trickle down her face : 
 
 
 The well-dressed rustle by, nor think 
 
 " No, I cannot ; let me fly 
 
 To speak to thing so base : 
 
 Free beneath the spacious sky ; 
 
 But the gi-eat King of Kings draws near, 
 
 Free within my leafy bower. 
 
 And stays her with His grace. 
 
 In the sunshine and the shower. 
 
 
 I will sing when flowers are dead, 
 
 And when the earth shall pass away 
 
 I will sing when verdure's fled ; 
 
 At the archangel's blast. 
 
 I will sing when "Winter roars. 
 
 And the red sun in darkness reel. 
 
 And King Frost is on the moors ; 
 
 And heaven be overcast. 
 
 "NYhen great snow-heaps hide the lea : 
 
 Her name within the Book of Life 
 
 Only Eobin must be fiee." 
 
 Shall be revealed at last. 
 
 THE POOE WIDOW WOESHIPPER. 
 
 
 /^LOUDLESS and blue the summer sky, 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 1 Cloudless and blue the main ; 
 
 V 
 
 \J From east to west, from west to east, 
 
 -j-|-usH I 'tis the Sabbath-mom : 
 
 The heavens have not a stain; 
 
 l-l The sun looks o'er the hill ; 
 
 The sun shines on the low church-roof, 
 
 J-X The forest-leaves begin to stir 
 
 And reddens the Gothic pane. 
 
 Beneath the blackbhd's trill ; 
 
 
 The perfumed breezes play 
 
 Kow peal the bells across the wood, 
 
 Around the milk-white thorn, 
 
 Across the pleasant lea, 
 
 Fanning the dew-hung locks of Day : 
 
 Across the lonely moor of fern 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the Sabbath-morn !
 
 THE FALL OF SLAVERY. 139 1 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the Sahhath-noon :' 
 
 The cottar's song came floating then 
 
 The pilp^rim kneels to pray ; 
 
 Across the dusky dell, 
 
 Labour has thrown his hammer down, 
 
 And sweetly solemn music made 
 
 And Care has shink away ; 
 
 The slow-stinick cui-few bell. 
 
 No peasant plies his spade 
 
 And holding fast his father's hand, 
 
 To earn the tempting boon : 
 
 As l)y his side he ran. 
 
 Hush! earth is holy now ; 
 
 He lifted up his voice, and said, 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the Sabbath-noon ! 
 
 " God's greatest work is man." 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the Sabbath-eve : 
 
 " no, my son : the greatest, best, 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the voice of prayer, 
 
 And noblest work of God 
 
 Arising from unnumbered hearts 
 
 Is gi\-ing us His only Son, 
 
 Within His temples fair. 
 
 To ransom us with blood. 
 
 Of the blue western hills 
 
 This far outdoes our highest thought, — 
 
 The daylight takes its leave, 
 
 The great redemption plan, 
 
 Kissing the incensed locks of Peace : 
 
 The fallen world brought back to heaven, 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the Sabbath- eve ! 
 
 God's untold love to man." 
 
 
 The teaching on that summer eve 
 
 
 Was like the gentle shower 
 
 
 That falls refreshing on the grass, 
 
 GOD'S GEEATEST WOKK. 
 
 And cheering on the flower. 
 
 
 And as through life fi-om stage to stage 
 
 /~\ N through the meadow-paths they wallied 
 
 With fleeting foot he trod. 
 
 I 1 Towards the setting sun. 
 
 It shed a sweetness through his sotil, 
 
 \J By hedgerows bright with hyacinths, 
 
 And lefl him up to God. 
 
 That father and his son. 
 
 
 And now the old man raised his eyes. 
 
 
 And asked with earnest joy, 
 
 
 " Which is the greatest work of God ? 
 
 
 Come, answer me, my boy." 
 
 
 
 THE FALL OF SLAVEEY. 
 
 Before them rose a lofty hill. 
 
 
 With rocks upon its crest ; 
 
 "m M" USING by a mossy fountain, 
 
 A rushing river at its base, 
 
 \/| In the blossom month of May, 
 
 And woods upon its breast ; 
 
 J-tX Saw I coming down a mountain 
 
 The eagles perched among the crags : 
 
 An old man whose locks were grey ; 
 
 "0 father, it must be 
 
 And the flowei-y valleys echoed, 
 
 God's greatest work to raise aloft 
 
 As he sang his earnest lay. 
 
 The eternal hills," said he. 
 
 
 
 " Prayer is heard, the chain is riven, 
 
 *' no, my son : the hills are gi-and. 
 
 Shout it over land and sea ; 
 
 And grand they will remain : 
 
 Slavery from earth is driven. 
 
 But God's great work is grander still ! 
 
 And the manacled are free ; 
 
 Come, answer me again." 
 
 Brotherhood in all the nations ; 
 
 Upon then- ears came up the sound 
 
 "What a glorious Jubilee ! 
 
 Of sea-waves on the shore : 
 
 
 "Is it yon ocean," said the boy, 
 
 " God has answered in the thunder, 
 
 "With everlasting roar?" 
 
 In the strife and carnage dire, 
 
 
 In the mountain rent asunder. 
 
 " no, my son : the sea is great ; 
 
 In the battle roaring higher, 
 
 But answer me again : 
 
 In the massacre of millions, 
 
 God's greatest work is greater still 
 
 In the smoke-cloud and the fire. 
 
 And gi-ander than the main." 
 
 
 Just then the sun set, and the moon 
 
 " God has answered, fall before Him, 
 
 Came stealing forth in love : 
 
 Laud His majesty and might ; 
 
 " 0, is it, father," said the boy, 
 
 On thy knees, earth, adore Him : 
 
 "The bright blue heavens above?" 
 
 Now the black is as the white ; 
 
 
 Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 
 
 " no, my son : the stany heavens 
 
 Every bondsman free as Hght. 
 
 Proclaim the Almighty's power ; 
 
 
 And so does every blade of grass. 
 
 " God has answered, God the holy 
 
 And every tiny flower. 
 
 From His high eternal hill ; 
 
 But God's great work sm-passes these, 
 
 He has stooped to sa^-e the lowly, 
 
 Repeated o'er and o'er. 
 
 As He ever, ever will : 
 
 More lofty than the loftiest skies : 
 
 Gloiy, glory to the Highest, 
 
 Come, answer me once more." 
 
 T 
 
 Jah Jehovah reisueth still. 
 2
 
 140 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 ""Wliip, and sconro:e, and fetter broken, 
 Far away in darkness luu'led ; , 
 
 This a gi-aud and glorious token, 
 "When millenninm tills the world. 
 
 Hallelujah! 0"er the nations 
 Freedom's sno-wy flag imfui-led. 
 
 " God has answered ! Glory, glory ! 
 
 O'er the gi-een earth let it speed ; 
 Sun and stars, take up the story, 
 
 Nevermore a slave shall bleed ; 
 Shout deliverance for the freeman, 
 
 Send him succom' in his need. 
 
 "By and bye he'll sow the clearing. 
 In the backwoods lone and dim : 
 
 Liberty, so long appearing. 
 
 Is more dear than light to him. 
 
 Soon he will be self-supporting, 
 
 Praising God with prayer and hymn. 
 
 " Gloiy be to God the Giver, 
 
 Slavery now shall brand no more ; 
 
 From the fountain to the river 
 Freedom breathes on every shore. 
 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
 
 Brotherhood the wide world o'er." 
 
 I MET YOU OX THE MOOR. 
 
 COME, Kitty, near the faggot-brand 
 Beneath our chiraney-tree : 
 I love to hear j'oui* needles go, 
 'Tis music still for me. 
 They always bring a pleasant thought, — 
 
 You know it well, I'm sure, — 
 "When first, near fifty years a-gone, 
 I met you on the moor. 
 
 No blushing flower in all the land 
 
 To me was half so fair, 
 As you were then, — as you are now. 
 
 Though dimmed by age and care. 
 And 0, what trials have we seen ! 
 
 ^Vhat conflicts have we pass'd ! 
 But, Kitty, our great Father's hand 
 WUl guide us home at last. 
 
 I've often thought, and felt it trae, 
 
 Whilst travelling to the tomb, 
 That earth has more of joy than woe, 
 
 Has more of light than gloom. 
 Like others we've had sori'ow-storms. 
 
 But they have soon blown o'er ; 
 And, Kitty, is it not because 
 
 I met you on the moor ? 
 
 Y''e8, we have had our share of change 
 
 And disappointment here : 
 Our sons have come, our sons have gone. 
 
 And aU our daughters dear. 
 In weal or woe, while here below, 
 
 You ever have in store 
 A portion of that love which first 
 
 Was kindled on the moor. 
 
 You know how we beneath the tree 
 
 Stood in tlie twilight bower. 
 And that first kiss, so full of bhss. 
 
 Is rapture till this hour. 
 You did not speak, yet blushed youi' cheek, 
 
 Yom- eyes were running o'er, 
 As lingering still beside the mill 
 
 We parted on the moor. 
 
 Now age is come, my eyes are dim. 
 
 Grey locks are on my brow ; 
 I start to hear the throstle's voice : 
 
 O, how the strong men bow ! 
 But, Kitty, you have been to me 
 
 A comfort evermore : 
 Ten thousand times I've thanked the Lord 
 
 I met you on the moor. 
 
 And when we lay our burdens down, 
 
 As lay them down we must, 
 One grave shall be for you aud me 
 
 To mingle into dust. 
 And in the land of stars and flowers 
 
 We sha'n't forget, I'm sure. 
 How in the world we left behind 
 
 I raet you on the moor. 
 
 TO THE EIVULET. 
 
 LITTLE, gentle, murmuring rill, 
 Winding round my native hill, 
 Pouring forth thy pensive tale 
 In the silent hawthorn vale, 
 Kissing many a lovely flower. 
 Sparkling free in Natui-e's bower. 
 Wooing oft the poet's song. 
 As thou murmurest along ! 
 How I love thee, little rill. 
 Winding round my native hill ! 
 
 Little, lonely, murmuring brook ! 
 Thou hast lured me from my book. 
 Lured me from my pleasant home, 
 And beside thy verge I'm come. 
 Once again to visit thee, 
 Sitting 'neath my favourite tree. 
 Still thou hast a melting song. 
 As thou murmurest along. 
 How I love thee, little rill. 
 Winding round my native hill ! 
 
 Little, limpid, mm-muring stream ! 
 Let me by thy margin di'eam. 
 Severed from the city's noise. 
 Severed from discordant joj's. 
 Here the swallow dips his wing. 
 And the redbreast loves to sing ; 
 Peace within thy bosom laves, 
 Zephyrs fan thy silver waves. 
 Thou hast many a tale to tell, 
 And I love thee passing well !
 
 THE MINER'S WIFE. 
 
 141 
 
 THE EMIGRANT'S EETURN. 
 
 THE coolinj? eve stole o'er the earth, 
 The red sun sank in flame ; 
 The plou.tj;hman eased his weary team, 
 And from tlie furrow came. 
 Tlie shepherd penned his fleecy flock 
 
 Upon the quiet moor, 
 And sweet tlie happy cottager 
 Sang hy his rustic door. 
 
 Down from the copse an aged dame 
 
 Came staggering with her load : 
 A few stray sticks her apron held, 
 
 To warm her mean ahode ; 
 And, sitting on a humble stool. 
 
 The wood securely piled, 
 Her thoughts were with her absent boy. 
 
 Her only hving child. 
 
 0, years had passed since one bright morn, 
 
 When flowers were on the lea. 
 He bade farewell to all behind, 
 
 And sailed across the sea. 
 Then, kneeling down, she prayed for him, 
 
 All lonely in her shed ; 
 And soon she sorrowed for his sire 
 
 When laid among the dead. 
 
 Since then, the blast of time hath blown 
 
 Around her rude and high, 
 And left her on the strand of change 
 
 Wiih tear-drops in her eye. 
 So she sits down again to muse 
 
 Upon her wandering boy. 
 To feed that flame which chance or change 
 
 Or time can ne'er destroy. 
 
 0, nought is like a mother's love 
 
 In this rude world of strife. 
 As pure and holy as the rills 
 
 Ai'ound the well of life. 
 It stronger grows as time departs 
 
 Along his tardy way. 
 And, as the sun, shines brighter still 
 
 Unto the perfect day. 
 
 But hark! a rap is at the door; 
 
 And ere she leaves her seat. 
 Her wandering boy is in her arms, 
 
 When tears and kisses meet. 
 And now she sobs, and now she smiles. 
 
 And now she smoothes his hair; 
 Then kneels, and with uplifted hands 
 
 Pours forth an earnest praj'er. 
 
 " And can this really be my boy, 
 
 Again returned to me. 
 With so much kindness in his heart ? 
 
 O yes, 'tis he, 'tis he ! 
 Last night I dreamt I saw him here 
 
 Before my gladdened view, 
 And felt his anus about my neck : 
 
 Now, God be thanked, 'tis true." 
 
 And when the glow-worm's silvery light 
 
 Was gloaming by the well, 
 And on the hills the hush of night 
 
 Was resting like a spell. 
 The breath of prayer from that rude home 
 
 Uprose in strains of joj', 
 And Jesus Christ was honoured by 
 
 That mother and her boy. 
 
 THE MINER'S WIFE. 
 
 HE came not, though she waited still 
 Beside her own loved hearth, 
 Regardless of external things, — 
 Her playful baby's mirth ; 
 Regardless of the rushing storm 
 That o'er the mountains came. 
 She sat with eyes intently fixed 
 Upon the flickering flame. 
 
 He came not, though the young wife wept 
 
 Within her wonted place. 
 And fast the burning tears fell down 
 
 Upon her baby's face. 
 Who smiled as though he fain would snap 
 
 The melancholy chain 
 That manacled his mother's soul. 
 
 And make her glad again. 
 
 He came not, though the silent horn- — 
 
 The midnight horn- — had passed ; 
 And little baity fell asleep 
 
 Upon her lap at last. 
 She fondled with his golden hair, 
 
 And gazed around her home ; 
 Unseen she breathed a fervent prayer : 
 
 "Ah ! wiU he never come ?" 
 
 He came not, though the feeble light 
 
 Which hours ago was fired, 
 And flickered in the socket's cave, 
 
 Had finally expired ! 
 Strange spirit-tones were heard to come 
 
 On everj^ fitful breeze, 
 And hollow sounds were rushing through 
 
 The autumn-dropping trees. 
 
 He came not, though the morning's rays 
 
 Streamed over lea and waste ; 
 But with it came a messenger, 
 
 A messenger in haste ! 
 And his pale visage paler grew : 
 
 She read its import well : 
 "0 God, defend the fatherless ! " 
 
 And to the earth she feU. 
 
 The church-bell tolled at evening time ; 
 
 The mom-ners left the shed ; 
 And robin sang a requiem, — 
 
 Above the sUent dead. 
 The cold clods fell upon the bier ; 
 
 The funeral rite was o'er ; 
 And she who loved him once so dear, 
 
 WiU gaze on him no more ;
 
 142 
 
 MINOB POEMS. 
 
 And now lie sleeps as peacefully 
 
 AVithiu his humble i^-ave, 
 And slumbers ou as quietly, 
 
 As sleep the blazoned brave. 
 He fell not ou the battle-field, 
 
 By bullet or bj" blade. 
 Yet perished as a hero should : — 
 
 Peace to the miner's shade ! 
 
 In mom-nful garb of widowhood, 
 
 Across the path she'll hie ; 
 You know it is the miner's wife 
 
 By tears which dim her eye ; 
 And, like a bird whose mate is liowu, 
 
 She hastens to her nest, 
 And fondles with her little one, 
 
 And hugs it to her breast ! 
 
 OX THE DEATH OF MY DAUGHTEE 
 LUCEETIA, 
 
 (WHO DIED DECEMBER 23RD, 1855, AGED SIX YEARS 
 AND FIVE MONTHS.) 
 
 AND art thou gone so soon ? 
 And is thy loving, gentle spirit fled ? 
 Ah I is my fair, my passing beautiful, 
 Mj' loved Lucretia numbered with the dead ? 
 
 I miss thee, daughter, now. 
 In the dear dells of earth we oft have trod ; 
 And a strange longing fills my yearning soul 
 To sleep with thee, and be, hke thee, with God ! 
 
 I miss thee at thy books. 
 Lisping sweet Bible-accents in my ear. 
 Showing me pictures by the evening lamp, 
 Beautiful emblems thou didst love so dear. 
 
 I miss thee at thy prayers. 
 When the eve-star is looking through the sky, 
 And thy lone sister kneels in sorrow down, 
 To pray to her gi-eat Father up on high. 
 
 I miss thee by the brook, • 
 "WTiere we have wandered many a siTmmer's day, 
 And thou wert happy with thy loving su-e, 
 More happy here than at thy simple play. 
 
 I miss thee mid the trees, 
 Where we have hasted in the twilight dim 
 To wake the echoes of the silent dell, 
 And mark the glow-woi-m 'neath the hawthorn's limb. 
 
 I miss thee on the Hill, 
 The dear old hill which we have climbed so oft ; 
 And O, how very happy have we been 
 In the still bower of the old heathy croft ! 
 
 I miss thee at day's close. 
 When from my labour I regain my cot, 
 And sit down sadly at the supper board, 
 Looking for thee, but, ah ! I see thee not. 
 
 I miss thee every where, — 
 In my small garden, watching the first flower,- 
 By tlie clear fountain, — in thy Sunday-class, — 
 Eunning to meet me at the evening hour. 
 
 Farewell, my beautiful! 
 Thy sinless spirit is with Christ above : 
 Thou hast escaped the evils of the world : 
 We have a daughter in the meads of love. 
 
 When I and little Jane 
 Walk hand in hand along the old hill's way. 
 Shall we not feel thy cherub-presence near, 
 Singing our sad psalms in the twilight grey ? 
 
 Companion of the bard. 
 Mid rocks and trees, and hedges ivy-crossed! 
 At morn and eve in Nature's presence-cell 
 We oft have entered with our musings lost. 
 
 How thou didst love the flowers, 
 The darhug daisy and the buds of Spring, 
 The brooks and birds, the hush of solitude. 
 The moon and stars, hke some diviner thing ! 
 
 Ah ! thou wert like a rose. 
 Dropped by an angel on earth's feverish clime, 
 To bloom full lovely, till December winds 
 Blasted thy beauty in its morning's prime. 
 
 Hush, murmuring spirit, hush ! 
 It is the Lord, He only, who hath given ; 
 And He hath taken — Thus I kiss His rod ! — 
 The gem, which fell from paradise, to heaven. 
 
 THE OLD SLOE-TEEE. 
 
 THERE is a sloe-tree in the vale, 
 A bended, broken bough, 
 Half- hid among the holly-brakes. 
 That overtop it now. 
 A ragged branch it is, and rude 
 
 As ever bi-anch can be ; 
 
 Yet oft a poet's shadow falls 
 
 Upon this old sloe-tree. 
 
 He comes when green leaves fill the trees, 
 
 He comes in summer hours, 
 He comes when wild winds whirl the leaves 
 
 In autumn's withered bowers. 
 And when the ice is on the pools, 
 
 In whiter, there is he. 
 Wrapped in his mantle, prophet-like, 
 
 Under the old sloe-tree. 
 
 Why does he come at closing eve. 
 
 When stars ajipear above. 
 And little glow-worms light their lamps 
 
 In nooks he aye will love '? 
 Why does he come and linger here, 
 
 Away from noise and glee. 
 And list, as if an angel sang 
 
 Upon this old sloe -tree ?
 
 LUCRE TIA'S GBAVE. 
 
 143 
 
 Just cause has lie for musing here • 
 
 In solitude, I ween ; 
 For with him oft his httle girl, 
 
 His beautiful, has been. 
 And when they last walked in this dell, 
 
 Like wandering breezes free. 
 She plucked the fruit with her small hands 
 
 From otr this old sloe-tree. 
 
 But ere the white buds came again. 
 
 Ay, ere the leaves were shed, 
 The gates of heaven let in his child. 
 
 His little maid was dead. 
 Now all alone, the pensive su'e, 
 
 As sad as ho may be, 
 Oft muses on his sainted one, 
 
 Beneath this old sloe-tree. 
 
 ONCE MOEE AMONG THE BRAKES. 
 
 ONCE more among the brakes. 
 The golden brakes once more ; 
 To sit and muse amid the broom. 
 As oft in days of yore ; 
 To drink the -pure fresh air. 
 
 That fills those moorlands free ; 
 And once again to be, bower, 
 A denizen of thee. 
 
 Here oft a lonely man 
 
 Comes mid the gi-asses green. 
 Communing with the mystic winds 
 
 That blow their trumps unseen. 
 But now a pious calm 
 
 Pervades this still retreat ; 
 And not a zephjT stirs to move 
 
 The flowerets at his feet. 
 
 Can he not worship here 
 
 The Great, the Good, the Wise ; 
 Who clothes the earth with majesty, 
 
 ^\"hose glory fills the skies ? 
 Can he not worship here. 
 
 As truly as those bands 
 Who laud and magnify His name 
 
 In temples made with hands ? 
 
 Yes, God is everywhere. 
 
 On hill and silent glade ; 
 Know, on the l^.Iouut of Olivet 
 
 The world's lledeemer prayed. 
 And in my mountain bower, 
 
 Beside this mossy stone, 
 While sp<n-tive swallows round me wheel, 
 
 I worship at His throne. 
 
 Isaac stole forth to muse 
 
 Beside the river's brim. 
 When Silence, hid in Canaan's shades, 
 
 Listed the twihght hymn. 
 And resting on his crook, 
 
 The ruddy shepherd-boy. 
 The tuneful Psalmist, mid his sheep, 
 
 Did Christian peace enjoy. 
 
 My child, my loving one, 
 
 Too quickly passed away : 
 How often have we loitered here, 
 
 Nor travelled with the gay I 
 Content to watch the flowers. 
 
 Or emmets in their hill. 
 Or spider weave his wondrous web, 
 
 Or wren with horny bill. 
 
 O let me turn aside 
 
 From care, and toil, and pain ; 
 To weep where I have often wept, 
 
 And muse on thee again ! 
 This heath is holy now ; 
 
 For, at the twilight hour, 
 The spirit of my little one 
 
 Is floating through my bower. 
 
 THE LONELY MUSER. 
 
 THE day had ended, the pale stars 
 Were shining through the sky, 
 As all alone a pensive man 
 Mused where the rough rocks lie. 
 Gazing away in empty space 
 With tear-drops in his eye. 
 
 The dark- cloaked Reaper had just passed 
 Where bursting blossoms smiled ; 
 
 Not heeding youth and innocence, 
 Or beauty undefiled. 
 
 He drew his sickle mid the flowers, 
 When fell his darling child. 
 
 0, she had grown beneath his eye 
 
 Like some angelic thing : 
 Their two brief beings mixed in one 
 
 'Neath Love's elysian wing. 
 She fell a cherished part of him. 
 
 When broke life's feeble string. 
 
 And now among the reed he sits. 
 That creek and common fills, 
 
 Gazing away among the stars 
 That gem the heavenly hills. 
 
 And deems he sees his angel one 
 Beside the Eden rills. 
 
 LUCRETIA'S GRAVE. 
 
 ' m^^ where the tree-tops wave, 
 
 I And gleam with glory 'neath the summer's sun, 
 JL And gentle breathings steal among the boughs. 
 When busjr day is done. 
 
 'Tis where a tiny rill 
 Glides through the silence with a triclding fall ; 
 And ivy-leaves, like holy epitaphs, 
 
 Ai-e chnging to the waU. 
 
 'Tis where the grass is green, 
 And daisy flowers in snowy beauty lie, 
 And songs from fragi-ant field and forest screen 
 
 Are sweetly gushing by.
 
 144 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 'Tis wliere tlie village cliurcli 
 Among the dews its solemn shadow throws, 
 When silvery lyrics o'er the dingles float, 
 
 At evening's gentle close. 
 
 'Tis where the weary rest. 
 And Age and Beauty moivlder in decay ; 
 And Hope upon the silent green sward sits, 
 
 "Watching the slumhering clay. 
 
 Above it shine the stars, 
 Ai'ound it woods and rocky mountains rise : 
 O, let it be my silent sepulchre. 
 
 When Death has sealed mine eyes ! 
 
 FOE A COT IN SOME LONE PLACE ! 
 
 OFOE a cot in some lone place, 
 A calm, unruffled home, 
 "A lodge in some vast wUderness," 
 "NMiere man might never come ! 
 My soul is sick to hear the tongue 
 
 Of slander day by day ; 
 had I but a bu-d's fleet wing, 
 I'd quickly soar away ! 
 
 And oft I think how sweet 'twould be 
 
 To tend my fleecy flocks. 
 And sing my pensive pastorals, 
 
 Among the mossj' rocks. 
 With no companions but the birds 
 
 And little hedgerow flowers, 
 And one, my silver star of hope, 
 
 To gild the darkest hom's ! 
 
 This world is very beautiful 
 
 Beneath the sun's bright ray, 
 Girt round with belts of fi-eshening gi'een. 
 
 And kissed by flowery Maj' ; 
 But man drags down his fellow-man, 
 
 Exulting in his woe. 
 Shrouding the bright and beautiful, 
 
 And sullying all below. 
 
 And is there not, in aU the earth, 
 
 In ocean, or in air, 
 A spot where Peace delights to dwell ? 
 
 O lead the wanderer there ! 
 Yes, many such, I'm sure, there are 
 
 In this fair world of ours, 
 Hung round with ciystal innocence, 
 
 And gemmed with tearless flowers. 
 
 'Tis in the bosom of the man 
 
 TMio walks by faith, not sight. 
 Who knows and feels fi.'om day to day 
 
 That all he does is right. 
 'Tis in the heart where God is feared ; 
 
 'Tis in the pilgrim's prayer ; 
 'Tis in the good man's Bible-home : 
 
 O lead the wanderer there ! 
 
 MY MOUNTAIN HOME. 
 
 MY mountain home ! how dear thou art, 
 For ever graven on my heart. 
 For ever fresh in memor}''s page, 
 To be so till my latest age ! 
 How can I, dare I, think to roam 
 Away fi-om thee, my mountain home ? 
 
 My mountain home ! by that sweet word 
 How many leaves of life are stirred ! 
 My infant gambols mid the flowers, 
 My childhood sports, my boyhood hours. 
 My schoolboy days, when I would glide 
 Elate adown thy shaggy side ; 
 Nor deemed that I should muse, as now, 
 In tears upon thy rocky brow. 
 
 My mountain home ! thy heathy bowers 
 
 Are filled with wild, with warbling flowers ; 
 
 Thy pathless brow, with pleasures rife. 
 
 Is sweeter than the haunts of strife ; 
 
 Thy daisy-pastm-es all combine 
 
 To bind thee to this heart of mine. 
 
 Should fate command me o'er the seas, 
 
 I'll think upon thy healthj^ breeze ; 
 
 To barbarous climes where blackness lowers, 
 
 I'll muse upon thy dear wild flowers ; 
 
 To barren isles mid pagan men, 
 
 I'U tm-u and gaze upon thee then. 
 
 Where'er my weary footsteps roam, 
 
 I can't forget my mountain home. 
 
 My mountain home ! the autumn leaves 
 Are dropping on my cottage eaves. 
 Are falling in the valley's bound. 
 With low, hushed, soul-subduing sound ; 
 Murmuring to Memory's musing ear 
 The death- du'ge of the dying year ; 
 Recalling scenes of distant date. 
 And whispering of my future fate. 
 Sad utterance have those autumn leaves, 
 Down-dropping on my cottage eaves. 
 
 My mountain home ! eve shiits the flower, 
 And soothes the muser in his bower ; 
 The mower hastens from the mead. 
 And I must hush my simple reed ; 
 The leaves and flowers in days to come 
 Will bud and wither round my home ; 
 And twilight's song float through the gloom. 
 When I am slumbering in the tomb. 
 Perchance in dark oblivion's deep 
 To take an everlasting sleej). 
 But I would, ere I cease to be, 
 Link something of myself with thee, 
 That should attract some wanderer here. 
 To drop upon thy head a tear. 
 
 T 
 
 THE RESTOEED. 
 
 HE gentle south winds softly blew, 
 
 Where Spring's first flowers had birth ; 
 And the warm cheering sunhght threw 
 Its radiance on the earth ;
 
 TREES. 
 
 145 
 
 Wlion fi-om bis lowly woodbinecl home, 
 
 O'evshadowed with tall trees, 
 A palo man, buttoned to the chin, 
 
 Stole forth upon the leas. 
 
 Six weary wintiy months had he 
 
 Bowed in his lowly cot, 
 Nor crossed the threshold of his home, 
 
 Nor murmured at his lot. 
 Sick, sick, was he, his wasting fram.e 
 
 Drew near the door of death, 
 WJien Ho who smote him healed his wounds. 
 
 And pm-ified his breath. 
 
 Beside the crooked hedge of withs. 
 
 He slowly crept along. 
 Pausing to look upon the flowers, 
 
 That shone the banks among. 
 And when the grey lark fleetly rose. 
 
 And carolled o'er his head ; 
 Wiping the hot tears from his face, 
 
 He raised his eyes and said, — 
 
 " O what a blessed, blessed boon 
 
 Is the dear gift of health. 
 More precious far than friends or fame, 
 
 Or what the world calls wealth ! 
 
 Messings on this cooHng breeze, 
 Tliat fans my feverish brow ! 
 
 Methinks I never felt like this, 
 Or prized it so till now. 
 
 " How beautiful those marigolds 
 
 Are shining in the grass ! 
 And here the blue-eyed cuckoo-flowers 
 
 Bov/ to me, as I pass. 
 Methinks they never looked so fair, 
 
 While robin on the spray 
 Is singing like a merry bard, 
 
 Under the crown of May. 
 
 " O blessed, blessed be His name. 
 
 Who raised me from my bed, 
 And broiTght me on those paths once more, 
 I have been wont to tread. 
 
 1 laud and magnify Him here, 
 Who fills both earth and sky. 
 
 Whose power has raised me up again, 
 The Holy and the High." 
 
 TREES. 
 
 To list the summer breeze 
 Sigh through the leafy trees. 
 As on the gi-ass within their shade I 
 In the full noontide free. 
 Is such a joy to me. 
 While through their branches shines the distant sky. 
 
 Methinks I always hear 
 
 Wild odes, to poets dear. 
 Swell through the tree-tops, as I muse below ; 
 
 Whether by day or night. 
 
 Whether in dark or hght. 
 Like organ echoes surging to and fro. 
 
 lie. 
 
 Sway ! sway ! as if they said 
 
 In gi-een robes overhead, 
 " What music is so rich as that we give. 
 
 When breezes steal along. 
 
 Or v/hen the winds are strong? 
 In converse v/ith the elements we hve. 
 
 " Cold, cold the earth below. 
 Cold, cold with wi'ong and woe : 
 
 Pride tramples weakness, glorying in its crime : 
 Worth warbles in the shade. 
 Neglected, lone, dismayed. 
 
 And so we joy the fii-mament to climb. 
 
 " Our boughs the free birds love, 
 
 The thrush, the gentle dove, 
 The linnet chirping to the murmuring breeze ; 
 
 And every bard true-born 
 
 Lingers at eve and morn. 
 To treasure up the teaching of the trees. 
 
 "We stand near halls of state, 
 And by the poor man's gate ; 
 
 Our summer branches shade the village well ; 
 And lovers breathe their vows 
 Under om* spreading boughs. 
 
 When twilight hngers in the dusky deU. 
 
 " Where falling waters play 
 
 On the wide moorland grey, 
 Beside the thatched cot on the daisy lea. 
 
 By ocean's lonely shore. 
 
 Where rolling billows roar. 
 And in the city's cti-cle, there are we. 
 
 " We give the approach of Spring, 
 
 Of Summer's reign we sing. 
 Discourse of Autumn bi-own and Winter drear ; 
 
 True books are we which show 
 
 The seasons as they go, 
 For evermore the prophets of the year. 
 
 " The schoolboy loves us well. 
 
 As, lingering in the dell. 
 He climbs from Umb to limb with shout and lay. 
 
 Young men and maidens fan- 
 
 Under our boughs repair', 
 "Ulien labour rests, to talk the eve away. 
 
 " Beside her cottage door. 
 
 Upon the rushy moor. 
 The aged dame sits knitting in our shade ; 
 
 What time the cuckoo's note 
 
 Does o'er the meadows float, 
 And swallows wheel along the gi'assy glade. 
 
 " The invalid comes here, 
 
 PiejoicLag through a tear, . 
 To mark the sky-lark o'er om- green heads sing. 
 
 When sounds the pensive bell 
 
 Along the quiet dell, 
 And the lone shepherd watches by the spring. 
 
 u
 
 146 
 
 MINOB POEMS. 
 
 " And here in secret praj-er 
 
 Tlie pilgrim doth repau* : 
 At fading eve, when bright the glow-worms shine, 
 
 And we ai-e rustUng low. 
 
 His vespers from below 
 Else o'ei- cm' heads and reach the ear DiAone. 
 
 " "We screen the old thatched miU, 
 
 "Wave high upon the hill, 
 Eoar in the storm, and mui*mm' in the breeze ; 
 
 AMiether fiill-leafed or bare, 
 
 Oiu" psahu is on the air. 
 The voice of God is heard among the trees." 
 
 Sway ! sway ! And so 'twill be, 
 
 Till love o'er land and sea 
 Shall reign, and discord fi-om the earth be driven ; 
 
 "VMien swords and spears are sj)urned. 
 
 And into ploughshares tm-ned. 
 And eai'th imblasted shall become a heaven. 
 
 DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 
 
 UPON the damp ah' wailing, 
 AVith startling speed there came 
 A somid of solemn sadness 
 It is a pain to name. 
 The willow by the wicket. 
 
 The hawthorn on the brae, 
 Seem moaning in the darkness, 
 " A Prince has passed away." 
 
 Wlien Sabbath prayers were offered 
 
 By many a pious band. 
 Like a cloud-flash the tidings 
 
 Swept o'er the smitten land. 
 And suddenly we staggered, 
 
 As if bereft of Hght. 
 O, Death has seized the mighty. 
 
 And left us filled with night. 
 
 Weep, weep, O prostrate nation, 
 
 Pour forth thy bmning tears ; 
 The gi'eat, the good, the gracious, 
 
 Has filled his Hst of j-ears ; 
 And, hke a quiet leaflet. 
 
 He fell at midnight hour, 
 Casting a sudden sorrow 
 
 Upon each palace-flower ; 
 
 Casting a sudden sorrow 
 
 Upon a Nation's brow, 
 "Who loved the good Prince Consort, 
 
 And never more than now. 
 0, bards of after ages. 
 
 In peaceful, prosperous days, 
 Shall kindle into singing. 
 
 And chant him in their lays. 
 
 The stri\-ing, honest worker. 
 The peasant meanly dressed. 
 
 The widow and the orphan. 
 The poor with talent blest, 
 
 The poet and the painter. 
 Ay, all who loved the right, 
 
 He patronized, and aided 
 The straggler in the fight. 
 
 In life's meridian glory 
 
 The silent Slayer came. 
 With scarce a soimd of warning. 
 
 And quenched the vital flame. 
 He maketh no distinction, 
 
 All share one common lot, 
 And Grief shed tears of soitow 
 
 In castle and in cot. 
 
 Not leading on red battle. 
 
 Mid flashing steel and stiife. 
 And gore and di-eadful groanings, 
 
 Did. he yield up his life. 
 But as he lived, so died he, 
 
 Where Peace dehghts to bloom ; 
 And now fair Ai't and Science 
 
 Embrace above his tomb. 
 
 O we will hope the Saviom* 
 
 Has taken him on high, 
 W^iere fever never rages. 
 
 And goodness cannot die. 
 Sad is this dispensation. 
 
 Its issues who shall tell ? 
 God giveth, and He taketh ; 
 
 He doeth all things well. 
 
 Now lay him down to slumber. 
 
 With fame upon his breast. 
 In all his manhood's glory. 
 
 Where Britain's heroes rest. 
 And coraing generations. 
 
 As future years return, 
 Shall love to bless his gi-eatness, 
 
 And worship at his urn. 
 
 But ONE there is we ever 
 
 Upon oiu" hearts will bear. 
 When morn or evening finds us 
 
 Engaged ■with God in prayer. 
 The Widow of a Nation, 
 
 Whose hfe and works are seen, 
 A blessing and a brightness, — 
 
 O pray for England's Queen. 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 ON THE ANNIVEESAEY OF THE BIRTHDAY 
 
 OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEEE, 
 
 April 23rd, 1864. 
 
 ^3njc tOacm.* 
 
 ADJUDICATORS : The Eight Hon. Lord Lyttelton, George 
 
 Dawson, Esq., M.A., Charles Bray, Esq. 
 
 0; 
 
 IvKR the earth a glow. 
 Peak-point and i^lain below. 
 The red round sun sinks in the purple west ; 
 
 • This poem won the first prize at the Tercentenary 
 of Shakspere, April, 1864, which consisted of a handsome
 
 ODE ON SIIAKSPERE'S BIIITHDAY. 
 
 147 
 
 Lambs press their daisy bed, 
 The lark drops overhead, 
 
 hasteuiu" home to rest. 
 
 And sings the labourer, 
 
 Batlied in the rnddy light, 
 
 Flooding his native height, 
 A youthful bard is stretched upon the moss ; 
 
 He heedeth not the eve 
 
 AVhose locks the elfins weave, 
 Entranced with Shakspere near a Cornish cross. 
 
 ^fen pass him and repass ; 
 
 The hare is in the grass ; 
 The full moon stcaleth o'er the hill of pines ; 
 
 Twilight is lingering dim ; 
 
 The village vesper-hymn 
 Murmurs its music through the trembhug vines. 
 
 Starts up the musing boy, 
 
 His soul is hot with joy. 
 He revels in a region of dehght ; 
 
 The winds are rich with song. 
 
 As slow they sweep along, 
 And earth and sky are full of holy light. 
 
 Tongues trill on every rock. 
 
 Notes flow from every block ; 
 The hawthorn shines with fairies ; the clear rill 
 
 With pointed rushes hid, 
 
 The pleasant banks amid. 
 Trickles its treasm'es tuning down the hill. 
 
 A spell is on his soul : 
 
 He scans the mystic scroll 
 Of human passions wakened by the wand 
 
 Of England's noblest seer. 
 
 Whom England holds so dear, — 
 Great, glorious Shakspere, loved in every land ! 
 
 He hears the tramp of steeds. 
 
 Sees War in gory weeds, 
 Eoams through the forest, with dehghted eyes ; 
 
 Bends to the tempest's roar. 
 
 Weeps for the monarch poor. 
 And sobs with sorrow when dear Juhet dies. 
 
 Thus lay that musing boy, 
 
 Whose soul was hot with joy, 
 Environed in a hemisphere of rays ; 
 
 And in the mystic hght 
 
 The genius of the height 
 Brought him a lyi-e, wliich he, enraptm-ed, plays. 
 
 He sang of him, the great, 
 Shakspere, of kingly state. 
 Who in his boj'hood by clear Avon strayed, 
 
 gold watch. On the centre of the case is a notable repre- 
 sentation of the great poet encircled with a wreath of 
 leaves. It was manufactured by the well-known firm of 
 Messrs. Eutherham, and was competed for by persons in 
 all parts of the United Kingdom and also in America. 
 The MS. is now suitably framed and mounted for preserva- 
 tion in the Shakspere Museum at Stratford- on- Avon. 
 
 u 
 
 Learning the lore of song 
 From feeble thing and strong, — 
 The groat tree toweruag and the tiny blade : 
 
 The welkin's solemn height, 
 
 The hghtning's livid light, 
 The thunder's mutter, the black whirlwind's roar ; 
 
 The httle child at play, 
 
 The red-breast on the spray. 
 The daisy noddmg by the ploughman's door : 
 
 The hedges, hung in flowers. 
 
 The falling, pattering showers, 
 The dew-drops, glittering in the morning's shine ; 
 
 The smallest film that be. 
 
 Which none but poets see, 
 AH taught him lessons with a voice Divine. 
 
 Dame Xatiu-e oped her store, 
 
 Her secret inner door ; 
 Boldly he revelled through her wondrous cell : 
 
 And none the song-lines read 
 
 Around and overhead. 
 Or knew the mystic chronicles so weU. 
 
 He solved the human heart 
 
 Like maiiner his chart. 
 And passion's every phase was known to him ; 
 
 And when the full time came. 
 
 Forth burst the mighty flame. 
 To blaze and brighten tiU the stars are dim ! 
 
 This greatly-gifted one 
 
 Was Labour's noblest son, — 
 The people's honom*, leader, champion strong ; 
 
 The glory of the soil, 
 
 The towering prince of toil. 
 The matchless monarch in the realm of song. 
 
 Loved now the wide world round, 
 
 Where human hives are found ; 
 By prince, and peasant follo-\ving the plough, 
 
 The sailor out at sea. 
 
 The yeoman on the lea. 
 The miner digging in the earth below : 
 
 The shepherd in his plaid, 
 
 The rosy village maid, 
 The warrior watching by the red camp fii*e. 
 
 The mother with her child, 
 
 The satchelled schoolboj' mild. 
 The college student, daily pressing higher : 
 
 The dweller of the street. 
 
 In the great city's heat. 
 The mountaineer, within his lodge of reeds ; 
 
 The silent solitaire 
 
 On the wild desert bare : — 
 All own his witcheiy where the day hght speeds. 
 
 Three centmies' solemn span 
 
 Since his great life began 
 Have borne their bm-dens to the hidden sphere ; 
 
 Each epoch ever found 
 
 Him with new glories crowned, 
 Like the red sun when the wide west is clear.
 
 148 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 And so, great bartl, to-day 
 We weave thy natal lay, 
 
 And cluster gi'atefully around thy name : 
 England will ever be, 
 Deal* Shakspere, proud of thee, 
 
 And coming ages but augment thy fame. 
 
 OUT OF COENWALK 
 
 BORN among the boulders, , 
 lu ComwaUia's clime 
 An untutored harper 
 Passed his Ufe in rhyme. 
 Trilled among the thickets 
 
 By the crosses gi'ey, 
 Until forty summers 
 Led him on his way. 
 
 Sang lie of the streamlet 
 
 And the ehnking mill. 
 The rich lodes of coi>per 
 
 Piunning in the hill, 
 Taught by winds that whisper 
 
 Round the peasant's door. 
 And wild tales that cluster 
 
 On the weii'd moor. 
 
 Every feature pleased him 
 
 Of his native place, 
 Bank, and brake, and burrow, 
 
 "With poetic gi-ace ; 
 And the more he marked her. 
 
 Wandering with his quill, 
 Ever more he loved her. 
 
 As a poet will. 
 
 Thus he saw Comwalha 
 
 Like a seraph shine, 
 UntU forty summers 
 
 Made her half di%ine. 
 Never, never had he 
 
 Left her hillocks low ; 
 Kever, never did he 
 
 O'er her bormdaries go. 
 
 Then the steam-horse bore him 
 
 One sky-pleasant day 
 Out of old Comwallia, 
 
 Many miles away ; 
 Onward, onward ever, 
 
 Charmed with sight and sound. 
 Till his feet at Stratford 
 
 Pressed the classic ground. 
 
 Then again returned he 
 
 To his native place, 
 TVTiere his wife and children 
 
 .Joyed to see his face. 
 Lake and landscape charmed him, 
 ^ Wood and waterfall ; 
 Yet he knows Cornwallia 
 
 Is the best of all. 
 
 SHAKSPEEE'S SHEINE. 
 
 BY his ingle crooning, 
 Near the Cornish sea, 
 Sat a simple bardie 
 Hai-ping in his glee : 
 When a holy vision 
 
 Eose before his ken, 
 Where great Shakspere rested, 
 Shakspere, king of men. 
 
 Longed he to behold it, 
 
 Saw it in his dreams, 
 Talked of it, when questioned, 
 
 Mid the flowers and streams, — 
 Shakspere's tomb at Stratford, 
 
 And the chamber dear. 
 Where his mother bore him. 
 
 By the Avon clear. 
 
 Sometimes hoping, fearing. 
 
 Darkness spanning light ; 
 Then the prospect blackened, 
 
 Eayless, hopeless quite. 
 Eose he one clear morning, 
 
 HuiM-ied off despair : 
 Early in November, 
 
 Much he wondered there. 
 
 Saw he then the cottage, 
 
 And the chamber small, 
 Where his mother bore him, 
 
 With its written wall. 
 Saw he, too, the Avon 
 
 Flowing tlu'ough the grass : 
 O the crystal Avon, 
 
 Clear as clearest glass ! 
 
 Saw he, too, the chancel 
 
 ^^^lere the poet sleeps. 
 By his own dear river 
 
 Which for ever weeps. 
 Saw he hill and valley. 
 
 Meadow, tree, and plain. 
 And " sweet Anne's " dear dv/elling 
 
 By the twisted lane. 
 
 Saw he these and wondered, 
 
 Saw he these and wept, 
 Holy as a vision 
 
 Coming when he slept. 
 Eveiy Httle daisy, 
 
 Like a hermit then, 
 Spoke of WiUiam Shakspere, 
 
 Shakspere, king of men. 
 
 Turned the Cornish crooner, 
 
 Heated as with wine, 
 Tm-ned he dumb with wonder 
 
 From great Shakspere's shrine. 
 Variously the Giver 
 
 Giveth gifts to all : 
 Use them for His gloiy, 
 
 Wliether great or small.
 
 SHOTTEBY. 
 
 14'» 
 
 SHAKSPEEE'S HOUSE. 
 
 I STOOD before it with a joy 
 Almost akin to pain, 
 Nor can I hope, throughout life's race. 
 To drink so deep again 
 As when I pulled the rude bell-wire. 
 
 Which dangled by the door 
 Of Shakspere's house in Henley Street, 
 And stepped the threshold o'er. 
 
 The old walls seemed to speak to me 
 
 With a mysterious sound ; 
 And IjTe-chords echoed in mine ears. 
 
 As I stood gazing round. 
 I bared my head, I know not why, 
 
 And tears ran down my face; 
 I felt that I wjfs steahng through 
 
 A sacred solemn place. 
 
 Strange that the stones about the hearth 
 
 Should bring to memory's sight 
 The home where my gi-andfather dwelt, 
 
 Upon the granite height : 
 There first my simple song I sang. 
 
 Where ferns and flowerets be ; 
 Enamoured of my mountain muse, 
 
 Under the hawthorn tree. 
 
 0, what a tale the chimney told, 
 
 Where Mary nm-sed her boy ; 
 Who grew at last, in strength of song, 
 
 To be a nation's joy ! 
 Methought I saw him sitting there, 
 
 Beside the blazing log, 
 In knitted hose and petticoat. 
 
 With playfxd cat and dog. 
 
 Then I beheld him gathering flowers, 
 
 The sunny knolls among, 
 And reading lessons on their leaves, 
 
 WTaere Avon flowed along ; 
 Or seeking birds' nests in the lanes ; 
 
 Or, velvet cap in hand. 
 Chasing the pretty butterflies 
 
 Over the daisy laud. 
 
 E'en then the music of the woods 
 
 And waters filled his soul. 
 Whose echoes would, in after years, 
 
 Thi-ough all creation roll. 
 His teachers were the httle bhds 
 
 That caroled on the tree ; 
 And the long gi-ass among the ferns, 
 
 Where shining fames be. 
 
 Methought I saw liim creep to school. 
 
 With satchel in his hand. 
 And then rush home, with lay and shout. 
 
 When cm-fews filled the land ; 
 And how his mother, wondering, gazed, 
 
 With all a parent's joy ; 
 A tear appearing in each eye, 
 
 To hear her loving boy. 
 
 When the skylark o'er Avon's banks 
 
 AVas pouring forth his lay, 
 He licard it like some angel's voice 
 
 From the briglit gates of Day : 
 And when the thunder crashed, and bolts 
 
 Of ruin tore the sod. 
 Did not the boy adoring bow, 
 
 And own the power of God ? 
 
 With pen and paper next he sat, 
 
 Beside the cheerful fire ; 
 Attuning with untold deUght 
 
 His unexampled lyre. 
 The notes were suuply-sweet at first, 
 
 But preludes to the strong. 
 Which should arouse the universe. 
 
 To crown him king of song. 
 
 Yes, here he piped, and here he played, 
 
 Upon this self-same floor ; 
 His hands have often touched these walls, 
 
 Now widely written o'er. 
 And here he slept, when moon and stars 
 
 In Night's dark mantle came ; 
 Watched by the Genii of the muse, 
 
 And the bright form of Fame. 
 
 Oft by this same old door he stood, 
 
 When ice was in the dell ; 
 Clapping his hands, with thought em-iched, 
 
 As fast the snow-flakes fell. 
 And when the angry storm was up, 
 
 And through the forest roared. 
 To him 'twas Natui-e's poet-hand. 
 
 Sweeping her loftiest chord. 
 
 boy, O bard, house of fame, 
 spot to Britain dear ! 
 
 From every sea, from every land. 
 
 The pilgrim joiu-neys here. 
 How did my thankful heart o'erflow. 
 
 When on that blessed morn 
 
 1 breathed within the written walls 
 Where Shakspere's self was born ! 
 
 SHOTTEEY. 
 
 OShottery, dear Shottery ! 
 Sequestered in the dell, 
 Far-famed for sweet Anne Hathaway, 
 I feel I love thee well. 
 For thou hast hedges like my ovm, 
 
 With httle glens of gi'een. 
 Where primroses smile out in spring. 
 With violets between. 
 
 Shottery, dear Shotteiy ! 
 
 I oft have thought of thee. 
 When reading Shakspere in my youth 
 
 Under the hawthorn tree ; 
 Nor did I dream in those joy-days 
 
 To see thee with mine eye. 
 And tread thy ever-hallowed ground 
 
 Under the bluest sky.
 
 150 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Sliottery, dear Sliottery ! 
 
 Thy cottage by the laue, 
 "\Maere Anue watched oft for singing Will 
 
 Beside the Gothic pane ; 
 The garden-gate, the courting-seat, 
 
 The chimney, bed, and door, 
 The walls, three hundred years of age, 
 
 Are with me evermore. 
 
 Shottery, dear Shotteiy ! 
 
 The breeze that passed along 
 ^Yas full of sweetest melody, 
 
 And every breath was song. 
 The children playing in the lane, 
 
 The sheep upon the lea, 
 The very stones, the grass, and earth. 
 
 Were beautiful to me. 
 
 Shottery, dear Shotterj'- ! 
 
 From out the well di-ank I, 
 Wliere Shakspere oft has slaked his thirst 
 
 AMien Anue was standing by, — 
 The well within the garden-ground 
 
 Where hide the wicked fays ; 
 And what comic tales it told 
 
 Of Wilhe's com-tiug-days ! 
 
 Sliottery, dear Shottery ! 
 
 I may forget the mine 
 Where 1 have laboured in the dark, 
 
 From dawn till day's decline ; 
 But I can never lose thy face, 
 
 'Tis evermore with me; 
 For thou art hke a little child 
 
 I've dandled on my knee. 
 
 With folded hands I wait, 
 Resting my feet upon the blue, flat stone ; 
 And in this sj)an of silence years of weight 
 
 Seem mystically thrown. 
 
 Flows by the Avon clear, 
 As murmuring for the sleeper evermore. 
 Whose name is written on each floweret dear 
 
 That shines upon its shore. 
 
 In the bright book of Fame, 
 With leaves graved over now by labouring men, 
 Foremost of all is our dear Shakspere's name, 
 
 Who won it with his pen. 
 
 He bore no battle-brand. 
 But in the realm of Fancy stalked alone, 
 Swaying the passions with a princely hand. 
 
 Who sleeps beneath this stone. 
 
 I feel it much to meet 
 In shades so solemn. Tears are on my face ; 
 The dust of Shakspere is beneath my feet : 
 
 Hush ! 'tis a holy place ! 
 
 THE WANDERER'S WELCOME. 
 
 A 
 
 D 
 
 SHAKSPERE'S TOMB. 
 
 nop lightly, footfall mine : 
 A king lies sleeping in the chancel dim, 
 And evei-y atom of this sacred shrine 
 Is telling me of him. 
 
 I know not how I feel : 
 A tide of thought comes inishing, music-driven. 
 And, but for eyes around, O, I could kneel 
 
 In prayer to bounteous Heaven ! 
 
 He gives, He takes away ; 
 He thrusts the lofty from the uplifted seat : 
 He lifts the lowly, hke to him whoso clay 
 
 Is resting 'neath my feet. 
 
 Is it some dreamy spell 
 Which mom will break illusive, though now dear ? 
 0, no ! this music is the old church bell. 
 
 And Shakspere's tomb is here. 
 
 On every fresh wiud-wave 
 Encircling Stratford hke a gale of song, 
 From mead and moor, and bush and coppice-cave. 
 
 His great name rolls along. 
 
 ROUND the blazing fire of pine 
 The son and sire were sitting. 
 The sisters laid aside their work, 
 The mother stopped her knitting. 
 
 And gazed into the flickering flame 
 Which up the chimney sputtered. 
 
 So silent in her old arm-chair, 
 And not a word she uttered. 
 
 Meanwhile the darkness closer grew. 
 
 The misty silence deeper ; 
 The church-clock sounded on the moor, 
 
 O'er many a silent sleeper. 
 Yet in her chair the mother sat, 
 
 In holy calm devotion, 
 And gazed into the fitful flame, 
 
 With neither voice nor motion. 
 
 The sisters rose and left their place. 
 
 Nor could they converse gladly ; 
 The brother walked across the room. 
 
 And oft he listened sadly : 
 The father sighed, " My son, my son !" 
 
 And then his heart grew chiller ; 
 While in her chair the mother sat 
 
 As silent as a pillar. 
 
 When, hark ! the tramp of horse's hoofs, 
 
 Which each ti,ck nearer counted ; 
 The gate is reached, the yard is crossed ; 
 
 The rider has dismounted. 
 The door swings wide ; the wanderer comes ; 
 
 ! there is sweet caressing. 
 As on his naother's neck he weeps, ' 
 
 And feels his mother's blessing.
 
 cnmsTMAS. 
 
 151 
 
 His brother graspocl both hands at oucc ; 
 
 His sisters sobbed for ijladness ; 
 His i'atlier shouted hastily, 
 
 " This is no time for sadness : 
 Serve up the bacon and the eggs, 
 
 And bring the elder-jerry; 
 And sing thy psahn of praise, deaj* wife, 
 
 And let us all be merry." 
 
 THE FALL OF THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 THE wintry storm is over ; its wrecks are strewn 
 around ; 
 Uprooted trees and cottages prostrate upon the 
 ground, — 
 Deserted sheds, that quaked to hear the tempest-spirit's 
 
 call : 
 But one there is, — my dear old home, — more desolate 
 than all. 
 
 The blasts of eighty years, or more, have lashed its 
 
 nn'al roof: 
 Alone it stood, and seemed to laugh at hurricanes, 
 
 storm-proof. 
 A thousand snows have whitened it ; fierce frosts 
 
 assailed its walls ; 
 But Hope almost a century has carolled in its halls. 
 
 The spaiTow loved to build her nest beneath its shaven 
 eaves, 
 
 And darted from the chimney- top among the hawthorn- 
 leaves. 
 
 Green summers came, and passed, and came ; the aged 
 sjjarrows fell. 
 
 And yovmg ones built a sparrow's nest, where then- 
 grey su'es did dwell. 
 
 Here oft was heard the voice of prayer at holy evening- 
 time ; 
 
 And here the poet swept his lyi-e at morning's early 
 prime. 
 
 Here the fond lover told his tale ; here friendship 
 quaffed its fill : — 
 
 0, thou wert all in all to me, old cottage on the hill ! 
 
 And here, on England's holy-day, old gathering fiiends 
 
 would come. 
 And sip the peace-cup joyously within my mountain 
 
 home ; 
 Here strangely talked the eve away with legendary lore. 
 Until the minstrel's harp-strings twanged : — they'll 
 
 gather there no more ! 
 
 Mine eyes have seen thy loveliness laid level with the 
 
 dust; 
 Bright gems, once sparkUng in thy crown, are cankered 
 
 with Time's rust. 
 The roaring March doth howl for thee his highest, 
 
 haughtiest kueU ; 
 And, cowering 'neath the wind-god's wing, I strive to 
 
 breathe "Farewell." 
 
 There is a rent in Natm-e now, — a gash where all was 
 
 fair, — ^ 
 A chasm which old Time himself will never more 
 
 rcpau-, — 
 A breaking up of that which was so beautiful and 
 
 bright, — 
 A severing of the soul from earth, — a gathering in of 
 
 night. 
 
 The silver moon is gazing down upon thy ruins now. 
 As here I sit and weep for thee upon my mouutaLn's 
 
 brow. 
 I loved thee when the sweetest songs were melting 
 
 in thy bowers : 
 How longed I then to decorate my native home with 
 
 flowers ! 
 
 The blast has come, the parting blast : how wildly did 
 
 it roar ! 
 I looked,— my dear old home was gone ! 'Twill be a 
 
 home no more ! 
 And since all things are perishing beneath the solemn 
 
 sky, 
 may I seek a happy home more permanent on high 1 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 THE good old merry Christmas comes 
 With smiling face again. 
 And troops of happy young folks sing 
 Their carols up the lane. 
 The yule-log blazes brightly now 
 
 Upon the j)arlour grate. 
 And long ere evening fx-iends from far 
 Are knocking at the gate. 
 
 The old folks round the well-spread board 
 
 Ai'e at their cake and tea ; 
 The jocund young ones dance with joy 
 
 Aroiiud the Clu'istmas tree. 
 And shining laurels deck the screen. 
 
 And fi'om the ceiling fall. 
 And stand up on the chimney-piece, 
 
 And cluster on the wall. 
 
 0, good old merry Christmas comes 
 
 Upon his snowy car ! 
 His horses are the noisy winds. 
 
 His lamps are many a star. 
 And up the echoing hills he rides, 
 
 And down into the moors ; 
 And every cot and castle-home 
 
 AVith merry laughter roars. 
 
 O, let us learn to pity now 
 
 The man of hoary head 
 "Who trembles through the icy streets 
 
 To beg his daih' bread. 
 And as we sit around the fire, 
 
 We read within the blaze 
 A thousand golden memories 
 
 Of childhood's early days.
 
 152 
 
 MINOR POEMS, 
 
 And while tlie yotmger members try 
 
 Tlieir ancient game at pins, 
 We synipatliize with those that lose, 
 
 And laugh whoever wins. 
 0, like a gush of holy hght, 
 
 Of melody and rhj-me. 
 Amid the dark of winter's night, 
 
 Is meriy Chi'istmas time! 
 
 THE OLD MAN ON THE BEIDGE. 
 
 AN old man on a bridge 
 Stood in the twilight dim, 
 A\'hen the mountains with grey light 
 "Were mantled over him, 
 And from the iiistling rushes rose 
 The lone bard's vesper-hymn. 
 
 And the old man watched the waves, 
 
 As they stole upon the strand ; 
 For the voices of lorn friends 
 
 Came in theu- music bland ; 
 And his thoiights flew back to other days, 
 
 His happy boyhood's band. 
 
 And they all appeared to view. 
 
 Those days of " auld lang syne," 
 Wlien beautiful old Mother Earth 
 
 Shone hke a thing divine. 
 And Innocence and Happiness 
 
 Embraced beneath the pine. 
 
 And the songs he oft had heard 
 
 In his ancestral halls. 
 And the quaint old rhymes the bards rehearsed 
 
 At theu- meny festivals. 
 Came fluting in the trickhng brook's 
 
 Melodious waterfalls. 
 
 And other voices spake 
 
 In the stream's delicious chime ; 
 Even hers, the loved, the beautiful, 
 
 "SMio perished in her prime ; 
 "With those who fell like autumn-leaves 
 
 In the dank dells of time. 
 
 Thus, resting on his staff, 
 
 With the tear-di'ops in his eye, 
 The old man lingered on the bridge. 
 
 Till the stars came in the sky, 
 "SMien he turned back to his rose-himg cot. 
 
