I fcaa^ ■f&l&g r^&Z THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS BV RICHARD SPENCER [Entered at .Stationers' Hall. J F I E L I) FLO W E R S P ( ) K M S BY RICHARD SPENCER. BATLEY : Published for the Author p.y J. SPENCER NEWSOME, COMMERCIAL STREET LEEDS: C IF. JOHNSON, CLOTH HAM, STREET. .1. 8. NEWSOMK, INK CANTON PRESS, B.m.EY. PR f TO COLONEL J. T. NORTH. IN GBATEFTTL RECOGNITION OF H Is GENEROUS GIFTS TO LEEDS, AND AS A TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM FROM THE AUTHOR, THIS VOLUME IS BY PERMISSION, MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATE! >. Copies of this work may be obtained from the Author, Richard Spencer, 8, Shafton Lane, Eolbei k Leeds. PREFACE. X placing thi.s volume in the hands of the Subscribers to the work, and the public, it may not he out of place to give some particulars relating to the author's life. Richard Speueer, the author of "Field Flowers" and York- shire Dialect Poems, was born at Holbeck, Leeds, on the 19th December, 1831. On leaving school at a comparatively early age, he was apprenticed to the firm of Messrs. J. Dickinson & .Sons, brushmakers, with whom he remained for a period of 41 years. His first verses were written when 20 years of age, but, in keeping with the naturally retiring manner of the author, some years elapsed before he ventured to submit them to public gaze. The late Rev. N. Greenwell, Vicar of St. Barnabas', Holbeck, and his assistant, Mr. Thackeray, seeing some of his writings, urged him to further effort in this direction, and the pen which had long lain idle was again taken up. Since that tune to the present the author has written under varying moods, and conditions not always the most favourable. In the Dialect Poems Mr. Spencer has endeavoured to pourtray the feelings and passions common in humble life which he thinks can best find expression in the homely language of the cottage. In the year 1874, Mr. Spencer published "T'Yorkshur Pudclin," a humorous poem in the local dialect, which had a very good sale. During the past few years a number of the author's pieces have appeared in the Li-ad* Mercury Supplement, and have called forth many kind and nattering expressions oi approval. It is, however, only at the earnest request of a number of friends that the author has somewhat reluctantly consented to issue the present volume containing nearly the whole of his poems, the majority of which are now printed for the first time. From this brief sketch it will be readily understood that the author has, as a working man, laboured under peculiar disadvan- tages, which he trusts will entitle him to indulgent consideration at the hands of the critical; and while conscious of many faults, he humbly ventures to hope that his Flowt r& of th< Field and Diahrt Poems may prove acceptable to his friends and the public. THE PUBLISHER. August, 1890. " O Nature ! a' thy shows and forms, To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! Whether the summer kindly warms Wi life and light, Or winter howls, in gusty storms. The lang, dark night ! The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, Till by himsel he learned ta wander Adown some trotting burn's meander, And no think lang ; Oh, sweet to stray, and pensive ponder A heart-felt sang ! — Bums. POEMS. -X>J«ur vicious habits to Lmpro^ e ; FIELD FLOWEKs. 17 But when we've to their ranks aspired, They've quickly of our presence tired ; They've, like the meteor's brilliant ray, Why, merely glanced, and passed away. " Our course has been one rude turmoil, One scene of hard, incessant toil ; Unlike the gold and silver race, Our duties keep us on the chase. We never rest from night to morn ; Well may we be so scarred and worn ! Yet for these services of use Our recompense is gross abuse. " You're not one of the purse-proud class, And, like myself, you'll have to pass Through much that's low, as I have done, Before your chequered course is run. My mates and I have often been Where gold and silver ne'er were seen ; And if we've lived a life of shame, We ask your pity, not your blame," The new one said — " 'Tis true enough Your course may have been very rough ; Beset with various hidden snares Which may have caught you unawares ; But such excuses, don't suppose, Can justify such crimes as those Of which you now so guilty stand, And bear the impress of the brand ! "There's something in those features gross