 And laid bim down to die. 
 
 T1 
 
 THE WINDING WYE. 
 HE Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye ! 
 
 Beneath a cold November sky, 
 first licheld its waters clear, 
 "SMiich stole by meads and orchards dear, 
 And heard the music of its flow. 
 As through the vales it wandered slow 
 With many a song, and many a sigh. 
 The Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye. 
 
 The Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye, 
 Stealing through glens like maiden shy, 
 Kissing the green banks by thy brink, 
 Where httle bmls stoop down and drink. 
 And watering many a floweret dear. 
 Which in the still creeks blossoms here ! 
 How sweet upon thy marge to Me, 
 The Wye, the Wj'^e, the -ndnding Wye ! 
 
 The Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye, 
 With happy Hereford close bj^ I 
 And whether sleep the eyelids seal, 
 Or busy hands press round the wheel, 
 Should pleasures cheer, or sorrows lower. 
 Thou miu-murest of thy Maker's power, 
 Who never leaves thy channels dry. 
 The Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye. 
 
 The Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye ! 
 Another look and then good-bye. 
 Beside our sheltered harbour clear, 
 Wait for me wife and children dear ; 
 And though to these my journeying tends, 
 I add thee to my hst of friends, 
 Well pleased to see and be so nigh 
 The Wye, the Wye, the winding Wye. 
 
 THE INVALID OF THE ALLEY. 
 
 DAY after day departed. 
 The long nights passed away ; 
 The pale man still grew paler 
 And thinner with decay. 
 His wasted frame still wasted. 
 
 His cough more hollow grew ; 
 His hands could work no longer. 
 Though want uprose to view. 
 
 No meal was in the barrel, 
 
 Upon the shelf no bread : 
 He called his children round him. 
 
 And thus he sadly said : 
 " To-morrow father leaA'es you, — 
 
 do not, do not cry ! — 
 To go into the Union, 
 
 In loneliness to die. 
 
 " If I should linger with you. 
 
 The parish will not give 
 The bread on which my dear ones 
 
 Can only hope to hve. 
 I cannot labour longer : 
 
 So for yoixr sakes I lie 
 Alone within the Union, 
 
 In solitude to die. 
 
 " But oft I'll think upon you, 
 
 Wlien morning comes so slow, 
 Or when the star of evening 
 
 Is mirrored on the snow : 
 And as around the altar 
 
 Ye bend the wilhng knee. 
 My fancy shall behold you 
 
 Beseeching God for me.
 
 THE MONUMENT OF CHATTEBTON. 
 
 153 
 
 ' "And if within its sliarlow 
 
 My latest houi- I spend, 
 Then God will be your Fatlier 
 
 And Christ will be your Friend. 
 I lean upon my Sa\4oiu* 
 
 For grace to live and die. 
 And hope at last to meet you 
 
 For ever in the sky." 
 
 Then Jane, his youngest daughter, 
 
 His fairest, tenderest flower, 
 Climbed up his knee and kissed him 
 
 In this oppressive hour. 
 Around his neck entwining, 
 
 Her arms she fondly flung ; 
 And these the simple accents 
 
 That muiinm-ed from her tongue : 
 
 " dearest, dearest father ! 
 
 I cannot let you go : 
 Remain with Uttle Janie, 
 
 And Peterkin, and Joe. 
 We'll kindly wait upon you, 
 
 How ill soe'er you be : 
 Don't go into the Union, 
 
 But stay with them and me." 
 
 The sick man kissed the maiden, 
 
 Then bowed his head to weep : 
 But when the morrow's sunbeams 
 
 Streamed over dell and deep. 
 They bore him to the Union, 
 
 The iron gate was barred, 
 And soon a nameless pauper 
 
 "Was bmied in the yard. 
 
 EDA. 
 
 BESIDE the village watering-place 
 The beauteous Eda came, 
 "VMien the setting sun o'er the westera hills 
 Had flung his robes of flame ; 
 And under the flowery hawthorn tree 
 She called on her lover's name. 
 
 He long had been in the fabled West, 
 
 That wonder-working land, 
 "^Tiere the precious gold, free, free for all. 
 
 Lay shining in the sand ; 
 And 'twas under this same old tree he last 
 
 Had pressed her fair white hand ! 
 
 That morn a letter came to her, 
 
 A precious word ; and she 
 Crept here beside the village spring, 
 
 Where they were wont to be. 
 It said, " To-night we meet again, 
 
 Under our favourite tree ! " 
 
 A tall form coming down the lane 
 
 Makes the fair Eda start. 
 'Tis he, 'tis he ! — "I'm come to thee. 
 
 Love, never more to part ! 
 My Eda ! my loved Eda, dear ! " 
 
 He pressed her to his heart. 
 
 " Blest be my heavenly Father's hand, 
 
 That kindly guided me, 
 That gave me gold, and brought me back 
 
 To fatherland and thee ! 
 O take it all, my Eda dear ; 
 
 We'll live and happy be I" 
 
 THE PILOT'S WIFE. 
 
 THE full moon laboured on through clouds, 
 The north blast bent the tree, 
 Which fell in fearful heavy squalls 
 Upon the troubled sea. 
 Beside the lattice Martha stood 
 
 Beyond the lonely bay, 
 And sighed, amid her pressing tears, 
 " Why does he so delay ?" 
 
 And then she sought her little room, 
 
 And trimmed her fading fire, 
 And o'er the cradle bent, where smiled 
 
 The image of his sire, — 
 Their darhng boy, their fair firstborn, 
 
 'Twas luxury to survey. 
 She kissed his brow, and sadly sighed, 
 
 " Why does he so delay ?" 
 
 The moon went down, the wind rolled on, 
 
 The trees rocked wilder still. 
 And like a fire the great sun rose 
 
 Above the eastern hill. 
 Beside her lattice Martha stands 
 
 In morning's early ray, 
 With this sad bm-den on her lips, 
 
 "Why does he so delay ?" 
 
 The storm blew out, the winds were hushed, 
 
 The sea was rough no more ; 
 The sparrows piped upon the eaves, 
 
 The robin by the door. 
 The thatcher on the lonely barn 
 
 Shaved the white reed away ; 
 And still she by her lattice sighed, 
 
 " Why does he so delay ?" 
 
 And then a man came travelling fast ; 
 
 His step was on the stone. 
 His well-known carol in her ear, 
 
 His arms around her thrown. 
 A kiss was on her upturned face ; 
 
 The tear was brashed away ; 
 And Martha sobbed, amid her smiles, 
 
 "Why did you so delay?" 
 
 THE MONUMENT OF CHATTEETON. 
 
 THE shining ice had bridged the pool, 
 And pencilled o'er the pane, 
 Bringing the last leaf from the tree 
 In garden-bower and lane. 
 The streets were cold through which we passed 
 
 To seek in pilgrim round 
 The monument of Chatterton 
 In Redclifif's solemn ground. .
 
 154 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Soon wonderiuf^ near the church we stood, 
 
 Now stained by changing time, 
 Immortahzed by him whose hai-p 
 
 Grew silent in its prime ; 
 And feehngs I cannot describe 
 
 With pencil or with pen, 
 As mom-nful as the sighing winds, 
 
 Came nishing o'er rue then. 
 
 noble pile I noble place ! 
 
 What deeds to thee belong ! 
 But chief I prize thee for the boy 
 
 "Who hung thy walls -nnth song, — 
 That boy whose soul was hke a fire, 
 
 ^Tiose genius like a sun, 
 Alas ! alas I eclipsed in death. 
 
 When life had just begun. 
 
 Methinks I see him standing here. 
 
 Beneath thy arches grand, 
 With boyhood's wonder in his gaze, 
 
 "NMien moonhght filled the land. 
 And silvered o'er the city roofs. 
 
 Entranced with thought sublime. 
 Which in the land of lays will five 
 
 Until the end of time. 
 
 boy with noblest gifts endowed, 
 
 How smooth thy path might be, 
 If Love had reached her kindly hand. 
 
 Just as she ought, to thee ! 
 Who knows but in the way of life 
 
 Thy youthful feet had trod, 
 And all thine energies been given 
 
 To holiness and God ? 
 
 "When musing mid my mountam meads, 
 
 I oft have thought of thee : 
 If Bible-hght had filled thy soul. 
 
 How bright thy path would be ! 
 Thy mother's heart thou wouldst have cheered 
 
 With long, full years of joy. 
 And England would be proud of thee, 
 
 Thou poor ill-fated boy. 
 
 No friendly tongue to soothe thine ear, 
 
 No hght on thee to shine : 
 How dark this winter of neglect * 
 
 To such a soul as thine ! 
 And who more sensitive than he, 
 
 The pensive bard and time ? 
 "VNTien thought was budding into song, 
 
 Have I not felt it too ? 
 
 Even now, where minstrel hath small heed, 
 
 Though crisp my autumn years, 
 Amid the rustling vest of pride, 
 
 I wipe away my tears. 
 But He who blessed me with my harp. 
 
 And bade me frame my lay 
 In honour of His own great name. 
 
 Will guide me on my way. 
 
 Poor gifted boy, thy native place 
 
 Had small regard for thee. 
 Who in a garret's gloom drank up 
 
 The draught of misery. 
 
 And now they raise thy monument. 
 In boy-weeds looking down, 
 
 With mutely mom-nful sad rebuke, 
 On the great smoky town. 
 
 Chatterton ! Chatterton ! 
 How soon thy race was o'er ! 
 
 Pale Pity by thy monument 
 Weeps tear-drops evermore. 
 
 1 saw a httle beggar-boy, 
 With blue half-covered limb. 
 
 Under his Gothic pedestal, 
 And then I thought of him. 
 
 I leam we not fi-om fate so sad 
 
 That talents gi-eat or small 
 Should be employed with usury 
 
 For Him who giveth all ? 
 O ! hear Him from the Book Divine : 
 
 " Whoever honour Me, 
 And give to Heaven what they receive. 
 
 All those shall honom-ed be."' 
 
 THE LITTLE BURN. 
 
 LITTLE burnie, bumie clear ! 
 Murmui'ing down the dingle dear. 
 Let me muse beside thy brim, 
 Chai-med to hear thy gurgling hymn. 
 What it is we scarcely know 
 Which thou murmurest in thy flow ; 
 But thy music seems to me 
 Like the songs of Beulah be, 
 W^here the waters, seraph-fanned. 
 Steal along the holy land. 
 
 Little bumie, bui'nie clear ! 
 Man has not his dwelhng here. 
 Save the lone house on the lea, 
 Looking down upon the sea. 
 Onward, onward dost thou pass. 
 Speaking to us in the grass. 
 Talking with the leaves and flowers. 
 Drinking dewdrops, quaffing showers, 
 W^ooing elves and fairies shm 
 To the rushes on thy rim. 
 
 Little bumie, biuTiie clear ! 
 Flowing onward year by year. 
 Through this dreamy, pleasant place. 
 Chirps the wren to see thy face. 
 And the sky-lark sweeter sings. 
 As he o'er thee shakes his wings. 
 Comes the traveller, and is gone. 
 Yet dear burnie floweth on, 
 Ever mingling with the wave 
 W^hen the gi-ass is on his gi-ave. 
 
 Little bumie, burnie clear! 
 Much of heaven I know is here. 
 In this temple roofed with fern. 
 Where the organ is the burn, 
 And the minister the trees 
 Shaken by the passing breeze.
 
 THE IDLE MAN. 
 
 155 
 
 O how sweet it is to lie 
 Here with hurnie bubbhng by 
 Down the silent solitude, 
 When the eve is pm'ple-hued ! 
 
 Little burnie, burnie clear ! 
 Here might artist, bard, or seer, 
 Far from man's delusive ways, 
 Joy to spend their latter days. 
 O'er thee hangs the shining sloe, 
 By thee dainty wildings grow ; 
 Glancing wings are heard above, 
 Fining all the air with love, 
 IVIingling with thy murmurs meek 
 Down the httle sheltered creek. 
 
 Little burnie, burnie clear ! 
 Brook-uymj^hs on thy banks appear, 
 Cliantiug odes of tender strain 
 To the glowworms on the plain : 
 All the grasses shake with mu-th, 
 Joy in heaven, and joy on earth. 
 Yet we are alone, my sweet : 
 Hundi-eds, hundreds throng the street ; 
 Let them, — I am happy here 
 "With my Httle bm-nie clear. 
 
 THE GLOW-WOEM. 
 
 THE mantle of twihght was flung 
 Over blossom, and beauty, and bower, 
 And clustering dew- beads were strung 
 Upon rose-bud, and leaflet, and flower. 
 The moon had begun to look pale. 
 
 The stars had lit up then- bright fires, 
 When I hied to a brook-running vale. 
 Where once was a fane of om- sii-es. 
 
 Some rocks in the top of the dell, 
 
 Piled wildly, looked o'er it and frowned ; 
 Hard by was a temple, they tell. 
 
 Whose ruins He bleaching around. 
 And here, in the rifts of the storm, 
 
 'Neath the ivy so chilly and damp, 
 In a bower which the woodbine did form, 
 
 A glow-worm had Ht up its lamp. 
 
 It sparkled alone in the grot. 
 
 Like a star in calm solitude's cell ; 
 I bore it away to my cot. 
 
 Exulting, — I loved it right well. 
 And long in my window 'twas found 
 
 Emitting at evening its ray ; 
 Shedding mystical brightness around, 
 
 Till somebody stole it away. 
 
 Now oft, in the music of eve. 
 
 When the cm-few floats over the dale, 
 My cot by the river I leave. 
 
 To wander alone in this vale. 
 I love, Httle glowworm, to muse, 
 
 "Wliere the thyme with thy beauty is stari'ed ; 
 And I ask thee at night to diffuse 
 
 Thy rays on the grave of the bard. 
 
 X 2 
 
 THE IDLE MAN. 
 
 There's not on this round globe a thing 
 So despicably poor. 
 In city home, 'neath cottage roof. 
 From distant shore to shore. 
 In all the kingdoms Natm-e owns 
 
 Throughout her every clan. 
 Beneath the blue outspreading sky, 
 As is the idle man. 
 
 ^\^lilst each is labouring on, that each 
 
 May hfe's best gifts enjoy. 
 Some on the earth, some on the sea, 
 
 Some in the mine's employ ; 
 He wrings his hands in Misery's chain, 
 
 And gropes about in gloom. 
 Or be he rich, or be he poor, 
 
 Unhappiness his doom. 
 
 Behold, Industry's hand hath reared 
 
 The city bj' the sea ; 
 On river bank, or mountain side. 
 
 Wherever it may be. 
 Hath stretched the railway o'er the earth, 
 
 Built up the holy pyre, 
 And conquered time and space itself 
 
 By the electric wire. 
 
 The artisan, with earnest skill. 
 
 Is labom-ing day by day ; 
 The scholar thinks to bless mankind, 
 
 The poet frames his lay ; 
 The woodman clears the forest dim. 
 
 The shipwi'ight builds the bark, 
 The ploughman whistles as he works. 
 
 Where soars the singing lark. 
 
 The farmer cultivates the soil 
 
 Through days of cloud and gloom. 
 And, by and bye, the seed springs up. 
 
 And deserts bud and bloom. 
 So is it with the human heart : 
 
 W"ho cultivates it weU 
 ShaL reap a harvest of dehght. 
 
 No tongue of earth can teU. 
 
 The thatcher shaves the reed away 
 
 From off the cottage-eaves ; 
 And sweet the reaper's song is heard 
 
 Among the rustling sheaves ; 
 And, on the sea, the sailor's voice 
 
 Eings out upon the gale. 
 As he steers on his own good ship, 
 
 While flaps the pleasant sail. 
 
 Nor does the housewife waste her hours 
 
 To spread each welcome meal ; 
 She counts the moments as they pass, 
 
 And fi'om her qtdckly steal ; 
 The seamstress stitches on and on ; 
 
 And by the road-side lone 
 The old man brings his hammer down 
 
 Upon the stubborn stone.
 
 156 
 
 MINOB POEMS. 
 
 And swift the weaver's slmttle flies 
 
 From dawn till dusk of day ; 
 The printer tills the precious page 
 
 Alike for gi-ave and gay. 
 The artist paints the hero's deeds, 
 
 Who fame has nobly won ; 
 And grandam, by her cottage door, 
 
 Sits knitting in the sun. 
 
 Along the streets, or o'er the fields, 
 
 Or be it sun or shower, 
 When roses bloom, or leaves decay 
 
 In Nature's yellow bower ; 
 Let hailstones rattle through the dark, 
 
 And thunder shake the town, 
 The postman, with his shouldered bag. 
 
 Is trudging up and down. 
 
 The preacher, fi-om the pulpit, warns 
 
 The wandering sons of men ; 
 The author cheers the path of life. 
 
 And smooths it with his pen. 
 The lady, by the sick man's bed, 
 
 Eeads and difPuses joy ; 
 And Xatui-e, with ten thousand tongues. 
 
 Sings at her rich employ. 
 
 And thus Industiy's children toil 
 
 Wherever peace is found ; 
 Some with the head, some with the hands, 
 
 To bless the world aroimd. 
 But, hke a blot on Nature's face, 
 
 He groans amid his clan. 
 Thwarting the pui-poses of Heaven : 
 
 Out on the idle man ! 
 
 KMy 
 
 JLJMi.'- 
 
 EOBIN EIDGE. 
 
 EiKG me my Bible, Janie : 
 ^My mind is much cast down ; 
 isfortunes press upon us. 
 And disappointments fi'own ; 
 These manifold vexations, 
 
 This heavy cross and care. 
 And wounding of the spirit. 
 Seem more than I can bear. 
 
 " How fast come rolling onward 
 
 The angi-y waves of woe ! 
 'Tis darkness, utter darkness, 
 
 Above mc and below ; 
 My cup of bitter waters 
 
 Is rtmning o'er the rim : 
 Bring me my Bible, Janie, 
 
 That I may read of Him." 
 
 And then the holy volume 
 
 Upon the board was spread. 
 And o'er its words of promise 
 
 Was bent liis hoary head. 
 He reads of many mansions 
 
 Whose walls with glory flame, — 
 The rest which yet remaineth 
 
 To those who love His name. 
 
 He reads of Christ's compassion. 
 
 His pity for the poor, 
 Who giveth strength in weakness ; 
 
 Until his eyes run o'er ; 
 And sweetness soothes his spirit. 
 
 And all his being fiUfe, 
 The calm of hving waters 
 
 From the eternal hills. 
 
 0, then hfe's cares no longer 
 
 Upon their spmt weighed ; 
 Fair forms around them gathered, 
 
 In robes of white arrayed. 
 Praise rose upon the twilight 
 
 That hngered in the dell ; 
 And Jane and Eobin whispered, 
 
 " He doeth all things well." 
 
 THE HAYMAKEE'S SONG. 
 
 loss, toss the hay ! 
 'Tis beautiful in summer time. 
 
 J_ When sweet July is in its j)rime. 
 To carol in the meads my rhyme. 
 And toss the hay! 
 
 " Toss, toss the hay I 
 The skylark sings his sweetest song, 
 The sun is shining bright and strong, 
 And swallows sport the trees among : 
 
 Toss, toss the hay ! 
 
 " Toss, toss the hay ! 
 The bard has stretched him in the shade. 
 And yonder walks the village maid. 
 In flowers of golden tints arrayed : 
 
 Toss, toss the hay ! 
 
 " Toss, toss the hay ! 
 "Who will, may dig the shining ore ; 
 Who will, may toil on foreign shore ; 
 Who will, may dye their blades in goi'e : 
 
 We'll toss the hay ! 
 
 " Toss, toss the hay ! 
 And when our pleasant task is done, 
 And down has sunk the setting sun, 
 Among the low stacks we will run : 
 
 Toss, toss the hay ! 
 
 " Toss, toss the hay ! 
 Long life to all who guide the plough, 
 Who wield the scythe, and rear the mow. 
 Or fling the grass, as we do now: 
 
 Toss, toss the hay ! " 
 
 BATTA BATE. 
 
 THE summer sun was on the sea, 
 The summer leaf was on the tree ; 
 The wild grape in the forest hung, 
 The thx'ostle from the thicket sung ;
 
 PAUL PARSONS: OB, WHAT NEWS AT HOME? 
 
 157 
 
 Sweet mnrmnrs o'er the earth did stray, 
 Kissing the roses on their way ; 
 But Batta saw not field or fell, 
 As he lay chained in prison-cell. 
 
 A liony man he was and strong, 
 
 His hair and beard were stout and long ; 
 
 His sinewy arms, like cedars sere, 
 
 Might hurl Goliath's heavy spear ! 
 
 His deep broad breast much fame should win ; 
 
 His fierce eye was an eye of sin, 
 
 Which flamed with scorn and pride and hate, 
 
 The haughty prisoner, Battc Bate. 
 
 And here he lay apart from men, 
 Like a chained tiger in his den. 
 I know not what the wrong uaight be, 
 Whether 'twas done on land or sea. 
 Whether it stained the day or night, 
 Whether in darkness or in hght : 
 But Batta in his cell did start, 
 For crime lay heavy on his heart. 
 
 What sees he here in gloomy nook? 
 How sti'ange indeed ! a well- bound book 
 Left by a traveller in the cell : 
 And Batta reads the Bible well. 
 His sins rise up like spectres grim, 
 And in the dungeon glare at him. 
 While conscience cries, " No rest, no rest !" 
 And fire is bm'ning in his breast. 
 
 Then came a monk, and bade him pray 
 To Mary several times a day; 
 His beads to count, his eye to fix 
 Upon the wooden crucifix: 
 "And very soon," the naonk did say, 
 •'Thy load of guilt will roll away." 
 But aye he felt the leaden weight ; 
 It brought no peace to Batta Bate. 
 
 Weary and worn and wan he lay 
 In darkest doubt from day to day. 
 Counting his beads till twilight fell. 
 When, lo, a voice rang through his cell, 
 " God only can thy sins forgive : 
 Else, Batta Bate, believe and five !" 
 " This is the voice of Christ," said he, 
 " The Scriptures have revealed to me." 
 
 Among his friends he stood once more, 
 Beleased from prison damp and hoar. 
 Before they feared his anger wild. 
 But now how changed he was and mild ! 
 "The Bible is for all," said he ; 
 " The Bible has done this for me. 
 Which I have read with tears and prayer. 
 And found my pardoning Saviom* there." 
 
 Go, Christian worker, scatter wide 
 The Holy Book on every side, 
 By rill and rock, by fount and fen. 
 On mountain moor or mossy glen. 
 In city-lane and forest-land. 
 Or on the desert's shining sand, 
 Till every nation, every tongue, 
 The praises of the Lord have sung. 
 
 EMMA. 
 
 STILL moon by moon she faded. 
 As in the cold the flower ; 
 And yet her beauty hngered. 
 Increasing every hour. 
 We never heard her mm*mur 
 
 At her false lover's deed : 
 
 Wliile life's light faded slowlj'. 
 
 Like evening in the reed. 
 
 Beside the porch where roses 
 
 Hung o'er the garden-rail 
 She sometimes sat, while sounded 
 
 The church-bells through the vale. 
 then her mien was saintly, 
 
 In meditation deep, 
 And oft we tiu-ned our faces 
 
 Among the leaves to weep. 
 
 And Emma stni grew paler, 
 
 As on her bed she lay, 
 Wliere the small Gothic lattice 
 
 Looked out upon the bay. 
 In loveliness she hngered, 
 
 AVith prayer in every breath ; 
 Nor ever blamed her lover. 
 
 Whose cruelty was death. 
 
 And then was given the slumber 
 
 Wliich His beloved know. 
 Who wake where mystery ceaseth. 
 
 And trees of heahng grow. 
 She lieth by the chancel. 
 
 And here the robin sings. 
 The solemn cypress whispers. 
 
 The himible daisy springs. 
 
 PAUL PAESONS : OE, WHAT NEWS AT HOME? 
 
 PAUL Parsons married hastily 
 The woodman's daughter Nell : 
 They lived until a babe was born 
 Beside the village well : 
 And then the hungry wolf of want 
 
 Came prowling round their door ; 
 Paul Parsons bade his wife good bye. 
 And left Cornwalha's shore. 
 
 Long wrought he where the gold lay hid 
 
 In many a precious stone. 
 And heard the songs of summer swell. 
 
 The winds of winter moan : 
 And as the seasons hurried by 
 
 Like waters in the dell. 
 His tlioughts thi-oughout his busy life 
 
 Were with his babe and Nell. 
 
 His bags gi'ew heavier year by year, 
 
 Amassed with toil and pain ; 
 And then he left his mates behind. 
 
 And home he sailed again.
 
 158 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 And now lie climbs the craggy hill 
 
 So near his native goal : 
 " "What news at home ? what news at home ? " 
 
 Slow linging in his soul. 
 
 He gains the old mount's breezy top, 
 
 As sounds the cm-few bell ; 
 And sees, through tears that fill his eyes, 
 
 His cottage by the well ; 
 And hastens on with strength renewed, 
 
 Beset ■ft'ith hoiies and fears : 
 " What news at home ? what news at home ? " 
 
 Still ringing in his ears. 
 
 And now he's past the roadside gate, 
 
 Now knocking at the door : 
 A gentle hand is on the latch, 
 
 A small fobt on tlie floor. 
 how he kissed his wife and child, 
 
 O'erjoyed to find them well ! 
 " Good news at home I good news at home ! 
 
 God bless my babe and Nell ! " 
 
 JOHN BUXYAN AND HIS BLIND CHILD. 
 
 COME to the bridge of sighs, 
 And enter Bedford jail, 
 What time John Bunyan lingered there, 
 The Dreamer quaint and hale. 
 The crimson hues of eve 
 
 Curtain the western sky. 
 And the last vesper of the lark 
 Drops through his lattice high. 
 
 " The day is waning fast, 
 
 My cell's dank walls grow dim : 
 Before you hasten home, my love. 
 
 We'll sing our evening hymn." 
 And, sitting on a stool 
 
 Beside her father's feet. 
 His little blind child's song arose, 
 
 Pathetic, calm, and sweet. 
 
 Down on the cold stone floor 
 
 They kneel together now ; 
 And, clasping her small hands in his, 
 
 And kissing her white brow. 
 The Christian father prays 
 
 For her beside him there, 
 And those for whom he toiled that day 
 
 With never-ceasing care. 
 
 " Child, take those laces home ; — 
 
 Let me kiss off that tear ; — 
 And teU thy mother, httle one. 
 
 That I am happy here." 
 And through the prison-door 
 
 The little maiden sped. 
 And soon she told this sweetest tale 
 
 Witliin theii' humble shed. 
 
 Imprison, scourge the saint, 
 Chain him in dungeons drear ; 
 
 Deem not you fetter the free soul ; 
 It bursts its bonds severe. 
 
 That night a light from heaven 
 Tlirough his cold prison streamed. 
 
 As by the rude lamp all alone 
 He of his Pilgrim dreamed. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 Now Nature receives a new birth. 
 How should we with gratitude sing ! 
 For tripping along the green earth 
 Is May with the flower-covered Spring. 
 How fragi-ant the lea and the lane, 
 
 While robin, upon the young spray, 
 Sings louder, and louder again, 
 '"Tis May, 'tis the beautiful May!" 
 
 The primrose, within the green bower. 
 
 Is wooing us back into dreams, 
 When we froheked with many a flower, 
 
 Adown where the rivulet gleams. 
 The earth-bending violets are come. 
 
 And the snow-crested daisies alway 
 Sing silently round our dear home, 
 
 '"Tis May, 'tis the beautiful May." 
 
 The blue-bells are kissed by the breeze, 
 
 A troop of them dance in the vale, 
 And buttercups under the trees 
 
 Are all of them telling a tale. 
 0, millions of other bright gems 
 
 Are leaping wherever we stray. 
 And warbling their eloquent hymns, 
 
 '"Tis May, 'tis the beautiful May." 
 
 'Tis echoed along the blue sky. 
 
 And sung by the wandering fay. 
 While valley to valley reply, 
 
 " 'Tis May, 'tis the beautifnl May." 
 And the wild feathered foresters fair 
 
 Sing on oak-branch, or hill-crag so grey. 
 With the lark in the fields of fresh an-, 
 
 " 'Tis May, 'tis the beautiful May." 
 
 0, there is a flower-budding clime. 
 
 Which knows not a shadow of blight, 
 Where blossoms ne'er witlier by time 
 
 In the rich glow of heaven's pure hght. 
 Sweet buds on the life-giving tree 
 
 Are fanned with bright isinious for aye : 
 For ever, and ever, 'twill be 
 
 More fair than the beautiful May. 
 
 THE UNSUCCESSFUL MINEE. 
 
 FAR underground a miner 
 Is laboui'ing most severe, 
 Blasting the shining naarble 
 In lonely cavern drear. 
 how the perspiration 
 
 Is streaming from him there ! 
 And like a wretch expiring 
 He panted in his lau*.
 
 A NEW YEARS IDYL. 
 
 159 
 
 A montli was nearly ended, 
 
 And he severe liad wrought 
 Day after day in darkness, 
 
 And it was all for non^dit. 
 Tlie mineral-vein had faded, 
 
 And now all hope was fled ; 
 To-morrow should be pay-day, 
 
 His children have no bread. 
 
 He stood within the office, 
 
 His hat was in his hand; 
 He spoke, and much he trembled 
 
 Before that busy band : 
 " I've spent a month in labour, 
 
 A month of toil and pain, 
 A month of disappointment ; 
 
 No tin was in the vein. 
 
 "And now I'm come to borrow 
 
 What surely should be fees. 
 Till I shall better prosper. 
 
 And pay you if you please. 
 0, think upon my household 
 
 All friendless and forlorn. 
 Weeping for bitter hunger 
 
 This golden summer morn." 
 
 He hung his head in silence, 
 
 A cloud passed o'er his brow, 
 As spake the ruddy captain, 
 
 " We've nothing for you now." 
 Within his soul an arrow 
 
 By those di'ead words was thrown ; 
 His body bowed and quivered. 
 
 His soul sent forth a groan. 
 
 He slowly turned and left them : 
 
 With feeble feverish pace 
 I saw him creeping homeward 
 
 With tears upon his face : 
 And as he neared his dwelling 
 
 Upon the granite hill. 
 He raised his eyes and uttered, 
 
 "It is my Father's will." 
 
 But all that day sad sorrow 
 
 Into my heart did flow. 
 And oft I seemed to visit 
 
 That poor man's shed of woe. 
 I heard his children crying, 
 
 I felt the father's pain ; 
 And still this mournful vision 
 
 Is labouring thi'ough my brain. 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S IDYL. 
 
 Two crones sat by a fire of bog. 
 Two crones sat on a pine-tree log.: 
 Without the wind did rustle and roar ; 
 It shook the lattice, and smote the door. 
 The rafters rang, and rattled the latch, 
 Out puffed the smoke, off flew the thatch : 
 
 Like a cavern dark were the sky and main. 
 And tlie earth was wet with a montli of rain. 
 Thus talked the crones by the ruddy brand. 
 As the Old Year died on the rocky land. 
 
 Out spoke the first : " I've searched in vain 
 
 For one who knows not care or pain. 
 
 Both rich and poor sad sorrows share ; 
 
 For trouble is man's enduring heh-. 
 
 'Tis found where youth and love abide ; 
 
 'Tis found where age and want reside. 
 
 Its trace is seen on the monarch's brow, 
 
 And it walks with him who follows the plough. 
 
 'Tis everywhere, 'tis everywhere ; 
 
 For aU have trouble, and all have care. 
 
 But this I feel, and this I know, 
 
 That earth has more of joy than woe ; 
 
 Has more of good than seeming ill : 
 
 There's a sunny side to the darkened hill ; 
 
 And 'tis well for us, as on we plod, 
 
 To do our duty, and trust in God, 
 
 With whom the present is as the past, 
 
 And He will make it plain at last. 
 
 The stony path leads up the height 
 
 Where heaven is shining clear and bright ; 
 
 And he who works and waits shall mow 
 
 The harvest-fields which his toil did sow. 
 
 Upon the horizon's rim I see 
 
 The blessed year of Jubilee, 
 
 When the poor man's wrongs shall be redressed, 
 
 And the prayer avail of the oppressed ; 
 
 When holy psalms overflow the air. 
 
 And men be brethren everywhere. 
 
 It comes, it comes, like a flowing sea. 
 
 And the wind-harps roll the Jubilee." 
 
 The second crone did slowly say, 
 
 " Our duty here is to obey ; 
 
 To strive, with him who heavenward went. 
 
 In every state to be content ; 
 
 To sow the seeds of love and peace. 
 
 And pray that hate and strife may cease. 
 
 The little shining grains of sand 
 
 Build up a mountain on the land : 
 
 So human efforts structm-es rear 
 
 Which stand for ever high and fail*. 
 
 Do we not oft this utterance hear. 
 
 When skies are dark, when skies are clear ? 
 
 The night is hastening fast away, 
 
 And soon will dawn a brighter day, 
 
 When truth will not be trodden so 
 
 By noisy pomp and ghttering show. 
 
 When worth shall stand where worth should be, 
 
 And right shall rule from sea to sea. 
 
 It comes, it comes. Daj' breaks above, 
 
 When earth is one great fane of love." 
 
 By tliis the moon rose o'er the mill. 
 The clouds went down behind the hill ; 
 The rains had ceased, the wind no more 
 Rattled the casement or the door ; 
 The stars came out in the blue o'erhead. 
 And burnt the brands with a glow of red. 
 Uprose the crones from the ingle j^lace. 
 And the New Yeak came with a smiling face.
 
 160 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 THE DYING MIN STEEL. 
 
 FOLD thy leaves, floweret, 
 The rain cometh down, 
 Shadows are steaUng 
 O'er tui-ret and town. 
 
 Fold thy leaves, floweret, 
 The eve draweth nigh, 
 
 Up from tlie moorlands 
 Asceudeth a sigh, 
 
 Over the riiin, 
 
 And by the cool rUl, 
 Down by the rushes. 
 
 And np on the hill. 
 
 Fold thy leaves, floweret, 
 Strange voices are sigliiug 
 
 From hollow and highland, — 
 A minstrel is dj-iug. 
 
 Fold thy leaves, floweret, 
 
 God's gifted one lies. 
 Pluming his wing 
 
 For a Ihght to the skies. 
 
 In the morning of Ufe, 
 In the freshness of day. 
 
 Like a rose-bud in spring 
 Is he fading away. 
 
 O soiTow, ye rivers. 
 And mui-mur, ye rills. 
 
 And clothe you in sadness. 
 Ye song-breathing hills. 
 
 Fold thy leaves, floweret. 
 From summer's sweet strand 
 
 A harper is passing 
 To Eden's green land. 
 
 SHE NEVER LEFT HEE HOME. 
 
 r-^i HE never left her home : 
 
 S^ Life's morning hours were spent 
 
 k_/ Among those clear pellucid spiings 
 
 And hillocks, flower-besprent, 
 "^Miere now, in hoary age. 
 
 From Memory's mystic tree 
 She plucks the clustering fruits of time, 
 
 And waits to be set free. 
 
 She never left her home : 
 
 Her childhood passed away. 
 And youth and womanhood ; then came 
 
 The joyous marriage-day. 
 Her own bright children grew 
 
 ^^liere she so long had been. 
 And chased the golden buttei-flies 
 
 Over the sloping green. 
 
 She never left her home : 
 
 Her kindred o'er the seas 
 Had sailed, to travel other lands, 
 
 And drink a foreign breeze. 
 
 The playmates of her youth 
 
 Were scattered far and wide ; 
 And those who strewed life's path with flowers 
 
 Had vanished from her side. 
 
 She never left her home : 
 
 Her sons to manhood grew ; 
 And restless, seeking rest in vain, 
 
 Away, away they flew. 
 One, in the land of gems, 
 
 A treasure hoard hath found ; 
 And one the crown of fame hath won 
 
 On Alma's gory mound. 
 
 She never left her home : 
 
 Her cheerful day's work o'er. 
 She takes the Bible from the shelf. 
 
 To con its precious lore. 
 And to the mercy-seat 
 
 She evermore will flee : 
 " God, convert my wandering sons. 
 
 And draw them nearer Thee." 
 
 She never left her home : 
 
 Bv;t 0, the power of prayer ! 
 It reached the ear of Deity, 
 
 And found acceptance there. 
 " God, convert my sons," 
 
 Was in her latest sigh ; 
 And they were saved in barbarous chmes, 
 
 In answer to her cry. 
 
 A SPEING WAEBLE. 
 
 THE setting sun, the purple dell, 
 The orchard bud, the tolling bell ; 
 The violet's eye among the moss ; 
 The hnnet chirping by the cross ; 
 The primrose 'neath the old oak-tree : 
 These sounds I hear, those sights I see. 
 
 The winding lane, the bm'sting may ; 
 The happy children at their play ; 
 The robin's nest beside the stone 
 With fern and ivy half o'ergrown ; 
 The milkmaid singing from the lea : 
 These sounds I hear, those sights I see. 
 
 The passing peasant's earnest smile ; 
 The lovers loitering by the stile ; 
 The dewy mead with daisies drest ; 
 The ploughboy whistling to his rest; 
 The twittering wren where blue-bells be 
 These sounds I hear, those sights I see. 
 
 The stream that tinkles long and late 
 By crag and creek and meadow-gate ; 
 The sporting lamb, the cuckoo's call ; 
 The halo hanging over all ; 
 The swallows floating up the lea : 
 These sounds I hear, those sights I see. 
 
 But comes the time when I no more 
 ShaU pace these lovely uplands o'er,
 
 THE OLD MAN BY THE STILE. 
 
 161 
 
 When, lyin?:? low where worms reside 
 
 And sounds of music never glide, 
 
 No longer it remains for me 
 
 These sounds to hear, those sights to see. 
 
 THE DYING LABOUR-LORD. 
 
 Hir,n over the whispering pines 
 The rooks in flocks were flying, 
 As in the cell of a lone poor- house 
 A labour-lord lay dying. 
 
 His frame was of giant mould, 
 
 Which time had partly broke ; 
 His breast, his shoulders, back, and sides ; 
 
 And his limbs Uke limbs of oak. 
 
 Now the mighty man was low, 
 
 His life was fleetly flying ; 
 Old age had bound the \dllage hind, 
 
 And the labour-lord lay dying. 
 
 Ai'ound him strangers moaned, 
 
 Not a kindred face was there. 
 His friends ? The gi-ave had some, and some 
 
 Had flown he knew not where. 
 
 The daylight streamed tkrough heaven, 
 
 The birds sang on the spray. 
 And the mower was out with his shining scythe, 
 
 Cutting the early hay. 
 
 And the hedger was abroad. 
 
 And the traveller paced along ; 
 And the bard was stretched in the hill's cool shade, 
 
 Piping his pastoral song. 
 
 And the white clouds floated high 
 
 In the deep blue fields of aii*. 
 And the swallows wheeled where the insects hummed 
 
 And murmm'ed everywhere. 
 
 Men passed along outside ; 
 
 The rich, the great swept by ; 
 But none inquired for the labom'-lord 
 
 "Who was so soon to die. 
 
 He oft had tilled then- fields ; 
 
 He oft had reaped then- gi'ain ; 
 The profits swelled their shining hoards, 
 
 But his the crushing pain. 
 
 He gave to them his youlh, 
 
 His manhood's golden prime ; 
 And now they leave the labour-lord 
 
 Wrecked on the strand of time. 
 
 None could compete with him 
 
 To cut the granite rock, 
 To guide the plough, or wield the scythe. 
 
 Or shear the fleecy flock. 
 
 He was an lionest man 
 
 As ever delved the sod : 
 Misfortune came, and they tmTaed him hero, 
 
 To die alone with God. 
 
 "A 
 
 THE TELEGRAM. 
 
 TELEGRAM ! God bless him ! 
 My son has sent to say 
 That ere the evening's sunset 
 He'll anchor in the bay. 
 They said the big sea-water. 
 
 When all was tempest- dark 
 
 And thunder walked the welkin, 
 
 Had swallowed up his bark. 
 
 '* I never thought to see him 
 
 Within his home again, 
 And mourned him much, as sleeping 
 
 Deep in the dreadful main ; 
 But what a blessed message 
 
 Is lying on my board. 
 Brought by no bu'd, but thrilled me 
 
 On the electric cord 1 
 
 " Now smooth his snowy pillow, 
 
 And an- his sleeping-place ; 
 I cannot stay the waters 
 
 From running down my face. 
 O, bless the Lord wlio kept him 
 
 Amidst all false alarms ! " 
 And soon the son and mother 
 
 Were iu each other's arms. 
 
 THE OLD MAN BY THE STILE. 
 
 ONE evening o'er the moorland 
 I wandered with the Muse, 
 To revel mid the fairies 
 Among the early dews. 
 The red clouds hung above me 
 
 In all then* crimson dyes. 
 And holy seemed the common. 
 And holy seemed the skies. 
 
 Then fi'om the distant hamlet 
 
 The church bells slowly chime ; 
 Sweet whispers fiUed the welkin. 
 
 And Peace slept on the thyme. 
 Life's battle for a season 
 
 Was echoless and still. 
 As with my harp I wandered 
 
 Along the quiet hill. 
 
 So turning down a sheep-path 
 
 Stained with the pui-ple 
 I lifted up my eyeballs, 
 
 And saw a goodly sight. 
 A hoarj'-headed pilgi-im 
 
 Upon a mossy mound 
 Beside a stile was sitting 
 
 In reverie profoimd. 
 
 light,
 
 I 
 
 162 
 
 MINOB POEMS. 
 
 Perclianee tlie ctip of sorrow 
 
 His God for him did fill ; 
 And now a louely mourner 
 
 He travelled dowu the lull. 
 So here he crept iu silence 
 
 Beneath the golden skies, 
 And looked into the distance 
 
 With sad and thoughtfxil ej^es. 
 
 Perchance amid life's bnstle 
 
 He softlj- stole away 
 In this sequestered corner 
 
 To mechtate and pray. 
 Perchance he was a poet, 
 
 And here in Natm-e's fane 
 He wooed the nymph of numbers, 
 
 And di'ank her hqnid strain- 
 
 I watched him till the moonhglit 
 
 Fell on the silvered mere, 
 And beautified the common 
 
 In tissue-robings clear. 
 Then, hke a pleasant vision, 
 
 He passed me with a smile, 
 And oft appears before me 
 
 That old man by the stile. 
 
 WINTEE. 
 
 OLD "VTinter is come, spreading ice on the moor, 
 And waihng hke woe at the cottager's door. 
 He has blighted the hare-bell that bloomed on the 
 hiU, 
 Stalked down in the valley and glassed o'er the rill, 
 Sipped up the clear pools with their moss-covered brim. 
 And placed his cold hand on the daisy's white rim. 
 Old Winter, old Winter, come, hie thee awaj^. 
 And let the soft breeze with the daffodils play. 
 
 look on the trees ! they are leafless and bare ; 
 Not a bud, not a bloossom, of beauty is there. 
 Hoarse wails through the branches eternally go. 
 And the cot in the valley is covered with snow; 
 Wliile down from the eaves hang the icicles cold. 
 And Cock Piobin mourns on the sleety thi'eshold. 
 Old Winter, old Winter, come, hie thee away, 
 And let the suxibeams with the gossamer play. 
 
 But, ah ! it is vain to invoke him to go ; 
 
 For the crest of the hill is a cold wreath of snow. 
 
 Wherever I look, 'tis the same to my sight. 
 
 Mead, mormtain, and moorland are mantled in white; 
 
 In his palace of ice, at the back of a rock, 
 
 He moans that the crag-heaps seem rent with the shock. 
 
 Old Winter, old Winter, O leave our dear land. 
 
 And revel where ice-hiUs eternally stand. 
 
 The grey-headed man, clad in rags as he goes. 
 And the water-cress girl, with the fii'ost in her toes, 
 
 1 saw them to-day creeping down the dark lane. 
 And they trembled with cold, and were weeping with 
 
 pain. 
 
 Thou hast but a season, old Winter, to roar. 
 And then I know surely thy reign will be o'er. 
 And thou mixst be off to the fi-ost-bitten zone, 
 And beautiful Spring have thy sceptre and throne. 
 
 WIDOW WAEE. 
 
 AN honest dame was Widow Ware ; 
 She dwelt beside the Fal, 
 With fruit-trees by her cottage-door ; 
 Her only son was Hal ; 
 A stately youth of twice eight years ; 
 
 His mother's staff and stay ; 
 With too much spirit for his state. 
 And so he ran away. 
 
 The Fal, as seasons ever changed, 
 
 Went rushing in its pride : 
 And Widow Ware oft suffered much, 
 
 Whilst Hal was wandering wide. 
 Her wardrobe worn and scant became ; 
 
 Her hearth was often cold ; 
 And yet she waited for her boy 
 
 With hopefulness untold. 
 
 The distant hills were growing dim, 
 
 A halo marked the sea. 
 When at her door a stranger stood, 
 
 " Good evening, dame," said he. 
 " Methinks," she sighed," I ken that voice 
 
 O do you know my Hal ? 
 Who left me, when the woods were green, 
 
 Alone beside the Fal. " 
 
 He looked upon her saddened face, 
 
 As earnest as could be. 
 Then rushed into her open arras, 
 
 " O ! mother, I am he ; 
 My conscience would not let me rest : 
 
 O take your sorrowing Hal I " 
 And there was princely joy that night 
 
 Beside the flowing Fal. 
 
 T 
 
 THE DEPAKTUEE. 
 
 HE Old Man shivered in the snow, 
 As if he knew not where to go. 
 With ice above and ice below. 
 
 Far off upon the southern shore 
 Was heard the raging battle's roar. 
 O when wiU rifles ring no more ? 
 
 Said I, "Old Man, with frozen hair, 
 'Tis sad to see you standing there : 
 Come in, come in and take a chair. 
 
 "Perhaps you bring good news of peace, 
 That war and wretchedness shall cease, 
 And love and purity increase ;
 
 SPUING. 1C3 
 
 "That wrong and hato sliall bo no more, 
 
 But Ellen's heart was Nathan's ; 
 
 And man to man liis right restore, 
 
 Tlic treasure was his own, 
 
 And worth prevail from shore to shore." 
 
 Bestowed without beseeching ; 
 
 ±. 
 
 They loved for love alone. 
 
 The Old Man strangely shook his head, 
 
 
 And not a single word he said, 
 
 0, pure was their affection. 
 
 And, 0, he looked as look the dead. 
 
 Like balm which eve distils, 
 
 
 Or honeysuckle fragrance, 
 
 A sadness seized ray yielding heart, 
 
 Or silver-blending rills. 
 
 Like one who with his friend doth part. 
 
 For Ellen Deo and Nathan 
 
 And droits did from their fountains start. 
 
 The bells were ringing soon. 
 
 
 And long did they remember 
 
 The snow fell faster from the skies, 
 
 That walk beneath the moon. 
 
 The northern winds began to rise. 
 
 
 And tears came in the Old Man's eyes. 
 
 
 
 SPEING. 
 
 He turned at last to face his doom, 
 
 
 To meet the midnight in the gloom, 
 
 /^ OME out into the fields ; 
 
 And give the young New Comer room. 
 
 1 Come out among the flowers : 
 
 
 \J Once more, in Nature's budding time. 
 
 And then by secret signs I knew 
 
 This privilege is ours ! 
 
 'Twas Natm-e's order ever true, — 
 
 The lark soars up ! up ! up ! 
 
 The Old Year yielding to the New. 
 
 The white-winged clouds among : 
 
 
 Come out into the meadows, come 
 
 
 And listen to his song. 
 
 
 Ye little smihng flowers, 
 
 
 Wakening at Natm-e's call. 
 
 ELLEN DEE. 
 
 Bright buds of promise, hail to you ! 
 
 
 Sweet welcome to you all ! 
 
 TTE waited in the moonlight 
 
 The sun looks forth to-day. 
 
 |-| Where ash and ivy gleam. 
 
 Gilding yom" eyelids bright. 
 
 ±JL Perchance to see her passing 
 
 Painting your emerald diadems. 
 
 Beside the village stream ; 
 
 liissing you into Ught ! 
 
 When down the lane she cometh 
 
 
 ■\Vhere folded roses lie. 
 
 Along the fi-esh hedge-row 
 
 As graceful as a faiiy ; 
 
 The sighing zephjT.- strays. 
 
 And Nathan's heart beat high. 
 
 And in the grassy meadow-bower 
 
 
 The little lambkin plays. 
 
 And then he stepped full hghtly 
 
 The spkit of the spring 
 
 Forth from the elder tree, 
 
 Is harping in the au' ; 
 
 And spoke in words of sweetness, 
 
 A thousand blended music-notes 
 
 " Good evening, Ellen Dee." 
 
 Are floating everywhere. 
 
 She blushed not as she saw him. 
 
 
 Nor shrank away with fear. 
 
 How softly steals the rill 
 
 But took his hand, and whispered. 
 
 Along its pebbly bed ! 
 
 " Nathan, arayou here ?" 
 
 Murmuring sweet songs of fatlierland. 
 
 
 To which oui' hearts are wed ; 
 
 Then on they walked together, — 
 
 Eeminding us of days, 
 
 Each pleased the other well, — 
 
 In life's awakening spring. 
 
 Where Ellen's reedy cottage 
 
 , When Hope the sunny futm-e drew. 
 
 Rose in the rushy dell : 
 
 Hung round with blossoming ! 
 
 And by the porch they parted. 
 
 
 With pressm-e of the hand, 
 
 Come out into the fields; 
 
 And other silent symbols 
 
 Gaze on the violet's eye ; 
 
 Which lovers understand. 
 
 It blossoms, by the waterfall, 
 
 
 Blue as the summer sky. 
 
 His rival strove to woo her, 
 
 There's nought above, below. 
 
 Too noisy and too bold : 
 
 Shining in heaven or earth, 
 
 He followed in the sunshine, 
 
 But tells us of the power of Him 
 
 He followed in the cold. 
 
 Who spake it into bu-th. 
 
 Y 
 
 2
 
 ^w 
 
 FLOWERS, 
 
 THE FIEST 
 VIOLET. 
 
 AIL to thee, little flower, 
 "Within my own dear bower, 
 Smiling among the wii'y broom. 
 Like Hope's bright star mid clouds 
 
 of gloom ! 
 I bend me o'er thy sweet blue eye, 
 _ _^ Dropping salt tears I know not why, 
 f^ ^ V Feeling a warm inspu-iug fire, 
 ^ Sweeping my fingers o'er my lyre, 
 
 Singing within my heathy bower : 
 Hail, hail to thee, Spring's early flower ! 
 
 Yes, thou art come to dwell 
 
 "With Memory in her cell, 
 To call her from her still retreat. 
 And place Remembrance at her feet. 
 Thoi:gh thou art gilt with vernal bloom. 
 Thou tellest of the dark, deep tomb : 
 Thou tellest of the wide blue sea, 
 "Where waves and storms are wont to be, 
 And where upon its boundless tide, 
 Far, far away, my kindred ride. 
 Because they hasten from my bower. 
 Hail, hail to thee, Spring's early flower ! 
 
 0, could they hear the lark, 
 
 Singing till it is dark. 
 Fluttering his wings those meads above, 
 And warbUng forth his notes of love ; 
 And could they, in our meadow's bound. 
 Gaze on these cowshps scattered round, 
 See all those daisies on the i)lain ; 
 They surely would come back again. 
 To feast their eyes within my bower 
 Upon my httle violet-flower ! 
 
 "What were the words I said ? 
 
 Thou speakest of the dead ? 
 Ah, yes ! thou tellest of decay. 
 How earthly splendours pass away : 
 
 An hour or two, — come, smile on me, — 
 
 And I shall bid farewell to thee. 
 
 Here bmls will sing, and flowers will bloom, 
 
 "When I am hidden in the tomb. 
 
 But I would sleep with thee, sweet flowei', 
 
 Companions in my mountain bower. 
 
 And oft my ghost shall roam 
 
 Ai'ound ruy native home ; 
 And here, beneath the wan moon's light, 
 "Weave garlands for the brow of Night. 
 Blue herald of a numerous line ! 
 Stamped with the mighty Maker's sign, 
 The impress of the Hand Divine : 
 Bending thou seem'st to kiss the sod : 
 "Who sees thee, sees a ray of God. 
 Because He shines within my bower, 
 Han, hail to thee, Spring's early flower ! 
 
 THE FIEST PEIMEOSE. 
 
 HAIL to thine opening eye. 
 Thou little lonely flower ! 
 The first that cometh blossoming 
 Within my English bower ! 
 A' thousand gi'iefs are past, 
 
 A thousand tears are shed, 
 Since on tliis bank I saw thee last 
 Lift up thy yellow head. 
 
 Hail to thy timid glance ! 
 
 And to thy perfume hail ! 
 And, though the north stoi-ni may advance, 
 
 O do not look so pale ; 
 But bloom and blossom on 
 
 "Within thy mossy bower. 
 Till Winter and his storms are gone, 
 
 Thou httle trembhng flower ! 
 
 Thou bricigest songs of bu-ds. 
 
 And many a pleasing spell, — 
 The violet-haunts among the elms, — 
 
 We know them passing well.
 
 TO A VIOLET IN OCTOBER. 
 
 165 
 
 A thousand othor tales 
 
 In thee the poet reads, — 
 Thy sisters clustei'ing in our vales, 
 
 And sparkhng in our meads ! 
 
 Then bloona and blossom on, 
 
 And gem our withered isle. 
 Till Winter and his storms are gone. 
 
 And tender sunbeams smile ; 
 "N^lien flowers of every hue 
 
 Shall thy companions be. 
 And uaillions in my fatherland 
 
 Look ui) and smile like thee ! 
 
 THE HEATH. 
 
 BELL-BLOSSOMED Spirit of tlio wild. 
 Hail to thee ! Nature's moorland child. 
 Shedding a honeyed fragrance round 
 The craggy cave and boulder ground. 
 The gorse-bush woos thy smiling face, 
 And clasps thee in its sharp embrace ; 
 A thovisand swords peer from then* sheath 
 To pierce thee, unassuming heath ; 
 Thou fear'st not, looking forth so mild, 
 Bell-blossomed spuit of the wild ! 
 
 Thou hast no sister-buds beside 
 The yellow ftu'ze-flowers at thy side, 
 Or the sweet hare-bell's slender form, 
 That bends before the rashing storm. 
 Unnoticed in thy wild attire, 
 I twine thee round my artless lyre, 
 Clasping thee in my trembling hand, 
 Strange offspring of my fatherland ; 
 For, O ! I love thee like a cliild, 
 Bell-blossomed spu-it of the wild ! 
 
 I meet thee on the rough hill's brow, 
 
 And in the valley there are thou ! 
 
 Our Cornish hedges thou dost gem 
 
 With gold cups on thy wii-y stem ; 
 
 From steep to steep, from shore to shore, 
 
 Thoulistenest to the ocean's roar. 
 
 By mummring stream and hamlet fair. 
 
 And lone walk smiling everywhere ! 
 
 But, heath-flowers on my mountain's side, 
 
 I love you more than all beside ! 
 
 The swallow, sporting round my bower, 
 Stoops down to kiss thee, Uttlc flower ; 
 And the wild bee thy fragrance sips, 
 Kissing the nectar from thy lips. 
 Thou hast been my companion long ; 
 Hast hstened to my earliest song ; 
 Witnessed my tears for friendshii^ shed, 
 When loved ones pierced my soiil and fled ; 
 Hast many a weeping houi- beguiled, 
 Bell-blossomed spu-it of the wild ! 
 
 WTien Twihght wraps the mount in shade, 
 Flinging its dank robe o'er the glade. 
 When Silence bathes in silvery hght 
 Beneath the " lady of the night," 
 
 WHien all is listless and serene. 
 The fairy leaves the evergreen. 
 And, with the glow-worm for her bride. 
 She dances o'er the old hill's side. 
 Sobbing some faithful maiden's knell, 
 And tripping o'er thee, heather-bell ! 
 
 At the sweet evening hour, how oft 
 I've wandered o'er this lonely croft. 
 Unknown, unmissed, 'midst noise and glee, 
 To pass a musing horn- -svith thee ! 
 For, who such stars of living gold. 
 Thick-clustered round him, can behold, 
 r^right as the gems in yon pm"o sky. 
 And gUttcring with a rainbow-dye, — 
 Who can such gleams of glory see. 
 And not adore the Deity ? 
 
 TO A VIOLET IN OCTOBER. 
 
 LONELY Floweret, why art thou. 
 Little violet, blooming now ? 
 Other flowers have passed away, 
 And thy sisters died in May. 
 Scarce a daisy can be seen ; 
 And the thorn has lost its green. 
 Eobin, on the leafless limb. 
 Sobs his plaintive requiem : 
 Primroses have lost their glory ; 
 Those that held a place in story ; 
 And the hill's high head is hoary. 
 Flowers were there, but they are gone 
 Hast thou seen them, loitering one ? 
 Hast thou with Spring's darlings met. 
 Lonely, Hngering violet ? 
 
 Time hath swept, with noiseless wing. 
 O'er earth's vernal blossoming. 
 Dashed athwart the blighted leas. 
 Smote the leaf-decaying trees, 
 Withered all that's fresh and fair. 
 Blasted, blighted everywhere : 
 But thy lovely Uttle form 
 Looks out in the driving storm. 
 Though the tempest fume and fret, 
 Little snailing violet ! 
 
 Wert thou with thy sisters bom 
 At the vernal-bui'sting mom ? 
 Tell me, — for I long to know, — 
 Can it, httle flower, be so ? 
 Hast thou heard the cuckoo's note 
 Through my Coiidsh vaUeys float ? 
 Listened to the nightingale 
 Warbling in the shady vale ? 
 Has the pilgrim, with his staff, 
 
 Left the honej^suckled dale. 
 Where the new-born flowerets laugh, 
 
 And the brooklet tells its tale ? • 
 And, when sadly wandering by. 
 Has he caught thy speaking eye. 
 With the dews of evening wet. 
 Lonely, lingering violet ?
 
 166 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 I liave mused witli tliee an lioiu-, 
 Little, hope-inspiriug flower ; 
 And I fain would bear thee hence, 
 With thy look of innocence, 
 To my dwellins: on the moor, 
 Planting thee beside my door. 
 Wilt thou, darling, live with me, 
 When beneath the cypress tree 
 Low I lay my weary head 
 In the chamber of the dead ? 
 Glad am I to meet thee here 
 At the waning of the year. 
 Thee I never shall forget, 
 Little, lonely violet ! 
 
 F 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 AIR dwellers of the fields, 
 White whisperei's of the lane. 
 Sweet poets of gentle Spring ! 
 
 I come to you again. 
 Where sighing breezes shake 
 
 The brightly-budding beech. 
 To treasm-e up for other days 
 
 The lessons that ye teach. 
 
 I know not why it is. 
 
 But sorrow tiies, and fear, 
 And hope lights up my brightened soul, 
 
 TMieu musing with you here. 
 And such a freslmess flows 
 
 Along the deU and down : 
 how unlike the feverish air 
 
 That settles on the town ! 
 
 Give me the quiet mead. 
 
 The heath, the sheltered bower. 
 The lichenedcave, the rushy moor, 
 
 The forest-tree and flower ; 
 The dear old hawthorn lane, 
 
 When Eve with gentle sigh 
 Eeposes on her dewy couch, 
 
 With folded hands to die. 
 
 So let me Hnger here 
 
 Within the whispering vale. 
 While purple clouds float down the west, 
 
 And kiss yom- foreheads pale. 
 Among you throbs a voice. 
 
 Your great Creator's speech : 
 So let me wondering treasiu-e up 
 
 The lessons that ye teach. 
 
 TO A CLUSTEE OF PRIMROSES. 
 
 YOUR graces have been sung 
 Liy bards of sweetest strain ; 
 But this shall tune my humble lyre, — 
 I see you once again ! 
 I see you peeping forth 
 
 Beneath the budding trees, 
 And I adore the Mighty One 
 
 ^\^ao made such flowers as these ! 
 
 Stars of the wakening dell. 
 