Tells me you've played at pitch and toss ! — Now, look me fairly in the face, And tell me if 'tis not the case ! You can't in higher circles move, Unless your habits you improve ; Though from some vile iniquity Few gold or silver coins are free. 18 PTELD FLOWERS. " Now I've begun my life's career, My motto's ' duty ' whilst I'm here : The kincl of character I make Depends upon the course I take ; And though I fill a lowly station, I'll strive for smiles of approbation ; I will in all good works engage, And finish with a smooth old age. " But soon your mean, degraded race, Unto a better must give place ; And though it may seem very funny To judge a nation by its money, Still, every coin in every station, May throw some credit on the nation ; May various mean ideas o'erwhelm, And dignify the British realm." MOONLIGHT. Thou beauteous moon ! thy silvery light Again illumes the arch of night The glittering vane and tower ! Oh ! how I love to see thee rise In splendour in the dark blue skies, At evening's silent hour ! Now would I tread in solitude Some ancient ruin now made rude By time's destroying blast : There, 'midst the venerable pile, I would the enchanted hours beguile By musing on the past : Or wander through the flowery vale Where lovers tell their secret tale With exquisite delight, As o'er the verdant walks they stray. Now lingering homeward wencl their way, Yet loath to breathe "Good-night:" FIELD FLOWERS. 19 Or roam amongst the stately trees When they are whispering to the breeze, And trembling shadows fall ; Or by the murmuring wending stream, When on it heaven's bright glories beam, And beauty reigns o'er all. When each effulgent little stal- ls twinkling in the heavens afar With brilliancy and force, As when it first began its race, Gliding through tracts of boundless space, On its eternal course. Such scenes inspire the thoughtful mind ; They give a radiance more refined To contemplation's dream. when I view this grand design, 1 hear a mystic voice divine Hymning the noblest theme ! O COME TO THE BOWERS. come to the bowers, love, the green shady bowers, And breathe the pure air that comes over the plain ; I'll pluck thee a wreath of the sweetest wild flowers That grow so luxuriant in yonder green glen. O come to the bowers, love, the sun's brightly shining, And pours with profusion his bright golden rays ; Whilst we on the rude rustic couches reclining Will gaze on the beauties which nature displays. O come to the bowers, love, the wild birds are singing And melody lloats through the sweet balmy air ; The hills and the dales with the echoes are ringing, And all is so charming, so lovely, and fair. O come to the bowers, love, the cool shady bowers ; You, all the flowers with their perfumes will greet ; The buttercups, daisies, and other wild flowers Are waiting to have a sweet kiss at your feet. 20 FIELD i U'H BRS. O come to the bowers, love, the streamlet is flowing And warbling, as gently it glides through the vale ; And whilst in the meadows the rustics are mowing, We'll sit in the green shade, and whisper love's tale. O come to the bowers, love, the green shady bowers, And breathe the pure air that comes over the plain ; I'll pluck thee a wreath of the sweetest wild flowers, That grow so luxuriant in yonder green glen. LOOK UP. When clouds and darkness veil the sky, And gloom o'erspreads the land ; When nature's bold and fiercest powers Obey their high command ; When thunders shake the earth and sky, M idst streams of awful light,— Look up ! above those frowning clouds All is serene and bright ! If stern oppression's iron hand Should deal the crushing blow, And subtle foes disguised combine To cause thy overthrew ; If, in that dark and trying hour, Thy soul for justice longs,— Look up to Him who justice loves, He will avenge thy wrongs ! Bach flower throughout the darksome night A gloomy sadness wears, And mourns its beauty closed and veiled In drops of glistening tears ; But very soon the morning sun Will send his cheering ray, And make those lovely flowers to smile. And all look bright and gay. KIKLD FLOWERS. Let hope with its enlivening power Thy various duties crown ! And breathe to thee of future joys, Then make those gifts thine own. Look up with thankful heart, for oh What gifts to thee are sent ! Such gifts as on thy face should leave The smile of sweet content. Look up to Him, the Mighty One ! He can thy sorrows bear ; He asks thee now in loving words To cast on Him thy care, Look up ! and trust in Him alone E'en in the darkest night, For He can pierce the deepest shade And give thee heavenly light. LINES. (On the death of the Prince Consort, December, 1861.) Illustrious Prince ! and art thou gone 1 Hast thou with temporal duties done, In manhood's golden prime ? Left this dark scene of care and strife, To prove the higher, nobler life, More glorious and sublime? .-■ A Prince thou wast of noble parts. The friend of science and the arts, The first on duty's list : In all great schemes throughout the land, Thy purse was ready with thy hand. Ah ! how thou wilt be missed ! Thine was a pure, exalted mind, With wisdom stored, with power combined, Befitting thy high birth : Thou ever loved 'st to aid the pen, When toiling for the good of men, And linked with sterling worth. 22 FIELD FLOWERS. But thou hast bowed to fate's decree, And 'twould be well if all, like thee, Could leave so fair a name. Oh, in our earnest hearts we would Hand down thy name replete with good- Worthy a glowing fame. May thy good deeds, to human gaze. Shine as the beacon's radiant rays, And royal footsteps guide ! For there's a power whate'er its tone, For ever issuing from the throne, Moving the nations wide. WAR. (Written during the Great American War.) Remorseless tyrant ! tierce insatiate foe ! Scourge of mankind, dread harbinger of woe ! Stern sire of crime, of pestilence, and care, And all the sorrows which produce despair : Of evils, where shall we thine equal find, So black, so vile, so hideous to mankind 1 Thy deeds revealed in the historic page, Proclaim the monster of a barbarous age ; And yet thou liv'st, e'en though progression's car On rapid wheels rolls through the earth afar ; E'en though the sun of knowledge brightly beams, And commerce glides o'er oceans, and o'er streams. Alas ! e'en now beyond the Atlantic's roar, The fertile valleys stream with human gore ; Whilst thou, exulting o'er thy thousands slain, In blood-dyed garments, walk'st the crimson'd plain. Demon supreme ! should ought record thy fame? Or dost thou ask a tribute to thy name? Let all thy victims from their graves arise ! 'Twill form a column, that will reach the skies ; That it may stand with a more finished grace, Bid all thine orphans circle round its base ! FIELD FLOWERS. 23 When shall the inhuman strife for ever cease, And nations live, as neighbours should, in peace 1 When shall the metal used in war, be made Into the ploughshare, and the peaceful spade 1 When shall men learn the art of war no more 1 When kindly greetings pass from shore to shore ; When Christian love shall draw the hearts of men In silken bonds ; — ah, then ! and not till then, Shall the sweet song sung at Messiah's birth, Be known and sung throughout remotest earth, MEDITATION. Sweet is the calmness of this solemn night, When countless stars emit their twinkling light, And the full moon in splendour shines on high, Gliding in beauty through the cloudless sky. How can I pass with a cold thoughtless glance Upon the glories of this vast expanse ! When I look up, I view with rapturous gaze The power sublime the Omnipotent displays ; Those little stars so simple I behold, Which stud the heavens like gems of glittering gold. A mighty system, infinite to trace ; Each is a sun hung in etheral space, Which has its planets under its control, Still speeding on, yet never near their goal. E'en comets, wandering through the depths of space, O'er devious paths so difficult to trace, Are in strict order, and perform their rounds True to the moment, true within their bounds. Could I with swiftness of the eagle, soar To yon bright worlds and distant scenes explore; Could I with speed as of the lightning's gleam, Mount through the skies and prosecute the theme, Still countless worlds would meet my wondering gaze, Ever increasing in the mighty maze ; And could I still pursue the giddy flight, E'en millions more would burst upon my sight, Gilding the deep blue of ethereal space, Each nobly running its eternal race. 24 FIELD FLOWERS. Exalted theme ! 