 Ye constellations bright. 
 How like the eyes of those we love 
 
 Ye steal upon the sight ! 
 Blushing in solitude. 
 
 Where Peace and Silence reign, 
 Ye early children of the spring, 
 
 I see you once again ! 
 
 Ye come and pass away, 
 
 As gayer roses do ! 
 For many friends, since last spring-tide. 
 
 Have passed away with you. 
 In this untrodden dell, 
 
 Ye blossom but to wane : 
 Thank God for His preserving care, — 
 
 I see you once again ! 
 
 A little while ago, 
 
 These banks were very dry ; 
 But now they are the lovehest spots 
 
 Beneath the April sky. 
 And since I see you here, 
 
 let me not complain. 
 
 But put my trust in Providence ; — 
 
 1 see you once again ! 
 
 Chaste, lovely little things ! 
 
 Dame Nature nurses you ; 
 Ye quaff the breeze that murmurs by, 
 
 And drink the falling dew : 
 And 'tis my faith that He 
 
 Who made the woodland flower. 
 Can raise my body from the dust 
 
 To bloom in Eden's bower ! 
 
 A 
 
 A VIOLET IN MARCH. 
 
 ND art thou come, pale flower. 
 Reminding us of spring-time fresh and fair, 
 When Nature feels its renovating power. 
 And joy is everywhere ? 
 
 Hail, nodding stranger, hail ! 
 
 I joy to see thee on this wakening sod ; 
 And though thou lookest passing pale. 
 
 Thou tellest me of God. 
 
 The lark above thee sings, 
 
 As though he soared into the higher sphere. 
 And shook the music from his wings, 
 
 A shower upon thee here. 
 
 I see thee smile alone. 
 
 As if thy sisters sent thee on beforo. 
 To blush on Winter's tottering throne. 
 
 And drive him from our shore. 
 
 I've waited for thee long ; 
 
 And now thou'rt come, I'm loath to turn away ; 
 For I could sing my artless song 
 
 And gaze on thee for aye.
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 1G7 
 
 The setting; sun is l)riglit, 
 
 And all the floating clonds arc tingoil with red, 
 Stars peer through heaven's blue height, 
 
 The moon shines over head. 
 
 And when the breeze sweeps by, 
 
 Calling thy kindred from the yielding sod, 
 Shaking the dew-drops from thine eye, 
 
 I hear the voice of God. 
 
 How kind it is of thee 
 
 To visit ns before thy younger brothers ! 
 Sweet cherub, thou appear'st to me 
 
 Far loveher than all others ; 
 
 Hope's kindly-beaming star. 
 
 Beckoning mo onward to the cuckoo's song, 
 "When May-flowers sparkle from afar. 
 
 And dance the meads among. 
 
 I've crept from man away, 
 
 To kneel, sweet one, beneath thy lowly shrine, 
 And here to Nature's God to iway, 
 
 And link my fate with thine. 
 
 The blast that roots the tree. 
 
 May hurl thee quickly to thy early doom. 
 'Twere bliss to tliiuk that one like thee 
 
 Would blossom on my tomb. 
 
 Hail, nodding stranger, hail ! 
 
 I joy to see thee on this wakening sod ; 
 And thoiTgli thou lookest passing pale. 
 
 Thou tellest me of God. 
 
 MY PRIMROSE FROM THE HILL. 
 
 LOOK up, look up, my darling ; 
 I brought thee from afar. 
 Where rocks o'ergi-own with lichen 
 And ivied hedges are ; 
 Where gush mysterious idyls 
 
 From breeze and narrow rill. 
 That steal in Natm-e's freshness 
 Adown my own old hill. 
 
 To me 'tis full of beauty. 
 
 Each bending brake and bower, 
 And like a poet singing 
 
 Is eveiy bank and flower. 
 Men wonder why I love it, 
 
 A thing so rude and wild, 
 A earn so coarse and craggy 
 
 Among the storms up-piled. 
 
 The fault must be Dame Nature's ; 
 
 For at life's early morn 
 She wooed me with her numbers, 
 
 Beneath the aged thorn. 
 And smiled with so much beauty, 
 
 And glanced with bo much love, 
 That my old hill seemed shining 
 
 With glory fi-om above. 
 
 And so I dearly loved it, 
 
 And dearly love it still. 
 Embrace it like a daughter. 
 
 And so I ever will. 
 The flowers upon its summit 
 
 Look blushing in bright bands, 
 As if the lioly angels 
 
 Had touched them with their hands. 
 
 I may forget the volmne 
 
 That charmed me when a boy, 
 Relating tales of castles, 
 
 Of wonder, and of joy ; 
 Of haunted home and hollow. 
 
 Where turned the fairies' mill 
 But thou art ever with me. 
 
 Old granite-covered lull. 
 
 Hence everything is sacred 
 
 Upon its holy steep. 
 The very mould and mosses, 
 
 And rocks where ivies creep ; 
 And paths where angels wander, 
 
 When evening shadows fall, 
 Upon the summer forest, 
 
 Upon the city waU. 
 
 So I dug up one morning 
 
 A primrose from the lea, 
 And bore it to my garden 
 
 Beside the sounding sea. 
 And here it blossoms fairly, 
 
 And seems to feel no loss, 
 Opening its yellow eyelids, 
 
 As if among the moss. 
 
 What bright endearing pictm'es 
 
 Upon its fresh leaves rest ! 
 Its Maker's name is shining 
 
 Upon its gentle crest. 
 It tells me of the Muses, 
 
 The rushy moors among. 
 My home upon the mountain, 
 
 And hours of sacred song. 
 
 thank thee, darling, thank thee, 
 
 Thou scion of the down. 
 Now blooming 'neath my window 
 
 Within the noisy town. 
 An angel on thy leaflets 
 
 Bids carking care be stiU, 
 And whispers words of healing, 
 
 My primrose from the hill. 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 BLESS thee, fair angel of the earth ! 
 Opening thy sUveiy eye 
 On barren hills, whose rocky crests 
 Gaze up into the sky ; 
 Or by the Httle wicket low, 
 
 On sunny slope and plain. 
 Sweet smiling near the village stile, 
 And in the country lane.
 
 168 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 0, bless tliee in tliy snowy fiinge 
 
 And crest of shining gold, 
 Thy polished stem and jabroiis roots, 
 
 That gi-asp the slimy mould ! 
 What troops are dancing in the meads 
 
 And by the farm-house lone, 
 "VNTiat time the May-breeze floats along 
 
 With music-breathing tono I 
 
 The cowslip comes and quickly goes, 
 
 And blue-bells, once a year ; 
 The violets perish with the spring ; 
 
 But thou art always here. 
 When Summer pants along the moors, 
 
 Or Autumn slacks his pace, 
 Or Whiter roars among the reeds, 
 
 Thou reai-'st thy smiliug face. 
 
 I well remember when a boy 
 
 Within my father's mead 
 I wandered oft beside the hedge. 
 
 To tune my simple reed. 
 And my young heart rejoiced to view 
 
 Fair pencilled on thy frame, 
 "^liich then inspu-ed my rustic muse, 
 
 Thy gi-eat Creator's name. 
 
 And how I've watched the floating clouds 
 
 Careeiing thi-ough the sky, 
 When their dark shadows on thee fell, 
 
 To see thee close thine eye ! 
 Then, if a passing sunbeam kissed 
 
 Thee, dancing o'er the plain. 
 How didst thou ope thy snowy lids. 
 
 And smile on me again I 
 
 So let me woo my constant friend 
 
 At evening's holy chime. 
 And kiss thj' dewy lids once more 
 
 Along the walks of time. 
 And wandering on my weary way 
 
 In sunshine and in shower, 
 My heart shall oft rejoice to meet 
 
 My Utile daisy flower. 
 
 THE SNOWDROP. 
 
 COME, come again, my darling, 
 Come, come again art thou, 
 Like some good angel shining 
 Beneath the beechen bough ; 
 And though the wind of winter 
 
 Is filling up the place. 
 And snow is drifted round thee, 
 A smile is on thy face. 
 
 How lovely art thou looking 
 
 Beneath this cloudy sky. 
 As if the snowy tempest 
 
 Brought beauty to thine eye ! 
 So have I known a poet. 
 
 Beneath his household tree. 
 Sing sweetest in his sorrow, 
 
 A copj-ist of thee. 
 
 I bend me down and kiss thee, 
 
 Like cliiklren at then- play. 
 And take thine image with me, 
 
 Along my weary way : 
 Thy memory oft will cheer me 
 
 Life's thorny thicket o'er ; 
 The footstei^s of thy Maker 
 
 Are heard upon the moor. 
 
 We know it ; yes, we know it. 
 
 That Spring will soon be here ; 
 Along the gladdened valleys. 
 
 With hyacinths so dear ; 
 She cometh, yes, she cometh, 
 
 The daisy-studded queen. 
 To chase away the darkness, 
 
 And fill the earth with green. 
 
 A VIOLET LYING ON THE VILLAGE LANE. 
 
 WHY is it that I meet thee here ? 
 Come tell me, for I love thee dear. 
 HoAV carefully I've sought for thee, 
 O'er hill and mossy j)lain. 
 Among the hedges of the lea, 
 
 And down the sheltered lane ! 
 But here I find thee first to-day, 
 A- withering on the rough highway. 
 
 I've gazed upon the broad blue sky, 
 And deemed it tinctured with thy dye ; 
 And when the deepening twilight died, 
 
 I've sat within my bower, 
 With thy fair sisters at my side, 
 
 For many a musing hour ; 
 And when the stars came forth at even, 
 I called them violets of heaven. 
 
 O, I have wooed the fickle Spring, 
 
 And quaffed the fra.gi'ance from her wing. 
 
 And oft have hied me o'er the green. 
 
 And through the lonely land. 
 To mark the spot where I have seen 
 
 Thy blue-eyed kindred stand ; 
 And what strange joy lit up my face. 
 To find the firstlings of yom* race 1 
 
 But thou art dying, little sweet, 
 And withering quickly at my feet : 
 My song is far too rough for thee. 
 
 Thou darling of the year, 
 Uptorn in dewy infancy. 
 
 And rudely trampled here. 
 Like worth by want and misery driven, 
 Unfi-iended, cri^jpled, crushed, and riven. 
 
 Who called thee forth ? what hand did fling 
 Thee on the gi'assy lap of Spring'? 
 Chance could not penetrate the sod 
 
 With new life-giving power ; 
 None other than the miglity God 
 
 Cculd make thee, little flower. 
 Tliy form bo fan-, so full, so free, 
 Speaks volumes of the Deity. 
 
 I
 
 LINES FOR MY LITTLE ONES. 
 
 1C9 
 
 Tlie white moon now is riding high, 
 Tlie stars are peering through the sky, 
 TwiUght hath fled. In converse sweet 
 We've lingered here so long : 
 
 But I have been much cheered to meet 
 
 Thee, harbinger of song ; 
 For thou dost ever with thee bring 
 A thousand tales of gentle Spring. 
 
 DOMESTIC DITTIES. 
 
 LINES FOR MY 
 LITTLE ONES. 
 
 OME to me, smiling little ones, 
 
 And prattle in mine ear ; 
 
 Don't let it fifight you from your 
 
 sire, 
 This big, round, falling tear. 
 It came into yoiu- father's eye, 
 When coming home to you, 
 Although the earth was beautiful, 
 And the far sky was blue. 
 
 You ask me why it gushes forth. 
 
 This sorrow-speaking tear : 
 In hastening home, sweet cherub ones, 
 
 My thoughts were with you here. 
 Glad harvest-songs were floating round 
 
 Beneath the summer sky : 
 In spite of Nature's minstrelsy, 
 
 The tears came in mine eye. 
 
 You wonder still why it could be, 
 
 At such a merry time. 
 When robin's song was blended with 
 
 Tlie happy reapers' chime. 
 And you were promised such rare things 
 
 When I came home to you, — 
 Long painted rods of sugar-stick, 
 
 And picture rhyme-books too. 
 
 So you've been waiting all this time 
 
 Within my lowly cot. 
 And gazing through the casement said, 
 
 " He's coming, is he not ? " 
 
 Ye run with looks of winning love 
 
 No heart can e'er withstand, 
 With hps that prattle innocence, 
 
 And open outstretched hand. 
 
 I'U tell you why the tear appeared, 
 
 When travelling o'er the mead : 
 'Tis pay-day, and my hard-earned hire 
 
 Was very small indeed : 
 Not half enough to purchase food. 
 
 In this dark day of dearth, 
 For you, my shining olive-leaves. 
 
 That gem my household hearth. 
 
 Ah I when this pittance I received. 
 
 None but om- Father knows. 
 How my first thoughts flew home to you ; 
 
 'Twas then the tear uprose. 
 So through the market-town I passed. 
 
 Nor anything I had. 
 No, not a sugar- kiss for you, 
 
 I felt so very sad. 
 
 I've plucked those ben-ies from the bush, 
 
 In coming o'er the lea ; 
 And here they are, my httle ones. 
 
 As ripe as ripe can be. 
 Ye eat them up so heartily. 
 
 And seem so pleased and gay, 
 111 smile again, my babes, with you. 
 
 And dash the tear away. 
 
 Come, we will sit us down once more, 
 
 And sing the song you love. 
 Of little Jane, youi- singing sire. 
 
 And her the mother-dove. 
 I have no mines of sparkling ore. 
 
 No diamonds of rich dye ; 
 But ye are gems I value more 
 
 Than all beneath the sky.
 
 170 
 
 DOMESTIC DITTIES. 
 
 « 
 
 And since ye cheer my lioiu's of gloom, 
 
 And lioiu-s of siinsliine too, 
 I'll clasp ye closer to my heart, 
 
 And thank the Lord for you. 
 Blest be the Hand that placed yon here, 
 
 Upon my humble lloor : 
 I'll trust His Providence to feed 
 
 The flowerets of the moor. 
 
 THE TEUAXT SCHOOLBOYS. 
 (a story for jane.) 
 
 THERE is a httle rivulet, 
 Within a shadowy dell, 
 ^Miich has been murmuring, on and on, 
 For years : — I know it well : 
 For, when a veiy little boy, 
 I played beside its brink. 
 And saw the little singing birds 
 Hop from the boughs and drink. 
 
 I think I love this little stream 
 
 Far more than any other. 
 Because it tells me, even now, 
 
 Sweet stories of my brother. 
 It tells me of your imcle, dear, 
 
 Who, in a far-off land. 
 Will oft look back upon the time 
 
 We frohcked on its sand. 
 
 I well remember now the day, 
 
 A long, long time ago. 
 When we left school before the hour, 
 
 'Twas very naughty though ! 
 To go and catch the little fish. 
 
 And make them die with pain. 
 On pui-pose to amuse ourselves : 
 
 'Twas naughty, httle Jane ! 
 
 We tarried till the sun had set. 
 
 And then the stars came out. 
 But we, beside this little stream, 
 
 Were watching for the trout. 
 Up rose the yellow harvest moon ; 
 
 We saw her in the rill. 
 And turned our faces to our home 
 
 Upon Bolennowe Hill. 
 
 We stopped, when half-way up its side, 
 
 To wipe the mud away : 
 'Twas then we felt how sad we were. 
 
 What we had done that day, — 
 Deceived om- parents, left the school, 
 
 And told our master lies, 
 And killed those pretty httle fish : — 
 
 The tears came in our eyes ! 
 
 How very sad we crept along ! 
 
 Our cottage came in sight ; 
 We heard owe own sweet mother's voice. 
 
 We saw the taper's Ught. 
 
 We trembled ; for we were afraid 
 
 To stand before our she ; 
 We knew we had incurred that day 
 
 His greatest, heaviest ire ! 
 
 Oiu" hands we lifted to the latch, 
 
 Now trembling more and more, 
 And soft as ever fauy did, 
 
 We stepped across the floor. 
 And cowered beneath our mother's wing. 
 
 With love's sweet odour wet ; 
 And how she acted to us then, 
 
 I never shall forget. 
 
 Now, daughter dear, I hope you'll strive 
 
 To profit by my lay : 
 Obey your parents in the Lord, 
 
 And speak the truth alway. 
 Deceive not, though you be deceived ; 
 
 Take care of little lies ; 
 And don't give any needless pain 
 
 To birds or butterflies. 
 
 And when the waxing harvest moon 
 
 Shall rise above the hill, 
 All bright and beauteous at her full, 
 
 I'll take you to the rill. 
 And show you where, years, years ago, 
 
 Your singing father strayed. 
 Beside this murmuring rivulet, 
 
 And with your uncle played. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE EING. 
 
 WHEEL round your chairs a-near the fire, 
 And shut the outer door ; 
 The north winds sweep across the fields, 
 And through the valleys roar. 
 I have a truthful tale to tell 
 
 About a little boy. 
 Who lived upon a lonely liill, 
 His honest parents' joy. 
 
 FuU early was he taught to kneel 
 
 And clasp his hands in prayer 
 To Him who looks upon the earth, 
 
 And knows each traveller there ; 
 That we must never he nor steal. 
 
 Nor break His just command ; 
 For all offending ones will feel 
 
 The anger of His hand. 
 
 One morn he left his mother's porch. 
 
 Where he had been at play, 
 And crept into a neighbour's house. 
 
 When they were gone away 
 To worship in the village church 
 
 Among the solemn trees ; 
 The miurmur of the tolling bells 
 
 Then rose upon the breeze. 
 
 He placed his foot upon the stair. 
 
 The echo made him start. 
 And still he chmbed, and still he felt 
 
 A sinking in his heart :
 
 THE LOST CHILD. 171 
 
 He scarcely knew the reason wliy 
 
 
 He thus dill onward go, 
 
 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 Until he found a refuse box 
 
 
 In a back chamber low. 
 
 (a story for lucretia, when two years of age.) 
 
 Here lay in undisturbed repose 
 
 y^OME, come, Lucretia, do not cry, 
 
 A lot of craxy ware, — 
 
 1 Wipe those warm tears away ; 
 
 Old covers rusted into holes, 
 
 \J Come sit down on your cricket here, 
 
 And bolts both round and square, 
 
 And hst to what I say. 
 
 Nails drawn from doors no lonj^cr used, 
 
 Thought, plumed in Memoiy's mystic wing, . 
 
 Which filled him with delight, 
 
 Was revelling with the past. 
 
 And saddle-stirrups, studs of steel, 
 
 While you were sobbing, sobbing on. 
 
 And buckles seldom bright. 
 
 As if it were yom* last ! 
 
 He first snatched up a ribless screw. 
 
 Let's kiss that fair round face of thine. 
 
 Then many a tempting thing. 
 
 So beautiful and bright, 
 
 And thi'ew them back, and strangely grasped 
 
 Thou little tender blossoming. 
 
 A lantern's simple ring ; 
 
 Gladdening thy father's sight ! 
 
 Then slowly down the stair he went, 
 
 For he was once a slender boy, 
 
 Within liis hand the toy ; 
 
 In cap and waving plume. 
 
 But every footfall seemed to say, 
 
 ^ Playing life's sunnj' hom-s away 
 
 " naughty Uttle boy ! " 
 
 Among the golden broom. 
 
 He gained the porch, and sat him down 
 
 There is a little sunny bower 
 
 Beneath the woodbine sweet, 
 
 Upon the mountain's side. 
 
 And quickly laid the stolen ring 
 
 Where first I found the coy young Muse, 
 
 Upon his playing seat ; 
 
 And wooed her for my bride ! 
 
 And every sparrow chirping loud 
 
 And oft I ran to welcome her 
 
 On the thatch-eaves for joy 
 
 In Nature's flowery dome : 
 
 Seemed twittering, twittering evermore. 
 
 My happiest hours were spent within 
 
 " naughty httle boy ! " 
 
 Her breezy, heathery home. 
 
 He sought the hearth and chmbed again 
 
 A-near this musical retreat 
 
 His gentle mother's knee : 
 
 Is a low mossy rock, 
 
 She stroked his haii-, and kissed his face, 
 
 Which was the same in gi-andsu*e's time, — 
 
 And bade him happy be ; 
 
 A rough, unchiseUed block ; 
 
 But like a knell he heard the words. 
 
 Projecting fi-om an ancient hedge, 
 
 All comfort to destroy. 
 
 Where fays and fairies play. 
 
 Still sounding, sounding everywhere, 
 
 Dancing among the hyacinths 
 
 " naughty Uttle boy!" 
 
 When dayhght dies away. 
 
 And so at last he took the ring. 
 
 The ruins of om* dear old home 
 
 And slowly went away. 
 
 Sleep in the daisy mead. 
 
 And crept the stair, and reached the room 
 
 Where your own granny used to go 
 
 Where the old waste -box lay, 
 
 To see the heifers feed. 
 
 And laid it down, and left the house 
 
 That straw-roofed home was standing then. 
 
 As softly as could be ; 
 
 Our childhood's pride and joy, 
 
 And when he reached his mother's porch, 
 
 The birth-place of your singing sire, 
 
 How very glad was he ! 
 
 The Little mountain boy. 
 
 The sparrows' chirp was music now. 
 
 The first thing I remember, dear. 
 
 His mother's voice was dear, 
 
 Was, years and years ago, 
 
 And from his face I know he wiped 
 
 I wandered from my mother's door 
 
 Away the trickhng tear ; 
 
 A himdred yards or so. 
 
 And when beside his bed he knelt. 
 
 And lost myself among the flowers 
 
 With folded hands to pray. 
 
 That gem our mountain's head ; 
 
 He asked the Lord to pardon him 
 
 Nor knew the way to wander back, 
 
 For his great sin that day. 
 
 Where I was mourned as dead ! 
 
 God heard his prayer, and blotted out 
 
 I well remember, soon the sim 
 
 The little wanderer's stain ; 
 
 Departed out of sight, 
 
 His first offence was all forgiven ; 
 
 And then the gathering dusk came on, 
 
 He never stole again. 
 
 And then the staiTy night. 
 
 Resist the first approach of wrong, 
 
 I sat me on this same cold rock; 
 
 guard yom- vu'tue well, 
 
 The tears came in mine eye ; 
 
 Or it may end in -^vi-etchedness, — 
 
 I wept : — for I was son-owful 
 
 How awful, who can tell ? 
 
 z 
 
 And sad, I knew not wliy. 
 2 1
 
 172 
 
 DOMESTIC DITTIES. 
 
 how my father searched for me I 
 O how my mother sighed, 
 
 And called and called upon my name, 
 And wrung her hands beside ! 
 
 But I, a hundi-ed yards from home, 
 "Was lost in this lone place, 
 
 Nor could I hear my mother's voice, 
 Kor see my father's face. 
 
 And when, at last, they found me here 
 On this low granite stone, 
 
 1 sat in perfect solitude. 
 
 And made my plaintive moan, — 
 A few short words repeated o'er 
 
 And o'er with many a sigh, — 
 " There's no one, no one with me here ; 
 
 Alone, alone am I ! " 
 
 If you could understand my song, 
 
 Lucretia, I would say, 
 •• Don't give your mother needless pain 
 
 By wandering far away. 
 Eemain within our garden-bower; 
 
 'Tis wide enough for you ; 
 Ajid then you will not lose youi'seK, 
 
 As hosts of wanderers do ! " 
 
 A STORY FOR ALFRED. 
 
 THE naughty Muse won't come, my boy, 
 Although for near an hour 
 I've coaxed the maiden, quill La hand, 
 From her sequestered bower. 
 But she won't come, do what I may, 
 
 And seems to shun the door : 
 However, let us trim the fire, 
 And woo the wench once more. 
 
 There is a httle mossy dell 
 
 A long way from the town. 
 Unknown to railway travellers, 
 
 A stranger to renown. 
 The cuckoo-flowers grow there in Spring, 
 
 And the forget-me-not. 
 And many other wildings fair 
 
 Adorn this lonely spot. 
 
 Once on a time some worthy men 
 
 "Within this heathy vine, 
 Perhaps a hundred years ago, 
 
 Sank pits to seek a mine. 
 These now are half filled up or more 
 
 By old Time stiff and stem. 
 And look hke beds where fairies sleep, 
 
 O'ergrown with furze and fern. 
 
 One summer mom, — the lark was up, 
 
 And singing long and loud. 
 High o'er the hills and rising mist. 
 
 Which floated like a cloud, — 
 As to my daily work I went, 
 
 This vale I had to cross ; 
 And in a pit I chanced to see 
 
 A bird's nest mid the moss. 
 
 what a pretty nest it was ! 
 Built with the greatest care, 
 
 "With grass and moss and bits of wool. 
 
 And strangely hned with hair. 
 And four unfeathered birds it held, 
 
 The loving mother's brood, 
 'V\'hich oped their mouths when I looked in. 
 
 As if they asked for food. 
 
 A bird's nest in the broken bush. 
 Or hedge, or garden wall, 
 
 1 cannot see but I behold 
 The hand of God in all. 
 
 O why despise the tuneful bard 
 
 Because he's lowly born, 
 And like the robin builds his nest 
 
 And sings beneath the thorn? 
 
 A week had scarcely passed when I, 
 
 One noontide after rain, 
 ■S\^ith boyish feehng turned aside. 
 
 To seek that nest again. 
 Don't blame me for a deed like this : 
 
 By Nature's works beguiled, 
 "With her in truth I know I shall 
 
 For ever be a chUd. 
 
 The birds were gone, the nest destroyed, 
 
 "With fragments on the clay. 
 And footmarks of a cruel boy 
 
 Who bore the brood away. 
 And underneath the spot where once 
 
 Her callow young she fed, 
 Without one mark of \aolence 
 
 The mother-bird lay dead. 
 
 My faith is this, — that in the fields 
 
 To gather worms she tried, 
 And coming back to find no brood 
 
 She/eZi so that she died. 
 Alfred, never rob a nest : 
 
 The great God made us all 
 That we might love each hving thing. 
 
 However mean or small. 
 
 THE TWO BOTS AND THE LAMB. 
 (a story for jane.) 
 
 A LITTLE lamb was feeding upon the mountain sidC) 
 Ajnong the grass and meadow-flowers that 
 sparkled far and wide ; 
 A httle snow-white lamb, so innocent and free. 
 Leaped up to kiss the sunshine in my father's daisy-lea. 
 
 Two little boys were playing, with wheelbaiTow and 
 spade, 
 
 "Where this white lamb was leaping in the bright daisy- 
 glade. 
 
 Sometimes they carolled h'ghtly, sometimes they 
 both would sigh. 
 
 And, in a moment, they would weep, perhaps they 
 knew not why.
 
 A HOME IDYL. 
 
 173 
 
 These two delicious urchins, myself and Uncle Will, 
 Here dreamt away our childhood upon our native hill; 
 We carolled in the sunshine, we cliatted in the shade ; 
 We played heneath the hawthorn, in snow-white 
 flowers arrayed. 
 
 We had a Uttle iron pick to di^ the mountain earth ; 
 Some genius of uncommon strength had surely given 
 
 it hirth ! 
 We ran and sti'uck this little lamh with it upon the head. 
 And, in an instant, down it fell 
 
 be dead 1 
 
 we thought it must 
 
 The pretty white unconscious thing we in the barrow 
 
 placed, 
 To wheel it somewhere out of sight, and bury it in 
 
 haste. 
 We trembled lest the owner's eye om- wickedness 
 
 should see ; 
 We looked behind, we looked before : alas ! how sad 
 
 were we ! 
 
 At last we tripped it on the heath, sheer o'er the 
 
 barrow's side ; 
 It felt the shook, — and off it ran in mazy circles wide I 
 We clapped our hands, we sang for joy, we danced in 
 
 rapturous glee : 
 If wehad got a thousand pounds,we could not happier be ! 
 
 We promised, creeping hand in hand om* father's 
 
 meadows o'er, 
 That we would strike a Uttle lamb in such a way no more ! 
 We never did. Go where I may in Natm'e's wildest 
 
 bowers, 
 I never shall forget the lamb we struck among the 
 
 flowers. 
 
 This is a simple circumstance, I grant it, little Jane ; 
 But 'tis a wicked thing to cause unnecessary pain. 
 The smallestwormyoutread upon, the httle flyyoukill, 
 Feels equally as keen a pain as I or Uncle Will. 
 
 A HOME IDYL. 
 
 THE fire is once more burning bright, 
 And flickering flames of song. 
 And towers shoot up, and castles, too. 
 The cmiing smoke among. 
 With wife and children clustered round 
 
 Within my rhyming hive, 
 I take my book, and deem myself 
 The happiest man ahve. 
 
 True, I have but small store of gold. 
 
 Nor much of worldly ease. 
 No lands or titles from my sire ; 
 
 But what care I for these ? 
 If health be mine, with those dear bu'ds, 
 
 That in my dwelling sing, 
 I share my meals, and bless my God, 
 
 As happy as a king. 
 
 Indeed, my joy-cup is so full. 
 
 And blessings come so fast. 
 That oft I think, amid my tears. 
 
 It is too sweet to last. 
 But my gi'eat Father knows the way 
 
 To lead me here below ; 
 And so I give it up to Him, 
 
 Or be it weal or woe. 
 
 Ye bloom in beauty round me now, 
 
 Like roses bright and fair, 
 So that I love to hasten home 
 
 Your healing sweets to share ; 
 But ye will leave me, by and bye. 
 
 To walk the ways of men, 
 And struggle with the multitude : 
 
 God bless my children then. 
 
 My dearest wife is like a brook 
 
 That mm-mmrs tkrough the dell, 
 Kefreshing with her sight and sound 
 
 The home I love so well. 
 Her presence like a sphere of light. 
 
 Her voice as pleasant now 
 As when at first I heard her speak 
 
 Under the hawthorn bough. 
 
 what a bliss when evening comes. 
 
 With shadows on the lea. 
 To cluster round the blazing log. 
 
 The arm of some old tree, 
 And tell the story o'er again 
 
 My children oft have heard 
 Of tabby cat, or doggy dear. 
 
 Or busy bee, or bird ! 
 
 And then to seat them by my side, 
 
 When eve is wearing late. 
 And supper bread is on the board. 
 
 To eat from off my plate ! 
 No monarch ever felt more joy 
 
 With legions at his nod ; 
 I wipe the pressing tears away, 
 
 And thank the Lord our God. 
 
 And oft they lift their hands for joy. 
 
 In innocent amaze 
 To think ouj." Father made them all, — 
 
 The fields where cattle graze, 
 The trees, and flowers, and mighty rocks, 
 
 That like huge castles stand. 
 The hill-top high, the great blue sky, 
 
 The ocean, and the land. 
 
 And in their eyes are gleaming thoughts 
 
 No bard can e'er express : 
 I clasp my hands, and thank the Lord 
 
 For what 1 then possess. 
 And when the monster winds are up. 
 
 Tearing from tree to tree, 
 I sometimes tell my httle boys 
 
 What I should hke to see.
 
 174 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 No diiuikard reeling to liis sliecl, 
 
 No dark oppressor's liand, 
 No sound of war or tyi'anny 
 
 From farthest laud to land, 
 No beggar skivering in his rags, 
 
 But men be brethren all ; 
 And peace and plenty reign throughout 
 
 This sublunary baU. 
 
 And so with health to feed the flock 
 
 Within my cottage fold, 
 I feel I have a richer store 
 
 Than heaps of shining gold. 
 precious Shepherd, praise Thy name 
 
 For Thy great love to me ; 
 what a paradise is home, 
 
 When governed o'er by Thee ! 
 
 TO Isn CHILDEEN. 
 
 JOYOUS, sportive, careless things, 
 Floating by, like feilver wings, 
 Ghding round my hmnble shed, 
 Blessings, blessings on yom- head ! 
 O what golden cords ye twine 
 Bound this bleeding heart of mine ! 
 O ! the music of your voice 
 Bids the mourning one rejoice, 
 
 And your sunny glances tlii'ow 
 Glorious summer round my brow. 
 Blessings ou ye ! GUde around, 
 Making home enchanted ground; 
 Prattle, carol hj mine hearth, 
 Beauteous gems of richest worth ! 
 I will haug upon my lyre. 
 With my fingers on the wire. 
 Smiling, thi-ough the falluig tear. 
 That ye are so happy here. 
 
 What would home, and all its cares, 
 Be without your simple airs? 
 Be without yom- loving kiss. 
 Sweeteners of domestic bUss? 
 Ye are all my earthly wealth, — 
 Stars in darkness, suns in health, — 
 Flowers whose^^healing odom's rise 
 Like the gales of Paradise. 
 If it were my lot to dwell 
 In some humble cloistered cell, 
 Poor and needy, fi'iendless too, 
 I would still rejoice with j'ou. 
 Blessings on ye ! May you be 
 Friends of want and miseiy ! 
 May you live, sweet ones, to throw 
 Nectar on the wounds^of woe, 
 Live the Chi-istian's boon to find. 
 Live to benefit mankind ! 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 BUT ALL THINGS 
 WILL CHANGE. 
 
 (an epistle to my 
 bkotiiee.) 
 
 HOST of bad omens, too direful to 
 
 name. 
 Have been lashing tlie bard with 
 
 their switches of flame. 
 Last evening, returning from work 
 
 rather late. 
 With a scar in my hand, and a 
 
 rhj*me in my pate, 
 
 A raven flew heavily over my head. 
 
 And gave such a croak that I staggered with dread. 
 
 fell Superstition ! how long wilt thou stay ? 
 Spread thy scaly black wing, and fly far, far away ! 
 
 And, brother, last Friday, — unlucky for me! — 
 
 1 saw a dread magpie alone on a tree. 
 
 I kept on and whistled, — sm-e, this was no sin, — 
 
 But, O, it set up such a terrible din. 
 
 And whirled o'er my head : — how awful the sight ! 
 
 I leaped up on the road, and ran home in my li-ight. 
 
 An omen so fearful implied I might lose 
 
 My time-rended jacket or sole-clapping shoes. 
 
 The fire has burnt blue several evenings of late. 
 And puss has been washing her hands in the plate.
 
 TO MY OLD SILK HAT. 
 
 175 
 
 The death-watch has chcked on the top of the screen ; 
 An owl has been hootinf^, — a ghost has hcen seen. 
 A primrose has sprung on the liead of Old Winter : 
 A wren has died suddenly on a moss splinter: 
 And once, on a journey, almost at mid-day, 
 I found a great pin, — hut 'twas turned the wrong way ! 
 
 What these dark gloomy omens are meant to convey, 
 
 'Tis not in my power at this moment to say. 
 
 The rhymei-'s spare lam-els, poor fellow ! may fail, 
 
 And his crown of green heather may utterly quail. 
 
 The spirit of music may hasten away. 
 
 And rough-rolling prosy may lead me astray. 
 
 Through deserts all streamless and songless to range : — 
 
 It may he, dear brother ; for all things will change. 
 
 Already what changes are here, my dear brother, 
 Since last you shook hands with your father and mother ! 
 The pig has been killed just a fortnight ago. 
 That pork may be had when 'tis winter and snow. 
 The sheep and the lamb have been sold to the butcher : 
 I felt very sad when he came up to clutch her ; 
 For a savage he looked, from his feet to his head : — 
 In a very few hours they were both of them dead ! 
 
 Your very old shoe which you wore ere you started, — 
 You know it, — the tap from the upper has parted; 
 The irons have fled to some part of our zone ; 
 The nails are all scattered, the string's in mine own ; 
 The hind-part of the upper, behind an old crock. 
 In a web-hanging hole, lies as still as a stock ; 
 Other fragments and splinters along the broad sphere 
 Are scattered and wliii'led : — what a change has been 
 here ! 
 
 Our cart-house — you know when 'twas fresh in its 
 
 prime — 
 Seems now to be momently crushing by Time. 
 A pole which the place of a lintel supplied. 
 Is down on the floor, and it lies on its side ; 
 Some clods fi'om the end's majestical height 
 Are lofty no more, — they are prostrated quite. 
 But robin, poor fellow, though rafters break out. 
 Still flies where you often have seen him no doubt. 
 And trills his sad ditty so pensively true. 
 That ofttimes we think he is sighing for you. 
 
 If our cart-house is crushed by the finger of Time, 
 Our cow-house, too, quakes on its basis sublime. 
 The ropes on the roof, which have been on the wane, 
 Like Samson's gi-een withs, are all severed in twain ; 
 And now, to keep quiet the storm-beaten pile. 
 On the top of it slumbers an old-fashioned sile. 
 Which might have upheld, in this troublous range. 
 
 TO MY OLD SILK HAT. 
 
 The roof of a grotto : 
 
 -but all tilings must change. 
 
 Our furze-rick, old Cornish, with bunches of broom, 
 
 Is hastening away to the regions of fume. 
 
 On our straw-covered cot could you open yom* eyes, 
 
 You'd see it in clouds hurry off to the skies. 
 
 I wish you were with us, to mark the bright flame. 
 
 Now crackling its mii-th-song, lit by our own dame : 
 
 But seas roll between, the leviathan's home. 
 
 The abode of the mermaid : — farewell till vou come ! 
 
 POOR weather-beaten silker, how slight thou lookest 
 now. 
 From what thou wert seven years ago, when 
 perched upon my brow ! 
 Thy shagless top, and sUkless rim, how piteous to 
 
 behold ! 
 And sides, that seem crushed cruelly together with the 
 cold! 
 
 Thou didst not always look like this, poor, ragged, 
 
 wrinkled wight ; 
 W^hen thou wert brought from Paris here, thou wast 
 
 a beauty quite ; 
 Thy glossy silken self might then grace even a noble's 
 
 brow ; 
 But Time hath torn thee in his rage : thou'rt sadly 
 
 altered now. 
 
 For seven long years, old holeless fi-iend, we've 
 travelled up and down. 
 
 And thou hast been content to wane on my rhyme- 
 ridden crown. 
 
 The angi-y storms have fought with thee among the 
 granite rocks : 
 
 And none but silkers such as thou could stand the 
 winter-shocks. 
 
 Change after change has altered both my old silk hat 
 
 and me. 
 Since first we met, ay, proudly met, elate in youthful 
 
 glee ; 
 But signs have been for months gone by that thou 
 
 wouldst sm-ely fall, 
 While hanging in thy wonted place, escutcheoned in 
 
 my haU. 
 
 I know not who thy maker was, nor what his name 
 
 might be : 
 For once he did out-do himself, when he had fashioned 
 
 thee. 
 A Paris hat to stand the rust and iiib of such an age 
 Adds glory to the Frenchman's name, unknown in 
 
 history's page ! 
 
 Peace to the memory of the man who smoothed thy 
 
 curly rim ; 
 And may unnumbered silkers more, like thee, be made 
 
 by him ! 
 I lost his honourable name before my song was penned; 
 But he deserves to blaze in print for blocking thee, old 
 
 fi-iend. 
 
 In peaceful bowers we oft have been, far fi.-om the 
 
 busy town ; 
 And many a thoughtless canzonet I've smbbled on 
 
 thy crown. 
 I wore thee on my bridal-day, — that sunny day of days ; 
 But Time hath cudgelled thee in ire, and knocked thee 
 
 several ways. 
 
 The showeiy April mom is come, and thou art doomed 
 
 to be 
 Thrown with the dirty cast-offs now, — a real friend 
 
 Like thee !
 
 176 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS 
 
 So liave I seen, on Britain's Isle, in my own Cornish 
 
 Slen, 
 A hundred cast-off things like thee,— not Paris hats, 
 
 BUT MEN. 
 
 THE HOUSEWIFE'S SOLILOQUY OVER HER 
 WANING LOAF. 
 
 c«| f-ouR after hour, how sad to see 
 I— I My loaf so fleetly waning ! 
 JLX While I so oft am cutting thee, 
 No wonder I'm complaining. 
 
 " There's Joe, whose gi-eedy hands and eyes 
 
 For ever are upon thee ; 
 And Tom, — he'd eat to win a prize :— 
 
 They've no compassion on thee. 
 
 "When evening comes, if all be well, 
 Home Herman will be strutting ; 
 
 And then there's luncheon for om- Nell : 
 me ! they'U keep me cutting. 
 
 " My weU-baked loaf! the keen-edged knife 
 
 Goes round a-separating : 
 It quite unnerves my wretched life 
 
 To see thee so abating ! 
 
 " 'Tis but twelve hours ago, no more, — 
 
 how the phantom flashes ! — 
 When I, to bolt gaunt Hunger's door. 
 
 Did bake thee in the ashes. 
 
 " I never deemed that thou wouldst be 
 
 By such lank wights attended ; 
 But now, alas ! I plainly see, 
 
 Thy day will soon be ended. 
 
 " My beauteous baker-loaf! I weep 
 
 To see thee ever waning I 
 The shelf thou canst not, canst not, keep ; 
 
 1 cut thee while complaining ! 
 
 " Dear wheaten loaf! Now dust to dust. 
 
 Morsel hath morsel followed ! 
 'Tis over : " — and the last dry crust 
 
 Was spread, and quickly swallowed ! 
 
 TO MY BROTHER WILLIAM, 
 
 WHEN LEAVING HIS NATIVE LAND FOR NORTH 
 AMERICA. 
 
 MY brother, companion of childhood, adieu I 
 Too soon wilt thou haste o'er the waters so blue, 
 Too soon wilt thou turn from thy own happy 
 hearth. 
 Too soon wilt thou leave the loved place of thy birth. 
 To contend with the world and thy sin-smitten kind ; 
 While thy brothers and sisters are weeping behind. 
 Too soon must we part. Thou art here but to-day. 
 And to-morrow art posting away and away. 
 
 My brother, I love to look backward, to trace 
 Tlie sweet smile of childliood that lighted tliy face, 
 When we hied off to school, with our books in our bag. 
 Nor heeded the sneer of the ignorant wag ; 
 When we crept to the moor with a rod and a dish. 
 To dip out the water, and catch the small fish ; 
 When we trundled the foot-ball, or hoisted the kite, 
 And played the sun down on our heath-covered height. 
 O dreams of bright beauty that rise from the past. 
 Now breaking, now melting, too fleeting to last ! 
 But I weep not for these, nor the touch of decay ; 
 But to-morrow thou'rt posting away and away. 
 
 My brother, when o'er the blue waters you flee, 
 And gaze with delight on the mystical sea. 
 Swelling over the grotto, the shell-covered cave. 
 The haunt of the mermaid, the bed of tho brave ; 
 And see there reflected the stars as they shine, 
 Like spii'it-eyes smihng within the blue brine ; 
 think of your mother and father behind ; 
 think of your brothers and sisters so kind ; 
 think of your home on the crest of the hill, 
 Where the waters ooze out which are tm-ning the mill ; 
 And believe we are praying that brother may be 
 Borne safely and fleetly across the v?ide sea. 
 Even now the tears fall while composing my lay ; 
 For to-morrow thou'rt posting away and away. 
 
 My brother, if Providence bless thee with lands. 
 And richly repay all the work of thy hands ; 
 Ay, if thou shouldst prosper in basket and store, 
 Build houses, plant orchards, raise hillocks of ore ; 
 do not forget us in friendship's green wreath, 
 The scions of labour, the sons of the heath ; 
 But often come forth at the eventide hour, 
 And muse on our mountain, my moss-mantled bower, 
 Om- reed-covei'ed cottage, thy mother, thy sire, 
 Thy brothers and sisters, beside the hall fire ; 
 And surely this dream will sweet feeUugs inspire. 
 And if through the forest thy footsteps are borne. 
 When oak-leaves are dropping, and blossoms are torn. 
 When flowerets are drooping, and all things decay, 
 
 think of thy brother, and muse on his lay ; 
 
 For he then, perchance, may be mouldering in clay. 
 But if from our crag-covered mountain you roam. 
 And poverty presses, O, brother, come home : 
 We'll stretch forth our hands to the prodigal son, 
 And greet with dehght the poor rambling one ; 
 We'll clothe thee, and feed thee, and solace thy pain ; 
 Embrace thee, and call thee our brother again. 
 
 1 weep at our parting, I cannot be gay ; 
 
 For to-morrow thou'rt posting away and away. 
 
 My brother, how painful thus early to part ! 
 The sadness how heavy that weighs on my heart 1 
 We are anxious for thee. O remember thy God, 
 And think of the prayers offered up on our sod. 
 Remember thy Maker : He speaks in the breeze, 
 And will hear thy soft plaint 'neaththe great forest trees. 
 May vice never lure thee from virtue's sweet track. 
 To haunts the most gloomy, to scenes the most black ! 
 But walk with the good through this region of strife. 
 To the land of the angels, the city of life. 
 'Tis for this that we now would invoke thee to stay ; 
 But to-morrow thou'rt posting away and away.
 
 MY COTTAGE HOME. 
 
 177 
 
 Mj'' brother, 'tis sprinj^-time, the violets are come ; 
 
 Tlie cowslips and primroses shine round om* home ; 
 
 The grey lark is singing delicious on high, 
 
 Like an angel's rich strain gushing forth from the sky ; 
 
 The liawthorn is budding, the green blades appear, 
 
 And tlic l)reezes sing songs to the morn of the year. 
 
 But now I am sad at the coming of May ; 
 
 For to-mon-ow thou'rt posting away and away. 
 
 'My brother, well, go, and at evening's repose 
 Thy sisters shall gather the dew-dropping rose ; 
 Thy brothers shall pluck from our favourite lea 
 A nosegay of wild flowers in memory of thee ; 
 Thy motlter shall call her loved younglings around, 
 And tell them with tears where their broilier is found; 
 Thy father shall pace o'er the desolate wild. 
 Wiping off the salt tears for the thouglit of his child. 
 And wonder why thus in the spring-tide of bloom, 
 When the flowerets of hope shed their richest perfume, 
 His boy should bo bounding away and away. 
 Like a spirit escaped from its prison of clay. 
 Go, brotlier, o'er mountains and woodlands to range : 
 I knew that this world was a sad scene of change ; 
 And I knew, though thou ever hast twined round my 
 
 heart, 
 That sooner or later we surely should part. 
 But I dreamt not so soon. Brother, why not delay ? 
 No ; to-morrow thou'rt posting away and away. 
 
 My brother, I'm with thee where'er thou may'st roam. 
 
 How far it may be from our boulder-built home, 
 
 Though bounding away from thy own mountain's breast. 
 
 Away to the uttermost wilds of the west. 
 
 But I want thee to pluck from the meads of my sire 
 
 One dear little violet which I admire, 
 
 And take it, and cany it over the sea 
 
 Enshrined in thy heart, a memorial of me. 
 
 Go, brother ; I'll watch the big clouds rising black, 
 
 And pray that then- pall may not darken thy track ; 
 
 And when the wild winds round my lattice shall rave: 
 
 I'll ask their great Maker to shield thee and save. 
 
 Go, brother. On earth we may mingle no more ; 
 
 But, 0, may we meet on the sun-lighted shore, 
 
 In the glory of Eden for ever to dwell ! 
 
 My brother, dear brother, farewell, and farewell ! 
 
 O could I, could I, invoke thee to stay I 
 
 But to-morrow thou'rt posting away and away. 
 
 
 
 MY COTTAGE HOME. 
 (an kpistle to my brother.) 
 
 N om* beloved native height, 
 
 Far from the ocean's foam. 
 
 Beneath a bank of heath-flowers bright, 
 
 I sing my cottage home. 
 It rears its straw-thatched roof above 
 
 The rocky mountain's head. 
 And smiles among the prickly brakes 
 
 With golden furze-buds spread. 
 
 me ! how passing beautiful 
 
 Its reedy roof appears ! 
 Its uncouth chimneys, granite blocks 
 
 Unhewn, I've loved for years. 
 
 The time-decaj-ing casements, too, 
 Though Gothic they may be, — 
 
 Tlie very earth it stands upon, — 
 Have charms enough for me. 
 
 You ask me why I do not come, 
 
 And share the stranger's feast ; 
 And why I ever stay at home : 
 
 Think'st thou my joys the least ? — 
 Through England's flowery meads to trip. 
 
 Forgetting labom-'s life, 
 Charmed with the melting voices of 
 
 A mother and a wife. 
 
 And when the Sabbath hours are come, 
 
 And Labour's sons are free. 
 Think not that I am pleasureless, 
 
 That there's no bliss for me. 
 With joy I hail the rising lark. 
 
 As he his matin sings. 
 And oft haste forth to see him shake 
 
 The dew-drop fi-om his wings. 
 
 There may be woods around you spread. 
 
 With broad and glassy lakes ; 
 Fire-flies may revel o'er your head, 
 
 And parrots in the brakes ; 
 The mocking-bu-d's capricious note 
 
 May fall upon your ear. 
 And buttei-flies around you float 
 
 That never ghtter here. 
 
 I care not for your woods of green, 
 
 Your lakes and birds and flics : 
 Y''ou have not England's sunny stream. 
 
 You have not England's skies : 
 You have not England's holiday. 
 
 When man and beast are free. 
 It is for these, my boy, I stay : 
 
 They are enough for me. 
 
 I tell thee, 'tis the budding time, 
 
 And robin comes again, 
 Building his nest where first he did, 
 
 High up the stony lane. 
 Thy sisters on the daisy lea 
 
 Now sit and play for hours. 
 And little brother plucks for thee 
 
 A nosegay of wild flowers. 
 
 The cowslips i'ound our mountain cot 
 
 Like dewy pearls ax'e flimg, 
 And on our ancient garden hedge 
 
 The primrose-buds are stning. 
 The laml)kius crop the tender grass 
 
 Our hilly meads supply ; 
 And birds and breezes carol sweet 
 
 Beneath the vernal sky. 
 
 Two sister- violets I've plucked 
 
 Beneath om* hawthorn-tree. 
 And wrapt them in this music-sheet, 
 
 To send, my boy, to thee. 
 
 A A
 
 178 
 
 EPTSTLES AND LOCAL LYBICS. 
 
 And, brother, when they meet thine eyes. 
 
 Far, far o'er ocean's foam, 
 Kemember they were p;ems which clung 
 
 Axomid thy cottage home. 
 
 THE FARMER'S APOSTROPHE TO HIS OLD 
 BLIND HORSE. 
 
 «t Tpv GST think thy master's so nnkind, 
 
 I I Now thou art spavined, lean, and bHnd, 
 JL/ To turn thee out in sleet and wind, 
 To die alone, old Golly ? 
 
 " No, sooner on this wintiy night 
 He'd leave his own dear chimney bright. 
 And playful bairns that glad his sight. 
 Than di-ive thee forth, old GoUy. 
 
 " I think upon thy younger days, 
 "\Mien thou wert aU the country's praise 
 In cart or plough. On broad highways 
 How thou didst race, old Golly ! 
 
 " The panting winds thou woiildst outstrip, 
 Thy way through brake and bramble rip, 
 O'er bog and hedge, nor spur nor whip 
 Dishonom-ed thee, old Golly. 
 
 "A better brute ne'er drew a load 
 Along the naiTow village road, 
 The driver's chirp thine only goad. 
 True-footed, liiTa old GoUy. 
 
 "And shall I turn thee out to die. 
 Because no light is in thine eye. 
 Like yon blind wi-etch 'neath winter's sky ? 
 No ; eat thy oats, old GoUy. 
 
 " Canst thou forget that sxmny day 
 "When thou didst draw the wain of hay 
 High up beyond the castle, eh ? 
 
 Thou bnite of brutes, old GoUy ! 
 
 "O'er that seven years' unbroken lea, 
 "When thou wert strong as strong can he, 
 How thou didst pull the plough to me 
 From morn till eve, old GoUy ! - 
 
 "On market nights, astride thy back, 
 "With my week's sirloin in ray sack, 
 "When skies were dark and lanes were black. 
 Thou brought'st me home, old GoUy. 
 
 "There are who, selfish, stalk the earth. 
 And glut the privUoge of "Worth ; 
 And when it's old, tlicy drive it forth 
 To pain and want, old GoUy. 
 
 " But he who owns thy honest hide, 
 ^Vllich once shone bright in youthful pride, 
 "Will never on the common wide 
 
 Thrust thee to die, old Golly. 
 
 " So comfort thee within thy shed, 
 Nor fear the wild winds overhead: 
 I'll see that thou art housed and fed, 
 
 TiU death shaU smite old GoUy." 
 
 PENJERRICK. 
 
 (the country residence of R. W. fox, ESQ., F.R.S., ETC.) 
 
 I FIRST beheld it when the wintry clouds 
 "V\^ere rolhng grandly thi'ough the murky air ; 
 And flocks of starlings, wheeling to then- home, 
 Like sound of many waters, murmured there. 
 Here graceful trees, the gi*een, the rich, the rare. 
 So chastely grouped, in faii-y h'inges stand ; 
 And limpid rills, and crystal waterfaUs, 
 Are breathing song hke notes fi'om angel-land. 
 Old "Winter here is reft of his command. 
 Rare roses bloom, and fragance fills the breeze ; 
 Here forest-bii'ds from off a friendly hand 
 Pick their fuU meal, and flutter 'neath the trees. 
 If such, PenjeiTick, be thy winter scene. 
 How Eden-hued in summer's richer sheen ! 
 
 THE CORNISH CHOUGH. 
 
 W' 
 
 HERE not a sound is heard 
 But the white waves, O bird. 
 And shppery rocks fling back the vanquished sea, 
 Thou soarest in thy pride. 
 Not heeding storm or tide ; 
 In Freedom's temple nothing is more free. 
 
 'Tis pleasant by this stone, 
 
 .Sea-washed and weed-o'ergrown, 
 "With Solitude and Silence at my side, 
 
 To list the solemn roar 
 
 Of ocean on the shore. 
 And up the beethng cliff to see thee glide. 
 
 Though harsh thy earnest ciy, 
 
 On crag, or shooting high 
 Above the tumult of this dusty sphere, 
 
 Thou tellest of the steep 
 
 "^''here Peace and Quiet sleep. 
 And noisy man but rarely visits here. 
 
 For this I love thee, bird. 
 
 And feel my pulses sthred 
 To see thee gi-andly on the high air ride. 
 
 Or float along the land. 
 
 Or di'op upon the sand. 
 Or perch within the guUy's fi-owning side. 
 
 Thou bringest the sweet thought 
 
 Of some straw-covered cot. 
 On the lone moor beside the bubbling well, 
 
 Wliere cluster wife and child, 
 
 And bees hum o'er the wild : 
 In this seclusion it were joy to dwell.
 
 AN EPISTLE TO MY BROTHER. 
 
 179 
 
 Will such a quiet bower 
 
 Be ever more tuy dower 
 In this rough region of perpetual strife ? 
 
 I like a bird from home 
 
 Forward and backward roam ; 
 But there is rest beneath the Tree of Life. 
 
 In this dark world of din, 
 
 Of selfishness and sin, 
 Help me, dear Sa\dour, on Thy love to rest ; 
 
 That, having crossed hfe's sea, 
 
 My shattered bark may bo 
 Moored safely in the haven of the blest. 
 
 The Muse at this sweet hour 
 
 Hies with me to my bower 
 Among the heather of my native hill ; 
 
 The rude rock-hedges here 
 
 And mossy turf, how dear ! 
 "Wliat gushing song ! how fresh the moors and still ! 
 
 No spot of earth hke thee, 
 So full of heaven to me, 
 
 hill of rock, piled to the passing cloud ! 
 
 Good spirits in their flight 
 Upon thy crags ahght, 
 And leave a glory where they brightly bowed. 
 
 I well remember now. 
 
 In boy-days on thy brow, 
 "When first my lyre among thy larks I found, 
 , SteaUng from mother's side 
 
 Out on the common wide. 
 Strange Druid footfalls seemed to echo round. 
 
 Dark Cornish chough, for thee 
 My shred of minstrelsy 
 
 1 carol at this meditative hour. 
 
 Linking thee with my reed, 
 Grey moor and grassj' mead. 
 Dear earn and cottage, heathy bank and bower. 
 
 M 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO MY BEOTHEE. 
 
 Y long-remembered brother ! ah, whither dost 
 
 thou roam ? 
 "Why is it thou hast left so soon thy mother and 
 thy home. 
 Kind brothers on the mountain-top that carol bhthe 
 
 and free. 
 Sporting among the shelving crags they cUmbed in 
 infancy ? 
 
 I wonder where thou travellest now, — over the rolling 
 
 seas, 
 Gazing upon the swelling wave, stirred by the passing 
 
 breeze ? 
 Or art thou rich as Croesus, boy, on Fortune's golden 
 
 hills, 
 Sheltered from want and pain and care by wood- 
 
 o'ershadowed rills ? 
 
 I wonder where thy thoughts are now, — wandering 
 
 along our mount. 
 And gathering flowers that bathe themselves in 
 
 Memory's sacred fount ? 
 And art thou dreaming of thy sire, thy mother's kind 
 
 caress ? 
 I know these thoughts wiU caU from thee fresh drops 
 
 of tenderness. 
 
 Or art thou by the murmuring stream, lone musmg on 
 
 the past ? 
 And does the tear-drop from thine eye rush o'er thy 
 
 cheek at last ? 
 And are thy playmates with thee there, bounding 
 
 along the lake ? 
 Thy brothers and thy sisters, too? Ah, no! young 
 
 wanderer, wake ! 
 
 For we are on our mountain's head, watching the 
 
 twilight gi'ey. 
 And wondering why our brother thus so soon could 
 
 haste away: 
 Ay, wondering why he thus could go from home's 
 
 long-cherished bowers. 
 And leave us here alone to cull the Summer's brightest 
 
 flowers ! 
 
 I wonder what thine eyes behold, what now my 
 brother sees ? 
 
 O, does he walk at evening-hour beneath the forest- 
 trees. 
 
 Gazing tlu-ough tears with wild delight on the sweet 
 vesper-star, 
 
 Flashing its beams of silvery Hght upon him from afar ? 
 
 I wonder what thy feelings are, — if they are aught hke 
 
 mine ? 
 It may be so, and I will drop a tear or two with thine. 
 They fall upon oui* mountain's head within my heathy 
 
 bower. 
 And hang, as doth the evening mist, upon the sleeping 
 
 flower. 
 
 How sweet, on this dehcious eve, my straw-thatched 
 
 home appears ! 
 Methinks 'tis dearer now than erst, because enshrined 
 
 in tears. 
 For every passing zephyr weeps, each flower-bud of 
 
 the lea. 
 And all the httle singing-birds sob forth a dirge for 
 
 thee. 
 
 Thou canst not see my British home, with dusky 
 
 twilight crowned ; 
 Thou canst not see old England's hills and vaUeys lie 
 
 around ; 
 Thou canst not see the rising moon peer o'er our 
 
 mountain's brow, 
 How beautiful, how beautiful ! But, brother, -wfhere 
 
 art thou ? 
 
 0, shall we never meet again ? Perhaps on earth no 
 
 more : 
 If not, farewell, untilitbe on heaven's unclouded shore. 
 
 2 A 2
 
 180 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 But if below I felt for thee, aud loved thee with such 
 
 love, 
 O, how much greater will it bo in that bright world 
 
 above ! 
 
 T 
 
 EARLE'S RETREAT, FALMOUTH : 
 
 FOUNDED A.D. 1869. 
 
 HE dew is on the rose, 
 ^loru in the vaUeys, sun-streaks on the hills ; 
 And glowiug Summer in her robe of leaves 
 Sings by a thousand rills. 
 
 The world o'erflows with praise, 
 Swelling in wavelets to the doors of light ; 
 And there are echoes which the soft breeze sways, 
 
 Steps of the Infinite. 
 
 '\\Tiere the tall foxgloves shine, 
 And honeysuckles front the southern sea, 
 Wanders a bright face in the sun's red line, 
 
 In boyish ecstasy. 
 
 And from the rosy skies 
 A Voice fell, " It is righteous to obey. 
 What thou receivest wilt thou yield to Me ? " 
 
 And George Earle answered, " Yea ! " 
 
 Then came the shock of years, 
 The manly muscle, the strong \dgorous limb ; 
 Aud forth he went to wrestle with his fate, 
 
 And the Voice followed him. 
 
 Yet still he struggled on. 
 With Hope beside him, with white wings outspread, 
 And finger pointing to more flowery fields, 
 
 With the Voice overhead. 
 
 His track lay o'er the seas. 
 And in the West a settler's home he made. 
 Where roved the hunter thi'ough the forest aisles. 
 