'tis sacred and sublime, Through nature's works t<» trace the hand Divine, To view her scenes, to watch her various laws ; It prompts the soul to adore the Almighty cause. Those mighty worlds, those ever rolling spheres. All have their seasons and revolving years, And may like ours, have all that is designed To charm and elevate the human mind : For all things seen in nature's wondrous plan, Were made for him, the noble creature, man : And when those glorious systems shall decay, When suns and planets roll in dames away, When this calm scene is in confusion hurled, Then shall he range a brighter happier world; Of its eternal glories shall he sing, And breathe the sweets of everlasting spring. HARVEST. See what pure joy surrounds the fruitful plain, The busy peasants all are blithe and gay, With merry heart they crop the ripened grain, While rustic youngsters at their gambols play. See now they gather in the cool green shade, And take their simple food, their homely cheer : On the soft grass is placed the cheese and hread, The large brown pitcher filled with home brewed beer. With heart revived, the rustic banquet o'er. Each one again resumes the healthful toil, And now they trip more nimbly than before O'er the rich beauty of the gold-strewn soil. Then come the binders, and the drooping sheaves In simple order deck the vacant fields, And many a gleaner's industry receives The fruit which many a wholesome supper yields. Horses and carts are now put to the test, Whilst bearing home the treasures of the earth ; And the rude wit linked to the friendly jest. Makes the whole village ring with cheerful mirth. FIELD FLOWERS. 25 Night comes, and then they dance upon the green, And drink the beer, graced with the milk-white foam, While merry songs re-animate the scene, And sweet enjoyment crowns the harvest-home. THE DROOPING YEAR. The stormy and the lengthening night, The swallows ready for their flight, The golden grain stored out of sight, The woodlands drear, Are changes which convince me quite That winter's near. The sun is slow to bring the day ; He seems to linger on his way, And though so transient is his stay, The envious mist- Would scarce permit one smiling ray, That earth be kissed. Each noble tree its bloom has cast, Its verdant beauties all are past, For leaf by leaf, e'en to the last, In sere decay Is withered by the autumnal blast, And dies away. Changed are the scenes which charmed the sight ; Their sweets are gone, their colours bright ; The cold winds sigh each tedious night Through leafless bowers A solemn requiem o'er the blight Of summer flowers. Yet the gay beauties which have been The pride of the bright summer scene Have left their kin, and they shall e'en Live through each storm ; They shall survive the winter keen In embryo form. 26 FIELD FLOWERS. Till called by spring's renewing showers, Till yon bright Bun puts forth its powers, Then sh.ill appear again such flowers As those I've seen ; And tint with varied hues the bowers Of emerald green. So man of nature's noblest class Must fall and wither as the grass; Yea, he may see in nature's glass His kindred fate : He, too, like it, must surely pass Through death's dark gate. But he within him bears a germ Which spurns the earth, which spurns the worm, A spirit death can never harm, No, never ! never ! Which shall survive this life's short term, And live for ever. Destined to run a bright career In a far happier, nobler sphere ; To have all that the soul holds dear Without a lease : This thought the careworn heart should cheer, And give sweet peace. OUR TEA PARTY. (To Mr. Joseph Thackeray.) Dear Friend ! right glad was I to see All pass so pleasant at our tea, In fact it seemed to me to be Our best of meetings : How friend met friend with eager glee What earnest greetings ! And oh, did not the ladies bright Add something to our festive night? Where'er they are there's true delight, There's beauty's bloom : FIELD FLOWERS. Without them, all appears a blight, A twilight gloom. I really felt as though entranced When first upon the scene I glanced : The glittering teapots round me danced, But 'twas no sham ; I thought the price would be enhanced Of bread and ham. And what a beautiful display Of china ware, in bright array, All tipped with gold and colours gay : In keeping quite With the rich lustre of the ray Of golden light. The bubbling urns poured forth their steam, Each jug most sweetly held its cream, But sweeter was the radiant gleam Of youthful faces ; For some seemed wrapt in love's young dream, Or showed such traces. And there was seated here and there, A mother, with her baby dear, Trying to check the cry and tear, But all in vain : The nightingale, we all could hear Its sweet refrain. And really 'twas a novel sight, To see the good things such a height, Then quickly vanish out of sight, So quiet, so pleasant ; Oh ! 