 And the Red Indian strayed. 
 
 The King who giveth all 
 Rewarded much the labour of his hands ; 
 And still his goods increased from year to year 
 
 In silver, gold, aud lands. 
 
 And when his cup was full. 
 That Voice came sounding, " "WHiy so long delay ? 
 What thou receivest wilt thou yield t(j Me ? " 
 
 And George Earle answered, " Yea." 
 
 He sought his native land. 
 And laid an offering at his Master's feet, 
 A Home to shelter the deserving poor, 
 
 A free untaxed Retreat. 
 
 And here the aged dwell ; 
 And here the widow with her thoughts on high ; 
 And here the friendless with their friends above. 
 
 Lodged in the quiet sky. 
 
 And wisely has he reared 
 A solemn Chapel, where they kneel and pray ; 
 And I have seen them at the name of Christ 
 
 Wipe the free tears away. 
 
 And prayers go up for him. 
 When Sabbath glory through the stained glass streams, 
 And in the west has sunk the god of day. 
 
 And the fair Venus gleams. 
 
 And prayers go up for him, 
 Wlien on the hearth the household fire sinks low, 
 And Age is kneeling in his quiet bower. 
 
 And words rise faint and slow. 
 
 And prayers go ui? for him, 
 Where glides the vessel o'er the boundless main : 
 The sailor knows his aged mother safe. 
 
 And wipes the tears again. 
 
 And prayers go up for him, 
 Where harveets whiten, and where rivers run, 
 Where smokes the smithy by the old road-side ; 
 
 And the Voice cries, " Well done I " 
 
 And prayers shall rise for him, 
 And rise for his, from those with bended knee, 
 When morn awaketh, and when evening wanes, 
 
 For many days to be. 
 
 Better his honest fame 
 Than warrior- wreath by blood and battle won, 
 To smooth the downhill of the Saviour's own. 
 
 And hear His glad " Well done." 
 
 And from his gift of love. 
 This faithful index of his honest heart, 
 An echo rises ever rolling forth, 
 
 " Go thou, aud do thy part." 
 
 Directed by his Guide, 
 May fruits of love and happiness increase, 
 Tni old age crown him with entire content. 
 
 And George Earle's end be peace. 
 
 'Ti 
 
 TO MY OLD QUILL. 
 
 IS long since thou hast been my own. 
 From what wing gathered is unknown : 
 've cut thee to the very bone, 
 Old Quill ! 
 
 'Twas on the eve of yesterday 
 When I to my good wife did say, 
 " I think I'll stumpie throw away," 
 
 Old Quill 1 
 
 Methought thou gavest me such a glance 
 As made my very heart's blood dance ; 
 And so I let thee take thy chance. 
 
 Old QuiU 1
 
 TBEGEDNA AND JOSHUA FOX. 
 
 181 
 
 We've long been friends to memoiy dear, 
 And proudly I would oft appear 
 Wlieu thou wert thrust behind my ear, 
 
 Old Quill. 
 
 Letters and lays I've wrote with thee, 
 And jots that jingle merrily : 
 So we will never parted be, 
 
 Old QuUl. 
 
 Canst thou forget that loving sheet 
 We penned at Evening's dewy feet, 
 When Beauty wept with siglis rpi)lete, 
 
 Old Quill ? 
 
 Full maiiy a rhyming deed is tliine, 
 A thought of which now brings the brine 
 From these tear-saddened eyes of mine. 
 
 Old Quill. 
 
 For this I love thy honest face : 
 So, hark ye, never cringe for place. 
 Nor slime thyself with such disgrace, 
 
 Old Quili. 
 
 MALVERN IN THE MIST. 
 
 Ho ! ho I great Malvern, wherefore art thou wroth 
 In thy mist-mantle? I have travelled far 
 In hope to see thee with a face as bright 
 As my own mounds with mineral-treasures full. 
 The pride of old Cornwallia ; but alack ! 
 Thou'rt mourning in thy fog-shroud, and we cHmb 
 As if the daylight were but half beguii, 
 Though it is noon, the ploughman's dinner hour. 
 
 Full suddenly, under the dark trees hid, 
 
 We came upon a troop of noisy boys 
 
 With patient donkeys saddled skilfully ; 
 
 And dimiing was their native eloquence 
 
 That we should hu-e them : " Take my donkey, Su- ! 
 
 My donkey has been eating oats to-day : 
 
 A fine beast mine ; he'll bear you to the top 
 
 Without a hoof-slip. Try my donkey, SuM 
 
 That fellow's Neddy is so lean on straw, 
 
 He has nought else. Mine has the finest food. 
 
 How sleek his sides, and what an eye is his ! 
 
 How glossy is his coat ! Just stroke him down. 
 
 Look at his ears. Please take my donkey. Sir ! " 
 
 And thus they piped away with voices high. 
 
 But long had we been journeying on by train 
 
 Drawn by the horse of u'on, and were glad 
 
 To press our feet upon the earth once more. 
 
 We leave them in the mist and clamber on. 
 
 And when a few feet higher than the Well 
 
 Of good St. Anne, with sudden swift delight 
 
 We mount above the fog, and the clear sky. 
 
 Cloudless and blue, is sun-full overhead. 
 
 It was a joy that will not pass away. 
 
 How hke the Christian toihng sadly on, 
 
 In doubt sometimes, until, through faith and prayer. 
 
 He soars above the uiist and feels the sun. 
 
 And treads the darkness underneath his feet! 
 
 We saw a little robin on a bough 
 
 Open his beak and sing deliciously. 
 
 While under him the fog-world sank and rose. 
 
 And heaved, and swelled, like a huge biUowy sea. 
 
 Higher we rose and higher, and the sun 
 
 Shone brighter still, and everything was grand. 
 
 O, what a thi-one for bard to rest upon. 
 
 The bai-e hill-top, so far away from wrong ! 
 
 Why, every hollow has a harper in't. 
 
 And Health is here reposing on the mosa. 
 
 City and village, river-face and fen, 
 
 Forest and field, on this side and on that. 
 
 Gladden the vision, standing nearer heaven. 
 
 May never war-cloud blacken such a scene 
 
 Now brooded over by the nymph of Peace 1 
 
 Seek wo for music? Here it rolls along 
 
 From Nature's organ in a sea of praise. 
 
 Seek we for health ? The four winds waft it hero 
 
 In urns of nectar opened on the height. 
 
 For solitude and rest ? Each grassy rift 
 
 Is full of mm-murs never heard below. 
 
 Malvern, Malvern ! lonely in thy hfe 
 Of silent wonder, to the solemn sky 
 Lifting thy forehead, catching the first ray 
 Of early morning, and the last of eve : 
 
 1 thank thee for thy favours. The small moiinds 
 I love so well along my Cornish coast, 
 
 With heath, and rush, and rock-heap beautiful, 
 Were mole-hills by thy side. Another look. 
 And yet another stiU. Come to my arms and heart 
 We seem so near the dwelling-place of God. 
 
 TEEGEDNA AND JOSHUA FOX. 
 
 OUR western isle of broom and brake, 
 Of winding stream and glassy lake. 
 Of woodland bower and echoing moor. 
 Where hawthorns hide the woodman's door. 
 Has nought more fair on fen or fell 
 Thau dear Tregedna in the dell. 
 
 Here dwells, amid the laurel green. 
 The genius of this tranquil scene, 
 Whose love has won the feathered race 
 To follow him from place to place. 
 To flutter through this pleasant land, 
 And pick the bread-crumbs from his hand. 
 
 He knows the tones that fill the breeze, 
 He knows the language of the trees ; 
 He knows the crystal cascade's sound. 
 The rose-leaf psalms that tremble round ; 
 The silent sighs from rush and reed 
 All find an echo in his deed. 
 
 And here, when bats float by the eaves. 
 And glowworms twinkle through the leaves. 
 When o'er the earth a halo steals 
 Which oft the waiting spirit feels. 
 Beneath the boughs of evergreen 
 His spirit worships the Unseen.
 
 182 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 And may we not in covert lone, 
 
 I know not when the blustering March 
 
 By silvery stream and sUent stone, 
 
 Struck such a tempest-strain : 
 
 In wild- wood shade and forest fair, 
 
 You scarcely trudge against the wind. 
 
 Draw near to God in praise and prayer ? 
 
 Or foot it up the lane. 
 
 ves, yes ! His presence fills 
 
 It tiunbles, cracks along the vales. 
 
 Tlie whispering valleys and the hills. 
 
 And writhes around the crags, 
 
 
 Shaking the rich man in his robes, 
 
 I've travelled much the ways of men 
 
 The beggar in his rags. 
 
 O'er shaggy down and rushy glen. 
 
 
 "NMiere cities yawn and hamlets doze, 
 
 what a prosy thread I've spun 
 
 And Ustless solitudes repose ; 
 
 To meet my brother's eye 1 
 
 But never music filled mine ear 
 
 How fuU of tangled hmrricane, 
 
 Like his who feeds the robins here. 
 
 That leaves the reader dry ! 
 
 
 But, leaping from this windy car. 
 
 0, if it were my lot to, dwell 
 
 I would essay to sing 
 
 In such a deai- poetic deU, 
 
 A bud-besprinkled canzonet. 
 
 I'd stop my tears, and pass my days 
 
 A welcome note to Spring. 
 
 In sweetly singing hymns of praise, 
 
 
 So that the crowd should sometimes heed 
 
 Among the dead leaves of the moor 
 
 The gentle murmur of my reed. 
 
 The primrose hfts its head, 
 
 
 And by our humble cottage-door 
 
 To me this dear retreat how blest, 
 
 The crocus flowers are spread. 
 
 "WTio pine so oft in vain for rest, 
 
 The lark arises with a song 
 
 Chased here and there with careless smart, 
 
 Until the woodland rings ; 
 
 "V\'ith song-tones ringing in my heart ! 
 
 It trembles o'er the travelling stoim, 
 
 But I submit to Heaven's decree, 
 
 As high he soars and sings. 
 
 And in the tumult sigh for thee. 
 
 
 
 How fresh the breezes flow along 
 
 T\Tio sees him viev/s a chieftain strong, 
 
 Athwart the rm-al glen ! 
 
 A child of nature and of song. 
 
 How sweet to liim who pines within 
 
 A genuine bard, a man of might. 
 
 The smoke-god's dangerous den ! 
 
 "Whose soul is yearning for the right, 
 
 I ask not wealth or title-deeds. 
 
 "yATien love shaU reign from zone to zone. 
 
 Or self-indulgent ease. 
 
 And tyranny be overthrown. 
 
 But what the strong yeoman enjoys, — 
 
 
 The pure air of the leas. 
 
 Go, hear the wonders of his voice, 
 
 
 And let yom- bounding heart rejoice. 
 
 To-day I've thrashed an old tin-rib 
 
 Go, mark his generous aspect bold, 
 
 Till I could thi-ash no more ; • 
 
 And think of England's seers of old. 
 
 While streams of perspiration ran 
 
 Go, ask yourself, if ask you can. 
 
 Unchecked from eveiy pore. 
 
 "L)oes nature hold a nobler man ? " 
 
 A fire-cloud drank my spirits up : 
 
 
 How longed I for the breeze 
 
 
 The hoary-headed woodman quaffs 
 
 * 
 
 Among the forest-trees ! 
 
 
 Who would not leave the smoky mine, 
 
 IT BLOWS A FUEIOUS FULL MAECH WIND. 
 
 And his unhealthy trade. 
 
 
 To carol on the shepherd's crook, 
 
 (an epistle to my beother.) 
 
 And wear the shepherd's plaid? 
 
 
 Ay, brother, I have often thought — 
 
 -TT blows a furious full March wind, 
 
 With lassitude oppressed. 
 
 1 With startling gusty cry : 
 
 When gasping in its cloudy cells — 
 
 X Let's under this old furzy hedge 
 
 A rag-man's lot the best. 
 
 To hear it hurry by ; 
 
 
 Now tearing off the bud and flower, 
 
 Toil, toil, from morning until night ; 
 
 And whirling them in rage, 
 
 Toil, toil, from night tiU morn : 
 
 Now tripping up the ruddy boy, 
 
 Of aU the struggUng sons of earth, 
 
 Now toppling over age. 
 
 I surely feel the tliorn. 
 
 
 And though my health is failing me. 
 
 Hark how it rends itseK along 
 
 Seared wdtli the sulphur-blast, 
 
 Above the ruffled rill, 
 
 The only prospect on before 
 
 Twisting the strong branch from the tree. 
 
 Is drudgery to the last. 
 
 The heather from the hill ; 
 
 
 Piifling old flikes and reedy sheds 
 
 But, brother, let us not complain, 
 
 And slate-roofs -nith a roar. 
 
 Whilst toiling on time's road : 
 
 And breaking through the bending pines 
 
 There's many a richer wight, I ween, 
 
 Upon the mighty moor. 
 
 Who feels care's prickly goad.
 
 GYLL7NGDUNE. 
 
 188 
 
 Let's profit by the ills of life, 
 
 Tliroup;}! heat, tliroiTj^jli winter's cold, 
 And conquer crooked circumstance, 
 
 And turn it all to gold. 
 
 TO A MOUSE 
 
 WHICH HAD EATEN THE LEAVES OF MY LEXICON. 
 
 HOW darest thou, soft-footed elf, 
 With tiny open jaw. 
 To cram such crooked syllables 
 Into thy greedy maw ? 
 Would not some common household- words 
 
 Such joy to tlieo afford. 
 Or crumbs that fall at supper-time 
 From off our humble board ? 
 
 The woodman yonder with his axe 
 
 Looks on this book with di'ead. 
 Pronounces it an oracle, 
 
 And shakes his hoaiy head. 
 He would not mar this mystic page, 
 
 'Twould cripple his belief; 
 But thoii, fur-covered sinner, com'st 
 
 And eat'st it leaf by leaf. 
 
 What strange mice-spells thy deeds wiU wake, 
 
 When in youi' mossy nook. 
 Surrounded with thy mute compeers, 
 
 Thou talkest of my book ! 
 Will not thy gi'andsire shake his head. 
 
 To hear what thou hast done ? 
 Distm-b a poet in his dreams ! 
 
 O thou degenerate son ! 
 
 Take care, word-eating pilferer. 
 
 What learned meals thou'rt at ! 
 If I can catch thee nibbling books, 
 
 I'll give thee to the cat. 
 Some two-legged mice, like thee, sleek rogue ! 
 
 Cl i mb where they have no right. 
 Eat what belongs to other men, 
 
 And vanish out of sight. 
 
 SAILOR'S CREEK. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO N. H. P. LAWRENCE, ESQ. 
 
 J- 
 
 |ip with me still, where'er I be, 
 That little glen beside the sea. 
 Where woodbines arch the narrow pass, 
 And rabbits gambol in the grass, - 
 And wild flowers scent the summer air. 
 And oak trees wave and hawthorns fair. 
 And fays, with dew upon their cheek. 
 Swing on the leaves in Sailor's Creek. 
 
 As by the stile I pleased did stand. 
 The waves stole up and kissed the land ; 
 The swallows wheeled among the trees. 
 The rushes whispered with the breeze; 
 
 A murmur ran along the shore. 
 As flashed and dipped the boatman's oar; 
 The white gull rose with shining Vjeak, 
 And left his note in Sailor's Creek. 
 
 From the green uplands stole a rill : 
 How clear it was ! I see it still. 
 And hear its murmuring low and sweet, 
 Wliere faii'ies come to lave their feet. 
 And httle elves and glowworms be. 
 What time the moon is o'er the sea. 
 Whose light illumines pier and peak, 
 And robes in silver Sailor's Creek. 
 
 How happy he whose home is here 
 With bush and brake and burnie clear. 
 And quiet seas, and woody land. 
 And sea-nymphs dancing on the sand, 
 Or thronging up the grassy shore ! 
 A bard could wish for nothing more 
 Than day by day and week by week 
 To sing his songs in Sailor's Creek. 
 
 I love it much, this sheltered scene ; 
 Here Poetry dwells in bowers of green. 
 And Fancy free unfettered springs. 
 And mounts with sun-gems on her win^s ; 
 And in the soul deep tones are stirred 
 Which cannot in the crowd be heard : 
 The little ferns and grasses speak 
 And wink their loves in Sailor's Creek. 
 
 Said I aloud, "I'll bring them here. 
 My wife and all my birdlings dear : 
 They'll joy to pluck — I know it well — 
 The dainty daisies of this dell. 
 To list the cuckoo on the thorn. 
 And teU the tale of Michael Morn, 
 Who brought his skiff in Passion week. 
 And bore his love from Sailor's Creek." 
 
 GYLLYNGDUNE. 
 
 How pleasant here at cool of day 
 lUong the winding walks to stray. 
 Where ebbs and flows the murmuring main, 
 Whose music fills the woodbine lane, 
 High on the beach with shmgles strewn. 
 As rise thy vespers, Gylljmgdune ! 
 
 It is not meet to pass tln-ough Life 
 
 For ever in the city's strife. 
 
 Where noise and clamour bear tJie sway : 
 
 Then, weaiy worker, come away ; 
 
 Its gentle calm shall cheer thee soon. 
 
 Though thou drop tears at Gyllyngdime ! 
 
 I care but little Tfor the crowd, 
 "Wliose empty caskets rattle loud ; 
 Or towns o'ei-flowed with selfish men, 
 W^here guilt easts in darksome den ; 
 Or gilded hall, or gay saloon : 
 No ; ratlier give me GylljTigdune.
 
 184 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 How fresli tlie wares break on the shore ! 
 How geutly drips the 'boatman's o:iv ! 
 How gi-andly the white sea-giills ride ! 
 How gi-acefully the swallows glide I 
 TMiile doats the sailor's merry time 
 Upon the breeze at Gyllyngduue. 
 
 And old Peudennis on his height 
 Looks down well-pleased on such a sight. 
 There stand he hlce a warrior bold, 
 Kor heeds he heat nor heeds he cold, 
 From biu-st of morn till night's dark noon, 
 To guard my lovely Gyllyngdune. 
 
 "When last I chanced to ramble here, 
 The winds were still, the skies were clear; 
 Two lovers sat upon a seat, 
 "With ocean shining at their feet, 
 Whispering their loves beneath the moon, 
 Which filled with silver Gyllyngdune. 
 
 Dear home of love ! sweet haunt of peace ! 
 Here weary life's dark bickerings cease. 
 A sacred song is on the an- 
 WTiich lulls to rest the storm of care, 
 And lifts tlie heart to heaven's high noon ; 
 My beautiful, my Gyllyngdune I 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF THE CORNISH TOLMEN. 
 
 A Druid link is broken which long joined 
 The Past and Present, rudely wrenched and 
 snapped 
 By cruel fingers. Shame it is to spoil 
 This ancient temple for the gi-eed of gain, 
 To flash and flare it in the eye of heaven 
 For three whole days with the destroying charge, 
 Until this throne of wonders toppled o'er, 
 Leaving a wreck that diamonds can't replace. 
 Shame ! shame I the rising echoes of the moors 
 Cry Shame, and the gi-eat hill-blocks Shame ; 
 And through the air a swift-avenging sprite 
 With arm uplifted shouts the dark word Shame ! 
 If some fierce Vandal from the shore of wrong 
 In a wild hour had scathed it where it stood. 
 We could have better borne it : but to think 
 The scions of the land of cross and earn. 
 Our own immediate kinsfolk, who should stand 
 Resolved to sliield it with the sword of Fate, 
 And guard it like a child at their own hearth, — 
 That they should drag its glorj' to the ground, 
 O this is dreadful. 
 
 Ill canst thou afford 
 To lose such relics, Cornwall, wliere at eve 
 The Roman joyed to ramble, fanned by winds 
 That travelled music-tracks, and lulled by sounds 
 From far-off minstrels. Here, when soft airs spake 
 The fragi'ant language of the lowly thyme. 
 Oft stole the Druidess in robe of white, 
 Like Beauty mid the moonbeams, leaving lays 
 That Unger still among the grand old blocks ; 
 And here the priest, and here the waiTior came. 
 The bowman bold whose blood was in his face, 
 
 To hear the horrors of the haughty Dane. 
 
 These murmur, " Spare the Tolmen." Ah 1 then: words 
 
 Ai-e like the rhyme of poet, overborne 
 
 By the fierce flutter of the world for gain. 
 
 The coming years will miss it. Anxious eyes. 
 
 Stained deep with indignation, oft shall turn 
 
 To scan the site it dignified so long ; 
 
 And the wild bird, the haunter of the hills. 
 
 Shall flounder in his passage, seeing not 
 
 His ancient landmark : whirling round and round 
 
 In strange bewilderment, with shriek and cry 
 
 He'll leave the heights for ever. Much I feel 
 
 To lose a boulder from my native moors. 
 
 As if a sister perished. Ye who love 
 
 The poetry of the mountains, guard, guard 
 
 Our curious cromlechs I Let no hand of man 
 
 Destroy these stony prophets which the Lord 
 
 Has placed upon the tarns and sounding downs 
 
 With tones for distant ages. 
 
 CAPERN'S VISIT TO CORNWALL, 1860. 
 
 CORNUBIA TO DEVONIA GREETING. 
 
 HURRAH, classic Cornwall ! 
 Shout with bardic pride : 
 Devon's thrush has warbled 
 O'er thy moorlands wide ; 
 And our hearts were gladdened 
 
 By his converse strong. 
 Swelling round our pathway 
 Like an ancient song. 
 
 By Cornubia's crosses 
 
 Devon's gifted son. 
 With his harp unshouldered. 
 
 Sang when day was done : 
 And her gentle daughters. 
 
 Tuneful as the streams 
 Running round the rushes. 
 
 Were his richest themes ; 
 
 Musing like a Druid 
 
 By the cromlechs brown, 
 Or the Nine Stone Maidens 
 
 Rising on the down ; 
 Worshipping with Nature 
 
 Near the lonely loch, 
 By a poet's birthplace. 
 
 On the hill of rock. 
 
 Not a flower, my Cornwall, 
 
 On thy walk or wild. 
 But he seemed to love it 
 
 As his maiden child : 
 And the linnet's carol. 
 
 And the robin's lay. 
 Were in sweetest numbers 
 
 Chanted on his way. 
 
 Wildly sang the harpist 
 On the rough Land's End,
 
 WHEN YOU ARE BOOKED TO FILLY. 
 
 185 
 
 And where fairy Kynance 
 Wooed him hke a friend ; 
 
 And by hill and hollow 
 In the cominfT time 
 
 Lovin* lips shall murmur, 
 " Here did Capern rhyme." 
 
 FALMOUTH. 
 
 I SAW it first when April shoots 
 Were shining on the tree, 
 And daisies, gladdened by the sun, 
 Looked up on lawn and lea. 
 I left my cot when but a boy. 
 
 And, crossing mead and moor. 
 Gazed I upon its harbour waves 
 Which kissed the pleasant shore. 
 
 I never shall forget when first 
 
 It burst upon my view, 
 And from a neighbouring earn I saw 
 
 Its ships and waters blue, 
 z\nd tower, and teiTace, ocean-gu-t. 
 
 Which met me fi-om the hill : 
 'Twas beautiful ! 'twas beautiful !• 
 
 And so is Falmouth still. 
 
 Like some old poem of the past 
 
 Imbued with Nature's fire, 
 The more we read, the more we love, 
 
 And wonder and admire : 
 So is this sea-poi-t of the south 
 
 Yet more and more endeared, 
 As years fill up the calendar. 
 
 Where now my home is reared. 
 
 Here barks from every nation meet, 
 
 With streaming flags unfurled ; 
 Secm-ely here in peace they ride. 
 
 Each ship a floating world. 
 Here come the fish in shining shoals, 
 
 The shelly creeks among ; 
 And sweet it is across the tide 
 
 To hear the rower's song. 
 
 How beautiful the country walks 
 
 Along the sea-beach low ; 
 Where ocean-bmls perch on the crags. 
 
 And white waves come and go ! 
 The distant hills are thi-onged vnth fays, 
 
 And from each brake and bower 
 A thousand mystic voices rise 
 
 To laud Jehovah's power. 
 
 Oft from the street I tm-n away, 
 
 As peals the solemn bell. 
 When Eve, witli glow-worms in the moss. 
 
 Sits musing down the dell. 
 And O, how sweet it is to stand 
 
 Upon the pebbly shore. 
 And hear across the gathering dusk 
 
 The dripping of the oar I 
 
 Can bluer waves, or greener fields. 
 
 Or flowers by zephyrs fanned, 
 Or fairer face of maid or boy 
 
 Be found in any land ? 
 O, like a lion in his lafr, 
 
 Sm-rounded with the sea, 
 Is old Pcndennis, castle-crowned, 
 
 A sturdy watcher he. 
 
 I've travelled where the waters roar, 
 
 And where the hills are high, 
 Wliose lofty summits seem to soar 
 
 Into the distant sky. 
 But fairer scene, Falmouth mine ! 
 
 Has never met my view. 
 Than thy green fields and sloping heights. 
 
 And waves and waters blue. 
 
 WHEN YOU ARE BOOKED TO FILLY.- 
 
 THE rains pour down a perfect flood. 
 Winds howl, huge oaks are bowed ; 
 And mid old Cornwall's copper hills 
 The thunders mutter loud. 
 While through the afr the god of storms 
 Eides on his sulj)hur cloud. 
 
 'Tis pitchy dark : ghosts roam the lanes 
 
 At this rough midnight horn- ; 
 And Cynthia, t'other side the world, 
 
 Is sleeping in her bower. 
 So I must out in such a night : 
 
 O shield me, mighty power ! 
 
 The slate is whirled from off my house 
 
 With gusts that utter woe. 
 And down the chimney rush strange sounds ; 
 
 But to the mine I go ; 
 For fire-whim buckets must be filled. 
 
 Though houses tm-n so so. 
 
 They say that Peace is come at last. 
 
 With Plenty in her train. 
 Spreading her ohve-brauches o'er 
 
 The mountain and the main ; 
 That Europe's heart is sick of war. 
 
 And sick of myi-iads slain. 
 
 Last night my wife presented me 
 
 With httle chubby Joe ; 
 And through my brain a bran new rhyme 
 
 Is rushing to and fro : 
 But lays and laddies fall before 
 
 The bucket-work, you know. 
 
 A sick friend calls me to his bed, 
 
 The good old poet Willy : 
 He scarcely can live out the night. 
 
 His fingers are so chilly. 
 But dying speeches go for nought 
 When you are booked to filly. 
 
 * This is Cornish mining phraseology,— a corruptiou of 
 the words, " to fiU," " to fill the bucket." 
 
 B B
 
 186 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 A EHYME FOR EDWAED BASTIN. 
 
 IN a land of rock ancl heather, 
 Dark peat and prickly thorn, 
 Low hed!::;es, hills, and mining pits, 
 A simple bard was born. 
 And in his early boyhood 
 
 The gentle Muse came down. 
 And breathed into his spirit, 
 
 As he crossetl the common brown. 
 
 He loved the golden sunshine, 
 
 The bine sky and the sea. 
 The clouds at solemn simset, 
 
 The flowerets on the lea ; 
 The bii'ds and trees and rivers, 
 
 His cot upon the height, 
 The face of man and maiden, 
 
 And all things pm'e and bright. 
 
 You might have seen him wander 
 
 Along his father's leas. 
 Communing with the ivy. 
 
 And whispering with the breeze ; 
 The swallows his companions 
 
 In many a sacred nook ; 
 The hedges were his study, 
 
 And Kature was his book. 
 
 Upon the slender grasses, 
 
 The fit-agile floating seed, 
 The very smallest insect, 
 
 The most ungainly weed. 
 The crag, the cUff, the coppice. 
 
 Flowers clinging to the clod, — 
 Dame Katm-e's ready pupil. 
 
 He read the name of God. 
 
 Then came a day of darkness, 
 
 Of deep poetic woe. 
 When duty's call was answered, 
 
 And he went down below 
 Mid slime and bm-ning sulphur, 
 
 The flinty rock to part, 
 "With childhood on his forehead 
 
 And beauty in his heart. 
 
 O, how he felt the pressure 
 
 Of this song-cliilling gloom. 
 And longed for breezy hillocks 
 
 Beyond the cavern's gloom ! 
 For in his soul there struggled 
 
 Thoughts bm-ning to have bu-th. 
 Which could not all be smothered 
 
 Or bm-icd in the earth. 
 
 And so, though crushed with labom*. 
 
 He oft lay mid the thyme, 
 ^Vhen Eve was weeping dew-drops, 
 
 And wTote his simple rhyme, 
 "S\Tiich cheered him as he jolted 
 
 Tlu-ough life's convulsive jars. 
 Like hymnings from the highest, 
 
 Or whispers fi.-om the stars. 
 
 Years passed, and stUl he struggled 
 
 Where darkness sat enthroned. 
 And Danger lurked in shadow. 
 
 And weary workers groaned. 
 And still his hymns he chanted 
 
 In solitude and night, 
 With none to lift him upward. 
 
 Or cheer him with the light. 
 
 Tlien children clustered round him, 
 
 And wooed his fond embrace ; 
 Sweet prattlers called him father. 
 
 And kissed his pallid face. 
 His rhymes began to wander 
 
 Among the walks of men ; 
 And still he wrought in darkness 
 
 Below the quiet glen. 
 
 When, lo ! as God would have it, 
 
 In humble clothing dressed. 
 Two strangers sought his dwelling. 
 
 And kindly him addressed : 
 " We've read thy simj^le poems, 
 
 And thou must understand 
 That we are come to thank thee, 
 
 And take thee by the hand." 
 
 A ray of summer sunshine 
 
 Shot through his gladdened heai't : 
 The gi-eat earth teems with beauty, 
 
 And cherubs round him start ; 
 And from his eyes the water's 
 
 In briny drops did flow, 
 As forth he went to labour 
 
 With hope upon his brow. 
 
 Now singing in the daylight, 
 
 And lighted with the sun, 
 He feels another era 
 
 Of pilgrimage begun. 
 And so he blows his whistle, 
 
 On Gratitude's green peak, 
 A blast for Edward Bastin, 
 
 The helper of the weak. 
 
 HELFOED RIVER. 
 
 I SAW it in its clearness. 
 The pleasure of the place. 
 When May in buds and blossoms 
 Was mirrored on its face. 
 The blue-bells edged its margin 
 
 In many a fragrant rank. 
 And Trebah, like a temple. 
 Was shining on its bank. 
 
 lovely in its brightness. 
 
 When Summer woos the wave, 
 And Morning, like a seraph. 
 
 Doth in the waters lave. 
 And cuckoo's voice of welcome 
 
 Is o'er the billows liornc. 
 And wood-dove trills his sonnets 
 
 Of music on the tliorn I
 
 THE AVON. 
 
 187 
 
 I thank tlioe for the beanty 
 
 Tliy creeks did so disclose, 
 Wliile overhead the skylark 
 
 Was singing as ho rose ; 
 The violets tell their story 
 
 To woo tlie gentle air, 
 And sail and soaring sea-bu'd 
 
 Proclaim thee very lair. 
 
 VISIT TO A POET'S FAMILY. 
 
 (DR. J. A. LANGFORD, BIRMINGHAM.) 
 
 I FOUND them in their city-home, 
 With love supremely blest, 
 A poet and his pleasant brood, 
 Like doves within their nest ; 
 And goodly was the cheer they gave 
 
 From warm affection's hoard, 
 When I, so many miles from home, 
 Was sitting at their board. 
 
 The faces of the httle folks, 
 
 Witli eyes of blueness blest. 
 Were beautiful as April flowers 
 
 By Spring's own fingers dressed. 
 And what uncaroled bliss to take 
 
 Fan- Piosy on my knee. 
 And stroke her curls, and kiss her cheek, 
 
 And hear her speak to me ! 
 
 Eosy ! Eosy ! though between 
 Are valley, lake, and hill, 
 
 And many an English rood of land. 
 
 Thy form is with me still : 
 Like a delicious thought it comes. 
 
 In poet-beauty clad, 
 To nerve me in the struggle-time, 
 
 And cheer me when I'm sad. 
 
 Ye dwell within the city's bounds, 
 Where commei'ce loves to be ; 
 
 1 where the white gull rides the wave, 
 Beside the western sea. 
 
 But long has friendship made us one, 
 
 Amid the strife of men. 
 By lays and lines of tenderness 
 
 That issue from the pen. 
 
 Methought the pictm'es on the wall, ' 
 
 The books arranged along, 
 The hearth a mother's love made bright. 
 
 Had each a voice of song ; 
 While Willie, with the face of hope. 
 
 Beside the ingle stood. 
 And looked more fau" than ever did 
 
 The sapUng of the wood. 
 
 0, bhssful is the peaceful home. 
 
 Where joj's like these are found, 
 Wliere rosebuds open in the hght. 
 
 And shed then- fragrance round ; 
 Where children love then- mother's voice. 
 
 And climb then- father's knee, 
 And hand in hand they travel on. 
 
 That each may happier be. 
 
 Good-bye, good-bye ! when far away, 
 
 Where first my song-flower gi-ew ; 
 In light, or shade, I know I shaU 
 
 Full often think of you. 
 When buds are green, and birds are gay. 
 
 Or wlien the leaves are sere. 
 Your memory is a summer joy: 
 
 God bless thee. Posy dear ! 
 
 THE AVON. 
 
 Tino last retreating antimm-dirge 
 Swelled slowly on the air; 
 The leaves were changing on the trees, 
 The arms of some were bare. 
 The harvest-sheaves were gathered in. 
 
 And garnered safe and dry. 
 When first I saw the Avon clear 
 Benefith a cloudless sky. 
 
 O beautiful ! O beautiful 
 
 Its waters as they glide 
 Through scenes where Shakspere seems to breathe 
 
 In music by its side ! 
 No solemn vision of the night 
 
 To me was half so dear. 
 As its bright wavelets glancing by, 
 
 Like glass or crystal clear. 
 
 La\ang the churchyard wall, it flows 
 
 Along its winding way. 
 Where he, the prince of poets, sleeps. 
 
 Within the chancel grey. 
 On, on through meads and greenwood glades 
 
 Serenely doth it run. 
 Where buttercups and marigolds 
 
 Are bHnking in the sun. 
 
 Slow pealed the great bells from the tower, 
 
 The organ poured its strain ; 
 Birds in the waters dipped then* wings, 
 
 liose up, then dipped again. 
 Oiu- shadows were reflected clear 
 
 Within its glassy deeps : 
 O, fitting teacher of the bard 
 
 Who near its margin sleeps ! 
 
 what a joy it was to muse. 
 Its shining smface o'er ! 
 
 Methought I heard the sound of song 
 
 Along its classic shore ; 
 Ay, every ripple had a voice. 
 
 Which softly shoreward came. 
 And the green banks upon its edge 
 
 Were whispering Shakspere's name. 
 
 And as I wandered by its marge, 
 
 With wonder in my soul. 
 Sweet feelings I cannot express 
 
 Unbidden o'er me stole. 
 
 1 thought how pleasant life would be 
 
 Spent in this music hall. 
 In song and holy intercom-se 
 With Uim who giveth all. 
 
 2 B 2
 
 188 
 
 EPISTLES AND LOCAL LYRICS. 
 
 The verdiu-e of the fields around, 
 
 The robin on the latch, 
 The daisy hy the old field stile, 
 
 The spaiTow on the thatch, 
 The hawthorn on the low lane hedge, 
 
 The lark's delicious lay. 
 Told of the poet-king who has 
 
 Thi-ee centuries passed away. 
 
 As then, so now the seasons come 
 
 And go, with snu and shower. 
 And down the lane the httle girl 
 
 Is gatheiing many a flower. 
 The men-y ploughboy, rein in hand. 
 
 Is whistUng on the lea, 
 As when great Shakspere wandered here 
 
 Now where, O where is he ? 
 
 Flow on, dear Avon, ever flow: 
 
 "When in my home again, 
 Thine image, like a crystal thought, 
 
 Shall with me still remain. 
 And when among my Cornish liUs, 
 
 Weaving my simple rhyme, 
 I'll muse on him who sang with thee 
 
 The loftiest lays of time. 
 
 THE DECER^K DECEIVED. 
 
 -pi ooDS west of the Cheesewring, a butcher by trade 
 W Of the pale face of Famine was rather afraid, 
 W) Or envious, ambitious, or something or other : 
 So he sinfully settled to rob a poor mother ; 
 And, thus to accompUsh his pm-poses evil. 
 To go if he could in the form of the devil. 
 He tricked himself ofi: m a bullock's black hide. 
 And his face was made fearful with charcoal beside ; 
 A taU himg behind, with two horns on his head. 
 And his large rolling eyeballs looked fiery and red : 
 And thus he stalked otf to her cottage of mud. 
 As much hke Old Mck as he possibly could. 
 He entered the room through some mystical cranny. 
 And gazed with a gi-oan on the quaking old gi-anny. 
 Shook his long bushy taU, while his horns seemed to rise. 
 And the fire-flaps successively flashed fi-om his eyes. 
 And the breath of his nostrils with brimstone was knit : 
 She thought he had come from the bottomless pit. 
 Approaching her bed, he cried with gruff air, 
 " I'm the monarch of daa-kness, the prince of despair ; 
 I don't want your body, though I know you are old. 
 But I'm come for your money, I'm come for yom- gold. 
 I've come a long way from the pit of destruction, 
 And I must have yom- gold without any reduction." 
 " O Virgin, assist me ! St. Francis, appear ! 
 O come to my rescue ! the devil is here ! 
 
 The gi-im-visaged black one, with horns on his head, 
 
 mm-der ! O murder ! is close by my bed. 
 Is he come for my money ? I pray, Mr. D., 
 ■\\Tiat is it ? what is it you want here with me ? " 
 " I tell thee, old gi-andam, I don't want thyself, 
 But all that I wish is thy loug-treasiu-ed pelf. 
 Thy money ! thy money ! I must have the whole. 
 Or else I'll devour thee, both body and soul." 
 " ! what shall I do ? Will you leave me to fall? 
 For I've not a farthing to give you at all : 
 For in order to save my dear gold from the canker, 
 
 1 let it all out in the hands of the banker." 
 " Well, never mind, granny, you can't help it, no. 
 But get it to-morrow ; so now I will go. 
 And when the next midnight shall be on the wane, 
 I'U call at yom- snug little cottage again." 
 And having so said, o'er the stahcase he leapt, 
 And according to custom up the chimney he crept. 
 "\^Tien the butcher had vanished, the old woman arose, 
 And away to the banker she instantly goes ; 
 Related her story ; demanded the gold, 
 Detei-mined to hand it to hard Mr. Bold ; 
 Resolved the next time the devfl. should call 
 To yield him her silver, her copper, and all. 
 The day passed away, and the night came again, 
 With its mantle of darkness o'er mountain and main. 
 And granny lay down on her pillow once more. 
 
 And blocked up the window and bolted the door, 
 Expecting old Satan would come as he told, 
 And rob -Rdthout mercy her long gathered gold. 
 The banker, suspecting some trick was on hand. 
 Had got two police in her chamber to stand. 
 To wait the approach of this father of fir3. 
 And ti-y if again they could prove him a liar ; 
 And when the gi-im goblins were starting fi'om sleep. 
 And Silence was dipping her locks in the deep. 
 When owlets were screaming, and sprites filled the lane. 
 The butcher dropt down through the chimney again. 
 Equipped as before in his imp-mimicked dress, 
 A frightiul old fellow, and flushed with success. 
 But no sooner had he settled down on the floor 
 Than he got a hard rap, and he gave a loud roar ; 
 And gi-anny, suspecting no doubt it was thunder. 
 And that the black monster had clutched all the 
 
 plunder. 
 Wrapped the bedsheet in folds round her grey-hooded 
 
 head. 
 And without any motion lay down in the bed. 
 While the butcher was bleeding and groaning and 
 
 crying. 
 And she wished in her heart that old Satan was dying. 
 Having stripped off his scales, they bound the old wag. 
 And bore him away on a wind-broken nag 
 To a part of the town where a structure has risen. 
 And the joke goes around that Old Nick is in prison ! 
 1842.
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 TO THE SKYLARK. 
 
 AIL, sweet musician ! At tlie earliest 
 
 dawn, 
 Shaking the dew-clrops from thy 
 
 fluttering wing ; 
 And O how sweet it is to hear thee 
 
 sing, 
 And di'ink thy music, floating o'er 
 
 the lawn ! 
 Hail, harper of the cloud ! I bend 
 me low 
 In humble adoration at thy shi-ine, 
 Eapt with those spirit-notes that round me flow. 
 Gushing upon my soul in airs divine ! 
 Hail, harper of the cloud ! When new-born Day 
 Peers o'er the mountain-tops, I'll haste away 
 To diiuk thy mellow music. Power is thine, 
 Beloved minstrel, with, thy melting hymn, 
 Stole from the chimings of the cherabim, 
 To raise my thoughts above earth's dusty line ! 
 
 TO THE HAWTHORN. 
 
 FLOWER-COVERED liawthom ! in thy tuneful shade. 
 My day's work done, I lay myself along. 
 The shepherd loves thee ; hind and village maid 
 Full often carol here their evening song. 
 As float the vesper- notes those dells among, 
 And the red hght is streaming through the glades, 
 I gaze and weep, — weep with excess of joy ! 
 Nature is mine ; her featm-es never cloy. 
 Song-honoured hawthorn, faiiy of the mead, 
 Gem of the mountain, beauty of the vale ! 
 Here the young lover tells his tender tale ; 
 And here the poet pipes his artless lay. 
 Under thy branches whistling on his reed. 
 Swelling the music of the dying day. 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 THE New Year wakens like a peeA-ish child 
 In AVinter's chamber. Natiu-e, his dear nurse, 
 Rocks him upon a rolling cradle-cloud. 
 While the cold winds lift up their voices loud, 
 Filling the under world with strainings wild, — 
 A tempest lullaby ! In heaps up-piled 
 The white snow fills the land, a drapery chaste, 
 On mead productive, moor, and rocky waste. 
 Echoes the flail from the old barn of thatch. 
 The wild duck shelters in the frozen fen. 
 The redbreast hops upon the wooden latch, 
 And King Frost lords it o'er the icy glen. 
 Heap up another log. How sad to be 
 Abroad in such a gale on land or sea ! 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 SKow-DRiFTS and ice ! Hushed is the forest-strain. 
 Save the small chii'rup of the busy ^Ten. 
 And, hke a monster moaning as in pain. 
 The great blast tumbles through the dreary fen. 
 Sweeps the bare hill, and gi-oans along the glen. 
 Against the white tli-ift on the frozen plain 
 The gentle snowdrop rests its di-ooping head; 
 Looking so beautiful, as if it came 
 From that dear land where holy angels tread. 
 floweret fan*, mid storm and whii-lwind bred. 
 White as the cold snow which around thee Ues, 
 How dost thou tell, when bitter winds are fled. 
 Of lovely wildings under genial skies. 
 With dew upontheu- hds, and simbeamsin thcu-eyes! 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 gales 
 
 rushing 
 
 thi'ough the 
 
 shivering 
 
 -TT-riTii fresh 
 1/1/ trees, 
 
 T T Drives crashing March. The white clouds 
 southward fly. 
 And up between them shine blue fields of sky. 
 The lark's first carol rings among the leas. 
 Now search the moorlands for the earUest flower, 
 Timidly blushing 'neath the tempest's wing, 
 Violet and primrose in the sheltered bower; 
 While Uttle lambs are sporting by the spring.
 
 190 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Beside their teams tlie meny plough-boys sing. 
 Twitter the hirtls where golden furze-flowers shine ; 
 The crocus blossoms in the garden ring, 
 And wood and wold are full of lays Divine. 
 The hopeful sower sows the precious seed, 
 With trust in Heaven, upon the fm-rowed mead. 
 
 APEIL. 
 
 WITH one cheek tear- wet, and the other bright 
 "With passing suushine, beauty in her eyes ; 
 On her green garments buds of x-ichest dyes ; 
 Her fan- brow bound with leaflets, in the light 
 "Winking and shining, like a timid maid. 
 Blushing with freshness, seeming half afraid, 
 Comes changeful April. Violets fill one hand, 
 And these she scatters o'er the vernal land. 
 Studding the hedge-rows by the lone sheepfold, 
 And hanging gems in Natm-e's silent bowers. 
 The other doth an lu-n of waters hold, 
 WTiich, in soft tears, she weeps upon the flowers. 
 Cowslip and primrose round her neck are strung. 
 And !Spring"s first notes gush sweetly from her tongue. 
 
 LIAY. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL vestal clad in freshest green, 
 Fragi-aut with hyacinths and flowerets wild ! 
 Of the twelve months, come, let me crown thee 
 queen. 
 Lover of mm-mming brooks and music mild ! 
 The year has not a fau-er, lovelier child. 
 Now lambs play in the fields with daisies white, 
 The cuckoo's voice flows full among the leaves, 
 The lark far up is singing out of sight, 
 And the glad thatcher whistles on the eaves. 
 The robin's nest scarce shows among the moss. 
 From hill and valley rings a gladsome lay, 
 ^^^lich floats, love-laden, over crag and cross. 
 And moor, and mead, and hawthorn-blossomed way, 
 WTiile Beauty walks the world. 'Tis melody and May. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 GEEEN fields and music. Like a cheerful bard 
 With song surrounded, gushing where she treads. 
 Comes joyous Jime. The great trees bow then- 
 heads 
 Full-leafed. On chff and common hard 
 Are marks of Summer's fingers. Beauty-starred 
 Are ail the walks of Nature ; gentle eyes 
 Peer out from grassy windows, and the skies 
 Are Imdged with featheiy clouds where angels ghde. 
 Turn we to earth ? The briony and rose 
 In the green lane are clustering side by side ; 
 And clover-sconts, in showers, are wafted wide 
 By village stile, and where the fountain flows. 
 A thousand IjTes ring on the gladdened plain, 
 Burst fiom the woods, and mumaur from the main. 
 
 JULY. 
 
 HEAT and hay-making ! Through the scented gi'ass 
 The sharp scythe rustles, bringing music dear, 
 With pastoral echoes, to the listening ear ; 
 While, in the sunshine, boy and buxom lass 
 Eaise clover-ridges. As the gate we pass 
 Leading into the meadow, gales of glee 
 Come floating breeze-borne over lake and lea. 
 In the tree's shadow stand the panting kine, 
 Eauibles the angler by the limpid stream : 
 The earth is full of charity Divine ; 
 Waves the gi'een corn where glancing swallows gleam. 
 The lanes are lovehness where fair things dream. 
 A mystery fiUs creation. Earth, and sea, 
 And fen, and forest, whisper, Lord, of Thee. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 -pi IPE fruits and filberts ! Over all the land 
 1^ The hot air travels, bearing music bland 
 A-\j From sliining scythe and sickle. Hai-vest lays 
 Else where the white corn, on a himdred hills, 
 In the broad valleys, by the sparkling rills. 
 Bends to the joyous reaper ; whilst a haze 
 Of insect incense fills the world with praise. 
 Wheat-waving August, in thy straw-bright hair 
 And leafy zone, with juicy fruitage bound, 
 What loveliness can with thyseK compare ? 
 Where dwells a queen so gi'eatly, grandly crowned ? 
 "^Tiere'er thou tread'st, the ripe gi'apes cluster round. 
 To Him soars up one universal strain, 
 Who gives the early and the latter rain. 
 
 SEPTEMBEE. 
 
 e'hold the year's fruition ! Hedges high, 
 And httle mounds, where song-nymphs shelter 
 shy. 
 
 Are bright with berries. Children shout for glee, 
 As the hedge-bramble yields them a rich store ; 
 And ruddj' apples on the orchard tree 
 Flang o'er the stream, or by the peasant's door. 
 The corn is garnered. Down the pensive moor 
 The swallows glance and wheel, ere they' depart 
 For warmer regions: skilfully they dart 
 O'er rock and lichened ruin. Here will I 
 Sit now and watch them. Songs of praise proceed 
 From gi-ateful souls, whose hearts are beating high 
 By the farm-house on many a shaven mead 
 For harvest mercies sent in time of need. 
 
 OCTOBEE. 
 
 BROWN leaves and ben-ies ! The old woods are grand 
 With the decay of nature. Traces here, 
 Which none but" poets can decipher clear ; 
 And tliero are lines by the great Ai'tist's hand. 
 A solemn stillness reigns o'er all the land. 
 Beside these elms I'll watch the skylark soar, 
 Which sings as though an angel met his view.
 
 ONE IN CHRIST. 
 
 191 
 
 Tlie pilpjrini pausos on the ponsivo moor, 
 And strains his eyes far np tlie heavenly bhie. 
 Delifjhttiil 'tis, as day is waning now, 
 And the last wood-bird wheels along the air 
 To seek his mate npon the slieltered Ijongh, 
 And spend the night in leafy safety there. 
 To muse on Eden with its valleys fair. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 CLOUDS tempest-strided, heavy-soimding I'ain, 
 Wind, darkness, cold, make up thy dismal train, 
 GHoomy November ! How the rivers rise 
 And echo through the hollows ! Sadly ilies 
 The last leaf from the forest, whirling round. 
 Then hm-led in anger on the sodden ground. 
 Sudden the change ! The flowers are drowned with 
 
 tears ; 
 The pastoral iaeld-paths, muddy, tempt no more ; 
 The plover on the open land appears. 
 And little redbreast ventiu-es near the door ; 
 The ploughman blows his fingers by his team, 
 The farmer's cart rolls rimibling down the moor. 
 Books now, and fire, where happy faces gleam, 
 And cheerful chat, when day's hard toil is o'er. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 LIKE the last prophet, dark December comes. 
 Uttering the doom of all things. Hear, my soul. 
 And profit by the teacher. List the roll 
 Of sm'ging waters. Not an insect hums ; 
 Carols no bkd ; cold gloom fills up the whole. 
 The trees, leaf-stript, lift up their arms in vain 
 To catch the struggling sunshine. On their steeds 
 The winds are mounted, prancing o'er the plain. 
 Then up the hills, then down the vales again. 
 Like a tried friend retui'ning through the meads 
 
 Ho loved in childhood, after absence long. 
 To cheer us with his converse, even so 
 Comes blessed Christmas with its holy song 
 To gladden once again this world of woe. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 How beautiful, beneath yon eastern cloud. 
 Hung hke a porter by the gates of Day, 
 The breezy Morning opes its eye of gi'ey. 
 Lifting from the glad earth Night's mm-ky shroud ! 
 How freshly from the mountains comes the breeze. 
 Fanning the robe of Summer, gemmed with flowers; 
 Shaking the dew-drops fi-om the forest-trees. 
 And whispering sweetly in the wakening bowers ! 
 The robin stirs among the trembling leaves, 
 And up the mountain scuds the timid hare ; 
 The spaiTows chatter on the shaven eaves. 
 O'er which the graceful smoke-^vl•eaths curl so fair ; 
 The rising sky-lark sings to greet the dawn. 
 And the blithe mower whistles on the lawn. 
 
 A THRUSH SINGING IN WINTER. 
 
 DARK mist-clouds hang upon the naked hills, 
 Old Winter moans there in his dripping vest ; 
 Wild throiigh the valleys rush the swollen rills 
 Frona creek to creek, nor find a place of rest. 
 A dull, dank shadow shrouds the earth's cold breast, 
 And everything without is sad and sere ; 
 But, soothing songster, from yon sloping raoimd 
 Thy notes come trembUng on my joy-filled ear, 
 As if a miustrel-spirit, glory-crowned, 
 Sang from the flower-hills of the higher sphere. 
 Thus, through this tangled wilderness of care. 
 Mid clouds of sorrow that around me roll, 
 Some tuneful echoes munnui' in the aii' 
 The lays of hope, that cheer my trusting soul. 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 L ONE IN CHRIST. 
 
 "For ye are all one in Christ Jesus." 
 — Galatians iii. '28. 
 
 '^^^i!^^-^^ N echo on the moiintain, 
 ^ ^^ An echo in the glen. 
 
 An echo on the highways. 
 
 Thronged with the feet of men ; 
 
 An echo in the forest. 
 
 An echo on the sea, 
 
 O Jesus Christ of Nazareth, 
 
 That we are one in Thee. 
 
 One, one in Thee, Saviour, 
 The black man and the red, 
 And he who has in sorrow 
 No place to lay his head ; 
 The slave with torture crippled, 
 The fettered and the free, 
 The sei-vant and his master, 
 Ai-e one, Lord, in Thee.
 
 192 HYMNS. 
 
 The worker in the city, 
 
 Here sadness never enters. 
 
 And he on hill- top bare, 
 
 Or fi-ost or fevers cut, 
 
 The man with swarthy visage. 
 
 And beauty ever brightens : 
 
 And he viith featm'es fnir ; 
 
 Its gates are never shut. 
 
 The prince, the poorest pauper, 
 
 ^ 
 
 The plougher of the lea. 
 
 
 The watchman on the tiuTct, 
 
 
 Are one, Lord, in Thee. 
 
 
 No matter where we worship, 
 In twihght's temple grey, 
 
 III. THE HOUE OF EEST. 
 
 Or in the solemn forest. 
 At the full noon of day ; 
 With the gi-eat congregation. 
 
 " Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee." 
 — PSALiI Iv. 22. 
 
 Or where the few may be, 
 
 f 1 ^HE houi- of rest is come. 
 
 Or in the poor man's chamber ; 
 
 1 The horn* of sweet repose ; 
 
 We all ai-e one in Thee. 
 
 J. Kneel, weary moui-ner, kneel, 
 
 hear om- prayer, dear Saviour, 
 Enthroned in light above, 
 And di-aw us with Thy Spu'it, 
 
 And pour out all thy woes. 
 Kneel in thy closet, kneel : 
 
 Thy Father hears thee pray ; 
 And He will give the mourner rest. 
 
 And fill us with Thy love. 
 Let this evangel ti'avel 
 
 And take thy load away ! 
 
 From farthest sea to sea. 
 
 Kneel in thy closet, kneel, 
 
 Till all mankind rejoicing 
 Feel they are one in Thee. 
 
 Now busy day is o'er : 
 Its soiTows and its cares are gone, 
 
 
 And will return no more. 
 
 
 Thy Father sees thee now ; 
 
 
 His eye is everywhere : 
 
 
 talk to Him as fiiend to friend, 
 
 II. FAE OFF A CITY SHINETH. 
 
 At this sweet hour of prayer ! 
 
 " And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day." — 
 
 Kneel in thv closet, kneel ; 
 
 RtVELATIOS xxi. 25. 
 
 Though rough has been the day, 
 
 
 Kneel down, and tell thy Father all ; 
 
 -|-^ AE off a city shineth. 
 
 Kneel, weaiy one, and pray : 
 
 y^ Described by bards of old, 
 
 Then on thy pillow dream 
 
 _L Whose walls are many-coloured. 
 
 Of hoher, happier bowers. 
 
 Whose streets are soUd gold. 
 
 Where sinless spii-its float among 
 
 No sin within it dwelleth, 
 
 The never-fading flowers ! 
 
 No weakness, woe, or strife. 
 
 
 But those whose names are written 
 
 Yes, on thy pillow dream 
 
 Within the Book of Life. 
 
 Of that bright world above. 
 
 
 Where all is happiness, and peace. 
 
 Place after race depai-teth, 
 
 And pure unsullied love. 
 
 As centuries steal along ; 
 
 Dream of that heavenly rest 
 
 The student in his study. 
 
 Which yet remains for thee. 
 
 The harper at his song. 
 
 A holy, sweet, unbroken calm 
 
 Yet there that city shineth 
 
 Thi-ough all eternity. 
 
 Amid the radiant spheres. 
 
 
 With glory on its turrets 
 
 
 As in the eai-ly years. 
 
 
 Up to its shining gateways 
 
 IV. BESIDE THE FLOWING WATEES. 
 
 In ceaseless throngs they go. 
 
 
 From southward, eastward, westward. 
 
 " There is none other name under heaven <?ivcu among 
 
 With gaiTQents white as snow ; 
 
 men, whereby we must be saved." — Acts iv. 12. 
 
 The rich man from his castle, 
 
 
 The poor man from his hut. 
 
 -pv ESiDE the flowing waters 
 
 The infant and its mother : 
 
 |< lleplete with holy psalm 
 
 Its gates are never shut. 
 
 _U From Zion's solemn arches. 
 
 
 Within the vale of palm ; 
 
 Here shine the Saviour's mansions. 
 
 Where Clmst's own sheep are feeding, 
 
 So exquisite, so fair. 
 
 And earthly tumults cease, 
 
 Where the redeemed adore Him : 
 
 Speaketh the gi'acious Shepherd, 
 
 0, when shall we he there ? 
 
 Amid the vines of peace. 
 
 «
 
 LIKE RAIN FROM HEAVEN ON THIRSTY ROOTS. 
 
 193 
 
 " Art thou of walkinj:; weary? 
 Tlien come to Me and rest ; 
 But wear no other idol 
 Within thy faithful breast. 
 No rite, no priest, no prelate, 
 No robe or altar-flame. 
 Must shadow o'er My presence, 
 Or supersede My name." 
 
 The blood of Jesus only 
 Can wash away our sin : 
 No other house of refuge 
 Will take the wanderer in. 
 'Tis Jesus, nought but Jesus, 
 The true Foundation Stone : . 
 No church or creed or custom, 
 But Christ, and Christ alone. 
 
 Then hope shall fill the future, 
 And life all beauteous be, 
 Sweet roses reach the desert. 
 Heaven's glory gild the sea ; 
 And love, sui-passing knowledge. 
 Which death cannot destroy. 
 Nor dust and darkness vancjuish, 
 O'erflow the soul with joy. 
 
 V. IN SOEROW, ON MY BENDED KNEE. 
 
 I will not let Thee go, except Thou bless me." — 
 Genesis xxxii. 26. 
 
 IN son'ow, on my bended knee, 
 I come again, O Lord, to Thee : 
 The road is rough, the hills are high, 
 And dangers in my passage lie ; 
 Dark clouds shut out the cheering sun : 
 Eeveal thy presence, Holy One ! 
 
 Thou know'st that I have nought to plead. 
 But utter helplessness and need, 
 And His great love so full and free. 
 Who gave His precious life for me. 
 O, for the sake of Thy dear Son, 
 Eeveal Thy presence, Holy One ! 
 
 I dare not let my Saviour go 
 
 Till some small blessing He bestow, 
 
 Although the mountains far away 
 
 Are brightening in the beams of day : 
 
 Aiise, O soul-re^dviag Sun, 
 
 And cheer my spirit, Holy One ! 
 
 Along life's course be Thou my Guide ; 
 Till, crossed at last the swelling tide, 
 I walk the heavenly shores of joy. 
 And join the angels' glad employ ; 
 My rest attained, my labour done ; 
 For ever with the Holy One. 
 
 VI. REJOICE, REJOICE ! THE LIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 " We have found Him, of whom Moses in the Law, and 
 the Prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the Boa of 
 Joseph." — John i. 45. 
 
 REJOICE, rejoice ! The Light of Love 
 Has reached us from the reahus above, 
 He whom the bards and seers of old 
 In strauis of wondrous song foretold ; 
 The great Beginning and the End ; 
 O ! we have found the sinner's Friend. 
 
 The mountain-tops are bright with day, 
 Tlie clouds before His Ught give way. 
 The flowers appear, the streams have birth, 
 And verdure decks the smiling earth ; 
 Sweet hymns arise from valleys green ; 
 O ! we have found the Nazarene. 
 
 The prisoner now shall lose his bands. 
 The chains fall off the captive's hands. 
 The broken-hearted sigh no more. 
 The Gospel cheer the bruised and poor. 
 The blind behold His beams afar ; 
 O 1 we have found the Morning Star, 
 
 O ! may we learn to prize His worth 
 Beyond the dearest things of earth. 
 And as we travel on our way 
 Look up to Him fi'om day to day ; 
 Whose boundless love shall never cease : 
 O ! we have found the Prince of Peace. 
 
 His promise is our only stay ; 
 He takes the sinner's load away ; 
 He makes the wounded spirit whole, 
 For none but Christ can save the soul; 
 O ! may we ever heed His caU, 
 Since we have found our All in AU. 
 