'twould have charmed you with delight Had you been present. And well the good things stood the test, For dear they seemed to every breast ; Oh ! many a person kindly pressed The dainty food Long, long indeed behind the rest, All was so good. 28 KIKU> FLOWERS. But ah, each pretty snow-white isle, Where once stood many a noble pile. That won proud admiration's smile, Scenes sweet and gay, Appealed hut for a little while, Then passed away. The tea being o'er we sought to find Something congenial to the mind ; Sn mirth and music we combined With pleasant song, And speeches which, though well designed, Were dry and long. -• At last, the leader's magic wand The signal gave, — up struck the band : Then vocal music, soft and bland, Did intervene ; We sung the anthem of the land, " God save the Queen." Though 'twas the last song of the night, It shaded all the others quite, For oh ! all sung with wondrous might T must confess ; Thus closed a fund of rich delight To vours R. S. THE LANCASHIRE DISTRESS. (November, 1862.) Dark, cold and cheeidess breaks the morn, O'erspread with gloomy skies, Which seem to linger o'er the scene Where desolation lies ; Where hunger in its keenest form Reveals its mournful blight,— And to the feeling world presents A sad and piteous sight. FIELD FLOW ERS. 29 December, stern, with icy heart, Hurls forth its piercing blast, And with the storm, the hail and sleet Are scattered thick and fast ; And on the bitter winds are borne Low and despairing cries, Which from the dark and dismal homes In strains heartrending rise ; Where care, with pale and haggard mien, With its attendant sorrow, Sits brooding o'er the days gone by, And dreads the coming morrow ; Where hope, with calm and kindly ray, With beam so clear and bright, Can scarcely pierce the gloom profound Of each returning night. If thou hast wealth, to those in need Go prove thyself a friend ! There let thy warmest sympathies With generous actions blend ; And thank Him who has given the power To ease some mourner's smart : Do this, a»d thou wilt truly act The real, the Christian's part. THE DEPARTED YEAR. Hark ! on the midnight breeze time's solemn toll Sounds deep and strange, as floating through the air Its searching tones speak to the thoughtful soul. And tell the errors of the transient year. The year has gone '. what says that mournful toll 1 Its various scenes are mingled with the past ; Its great events on history's famous scroll, In truthful words, are graven deep and fast. 30 FIELD FLOWERS. Yes, it has gone with much of sombre grief, Yet strangely linked with pleasure's brittle chain j True, there were sunbeams, but those gleams, how brief ! How soon the shadows gathered in their train ! How oft within the twelve-month's rapid flight Have happy pairs joined hands in youthful bloom ! And yet, how often death has cast its blight ! What brides and bridegrooms sleep within the tomb ! Time moves along, with jewels richly graced, And holds out wreaths of pearls of every hue ; Yet onward passes with resistless haste, But still, to seize the precious prize, how few ! And now, whilst time such treasures does afford, Let us be wise and use the golden hours ! Oh ! if for good we joined with one accord, A happy world would be this world of ours ! LINES. * (On seeing the foundation stone laid of the Leeds New infirmary, March 29th, 1864.) With friendly hand is sown the precious seed, Which soon shall bloom in all its stately pride, And yield its fruit, that all who humbly need Its soothing balm may amply be supplied : There, highest skill, impelled by Christian love, O'er stern disease shall lend its generous aid ; And thousands shall its blessed influence prove, And breathe their thanks beneath its kindly shade. What human heart, with wealth at its command, Feels not constrained to aid this grand design ! Where is the heart that can withhold the hand, To pay a tribute al its sacred shrine? FIELD FLOWERS. •"> 1 CHARMS OF NATURE. See yonder glorious orb arise ! Though lately hid in night's disguise, It mounts in splendour through the skies Of azure blue, Tinting each cloud with brilliant dyes Of golden hue. - The rippling streams reflect the ray, Whilst murmuring on their flower-strewn way, Warbling in strains most sweet and gay ; Then from the green