 VII. LIKE RAIN FEOM HEAVEN ON THIRSTY 
 
 ROOTS. 
 
 " For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from 
 heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, 
 and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed 
 to the sower, and bread to the eater : so shall My word be 
 that goeth forth out of My mouth : it shall not return unto 
 Me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and 
 it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it." — Isaiah 
 Iv. 10, 11. 
 
 LIKE rain from heaven on thirsty roots. 
 Or snow that melts among the shoots. 
 Causing the earth prolonged increase. 
 That bread for man may never cease : 
 So shall Thy word, Jehovah, be, 
 Retm-uing with Thine own to Thee. 
 
 Tlie hills shall shout in tuneful bands. 
 The trees Lift up theii* leafy hands. 
 The fu* supplant the prickly thorn, 
 The myrtle glades of green adorn ; 
 Which is to Him a solemn sign, 
 That never, never, shall dechne. 
 
 c c
 
 194 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 The blind shall His conipassion see, 
 The captive's faith shall set him free, 
 The weaiy -wanderer rest attain, 
 The broken spirit peace regain, 
 The hi.crh before His footstool fall, 
 And cro'WTi Imnianuel Lord of all. 
 
 Go forih, and sow the precious seed 
 On stony gi'ound and fruitful mead, 
 At morn, at noon, at daylight's fall, 
 In open space, or crevice small ; 
 Witli trust in His Divine decree ; 
 And fiTiit shall wave from sea to sea. 
 
 VIII. THIS MAN EECEIVETH SINNERS. 
 " This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them."- 
 
 LUKE XV. 2, 
 
 WERE ever words so tender ? 
 Were ever words so true ? 
 This Man receiveth sinners, 
 The Gentile and the Jew : 
 No matter where he dweUeth, 
 On continent or isle. 
 This Man receiveth siimers, 
 The vilest of the vile. 
 
 Behold it plainly written 
 Upon the blue above. 
 And on the sloping mountain 
 Where tremble hymns of love ; 
 It floateth o'er the waters. 
 And through the forest-aisle, 
 This iMan receiveth sinners, 
 The -vilest of the vile. 
 
 And when the tall trees murmur 
 Beneath the rising moon, 
 And the fresh breeze is blowing 
 Upon the brow of Noon ; 
 It flows in solemn whispers 
 Along each deep defile, 
 This Man receiveth sinners, 
 The -^nlest of the vile. 
 
 Old age -with erring hoaiy, 
 And manhood's walk of sin, 
 The first forsaking footstep 
 May turn and enter in ; 
 The door of hope is open. 
 And Mercy pleads the while, 
 This Man receiveth sinners, 
 The vilest of the vile. 
 
 Thrice welcome, precious teaching ! 
 To Christ's own anns I flee : 
 This Man receiveth sinners ; 
 Then He receiveth me, 
 A wanderer in the desert, 
 An erring child of guile, 
 Wlio am the chief of sinners. 
 The vilest of the vile. 
 
 Far down the mighty river 
 Towards time's setting sun, 
 In waves of welcome sweetness 
 This holy theme shall run ; 
 Till every hill and valley 
 With Sharon's Rose shall smile. 
 And Jesus claim -victorious 
 The -vilest of the vile. 
 
 IX. TOILING OVER DESERTS WIDE. 
 
 " Thou shalt guide me with Thy counsel, and afterward 
 receive me to glory." — Psalm Ixxiii. 21. 
 
 TOILING over deserts wide, 
 Thou, O Lord, shalt be my Guide, 
 And Thy counsel my sure stay, 
 As I travel on my way ; 
 Till the home of rest I gain. 
 Evermore with Christ to reign. 
 
 Like a child, O Prince Divine, 
 Would I place mj^ hand in Thine ; 
 Not a single footstep take 
 If Thy presence me forsake : 
 O how soon my feet will slide 
 If I leave my heavenly Guide ! 
 
 Here the way is long and lone, 
 There -with briers overgrown ; 
 Here are precipices high, 
 With then- frontlets to the sky ; 
 Dangers crowd on every side ; 
 Lead me, lead me, heavenly Guide ! 
 
 Shall I murmur that the land 
 Is so barren on each hand, — 
 That no watersprings are near 
 To refr-esh the desert drear ? 
 No ! I dare not leave Thy side : 
 It is best to trust my Guide. 
 
 Take my hand, and lead Thy child 
 As Thou pleasest o'er the wUd. 
 What I now receive from Thee 
 Will at last be best for me, 
 Till my bark the winds outride. 
 Anchored safely with my Guide. 
 
 X. ALL HIDDEN THINGS, 
 WE SEE. 
 
 AND THINGS 
 
 " Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing ? and one of 
 them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. 
 Jiut the very hairs of your head are all numbered." — 
 Matt. x. 29, 30. 
 
 ALL hidden things, and things we see. 
 Arc governed by His wise decree. 
 He feeds the varied li-dng race. 
 And gives to each its proper place ; 
 Nor does the little sparrow die 
 Without the notice of His eye.
 
 FROM HEIGHTS WHERE ANGELS GATHER. 
 
 195 
 
 The very hairs upon our head 
 
 Are known to Him who gives us bread ; 
 
 lie watches o'er us day Ijy day, 
 
 And guides His people on theu- way ; 
 
 Till pain is past and labour done, 
 
 The journey closed and heaven is won. 
 
 O let this thought our spirits cheer, 
 While far from home we travel here, 
 Refreshed sometimes with airs of love 
 Which greet us fi-om the land above : 
 He feeds the birds where'ex they be, 
 And He will much more care for me. 
 
 O may our faith in Him increase 
 ^Vliose love and mercy never cease ; 
 And though om- path be sometimes dim, 
 Still let us put oui" trust in Him 
 Who feeds the birds where'er they be. 
 And He will much more care for me. 
 
 XI. IT IS MY DAY OF TROUBLE. 
 
 " Call upon Me in the day of trouble : I will deliver thee, 
 and thou shalt glorify Me." — Psalli 1. 15. 
 
 IT is my day of trouble. 
 The sky is overcast. 
 The sun withdi-aws in shadow. 
 The wdld winds huny past ; 
 Distress o'erwhelms my spu-it. 
 Deep sorrows round me roll ; 
 The melancholy waters 
 Are come into my soul. 
 
 It is my day of trouble, 
 The way to walk is dim ; 
 I cannot see my Saviour, 
 Yet will I trust in Him. 
 Lift up Thy lovingkindness. 
 And chase away my night ; 
 
 let me gain Thy favoiu', 
 And travel in Thy Ught. 
 
 It is my day of trouble. 
 My tears to Thee are known ; 
 My sighs in secret places 
 Where bitter waters moan. 
 Thus come I heavy-laden 
 With sorrow sore distressed, 
 Nor seek I aught but Jesus, 
 Whose love will give me rest. 
 
 1 plead the mighty promise. 
 Thine own Divine decree, — 
 ' ' Call in the day of troiible : 
 I will dehver thee." 
 Behold me brokeuliearted 
 Before Thy footstool bow : 
 O answer my petition, 
 
 And come and save me now. 
 
 The light of life is breaking ! 
 DeHverance comes to me : 
 The Saviour whispers pardon : 
 My captive soul is free ! 
 
 My heart shall sing His praises, 
 Wlio to my rescue came ; 
 And ever travelling homeward. 
 Shall gloi'ify His name. 
 
 XII. IN THE PLACE PREPARED FOR THEE. 
 
 "And the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to 
 Flis temple, even the Messenger of the Covenant, whom 
 yo delight in." — Malachi iii. 1. 
 
 IN the place prepared for Thee, 
 Hear us, mystic Trinity : 
 Lowly at Thy feet we fall, 
 Hiding nothing, owning all ; 
 Seeking pardon for our crimes. 
 Acted o'er so many times. 
 
 forgive our wanderings wide 
 For the sake of Him who died ; 
 Show us Thy forgi\'ing face ; 
 Now em-ich us with Thy grace. 
 Wash us in the purple tide. 
 Flowing from the Saviom-'s side. 
 
 May we at this solemn hour 
 , Feel the Spu-it's healing power ; 
 In the silence of the soul 
 Worship Him who fills the whole, 
 Looking off from earthly love 
 To oiu' gi'eat High Priest above. 
 
 Not that men may hear our prayer 
 Sounding on the solemn air ; 
 Not to wear a saintly face. 
 Meet we in this holy place : 
 Rather would we worship here 
 In the silence of the tear. 
 
 Dear Redeemer, Prince Divine, 
 On om* natural darkness shine ; 
 With Thy erring childi*en stay ; 
 Speak our numerous sins away. 
 May we feel that Thou art nigh, — 
 Jesus Ckrist is passing by. 
 
 XIII. FROM HEIGHTS WHERE ANGELS 
 GATHER. 
 
 "And what I say unto yon I say unto all, Watch. "- 
 Makk xiii. 37. 
 
 FROM heights where angels gather, 
 From depths where mortals moan. 
 Where rills leap down the moimtain 
 From shining stone to stone ; 
 Far up where pines are swaying, 
 Deep down where waters fall, 
 "Watch, watch," is ever floating ; 
 The echo is for all. 
 
 2 c 2 
 
 It mumiiu's in the laurels 
 Ai'ound the rich man's door,
 
 196 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 And by tlie hiimble cottage 
 
 Upon the lonely moor. 
 
 It travels through the city ; 
 
 It soundeth on the sea : 
 
 "0 weary not with watching. 
 
 But put your tmst in Me." 
 
 O may we heed the warning 
 Of God's eternal Son, 
 The Lord of life and glory, 
 VTho spake and it was done ; 
 And evermore be watching 
 Upon the silent tower 
 For the bright beams of morning 
 O'er Eden's holy bower. 
 
 "ViTiat wisdom to be ready 
 To meet the Man of Might, 
 AMiose summons may o'ertake us 
 Ere evening's fading light ! 
 Our hearts to Thee are lifted 
 For guidance on our way : 
 O precious Intercessor, 
 Help us to watch and pray. 
 
 Though weary oft with waiting, 
 And the wide landscape dim, 
 The promise never faileth, 
 Our hope is still in Him. 
 The King of glory cameth ; 
 He will not long delay 
 Over the earth to scatter 
 The beams of perfect day. 
 
 XIV. SINK THE DAYS INTO THE SEKE. 
 '• And we all do fade as a leaf." — Isaiah Ixiv. 6. 
 
 SINK the days into the sere, 
 Pensive, old, decrepit year : 
 Earth has dampness and decay ; 
 Sigh the winds along their way : 
 Like the leaves that round us he, 
 So we fade away and die. 
 
 In the mom our step is strong ; 
 
 Oft we halt ere even-song : 
 
 Fail the fields with verdure drest : 
 
 This we know is not our rest. 
 
 Like the leaves when cold winds sigh, 
 
 So we fade away and die. 
 
 Teach us wisdom, King of Iqve, 
 Lift our wandering thoughts above : 
 O'er our heart's affections reign : 
 May we aU Thy favour gain. 
 Fit us for our home on high, 
 Ere we fade away and die. 
 
 In the land of Light unseen 
 HLll and vale are ever green, 
 
 Roses die not by the stream, 
 Where the hving waters gleam. 
 Jesus, take us to the sky, 
 When we fade away and die. 
 
 XV. AT OUE HEART'S DOOR THE KNOCKER. 
 
 " Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : if any man 
 hear My voice, and open the door, I will come iu to him, 
 and will sup with him, and he with Me." — Reveiatiojs ill. 20. 
 
 AT our heart's door the Knocker 
 Still strives our thought to win : 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh ; 
 O let us let Him in ! 
 His locks are wet with waiting, 
 He gives one warning more : 
 Hark ! how He knocketh, knocketh ; 
 Now let us ope the door. . 
 
 In spring, in pleasant summer, 
 When Autumn strips the tree, 
 When winter snows are falling, 
 That Knocker knocketh He. 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh, 
 Although the wind may roar ; 
 And still His hand is hfted 
 To give one warning more. 
 
 How oft the solemn Knocker 
 Is in the firelight heard. 
 And when the sigh of sickness 
 Om- inmost soul has stirred ! 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh. 
 When household flowers are fled ; 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh, 
 When stars are over head. 
 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh, 
 
 When verdure fills the trees. 
 
 When sounds from simimer songsters 
 
 Are floating on the breeze : 
 
 And when the sleet is driving 
 
 In fm-y up the hill. 
 
 And the storm hfts its trumpet, 
 
 He knocketh, knocketh still. 
 
 He knocks in life's young morning, 
 In manhood's powerful jnime, 
 And when the locks with watching 
 Are silvered o'er by time. 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh, 
 Still standing at the door. 
 In wind and rain and tempest 
 Yet knocking evermore. 
 
 Now let U8 open quickly 
 And give the Knocker room. 
 Ere He depart for ever 
 And leave us to om- doom. 
 He knocketh, knocketh, knocketh ; 
 Here will we seek His face, 
 And feast upon His favour, 
 The supper of His grace.
 
 BENEATH THE LEAFY BRANCHES. 
 
 197 
 
 XVI. STEIPT OF ALL BUT SIN AND SHAME. 
 
 " My God shall supply all your need according to His riches 
 in glory by Christ Jesus."— Philippians iv.-lO. 
 
 STiiiPT of all but sin and shame, 
 Call I on my Saviom-'s name. 
 Hear me from Thy home on high ; 
 i\Iay I feel my Helper nigh ! 
 Nought hut Jesus do I plead, 
 He is all the sinner's need. 
 
 None who travel to the sky 
 Can be half as poor as I. 
 Wandering oft where wilbws be, 
 Struggling to look up to Thee ; 
 I am feebleness indeed, 
 Yet Thou wilt supply my need. 
 
 the riches of His grace 
 Now witliin the holy place I 
 Though my wants may nimiber more 
 Than the sands upon the shore, 
 Christ for me doth intercede ; 
 Jesus will supply my need. 
 
 He is near to quell my fears 
 When my path is wet with tears ; 
 He will not desert my side 
 In the midst of death's dark tide ; 
 Christ, who for my sin did bleed. 
 Will supply my every need. 
 
 XVII. THE LOED SHALL CHOOSE FOE ME. 
 "He shall choose our inheritance for us." — Psalm xlvii. 4. 
 
 I ASK Thy heavenly guidance 
 In all things here below : 
 Do Thou direct my footsteps 
 The way that I should go. 
 
 teach my heart submission, 
 Whate'er my lot may be, 
 Contented that my Father 
 Should ever choose for me. 
 
 With Thee I do not falter 
 ' To walk the dim unknown : 
 
 The yet untrodden futui'e 
 Is in Thy hands alone ; 
 And be it sun or shadow, 
 Eough waves or smiling sea, 
 A garden or a desert, 
 The Lord shall choose for me. 
 
 If up the stony mountain 
 
 My painful pathway he. 
 
 Or through the darksome valley, 
 
 1 dare not question why. 
 
 The fields may lose their verdui'e. 
 And leafless rise the tree ; 
 All things are ordered wisely : 
 The Lord shall choose for me. 
 
 If in deep shades I wander. 
 Where clouds ob'scure the sun, 
 And flow no streams of comfort. 
 Thy perfect will be done : 
 AVhat now appeareth dimly 
 I soon shall fully see, 
 Where God's own glory shineth ; 
 The Lord shaU choose for me. 
 
 And when the cord of silver 
 
 At last shall loose its hold. 
 
 And in the strife is broken 
 
 The mystic bowl of gold ; 
 
 When loving friends are watching, 
 
 And earthly shadows flee ; 
 
 As heaven's first beams are breaking, 
 
 The Lord shall choose for me. 
 
 XVIII. BENEATH THE LEAFY BEANCHES. 
 
 " Bat thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and 
 when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is 
 in secret ; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall re- 
 ward thee openly." — Matthew vi. 0. 
 
 BENEATH the leafy branches 
 With hues of evening drest, 
 I seek my silent closet 
 Where Nature is at rest. 
 The sighing winds shall strengthen 
 The ardour of my prayer. 
 While pensive forest murmurs 
 Fill up the summer air. 
 
 Drip, drip, the faUing waters 
 Upon the pebbly shore ; 
 Folded in evening's curtain 
 Now let me shut the door. 
 And pray to Him who dwelleth 
 High in the secret place, 
 Who openly rewardeth 
 The seeker of His face. 
 
 He loved the sUent mountain 
 When stars were on the deep, 
 And there the precious Saviour 
 Would oft His vigil keep ; 
 And now His cheering presence 
 Is eveiywhere made known, 
 Each coppice is a closet. 
 Each crag an altar-stone. 
 
 The mighty murmtUTug forest. 
 The fields with flowerets fair. 
 The gi-een well- watered valleys, 
 Ai-e all perfumed with prayer. 
 Tlie universe is hallowed 
 Wherever man may trace. 
 And hangs o'er aU creation 
 The mystery of His grace. 
 
 Within my quiet chamber. 
 Out on the lonely hill. 
 Where honeysuckles clamber 
 Beside the village mUl,
 
 198 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 Wliere busy feet are passing, 
 lu Zion's palmy shade, 
 On land, or on the ocean, 
 My closet can be made. 
 
 Thus kneel I here where roses 
 Are bending o'er my brow : 
 Almighty Eesiu-reetion, 
 Lift up my spu'it now ; 
 Clothe me in holy vestments 
 From the celestial plains, 
 And fill this leafy arbour 
 ^Vith high seraphic strains. 
 
 XIX. THE DAY DEPARTS, THE SUNBEAMS 
 
 FLEE. 
 
 " Wait on the Lord 
 strengthen thine heart 
 xxvii. 14. 
 
 ; be of good courage, and He shall 
 ■svait, I say, on the Lord."— Psalm 
 
 THE day departs, the sunbeams flee, 
 Yet wait we here, Lord, for Thee ; 
 The dew falls fast on flower and spray, 
 Yet shall om- courage not give way ; 
 He will all needful grace impart, 
 And cheer the earnest seeker's heart. 
 
 No matter where our prayer may rise, 
 'Neath temple-roof or spreading skies, 
 In evei-y place the Lord is near, 
 To mark the sigh and see the tear, 
 To make the woimded spirit whole, 
 And renovate the waiting soul. 
 
 We need no words from sin to flee, 
 We need no words to come to Thee ; 
 The silent soitow of the soul. 
 The sigh that Christ may make us whole, 
 The waiting heart, the fond desire. 
 Will bring the peace our minds require. 
 
 Thus do we here in silence bow ; 
 O blessed Spirit, hear us now ! 
 Down at Thy feet we lowly Ue, 
 And wait for Him who passeth by, 
 Whose love can cheer the weakest heart, 
 Assured that He will strength impart. 
 
 XX. TAKE MY HAND : THE WAY IS STEEP. 
 " Thou hast holdenmebymyrighthand." — Psalm lxxiii.23. 
 
 TAKE my hand : the way is steep. 
 And the mire is dark and deep. 
 O, I know not where to tread ; 
 Clouds are gathering over head. 
 Do not let my footsteps stray : 
 Dearest Father, lead the way. 
 
 Take my hand : my faith is weak : 
 Let me hear Thee inly speak. 
 
 May my spirit drink again 
 Balm from Gilead's palmy plain : 
 Now divinest strength impart : 
 Dearest Saviour, cheer my heart. 
 
 Take my hand : the waters roar, 
 Breaking on the barren shore ; 
 Shake the branches on the hill : 
 Jesus, whisper, " Peace, be still." 
 Light of Life, break forth at length. 
 Calm the ocean's raging strength. 
 
 Take my hand : on Thee I rest ; 
 Where Thou leadest it is best : 
 Whether it be foul or fair, 
 Whether it be bleak or bare. 
 Over waste or fragrant dell, 
 Where Thou leadest, all is well. 
 
 XXI. THOUGHTS CROWD THE SPIRIT'S 
 PORTAL. 
 
 In the multitude of my thoughts within me Thy comforts 
 delight my soul." — Psalm xciv. 19. 
 
 THOUGHTS crowd the spirit's portal 
 Of sad or gentler mood. 
 In dayHght and in darkness, 
 An endless multitude : 
 When rise the summer vespers, 
 When falls the chilling snow, 
 Forth on their mj^stic mission 
 In silent ranks they go. 
 
 They come with looks of sadness, 
 They smile with faces bright ; 
 Some wear the weeds of mourning, 
 And some are clothed in light ; 
 Some have the hues of Mammon, 
 And some display the tear. 
 With meekness in their features 
 And gentleness and fear. 
 
 Some bear a worldly burden, 
 Some seek a lowly place, 
 Some wander mid the shadows, 
 And some are fraught with grace. 
 Yet in this mighty army 
 How very few there be 
 Which bear upon their banners 
 Remembrances of Thee ! 
 
 Amid this busy legion. 
 Close-marshalled on my way, 
 This wasting war of silence, 
 Thy comforts are my staj'' : 
 Thy promise is the pillar 
 Which gutters in the gloom, 
 The everlasting beacon 
 To Hght me through the tomb. 
 
 How precious are Thy comforts 
 Which flow on wings Divine, 
 In morning's balmy breezes. 
 Or at the eve's decline !
 
 WHEN THUNDERS SHAKE THE CITY. 
 
 199 
 
 O come, restovinj? Spirit ! 
 The wounded heart make whole 
 And may the Saviom-'s presence 
 Delight iny waiting soul ! 
 
 XXII. LOWLY LET ME EVER LIE. 
 
 " Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak."- 
 James i. 19. 
 
 LOWLY let me ever lie 
 At the feet of the Most High, 
 In the valley take my place, 
 Learning lessons of His grace, 
 His unerring guidance seek, 
 Swift to hear and slow to speak. 
 
 As I calmly onward go 
 
 Through this changeful scene below, 
 
 May I ever strive to be 
 
 Prized when most it pleaseth Thee ; 
 
 Only strong when I am weak. 
 
 Swift to hear and slow to speak. 
 
 Seek I here my Saviour's aid 
 In the lowly valley's shade, 
 Overhung with Gospel vines. 
 Where Humility reclines. 
 Underneath the pointed peak, 
 Swift to hear and slow to speak. 
 
 Thus may I piu-sue my race, 
 Thankful for the lowest place ; 
 Though the world may pass me by, 
 In the valley let me lie ; 
 Ever prayerful, ever meek, 
 Swift to hear and slow to speak. 
 
 XXIII. THOU ART OUR SUN, DEAR SAVIOUR. 
 
 " For the Lord God is a sun and shield : the Lord will 
 give grace and glory : no good thing will He withhold from 
 them that walk uprightly." — Psalm Ixxxiv. 11. 
 
 THOU art om- sim, dear Saviour, 
 To Hght us on our way ; 
 The shield of our protection 
 In every trial-day. 
 How sweet to feel Thy favour 
 For evermore the same ! 
 Thou wilt give grace and glory 
 To all who love Thy name : 
 
 Grace in this lower region, 
 
 Where oft Thy people sigh, 
 Weighed down with tribulation ; 
 And glory in the sky. 
 O glory which excelleth ! 
 O brightness without stain, 
 Which man cannot imagine 
 Nor angel-mind explain I 
 
 Grace in the hour of trial ; 
 
 Grace when the heavens are bowed, 
 
 And the far sky of comfort 
 
 Is hidden in a cloud ; 
 
 Grace when the spirit faileth ; 
 
 Grace when the foe is near ; 
 
 And glory everlasting 
 
 Where never falls the tear. 
 
 To those that walk uprightly 
 The promise is not slack : 
 No blessing Thou withholdest. 
 No good thing shall they lack. 
 Thou wilt give grace and glory 
 Wliich cannot be expressed, 
 The splendour of the city, 
 The beauty of the blest. 
 
 Thus rest we on Thy promise, 
 Our sm-e unfailing stay, 
 Which ever moi'e upholdeth. 
 And never can give way. 
 Do with us as Thou jileasest ; 
 Wliate'er Thy will may be, 
 Thou wilt give grace and glory : 
 We leave it all with Thee. 
 
 XXIV. WHEN THUNDERS SHAKE THE CITY. 
 " I will bless the Lord at all times." — Psalm xxxiv. 1. 
 
 WHEN thunders shake the city. 
 When tempests smite the sea. 
 When torrents sweep the valleys. 
 And winds uproot the tree. 
 When earth is wrapped in shadow, 
 Throiigh which the lightnings flame, 
 Amid the great commotion 
 Still let me bless Thy name. 
 
 And when the spirit droopeth 
 For lack of heavenly rain, 
 And tribulations thicken 
 Upon the barren plain ; 
 When sorrow leaves me lonely, 
 And sickness bows my frame, 
 Amid forsaken fi'iendshi]is. 
 Still let me bless Thy name. 
 
 And when the harvest faileth, 
 And there is no supply 
 To meet the stricken reaper, 
 And all the wells are diy ; 
 When poverty approacheth 
 And want assails the frame, 
 teach my heart submission ; 
 Still let me bless Thy name. 
 
 Sit with me, Great Refiner, 
 
 And watch beside the clay : v 
 
 purify my spirit. 
 
 And take the dross away. 
 
 May I be trustful ever, 
 
 Irf hfe and death the same ; 
 
 And whether sun or shadow, 
 
 Still let me bless Thy name.
 
 200 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 XXV. WHERE SIL\LL WE FLY FOR SUCCOUR? 
 
 "Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of 
 eternal life." — John vi. 68. 
 
 WHERE shall we fly for succour 
 But to the Prince Divine, 
 Whose word is life eternal, 
 The ever-hving Vine ? 
 Thou art the sinner's refuge, 
 Our only hope and stay ; 
 O none but Chi-ist the Savioiu' 
 Can take our sins a\^y ! 
 
 The name of Jesus only 
 Is to the guUty given, 
 To guide us o'er the desert. 
 And bring us home to heaven. 
 O precious, precious Saviour, 
 We at Thy footstool fall, 
 And worship Th^e in spirit. 
 Our Advocate, our AIL 
 
 With Thee is present pardon 
 For all our /sinful race ; 
 Ihy boundless lovingkindness 
 Doth all the world embrace. 
 The voice of Jesus pleadeth, 
 He waiteth to forgive : 
 O wonderful compassion ! 
 The worst may turn and live. 
 
 How sweet these heavenly tidings 
 To hearts oppressed with care ! 
 How precious round Thine altar 
 To kneel in praise and prayer ! 
 The kingdom of the Blessed, 
 Foretold so long ago, 
 Through mystic type and shadow, 
 Abides with man below. 
 
 Be with us on our journey. 
 To guide us in the way : 
 O do not let us wander ! 
 O do not let us stray ! 
 Till, crossed the rolhug river. 
 We cease our earthly race. 
 And on the mount of glory 
 Behold Thee face to face. 
 
 XXVI. PRINCE OF PRINCES, GIVE US GRACE. 
 
 " And let us run with patience the race that is set before 
 us, looking unto Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our 
 faith." — Hebeewb xii. 1, 2. 
 
 PEiNCE of princes, give us grace 
 To pui-sue the heavenly race, 
 Never in our duties slack. 
 Never, never looking back. 
 Life and all things to resign, 
 Striving for the faith Divine. 
 
 Grant us patience day by day, 
 Step by step along our way : 
 Guided may we ever be 
 In the path marked out by Thee : 
 From oiu" fears and doubtings cease, 
 Striving after perfect peace. 
 
 Lead us on through pastures new, 
 With the Prince of Life in view. 
 He the Author, He the End, 
 Jesus Christ the sinner's Friend ; 
 Who will give us here His love. 
 And' the rest of heaven above. 
 
 Lift we now om- anxious eyes 
 To the Ruler of the skies : 
 O descend om- souls to bless. 
 Clothe us with Thy righteousness. 
 Let Thy power on us be shown. 
 Then transport us to Thy tlirone. 
 
 XXVII. SEEK WHEN THE 
 FRESHEST. 
 
 FLOWER IS 
 
 " But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteous- 
 ness ; and all these things shall be added unto you." — 
 Matthew vi. 33. 
 
 SEEK when the flower is freshest. 
 Seek when the morn is young ; 
 Seek when the shining dewdrops 
 Upon the boughs are strung ; 
 Seek when the heart is tender, 
 Seek when the world is fair ; 
 Seek in the early dawning : 
 Bow down to Him in j)rayer. 
 
 He loves the opening blossoms 
 Which April siuis awake ; 
 He loves the smallest effort 
 Put forih for Zion's sake ; 
 He loves the first fair fruitage 
 On Reason's sacred tree : 
 Seek first the Saviom-'s kingdom. 
 And all is well with thee. 
 
 Seek first this heavenly blessing 
 Of holiness and peace. 
 The righteousness of Jesus 
 Whence pm*e dehghts increase ; 
 And favour shall be added. 
 The bountiful, the free, 
 From His eternal storehouse, 
 Whate'er is best for thee. 
 
 O leave it to His choosing, 
 
 Whatever is thy lot ; 
 
 It were not well possessing 
 
 The idols of thy thought. 
 
 In this thou wouldst be erring; 
 
 Tlien let it calm thy breast, 
 
 That in thy daily travel 
 
 He knoweth what is best. 
 
 All needful things are promised 
 To those who seek His iove, —
 
 THERE IS NO FRIEND LIKE JESUS. 
 
 201 
 
 His presence on their joiirney, 
 And purer joys above. 
 Seek first Messiah's kingdom, 
 The mighty Prince Divine, 
 Whose love all love escellcth ; 
 And everything is thine. 
 
 XXVIII. ASK WHEN THE WATER EISETH. 
 
 "Ask, and it shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall find; 
 knock, and it shall be opened unto you : . . For every one 
 that asketh receiveth ; and he that seeketh fiudetb ; and to 
 him that knocketh it shaU be opened." — JIattuew vii. 7, 8. 
 
 ASK when the v?ater riseth, 
 Seek when the sunbeams flee, 
 Knock when the tears are falling, 
 And Christ shaU answer thee : 
 For every one that seeketh 
 With all his heart, shall find 
 The ever-blessed Saviom*, 
 The Friend of human kind. 
 
 How positive the promise 
 The Holy Spirit gives ! 
 The poor awakened sinner 
 Repents, beheves, and lives. 
 The face of Natui-e changes ; 
 The darkness flies away"; 
 And gladdened hill and valley 
 Bathe in the beams of day. 
 
 Ask, and the cloixds shall vanish. 
 Bright sunlight fill the sky ; 
 Seek, and the vine shall floui-ish, 
 Although the land is dry ; 
 Knock, and the door of mercy 
 Shall open at the soiind ; 
 For every one that striveth 
 Shall walk on holy ground. 
 
 He shall remove the hardness. 
 The stupor of the soul ; 
 The precious balm of Gilead 
 Shall make the wounded whole. 
 Again we bow in spuit 
 Before the Great Unseen, 
 Behoving that the fountain 
 Can wash the foulest clean. 
 
 We need no more, dear Sa\dcm', 
 Here is enough for all : 
 O may we seek Thy favour, 
 And listen to Thy call; 
 Embrace with deep contrition 
 What Thou dost freely give 
 To every one that thirsteth ; 
 Pray earnestly, and live. 
 
 XXIX. O COME, MY SAVIOUR, BRING ME 
 
 LIGHT ! 
 
 " He giveth power to the faint ; and to them that have 
 no might He increaseth strength." — Isaiah xl. 2'J. 
 
 
 
 COME, my Sa^'ioul•, biing me light ; 
 To-day Thou see'st I have no might ; 
 
 D D 
 
 My strength is gone, my hands hang down, 
 And tears shut out the conrpieror's crown. 
 My faith is small, my foes are strong : 
 
 Saviour ! do not tarry long, 
 
 1 plead Thy sovereign saving grace, 
 Vouchsafed to me and all my race. 
 Whoever humbly asks Tliine aid 
 Sliall feel fThy healing power displayed ; 
 Tlie weak shall walk, the low shall rise, 
 The feeble enter Paradise. 
 
 From babes in Christ shall praises rise 
 Whicli will confound the great and wise ; 
 Tlie faint Thy favour shall enjoy. 
 The widow's heart shall sing for joy. 
 The drooping pilgi-im strength obtain. 
 Refreshed anew with heavenly rain. 
 
 Enoiigh, enough ! The weak shall be 
 Restored to perfect power by Thee. 
 I'll take the grace Thou hast bestowed, 
 And travel on my homeward road. 
 Although through faintness and through fear 
 My Jesus will be ever near. 
 
 XXX. THERE IS NO FRIEND LIKE JESUS. 
 " If God be for us, who can be against us?"— Eojiaxs viii. 31. 
 
 THEKE is no friend like Jesus, 
 Whose own ann sets us free : 
 If heaven's high King is for us, 
 Who can against us be ? 
 Om- foes may rise in armies. 
 Like giants fierce and tall. 
 In overwhelming numbers : 
 His breath shall quench them all. 
 
 If God, the great Creator, 
 The everlasting Light, 
 Uphold us in the conflict, 
 Support us in the fight. 
 What foe shall dare withstand us 
 In travelling to the skies ? 
 In spite of wan-ing legions 
 Om* faith shall win the prize. 
 
 He who in wondrous pity 
 Restored us from the fall 
 By His dear Son om- Saviom-, 
 Will sm-ely give us all. 
 Tlie riches of His gloiy 
 No hiunan thoiight can reach. 
 Nor highest angel utter. 
 Nor bm-ning seraph teach. 
 
 Then let all doubt be scattered 
 Before His rising ray : 
 All hail the true Messiah ! 
 Bi-ing in the perfect day. 
 When lamb and lion fondle. 
 Where cruelty shall cease. 
 Within the floweiy valleys 
 Of everlasting peace.
 
 202 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 THE KING IS COME, FOEETOLD SO 
 LONG. 
 
 " For nuto you is born this day in the city of David a 
 
 Saviour, which is Ohrist the Lord Glory to God in the 
 
 highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." — 
 Like ii. 11, 14. 
 
 THE King is come, foretold so long : 
 The earth is now one strain of song : 
 O'er town and tower the biUows swell, 
 O'er mead and moor, o'er down and dell : 
 The wilds rejoice, in gloiy clad, 
 And every mountain-top is glad. 
 
 Behold Him in a manger laid : 
 The star appears in heaven's high glade : 
 The shepherds hear the angelic strain. 
 And leave their flocks upon the plain ; 
 "WTiile overhead bright seraphs sing 
 In honour of oixr Saviour King. 
 
 O precious, precious guiding Star, 
 "Which cheers the sinner's ej"e afar, 
 And lights us through the deeps of time 
 To regions holy and sublime ! 
 O may we oui* best offerings bring 
 In honour of our Saviour King ! 
 
 Still swells the song through every sky, 
 " All glory be to God on liigh ! 
 Good •will to men : fi'om shore to shore 
 Let peace prevail for evermore." 
 And rivers roll and forests ring 
 In honom- of om- Saviom- King. 
 
 Then let all hearts rejoice to-day 
 In every cot and castle gi'ey : 
 The Prince has left His holy place, 
 To ransom all our fallen race. 
 Piojoice, rejoice : let natui-e ring 
 In honour of our Saviom- King. 
 
 XXXII. HOW OFTEN ON OUR JOUENEY. 
 
 " Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the 
 morning." — Psalm xxx, 5. 
 
 How often on our journey 
 The silent tear will fall ! 
 A measm-ed sum of sorrow 
 Is portioned out to all. 
 The indigent, the wealthy, 
 The sick man in his room, 
 Tlie widow, and the orphan, 
 Have all their share of gloom. 
 
 The night of dark contrition, 
 Of penitence and prayer. 
 For so much sin committed 
 "With Lifted aim and bare 
 Against the loving Father, 
 Whose hand upholds the whole, 
 Will bring a joyous morning 
 Of beauty to the soul. 
 
 A life of inward striving 
 Till worldly walking cease, 
 With much of triltulation, 
 But in the Saviour peace. 
 A night of solemn weeping, 
 Of battle and annoy 
 From foemen in the darkness, 
 And then the morning joy ; 
 
 The melting of the vapours 
 The glistening peaks above, 
 The sound of angel-harpers 
 Upon the shores of love. 
 The sea of flaming crystal, 
 The seraph's soaring wing, 
 The anthems of the holy. 
 The glory of the King. 
 
 Then let us wipe our eyelids. 
 And lift our hearts on high ; 
 The golden morning breaketh, 
 Its tints are on the sky, 
 When sin and sorrow vanished 
 Shall cloud the earth no more, 
 And Christ's abiding kingdom 
 Extend from shore to shore. 
 
 XXXIII. PUESUE THY WAY WITH 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 " But go thou thy way till the end be : for thou shalt 
 rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days." — 
 Daniel xii. 13. 
 
 PURSUE thy way with patience, 
 Whate'er thy lot may be : 
 Throughout thy earthly journey 
 Thy God shall choose for thee. 
 The Lord is thy protector, 
 He knoweth what is best : 
 O leave it all with Jesus, 
 And heaven shall be thy rest. 
 
 How rapidly approacheth 
 The end of all things here ! 
 With Jesus for thy leader 
 Thou hast no cause to fear : 
 He strengthens the believer 
 To walk His blessed ways. 
 So that with joy he standeth 
 At the full end of days. 
 
 Pursue thy way wit;h meekness, 
 And nothing shalt' thou lack : 
 Heed not the false deceiver 
 Who strives to turn thee back. 
 Thy crown is with thy Captain : 
 O give Him perfect i^raise ! 
 He shall reward His servant 
 At the full end of days. 
 
 Then rest upon His promise ; 
 With God's own truth comply ; 
 Gird on the Gospel armour ; 
 Jehovah cannot lie.
 
 THIS IS THE LAND OF PARTING. 
 
 203 
 
 The oarth, the heavens shall vauish, 
 In one consuming blaze ; 
 I^ut in thy lot thou standest 
 At the full end of daj^s. 
 
 Go on thy way believing 
 Towards the heavenly goal, 
 And In'gher revelations 
 Shall beautify thy soul ; 
 Till mid the trees of Eden — 
 Wliero Israel's prophets sing, 
 And martyrs chant their story — 
 Thou walkest with thy King. 
 
 XXXIV. WHETHER MY BURDEN PRESSES. 
 
 " In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct 
 thy paths." — Pkoveebs iii. G. 
 
 WHETHER my burden presses, 
 Whether my load be light, 
 Whether I sigh in secret. 
 Or journey on through night ; 
 Whether my conflicts thicken. 
 Whether the shadows flee. 
 In barrenness or verdure. 
 May I acknowledge Thee ! 
 
 In tilings of smallest measure. 
 In deeds of higher grade, 
 In all my daily duties. 
 In travel and in trade. 
 In lying down, in rising. 
 Whether engaged or free, 
 In thne, in holy talent, 
 May I acknowledge Thee ! 
 
 In winter, spring, in summer. 
 And when the leaves are drj" ; 
 When painful disappointment 
 Brings tears into mine eye ; 
 In health, in solemn sickness. 
 Thy goodness may I see. 
 In life, in death, for ever 
 Acknowledge only Thee ! 
 
 How like a star the promise 
 Shines with unfailing ray ! 
 Along the lonely desert 
 The Lord shall mark my way. 
 If Him my heart acknowledge, 
 Direction will be given, 
 So that my path shall issue 
 In holiness and heaven. 
 
 O help me. Prince eternal. 
 To follow Thy command, 
 To seek in each condition 
 The guidance of Thy hand. 
 Whate'er Thy mercy orders 
 For ever be my guest. 
 Till in the groves of glory 
 My happy spii'it rest. 
 
 XXXV. HIDE NOT THY FACE, DEAR 
 SAVIOUR. 
 
 " Though He slay me, yet will Itrust in Him." — JoBxiii. 15. 
 
 HIDE not Thy face, dear Saviour ; 
 1 fall before Thee now : 
 The tears are on my eyehds, 
 A cloud is on my brow : 
 ]\Iy hands to Thee are lifted, 
 My heart to Thee I raise : 
 O come and cheer my spirit. 
 And let me sound Thy praise. 
 
 help me, holy Jesus, 
 Out of myself to flee ; 
 So utterly unworthy 
 To lift mine eyes to Thee ; 
 So very, very sinful ; 
 So apt to turn asti-ay 
 Amid forbidden pastures. 
 And leave the narrow way. 
 
 O heed a sinner's sorrow. 
 Whose feet are in the dust : 
 Come quickly, dear Redeemer : 
 In Thee is all my trust. 
 Lift up the feeble-minded : 
 O draw my thoughts above, 
 And let me feel Thy favom-, 
 And take me to Thy love. 
 
 Although Thine axe descending 
 Should smite the barren tree, 
 And slay me iu Thine anger. 
 Yet wiU I trust in Thee. 
 Yet will I cling to Jesus 
 Amid the anxious fight, 
 Although it waxeth hotter 
 In darkness and in hght. 
 
 Thy love no tongue explaineth 
 Which man and angel drink : 
 no, Thou wilt not suffer 
 My fainting soul to sink. 
 In Thee the grave is conquered. 
 And Death has lost his sting : 
 None other name but Jesus, 
 My Saviom- and my Iving. 
 
 XXXVI. THIS IS THE LAND OF PARTING. 
 
 "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the 
 Lord will take me up." — Psalm xxvii. 10. 
 
 THIS is the land of parting ; 
 We go fi'om whence we came ; 
 Dust unto dust returneth ; 
 But Jesus is the same. 
 The hills shall leave their places. 
 The sea forsake its shore ; 
 But Jesus Christ the Saviour 
 Renaains for evermore. 
 
 2 D 2
 
 204 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 How oft our kindred leave us, 
 And vanish from oiu" track 
 Over the world's wide surface, 
 And never more come back ! 
 Near fiiends, too, may deceive us, 
 So that we suffer blame, 
 And sicch amou<? the thickets ; 
 But Jesus is the same. 
 
 And now He loves as truly, 
 
 His mercy is as free, 
 
 As when He fully pardoned 
 
 The pool' of Gahlee : 
 
 His heart is still as tender 
 
 As when from heaven He came 
 
 To rescue us from dai'kness : 
 
 O ! Jesus is the same. 
 
 How are His people strengtheneel 
 To take the painful cup 1 
 If father, mother, leave us, 
 The Lord will take us up ; 
 Will feed us at His table, 
 "Will give us home and rest 
 Within His holy mansion, 
 The palace of the blest. 
 
 Then let us labour onward 
 Till time and toil are done. 
 And bear the cross with patience 
 Until the crown is won, 
 And in the land of prophets 
 With angels we repose, 
 Amid the trees of beauty, 
 The ohve and the rose. 
 
 None but the King Almighty; 
 None but the Great, the Wise, 
 Whose mercy never faileth ; 
 speak, and these shall rise. 
 
 Ye four winds, leave your chambers, 
 Waft on the Breath Divine, 
 And in the gloomy valley 
 The Light of Life shall shine ; 
 The song of deep thanksgiving 
 Arise from hearts forgiven ; 
 And earth possess a measure 
 Of purity and heaven. 
 
 The distant reeds are shaking. 
 The joyous pines are stu-red ; 
 ^he Holy Spuit cometh. 
 The prostrate bones have heard. 
 They rise a living army. 
 The Breath has set them free, 
 And Christ receives due homage 
 On every land and sea. 
 
 XXXVII. THE SLAIN AEE IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 " Come from the four winds, Breath, and breathe upon 
 these slain, that they may live."— Ezekiel xxxvii. 9. 
 
 THE slain are in the valley, 
 Diy bones and nothing more ; 
 O they are very many : 
 Who can this host restore ? 
 How thickly are they lying 
 Upon the open plain, 
 A sadly-silent army, 
 Whitened with sun and rain ! 
 
 A melancholy mmrmur 
 Arises on the air : 
 The mother and the maiden. 
 The old and young are there ; 
 The ignorant, the scholar. 
 The wealthy, and the poor. 
 The monarch and his people. 
 Are bleaching on the floor. 
 
 Who can this mass awaken ? 
 Who the free unction give ; 
 Eeanimate the carcase, 
 And bid the di-y bones live ? 
 
 XXXVIII. IN THE SAD RAIN FALLS A SOUND. 
 " We spend our years as a tale that is told." — Psalm xc. 9. 
 
 IN the sad rain falls a sound, 
 Echoing o'er the gloomy groxind, 
 Sobbing on by hearth and home, 
 RolHng in the river's foam. 
 Smiting through the dark my brow : 
 'Tis the Old Year dying now. 
 
 Like a tale when fires are bright, 
 Like a meteor of the night, 
 Like an arrow swift and strong, 
 Like the twilight's solemn song. 
 Like the blossom on the bough — 
 So the Old Year dieth now. 
 
 renew me with Thy grace ; 
 Quicken, Lord, my sluggish pace ; 
 
 Let me see my Father's hand, , 
 
 Follow Thy Divine command, 
 Firmer grasp the Gospel plough — 
 As the Old Year dieth now. 
 
 Looking back as on I go, 
 
 1 have much to lay me low, 
 Much to rouse my anxious fears, 
 Much to humble me in tears ; 
 Sorrowing at Thy feet I bow. 
 As the Old Year dieth now. 
 
 Shouldst Thou grant me future days, 
 May I spend them to Thy praise ; 
 More obedient let me be, 
 Ever learning more of Thee. 
 O acce2:)t my solemn vow, 
 As the Old Year dieth now.
 
 TO THY COURTS, O LORD, I FLEE. 
 
 205 
 
 XXXIX. IN A CLBIE OF FLOWERS I 
 STllAYED. 
 
 "Before I was afllicted I went astray: but now have I 
 kept Thy word." — Psalm cxix. 07. 
 
 IN a clime of flowers I strayed, 
 Roses liung in every glade, 
 Health by crystal fountains lay. 
 Song arose from mead and spray, 
 Sunshine glimmered through the trees, 
 Beauty carolled on the breeze. 
 
 But amid those pleasant things, 
 Flower and song and water springs, 
 Health and friendship's holy ray, 
 I had wandered far astray, 
 Heeding not my Father's love, 
 Liftmg not my heart above. 
 
 Came a dark mist o'er the scene, 
 Hiding mount and meadow green. 
 Rolling up in awful bars, 
 Shutting out the sun and stars, 
 Stretching over sea and shore, 
 And the earth was fan- no more. 
 
 Felt I then how I had erred ; 
 Turned towards the living "Word ; 
 Sought a refuge from my woes, 
 Till the Sun of Love arose, 
 And my prisoned soul was free : 
 Thus these ills were good for me. 
 
 Saviour, hear a suppliant pray, 
 Guide me in the narrow way ; 
 Where Thou leadest it is best ; 
 Cheer me with the thought of rest ; 
 Till I gain the upper shore. 
 And my tent is struck no more. 
 
 XL. ALL NIGHT UPON THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 " And it came to pass in those days, that He went out 
 into a mountain to pray, and contimied all night in prayer 
 to God." — LuKK vi. 12. 
 
 ALL night upon the mountain 
 Where dews and damp airs be ; 
 Within Judea's dwellings 
 There is no room for Thee. 
 Although the world's gi'eat Maker, 
 Thy night companions now 
 Are beasts that leave the thicket, 
 Or bu'ds upon the bough. 
 
 All night upon the mountain, 
 The great sky overhead. 
 And burning constellations 
 Along the wide heavens spread ; 
 While rivers hurry onward 
 Through dells of deep renown ; 
 And o'er the mighty cedars 
 The cold moon looketh down. 
 
 All night upon the mountain, 
 Alone with God in prayer. 
 While wings of lofty seraphs 
 Sweep through the silent an- ; 
 Here clearer visions gladden, 
 Apart from mortal strife. 
 And we are neai'cr heaven 
 Than in the shock of hfe. 
 
 All night upon the mountain ; 
 
 Yes, it is even so : 
 
 How often in the darkness 
 
 I utter forth my woe ! 
 
 But soon the morning dawneth, 
 
 And daylight comes. Behold, 
 
 The glowing eastern portals 
 
 Lift up theii- bars of gold ! 
 
 Enough that feeble servants 
 Should as theh* Master be : 
 If sorrow smote my Saviour, 
 It surely comes to me. 
 Ah ! He who had no dwelling, 
 No settled place of rest, 
 Will raise the lowly-hearted, 
 And succour the distressed. 
 
 XLI. TO THY COURTS, LORD, I FLEE. 
 "According to your faith be it unto you." — Matthew ix. 29. 
 
 To Thy com-ts, O Lord, I flee. 
 One great good to crave of Thee, 
 One great favom* to request ; 
 Saviour, now Thy love attest ; 
 Grant in answer to my call 
 Faith, the greatest gift of all. 
 
 Do not leave me in my woe ; 
 
 Thou art all I have below ; * 
 
 I have none in heaven but Thee ; 
 
 Manifest Thy love to me : 
 
 Grant in answer to my call 
 
 Faith, the gi'eatest gift of all. 
 
 As my trust on Thee is stayed. 
 So Thy power shall be displayed, 
 So the bitter springs shall cease. 
 So my hfe of love increase : 
 Grant in answer to my call 
 Faith, the greatest gift of all. 
 
 Having this, I need no more ; 
 Barrenness shall then be o'er ; 
 Fiaiit shall floui-ish, fair to see. 
 Clustered on the goodly tree: 
 Grant in answer to my call 
 Faith, the greatest gift of all. 
 
 This the bow which spans the gloom. 
 Cheers the jjathway to the tomb, 
 Gilds with light the lower shore, 
 Opens heaven for evermore : 
 Grant in answer to my call 
 Faith, the gi-eatest gift of all.
 
 206 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 XLII. AGAIN I WALK IN DAEKNESS. 
 
 "Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth 
 the voice of His servant, that walketh in darkness, and 
 hath no light ? let him trust in the name of the Lord, and 
 Btay upon his God."— Isaiah 1. 10. 
 
 AGAIN I walk in darkness, 
 A mist is on my sight, 
 High hills shut out the Saviom- : 
 "When shall I see the light '? 
 O Thou in heaven that dwellest, 
 With glory on Thy brow, 
 Alone in kingly greatness, 
 bhine on my spirit now ! 
 
 Shine on this vale of shadows, 
 Shine on the mist of sin ; 
 let the beams of beauty 
 With heaHng power break in ! 
 So shall the clouds be scattered, 
 So shall the darkness flee. 
 And li^•iug sunlight gladden 
 The soul in Jesus free. 
 
 Where'er Thy Spirit worketh 
 He brings eternal day ; 
 The goodly fir shaU flom-ish, 
 The thorn shall pass away. 
 Along the moral desert. 
 O'er all the ban-en ground, 
 Shall fi'uits of love and mercy 
 And hoLLness be found. 
 
 what a sign unfailing 
 Of the Messiah's sway, 
 T\Tiich evermore remaineth 
 Till sin is past away ! 
 Break in upon my spuit 
 From pm-er skies above, 
 And let me feel Thy presence, 
 
 Sim of perfect love. 
 
 1 would believe Thy promise, 
 And rest upon the rod, 
 Wait patiently before Thee, 
 And stay me on my God. 
 
 I dare not doubt Thy wisdom, 
 Thou knowest what is best. 
 O, after sterner conflict, 
 The luxury of rest ! 
 
 XLIII. ALL HAIL THE LIVING SAVIOUE ! 
 
 " Fear not ; I am the First and the Last : I am He that 
 liveth, and was dead ; and, behold, I am alive for ever- 
 more, Amen ; and have the keys of hell and of death." — 
 Eevelation i. 17, 18. 
 
 ALL hail the living Saviour, 
 The Christ who intercedes ! 
 He ever for His people 
 Before His Father pleads. 
 
 The tomb has lost its tenant, 
 The reign of Death is o'er, 
 And Christ the Saviour liveth 
 For ever, evermore. 
 
 The silent gates which open 
 Within the ixuseen land, 
 His eye for ever watcheth ; 
 The keys are in His hand ; 
 And not a footfall stealeth 
 Along this mighty shade 
 Without His full permission 
 By whom the worlds were made. 
 
 How oft, when trouble presses. 
 How oft, when hope is strong, 
 When roses kiss the lattice. 
 And home is rich with song. 
 When earthly props are brokeu, 
 When worldly comforts flee, 
 The blessed Saviom- sayeth, 
 " Fear not ; lo, I am He ! 
 
 "I am the Eesurrection, 
 
 The entrance to the sky : 
 
 Whoso in Me believeth 
 
 Shall never, never die. 
 
 I suffered but to conquer 
 
 The latest foe for thee, 
 
 And pm-chase heavenly treasure ; 
 
 Fear not ; lo, I am He." 
 
 And onward swell the tidings 
 Along their course sublime. 
 To cheer the true believer 
 Until the end of time. 
 O marvellous Beginning ! 
 O all-absorbing End ! 
 AU hail the living Saviour, 
 Om- interceding Friend ! 
 
 XLIV. A GLOEY ON MOUNT TABOE. 
 
 And they feared as they entered into the cloud."- 
 LuKE ix. 34. 
 
 A GLORY on Mount Tabor, 
 A mist of dazzhng light ! 
 A splendour which surpasseth, 
 Too gi-and for mortal sight ; 
 The halo of the Highest, 
 The shining rifts between ; 
 A wondrous upper brightness 
 The world has never seen. 
 
 O, Christ the Sa-dour prayeth, 
 iVliile breezes round Him blow ; 
 His countenance is altered, 
 His raiment white as snow. 
 Mid Moses and Elias 
 A voice of pleasant cheer : 
 " Divine and loving Master, 
 'Tis good to meet Thee here."
 
 OFT WHERE SHINES NO SUN OR STAR. 
 
 207 
 
 And tlien the ftlory vanisberl, 
 The (Ireatlful darkness bowed, 
 And feared His k)ved disciples 
 To enter in the cloud. 
 But Christ was in the shadow ; 
 The awful vault is stiiTed, 
 And in its solemn chambers 
 His lovinpf voice is heard. 
 
 Even now, when trouble gathers, 
 And fears start up within, 
 When gloom hangs o'er the portal. 
 We fear to enter in. 
 But Christ is with His people, 
 To guide them on their way, 
 Until the light of morning 
 Shall end in perfect day. 
 
 Dear Lord, support onr weakness ; 
 If clouds surround the hill, 
 Still help us onward, upward ; 
 For Thou art with us still. 
 Above the storm a rainbow, 
 A voice within the gloom, 
 The presence of Jehovah 
 To light us thi-ough the tomb. 
 
 And wliere grapes in clusters 
 Hang the arches o'er. 
 Oft He sweetly speaketh, 
 " Jesus is the Door. 
 
 " Do not trust a stranger, 
 Hang upon My love : 
 Then eternal glory 
 Shall be yours above, 
 In My Father's mansion, 
 In the land of gold, 
 Where Divine affection 
 Never will grow cold." 
 
 How our eyes are gladdened 
 By Thy kingly crook ! 
 Zion music floatetli 
 From the crystal brook. 
 Rise the sounds of praises 
 From unnumbered strings : 
 Holy, holy, holy 
 Is the King of kings. 
 
 XLV. HOMEWARD, HOMEWARD EVER, 
 
 " And the sheep follow Him : for they know His voice." 
 — John x. 4. 
 
 HOMEWARD, homeward ever, 
 Slowly day by day, 
 Guided by our Shepherd 
 In the narrow way ; 
 Speaks He words of comfort ; 
 On His arm we lean ; 
 In the vale He leadeth 
 Where the fields are gi-een. 
 
 There the living waters 
 Through the flowerets flow, 
 Murmuring songs of Beuhih, 
 Ap we homeward go. 
 Here are healing fountains ; 
 Here are corn and wine, 
 And delicious fruitage 
 From the living Vine. 
 
 Long had we been straying 
 On a toilsome track, 
 Till the loving Saviour 
 Gently called us back, 
 Sapng, " I am Jesus : 
 Endless life I give. 
 If you keep My precepts : 
 Follow Me and live." 
 
 Now we love to travel 
 Where the Shepherd leads, 
 Cheered with pleasant pasture 
 From the fruitful meads ; 
 
 XLVI. OFT WHERE SHINES NO SUN OR STAR. 
 " And Peter followed afar off." — Luke xxii. 54. 
 
 OFT where shines no sun or star. 
 Follow I my Lord afar. 
 Where no voice is near to bless, 
 In a land of ban-enness. 
 More in earnest let me be. 
 Draw my footsteps nearer Thee. 
 
 Why where thorns and thickets are 
 Do i foUow Thee afar ? 
 Where is heard no cheering strain. 
 Come and break the prisoner's chain ; 
 From lukewarmness set me free. 
 Draw my spmt nearer Thee. 
 
 How I fail like him of old, 
 Shivering in the outer cold. 
 Slowly walking day by daj^ 
 AVhere the sun emits no ray ! 
 Lowly let me bend the knee. 
 Draw me, Jesus, nearer Thee. 
 
 How amid Thy trees I stand. 
 Like a shrub upon the sand ; 
 Or the heath upon the rock, 
 Which the angry seasons mock ! 
 May I Thy perfections see ; 
 Draw my weakness nearer Thee. 
 
 Quicken, Lord, my gi'owth in grace, 
 Show me Thj' forgiving face ; 
 Let my footsteps lag no more. 
 Travelling to the sinless shore, 
 Where I shall for ever be. 
 In Thy palace, nearer Thee.
 
 208 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 XLVII. UP, AND DO THY DUTY. 
 
 " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy 
 might." — EccLESiASTKS ix. 10. 
 
 Up, and flo thy duty ; 
 Time brooks no delay : 
 Wait not for a morrow 
 Brighter than to-day. 
 "Wliether cloud or simsliine, 
 To thy Savioiu- cleave, 
 Eost upon His promise, 
 Labom* and believe. 
 
 Day by day advanceth, 
 Night succeedeth ni.glit ; 
 ■\Yhat thy Master biddeth. 
 Do T\-ith all thy might : 
 Stand in Gospel armour ; 
 Force thy way through care ; 
 Gain a higher footing, 
 Breathe a piu-er air. 
 
 Sleep not on thy weapon : 
 Foes are round thee spread ; 
 At thy feet is danger. 
 Danger overhead. 
 Quick the moments hun-y, 
 Fades the golden light ; 
 What thy Master biddeth 
 Do with all thy might. 
 
 Sound the solemn warning, 
 Call thy brethren in, 
 Bid them heed the Spirit, 
 Leave the husks of sin : 
 Feed upon His favour', 
 In His love delight ; 
 What thy ■Master biddeth 
 Do with all thy might. 
 
 Death may come to-morrow ; 
 O arise and pray ! 
 Call upon thy Maker, 
 Shake the dust away. 
 Thou hast but the present, 
 Gu'd thee to the fight ; 
 What thy :Master Inddeth 
 Do with all thy might. 
 
 XLVIII. OYER THE HILLS A PJVEPw 
 •And there shall be no night there." — Revelation xxii 
 
 OVER the hiUs a river, 
 Df;yond tlic river light. 
 Green palms and stately cedars. 
 And skies where all is bright ; 
 A land of golden summer, 
 A clime beyond compare, 
 Wliere verdure never ceases, 
 And flowers are always fair. 
 
 No tongue can tell its beautj^, 
 Or heai't its love express ; 
 Here flow the living waters 
 Mid banks which angels press ; 
 Htre wave the snowy Hlies, 
 The exquisite, the rare ; 
 Here dwells the Prince of Glory ; 
 No night is ever there. 
 
 No sin is in its vaUeys, 
 No blight upon its hills ; 
 Here sickness cannot enter. 
 No wasting fever kills : 
 The balmy breeze is laden 
 With sweets divinely fair 
 From richest rose and myrtle : 
 No night is ever there. 
 
 Within it dwells no sorrow, 
 And tears are shed no more. 
 No sigh disturbs its quiet, 
 The former things are o'er : 
 Here kings lay down their glory 
 Its lovehness to share. 
 And walk the golden city : 
 No night is ever there. 
 
 And in this angel-kingdom 
 Our friends are with the blest ; 
 Beyond the silent valley 
 They beacon us to rest ; 
 In robes of purest whiteness, 
 Palms in thek hands they bear : 
 O blessed home of Jesus, 
 No night is ever there ! 
 
 XLIX. THE EARTH IS HOLY GROUND. 
 
 " But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true wor- 
 shippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth : 
 for the Father seeketh such to worship Him." — John 
 iv. 23. 
 
 " For the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." 
 — Exodus iii. 5. 
 
 DRAW near in solemn wor.-liip 
 To heaven's eternal King, 
 Under the leafy arches, 
 Where natm-e's minstrels sing; 
 By rills where reeds and rushes 
 And rising rocks abound. 
 Or where the gi'eat seafloweth : 
 The earth is holy ground. 
 
 Whoever gains His favour 
 
 Must in the spirit pray, 
 
 Beneath the vaulted ceihng, 
 
 Or on the moorland gi'cy. 
 
 When moonlight fi-ls the cloisters 
 
 And gilds the hallowed mound. 
 
 Or noon is in its brightness : 
 
 The earth is holy ground. ••
 
 BY JACOB'S WELL HE SITTETH. 
 
 209 
 
 The heart may roach the Highest 
 From overshadowed lane, 
 Where ivy hohls the ruia 
 Upon the tangled plain, 
 And silver water falleth 
 With a reUgious sound, 
 Amid the twilight shadows : 
 The earth is holy ground. 
 
 The plougher in the furrow. 
 The mower on the mead, 
 The poor man in his dwelling, 
 The thatcher on the reed, 
 The sailor on the ocean 
 Amid the blue around. 
 May worship God in spirit : 
 The earth is holy ground. 
 
 And such the Father seeketh. 
 And such the Father hears, 
 Whose prayers go up through Jesus 
 In woi'ds, or sighs, or tears : 
 And sendeth He the answer 
 Of peacefulness profound, 
 Which passeth understanding : 
 The earth is holy ground. 
 
 Strong Angel of the Promise, 
 We at Thy footstool kneel ; 
 Be present by Thy Spirit, 
 Om* sinfulness to heal ; 
 Come in a voice of stillness, 
 Or with a rushing sound, 
 And let us feel Thy presence : 
 The earth is holy gi'ound. 
 
 L. AND KNEW NOT IT WAS JESUS. 
 " And knew not that it was Jesus." — John xx. 14. 
 
 AND knew not it was Jesus, 
 Although they felt that day 
 Their glad hearts burn within them 
 When talking by the way, 
 Towards the lonely village, 
 Among the watching hills. 
 Where lie the lovely lilies. 
 Beside the gentle rills. 
 
 And knew not it was Jesus, 
 
 Though His sweet words of love 
 
 Had lifted up then* spkits 
 
 To higher worlds above : 
 
 How Christ their King should suffer 
 
 A sacriiice for sin ; 
 
 And ope the doors of Ziou, 
 
 To let His people in. 
 
 And knew not it was Jesus : — 
 Oft when the dawn appears. 
 And the low willows tremble 
 Amid the rain of tears. 
 
 His presence passeth by us, 
 Hallowing the holy spot. 
 Gilding the awful shadows, 
 And yet we knew it not. 
 
 And knew not it was Jesus : — 
 Although in striving long 
 We walk tlu-ough secret places 
 Where floateth holy song, 
 Faint murmurs from the valleys, 
 Where heaven reveals its light. 
 And the strong arm of Mercy 
 Is guiding us aright. 
 
 And knew not it was Jesus : — 
 Though oft we faintly pray, 
 And the unfailing Presence 
 Is with us on our way. 
 And knew not it was Jesus : — 
 Until the solemn shade 
 Is broken by His whisper, — 
 " 'Tis I, be not afraid." 
 
 LI. BY JACOB'S WELL HE SITTETH. 
 " I that speak unto thee am He." — John iv. 26. 
 
 BY Jacob's well He sitteth 
 When noontide fills the air, 
 And comes a lonely woman 
 Bringing her pitcher there ; 
 A dweller of Samaria 
 Where Sychar youths rejoice ; 
 And how her heart is gladdened 
 To hear the Saviour's voice ! 
 
 O woman of Samaria, 
 What sweetness fills thy tale, 
 When Jesus faint and weary 
 Toiled onward through the vale ! 
 We see thee by the fountain. 
 The blue bright heavens above, 
 Conversing with thy Saviom-, 
 And wondering at His love. 
 
 " I know Messiah cometh, 
 The faithful One and true, 
 Whose peaceful kingdom maketh 
 The whole creation new. 
 How would my song awaken. 
 This holy Seer to see ! " 
 And Jesus sweetly answered, 
 " O woman, I am He ! " 
 
 Then thrilled her soul with gladness : 
 
 How oft in lonely place 
 
 We sigh amid the darkness, 
 
 " O could we see His face ! " 
 
 Until the living waters 
 
 That evermore flow free. 
 
 Refresh our thirsty spirits : 
 
 " woman, I am He ! " 
 
 E E
 
 210 
 
 HY.ArNS. 
 
 Though in a land of dryness 
 Where roses gem no hower, 
 r And the short herbage withers, 
 
 And falls no cheering shower ; 
 Amid the miglity mm-mur 
 Of mountain side and sea, 
 The voice of Love ariseth, 
 " woman, I am He ! " 
 
 AMien in the diisky chamber 
 The silent step is heard. 
 And the pale lips are breathing 
 The latest loving word ; 
 Along the mystic landscape 
 Of Heavea's siiblime decree, 
 The voice of Mercy floateth : 
 " woman, I am He ! " 
 
 LIT. WHILE THE SUN IS IN THE SKY. 
 " Bay the truth, and sell it not." — Proverbs xxiii. 23. 
 
 WHILE the sun is in the sky, 
 While the roses round thee lie, 
 "While thy step is firm and strong. 
 And the morn awakes with song. 
 Praise Him for thy lengthened lot : 
 Buy the truth, and sell it not. 
 
 If upon the bed of death 
 
 Quickly heaves thy labouring breath, 
 
 And the twihght fades away 
 
 As thy fi-iends around thee pray. 
 
 Praise Him for thy leDgthened lot : 
 
 Buy the truth, and sell it not. 
 
 Have thy days been spent in crime, 
 Piushmg down the march of time ; 
 Herding with the sons of sin, 
 Though thy conscience spoke within ? 
 Turn and wonder at thy lot : 
 Buy the truth, and sell it not. 
 
 He who trafi&cs here is wise : 
 This the costliest merchandise : 
 This the gold that will not inist ; 
 Gems to it are sordid dust. 
 Clu'ist demands thy highest thought : 
 Buy the trath, and sell it not. 
 
 Better part with all things here. 
 Friends, and home, and kindred dear, 
 Health, and strength, and worldly worth, 
 Life, and all the joys of earth. 
 Than forego the pilgrim's lot: 
 Buy the truth, and sell it not. 
 
 LIII. NOT BY WOEKS WHICH MAN MAY NAME. 
 
 "For by grace are ye saved through faith ; and that not 
 of yourselves : it is the gift of God : not of works, lest any 
 man should boast." — Ephesianb ii 8, 9. 
 
 N 
 
 J 
 
 OT by works which man may name, 
 Not by dee^s of might or fame. 
 
 Not by himger, thirst, or pain, 
 Can we. Lord, Thy favour gain. 
 Nor by sighs or deep disti'ess. 
 Toiling through the wilderness. 
 
 Though I with my worldly store 
 Clothe and feed the hungry poor ; 
 Though I in religion's name 
 Give my body to the flame ; 
 This will gain no meed for me 
 If I have not faith in Thee. 
 
 Not by works, lest man should sin, 
 Boasting how he enters in ; 
 Not by labour lone and long, 
 Wresthng with temptations strong ; 
 But by living faith Divine, 
 In the seed of Jacob's line. 
 
 Faith the wing that soars to Thee ; 
 Faith the wondrous golden key ; 
 Faith the Christian's conquering rod; 
 Faith the greatest gift of God : 
 Crave I now this precious store ; 
 Having it, I need no more. 
 
 This the glorious Gospel plan. 
 Leaving nought for boasting man. 
 Thus before Thee, Lord, I bow ; 
 Let my faith be strengthened now ; 
 Every outward arm forego ; 
 Only Jesus would I know. 
 
 LIV. LIFT UP YOUR SHINING PORTALS. 
 
 "Lift up your heads, ye gates ; even lift them up, ye 
 
 everlasting doors ; and the King of glory shall cotne in 
 
 Who is this King of glory ? The Lord of hosts, He is the 
 King of glory." — PbALii xxiv. 9, 10. 
 
 LIFT up your shining portals ! 
 The grave has lost its prey : 
 The mighty King of glory 
 Has left the tomb to-day ; 
 And heavenward He ascendeth, 
 That earth may Eden win. 
 Lift up yoiu' bars of beauty, 
 And let the Conqueror in ! 
 
 Who is this King of glory ? 
 The Prince beyond compare, 
 In battle ever mighty. 
 Whose strong arm layeth bare. 
 Fall back, ye ranks of seraphs, 
 The fields of light within : 
 Lift up your bars of beauty, , 
 And let the Conqueror in ! 
 
 He cometh up fi'om Edora 
 With gaiTQents strangely red : 
 The winepress of Thine anger 
 Did He in sorrow tread. 
 His own arm brought salvation 
 From the dark night of sin : 
 Lift up your bars of beauty, 
 And lot the Conqueror in !
 
 WHY STAND HERE ALL DAY IDLE / 
 
 211 
 
 Let your bright heads be Hfted, 
 Ye doors of golden hght ! 
 The Lord of Hosts ascendeth, 
 The awful Man of Might. 
 His life He freely offered 
 A sacrifice for sin : 
 Lift up your bars of beauty, 
 And let the Conqueror in. 
 
 His Spirit through all ages 
 Shall fall like gentle rain, 
 And kings bow down before Him, 
 The poor His favour gain. 
 He shall endure for ever ; 
 Subdued are death and sin : 
 Lift up your bars of beauty, 
 And let the Conqueror in ! 
 
 LV. ART THOU TOSSED, MY BROTHER ? 
 
 " But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed 
 with waves : for the wind was contrary." — Matthew 
 xiv. 24. 
 
 ART thou tossed, my brother. 
 On the ocean's foam ? 
 Is thy vessel drifting 
 Far away from home ? 
 Roar the billows round thee ? 
 Rise the waters high ? 
 Courage, brother, courage : 
 Holy help is nigh. 
 
 There is One who guideth 
 Every wind that roars ; 
 O'er the stars He sitteth. 
 By their silver doors : 
 His abiding presence 
 Filleth earth and sky. 
 Courage, bi'other, corn-age : 
 Holy help is nigh. 
 
 Do the billows buffet 
 With a sound of dread ? 
 Past those foamy shallows 
 There is land a-head. 
 Where the life-tree gi'oweth. 
 Where the hlies lie. 
 Courage, brother, courage : 
 Holy help is uigh. 
 
 Leave it with thy Pilot : 
 Though the tempests sijvell, 
 And the foam is flying, 
 AU will yet be well. 
 Sweetest rest remaineth 
 In the quiet sky. 
 Corn-age, brother, courage : 
 Holy help is nigh. 
 
 Once the harbour entered, 
 Storm and strife are o'er. 
 Hark, what cheering music 
 Floateth fi-om the shore ! 
 
 Never more to suffer. 
 Never more to sigh. 
 Courage, brother, courage : 
 Holy help is nigh. 
 
 Therefore meet -with patience 
 Troubles gi-eat and small : 
 Once within the city 
 Maketh up for all. 
 Here no shadow stealeth 
 O'er the tranquil sky. 
 Courage, brother, courage : 
 Holy help is nigh. 
 
 LVI. WHY STAND HERE ALL DAY IDLE ? 
 " Why stand ye here all the day idle ?" — Matthkw ix. 6. 
 
 WHY stand here all day idle 
 Within the market-gi-ound. 
 Whilst other earnest workers 
 Are toiling much around ? 
 'xhere is no time for wasting, 
 No hours to spend remiss : 
 All should be earnest pm-pose 
 In such a world as this. 
 
 Ask what thy Father willeth : 
 He shall dh-ect thy hand 
 To train the fruitful branches. 
 Or plough the stubble land ; 
 To keep the temple's portal. 
 To guide the wretched in. 
 The smallest Gospel service 
 A rich reward shall win. 
 
 Along the world's wide desert 
 How many pilgi-ims sigh ! 
 What griefs there are to soften ! 
 What gushing tears to dry ! 
 The aged need thy succour 
 Far down the shadowy vale. 
 The widow and the orphan, 
 Whom winter winds assail. 
 
 And in the shed of sickness 
 Where the light bm-neth dim, 
 And sighs the weary watcher, 
 O speak a word for Hui ! 
 Thy ever-loving Master, 
 The humble sinner's Guest, 
 He succom-s those who suffer, 
 His presence bringeth rest. 
 
 Then stand no longer idle 
 Within the market-gi-ound, 
 While various kinds of labom- 
 For each and all are found. 
 The weakest oft are strongest 
 To spread the Saviom-'s fame, 
 And gather holy honours 
 Which cluster round His name. 
 
 2 E 2
 
 212 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 LVII. IT IS ENOUGH, MY FATHER. 
 
 'Like as a father pitieth his children, bo the Lord 
 pitieth them that fear Him." — Psalm ciii. 13. 
 
 IT is enough, my Father, 
 Thy pity reacheth all, 
 To every land extendeth 
 "Where light and sunbeams fall ; 
 And as a loving parent 
 Doth o'er his first-born bend, 
 So are Thy tender mercies, 
 "U'hich never, never end. 
 
 Ah ! who can bear the son-ow, 
 The suffering and the tear. 
 The ringing cry of anguish, 
 From infancy so dear ? 
 Who, if liis child in hunger 
 Ask bread with bitter moan, 
 Could turn away unheeding. 
 Or offer him a stone ? 
 
 Than love of parent stronger, 
 Through changing years the same. 
 Is the Redeemer's pity 
 For those who love His name. 
 The firmament shall darken 
 "With Nature's last decay ; 
 But His Divine compassion 
 "Will never pass away. 
 
 Then let this cheer us onward 
 From rising sun to sun, 
 Through every tribulation, 
 Until the heights are won. 
 And in the blessed kingdona. 
 Our holy home on high, 
 We dwell with Christ for ever, 
 "'iMiose pity cannot die. 
 
 LVIII. WITHIN AN UPPER CHAMBER. 
 
 'And the same day there were added unto them about 
 three thousand souls." — Acts ii. -11. 
 
 WITHIN an upper chamber 
 The loved disciples wait, 
 Until the promised Spirit 
 Sliould all things new create ; 
 AVhen, lo ! like wind He cometh 
 To run His heavenly race, 
 The miglity rushing tempest 
 Filling the holy place. 
 
 A radiance brightly golden 
 Doth with the daylight blend, 
 The cedar-rafters tremble. 
 And tongues of fire descend : 
 The Holy Spirit speaketh. 
 Nought can His influence stay. 
 O what a grand awakening. 
 Three thousand in a day ! 
 
 Three thousand brought to Jesus ; 
 The swarthy and the fair. 
 The sei'vant and his master, 
 Are all converted there. 
 In other tongues they utter 
 The wonders of His fame : 
 Three thousand brought to Jesus : 
 gloiify His name I 
 
 O rich display of mercy 
 And blessing from above ! 
 How is the truth attested 
 Of the Redeemer's love ! 
 The Comforter deKghteth 
 With sinful man to stay, 
 Nor will His power diminish-^ 
 Three thousand in a day. 
 
 Now pray we for Thy coming, 
 Thou all-creating Power ; 
 O bless Thy waiting people 
 At this devoted hour ! 
 And grant to each believer 
 A measure of Thy grace. 
 And let Thy saving presence 
 Descend and fill the place. 
 
 LIX. FORTH FROM THE TANGLED 
 DESERT. 
 
 " John had his raiment of camel's hair, and a leathern 
 girdle about his loins ; and his meat was locusts and wild 
 honey." — Matthew iii. 4. 
 
 FORTH from the tangled desert, 
 In cloak of camel's hair, 
 Gii-t with a leathern girdle. 
 With strange and stately air ; 
 His simple food the locusts 
 And honey of the wild ; 
 Comes the inspired Forerunner 
 Of the anointed Child. 
 
 His garments smeU of cedar, 
 And the untrodden wood. 
 Where Nature rears her altars 
 By forest-arch and flood. 
 His hair so richly flowing 
 And lofty gait accord ; 
 And hues are on his visage 
 The wilderness afford. 
 
 And as he walks he utters 
 The burden of his lay : 
 " Repent, repent ! He cometh 
 Who bringeth endless day. 
 Prepare His path of honour : 
 In welcomes warm conspire : 
 I you baptize with water. 
 But He with heavenly fire. 
 
 " The vale shall be exalted. 
 Brought down the mountain chain ; 
 The crooked paths be straightened. 
 And the rough places plain ;
 
 LISTEN, AS THOU JOURNEYEST ON. 
 
 213 
 
 The thorn shall be uprooted, 
 New flowers adorn the sod ; 
 And every ransomed nation 
 Behold the Lamb of God." 
 
 O may we see Thee ever, 
 
 Our refuge in distress. 
 
 The sum of our salvation, 
 
 Our perfect righteousness, 
 
 Our gracious strength in weakness! 
 
 O hear us when we pray ! 
 
 In life, in death's dim shadow, 
 
 Thou art our only stay. 
 
 LX. HOW CAN I DOUBT MY FATHER'S CARE ? 
 
 •' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." — Matthew 
 
 vi. 34. 
 
 How can I doubt my Father's care. 
 Whose love appeareth everywhere, 
 In spring's first sigh, in summer's breeze, 
 In thoughtful autumn's changing trees, 
 In all I feel, or hear, or see ? 
 Sufficient is Thy grace for me. 
 
 Why should I forward look with fear, 
 •When Christ my King is ever near ? 
 How dare mistn;st His mighty hand, 
 Who scatters blessings o'er the laud, 
 Whose voice is in the sounding sea ? 
 Sufficient is Thy gi'ace for me. 
 
 Why should I shrink from storms which rise 
 
 And gather over distant skies. 
 
 Or passes dim where twilight broods 
 
 In thickly gathering solitudes, 
 
 Or fear the approaching days to be ? 
 
 Sufficient is Thy grace for me. 
 
 Wliy should I doubt that powerful Name 
 When sickness stealeth o'er my ii-ame, 
 When friends withdraw and foemen reign, 
 And I alone go forth with pain ? 
 Amid the swellings of the sea 
 Sufficient is Thy grace for me. 
 
 O let me take my daily share, 
 And leave to-morrow m Thy care. 
 Enjoy the sunshine Thou hast sent, 
 And learn the lesson of content ; 
 Still trusting, whatsoe'er may be : 
 Sufficient is Thy grace for me. 
 
 Sufficient when the sun is high, 
 And when it gilds the evening sky ; 
 Sufficient in the hour of strife, 
 When death is entering into life, 
 And heaven appears and shadows flee : 
 Sufiicient is Thy grace for me. 
 
 LXI. STRANGE DARKNESS RODE THE 
 WATERS. 
 
 " Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped 
 Him, saying, Of a truth Thou art the Son of God." — 
 MAXTHtw xiv. 33. 
 
 STRANGE darkness rode the waters, 
 A black wind smote the wave, 
 The ocean tossed and tumbled: 
 Who can the storm outbrave ? 
 The little ship is di'ifting 
 Upon the angry deep, 
 While the distressed disciples 
 Can only wait and weep. 
 
 Ere the fourth watch had ended 
 
 With anguish on their lee, 
 
 The ever-loving Saviour 
 
 Came walking on the sea : 
 
 And while they laboured greatly, 
 
 With doubt and fear dismayed, 
 
 " Be of good cheer," He whispered ; 
 
 " 'Tis I, be not afraid." 
 
 Then Peter trod the tempest ; 
 But when the winds were high. 
 He sank into the billows 
 With a beseeching cry. 
 And Christ vouchsafed His mercy 
 In answer to his prayer. 
 And took him to His favour, 
 And saved the supphant there. 
 
 And soon the winds were silent. 
 The waves were rough no more, 
 The white moon kissed the waters. 
 Sweet music swept the shore. 
 Glad voices swelled the mmTHur 
 Which o'er the still sea trod 
 From the rejoiced disciples, 
 " Thou art the Son of God." 
 
 How oft the Saviour cometh 
 When winds and waves are high. 
 And stills the mighty tempest, 
 And bids the darkness fly I 
 The leaves of hope are freshened. 
 Bright flowers adorn the sod, 
 
 And whispers fill the mornmg: 
 " Thou art the Son of God." 
 
 LXII. LISTEN, AS THOU JOURNEYEST ON. 
 " Whatsoever He saith unto you, do^it." — John ii. 5. 
 
 LisTEN.as thou jom-neyest on, 
 To the voice of God's dear Son, 
 In the hum of noonday hght. 
 In the stillness of the night. 
 Whatsoe'er He saith to thee, 
 Do it with a spii'it free.
 
 214 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 Does He bid thee climb the liill ? 
 Onward, never standing still. 
 Heed not what thy fears may meet 
 Tread distrust beneath thy feet. < 
 Gird thine armour on thy breast : 
 On the siiDimit there is rest. 
 
 Does He lead where in the vale 
 Sing the thi'ush and nightingale, 
 "Where the waters sparkle fi-ee, 
 And the laud is fair to see ? 
 On, with thankfulness and prayer : 
 Jesus wills that thou art there. 
 
 Does He call thee to possess 
 Pain and anguish and distress, 
 Guiding where prostration pines, 
 And a blast is on the vines ? 
 "\*\'hatsoe"er He orders thee, 
 Bear it with a spirit free. 
 
 Does He bid thee front the fos ? 
 Onward to the battle go : 
 Aim to slay the man of sin : 
 Call the sons of suffering in 
 To the Gospel's welcome cheer. 
 Spread for every sinner here. 
 
 There is earnest work for all : 
 Some are builders on the wall ; 
 Some are di'awers from the well ; 
 Some are hewers in the dell. 
 Whatsoe'er He saith to thee, 
 Do it with a spuit free. 
 
 LXIII. IT IS THE SABBATH STILLNESS. 
 "And He healed them all." — Matthew xii, 15. 
 
 IT is the Sabbath stillness, 
 A type of heavenly rest : 
 A halo crowns the mountain. 
 And wraps the valley's breast. 
 The gathering hush is holy 
 TMiich thus enfoldeth space, 
 And every tree a teacher 
 Of the Redeemer's grace. 
 
 Amid the com He walketh 
 Along the pleasant land ; 
 And now His mercy healeth 
 The man with withered hand. 
 Behold, the people follow, 
 And on the Saviour call, 
 The blind, the brokenhearted, 
 And Jesus healeth aU. 
 
 None are by Him rejected ; 
 
 To all His love outflows ; 
 
 Ko matter what their sickness, 
 
 No matter what their woes. 
 
 His great compassions reach them. 
 
 And raise them from their fall ; 
 
 He bids them go rejoicing : 
 
 O, Jesus healeth all. 
 
 The hoary-haired transgressor, 
 Whose deeds are dark with sin ; 
 The stained in youthful folly, 
 Whose conscience speaks within ; 
 Nought is beyond His goodness ; 
 The worst may on Him call. 
 And find His full forgiveness : 
 O, Jesus healeth all. 
 
 The heaviest load He lightens, 
 The saddest heart He cheers : 
 Ask, and His lovingkindness 
 In thy behalf appears. 
 Whoever prayeth gaineth 
 A blessing great or small, 
 An influence from the Highest : 
 0, Jesus healeth all. 
 
 LXIV. ALWAYS WALKING, WATCHING. 
 
 " Pass the time of your sojourning here in fear." — 1 Peter 
 
 i.l7. 
 
 ALWAYS walking, watching, 
 Serving Thee in fear, 
 Knowing that om- journey 
 Quickly endeth here. 
 Short the longest sojourn, 
 Fleet the farthest flight : 
 O for holy wisdom, 
 Thus to walk aright ! 
 
 Poor is earthly pleasm-e. 
 Like the bui'uing thorn, 
 Cracking, flashing, dying, 
 Gone as soon as born. 
 O for heavenly manna ! 
 O for angels' cheer ! 
 Which the Saviour breaketh 
 To the soul sincere. 
 
 Not with gold and silver. 
 Not with bread and wine. 
 Are His peo]5le ransomed, 
 But with blood Divine ; 
 With the solemn slaughter 
 Of his precious Son. 
 Quicken us, dear Jesus, 
 All the race to run. 
 
 May we ever follow 
 Christ the Lord in fear. 
 Guided by His presence 
 On our journey here. 
 Burning like a pillar 
 Floating like a cloud ; 
 Till our sojourn endeth 
 Where the pahns are bowed. 
 
 There is earnest labour 
 
 Per the v/ilUng hand ; 
 
 Helping on a brother 
 
 O'er the silent sand ; 
 
 Speaking for the Sa^'iour 
 
 On our homeward way, 
 
 Ere the night approacheth, ♦ 
 
 Shutting out the day.
 
 NOT BY BURDENS MAN MAY BEAR. 
 
 215 
 
 LXV. FEOM CAEMEL'S SIDE IT COMETH. 
 
 " How loDg halt ye between two opinions ? If the Lord 
 be God, follow ilim: butif Baal, then follow him." — 1 Kings 
 I xviii. 21. 
 
 FROM Carmel's side it cometh, 
 Where Baal's own prophets stantl, 
 And like the strong wind rusheth 
 Across the thirsty land, 
 O'er Kishon's silvery waters, 
 On to the mighty sea : 
 "Between these two opinions 
 How long, how long halt ye ? 
 
 "If Baal be your protector, 
 Then serve him with your might. 
 If God be God, then give Him 
 His imdivided right. 
 Take ye the severed victim. 
 And lay it on the pj^re, 
 And let the truth be tested 
 By heaven's descending fire." 
 
 How rave these wicked prophets ! 
 They cut themselves, and cry ; 
 And yet no fire descendeth, 
 Ko voice is in the sky. 
 They leap upon the altar ; 
 The stones are scattered round ; 
 Yet unconsumed the victim, 
 The heavens afford no sound. 
 
 The shades of eve are falling 
 On Carmel's lovely brow : 
 Ehjah wraps his mantle 
 More closely round hun now. 
 His eyes to heaven are lifted ; 
 His lips have breathed the prayer ; 
 The holy flame descendeth ; 
 Jehovah conquers there. 
 
 Why halt ye in your folly '? 
 On this side sorrows rise : 
 The dreadful hail, the tempest. 
 The death that never dies. 
 On that, the trees of Eden, 
 The waters of His love. 
 The fulness of the Saviour, 
 Jerusalem above. 
 
 LXVI. WHEEE SHALL UTTEE WEAKNESS 
 
 HIDE? 
 
 " A bruised reed shall He not break, and smoking flax 
 shall He not quench." — Matthew xii. 20. 
 
 WHERE shall utter weakness hide, 
 Save in Christ the Crucified ? 
 What shall utter weakness do, 
 But rely for succour too, 
 Feeling ruined and undone, 
 On the love of His dear Son ? 
 
 Saviour, see me spirit-bowed, 
 Toihug uuderneach a cloud, 
 
 Of all heavenly help bereft, 
 In a land of darkness left. 
 But, tliough rained and undone, 
 Let me hope in His dear Son. 
 
 Still the hght of life is dim : 
 I can scarcely come to Him, 
 Scarcely see the narrow way, 
 Scarcely lift my heart to pray. 
 But, though ruined and undone, 
 I will hope in His dear Son. 
 
 Jesus, come ; a suppliant bless ; 
 Pity, Lord, my feebleness. 
 Never sued for help Divine 
 One whose weakness equalled mine. 
 Yet, though ruined and undone, 
 I will hope in His dear Son. 
 
 Breaks He not the bruised reed 
 On the peaceful Gospel mead, 
 And the smoking flax shall rise 
 In a flame to Paradise. 
 Thus, though ruined and undone, 
 I am safe in His dear Son. 
 
 LXVII. NOT BY BUEDENS MAN MAY BEAE. 
 
 " What shall we do, that we might work the works of 
 God ? Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work 
 of God, that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent." — 
 John vi. 28, 29, 
 
 NOT by burdens man may bear. 
 Heaven is won by faith and prayer. 
 Build thou not on works of thine, 
 Eest upon the Word Divine. 
 Nothing do, and nothing give : 
 Come to Christ, beheve, and live. 
 
 Come with all thy sore distress, 
 All thy woe and wretchedness. 
 All thy anguish, aU thy grief. 
 All thy sin and unbehef. 
 To the Son whose side was riven. 
 And thy wrong shall be forgiven. 
 
 Come with all thy load of care : 
 
 He the pilgrim's part shall share. 
 
 With thy doubt and darkness come : 
 
 He shall guide the helpless home. 
 
 Wait not for a brighter day ; 
 
 Clouds shall thicken, shouldst thou stay. 
 
 Come to Jesus as thou art ; 
 
 Now with all thy idols pun ; 
 
 Lay thy burden on His breast ; 
 
 He shall give thee perfect rest. 
 
 He shall make thy weakness strong. 
 
 He shall fiU thy soul with song. 
 
 Come with all thy sin and shame, 
 Plead the merits of His name. 
 Nothing mention of thine own, 
 Cling to Chi-ist by faith alone ; 
 And His love's delicious store 
 Shall be thine for evei-more.
 
 216 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 LXVIII. OPEN MINE EYES, DEAK SAVIOUR. 
 " I see men as trees, walking." — Mark viii. 24:. 
 
 OPKN mine eyes, dear Savioiu', 
 That I may plainly see 
 Tlie riclies of Tliy mercy, 
 So bountiful, so free. 
 How weak my aspirations, 
 Whicli slowly rise to Him ! 
 How indistinct my vision. 
 Like trees when w'oods are dim I 
 
 Open mine eyes, dear Saviom* ; 
 Me to Thy mercy draw. 
 O teach my spirit daily 
 The wonders of Thy law ! 
 May I increase in wisdom. 
 Still more and more Uke Him, 
 Nor longer see His beauty 
 Like trees when woods are dim. 
 
 Open mine eyes, dear Saviom- ; 
 
 Diffuse Thy Spirit's ray, 
 
 O may I see Thy glory 
 
 In the clear light of day ! 
 
 May faith's weak hand be strengthened 
 
 To touch Thy garment's rim; 
 
 Nor longer may I view Thee 
 
 Like trees when woods are dim. 
 
 Open mine eyes, dear Saviour: 
 O cheer me with Thy love ! 
 May I behold distinctly 
 My hidden home above. 
 The land of living waters, 
 The clime of harp and hymn, 
 ^Vhere nought on high appeareth 
 Like trees when woods are dim. 
 
 LXIX. WITH THE PROMISED STAFF IN 
 HAND. 
 
 " But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall 
 be saved." — Mark xiii. 13. 
 
 ■TTT-iTH the promised staff in hand 
 I \j Walk we o'er a dangerous land ; 
 f f And the Saviour's voice we hear 
 Rising in the desert drear : 
 " Grace for all is full and free ; 
 "Win eternal life thi'ough Me." 
 
 If we falter halfway o'er, 
 We shall never reach the shore. 
 Never gain the home of rest, 
 Never mingle with the blest, 
 Never wander where the trees 
 Whisper over crystal seas. 
 
 Ever ready may we be 
 To endure as seeing Thee, 
 Guided by Thy perfect love, 
 Till we reach our home above, 
 
 Far from sorrow, pain, and strife, 
 In the land of endless life. 
 
 Only these who persevere 
 Till has dropped the latest tear. 
 Till has ceased the aching breast, 
 Gain the mansions of the blest. 
 Gracious Saviour, may we be 
 Saved at last to heaven and Thee. 
 
 LXX. WITHOUT THE BUSY CITY. 
 
 ' What wilt thou that I should do unto thee ?"- 
 X. 51. 
 
 WITHOUT the busy city, 
 Beside the broad highway, 
 Blind Bartimseus sitteth, 
 And beggeth out the day. 
 The bu'ds are on the branches, 
 The cedars bathe in light ; 
 But all to him is darkness, 
 O, all to him is night. 
 
 He hears the children's voices. 
 He hears the matron's hymn. 
 And Jordan's murmuring waters 
 Across the lowlands dim ; 
 When, hark ! the tramp of footsteps. 
 Which quickly draweth nigh ; 
 And how his heart is gladdened, 
 For Jesus passeth by ! 
 
 He prays the Lord for pity 
 In language strong and clear. 
 Though chided by the people : 
 " Thou Son of David, hear ! " 
 And casting off his garoaent 
 In answer to his call, 
 He rose and came to Jesus, 
 And told the Saviour all. 
 
 *' What wilt thou, Bartimaeus, 
 Poor blind one, at My hand ?" 
 *' Let me receive, dear Saviom% 
 My sight at Thy command." 
 " Go on thy way rejoicing, 
 Thy faith hath made thee whole ;" 
 And happiness unuttered 
 Filled his delighted soul. 
 
 O with what joy he witnessed 
 The lovely earth around. 
 The hills bej'oud Judaea, 
 The fruitful pasture-ground, 
 The waving woods, the waters, 
 The human face Divine ! 
 And praises filled the valleys 
 Above the loftiest pine. 
 
 'Twas well the blind man rested 
 Where olives whispered low, 
 That, when appeared the Saviour, 
 He might His footsteps know. 
 
 -Mark
 
 A FAIR BARK RIDES THE WATERS. 
 
 217 
 
 And to the gi'aciotis Hcalcv 
 ^Vltll earnest zeal apply. 
 So let my soixl be waiting 
 Where Jesus passetli by. 
 
 Christ might have blest the beggar 
 Without his earnest call : 
 ])ut this is not like Jesus, 
 Whose pity reachcth all. 
 Ask, and His mercy floweth 
 As freely as the hght ; 
 And the kind Son of David 
 Giveth the blind one sight. 
 
 LXXI. EVER LEARNING MAY I BE. 
 
 " Learn of Me ; for I am meek and lowly iu heart : and 
 ye shall find rest unto your souls." — Matthew xi. 29. 
 
 EVER learning may I be 
 Living lessons, Lord, of Thee, 
 From the ever-cheering light. 
 From the mystery of the night, 
 From the stars that spread Thy fame. 
 Whispering through the heavens Thy name. 
 
 Let me learn from all things here. 
 Bird and brook and floweret dear, 
 Valley low and mountain high. 
 Ocean vast and spreading sky. 
 Meadow green and forest tall ; 
 For Jehovah made them all. 
 
 Let me in the knowledge grow 
 How Thou didst abide below ; 
 Wear Thee ever in my heart. 
 Meek and lowly as Thou art, 
 Who the scoffer's insult bore. 
 And the crown of mockery wore. 
 
 Let me learn from sin to flee, 
 IMore and more to copy Thee, 
 In Thy pity for distress, 
 In Thy life of lowhness. 
 In Thy deeds of love to man, 
 Perfecting the Gospel plan. 
 
 Let me learn from hour to hour 
 IMore and more Thy saving power. 
 More and more Thy counsels sweet. 
 Sitting lowly at Thy feet ; 
 On Thy steadfast truth rely ; 
 Learn to Hve, and learn to die. 
 
 LXXII. WHERE PALMS O'ERHANG THE 
 SILENT SHORE. 
 
 " They that are delivered from the noise of archers in 
 the places of drawing water, there shall tbcy rehearse the 
 righteous acts of the Lord." — Judges v. 11. 
 
 WHERE palms o'erhang the silent shore. 
 And noisy ai'chers stir no more ; 
 Where matrons meet with comely gi'ace 
 Around the ancient watering-place. 
 Where hangs the richly clustered vine, 
 Would they rehearse His acts Divine. 
 
 Here sound of bow and tramp of steed 
 Break not among the murmm-ing reed ; 
 The crystal watcrs,'rippling low, 
 As o'er the cypress roots they flow, 
 With whispering winds and waves combine, 
 Where they rehearse His acts Divine. 
 
 sweet to bo delivered here. 
 Where wavelets sparkle cool and clear, 
 From wastmg noise and rude alarms 
 Of gathering multitudes in arms ; 
 Where Peace and Piety recline, 
 And thus rehearse His acts Divine. 
 
 So would we gather hero to-day. 
 Beside Life's Fount to watch and pray. 
 O Savioiu', hear us from above. 
 And feed us with the bread of love. • 
 Now, Holy Spirit, seal us Thine, 
 As we rehearse His acts Divine. 
 
 LXXIII. A FAIR BARK RIDES THE WATERS. 
 
 " And so it came to pass, that they escaped all safe to 
 land." — Acts xxvii. 44. 
 
 A FAIR bark rides the waters. 
 The skies assume a frown. 
 The fretful winds are sighing. 
 The angry storm comes down, 
 A mighty moving tempest. 
 Which grandly thunders on. 
 Driving the foam before it. 
 The gi-eat Euroclydon. 
 
 The labom-ing ship was lightened. 
 The sails were rent away ; 
 The waters rose and rumbled, 
 And flashed the blinding spray. 
 All hope of Life had vanished. 
 As they the quicksands neared. 
 And tlu'ough long days of darkness 
 No sun or star ajjpeared. 
 
 And then in robes of beauty. 
 Whose garments wore no speck, 
 Gu-t with a golden gu-dle. 
 An Angel walked the deck. 
 O how the cordage glittered 
 With gloiy unsurpassed. 
 Which tinged the sui-ging waters. 
 And streamed upon the mast ! 
 
 " Fear not," the Saviour whispered ; 
 " Yom* lives are iu My hand ; 
 The sliip alone shaU founder. 
 The crew shall reach the land." 
 The di-eadful tempest conquered. 
 The vessel ran aground. 
 And the gi-oat sea swept o'er it 
 With a sublime rebound. 
 
 And some were saved by swimming ; 
 Some gi'aspcd the floating oar ; 
 Some, portions of the vessel : 
 And all escai^ed to shore. 
 
 F F
 
 218 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 So shall the Chm-ch of Jesus, 
 The days of tlarkuess past, 
 The toiluig and the tempest, 
 Aiiive in heaven at last. 
 
 And when we di*ift m darkness 
 Upon the roariug M'ave, 
 The Angel of the Promise 
 Is ever near to save. 
 Across the foamy waters 
 He gnideth with His hand, 
 And all who trust His mercy 
 He briugeth safe to land. 
 
 LXXIY. THE CKIMSON CROSS WAS LIFTED. 
 
 "And sitting down they watched Him there." — Matthew 
 
 xxvii. 36. 
 
 THE crimson cross was lifted. 
 Its foot was on the land ; 
 The thorns npon His temples. 
 The nails were in His hand. 
 The scourge had marred His visage, 
 O sorrowful to see ! 
 And sitting down they watched Him 
 Extended on the tree. 
 
 And then the sun was darkened ; 
 The solemn valleys sighed ; 
 The mighty mountains mm-mured, 
 "When Christ their Maker died. 
 The work of love is finished ; 
 The temple's veil is torn, 
 And tyi^e and shadow vanish 
 Before the perfect morn. 
 
 'Tis finished, yes, 'tis finished, 
 The wondi'ous Gospel plan : 
 The King has brought salvation 
 To erring guilty man. 
 Tlie flinty rocks are rending, 
 The startled dead arise. 
 And angel lyres are ringing 
 The welcomes thi-ough the skies. 
 
 Within thy courts, Zion, , 
 
 Where palm and cedar stand. 
 And li^•ing waters murmur 
 Along the holy land, 
 In humble adoration 
 We bow the willing knee. 
 And supplicate Thy favour, 
 And watch and wait for Thee. 
 
 O come with holy comfort 
 From vales of light above. 
 And let Thy free foi'givcness 
 Delight om- souls with love. 
 Descend, O promised Spu-it ; 
 Our sinful souls restore ; 
 And may we feel Thy presence. 
 And wonder and adore. 
 
 LXXV. FAR BACK, WHEN MORNS WERE 
 GOLDEN. 
 
 " Lord, now lettest Thou Thy senrant depart in peace, 
 according to Thy word : for mine eyes have seen Thy 
 salvation." — Ldke ii. 29, 30. 
 
 FAR back, when morns were golden 
 With beauty that should be 
 More bright in the hereafter. 
 Illuming land and sea, 
 An old man had a vision, 
 By God the Spirit given, 
 That he should see Messiah 
 Before he entered heaven. 
 
 With quenchless hope he waited 
 As summer sweets disclose, 
 And the broad oHve widened. 
 And the grand cedar rose. 
 Yet still with holy patience 
 His eye was on the star, 
 Which edged the blue horizon, 
 And cheered him from afar. 
 
 At length the Light of Mercy 
 Beamed on this world of strife ; 
 Old Simeon saw the Saviour, 
 The lowly Lord of Life. 
 Within the temple's halo 
 He cheered his trusting heart : 
 " Now lettest Thou Thy servant," 
 Said he, " in peace depart. 
 
 " Mine eyes have felt Thy glory 
 Upon my spuit fall, 
 The Healer of the people, 
 The Light to Hghten all." 
 And o'er the mountain summits, 
 Tlirough deserts dark and dead, 
 On by the whispering waters. 
 The kindling beauty spread. 
 
 So wait we for Thy Spirit, 
 The Comforter of Love. 
 O take away owe bUndness, 
 And lift om* hearts above ! 
 Assist us by Thy mercy 
 From sin and self to flee. 
 And in our heart to worship 
 And wait alone for Thee. 
 
 LXXVI. NOUGHT HAST THOU, 
 
 OF SIN. 
 
 POOR CHILD 
 
 " This is the work of God, that yc believe on Him whom 
 He hath sent." — John vi. 20. 
 
 NOUGHT hast thou, poor child of sin. 
 Pardon, peace, and heaven to win. 
 Wherefore would'st thou plead delay 
 When thy Saviour says to-day ? 
 This is what thy work must be : 
 Trust in Him who died for thee.
 
 MY FATHER ! I MAY CALL THEE SO. 
 
 219 
 
 AVhat is penance ? Wliat is prayer ? 
 Daily fasting, midnight cave, 
 Sighs and tears and watchings deep, 
 "Wliere the waving willows weep ? 
 If thou hast not in thy plea, 
 Trust in Him who died for thee. 
 
 Leave thy feelings, leave thy fears, 
 Leave thy labours, sighs, and tears ; 
 Leave thy burden with thy Lord, 
 Take the Master at His word : 
 Let thy work of merit be. 
 Trust in Him who died for thee. 
 
 Then the joy which angels own 
 Shall be thine by faith alone : 
 Thou shalt taste the balm of peace, 
 Feel the prisoner's sweet release. 
 Enter heaven, where prophets be : 
 Trust in Him who died for thee. 
 
 LXXVII. BELIEVE AND LIVE. 
 
 " Believe on the Lord Jesus Ciirist, and thou shalt be 
 saved." — Acts xvi. 31. 
 
 HEAR His voice, O child of woe, 
 Where the Gospel breezes blow. 
 Where the trees of triumph stand 
 Mid the Ulies of the laud, 
 And the rills of mercy glide 
 MingHng with salvation's tide. 
 
 Sheltered in this sacred place. 
 Mid the fruitful vines of grace ; 
 Flows His voice who fills with love 
 Earth and au* and heaven above. 
 He eternal Ufe will give, 
 We may now believe and live. 
 
 Every star that shines on high, 
 Every meteor of the sky, 
 Every flower and changing leaf, 
 Every bud and blossom brief. 
 All and each this teaching give : 
 We may now believe and hve. 
 
 Higher tidings, holier cheer. 
 Never gladdened human ear, 
 • Maid and mother, sire and son, 
 
 Saint and sinner, every one, 
 May their hearts to Jesus give. 
 Hear His voice, believe, and live. 
 
 LXXVIII. FREE AS AIR ON LANDSCAPES 
 VAST. 
 
 " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, 
 and ho that hath no money ; come ye, buy, and eat ; yea, 
 come, buy wine and milk without money and without 
 price." — Isaiah Iv. 1. 
 
 F 
 
 KEE as ail' on landscapes vast, 
 Free as waters flowing fast, 
 
 Free as ocean's solemn bound, 
 Free as silence, free as sound, 
 Free as Hglit, or anything. 
 Is the mercy of our King. 
 
 Offer neither house nor land, 
 Bring no money in thy hand ; 
 Corn and oil we need no more ; 
 For the former state is o'er : 
 Free as light, or anything, 
 Is the mercy of our King. 
 
 Art thou thirsty ? diink thy fill, 
 Chi-ist receiveth sinners still ; 
 He the vilest will embrace, 
 Give the worst a sheltered place : 
 Free as light, or anything, 
 Is the mercy of cm- King. 
 
 Come, the Gospel feast is spread ; 
 Come, and taste the Living Bread ; 
 Christ for all His life did give. 
 Only trust, and thou shalt live : 
 Free as hght, or anything. 
 Is the mercy of om- Iving. 
 
 LXXIX. I LEAVE IT ALL WITH THEE. 
 
 " Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain 
 thee."— Psalm Iv. 22. 
 
 DEAR Saviour, as £i-om day to day 
 I travel on my homeward way. 
 Sometimes in joy, sometimes in fears. 
 Sometimes in tnist, sometimes in tears. 
 Still let Thy truth my safeguard be. 
 And may I leave it aU with Thee. 
 
 Without Thee I am weak indeed, 
 
 More brittle than a bruised reed. 
 
 Though darkening clouds my pathway hide, 
 
 StLU may I trust my watchful Guide, 
 
 Within His arms for succour- flee. 
 
 And, Saviour, leave it all with Thee. 
 
 All power is Thine, eternal Love, 
 On earth below, in heaven above. 
 When worlds on worlds are passed away. 
 Thy years shall never know decay. 
 Thou didst endm-e the cross for me : 
 How safe to leave it all with Thee ! 
 
 If pain or want or sharp distress 
 
 Assail me in the wUderness, 
 
 O, may I trust Thine aiin of power 
 
 To save me in the trying horn*. 
 
 And feel, when death shall set me free, 
 
 'Tis sweet to leave it all with Thee ! 
 
 LXXX. MY FATHER ! I MAY CALL THEE SO. 
 
 " I will be his Father, and he shall be My son." — 
 2 Samuel vii. 1-i. 
 
 M 
 
 2 F 2 
 
 y Father ! I may call Thee so ; 
 Beset with care, oppressed with woe.
 
 220 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 I lift my eyes, my heart, to Thee : 
 O, hear my pi'ayer : O, come to me ! 
 Forgive my wauderings o'er the wild. 
 And save Thy sighing, sorrowing child. 
 
 O, fill my heart with holy fear ; 
 Still be Thy presence ever near. 
 More trustful may my spii-it grDW, 
 And weaned from vanities below. 
 Through Christ my Savioiu- reconciled, 
 Most tinily may I be Thy child. 
 
 More gentle still may I become. 
 As drawing near my heavenly home : 
 O, may my thought be oft of Thee. 
 At mornuig, noon, and evening fi-ee ! 
 Thus may I gi*ow in virtue mild, 
 And be my Father's patient child. 
 
 Thou know'st how rough the road I tread, 
 How dark the cold sky overhead. 
 I will not fear : I know Thy hand 
 "Will lead me to the promised land. 
 So Thou shalt guide me o'er the wild, 
 And then in heaven receive Thy child. 
 
 LXXXI. AMID LIFE'S CONFLICTS DAY BY 
 
 DAY. 
 
 " Come unto yje, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, 
 and I will give you rest."— Matthew xi. 28. 
 
 A HID life's conflicts day by day 
 How sweet to hear my Saviom* say. 
 In tones of gentleness and love, 
 To lure my wandering thoughts above, 
 " Come, weaiy soul : to Jesus flee. 
 And lay thy heavy load on Me ! " 
 
 I come, I come. My Saviour dear, 
 "With heahng in my heart appear. 
 How long the road without Thy light ! 
 How weak my strength without Thy might ! 
 j\Iy merciful upholder be : 
 I lay my load of sin on Thee. 
 
 All my distress and grief and care, 
 My loving Saviom*, Thou wilt bear ; 
 My human weakness, want, and wrong : 
 And Thou shalt be the sinner's song. 
 Thy loving voice hath set me free : 
 I lay my load of guilt on Thee. 
 
 Long as I tread this lonely land, 
 Thou shalt uphold me with Thy hand ; 
 And in the midst of Jordan's wave 
 Thy presence shall be near to save ; 
 And when are vanished earth and sea, 
 In that gi-eat day 111 rest on Thee. 
 
 LXXXII. EEMEMBER ME. 
 
 " And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when Thou 
 comest into Thy kingdom."— Luke xxiii. 42. 
 
 T 
 
 HERE is a grief I cannot bring 
 To any but my heavenly King : 
 
 And He ^vill listen when I cry. 
 And hear the mourner's weakest sigh. 
 From sin and earth I look to Thee : 
 Saviour dear, remember me ! 
 
 Should strong temptation like a blast 
 Assail me as it hurries past. 
 And thimders roar, and lightnings fly. 
 And daylight leave the darkened sky ; 
 To Christ for refuge may I flee ; 
 And, Saviour dear, remember me ! 
 
 O, suffer not my feet to shde ; 
 Still keep me near my Shepherd's side : 
 Increase my faith, restore my soul. 
 And make the wounded wanderer whole. 
 Thy boundless love is all my plea : 
 Saviour dear, remember me ! 
 
 Then, when the flight of time is o'er, 
 And sun and moon shall be no more, 
 When quick and dead, both great and small, 
 Appear before the Judge of all. 
 And to Messiah bend the knee, 
 Saviour dear, remember me ! 
 
 LXXXIII. LIFT UP THE HEAET, AND PRAY. 
 
 " I will therefore that men pray everywhere, lifting up 
 holy hands, withoutwrath and doubting." — 1 Timothy ii. 8. 
 
 WHERE rivers meet and mingle. 
 Where daisies deck the plain, 
 Where forest-trees are waving, 
 Where roses scent the lane, 
 Where flows the village fountain, 
 Where gentle lambkins play. 
 Where silent rocks are rising. 
 Lift up the heart, and pray. 
 
 Within the smoky smithy. 
 Upon the gliding deck. 
 Where harvest cheers the reaper, 
 Amid the battle's wi-eck, 
 Down in the mine's dark working. 
 Out where the fresh winds stray, 
 Far on the pathless desert. 
 Lift up the heart, and pray. 
 
 Before the full chm-ch altar. 
 
 Within the cottage small, • 
 
 Down in the humblest dwelling. 
 
 Up in the highest hall, 
 
 Forth where the city darkens, 
 
 In where the fettered stay. 
 
 Low in the deepest dungeon, 
 
 Lift up the heart, and pray. 
 
 When morning gilds the lattice. 
 
 When noontide fills the plain. 
 
 When night and stars and silence 
 
 Hang over earth and main, 
 
 In health, in strength, in sickness, 
 
 In natm'e's last decay. 
 
 To Jesus Clirist the Saviour 
 
 Lift up the heart, and pray.
 
 THY WILL BE DONE. 
 
 221 
 
 Througbont tho whole creation 
 AVe cannot find a spot, 
 On laud or on the ocean, 
 Where Thou, O Lord, art not. 
 Tho prayer of faith is answered. 
 Wherever prayer may he : 
 The earth is one great temple 
 Where we may worship Thee. 
 
 LXXXIV. THERE IS ONLY ONE RETREAT. 
 
 " In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house 
 of David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and 
 for uncleanness." — Zuchakiau xiii. 1. 
 
 THERE is only one retreat 
 For the wandering sinner's feet : 
 Not in creeds, however clear ; 
 Not in penance most sevei'e : 
 He can only safely hide 
 In the Saviour's open side. 
 
 Dearest Lord, to Thee we pray, 
 
 Take oiu- load of guilt away : 
 
 Lift us to a higher place 
 
 In the sunshine of Thy face. 
 
 May we evermore abide , 
 
 In the Savioiu''s open side. 
 
 Here when storms and tempests blow, 
 Here when strives the angiy foe. 
 Here when death is drawing nigh. 
 Here when trumpets rend the sky, 
 Safely may the sinner hide, 
 In the Saviom-'s open side. 
 
 LXXXV. HOW MERCIFUL OUR LOVING LORD ! 
 
 " Be careful for nothing : but in every thing by prayer and 
 supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made 
 known unto God." — Philippians iv. 6. 
 
 H 
 
 ow merciful om* loving Lord, 
 Who gi'ants us daj^ by day. 
 Whilst travelhug onward to our rest, 
 The privilege to pray ! 
 
 In simple words or earnest sighs, 
 * Upon the bended knee, 
 Or in the silence of the heart. 
 It is the same to Thee. 
 
 Amid the daily toil of earth, 
 Ui^on the sick-bed laid, 
 
 Or mid the tramp of busy feet, 
 The prayer of faith is made ; 
 
 Within the consecrated fane, 
 
 Out on the lonely lea, 
 Or by the infant's cradle-bed, 
 
 Where holy angels be. 
 
 The sailor far away from land, 
 
 Tlie mourner everywhere, 
 Tlio fettered captive in his cell. 
 
 Through Christ may offer prayer. 
 
 0, may our hearts in praises rise, 
 Whilst joiu-neying on our way, 
 
 That lie allows the sons of men 
 The privilege to pray I 
 
 LXXXVI. IS THERE WITH THY PEOPLE 
 HERE? 
 
 "Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is 
 this grace given, that I should preach among the Gentiles 
 the unsearchable riches of Christ." — Ephesians iii. 8. 
 
 Is there with Thy people here 
 One so weak in faith and fear, 
 One like me so sorely tried. 
 Prone to leave my Saviom-'s side ? 
 Surely, Lord, this cannot be : 
 Yet I dare repose on Thee. 
 
 O, how slowly I fulfil 
 My Redeemer's righteous will ! 
 O, how stony is my heart ! 
 Thoughts of Thee so soon depart. 
 Come and visit me once more 
 With the bahn from Eden's shore. 
 
 Holy Spirit, breath of love ! 
 Draw my wandering thoughts above : 
 Stamp me with the seal Divine : 
 May I evermore be Thine, 
 Nearer, nearer Christ my Friend, 
 Till in heaven my wanderings end ! 
 
 LXXXVII. THY WILL BE DONE. 
 
 "Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cuiJ from Me : 
 nevertheless, not My will, but Thine, be done." — Luke 
 xxii. 42. 
 
 IN all my conflicts here below. 
 In all my times of pain and woe, 
 By His dear hand may I be led 
 Who had not where to lay His head. 
 And feel, from rising sun to sun, 
 Whate'er my state, "Thy will be done !" 
 
 Thou knowest. Lord, from day to day 
 "What numerous trials throng my way ; 
 Thou know'st the tears that silent start, 
 And every sigh that rends the heai't. 
 Submissive I my race would run. 
 And bow and say, " Thy will be done ! " 
 
 Should tribulation like a sea 
 
 RoU its dark waves of woe on me, 
 
 And friends depart, and sickness chain 
 
 The sufferer to a bed of pain ; 
 
 May I draw near thi-ough Christ Thy Son, 
 
 And meekly pray, "Thy will be done ! "
 
 222 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 Nonglit have I but what God hath f;;iveu ; 
 Heahh, strength, my all I owe to Heaven ; 
 And if Thou tak'st Thine own away, 
 O, help Thy humbled child to saj', 
 As props fall prostrate one by one, 
 "My Father, God, Thy will be done !" 
 
 I dare not choose my earthly state ; 
 Low at Thy feet I calmly wait : 
 Thy presence only would I crave, 
 To cheer my joiirney to the grave. 
 Till bUss eternal is begim, 
 In hfe ill death " Thy will be done ! " 
 
 LXXXYIII. I WOULD BEHOLD MY SAVIOUR. 
 
 " The same came therefore to Philip, which was of 
 Bethsaida of Galilee, and desired him, saying, Sir, we 
 would see Jesus." — John xii. 21, 
 
 I WOULD behold my Saviour 
 At morning's early ray, 
 And when the evening shadows 
 Fall on the dying day, 
 Thi'oughout each changing season, 
 
 In every time and place, 
 My soul vtith earnest longing 
 Would seek my Saviom-'s face. 
 
 When comes the hour of tfial, 
 
 In every time of di'ead. 
 When simshine drives the shadows. 
 
 And joys are round me spread, 
 In sickness, pain, and anguish, 
 
 By faith, 0, may I see 
 The mighty Man of Sorrows 
 
 Who tasted death for me ! 
 
 When all around is gloomy, 
 
 "WTien heaven and earth are black. 
 When hope in clouds is hidden, 
 
 And cares ai'e on my track, 
 Even then may I remember 
 
 That Jesus is the same, — 
 He knows the way to lead me, — 
 
 And bow and bless His name. 
 
 To Christ the only refuge 
 
 StUl may a sinner flee. 
 In evei-y dispensation 
 
 I would submit to Thee ; 
 Until in faith I finish 
 
 The humble Christian's race, 
 For ever and for ever 
 
 I would behold Thy face. 
 
 LXXXIX. OFTTIMES, WHEN WANDEEING 
 LONELY HERE. 
 
 "Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good 
 pleasure to give you the kingdom." — Luke xii, 32. 
 
 OFTTIMES, when wandering lonely here. 
 How far the heights of heaven appear ! 
 And when the stomi is raging loud. 
 And cai-es our souls have earthward bowed, 
 
 The golden streets and city new 
 Seem almost liidden h'om our view. 
 
 'Tis then we sigh so sore distressed, 
 " O, shall we ever reach our rest ? 
 Dear Jesus, shall we ever be. 
 All toUing o'er, at home with Thee ? 
 So iH-oue to sHde, so full of sin, 
 O shall we ever enter in ?" 
 
 And when the winds the waves have stirred, 
 The voice of Christ is sometimes heard : 
 "Ye need not fear. My httle iiock. 
 But hide you in the riven Rock, 
 My Father on His changeless throne 
 Will give the kingdom to His own," 
 
 All power belongs to Christ the Son ; 
 The rich and poor to Him are one ; 
 And all who seek the Saviour's face 
 Shall taste the sweetness of His gi"ace. 
 The word has left the hps Divine, 
 "Come unto Me, and ye are Mine." 
 
 The voice of praise from earth and sea 
 For evermore ascends to Thee ; 
 And we would catch the holy flame. 
 And bless Messiah's sacred name, 
 Who comes with heahug in His wings, 
 The Lord of lords, the King of kings. 
 
 XC, HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL. 
 
 ' He hath done all things well : He maketh both the deaf to 
 hear, and the dumb to speak." — Mark vii. o7. 
 
 FROM earth arises ever 
 A solemn strain of joy, ^ 
 
 A beautiful thanksgi\'ing 
 No discord can destroy ; 
 In murmm's from the forest. 
 
 In echoes fi'om the fell ; 
 Such notes no man can number: 
 "He doeth all things well," 
 
 0, teach us, dear Redeemer,' 
 
 Whilst travelhng here below, 
 Should it be through afilictiou 
 
 In anguish, pain, and woe. 
 Even when our path is hidden, 
 
 Let not our heart rebel. 
 But evermore acknowledge, 
 
 "He doeth all things well." 
 
 The oil-cruse may be empty, 
 
 No meal the barrel hold, 
 The tender lambs be taken 
 
 From home's love-guarded fold. 
 Our worldly store may vanish, 
 
 And sorrow with us dwell ; 
 But sigh, chastened spu'it, 
 
 " He doeth all things well," 
 
 The dumb still sing His praises, 
 
 The deaf His accents hear ; 
 The blind behold His glory, 
 
 And follow in His fear ;
 
 ALL IS TOO MEAN, HOWEVEB BABE. 
 
 223 
 
 TliG dead in sin are quickened, 
 And now rejoice to tell 
 
 How pfi-eat is His compassion 
 Wlio doeth all things well. 
 
 O, may our full hearts ntter 
 
 This holy hymn of joy, 
 Althoiifrh the fi,:?-tree wither. 
 
 And storms onr hopes destroy 
 Dear Jesus, still be near ns 
 
 In Jordan's heavy swell. 
 And teach our lips to whisper, 
 
 •'He doeth all thmgs well." 
 
 XCI. SWEET SABBATH BEST! SWEET 
 SABBATH BEST ! 
 
 " And call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord." 
 — Isaiah Iviii. 13. 
 