They tumble forth in glittering spray Of silver sheen. Above, around, how bright ! how fair Doth nature everywhere appear ! Oh there is much the heart to cheer ! The merry throng Of birds glide through the fragrant air With sweetest song. Softly the silent breezes blow ; They seem to whisper, sweet and low, That they have kissed the blossomed bough In many a grove ; Also the pretty flowers that grow To breathe God's love. The waving fields are ever new, Yea, everything that meets my view ; Though nature changes, yet 'tis true, And will remain While buttercups and daisies strew The grassy plain. Oh ! dull and cold the heart must be That does not beat with ecstasy At scenes like these, for unto me This tiny Howe)' Shows the grand work of Deity, His love and power. 32 FIELD FLOWERS. THE REFORMATION. Nobly and grand the church arose 'Midst superstition's night ; The morning broke ; the clouds withdrew : Its sun o'er happy England threw A clear effulgent light ; A radiance long eclipsed by gloom, By Romish priestcraft made. ; Oh ! there was something then revealed, — The precious treasure, long concealed Beneath a dismal shade. Brave, noble men, through fire and blood, The sacred volume spread ; And now, the great redeeming plan, — The gospel news to guilty man, By millions has been read Then were man's iron fetters loosed ; His conscience was set free ; Then could he speak, and think, and read ; Then could he spurn each hateful creed, And stand in liberty. Now England's happy homes receive Heaven's soul-inspiring strains ; These, won on persecution's field, — To priestly foes we'll never yield While yonder sun remains ! Now England with its generous heart The Book spreads far and wide ; Sends the grand prize far o'er the waves, And freedom gives to sin-bound slaves, Who are without a guide. Where'er the living word appears, Though all be tinged with gloom,— Though fierce may sweep the blasts of death, Let it but breathe its quickening breath. And freedom's flowers will bloom. FIELD FLOWERS. 33 SHAKESPEARE'S TERCENTENARY FESTIVAL, 1864. Illustrious bard ! we love thy honoured name, And proud are we that England gave thee birth ! Thou art the first upon the scroll of fame, Yea, thou art first of all the great of earth '. Thy fame extends to every distant clime : Thy genius speaks in every varied tongue : Thy thoughts will live, e'en to the end of time, And ne'er grow old ; they'll still be fresh and young. There is a feeling lives within the breast That loves true worth, and loves to give it fame ; And now thy country proves its earnest zest ; What flowery garlands circle round thy name ! Oh, how the mind in fancy's vision flies, And lingers o'er the place where thou wast born, And in its warm imagination tries To see thee as thou wast in life's gay morn I 1 think I see thee wandering all alone, Along the banks of Avon's silvery stream ; Or listening to some brook's melodious tone ; Or wrapt in thought, in fancy's glowing dream : Or, amidst nature's wild, romantic scenes, Upon some favourite hill thou loved'st to climb, There, happily penning those immortal lines, Those mighty thoughts which crowd thy page sublime. Ages have passed successively away Since thy stupendous labours first were wrought ; And the whole universe still feels the sway, Which reigns supreme 'midst realms of golden thought. Poets have shone like stars in silent night, And passed away at death's impartial call ; Though round each name still shines an halo bright. Yet thine in splendour far outshines them all. •"> I FIELD FLOWERS. Thy power-fill genius to the world revealed The hidden treasures of the human mind ; Its richest gems, which were before concealed, Shone forth in all the power of thought refined. Oh ! well may England, with her garlands bright, Wreathe her great bard, for he has honoured her To England he's bequeathed a crown of light, The brightest tribute genius can confer ! A MOONLIGHT SCENE. AN ACROSTIC. Effulgently the orb of night Looms in the dreamy sky ; It throws o'er earth its mystic light ; Zephyrus rules the starry height, And clouds in wildness Hy. Gorgeous appears the rural green, Enriched with warbling streams ; Valleys and hills add to the scene Each pleasing charm, which e'er have been So linked with fancy's dream. LINES. The morning broke with blushing smiles, The rosy clouds seemed bright and warm, The very breezes seemed to bear With them a sort of mystic charm. The fields were clothed with yellow corn, The trees with richest fruits were hung, The gilded streams with lively airs Their tribute to our marriage )-> v sung. The summer flowers in beauty's pride Diffused their fragrance all around, Though some in beautiful decay Were drooping to the verdant ground : FIELD FLOWERS. 