 SWEET Sabbath rest ! sweet Sabbath rest ! 
 How welcome to my anxious breast ! 
 Now let me banish worldly care, 
 And lift my heaii; in praise and prayer 
 To Him who leads me on my way. 
 And gives another Sabbath day. 
 
 Sweet Sabbath rest ! sweet Sabbath rest ! 
 Along the meads with daisies di-essed, 
 The solemn bells in music rare 
 Are calling to the house of prayer, 
 Whose hngering echoes seem to say, 
 •' Come, worship on the Sabbath day." 
 
 Sweet Sabbath rest ! sweet Sabbath rest ! 
 Of days the calmest, brightest, best ; 
 When angels waUi this world of strife 
 With whispers from the land of hfe ; 
 And Christ is near with heaUng ray 
 To cheer me on the Sabbath day. 
 
 Sweet Sabbath rest ! sweet Sabbath rest ! 
 
 Dear holy emblem of the blest. 
 
 How long I oft, mid toil and sin. 
 
 To hear the welcome word, " Come in," 
 
 To spend where love shall ne'er decay 
 
 In heaven an endless Sabbath day ! 
 
 XCII. LONG HAVE WE BEEN WAITING. 
 
 " The watchman said, The morning cometh, and also 
 the night : if je will inquire, inquire yc : return, come." — 
 Isaiah xxi. 12. 
 
 L 
 
 ONG have we been waiting 
 For the dawn of day : 
 Eise, O Sun of Beauty, 
 Chase the gloom away. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Lead tlie ransomed nations 
 With Thy mi^dity hand : 
 
 Let the Bose of Sharon 
 Perfiune all the land. 
 
 Still before the altar 
 
 We om- hands outspread : 
 Feed us, dearest Saviom-, 
 
 With the li\'ing bread. 
 Fill us with Thy fulness, 
 
 Vine of Judah's stock : 
 May our feet for ever 
 
 liest upon the Hock. 
 
 We are waiting, waiting 
 
 For the sunshine clear : 
 Come, convincing Sphit, 
 
 In our hearts appear. 
 Hark, the song of moi-ning 
 
 Breaks among the hills : 
 Soon Messiah's kingdom 
 
 All creation fills. 
 
 ALL IS TOO MEAN, HOWEVER 
 EAEE. 
 
 " How sweet are Thy words uuto my taste ! yea, sweeter 
 than honey to my mouth! — Psalji csixl 103. 
 
 ALL is too mean, however rare, 
 With sacred Scriptm-e to compare. 
 A well amid the desert sand, 
 A light within the wanderer's hand, 
 A lifeboat on the stormy sea, 
 The holy Bible is to me. 
 
 Here turn I when the rains descend, 
 And angry winds the welkin rend ; 
 "When moon and stars behind the cloud 
 Are hidden in a wintiy shroud ; 
 When nature gi'oans from pole to pole ; 
 And hght arises on my soul. 
 
 And when the ground is parched and dry. 
 
 And showers refuse to leave the sky ; 
 "Wlien buds are drooping on the spray, 
 And dust-clouds hide my weai-y way ; 
 In its enclosures fair and stiU 
 I di'ink from Canaan's clearest rill. 
 
 Here Sharon's Rose perfumes the gale ; 
 Here blooms the Lily of tlie Vale ; 
 Here fountains flow in brooklets blight 
 With hoahng from the hills of light, 
 Mj' highest, hohest thought to engage ; 
 And Christ is seen on eveiy page. 
 
 Eternal Power, I bless Thj' name. 
 From whom this sacred treasure came. 
 More precious may my Bible be, 
 Which shows the sinner's way to Thee ; 
 And though I health and wealth resign, 
 Still maj' I own the Book Divine.
 
 224 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 XCIY. 
 
 riLGrjM, KNEEL: 
 DONE. 
 
 THE DAY IS 
 
 " Let my prayer be set forth before Thee as incense, and 
 the lifting hp of my hands as the evening sacrifice." — 
 PSALiI cxli. 2. 
 
 PTLCiRni, kneel : the day is done ; 
 In the west has sunk the sun ; 
 Labour's busy ring is still ; 
 Twilight settles on the hill : 
 Mid life's endless toihng stay, 
 Kneel before the Lord, and pray. 
 
 O, how oft a Father's care 
 
 Has been with His child to spare ! 
 
 O, how oft in danger's hour 
 
 Thou hast saved us by Thy power ! 
 
 Neath the evening shadows grey 
 
 Kneel before the Lord, and pray. 
 
 For our duties slowly done, 
 For our failings every one, 
 For oiu" sins against Thj^ love, 
 Lift we now oua* hearts above. 
 Savioiu-, piu-ge our guilt away ! — 
 Kneel before the Lord, and pray. 
 
 Gentle Shepherd, lead us where 
 Verdant fields are smiUng fair : 
 Mid the pastui'cs of Thy choice 
 May we heed Thy loving voice. 
 Guiding us to endless day ! — 
 Kneel before the Lord, and pray. 
 
 XCV. THANK THEE FOE THE DAYLIGHT. 
 
 •' My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning, Lord ; in 
 the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will 
 look up." — rsALM V. 3. 
 
 THANK Thee for the daylight 
 Breaking on the shore ; 
 Thank Thee that I see it 
 On the earth once more. 
 Kindling up the forest. 
 Lighting up the lea, 
 Kissing through the casement 
 Where my dear ones be. 
 
 Many are Thy mercies. 
 
 Lord of earth and skies : 
 '^i^''ith delicious slumber 
 
 Thou hast blessed mine eyes. 
 Now again I waken 
 
 So refreshed and free, 
 And my early praises 
 
 Would ascend to Thee. 
 
 Guide me, dear Redeemer, 
 
 With Thy gentle hand : 
 May each moment find me 
 
 Nearer Canaan's land : 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 And when day is ended 
 With its toil and care. 
 
 May I ever close it 
 With the Lord in prayer. 
 
 Glory to the Father ! 
 
 Praises to the Son ! 
 Glory to the Spirit I 
 
 Ever Three in One ! 
 Help my footsteps onward 
 
 In the Christian race, 
 TiU I see my Saviour 
 
 In the holy place. 
 
 WHERE THE HILLS ARE RUDE AND 
 HIGH. 
 
 " And they said among themselves. Who shall roll us 
 away the stone from the door of the sepulchre ? And 
 when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled 
 away; for it was very great." — Mark xvi. 3, 4, 
 
 WHERE the hills are rude and high, 
 \Yhere the land is parched and dry, 
 Where no flowers of comfort grow. 
 Oft I wander, sad and slow ; 
 Sighing thus from day to day, 
 " Who will roll the stone away ? " 
 
 From the mire of sin I cry. 
 Towards the heavens I lift mine eye : 
 See, a weeping suppliant see : 
 God be merciful to me ! 
 Near me in the desert stay, 
 Roll my unbeHef away. 
 
 He who died my soul to save, 
 He who triumphed o'er the grave, 
 He who lives in heaven above, 
 Sends the angel of His love. 
 All my rising fears to allay ; 
 And the stone is rolled away. 
 
 Praise I now my heavenly King : 
 Take the offering that I bring. 
 Though it be so mean and poor : 
 ]\Iay I trust Thee more and more, 
 Knowing that Thy love alone 
 Rolls away each hindering stone. 
 
 XCVII. LIKE A TRAVELLER WANDERING 
 
 FAR. 
 
 "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered 
 into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared 
 for them that love Him." — 1 Corinthians ii. 9. 
 
 LIKE a ti-aveller wandering far. 
 Where no kindred faces are, 
 Absent long from friends and home, 
 Weary thus alone to roam. 
 With his face towards the shore 
 Of his native land once more :
 
 NOT IN THE TOMB FOE EVER, 
 
 225 
 
 So we feel whilst journeying here, 
 Far from Canaan's valley's dear, 
 Far from heaven and all tliat's told 
 Of its towers and streets of gold. 
 Where the shining seraph sings. 
 Shaking odour from his wings. 
 
 Home of sweet abiding joy, 
 Nought of change can e'er destroy ; 
 Songs of ear til, however rare, 
 Cannot show the glory there. 
 Filling all the heavenly plains 
 Where Messiah ever reigns. 
 
 Lift we now our hearts on high : 
 Dear Redeemer, hear our cry ; 
 Wash oui' robes, and make them white, 
 Worthy of the land of light ; 
 And when breaks the silver band. 
 Take us to the golden land. 
 
 CVIII. STAINED WITH SIN, AND FULL 
 OF WOE. 
 
 " But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ by whom the world iss crucified 
 unto me, and I unto the world." — Galatians vi. 14, 
 
 STAINED with sin, and full of woe, 
 Help us, Lord, as on we go, — 
 Though we oft have cause to sigh, — 
 Evermore to fix our eye. 
 With a chastened spirit still, 
 On the cross on Calvary's hill. 
 
 There our precious Saviour bled ; 
 There He bowed His bleeding head ; 
 There He heaved His dying groan 
 For the sins of man to atone. 
 O, what giief His soul did fill 
 On the cross on Calvary's hill ! 
 
 In the hour of woe and wrong, 
 In the horn- when foes are strong, 
 In the hour- of swift decay. 
 When the heavens shall pass away. 
 May we view our Saviour still 
 On the cross on Calvary's hill. 
 
 Eisen is now om' lining Head ; 
 Cruel Death is captive led : 
 Sits He on His Father's throne. 
 Interceding for His own ; 
 And His love all hearts shaU thrill 
 For the cross on Calvary's hill. 
 
 XCIX. THE EAETH IS FULL OF JESUS. 
 
 " And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, 
 is the Lord of Hosts : the whole earth is full of His glory." — 
 Isaiah vi. 3. 
 
 THE earth is full of Jesus ; 
 The mountains speak His power. 
 And glimpses of His glory 
 Are seen on every flower. 
 
 The valleys sing His praises ; 
 The rivers roll His name. 
 The everlasting Father, 
 For evermore the same. 
 
 It trembles through the forest 
 When day is dying fast ; 
 The winds attest His presence 
 Upon the desert vast: 
 The ocean i-olls His wonders 
 Unto the listening land ; 
 The stars are bright epistles 
 Engi'aven by His hand. 
 
 His goodness shineth ever 
 
 In earth and heaven above : 
 
 Each season is a teacher 
 
 Of the Creator's love. 
 
 The monarch of the forest, 
 
 The gi-asses of the sod. 
 
 The breeze, the rain, the tempest. 
 
 Proclaim the power of God. 
 
 O, bow before the Saviour ! 
 To Him due praises give ; 
 He who upholds creation 
 Has died that we may hve. 
 This is the greatest glory 
 That bui'st the heavens above : 
 O, crown Hira King eternal. 
 The Lord of life and love ! 
 
 C. NOT IN THE TOMB FOE EVER. 
 And I will raise him up at the last day." — John vi. 40. 
 
 NOT in the tomb for ever. 
 With silence and the shade, 
 Be it the waters' cavern, 
 Be it the forest's glade ; 
 Not bound in frozen fetters, 
 Never again to rise. 
 But only there awaiting 
 The trumpet of the skies. 
 
 Not in the tomb for ever : 
 The sun and moon sh^all fail, 
 And ocean's waves grow silent, 
 As sinks the last gi'eat gale ; 
 The stars of heaven shall stagger, 
 And swiftly rush through space. 
 And all earth's wakened sleepers 
 Leave their stiU resting-place. 
 
 Not in the tomb for ever : 
 His word has reached our ears, 
 Whose truth outlives the ages, 
 Whose glory fills the spheres. 
 O when the last morn breaketh, 
 O'er troubled earth and sea. 
 The dead shall leave theu- slumbers 
 At His Divine decree. 
 
 G G
 
 226 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 Not in the tomb for ever : 
 The trumpet's suchlen roar 
 Shall cleave the soUd mountains 
 And open ocean's door, 
 The gathered dust of ages 
 In one vast throng unite, 
 And soul and body mingle 
 Upon the plains of light. 
 
 Not in the tomb for ever : 
 The Son of Man shall come 
 "\^'ith His attendant angels, 
 And take the watchful home. 
 Below the flames shall rustle. 
 And roll through heaven above, 
 The dead in Christ shall triumph, 
 And scale the hills of love. 
 
 CI. WHY IS THY SPIKIT TEOUBLED ? 
 
 " He appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of Him- 
 self." — Hebrews ix. 26. 
 
 WHT is thy spirit troubled ? 
 "VSIiy is thy soul distressed ? 
 Look up, look up, thy Saviom* 
 WiU give the weai-y rest. 
 The shadows have departed 
 Before His healing ray. 
 And Gospel sunlight gladdens : 
 O sin is put away ! 
 
 From hill to hill it streameth, 
 Deep vales its lustre give. 
 From isle to isle extending ; 
 Beheve and thou shalt Live. 
 None are by Him rejected 
 Who wait and watch and pray 
 At Mercy's open portal : 
 sin is put away ! 
 
 Old men with travel weary, 
 And youths of vigour strong, 
 The maiden mid the roses. 
 The poor man in the thi'ong. 
 The mother and her offspiing, 
 The gentle child at play. 
 Are all redeemed by Jesus : 
 O sin is put away ! 
 
 O precious, precious tidings. 
 
 Which hft our Uves above, 
 
 "WTiere Eden's gateways glitter 
 
 And fiU the world with love. 
 
 The sacrifice is offered 
 
 The lifted arm to stay, 
 
 And Christ and heaven are purchased : 
 
 O sin is put away ! 
 
 Why is thy spirit troubled ? 
 Come forth into the Ught, 
 Behold thy risen Saviour, 
 And praise Him with thy might : 
 
 He giveth joy for mom-ning, 
 True beauty for decay, 
 And hfe for death's endm^ing : 
 sin is put away ! 
 
 CII. WE SEE THEE NOW, DEAE SAVIOUR. 
 "For we shall see Him as He is." — John iii. 2. 
 
 WE see Thee now, dear Saviour, 
 Where mountain mosses lie, 
 In the gi-eat forest's fulness, 
 Throughout the boundless sky ; 
 And not a bud or blossom. 
 Within the loneliest place, 
 But it reflects the beauty 
 And brightness of Thy face. 
 
 We see Thee in the rainbow, 
 Fair herald of the shower ; 
 We see Thee in the dew-drop. 
 We see Thee in the flower ; 
 We see Thee in the order 
 That everywhere prevails, 
 The glory of the sunset. 
 The gi-andem* of the dales. 
 
 But chiefly in the Gospel 
 
 Thy loveliness we trace. 
 
 Thy smile of perfect sweetness, 
 
 The mystery of Thy grace. 
 
 fairest of ten thousand, 
 
 The altogether bright. 
 
 Our precious strength in weakness, 
 
 The weary wanderer's Light ! 
 
 But 0, when Life is over. 
 And flesh and spirit part, 
 When in Thy own dear Eden 
 We see Thee as Thou art ; 
 Where prince and peasant mingle 
 In Zion's royal realm. 
 What gloiy ! O what gloi-y ! 
 Our souls shall overwhelm ! 
 
 Prepare us, gracious Spuit, 
 For this Divine abode : 
 O let the Sun of Beauty 
 Beam ever on our road ! 
 Thy soul-enUvening presence 
 Delightfully impart, 
 Until, in heaven's clear vision. 
 We see Thee as Thou art. 
 
 cm. A DRY WIND FROM THE DESERT. 
 
 *' Lord, I am oppressed : undertake for me." — Isaiah 
 xxxviii. 14. 
 
 A DRY wind from the desert, 
 A sorrow from the sand, 
 A thirsty, voiceless valley, 
 A darkness on the land.
 
 ALL DAY—FIiOM MORN TILL EVEN. 
 
 007 
 
 A risinpf of the river, 
 A swelling of the sea ; 
 And yet my loving Father 
 Shall undertake for me. 
 
 As step by step I travel 
 Towards my resting place, 
 My prayer shall be for patience 
 To rim the heavenly race ; 
 And though the verdure faileth, 
 And nought but dearth I see, 
 The Giver of the promise 
 ShaU undertake for me. 
 
 Here lie unnumbered perils 
 My homeward course along, 
 And there huge hills of trouble 
 Block up my pathway strong. 
 The arrows of the archer 
 From bows of malice flee, 
 And yet my loving Father 
 Shall undertake for me. 
 
 My path was never darker 
 Than at the present hour. 
 When black winds fill the forest 
 And fall upon the flower. 
 The promised prop is hidden, 
 No refuge can I see, 
 And yet my loving Father 
 Shall undertake for me. 
 
 And in the hour of sickness 
 And hfe's extreme decay. 
 When forth into the future 
 My spiiit wings its way. 
 In hfe, in death, in judgment, 
 I safe in Him shall be ; 
 For then my loving Saviour 
 Shall undertake for me. 
 
 CIV. THE TWILIGHT DEEPENS AS THE DAY. 
 " Who forgiveth all thine iniquities." — Psalm ciii. '6. 
 
 THE twilight deepens as the day 
 With all its noise fades fast away. 
 Now let me close my closet door. 
 And my imperfect life deplore, 
 Beseeching pardon for my guilt 
 Through Him whose blood for all was spilt. 
 
 What I have left to-day undone, 
 Forgive, in honour of Thy Son : 
 What I have wrongly wrought or said, 
 By bhnded selfishness misled. 
 Content in barrenness to live. 
 Forgive, dear Father, forgive ! 
 
 Have I forgotten in the race 
 
 To speak to him of saddened face, 
 
 To cheer the orphan from my store, 
 To bid the mourner weep no more. 
 To take the feeble by the hand, 
 And help him o'er life's burning sand ? 
 
 Perhaps some lonely child of grief 
 Has looked to me to bring relief, 
 And I have not in mildness meet 
 Gone with him to the Sa\'iour's feet, 
 To seek in penitence and prayer 
 What never is denied us there. 
 
 Forgive me, Father, forgive, 
 And teach me how I ought to live. 
 Still day by day, and hour by hour, 
 O may I feel Thy Spirit's power 
 O'ershadowing me -with love benign. 
 Till heaven and all its joys ai'e mine ! 
 
 CV. ALL DAY— FKOM MORN TILL EVEN. 
 
 " All day long I have stretched forth my bands unto a dis- 
 obedieut and gainsaying people." — Eomans x. 21. 
 
 ALL day — fi-om morn tiU even 
 Shuts on the western wave, 
 The arms of Christ the Shepherd, 
 Aj-e still outstretched to sa\e. 
 All day — till shadows thicken 
 Along the distant down, 
 And silence fills the valleys. 
 And night comes dimly down. 
 
 All day — from youth to manhood. 
 When noon's bright sun is high. 
 Till eve's increasing twilight 
 Falls fi'om the fading sky ; 
 And age, with garments dusty. 
 Sits 'neath the shadowy height. 
 And yearns to reach the city 
 Where it is endless light. 
 
 All day is He beseeching. 
 In voice of tenderest tone. 
 The erring sons of soitow 
 To walk with Him alone. 
 The seasons change for ever, 
 The new year gi-oweth old. 
 But ceaselessly He wooeth 
 The wanderer to His fold. 
 
 All day — from dusk tiU darkness. 
 When fears are round us spread. 
 And hoary hau-s are sprinkled 
 Upon the pilgrim's head. 
 O may we jield to Jesus, 
 And give our wandei-ings o'er ; 
 He gi'anteth strength in weakness, 
 Afid glory evennore. 
 
 2 G 2
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 BAEONESS BURDETT COUTTS 
 
 DISTINGUISHED FOE HER LIBERALITY TO THE WORKING CLASSES AND HER CHRISTIAN 
 
 CONSIDERATION OF THE TOILERS OF GREAT BRITAIN, 
 
 WHOSE GENEROUS NAME WILL GO DOWN TO POSTERITY AS THE BENEFACTRESS OF MANKIND, THESE 
 
 PEACE POEMS 
 
 ARE BY PERMISSION 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 July, 1872. 
 
 *Srx 
 
 THE WAR-FIEND. 
 
 ■ AN ! Christian ! Briton ! up, bestir 
 
 thyself ! 
 Eed War is rampant. From his 
 
 cave of bones, 
 Of numerous nations slaughtered 
 
 in the fight. 
 He rushes forth with fury, fire, and 
 flame. 
 
 With ringing steel, with weapons blood-bedyed. 
 And fire-winged monsters echoing deeds of death. 
 Bed War is rampant, smearing the high hills 
 And the low valleys with the f:ore of men, 
 Snapping the bond of human brotherhood. 
 And driving man to kill his fellow-man, 
 Who cuts and stabs him in the awful fray. 
 To be himself the sport of polished blades. 
 Handled by those he should embrace and love. 
 Neighbour has met his neighbour on the field. 
 And both shoot wildly at each other thei'e. 
 Foe turns his flashing eyes upon his foe, 
 Intent to plunge the dagger in his heart. 
 
 Forth from his cave he comes, this gory fiend. 
 
 Where he so long has fed on human flesh 
 
 Mown down for him, mown down in days of yore. 
 
 And heaped into his vault by bloody hands : 
 
 Forth from his cave he comes with murderous mien, 
 
 And the earth trembles 'neath his iron feet. 
 
 Dost think the Maker of this lovely world. 
 
 The gi'eat Designer of the Universe, — 
 
 Who buUt the mighty mountains with His word. 
 
 And scooped the flowery valleys with His hand ; 
 
 Who from the very dust created man. 
 
 And in his nostrils breathed the breath of life. 
 
 So that he started up a living soul, 
 
 And bade him live and greatly multiply, 
 
 And peojile the new world, — dost think that He 
 
 Designed at first that man should murder man. 
 
 Filling the earth with cruelty and blood, 
 
 Making its fairy fields a charnel-house, 
 
 And the blue skies to blush at human woe ? 
 
 Man fell, — and Cain was the first murderer. 
 
 Up from thy books, and forth into the fields : 
 What dost thou hear on the rose-scented breeze ? 
 Beneath those stars that shine so beautiful, 
 Shedding sweet influence on the man of peace. 
 That look down in thy face so lovingly. 
 Like eyes of friends escaped away to heaven, — 
 Beneath those stars the fearful howl is heard, 
 And the fierce fighters ply their flashing blades ;
 
 THE WAB-FIEND. 
 
 229 
 
 Shells btirst, and rockets hiss, and cannons roar. 
 ' Death on his wln'te horse riislies o'er tlio land, 
 Trampling with iron hoofs the forms of men : 
 Flames frotn his nostrils rush : proud chiefs are singed, 
 ymouldering to ashes on his ruin-track. 
 
 'Tis night : along the sky huge meteors walk, 
 Like giants Hashing with mysterious blades. 
 Behind them, on those clouds of gory red 
 Ride hosts of horsemen, and theu- flickering swords 
 Clash and re-clash upon the ear of Night ; 
 And down the sides of those dark rolling hills 
 Hush streams of human blood, with fire and smoke. 
 Unearthly sounds are muttering through the dark : 
 Men shiver in the streets, and talk of woe : 
 Dogs howl, the ravens scream, and funeral songs 
 Wail through the midnight with the voice of death,— 
 Awful prognostics of the coming storm. 
 
 List to the crackling of those tongues of fire, 
 
 Leaping from roof to roof, from street to street, 
 
 Beneath the cloudy mantle of the night. 
 
 A city burns with its inhabitants. 
 
 Its holy fanes and sciilptured palaces. 
 
 Its famed cathedrals, gemmed with daring deeds, 
 
 Its noble domes, the boast of royalty. 
 
 Its costly magazines of precious wealth, 
 
 Its choice museums, rich with scraps of eld. 
 
 The pith and marrow of all age and time. 
 
 Old men and youths, the father and his flock, 
 
 Mother and daughter, widow and her charge. 
 
 Lover and maiden, mistress and her lord. 
 
 Poet and painter, harper and his lute ; 
 
 The rich man gi'asping hard his bags of gold. 
 
 And blasted mendicant in fluttering weeds ; 
 
 The wise philosopher, and staring clown ; 
 
 The man of prayer, and the blasphemer rude ; 
 
 The new-born infant, and its grey grandsu-e ; 
 
 The veriest drudge, and prince in shining robes, — 
 
 Consume together in a whirl of flame. 
 
 Hark how the wind moans through those ancient elms, 
 
 Flapping their leafless arms in winter-time. 
 
 Like spectres gazing at the flying moon. 
 
 Forth from yon dwelling stalks an Enghsh knight. 
 
 Leaving behind him in that lonely vale 
 
 A wife, a mother, and his children dear ; 
 
 And on he goes to battle. How his arms 
 
 Flash in the moonlight, as he hastes away 
 
 To meet the foe, and front him foot to foot 
 
 And hand to hand ! O, how his great heartbeats 
 
 "When, standing in the entrance of the wood, 
 
 He looks back on the dwelling of his youth. 
 
 And the fan- sleepers swim before his eyes ! 
 
 Then, dashing off the tear, his steed's quick tread 
 
 Rolls through the solitudes as on he sweeps. 
 
 Amid the slaughter of the reeldng host. 
 
 He gi-apples with the foe. At the first charge 
 
 Which stilled the echoes with its deafening roar. 
 
 Shot crossing shot, and blast re-crossing blast, 
 
 Sweeping away the foeman and his foe. 
 
 He thinks of home and friends, of wife and babes. 
 
 Of fire-side joys, of walks at summer-time. 
 
 Where rose and woodbine hung, and deeds are done 
 
 By which his name will live in martial song, 
 
 Till the sun darkens, and the moon is blood. 
 
 Genius, and valour, and a noble mind 
 
 Led him to laurels Hector might have won. 
 
 Learning was on his lip, and in his eye 
 
 The fiery flashes of an orator. 
 
 His ire was as the liglitning of the storm. 
 
 Fierce, terrible, astounding earth and heaven. 
 
 His soul was like a blazing thunderbolt. 
 
 Shivering to atoms all impediments. 
 
 He hurled his sword with strong Herculean hand. 
 
 And armies trembled at its dreadful glare. 
 
 He raised his rifle, and grey heroes fell ; 
 
 They and their plumes were trampled in the dust. 
 
 By tact, and art, and wondrous stratagem, 
 
 He led his troops to certain victorj'. 
 
 But when the shout of the pursuing host 
 
 Died on the listening ear, and night came on. 
 
 When round the camp-fires hoary veterans met. 
 
 And tales of slaughtered regiments were told, 
 
 His own great name was reckoned with the dead. 
 
 He stiff and cold on the red battle-plain ! 
 
 Ah ! never more that warrior's ncble form 
 Was seen across the tkreshold of his home ; 
 And never more his children climbed his knee, 
 Or wife gazed on the features of her lord. 
 He fell in battle, covered o'er with wounds. 
 Ah ! what avails his foreign momunent, 
 Or all the thunder of the trump of fame. 
 To him, or those who aye bewail his loss ? 
 An empty chair is now beside his hearth. 
 And sorrowing hearts for ever cluster there. 
 Sweet little younglings look for him in vain. 
 A shadow rests on all terrestrial things. 
 
 On sweeps the War-fiend, on his car of flame. 
 
 By hungry coursers di-awn, whose u'on teeth 
 
 Gnash in their fmy for a human meal. 
 
 On sweeps the War-fiend, shaking his hot brand. 
 
 With red hair streaming in the sulphm--blast, 
 
 And visage dark with blood. On sweeps the fiend, 
 
 Rushing o'er vineyards trampled in the dust. 
 
 O'er palaces and peasant homes in tears ; 
 
 O'er widows, wailing for their husbands slain ; 
 
 O'er children, weeping for their murdered sires ; 
 
 O'er friend, left friendless in a world of foes ; 
 
 O'er sobbing households, i-uined, rent, and riven ; 
 
 O'er lover, prostrate on the field of death ; 
 
 O'er maiden, weeping for that lover there ; 
 
 O'er hamlets drenched in blood, o'er towns destroj'cd. 
 
 O'er cities sacked and burnt to wretchedness ; 
 
 O'er plains with corses strewn, or white with bones ; 
 
 O'er countries saturate with human gore. 
 
 Where shrieked the cormorant his doleful note ; 
 
 O'er kingdoms shaken with the thunder-blast. 
 
 Ploughed up with ruthless biiUets, where the sky 
 
 Was hung ir, clouds of darkest drapery. 
 
 On sweeps the War-fiend on his maddening march. 
 
 With his stern train of smiting followers. 
 
 That stab, and shoot, and chop, and rip, and pierce, 
 
 And murder in broad day. Earth groaned and writhed 
 
 Beneath tlie luige calamitv it bore. 
 
 Among the hills he dwelt, that pensive one, 
 A loving father, with an only child, 
 His little daughter, beautiful as Spring. 
 i\jnong the hills he dwelt, that tuneful bard. 
 Singing his songs imheard in Nature's ear ;
 
 230 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 Unless, perchance, beneatli some towering cliff, 
 Or shadowy rock, or wandering far away 
 Where flowers were clinging to the nigged ridge, 
 And silent rills went gliding down the steeps, 
 Or by the margin of the placid lake, 
 Whose limpid waters miiTored the tall trees, 
 "Where sang the birds then- evening orisons, — 
 Unless, perchance, when sweetly wandering her^, 
 Leading his Uttle faiiy daughter forth, 
 I She caught the burden of his rm-al lyre. 
 
 ' How pleasant were those days, those walks of song 
 AVith music and the Muses ! How she loved 
 
 I Those soUtary rambles, by the brook, 
 In the low valley where the swallows played. 
 And up the mountain-path, high on the crags 
 Rent by the -nnntry blast ! through meads of flowers, 
 Where butterflies were floating in the sun, 
 And gentle breezes mm-mured sweetest songs. 
 O, how she loved those walks, to father dear, 
 And dear to her, Dame Natm-e's happy child ! 
 Each spot of secrecy in field or feU, 
 "Where oft her su-e would sing his madrigals, 
 Each httle brooklet where he mused at mom, 
 Each rock and hawthorn visited by him, 
 Were known to her, companion of the bard : 
 And oft, when evening came, they wandered forth 
 To revel in the glow-wonn's ghostly light. 
 
 Behind the western mountains sinks the sun, 
 
 And one by one the kindly stars come forth : 
 
 The evening dews descend on hill and dale ; 
 
 The rising moon illumes the riven crags. 
 
 Pouring her first fan- rays into the glen ; 
 
 And the last story dies beside the hearth. 
 
 Forth in the moonlight shadows walks the maid, 
 
 With tears upon her cheek. No su-e is there, 
 
 No poet with his mystic instrument, 
 
 No father with his heart brim-full of love. 
 
 He, severed fi-om his only daughter's side, 
 
 Is forced into the battle. Far away 
 
 Is heard the storm and strife of martial hosts, 
 
 With all the roar of horrid musketry, 
 
 And gi-oans of dying men in sheets of flame. 
 
 Amid the stillness of this summer eve 
 
 The echo of the far-off fight is heard. 
 
 Borne by the breezes to her listening ear. 
 
 Like Thunder muttering in his distant caves. 
 
 " "SMiere can my father be ? 0, tell me where ! 
 
 They tore him from me while I lay asleep ; 
 
 And when at morning from my couch I rose, 
 
 He was not at our heai-th. I searched the meads. 
 
 Climbed up the mountain, hastened down the vale, 
 
 Kan to the arbour by the babbling stream, 
 
 And where the hawthorn lures with its cool shade. 
 
 Flew to the cliff, and roamed the fragrant heath, — 
 
 Where he was wont to be delighted much, — 
 
 Calling upon his name. He heard me not. 
 
 Among the pretty flowers, whose looks were changed, 
 
 I sat me down and wept, and wept again. 
 
 Till my heart sank within me. Five long days 
 
 And long, long nights have found me desolate. 
 
 No food have I to eat, and my brain whirls : 
 
 Yet oft methinks, when hunger pierces mo, 
 
 I hear the music of my mother's voice, 
 
 And wonder why I cannot go to her." 
 
 Day after day she drew her wasting form 
 Into the fields, to look out for her sfre ; 
 And day by day her wasting strength declined, 
 Till one bright summer evening, — as the sun 
 Tinged the high summits of the' eternal hills, 
 Lea\'ing his last smile on the golden clouds 
 That hung around him like a bannered host, — 
 Under a hawthorn in her nativs vale, 
 Her gentle spirit winged its way to heaven. ' 
 
 War, raise thy brasen trumpet as thou wilt, 
 I And blow with all thy might a thunder-blast, 
 So that thy roar o'erturn the solid rocks. 
 And rend the mountains into chasms huge, 
 Shaking the cities with thy dreadful shout, 
 And toppling kingdoms over with thy roar ! 
 Ay, howl with all thy might thy last long howl I 
 Thy reign of blood must shortly have an end, 
 Thy day of vengeance sm-ely speed away ; 
 Thy flaming faggots flicker to expire ; 
 Thy glaring eye-balls slowly film in death. 
 Thy car be shattered, and thy last shrill clang 
 Die on the borders of the universe ! 
 
 See'st thou this book ? It is the Book of God. 
 What words are glittering on its sacred leaves ? 
 " A vii-gin shall conceive, and bear a Son, 
 And they shall call His name Immaxuel : 
 For He shall save His people from thefr sins. 
 His peaceful kingdom ever shall increase, 
 Stretching from isle to isle, from sea to sea, 
 Till nation against nation lift no sword. 
 Beating them into ploughshares, and their spears 
 Shall all be changed to graceful pruniug-hooks, — 
 Till universal man learn war no more." 
 
 Fire-breathing monster, on thy hissing steed, 
 
 Pawing the seat of power -with lightning-hoofs ! 
 
 It comes, the stormy tempest and thy last ; 
 
 The aw^xl plunge of blades which cleaves thy head ; 
 
 The furious fight which lays thee on thy bier ; 
 
 The hurricane of blows that breaks thy bones ; 
 
 The rush of might that leaves thee marrowless ; 
 
 And thou shalt perish with thy weight of woe. 
 
 Even now thy red arm, lifted in the fight, 
 
 Pulls down the ciurse of Heaven upon thy head : 
 
 The heated cannons roll thy dirge of death, 
 
 And the cracked trumpet sounds thy requiem : 
 
 The rifles ciy upon the field of stiii'e, 
 
 " We soon shall be transfoi-med to prongs and spades." 
 
 The twanging swords, that gleam, and flash, and blaze, 
 
 Starthngly utter, " We shall shortly ti;rn 
 
 Into keen scythes to cut the ripened grain." 
 
 The spears sharp-pointed, too, have found a tongue ; 
 
 And blades of every kind and every name. 
 
 Spotted with blood, cry, " War will soon be o'er ! " 
 
 Even now, when musing in my hedge-row bower. 
 Hushed by the calm of autumn, when the air 
 Hangs motionless around the echoing earth, 
 And the leaves fall away so quietly, 
 Reminding us of death, and the dark grave, — 
 Even now, when all alone in this sweet spot, 
 Communing with the spirits of the past. 
 Or toiling through the gi'ound, where I am oft 
 Bruised in the cave of darkness, till my bones 
 Ci-y in their iron harness, and my soul
 
 THE WHITE SHIP. 
 
 231 
 
 Longs to shake off tins clay and be at rest, — 
 
 Even now an echo breaks npon my ear, 
 
 Eollmg subhmely o'er those granite crags, 
 
 And ruagmg through the caverns of my mount. 
 
 " List, hst ! the last gi-eat battle-horn- is near ; 
 
 The final conflict will commence its march ; 
 
 The roar of warfare is about to end. 
 
 And the last struggle that shall tear the world. 
 
 The dove of Peace is stirring in her nest, 
 
 To bear the olive-branch to every shore. 
 
 The holy Bible wins its widening way, 
 
 To teach humanity the lore of love. 
 
 The Gospel-morn is breaking in all lands, 
 
 To usher in the grand millennium. 
 
 Men have begun to throw their spears away. 
 
 And grasp the hammer for the soldier's blade. 
 
 War shakes with anguish, his iiide end is near, 
 
 And the grey rocks fling back, " His end is near." 
 
 Amen, so let it be ! Thy kingdom come ! 
 
 And the grey rocks reply, " Thy kingdom come." 
 
 ce 
 
 OLD REUBEN. 
 
 Is the scythe ready, Simon ? 
 Just put it on the stone, 
 That it may cut with keenness 
 The clover fully gi-own. 
 I've had no other helper 
 
 Since Charhe went to sea, 
 A-fighting in the frigate : 
 So come, and mow with me. 
 
 " If peace were always practised 
 
 Abroad and at the board. 
 We should not need the soldier, 
 
 We should not need the sword : 
 More useful is the plougher 
 
 Within the rui-al glen. 
 And he who moweth clover 
 
 Than he who moweth men. 
 
 " Be this thy maxim, Simon, 
 
 That sword and spear shall cease, 
 And men of every colour 
 
 Bind the full sheaf of peace. 
 Then trumps unheai-d by mortal 
 
 Shall on the heights be blown, 
 And glow along the valleys 
 
 A glory yet unknown. 
 
 " The time is speeding, Simon, 
 
 When strength will yield to worth, 
 And the dehcious ohve 
 
 Shall floui-ish o'er the earth. 
 Then charity shaU conquer, 
 
 As overcome it must, 
 And every battle weapon 
 
 Be bm-ied in the dust." 
 
 The scythe was in the clover. 
 Old Eeuben's words were there ; 
 
 They came with every nistle 
 That laid the meadow bare. 
 
 In Simon's ears they tingled 
 Like some angelic chord. 
 
 That charity shall conquer, 
 And not the hfted sword. 
 
 b: 
 
 THE LAST STICK. 
 
 , RING forth the last stick, Marie, 
 
 And lay it on the brands, 
 'The wintry winds are roaring 
 Along the barren sands ; 
 The sleet is cold and cruel 
 
 That driveth down the hill. 
 And beateth on the casement. 
 But man is harder still. 
 
 " Bring forth the last stick, Marie, 
 
 And draw your cricket nigh. 
 While the weak pottage cooketh. 
 
 That we may eat and die. 
 There's nothing more to cheer us. 
 
 From cupboard, shelf, or chest ; 
 We'll say our prayers together. 
 
 And look to Heaven for rest. 
 
 " Bring forth the last stick, Marie, 
 
 Your sire will come no more, 
 And Laban with him lieth. 
 
 Where earth is red with gore. 
 What darkness, and what anguish, 
 
 The war has forced us tlu-ough ! 
 Bring forth the last stick, Marie, 
 
 ' Tis all that we can do." 
 
 OLD ABEL. 
 
 IN his cot, where the Nine Maidens stand on the moor, 
 Old Abel sat down by his fire on the floor ; 
 Said he, as the wood on the hearthstone did crack, 
 " I'd give my new buckles if Bobby were back." 
 
 Then Abel took down an old book from the shelf, 
 Where the print was quite large, which he kept for 
 
 himself ; 
 But his vision gi-ew dim, and he stammered, " Alack ! 
 I'd give my new buckles if Bobby were back." 
 
 So he put on his spectacles, turned the leaves o'er. 
 Threw on a fresh branch, and attempted once more ; 
 But ahuost sobbed out, as the letters grew black, 
 " I'd give my new buckles if Bobby were back." 
 
 Then he sat on his chair, with his head on his hand, 
 And talked to himseif with his eyes on the brand : 
 " Ah, war leaves disaster and wi-ong in his track : 
 I'd give my new buckles if Bobby were back." 
 
 THE WHITE SHIP. 
 
 CAME a white ship o'er the sea, 
 Veiy white and fair was she, 
 With slender mast, and sails of snow, 
 Ghding over the waves below.
 
 232 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 Not a gnu, or pike, or sword, 
 Or bearded spearman was aboard, 
 And Bible texts the shrouds did show, 
 Ghding over the waves below. 
 
 There fau-est damsels sweetly sang. 
 And viols thi-Uled and trumpets rang, 
 " 'Tis peace, 'tis peace, where'er we go, 
 Ghding over the waves below." 
 
 The echo rose from the peopled strand. 
 And sweetly spread from land to land ; 
 " 'Tis peace, 'tis peace, where'er we go, 
 Gliding over the waves below." 
 
 From old and young, from down and dell. 
 The conquering music rose and fell, 
 " 'Tis peace, 'tis peace, where'er we go, 
 Ghding over the waves below." 
 
 THE HAEPEE. 
 
 THE moon shone on the boulders 
 Ai'ound the beacon's base, 
 And Silence mid the ivy 
 Sat with a thoughtful face ; 
 "S\Tien by it sang a harper. 
 
 Whose notes were sweet and clear, 
 " Lift up yom* heads, ye peoples. 
 The reign of Peace is near." 
 
 The old rocks seemed to answer 
 
 As in then* lairs they lay, 
 With moonbeams for their helmets, 
 
 Like wan-iors after fi-ay ; 
 The pines upon its summit 
 
 Awoke the joyous cheer, 
 " Lift up your heads, ye peoples. 
 
 The reign of Peace is near." 
 
 The wind that swept the shingle 
 
 And shook the holly brake. 
 The mosses of the moorland. 
 
 The wavelets of the lake, 
 Joined the prophetic music 
 
 Which stirred the solemn mere, 
 " Lift up your heads, ye peoples. 
 
 The reign of Peace is near." 
 
 The moon went do\vn, and morning 
 
 Broke o'er the misty hills. 
 Fierce sunhght flamed the forest 
 
 And flashed the flowing rills ; 
 Yet there that hai*per standeth, 
 
 And harpeth year by year, 
 " Lift up your heads, ye peoples, 
 
 The reign of Peace is near." 
 
 NAT NARDIP, 
 
 NAT Nardip disobeyed his sire, 
 Eefused to reap and mow. 
 And more and more his pride increased, 
 Tni he away did go. 
 
 He wandered on from town to town, 
 Oppressed with want and shame, 
 
 UntU, through rags and emptiness. 
 A soldier he became. 
 
 They marched him off to Brittany, 
 
 "WTiere youth and age were slain. 
 When Nat, disabled, was dismissed. 
 
 And home he came again. 
 Gray Eve was musing in the withs, 
 
 As he drew near the door ; 
 And the last carol of the lark 
 
 Was ringing on the moor. 
 
 He waited till the dusk increased ; 
 
 And when 'twas growing late, 
 With ti-embling step and rising fears 
 
 He oped the garden gate ; 
 And thi'ough the window he espied 
 
 His father in his nook. 
 His mother vsdth her knitting-sheath, 
 
 His sister at her book. 
 
 He raised his hand, and feebly gave 
 
 A veiy low rat-tat. 
 When Jetty oped the door, and cried, 
 
 "O mother, 'tis our Nat!" 
 " Come in, come in ! " the old man cried, 
 
 "I pardon all thy strife : 
 The erring wanderer has returned, 
 
 Down with the trencher, wife ! " 
 
 LIVE IN PEACE. 
 
 A LITTLE stream went flowing by. 
 Where vales were green, where hills were 
 high; 
 And as it miu'mui'ed on its way. 
 At eve and morn, it seemed to say. 
 Still travelling downward to the sea, 
 " hve in peace, whei's'er you be ! " 
 
 The pretty fishes 'neath the wave 
 That hide in many a quiet cave, 
 The bees and flies that sport their hours 
 Around the lovely ferns and flowers. 
 Are ever whispeiing, full and free, 
 " O hve in peace, where'er you be ! " 
 
 The rushy vale, the mountain brown, 
 The swallow wlaeeling o'er the down, 
 The solemn tarn, the echoing moor. 
 The boulders on the great sea-shore, 
 All whisper, where the echoes flee, 
 " live in peace, where'er you be ! " 
 
 And there's a mystery on the height. 
 
 Which fills with sound the listening Night ; 
 
 And in the bosom of the dell. 
 
 Who listens oft will hear it well. 
 
 The burden of the land and sea, 
 
 " O live in peace, where'er you be ! "
 
 THE SAD LETTER. 
 
 '233 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 WiiKHE the woodbine and wliortle arose, 
 And held their sweet cups to the sun, 
 I sat in a dingle of rose, 
 When an evening of June had begun ; 
 And far o'er the rock-covered wold, 
 Where the glory of sunset did lie, 
 In currents of crimson and gold, 
 A vision arose on mine eye : 
 
 A country of meadow and stream, 
 
 With valleys of pahn-tree and vine. 
 Where corn in its richness did gleam, 
 
 Andd'attened the beautiful kiue. 
 The ploughman was on the wide mead. 
 
 The milkmaid was under the tree. 
 The shepherd was tuning his reed 
 
 Afar on the bountiful lea. 
 
 Here Peace, in a halo of light. 
 
 Her sway o'er the populace spread ; 
 No clamom' arose on the night, 
 
 No ci-y of the orphan for bread. 
 The sword and the battle-axe then 
 
 Were changed to the glittering share. 
 And songs from the bosoms of men 
 
 Swelled on the millennium air. 
 
 No brother chased brother to death. 
 
 No master did fetter the slave. 
 No chief-trumj) received the warm breath: 
 
 O, War had gone down to his gi'ave. 
 And over the nations a joy 
 
 For ever fresh honours did win. 
 Which rifles would never destroj', — 
 
 The kingdom of love had set in. 
 
 WE WILL EVEE BE KIND TO ALL. 
 
 WEAKNESS, gentleness, and worth. 
 In the ages of the earth. 
 Have been left where boasters brawl; 
 But we'll ever be kind to all. 
 
 Should a brother lose his track. 
 We will strive to lure him back. 
 Holding up the hands that fall ; 
 For we'U ever be kind to all. 
 
 Bird and beast, by steep and strand, 
 
 In the ocean, or on the land. 
 
 Whether they walk, or whether they crawl. 
 
 We will ever be kind to all. 
 
 Children playing in the lane. 
 Driver whistling on the wain. 
 Travellers gi-eat, and travellers small. 
 We will ever be kind to all. 
 
 Old and young, and rich and poor. 
 In the meadow, or on the moor, 
 Until rifles nist and fall, 
 We will ever be kind to aU. 
 
 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 WAIT a little, Lucy : 
 |The moon is o'er the lake 
 
 S</^ WAI 
 
 \J I'whaps cm- dearest mother 
 May very soon awake. 
 
 I never saw her sleeping 
 So peacefully as now. 
 
 Or witnessed such a paleness 
 Upon her cheek and brow. 
 
 " Has she not suffered hunger, 
 
 And weariness and pain. 
 With longings that our father 
 
 Would come to us again !* 
 Let's wait a little longer : 
 
 Perhaps he may be here. 
 To comfort us in sorrow. 
 
 And kiss away the tear." 
 
 The moon went down in silence. 
 
 And yet no father came ; 
 And day by day they waited. 
 
 And it was still the same. 
 Alas ! their soldier-parent 
 
 WiU never see them more, 
 Down trodden in the battle. 
 
 With gaiTuents rolled in gore. 
 
 THE GUNNEE. 
 
 THROUGH the fields a gunner came, 
 Somewhat scarred and somewhat lame 
 Spoke he under a chestnut tree, — 
 " This is the home of Molly and me. 
 
 *' Day by day, as the battle roared, 
 Fed with famine and fu-e and sword. 
 Ever I saw it under the tree, — 
 This is the home of Molly and me. 
 
 " In the fierceness of the fight. 
 Firing left, and firing right. 
 Up it rose like a vision fi'ee, — 
 This is the home of Molly and me. 
 
 " Up the hill, and down the glade. 
 Where I've travelled, where I've strayed, 
 Nought is half so fair to see. 
 As the home of MoUy and me. 
 
 " Things wiU alter by and bye. 
 Kings themselves should fight, say I : 
 Eest thee, soldier, under the tree, — 
 This is the home of MoUy and me."' 
 
 THE SAD LETTEE. 
 
 c(-pk EAD out the letter, Susan : 
 l-{ Where did our Eobert fall ? 
 X \j Was it by shell or splinter ? 
 Was it by blade or ball '? 
 
 H H
 
 234 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 I in my chaii" will listen, 
 Beside the kiucUing brand, 
 
 My feet upon the fender, 
 My head upon my hand." 
 
 Then Susan read the letter, 
 
 "VThieh fi-om the captain came, 
 From side to side, all over, 
 
 Bj- the pine-branch's flame. 
 Upon a stormy rauipai't, 
 
 One noisy battle-day. 
 When blood was slied like water, 
 
 His life was blown away. 
 
 The old man moaned in spirit, 
 
 Like wind among the waves ; 
 And Susan's heart in fervour 
 
 Arose to Him who saves. 
 But no one knows the anguish, 
 
 The bitter cup of life, 
 "Which that sad letter carried 
 
 To Eobert and his wife. 
 
 HURRAH FOR THE SHARE. 
 
 HCRRAH for the share, the shining share, 
 "SMiere the ploughman breathes the country air, 
 "\Miere the daisy blooms by the granite cross, 
 And the snowdrop muses among the moss, 
 And the blue-beUs hang in then* arboui-s rare : 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the shining share ! 
 
 Hurrah for the share ! the shining share ! 
 "NMiichhas nought of the soldier's borrowed glare : 
 No desperate deeds with fire and shout, 
 No ransacked cities, no homes burnt out, 
 No states o'ertm-ned, no lands laid bare, 
 Can ever be placed to the shining share. 
 
 Hurrah for the share ! the shining share ! 
 "Which doth for the scythe and the flail prepare, 
 "Which bringeth the loaf to the poor man's board, 
 And addeth its store to the prince's hoard; 
 "Without it the shelf and the cupboard were bare, 
 Hurrah for the share ! the shining share ! 
 
 THE LAME SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 W3EEE fom- roads met in quaintness, 
 Upon the hedgeless moor, 
 A lame old man instructed 
 The children of the poor. 
 And hanging in his schoolroom 
 
 Was many a curious board : 
 "Why cannot wrongs be settled 
 Without the flashmg sword ? " 
 
 'Tis said by those who knew him 
 
 That stripes were his disdain ; 
 He never beat a pupU, 
 
 He never used a cane ; 
 Yet rich became his scholars 
 
 From wisdom's golden hoard. 
 "Wliy cannot wrongs be settled 
 
 Without the flashing sword ? 
 
 And still the utmost order 
 
 Prevailed throughout the place : 
 He had some word of comfort 
 
 To cheer the rising race ; 
 And sang they morn and even 
 
 How peace should be restored, 
 And human wrongs be settled 
 
 Without the flashing sword. 
 
 Forth went that old man's pupils 
 
 Along theii- several ways. 
 With peace-stars on their banners. 
 
 Throughout the after days : 
 Each strove for arbitration. 
 
 Of which we are assui-ed, 
 When wrongs shall aU be settled 
 
 Without the flashing sword. 
 
 THE STRONG SMITH BY THE SEA. 
 
 IN the peaceful days to be 
 W^orked a strong smith by the sea. 
 Chanting thus, with bosom bare, 
 " The sword I change to the shining share." 
 
 Heaps of spears in his smithy lay. 
 
 Blades gore-dyed in the fearful fray. 
 
 And the sparks rose high on the moi-ning air 
 
 As the sword was changed to the shining share. 
 
 And loud the monster bellows roared, 
 Reddening many an ancient sword. 
 " This is the way," sang the strong smith there, 
 " To change the spear to the shining shai-e." 
 
 The great wind came from the northern moor, 
 And shook the walls fi-om roof to floor ; 
 But that steady smith, in the forge's glai'e. 
 Still changed the sword to the shining share. 
 
 And ever that strong man laboured he, 
 
 Summer and winter beside the sea, 
 
 With hea^^ hammer and bosom bare. 
 
 Till the swords were changed to the shining share. 
 
 "W" 
 
 OLD JOHN. 
 
 e'll keep the kettle boiling, John ; 
 Perhaps our boy will come. 
 What gathering darkness has been ours 
 Since first he left his home ! 
 Heap up another lot of pine : 
 
 Did not the letter say, 
 That he would leave the hospital. 
 And be at home to-day ? " 
 
 The old man shook his locks of snow. 
 
 And bowed his reverend head ; 
 And, sitting in his own ai-m-chair. 
 
 He veiy slowly said ; — 
 '* Mishaps attend the soldier's life, 
 
 And weariness and pain, 
 And much that offers fan- is false : 
 
 So let us wait, dear Jane.
 
 AN ECHO FROM MOUNT LEBANON. 
 
 235 
 
 " I had a vision yestereve 
 
 Of blossoms white and rare : 
 A Uttle child the lion led, 
 
 The wolf a,nd lamb were there : 
 No tent of war was on the plain, 
 
 The sounds of strife did cease, 
 And through the air an angel sang, 
 
 ' It is the reign of Peace.' 
 
 " This blessed time will siu*ely come, 
 
 I pray for its advance, 
 TMieu men shall not each other slay 
 
 With sabre, shot, or lance. 
 Oiu' boy henceforth shall stay at home. 
 
 And use the sword no more. 
 I hear a footstep in the laue ; 
 
 Hark ! hark ! he's at the door." 
 
 THE FAEMEE. 
 
 No one could stop the fai-mer : 
 He buckled on his sword. 
 Brought out his snowy charger, 
 And crossed the noisy ford. 
 Then to his httle sister, 
 
 Within the lattice light. 
 He waved his hand at parting, 
 And dashed into the fight. 
 
 No one could stop the farmer : 
 
 He rode where swords were crossed, 
 And men of giant stature 
 
 Were wildly hewn and lost. 
 Blood soaked the ground like water. 
 
 And in red brooklets ran. 
 And gi'oans arose in anguish 
 
 From dying beast and man. 
 
 No one could stop the farmer : 
 
 He passed where sous were slain, 
 And hoary-headed fathers 
 
 Lay hacked upon the plain. 
 Blades fell mth awful clangom-. 
 
 Which heads and helmets broke. 
 And Carnage sat in ten-or 
 
 Upon his throne of smoke. 
 
 No one could stop the farmer : 
 
 He swept through woods of spears. 
 With the sharp hiss of bullets 
 
 And steel-points in his ears ; 
 On, on, with headlong gallop. 
 
 Into the awful night, 
 Whence he retm-neth never 
 
 Upon his charger white. 
 
 "C 
 
 UNCLE JABEZ. 
 
 OME in, Uncle Jabez, the settle 
 Awaiteth you in the old hall : 
 That very deep scar on yom- forehead 
 Was made by a rifleman's ball. 
 
 You have been in the wars, Unele .Tabez, 
 Where weakness is trodden by might, 
 
 And force is the hero in laurel. 
 And strength is the author of right. 
 
 " Come into the hall, Uncle Jabez, 
 
 And Peggy shall bring j'ou some meat : 
 Do put youi* gi-eat cratch in the corner, 
 
 And i'est on the fender your feet. 
 Your days with the match-lock are over. 
 
 Your country will need you no more ; 
 And yet they have left you to wander. 
 
 Forsaken, and homeless, and poor. 
 
 "Come into the hall. Uncle .Jabez, 
 
 That I may your kindness return : 
 You saved my life once on the beacon, 
 
 Wlien the thunder-god spoke in the fern ; 
 And goodness comes back to the giver. 
 
 Although it may seem to delay. 
 My home is your home, Uncle Jabez, 
 
 And here you are welcorae to stay." 
 
 The old man advanced at her bidding. 
 
 And sat in the snug proffered place ; 
 And oft he made use of his kerchief 
 
 To wipe the warm tears from his face. 
 Then Peggy came in with the platter. 
 
 And placed before Jabez his ruess : 
 He smoothed down his hau', and said softly, 
 
 " Thank God for a fiiend in distress ! " 
 
 THEOUGH THE WOODS, AT CLOSE OF DAY. 
 
 THEOUGH the woods, at close of day, 
 Came an old man, worn and gray. 
 And he sang with native art, 
 " Come, sweet Peace, and never depart." 
 
 Clear the echo rose and fell. 
 
 Over the dingle and over the dell. 
 
 Over the moor and over the mart, 
 
 " Come, sweet Peace, and never depart." 
 
 And the ploughman on the lea, 
 And the woodman 'neath the tree, 
 Caught the strain with glowing heart : 
 " Come, sweet Peace, and never depart." 
 
 Children sang where daisies gi'ow. 
 Men whose hail* was white as snow, 
 Duke, and driver by his cart : 
 " Come, sweet Peace, and never depart." 
 
 Thus the song that old man sang 
 Through the gladdened nations rang. 
 Till the demon of war did start : 
 "Come, sweet Peace, and never depart." 
 
 AN ECHO FEOM MOUNT LEBANON. 
 
 A 
 
 2 H 2 
 
 N echo fi-om Mount Lebanon 
 Amid the cedars grand : 
 O spears shall change to pruning-hooks 
 Throughout the peaceful land :
 
 236 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 SbaiT) swords shall into plonghshares turn, 
 
 And fighting days be o'er ; 
 All nations learn the arts of peace, 
 
 And war shall be no more. 
 
 Far down the cycles of the past 
 
 This joyfnl sonud has come ; 
 It lings throughout the palace vast, 
 
 In every poor man's home ; 
 'Tis heard' along the lonely wood, 
 
 In ocean's solemn roar, 
 And spreads from listening vale to vale, 
 
 That war shaU be no more. 
 
 The palms where Israel's prophets trod 
 
 Still miuTnui- on the plain, 
 And prince and peasant lift their heads 
 
 To catch the silvery strain, 
 From Ccdron's brook to Cai-mel's crest. 
 
 From Hor to Albion's shore. 
 From east to west, from north to south, 
 
 That war shall be no more. 
 
 this behef shall still be ours. 
 
 In spite of spear and shield, 
 And fighting ships and fighting men ; 
 
 "SVe cannot, dai'e not yield. 
 The beams of Peace will shortly break 
 
 Through jMorning's golden door. 
 And sti'eam on all the gladdened earth, 
 
 And. war shall be no more. 
 
 <( 
 
 I 
 
 JOE AND HIS MOTHEE. 
 
 s Joe's bed ready, Charlotte ? 
 
 Smooth down the sheets of snow, 
 
 And ope the little lattice 
 
 About half-way or so. 
 Then place some sprigs of myrtle. 
 
 Fresh gathered from the stem, 
 "Within a glass of water. 
 
 And put a rose with them. 
 
 " I'll seek the curious cromlech 
 
 Where swallows love to play, 
 And watch along the willows : 
 
 Perhaps he'll come to-day." 
 And saying this, she hastened 
 
 Along the rocky down. 
 And watched till twilight settled 
 
 Upon the beacon brown. 
 
 And every day phc gathered 
 
 Fresh myrtle from the frame, 
 Then chmbed the hill and waited, 
 
 And yet he never came. 
 His bed was always ready. 
 
 The jtillows i)laced with care, 
 Awaiting Joe the soldier. 
 
 And yet he came not there. 
 
 The widow's hair grew snowy, 
 
 As year succeeded year. 
 In j)atient expectation, 
 
 "With faith and hope sincere. 
 
 Through wind and rain and sunshine 
 Still watched the loving dame, 
 
 And for her Josey waited, 
 And yet he never came. 
 
 THE CHILD'S PEAYEE. 
 
 -»-ro sound, no sound, from bower or brake, 
 
 V^ The crimson light was on the lake, 
 ._ 1 When a child prayed thus, in her hamlet home, 
 " O, Father above, let Thy kingdom come !" 
 
 The eve star glimmered above the pines. 
 And the sparrow had nestled among the vines. 
 As that child prayed soft in her dearest home, 
 "0, Father above, let Thy kingdom come ! " 
 
 The moonlight stole through the Gothic panes, 
 And the bats were out in the woodbine lanes. 
 And prayed she thus in her quiet home, 
 " O, Father above, let Thy kingdom come!" 
 
 The dew came down in the floweret's cup. 
 And the leaves of the rose-tree drank it up. 
 And He heard her prayer in His highest home, 
 " O, Father above, let Thy kingdom come ! " 
 
 The sound went forth from rill to rill, 
 From glade to glade, from hill to hill. 
 From town to town, from home to home, 
 " O, Father above, let Thy kingdom come ! " 
 
 And the warrior's club became a flail, 
 And the spear was changed to the iron rail. 
 And peace-strains rose from every home, 
 " 0, Father above, let Thy kingdom come ! " 
 
 WILLIE AND MEG. 
 
 MEG took her pitcher to the dell. 
 Where ferns hke fairies stood. 
 And then well-pleased she viewed herself 
 Eeflected in the flood ; 
 And thought of one in soldier vest 
 
 Who bade her hope and wait. 
 And when the corn was in the stack 
 She should be WUlie's mate. 
 
 But she had wailed wearily. 
 
 The corn was threshed and sold. 
 And yet he knocked not at her door 
 
 By which the river rolled. 
 " He may be wounded in the fight ; 
 
 Or is he dead," thought she, 
 " And lying where the wamors fell ? 
 
 For false he cannot be ! " 
 
 She heard a rustling in the grass 
 
 Upon the summer air. 
 And looking round how struck was she, 
 
 For Willie's self was there !
 
 BOB ROOD. 
 
 237 
 
 Anrl soon liip arms wero roiiiKl her tkrown 
 
 In love's untold embrace, 
 Her name npon his truthful lips, 
 
 His kiss upon her face. 
 
 " O Meg, I've seen enough," said he, 
 
 '* In camp and tented field, 
 Wliore manj'^ awai'rior slept in death 
 
 Upon his Lrokcu shield. 
 'Tis wrong, 'tis wrong, I'll fight no more. 
 
 My all to thee I bring ; 
 Before another month is past 
 
 Our wedding bells shall ring," 
 
 DAME DOLO. 
 
 BY Mainporth Crag, where the breakers foam. 
 Dame Dolo dwelt in her boulder home ; 
 And she was aged, and worn, and weak. 
 And the furrows were deep on her brow and cheek. 
 
 Dame Dolo sat by her fire of peat. 
 And throbbed her heart in the smouldering heat. 
 The wind like a war steed paced the Crag, 
 And smote the water and lashed the flag. 
 
 " My bread is done," Dame Dolo said, 
 " My cans are empty, my silver fled ; 
 But though no way just now I see. 
 My Father above will care for me," 
 
 A voice at the lattice aroused the Dame, 
 From a soldier man footsore and lame : 
 With earnest eyes around looked he : 
 'Twas her own dear Jack, from over the sea. 
 
 T\Tiat his wallet held was mean and small. 
 Though it served till the generous rector's call; 
 But his broken healtli nought could restore, 
 Till by Mainporth Crag he was seen no more. 
 
 A CHILD GREW UP AT NAZAEETH. 
 
 A Child grew up at Nazareth, 
 The Infinite made man, 
 Who self-esistent long had reigned 
 Before the stars began. 
 He spoke by Cedron's flowing brook, 
 
 With lips that cannot lie, 
 " TMioever takes the sword of war 
 ShaU fall himself thereby." 
 
 Men heard it, but they heeded not, 
 
 And tui'ned their ears away. 
 Snatched up in ire the battle-axe, 
 
 And perished in the fi'ay. 
 Yet still the echo roUeth on. 
 
 And filleth earth and skj^ 
 " Whoever takes the sword of war 
 
 Shall faU himself thereby." 
 
 And as the centuries come and go 
 
 TJiey oft this fact proclaim, 
 Where hostile armies armies meet, 
 
 O'erconie with fire and flame. 
 The sound is travelling through the eai th 
 
 As fast as time can fly, 
 " Whoever takes the sword of war 
 
 Shall fall himself thereby." 
 
 O ye wlio fan the fires of strife, 
 
 And thicken human gloom, 
 Hear what the awful Judge proclaims, 
 
 Blush at Hia words of doom. 
 Away, away with battle-ships. 
 
 Let peaceful pennons fly ; 
 For he who takes the sword of war 
 
 Shall fall himself thereby. 
 
 THE BENIGHTED HUSSAE. 
 
 '^TIWAS when the gorse was golden 
 
 I In fragrance on the moor, 
 JL An old benighted soldier 
 
 Knocked at the shepherd's door. 
 They gave him kindly greeting, 
 
 And offered him a seat. 
 And he was shortly chatting 
 
 Beside the smoking peat. 
 
 The shepherd's little daughter 
 
 Soon hiished her simple lay, 
 And gazed upon the stranger 
 
 With eyes of tenderest ray. 
 Then rose, and whispered sweetly, 
 
 As she before him stood, 
 " This is the man, dear father. 
 
 Who saved me from the flood." 
 
 With tears the gladdened mother 
 
 The old hussar addressed : 
 *' Eight welcome art thou, soldier. 
 
 We'll feed thee with the best. 
 Lay down thy simple waUet, 
 
 And take the table's end, 
 And we will shortly show thee 
 
 How we can feast a friend." 
 
 The soldier ate in silence. 
 
 Then spoke, and looked above : 
 " I've learnt this holy lesson. 
 
 The loftiest power is lovk. 
 And he who feeds the hungry, 
 
 At Friendship's generous board, 
 Is gi-eater tlian the warrior 
 
 That buckles on his sword." 
 
 EOB EOOD. 
 
 T Lizard, by the Lion's Den, 
 Eob left his youthful wife. 
 And donned the soldier's uniform. 
 And rushed mto the stiife. 
 
 A
 
 238 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 He vainly thonglit to <?am renown? 
 
 But lost bis limbs and bealtb, 
 And back at last be feebly came, 
 
 A crutch bis onlj' wealth. 
 
 He gained a f)^entle emmence 
 
 From city home aloof, 
 And saw the cm-ling smoke ascend 
 
 Beyond bis cottage roof. 
 The milkmaid caroled on the mead, 
 
 The lark was in the skies, 
 The ploughman whistled by his team. 
 
 And teai"s came in his eyes. 
 
 With his one hand he waved his cap, 
 
 As on his cmtch he leant. 
 To Susan standing by the door. 
 
 And shouted as he went. 
 She held her smiling babe aloft, 
 
 VTho seemed her bliss to share. 
 So that the honeysuckles kissed 
 
 Her soft and shining hair. 
 
 He crossed the village bridge at last. 
 
 And hobbled o'er the green. 
 And felt his own dear Susan's kiss 
 
 The garden flowers between ; 
 Tlien sat within his humble home 
 
 With baby on his knee : 
 " O wife ! the sinful sword of war 
 
 Is red with guilt," said he. 
 
 THE SOLDIEE'S WIFE. 
 
 (( /-N TILL Eve cometh out of her chamber, 
 ^^ With the dew shining bright in her bail' ; 
 h~y And homeward the ploughman retiu'neth. 
 
 Half stript of his bui-den of care. 
 But, baby, thy father will never 
 
 Come back to his dwelhng again. 
 Or kiss the bright face of his darling ; 
 
 For now he lies dead on the plain. 
 
 '* He pressed us so warmly at parting. 
 
 And bade us be cheerful and gay. 
 And when he came back from the battle, 
 
 He'd never again go away. 
 But he fell, so the newspaper sayeth, 
 
 Wlien making a gallant attack : 
 Alas for his widow and orphan, 
 
 Alone on a desolate track ! 
 
 " Hush ! baby, my tears have aroused thee ; 
 
 The wind cometh down from the height ; 
 Strange fingers are moving the lattice. 
 
 The mystical murmurs of night. 
 Thou slecpest ! I'll pray by thy cradle, 
 
 AVhere lieth his last offered toy 
 Thy father brought home to his darling : 
 
 O be not a soldier, my boy." 
 
 T 
 
 THE LAST ATTACK. 
 
 HE lurid air with shocks was rent : 
 
 Arose one heavy, huge lament 
 
 From shepherd's sheil and warrior's tent. 
 
 Great towers lay prostrate in the gloom, 
 And cities 'neath the foot of Doom, 
 And Mercy found on earth no room. 
 
 The widow wailed her husband dead. 
 The orphan died for lack of bread, 
 And love and charity were fled. 
 
 Gore dripped from peaks of frozen snow. 
 And stained the silent flowers below. 
 Wherever erring man could go. 
 
 The battered corpses rose in hills, 
 
 And blood rushed down in swollen rills. 
 
 And greatest he who gi-eatest kills. 
 
 Then came a voice across the dark. 
 
 The steady gunner missed his mark, 
 
 And desperate swordsmen whispered, " Hark ! " 
 
 'Twas Peace, with aU her gentle train. 
 O'er eveiy clan and cUme to reign, 
 And swords were never raised again. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FATHER. 
 
 ((-r EAD Boxer to the stable, boy, 
 I We'll plough no more to-daj^; 
 ■ M J And, Abel, see you give the beast 
 
 A feed of corn and hay. 
 I must ride off this afternoon 
 
 As fast as we can go, 
 And get, within the market-town, 
 
 A doctor for om* Joe. 
 
 " He left us when the elm was green, 
 . And corn was in the ear. 
 For lands where wamors walked the woods. 
 
 And watched the passes drear. 
 Instead of peace he bore a sword, 
 
 Instead of meekness, might ; 
 And in tbe soldier's lofty plume 
 
 He tramj)led on the right. 
 
 " His regiment was overpowered, 
 
 And many sadly slain ; 
 For two long days and longer nights 
 
 Joe lay upon the plain. 
 They brought him to his mother's home, 
 
 A feeble, broken thing ; 
 So I must to the market-town. 
 
 And our good doctor bring." 
 
 ANNIE AND AMOS. 
 
 A DOWN to the well walked Annie, 
 Humming a pastoral lay, 
 Thinking of one who had left her 
 Over tbe hills and away. 
 Whom should she see but a soldier. 
 
 Looking so weary and worn ? 
 On tbe old seat he was sitting. 
 Under the favomite thorn.
 
 THE liEIGN OF PEACE. 239 
 
 He hatl deep scars on his forehead, 
 
 Through the forest rode the blast, 
 
 He had deep scars ou his breast, 
 
 Sliaking the cedars as it passed : 
 
 And strikingly pale were his features, 
 
 " Earth below, and heaven above, 
 
 As if he were longing for rest. 
 
 Teach us ever to hve in love ! " 
 
 He rose when she came to the fountain, 
 
 
 And asked her to give liini a drink ; 
 
 Swept that wind through ocean's caves, 
 
 And while she was holding the pitchei-. 
 
 Soun(Hng aloud on the lifted waves : 
 
 She thought the poor fellow would sink. 
 
 " Earth below, and heaven above, 
 
 ' 
 
 Teach us ever to hve in love ! " 
 
 At last theu* eyes met in the hollow : 
 
 
 The soldier gazed sadly and siglicd, 
 
 The nations rose with a gladdened soul, 
 
 Whilst Annie her white arms uplifted, 
 
 And throw their swords to the mining mole : 
 
 " 'Tis Amos ! 'tis Amos ! " she cried. 
 
 " Earth below, and heaven above, 
 
 And now in the cot of his father 
 
 Teach us ever to live in love ! " 
 
 He trails his crushed foot ou the floor, 
 
 
 And knows that for Ufe he's a cripple, 
 
 And mother and child, to the farthest vale. 
 
 Whilst Annie peeps in at the door. 
 
 Rejoiced in the sound of that sweeping gale : 
 
 
 " Earth below, and heaven above, 
 
 
 Teach us ever to live in love ! " 
 
 WILL WARD. 
 
 ALF ANDREWS. 
 
 ■x-T-TiLL Ward passed by the farm-yard gate, 
 
 i LF Andrews sat upon a stool, 
 
 1/1/ His arm was in a shng ; 
 
 \ Beside his father's feet ; 
 
 I f He had been soldiering in the ranks, 
 
 -ljL a pale-faced, gentle-looking boy. 
 
 By order of the king. 
 
 With scarce enough to eat. 
 
 They said, 'twas noble thus to wear 
 
 And thus he spoke. Math thoughtful eyes, 
 
 The coat of crimson hue. 
 
 And slowly raised his head. 
 
 And learn to shoot his fellow-men ; 
 
 " "WTiy don't you be a soldier, dad. 
 
 And Will believed it true. 
 
 And wear a coat of red ? " 
 
 So off he went to fight the French, 
 
 " No, no, my son. You know the man 
 
 Equipped from head to heel, 
 
 We met the other day 
 
 With kuapsack ou his shoulder strapped, 
 
 Among the pines upon the peak : 
 
 Bright musket, and sharp steel ; 
 
 His arms were shot away. 
 
 And as he passed the holly-fence. 
 
 For years he served on foreign fields, 
 
 The old thatched barn in sight, 
 
 With cutlass, pike, and gun. 
 
 He heard his father at the plough 
 
 In cold and heat, in strife and gore. 
 
 Say, " Why do Christians fight ? " 
 
 And this is all he won. 
 
 The cannon roars, the war-steed moans, 
 
 " I'd rather dwell where peace-flowers grow, 
 
 The hissing bullet rends ; 
 
 Apart from human strife. 
 
 And Will came back with broken limbs, 
 
 And feebly aid my fellow-men 
 
 A burden on his friends. 
 
 Along the road of life, 
 
 And hobbhng down the garden walk, 
 
 Than wear the soldier's crimson badge. 
 
 Where roses blossomed bright. 
 
 To gain a hero's name. 
 
 He heard his father at the door 
 
 In polished brass and printed books : 
 
 Say, " Why do Chi-istians fight ? " 
 
 Away with such a fame ! 
 
 His sorrowing mother dressed his wounds, 
 
 "The happiest man is he, my son, 
 
 And Mary came to see, 
 
 Who lifts the load of care ; 
 
 Who with her thrifty parents dwelt, 
 
 Who takes his brother by the hand 
 
 Beside the shepherd's tree. 
 
 Along the desert bare ; 
 
 And oft the old man bent his head 
 
 Who fills the oi-phan child vtdth bread, 
 
 ^Mien Wilhe was in sight. 
 
 The widow's heart with joy, 
 
 As if he spoke to one unseen, 
 
 And smooths the evening path of life ; 
 
 " No ! Clu-istians cannot fight ! " 
 
 Be such an one, my boy." 
 
 THE WAKENING WIND. 
 
 THE REIGN OF PEACE. 
 
 ><>^AME a wind from the farthest hills, 
 
 r 1 iHE reign of endless peace is near : 
 
 1 .Givuig a voice to the crystal rills : 
 
 1 Away, away, with sword and spear ; 
 
 Vy" Earth below, and heaven above, 
 
 JL Let needle-guns and cannon lie 
 
 Teach us ever to live in love ! " 
 
 1 
 
 In foul neglect beneath the sky ;
 
 240 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 Or go to aid tlie woudrous rail, 
 Or ii-on sLips before the gale. 
 
 Aloug the margin of the moor, 
 
 Thi-oiigh vines which shade the rustic door ; 
 
 By temples reared on forest sod, 
 
 Where red men meet to worship God ; 
 
 The morn of peace, in beauty bland. 
 
 Is breaking o'er the gladdened land. 
 
 The rich and poor secm-e shall dwell, 
 Unguai-ded then by ship or shell ; 
 Sweet rose and ohve fill the glade, 
 The latest wan-ior sheath his blade ; 
 Sweet peace its Uviug power attest, 
 And earth repose in perfect rest. 
 
 WANA WEETHEE. 
 
 j IT down, my loves, to supper,' 
 Poor Wana Werther said 
 
 KJ " And let me give you quickly 
 The last di-y crust of bread. 
 
 I wonder why your father 
 Should thus so long remain, 
 
 Where Havoc's arm is goiy 
 Upon the dreadful plain. 
 
 " I'll take the road to Mawnan, 
 
 And watch below the tower. 
 Should any boats be coming 
 
 At this clear moonhght hour. 
 O, when will Eeuben meet me ? 
 
 0, when will war be o'er ? 
 Hark ! hark ! a boat's keel grateth 
 
 Upon the silent shore." 
 
 'Tis Eeuben, yes, 'tis Eeuben ; 
 
 But O, how changed is he ! 
 One arm has been shot from him, 
 
 His leg beyond the knee ; 
 A bandage round his forehead 
 
 Half hides a fearful scar. 
 0, Eeuben, soldier Eeuben ! 
 
 Are these the fruits of war ? 
 
 'Tis said that in the winter, 
 
 When winds were on the wold. 
 They perished in their dwelling 
 
 Of hunger, pain, and cold. 
 And still a woman's waUing 
 
 Is heard along the shore : 
 " O, when will Eeuben meet me ? 
 
 O, when will war be o'er ? " 
 
 PETEE PINE. 
 
 Y y^'^'As Christmas tide and carol, 
 The ice was on the vine. 
 
 T 
 
 His cap was old and shabby. 
 His hair did strangely flow, 
 
 His coat had wide rents in it, 
 His toes were in the snow. 
 
 Nine years was he last bh-thday ; 
 
 And at a roadside door 
 He told his simple story, 
 
 _Which grieved the Hstener sore. 
 His father in the warfare 
 
 Was shattered by a ball, 
 When marching on to conquer. 
 
 As rose the tiTimpet's call. 
 
 His mother pined to hear it, 
 
 Like floweret on the moor, 
 When sudden frosts come chUhng, 
 
 And rising tempests roar. 
 And day by day she wasted, 
 
 Till all her strength had flown : 
 Then angels called her to them, 
 
 Where hunger is unknown. 
 
 So now he was an orphan, 
 
 Poor little Peter Pine ; 
 For two days had he fasted. 
 
 His pale face showed the bi'ine. 
 And sang he in his sadness, 
 
 " O lady, give me bread ! 
 lady, gentle lady, 
 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 The moon arose at midnight 
 
 Upon the glittering snow, 
 And fltmg her robes of silver 
 
 On hill and vale below ; 
 But Death had claimed the orphan 
 
 At that brief day's decline, 
 As 'neath the squfre's low lam-el 
 
 Lay Httle Peter Pine. 
 
 d: 
 
 When down the lane came slowly 
 Dear Uttle Peter Pine. 
 
 MAETIN'S POEEINGEE. 
 
 . on't sell our Martin's porringer, 
 I Although of low estate; 
 But leave it on the dresser shelf, 
 Beside the pewter plate. 
 'Twas his when he long lessons learnt 
 
 Beneath the schoolhouse tile ; 
 And also when a youth he joined 
 The army of the isle. 
 
 " A thousand memoi-ies come to me 
 
 When I behold it there, 
 How oft I danced him on my knee, 
 
 And haLf forgot my care ; 
 Or led him forth among the flowers. 
 
 O'er many a rustic stile ; 
 And little thouglit my boy would join 
 
 The army of the isle. 
 
 " How pleased was I at supper time 
 
 To see him in his place ! 
 I felt so happy that the tears 
 
 Would trickle down my face.
 
 ISAAC ISLE. 
 
 241 
 
 (I 
 
 I hoped ho woulcl have tilled tlio farm, 
 
 And raised the clover pilf^ ; 
 Nor ever dreamt my boy would fevvell 
 
 The army of the isle. 
 
 "Don't sell that simple porringer, 
 
 'Tis everything to me, 
 Since my poor boy, with soldier hands, 
 
 Was buried by the tree. 
 Full oft it lessens loneliness, 
 
 Although I weep the while, 
 For him who joined, misled by fame. 
 
 The army of the isle." 
 
 AGNES ARROW. 
 
 ■myoT far from Helford Passage, 
 
 V Just up a narrow lane, 
 -L 1 Itesided Agues Aitow, 
 
 A widow, poor and plain. 
 Her only son had left her, 
 
 The fighting ranks to swell ; 
 And rumom- said he perished, 
 
 When England's foemen fell. 
 
 So Agues in her cottage 
 
 Lived near the southern shore ; 
 And thus one eve she miu'miu'ed, 
 
 " Tis no use waiting more. 
 I thought perhaps he'd see me, 
 
 When the gi-eat war was done ; 
 Yet I am ever lonely 
 
 From setting sun to sun. 
 
 •* 'Tis no use waiting longer ; 
 
 Yet hark ! there's some one near; 
 A moving of the wicket 
 
 Methinks I faintly hear." 
 And in another moment 
 
 She felt her son's embrace, 
 And knew it was her Robby, 
 
 And praises shook the place. 
 
 Yet he was scarcely like him. 
 
 Her beautiful, her brave : 
 She nursed him in her chamber 
 
 With what the parish gave. 
 And when the moon was risiug 
 
 The crippled soldier died ; 
 And he and Agnes Arrow 
 
 Ai'e sleeping side by side. 
 
 EDDY EAST. 
 
 OPEN the door, mother, quickly, 
 Our Eddy is down by the gate ; 
 And O, he is looking so poorly : 
 Be active, and don't let him wait ! " 
 And soon on his nock she was sobbing. 
 
 And kissing the face of her son ; 
 The fire was alight, and the kettle 
 Its musical song had begun. 
 
 His father came down from his threshing. 
 
 And vowed he would rather behold 
 His Eddy once more in the cottage, 
 
 Than have any measure of gold. 
 His sister, the beautiful Polly, 
 
 As bright as the forehead of Day, 
 Was clapping her hands in her gladness. 
 
 And dancing around like a fay. 
 
 They put liim to rest in the settle : 
 
 Then said, with a sob, the poor boy, 
 " I am come home to stay \vith you, mother, 
 
 And have done with the soldier's employ. 
 The frait of the battle is baleful. 
 
 Whoever the fighter may be : 
 The glory of war is but glitter : 
 
 So the farm and the garden for me." 
 
 w 
 
 CRIPPLED WILLIE. 
 
 ■no lives in that house yonder. 
 Where woodbines reach the eaves. 
 With one small diamond lattice 
 Where roses rest their leaves ? 
 Ten years ago, last Easter, 
 
 I left my Fanny here. 
 When for the wars we parted. 
 And both brushed off the tear. 
 
 " We promised to be faithful, 
 
 Whatever might betide ; 
 And when the war was over 
 
 She should be Willie's bride. 
 She hung upon my shoulder 
 
 When I was going away. 
 And kissed my face so fondly, 
 
 And wished that I could stay. 
 
 " But I had long enhsted, 
 
 And thus was forced to go ; 
 And twenty times I watched her 
 
 Along the upland slow. 
 She waved her snowy kerchief. 
 
 Till it was lost to sight ; 
 A hundred times I saw it 
 
 When in the fiercest fight. 
 
 " I think I'll ope the wicket. 
 
 And hobble to the door, 
 And stand beneath the woodbine, 
 
 A knocking as of j'ore." 
 And soon he looked on Fanny, 
 
 Alas! another's bride ; 
 And in a few weeks after 
 
 Poor crippled Willie died. 
 
 ISAAC ISLE. 
 
 WAS Ember Week, and the lengthening light 
 Grew more and more on vale and height, 
 AMien Isaac Isle and his good wife Joan 
 Sat near the brands on the wide hearthstone. 
 Their glasses in then* sheath-homes lay. 
 When Isaac Isle to the dame did say : — 
 
 X 
 
 I I
 
 242 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 *' The ends of the days are stretching, Joan : 
 
 I can see from here the Druid Stone. 
 
 Pull back the blind some inches more, 
 
 We need no candle yet, I'm sm-e. 
 
 And what a blessing again to be 
 
 In a few weeks more from hghting free ! " 
 
 Just then, as the brands a-flame did roar, 
 
 A tall thin man came in at the door. 
 
 On a cratch he leant, with a trembling gait, 
 
 ^^ hich seemed to cripple beneath his weight ; 
 
 And he stood stock-still at his father's moan : 
 
 *' 'Tis Tommy come back from the wars I " cried Joan 
 
 THE 
 Tl 
 
 LETTY LORE. 
 
 (HE way is lonely, Letty, 
 The cold night wind is high ; 
 \o star looks through the blackness. 
 No moon is in the sky. 
 The great trees shake with sorrow, 
 
 A sigh is on the snow ; 
 And Letty Lore is weary : 
 Ah I whither shall we go ? 
 
 " Dost hear the thunder, Letty, 
 
 Along the northern height ? 
 The mountain gods are angry 
 
 For deeds of death to-night. 
 The household head is smitten, 
 
 The child an orphan made. 
 The peaceful wife a widow. 
 
 To glut the soldier's trade. 
 
 " A hght in yon small window 
 
 Is shining through the gloom : 
 Knock, knock, and ask the cottar 
 
 To give the houseless room." 
 And soon before the faggot 
 
 They whispered in the heat ; 
 While Goody fried the rasher, 
 
 And brought the broken meat. 
 
 There are true hearts and tender 
 
 In eveiy Christian clan, 
 So that sometimes the stronger 
 
 Assists the weaker man. 
 Nor is affection warmer, 
 
 From farthest east to west, 
 Or charity more lovely 
 
 Than in the peasant's breast. 
 
 <( 
 
 s 
 
 AAEON ARCH. 
 
 TILL sleeping, dearest mother. 
 To the music of the rain. 
 Which falls among the roses. 
 Beside the diamond pane. 
 Come down, and ope the wicket. 
 
 Undo the iron bar : 
 'Tis Aaron Arch, your Aaron, 
 Returning from the war. 
 
 " There is a slender stirring. 
 
 The blind is pushed aside ; 
 O, mother, 'tis your Aaron, 
 
 Now ope the casement wide. 
 It is her face. I see it. 
 
 mother ! look again : 
 'Tis Aaron Arch, your Aaron, 
 
 Here standing in the rain. 
 
 " I hear a footfall siu-ely 
 
 Beside the stau--head clock ; 
 And now the old key tm-neth 
 
 Within the birchen lock. 
 She cometh. Yes, she cometh. 
 
 With many a falling tear. 
 Her kiss is on my forehead, 
 
 Her voice is in my ear." 
 
 And soon the peat was smoking, 
 
 The pewter on the board ; 
 The best the cottage yielded 
 
 Had left the secret hoard. 
 " Bless God ! " the widow shouted, 
 
 And Aaron shouted too : 
 •' I've only one hand, mother. 
 
 But that shall work for you ! " 
 
 RAGLAN RUBE. 
 
 OLD Raglan Rube at even 
 Sat silent by the hearth. 
 While in his soul's recesses 
 Mysterious thoughts had birth ; 
 But one above all others 
 
 Rose up, and filled the gloom, — 
 A son who long had left him 
 To face the battle's doom. 
 
 Old Raglan's hair gi'ew thinner, 
 
 His feeble steji more slow, 
 His wife was dead and buiiod 
 
 Beneath the yew-tree low. 
 Alone he lived, and wondered 
 
 Where human loves could flee ; 
 Why fades the flower of friendship. 
 
 And where his boy could be. 
 
 His casement is half-open. 
 
 And some one taps the pane. 
 Rube raised his head to listen, 
 
 And it was tapped again. 
 "Come ye with words of sorrow ? 
 
 Come ye with words of joy ? 
 Come ye fi-om o'er the mountains 
 
 With tidings of my boy ? " 
 
 The latch was hfted quickly, 
 
 Ere Rube could leave his place. 
 And Wilhe sprang to greet him. 
 
 With scars upon his face. 
 The clock ticked in the corner, 
 
 The kitten gamboled near; 
 But Raglan Rube could utter 
 
 No words but, " Wilhe dear ! "
 
 THE CANNON IN THE LANE. 
 
 243 
 
 BEETIIREN ALL. 
 
 ALONG the lawns, when fia-es are low, 
 An echo mm-mureth sweet and slow, 
 If Ruubeams shine, or shadows fall. 
 That red and white are brethren all. 
 
 The stars proclaim it overhead, 
 The moon within her watery bed. 
 The clouds that fly the tempest's call. 
 That red and white are brethi-en all. 
 
 What brooks it if the coat bo poor. 
 And reed-eaves hang above the door. 
 And children on the rnsh-mats sprawl ? 
 The red and white are brethren all. 
 
 O come it will, as sure as day, 
 ^\^len dim distinctions shall give way; 
 And man with man, the great and small. 
 The red and white, be brethren all. 
 
 
 THE LAST WABEIOR. 
 
 HE gi'ound was red with gore. 
 Red waves rolled on the shore ; 
 Uncoffiued armies stiffened where they fell ; 
 Cities and towns were void. 
 Deserted, sacked, destroyed. 
 And creeping things did in their ruins dwell. 
 
 Blood trickled down the hills. 
 
 Blood oozed into the rills, 
 Stained the sad valleys, hung upon the reeds, 
 
 Dripped from the shattered plough, 
 
 Stared on the battery's brow, 
 And crimsoned was the verdm-e of the meads. 
 
 Ships home or outward bound 
 
 Foundered, or ran a-ground ; 
 The harbour waves moaned sadly on the strand ; 
 
 Corn-fields were burnt with fire. 
 
 Orchard and vine, and du'e, 
 Dark desolation frowned on sea and land. 
 
 "Wild War had dared his worst, 
 
 The red earth lay accurst. 
 Death had hewn clans to silence, — life had fled. 
 
 Now the hot waste was o'er, 
 
 And Havoc raved no more, 
 But sat with Misery gloating o'er the dead. 
 
 The sky waxed wild and frowned 
 
 Upon the gory ground. 
 And sad the requiem the great rain-di'ops made, 
 
 As the last warrior strode 
 
 Along the lonclj' road. 
 His right hand holding loose his broken blade. 
 
 A voice is in his ear. 
 
 It echoes loud and clear : 
 He pauses as the heights it thunders o'er : 
 
 " The day of Strife is done, 
 
 The crown of Peace is won. 
 And love has conquered, — war shall be no more." 
 
 He flung his blade away, 
 
 And, travelling day by day. 
 O'er vale and mountain, reached a peaceful cUme. 
 
 No sword or spear was there, 
 
 No war-sliriek rent the air. 
 No brand of battle till the end of time. 
 
 Here gi*ew the shining pine, 
 
 The box, the clustering vine ; 
 The lion took the leaves from the cliild's hand ; 
 
 And, " Praise to God's dear Son ! 
 
 Heaven is on earth begun," 
 Arose for ever fi'om the joyful land. 
 
 Hasten that happy day, 
 
 Let not Thy chariot stay, 
 O blessed Prince of Peace, when love shall reign 
 
 In every human soul 
 
 From joyous pole to polo. 
 And earth pom' forth one loud thanksgiving strain. 
 
 THE CANNON IN THE LANE. 
 
 A DOWN a lane, with trees embowered, 
 A musing hour to pass. 
 Where bloomed the dainty violets 
 Like blue eyes in the grass, 
 I turned one evening, when the light 
 
 Was fading into grey. 
 And to his nest the forest bird 
 Was wheeling on his way. 
 
 Close by some stone steps and a gate, 
 
 Not far fi-om Falmouth town, 
 A clear stream, from a cannon's mouth, 
 
 Was sweetly pmiing down. 
 I stood to view this watercourse 
 
 In old Trevethan lane. 
 Which mui'mured fi'om the iron gun, 
 
 And flowed along the plain. 
 
 Perchance, by some old bark 'twas borne 
 
 Across the 'whelming tide ; 
 Or hewn fi-om some strong battery's breast. 
 
 The haughty conqueror's pride ; 
 Perchance, it has a history strange, 
 
 As most of its compeers, 
 Whose actions might be gi-aved in blood, 
 
 And steeped in human tears. 
 
 And as I gazed, methought, a voice 
 
 Rose from the gentle rill, 
 " The time Mvill come when cannons all, 
 
 Like this, shall cease to kill ; 
 When hissing shot, and shiieking shell. 
 
 Shall never more be hurled ; 
 And sweetly shall the tide of peace 
 
 Flow over all the world. 
 
 "O what a clime of happiness 
 
 Om- jarring globe will be 
 When every gun in every place 
 
 Is laid as low as thee ; 
 
 2 I 2
 
 244 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 Wlien not a missile more is driven 
 Against the brow of love, 
 
 And dwells the hnmau brotherhood 
 As an<jels do above ! " 
 
 THE KED CHIEF. 
 
 THE angiy storm had rent the royal ridge, 
 And smote the stately pines iipon the moor : 
 Gone fit-cm the river was the rustic bridge, 
 Nor pilgi-im feet would press its worn planks more. 
 Shaken and shattered was the peasant's door, 
 The farm lay ti'odden overgrown with brier ; 
 And in the distance boomed the cannon's roar, 
 Down-dashing solemn fane and princely pyre ; 
 
 And Eavage roai-ed mireined, 
 fire. 
 
 full-fed with flame and 
 
 Thi'ongh the thin mist that round the ridges hung 
 Peered the stiU arms of a retreating band ; 
 And rended banners on the wind were flung. 
 Stained and deviceless, by some mystic hand. 
 A nameless silence filled the reeking land, 
 Like thatwhich oft precedes the earthquake's roar, 
 And sated Havoc sat upon the sand, 
 With corses heaped along the lonely shore ; 
 And Death paused on the crags, with huge hands red 
 with gore. 
 
 The sun went down in his full wealth of gold. 
 Until the crimson skies were all a-glow. 
 Shedding a richness o'er the lonely wold, 
 And deserts deep where men but seldom go. 
 Then came the Tuihght, with soft feet and slow. 
 Linked arm in arm with ruminating Eve ; 
 "When fi-dm the welkin floats an utterance low. 
 Which with the fern-brakes did itself inweave, 
 As glow-wonns with theii* lamps their cells of mosses 
 leave. 
 
 The hare was out a-feeding with his mate, 
 Nor started they that solemn sound to hear ; 
 ; The bat wheeled by the lonely forest gate. 
 
 And ghded up and down the rushy mere ; 
 The owl was muttering on an alder near ; 
 A lone thrush whistled his retu'ing lay ; 
 The gentle brooklet glided seaward clear, 
 "With mm-mui-ing music, on its winding way-; 
 And gentle voices hummed the dirge of dying day. 
 
 Tlie voice increased in strength from hour to hour, 
 Until from every point of heaven it came : 
 It fiUed with holy sound the poet's bower, 
 And shot across the hollows like a flame, 
 P>om star to star, from zone to zone, the same ; 
 A universe of melodies subhme, 
 WTiich thrilled the soul like Zion's loud acclaim, 
 "When conqueiing faith has entered on its prime, 
 To cheer for evermore the soi-rowing sons of time. 
 
 No human language can avail to paint 
 That swell of echoes over hill and dale, 
 "Which only could be pictured by a saint 
 Of highest order in gi-een Eden's vale ; 
 
 And from the gloaming peered forth faces pale, 
 "With twisted scars upon their battered skin ; 
 And ever and anon arose a v/ail. 
 That shook the pine-tops with its powerful din : 
 Then ceased, then rose again, a surging sea of sin. 
 
 And then behold above the rippling lake 
 The white moon rose with sweetness in her face, 
 Weaving her tissues with the lonely brake, 
 The fern and flower, and hallowing all the place. 
 The sounds of sorrow left the scene apace. 
 While more melodioiis grew the floating psalm. 
 That filled with jets of joy the listening space, 
 For woe and wrong a universal balm ; 
 And Silence left her bower to breathe the heavenly calm. 
 
 " The sorrowing earth hath seen enough of strife. 
 Enough of horror on the field of spears, 
 Enough of battle and the waste of life, 
 Enough of orphans' cries and widows' tears, 
 Enough, enough, of fighing privateers, 
 Of ransacked towns and cities flaming higher, 
 Of swordsmen, pikemen, lusty cannouf ers, 
 Girding the globe with desolation dire, 
 Yokedtothecarof Death withHuuger,Thu'st, and Fire. 
 
 " Enough, enough, of hosts in dread array. 
 Of soldiers tramping down the household bower, 
 Of bearded warriors strangely taught to slay. 
 And pluck before its time the lovely flower; 
 Causing the tears to issue in a shower 
 Fromeyes which watched the nursling on her knee. 
 Lulling her child asleep at evening houi', 
 W^heu lonely shadows lengthened on the lea. 
 And angel wings were heard slow-sweeping through 
 the tree. 
 
 " Enough, enough, of camp-fires in the gloom, 
 Of keen eyes watching for the warj' foe, 
 Of metal bullets dashing down to doom, 
 Where towers lie shattered and red rivers flow. 
 Enough, enough, of war, and want, and woe, 
 The rifle-rauger and the vrhetted blade, 
 The hail of anger hissing overthrow, 
 The braying war-trump, the gay-clad brigade, 
 The sinful soldier-craft, the cruel soldier-trade. 
 
 " Enough, enough, of enmity and strife, 
 Nursed into rage which only blood can quell, 
 When hosts rush madly to the shai-peued knife. 
 And cut, and hack, and lop, and pierce pell-mell. 
 Which only lowest demons could excel. 
 Enough, enough. The cui'se has reached the sky. 
 And through the aii' the awful moaniugs swell. 
 As far as light can reach, or sound can fly. 
 Enough, enough, enough, the blushing heavens reply. 
 
 " There is a power more potent than the sword, 
 A chain far stronger than great links of steel. 
 Which binds more firmly than the stoutest cord. 
 And holds for man his share of human weal. 
 In homely guise she oft will onward steal 
 Through quiet lanes, and groves, and hamlets fair. 
 With eyes uptiu'ned, which she cannot conceal ; 
 And from her hps ascends an earnest praj-er. 
 That war may never more the lovely earth lay bare.
 
 THE RED CHIEF. 
 
 245 
 
 " Among tlie Gi-aces on the lio]y Book 
 Plor name is greatest in tlie hoiivenly triiiu ; 
 From Him hath she her gentle nature took, 
 Whose loss for us becomes eternal gain. 
 O blinded earth I let Charity now reign, 
 And feuds shall cease, and lighting be no more ; 
 Then corn and cattle shall bedeck the plain. 
 And nations live in peace the great globe o'er : 
 And Love her tendx-ils twine fi'om fi'ui tful shore to shore , 
 
 " Put down the spear, and lay the sword aside ; 
 Change the war-weapon to the shining share. 
 He is thy brothkr, though he may abide 
 'Neath torrid skies or frigid boulders bare ; 
 Then honour him, embrace him, and forbear. 
 Kindle no strife within his beating breast : 
 Thou savest thyself if thou thine anger spare ; 
 In blessing thou assui-edly art blest ; 
 And giving love for hate thou shalt thyself find rest. 
 
 " If charity o'ercome the world with good, 
 How would the earth rejoice in summer flowers, 
 The thorn and thistle quite desert the wood, 
 And kids and tigers play in rose-hung bowers ! 
 Delicious life and love would then be oiirs ; 
 The heavens look down on cultivated plains. 
 Watered -with rills and soft refreshing showers, 
 Where milkmaids caroled to rejoicing swains, 
 And Peace walked forth well-pleased to hear the gentle 
 strains." 
 
 Among the blue lakes of the wilderness 
 Eatagoe dwelt within his dear wigwam. 
 Not much of worldly wealth did he possess : 
 An only daughter, a sweet forest lanab. 
 White-fleeced and mild, which never knewits dam : 
 A cat and dog, a rifle and a knife, 
 A birch canoe, which on the Huron swam, 
 Ptowed by the Indian hke a thing of life, 
 Mid cliffs, and creeks, and coves with Nature's wonders 
 rife. 
 
 Of his red tribe Eatagoe was the chief. 
 Though now alone amid their silent graves ; 
 And he would tell, with voice subdued with grief. 
 How oft he led a host of fearless braves, 
 Who roamed the woods and crossed the river- 
 waves. 
 Gay ostrich plumes adorned his lofty crest. 
 And shining shells from fabled forest caves ; 
 The belt he wore wdth gilded beads was dressed. 
 And a rude leopard's skin flowed loosely from his breast. 
 
 Plis wants were few. He drank from gentle rills 
 That trickled music by his cabin door ; 
 He trapped the coney on the wooded hills, 
 The hare and squirrel in the forest hoar ; 
 And now a deer would wander to the shore, 
 Which oft became Eatagoe's welcome prey ; 
 Or wood-dove found his net, to escape no more ; 
 Or fish was caught in the secluded bay ; 
 Or larger game would then his watchful walk repay. 
 
 Thus dwelt he here among the whispering pines 
 Free as the birds that caroled in the brake. 
 Or breeze that warbled through the bending vines. 
 Or kissed the wavelets of the crystal lake. 
 
 To the deep glen his way he oft would take, 
 And whore the grove was thickest strangely rest; 
 But not a single word the red chief spake, 
 Niirsing the thought in his untutored breast. 
 While crimson clouds hung round the doorway of the 
 West. 
 
 In every rustle of the musing Eve, 
 In every whisper from the tangled Ijower, 
 Where briony and woodbine sweet inweave, 
 And odours rise from many a forest flower. 
 He the Great Spirit heard with solemn power. 
 Laying his hand upon his beating heart, 
 8oul-saddened with the mystery of the hour. 
 That gently drew him fi'om his child apart, 
 And quicker forced his blood with tedious tingling 
 smart. 
 
 Much wrong and suffering was Eatagoe's lot, 
 In days gone by, among the dingles deep. 
 His wife and babe one sultry morn were shot 
 By hostile Indians as they lay asleep; 
 For he was hunting on the farther steep. 
 And just retm-ued to see the smouldering fire 
 Of his own wigwam lying in a heap. 
 And the two bodies underneath the brier, 
 With death lapou their brows, down-trodden in tlio 
 mire. 
 
 His other daughter hid herseK the while, 
 Yayfoe by name, as beautiful as light. 
 Whose gentle bosom was as free from guile 
 As forest-nymph, or fau'est river- sprite. 
 She came at last to glad Eatagoe's sight. 
 And kissed his cheek, and pointed to the west. 
 That she his better feehngs might incite. 
 Where now the mother and her babe did rest. 
 In goodliest hunting-grounds and gardens of the blest. 
 
 They bm-ied them within the cypress shade, 
 
 With faces fronting the retiring star. 
 
 And their strange dirge tilled up the Ustening 
 
 glade. 
 And floated through the mm-muring pines afar. 
 "The gates of light, ye snowy hands, unbar. 
 And let the Praiiie Hose and Petal in. 
 Where richest glens and clearest fountains are. 
 And garments grander than the tiger's skin. 
 Than whitest snow more pm-e, than lily-leaf more 
 
 thin. 
 
 "Plucked is the Petal fi-om the household tree, 
 And gone the ripe Eose from Eatagoe's bower ; 
 The sun and moon may often come to me, 
 But never more these treasures of an hour. 
 A great cloud now does on the valleys lower. 
 The light of home is quenched in kindi-ed gore. 
 Come, Yayfoe, come, let us the green wood scour. 
 And seek for peace on some far river's shore, 
 AVTiere Natm-e dweUs alone, and tread tins waste no 
 more. 
 
 "Yes, seek for peace. The blind, imgoveraed foe 
 Has turned om- day into the darkest night ; 
 Yet lift I not a hand to strike a blow. 
 Or shoot an arrow in the fearful fight.
 
 246 
 
 PEACE POEMS. 
 
 "We'll send to them a flag of pm-est white, 
 To show that blood is not vrhat we desire. 
 May be their heart will soften at the sight, 
 And the war-brand grow feeble and expu-e, 
 And Love be oui-s for aye, clad in her piu-e attu-e. 
 
 " O never more shall they their vigil keep. 
 And watch for us when southern stars are bright, 
 "VMieu a gi-eat silence settles on the steep. 
 And wandering voices fill the shades of night. 
 No more will they sing in the wood-fire's hght. 
 When rich with spoils I seek it from the chase. 
 To -^-iew its roof-top was extreme delight, 
 Which would inspii-e me with a quickened pace, 
 And drew the sunshine forth upon my gladdened face. 
 
 " Come, Tayfoe, come. The forest paths are free. 
 The prau-ics boundless, and the horizon clear. 
 The rivers nin by many an ancient tree. 
 That woodman yet has never ventured near. 
 Each changing moon shall watch them sleeping 
 
 here, 
 The Prairie Rose with Petal in her arms, 
 "\Miile we in glades will hunt the timid deer. 
 Where darling Katm-e spreads her choicest charms, 
 Eetui-ning love for hate, and peace for war's alarms." 
 
 Two silent shadows through the dusky brake 
 At falling twLlight-time were seen to ghde, 
 On, on, and on, by level land and lake,_ 
 Through regions rare and pensive prairies wide ; 
 Kor ever tm-ned they from their track aside. 
 Or lingered long upon their western way, 
 The storm- struck maple then- unerring guide. 
 And moss-trunks rising mid the shining spray. 
 On, on, still fai-ther on, where giant branches sway. 
 
 And 60 these children of the soHtude 
 Passed into realms as air or ocean free. 
 The savage warriors, once so fiercelj^ rude. 
 Were now dehghted their true friends to be. 
 And presents came — wolf-skins and hominy ; 
 And never more awoke the battle-thi-oo 
 Against the dwellers of that household tree. 
 Or fell in wrangling war another blow ; 
 But like the moorland stream so did theii' summers 
 flow. 
 
 Around them hostile tribes at variance rose, 
 And man met man with the uplifted knife ; 
 But not a missile in the butt of blows 
 Ghded across the pathway of their Ufe. 
 
 Hereafter they were sweetly free from strife. 
 Because not striving in then" little sphere, — 
 A maxim with philosophy more rife 
 Than warlike kings will often pause to hear : 
 As true for empii-es wide as lonely mountaineer. 
 
 The wild woods taught them, more than mouldy 
 
 books, 
 How love is stronger than the fiercest hates. 
 Than pikes, or swords, or bayonets, or hooks. 
 For small communities or mighty states ; 
 That time it was to shut the hon gates 
 Of brutal force, and rend its massive bai's; 
 Which Charity in white robes advocates 
 For rising feuds and miscellaneous jars ; 
 And Peace assert her reign beneath the smiling stars. 
 
 And Yayfoe loved, and was beloved in turn ; 
 The forest birds came fluttering at her call 
 To pick the scattered fragments by the bum, 
 On its lone way towards the waterfall ; 
 And squirrels scrambled from the fir-tree tall. 
 And wood-doves dropped upon the cabin eaves, 
 To list her love-song by the ivy wall ; 
 While robins followed mid the harvest sheaves. 
 Or winked with knowing nod 'neath the mangolia 
 leaves. 
 
 Thus hved Ratagoe till his hair was grey, 
 And his slow step grew feeble as a child, 
 Supported by Yayfoe from day to day, 
 And loved by all, the Peace Man of the wild ; 
 And when he died a thousand warriors filed, 
 And thi'ew their arms into the mighty stream, 
 To fight no more, but practise virtues mild. 
 Directed ever by fair Mercy's beam 
 Tlu-ough fields of corn and kine, where richest land- 
 scapes gleam. 
 
 Then from a simple wigwam of the west 
 An Indian chief came o'er the woodlands wide ; 
 Nor did he give his gay moccasins rest 
 Until he stood erect by Yayfoe's side. 
 And claimed the maiden for his own dear bi'ide: 
 When back she went with him the lakes among. 
 Where roses bloomed, and slender saplings sighed, 
 And birds awoke her with their morning song. 
 And Peace sat in theii- bower, and sang the whole year 
 long.
 
 "THE CHIVALRY OF LABOUR. 
 
 "JOHN HARRIS." 
 
 From the Home Journal, October and Novemekr, 1873. 
 
 " FoRTT years ago a young lad, Bome thirteen years of 
 ago, might have been Been working with hia father in a 
 Cornish uiiuo, nearly two hundred fathoms below the 
 green fields, where the hardy rustics whistled cheerily as 
 they followed the plough. That lad was John Harris, who 
 has since acquired a local reputation as a poet, and who 
 itnquestionably docs possess no little poetical taste and 
 feeling, although his verses may not be familiar in circles 
 where Te9hyson and Browning are the i^residing deities. 
 It is a pity that those who are proud of their roses and 
 lilies are sometimes tempted to ignore the modest charms 
 of the humbler primrose or harebell ; for there is much to 
 excite our admiration in the simplest wild flower, as well 
 as in the most magnificent triumph of horticultural skill. 
 In like manner, while ever ready to offer our tribute to the 
 Kings of Song, let us not refuse an ear to the simple lays 
 of lowlier bards, the thoughtful and earnest men who cease- 
 lessly strive with tongue and pen to smoothen the rugged 
 l^aths of labour, and teach their eager fellow- toilers to 
 hopefully dream of happier times. 
 
 " In a touching and interesting narrative, prefixed to one 
 of his poetical volumes, John Harris has furnished us with 
 several glimpses of his life, both as a workman and a singer. 
 He tells us that he first saw the light on a quiet October 
 evening in a straw- thatched, boulder- built cottage, with 
 bare rafters and clay floor, locally known as the ' six 
 chimneys,' on the top of Bolenuowe Hill, Camborne, 
 Cornwall. But if John's birthplace was humble, it was 
 rich in domestic happiness, for his parents were kind- 
 hearted, God-fearing people, proud of their boy, and 
 determined that he should obtain some education, however 
 limited. His school experiences were varied, and not 
 always pleasant, for one of his masters was a cruel man, 
 who mercilessly beat his pupils with a polished piece of 
 fiat wood studded with small sharp nails until blood ran 
 down. 
 
 "But, after all, John's mother was his best instructor. It 
 is wonderful what a deal the world owes to good mothers. 
 There is scarcely a man celebrated for nobleness of heart, 
 high-minded purpose, or unselfish labour, whose character 
 was not originally moulded by maternal love and devotion. 
 Young Harris would sit on the old hearthstone, and gaze 
 up into his mother's face, as she told of shipwrecks and 
 battles ; of heroic deeds on sea and land ; of good men in 
 rags, and wicked men in princely habiliments ; of right 
 gallantly striving against might, and a hundred other 
 things, until, to use John's own words, ' Imagination bore 
 him far away on her dazzling wings.' 
 
 " With all its hardships, cares, and sorrows, the child- 
 hood of John Harris was not an unpleasant one. He had 
 learned to read, and in so doing had opened to himself a 
 new world. Cowering by the old grate, ' in the dim firelight 
 which clothed the walls in shadowy warriors, and plumed 
 knights mounted on floating steeds, and a thousand name- 
 less fantastic shapes, ' he would hang over the nigrim's 
 Progress, that marvellous work of sturdy hearted John 
 Bunyan, which to this day forms the favourite volume of 
 the English people. Then there were the Voyages of 
 Cook, a tattered volume of doggrel rhyme by an old scarred 
 soldier, and other books ; so that when John Harris, at the 
 
 early age of twelve, commenced his life of labour by 
 helping the men employed at the entrance of the mine in 
 which his father worked, the world was not entirely a 
 blank to him. True, the poor little fellow had to trudge 
 three miles to the scene of his work, and to walk home the 
 same distance in the evening; but what was this to a 
 Cornish boy ? Are not the Cornish boys the fathers of our 
 Cornish men, whose pluck and determination are pro- 
 verbial ? 
 
 " But John Harris was more fortunate than many of hia 
 fellow-toilers, especially those residing in the busy centres 
 of manufacturing industry. He had not to plod on through 
 a smoke-laden, unwholesome atmosphere. As he himself 
 tells us, he travelled to and from his labour through long 
 lanes, bramble-covered, and over meadows snowy with 
 daisies, or by hedgerows blue with hyacinths, or over 
 whispering earns redolent with the hum of bees. His walk 
 must be still more pleasant and refreshing to him when, a 
 year later, he had morning and evening to descend and 
 ascend the steep ladders — for there were no man-engines 
 in those days — leading into the mine, until his flannel 
 dress became soaked with perspiration. 
 
 " Constfint use of the pick and spade hardened John's 
 fingers, giving them that horniness which characterizes the 
 hands of the children of toil, but it did not prevent his 
 using the pen after the heavy labours of the day were over ; 
 and he tells us, with a touch of justifiable pride, how he 
 wrote some verses for a poor blind miner, and listened, 
 half-ashamed, to the sightless man as he sang them in the 
 village street. Talk of the prosaic character of a labourer's 
 life ; why, it is always full of poetry I 
 
 " But John's poetical tendencies did not receive much 
 encouragement from some of his friends. There is a 
 popular idea that poetry and poverty are synonymous. 
 And so our young rhymester was told that if he continued 
 to invoke the song-spirit and write poetry, he must forego 
 gold and silver, houses and lands, eat the bread of careful- 
 ness, live perhaps in a hovel, and die at last on a pallet of 
 straw ! A comfortable prospect this, but it failed to damp 
 John's ardour. Like a sensible man he argued to himself 
 that there were worse methods of employing his time than 
 in writing verse ; and that so long as ho performed faith- 
 fully and honestly his daily toil, he had a right to spend 
 his scanty leisure in the manner most congenial to his 
 tastes. He never thought of looking to his pen as a means 
 of pecuniary support, but he could not see why he should 
 not use it for the purpose of pleasant relaxation from the 
 cares and fatigues of labour. 
 
 " So he quietly pursued the even tenour of his way, the 
 chimney-nook or the cow-house forming his study, his 
 knee serving as a desk, and the flickering firelight answer- 
 ing the purpose of candles. Sometimes when paper was 
 scarce, he would pencil his poems, in the gray morning 
 light, and when the inmates of the cottage were asleep, on 
 the whitewashed walls of his bed-room. 
 
 "During John's boyhood his father would frequently 
 scud him into the fields to dig what he called ' the ditch.' 
 This was a portion of the gi-eensward, about two feet from 
 the hedge, all around the meadow, which John dug up with 
 a long flat hoe. ' Here,' says our miner poet, ' I learned
 
 248 
 
 THE CEIVALBY OF LABOUR. 
 
 to vrite poetry and sing some of my early songs. I used 
 to put my scrap of pencilled paper on the grass, a few feet 
 in advance of the broken ground, and then hoe away, 
 making my verses at the same time ; and, when I came to 
 the paper, write them down, while the lark sang overhead, 
 and the hum of myriad insects filled the air. Go where 
 I might, my paper scrap and pencil were always at hand, 
 and the world was to me a vast theatre of song.' These 
 early effusions were treasiu-cd u}5 by him for several years, 
 until one cloudy night soon after his marriage he performed a 
 most sensible and'heroic act — he committed them without 
 exception to the flames. If the example of John Harris were 
 more generally followed, great would be the rejoicing in the 
 editorial world. The crude efforts of authors, however 
 able, are rarely, if ever, suited for publication. 
 
 " One of the most toiiching episodes in the life of 
 John HaiTis was his first reading Campbell's Gertrude oj 
 Wifomitif). He had selected it from the library in the 
 village school, and, pocketing the prize, hastened to a 
 secluded place where he might peruse it in quiet. ' Here,' 
 he says, ' I threw myself down, and drew the book from 
 my pocket. At my feet a clear stream went wandering 
 on its way ; birds sang on the branches of the trees over my 
 head ; sweet flowers shed a delicious fragrance around ; 
 bees hummed and butterflies floated among the honeyed 
 cups ; while before me, as through a silver vista, rose 
 the sun-lighted hills of the Land's End, and the blue 
 waters of the Atlantic Ocean ! ' Happy John Harris ! He 
 had discovered the secret of true pleasure. His was a lot 
 to be envied, despite its associations with the numerous 
 cares and fatigues of toil. 
 
 " John's poetical effusions were not, however, always 
 composed under" such favourable auspices. Sometimes 
 he formd himself without pencil or ink ; but he was not 
 to be deterred by such a difficulty. Not he, indeed ! Were 
 there not blackberries growing on the hedges which lined 
 the mountain road leading to the mine ? John found 
 that blackberry juice furnished a cheap and ready substi- 
 tute for ink, and more than one of his idylls were written 
 with the homely and unusual fluid. But his real trials 
 came with the frosts of winter. Then he would sit down 
 in his bedroom, his feet wrapped in his mother's woollen 
 cloak, his writing desk being a small pair of bellows. The 
 first poetical composition prepared by John Harris for the 
 press was a polemical dialogue between a workman and 
 his master. It was written shortly after a labour dispute 
 among the miners of the district in which he resided. It 
 was a somewhat laborious effort, and, after copying it on 
 several sheets of clean white paper, John took it to a 
 printer at Camborne, who, after keeping it by him for some 
 time, returned it with the ominous remark that he did 
 not think it was worth printing. This was a crushing 
 blow for our young poet, but it had one wliolesome effect 
 — he never again indulged in this species of jingling ware. 
 
 ""When about twenty-five years of age John married. 
 TVith his marriage the battle of life commenced in earnest. 
 He was still the hardy miner, but his means were scant. 
 The wages of some of the Cornish miners, it may be men- 
 tioned, depend almost entirely on the quantity of mineral 
 discovered. If there be no mineral, there is no remunera- 
 tion. This renders the earnings of the miner somewliat 
 precarious, and so John found during the first year of his 
 married life. Happiness and adversity seemed to have 
 visited him almost simultaneously. For a time John felt 
 much depressed, as shown in some touching lines in a 
 poem, entitled Dolcoath, written during this unluckly 
 period. But there was a silver lining to the cloud. When 
 hope was at the lowest ebb, mineral was discovered, and 
 in four or five months John Harris was richer hy a 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 " A miner's life is seldom free from danger, and more 
 than once John Harris has narrowly escaped death from 
 falling masses of earth, or the sudden blasting of the rock. 
 
 But these perils did not deter John Harris from prosecuting 
 his labours. Day after day, and often night after night, 
 might he be found toiling in the smoky caves of the deep 
 mine. Very exhausting was his work ; but his poetical 
 tastes cheered him amid the sulphurous fumes and fiery 
 flints, and robbed his labour of half its wearisome blight. 
 
 " Still John Harris went on composing his poems. Not 
 a moment passed unimproved. He turns over the num- 
 bers of some unfinished poem, polishing the periods as 
 best he may, weighing the words, and smoothing the ring- 
 ing euiihouy. Ever and anon he seeks for an opportunity, 
 when no eye beholds him, and inscribes his verses with a 
 worn pencil on a piece of paper he carries in his pocket. 
 Often, to hide it from the passer-by, he lets it slip up his 
 coat-sleeve, holding it with his fingers. The new thought 
 preserved, he hastens to his labour filled with bright 
 designs. In the midst of his toil his fancy is revelling 
 with song, leading him among crystal fountains and 
 bowers of living green. He sometimes writes lines of 
 poetry on his thumb-nail, often on pieces of roof-slate or 
 common tile, sometimes on the inside and crown of his 
 hat, and on iron wedges down deep in the hollowed earth. 
 Seldom has verse been composed under greater difliculties, 
 and proud, indeed, must John have felt when a short 
 lyric, entitled. The Robin, written by him, found its way 
 into print. 
 
 "As time passed on, John Harris found himself at the 
 head of a family, whose bread he had to win ; but he never 
 wearied of his toil. For twenty long years he laboured 
 in Dclcoath mine, every step and recess in which had 
 become familiar to him. Content with his lot, bearing his 
 burden willingly, he toiled manfully on, like the brave and 
 triie-hearted man that he was. But he never forsook the 
 muse he loved so well ; and at last there came a good and 
 kindly man, whose name has become a household word, 
 who bestowed on him words of encouragement, and aids 
 him in publishing a small and unpretending volume of 
 poems. That book brings John Harris many friends, the 
 sympathies of many hearts. He has not written in vain. 
 His strains are full of truth and genuine feeling, the 
 utterances of a mind ever yearning for nobler things. 
 
 " Let us take a peep at the home of -John Harris at this 
 period of his life. The description is his own. His daily 
 task is done, and he has just returned from the hard 
 drudgery of the interior of the mine exhausted and cruelly 
 crushed. A few worn books are piled up in a corner on 
 some narrow shelves, and three of the most conspicuous 
 are Walker's Dictionary, sweet Burns, and the immortal 
 Shakespeare. We must not omit his Bible, the gift of his 
 sainted father, the sweet stories of which so charmed him 
 when a boy. Scraps of paper, written over with jingling 
 rhymes, lie among the volumes, and sleep in quiet nooks, 
 jotted by his own hand. A small fire is burning in the 
 stove : on one side of it sits his wife, p'ying her needle 
 with a smile upon her face ; a bright girl, with soft poetic 
 eyes, is conning her lessons at his feet ; and a blue-eyed 
 boy, like a laughing Cupid, is climbing his knees and 
 kissing his pale face. 
 
 " As the years advance more volumes are published, 
 and the name of John Harris becomes familiar to those 
 interested in the progress of the industrial classes. His 
 works find a place on the shelves of lovers of poetry, and 
 he looks back with pride on the position achieved by him. 
 The principal volumes published by John Harris are the 
 ' Story of Carn Brea,' and ' Shakespeare's Shrine,' both 
 containing a variety of miscellaneous poems. To these he 
 has lately added others, which have been favourably noticed 
 by the press. John Harris still lives, still pursues his 
 work of usefulness ; but we trust that he has found some 
 means of relieviug himself from the drudgery of a miner's 
 life. After such a laborious career it is only meet that he 
 should enjoy the repose he has so nobly earned." 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM NICHOLS, HOXTON SQUARE.
 
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