35 But nature's sweetest, lovliest gifts, Seemed to prolong their transient stay, And all the pleasing scenes combined To smile upon our wedding day. Ten years since, e'en this very day, Saw us before the altar stand ; The marriage pledge we signed and sealed, — I put the ring upon your hand ! A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, — Although to all the world unknown, — So rich in pleasant memories, And those bright sunny hours our own ! Since then, the fitful storms of life Have oft assailed our peaceful cot ; Yet we have been with plenty blest, And sweet content has been our lot. Then let us hope unto the end, — So shall its light our spirits cheer; We'll smile beneath its radiant glow, Though all around be dark and drear. May these fair flowerets gathered round, If spared to reach maturer years, Retain that innocence from guile Which now its charm of beauty wears ! May vice, with foul, dishonoured mien, Ne'er stamp its impress on the brow ; But all those flowers which virtue yields, Bloom in their path where'er they go ! And may Omnipotence Divine, Which guides the shining orbs of light, Assist their footsteps through life's maze, Through snares and mists of earthly night ! Hear and accept an earnest prayer, That richest blessings may be given ; May their whole lives be ruled by love, And ripen for their native heaven. 36 FIELD FLOWERS. TO MR. J. H. ECCLES, ON RETURNING A BOOK HE HAD LENT ME. Dear Friend, your book, with thanks, I now return ; And having glanced, with pleasure, o'er its pages, I've proved how men, with gifts well used, may earn A name revered and loved by after ages. When noble thoughts, enriched by pleasing verse, Diffuse their influence o'er the active world, How oft the wise and good those thoughts rehearse, While to oblivion all that's vile is hurled ! Oh, oft the people of this iron age Do need the soothing balm of quite hours ! Then let each one in fancy's works engage, 'Twill give a tonic for their drooping powers. When fancy pours the sweet poetic strain In pleasing lines, though humble or sublime ; They charm us as the sweet flowers of the plain ; They ever cheer the dreary path of time. The earth is fertile, but o'erspread with weeds ; And they usurp the place of beauteous flowers : They spread around their vile and worthless seeds, Which grow and choke the green and budding bowers. Dread is the inlluence of some gifted men ; They ever breathe a pestilential breath ! Though fame may oft attend the guilty pen, Their names are doomed to infamy and death. As in fair nature, so in moral worth, The beautiful and fragrant we admire ; All rottenness we trample on the earth, Or throw the rubbish to devouring tire. "t> Let those who brilliant talents would apply To gain a lasting and a fair renown, Seek first their random thoughts to purify, And win, untarnished, the bright laurel crown. FIELD FLOWKK>. TO A LITTLE BOY. Little gleesome, lovely boy, Type of innocence and joy, Joy with all its lustrous smile, Innocence unmixed with guile ; May thy life-stream ever flow Pure and bright as it does now ! Little active, merry thing, Happier than the happiest king, Playing with thy gaudy toys Where are centred all thy joys ; May thy acts but preludes be To a nobler destiny ! Little pattering, toddling feet, In the house or in the street, Busy all the live-long day, Bent on mischief or on play : May thou 'midst life's restless flood, Spurn its evil, choose its good ! Now when day's declining light. Yields to gloomy sombre night, On thy loving mother's knee Kneeling to the Deity, Doth thy simple artless prayer Reach thy heavenly Father's ear. And when night's delicious rest Steals upon thy peaceful breast, In thy face sweet beauty beams Through thy infant's pleasing dreams ; Type of virtue undeflled, Beauteous floweret, lovely child. 37 THE CROWN OF THORNS. (On seeing a picture presented to my daughter, 1865.1 See, there thy Saviour's loving brow. Pale, languid, torn, and gory; He wore that crown of thorns that thou Might'st wear a crown of glory. 38 FIELD FLOWERS. He on the cross that head did bow, And passed through death's dread portal ; And slept the sleep of death, that thou Rfight'st live the life immortal. ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD COBDEN. Illustrious statesman 1 whose bright sun has set Amidst the darkling clouds of sorrow's gloom, — Alas! a nation yields with fond regret Thine honoured ashes to the silent torn It. No more thy voice shall in St. Stephen's ring, Or echo through the press in freedom's cause : Thou to our isle did'st ever strive to bring The smile of peace, which springs from righteous laws. Thou in the van of progress e'er was found ; 'Twas for thy country's good thy bosom yearned ; Thy soul disdained to tread presumptuous ground, The dazzling wreaths of proud ambition spumed. Great was thine influence for the public good ; Thou bad'st fair commerce bind each shore to shore ; Thou burst the gates of prejudice, and food In plenty blessed the cottage of the poor. For what thou'st done, and done with noble zeal, We owe a debt of gratitude to thee ; And, long as corn shall yield our daily meal, Dear thy loved name to England's homes shall be. ON LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE OF THE LEEDS MECHANICS' INSTITUTE. Here on this spot have men of goodly zeal And noble purpose laid the corner stone Of a fair structure, destined to reveal Man's latent powers which never might have shone. FIELD FLOWERS. 39 May all success with this great work abide Until the last, the crowning stone ascends ; Then will it be of Yorkshire towns the pride, The grandest medium for the noblest ends ; — A glowing beacon, whose clear brilliant rays Shall point the path of progress unto men ; A sunbeam struggling through the gloomy haze, Revealing mines with many a golden vein. Here ignorance may trim its unused lamp, And talents realize their warm desires ; Zeal may receive fair merit's honoured stamp, And here may genius quicken its own fires In after years this hall shall prove to be The gate to honours of the noblest kind ; For learning makes the path of progress free, And doubly aids the strong, aspiring mind. Such institutions are our nation's boast ; Next to divine, how gloriously they stand ! — As silent heralds, stretched from coast to coast, And speak of a bright future for our land. ON PRESENTING A PRAYER BOOK. Dear child, this book to thee I give, And may thou all its precepts prove ; May thou its sacred truths receive, And practise them with zeal and love ! Herein are God's divine commands, In words most stern, just and severe ; And He in righteousness demands Thy love and thy best service here. Give to Him now thy youthful heart, — In the fair path of duty tread : So shalt thou choose the better part, And feed on everlasting bread. 4U FIELD FLOWERS. Be thou His duteous child, and He A friend above all friends will prove ; He will through life thy guardian be, Then take thee to His home above. Lit none with bitter, rancourous care, Vile thoughts into thy mind instil ; Guard thou against each subtle snare, Do all that meets thy Maker's will. Let these fair precepts rule thy heart, And with them joy and peace shall blend ; And He will never, never part From thee, thy firm unchanging Friend. NEW YEAR'S EVE THOUGHTS. Whilst seated near the bright and genial tire, Which pours a cheerful radiance all around, I'll touch once more the choxxls of my dull lyre, Though they but give a sad and mournful sound. The Christmas holly, graced with berries red, Hangs in profusion on the pictured wall ; The broad-leaved laurel, interspersed, is spread With prickly fur and olive leaves so small ;— They give a charm which cheers the hearts of all. The ethereal arch each glittering orb displays, Save when the night-clouds veil their beauteous sheen ; The placid moon gives forth its dreamy rays, And adds a pleasing beauty to the scene. An air serene pervades the hallowed eve: Devotion's call comes from the church's bell, And crowds devout are waiting to receive The solemn words, linked with I he year's last knell- Words which create a deep impressive spell. FIELD FL0WEKS. 41 Tis sabbath evening, and a solemn air Of sacred beauty wreathes the expiring day ; But one is absent, who with me did share The varied changes in life's rugged way : Stern death has been, and with resistless power Has borne her to his lonely dread retreat ; And now no more we pass the New Year's hour, Nor sit together in the accustomed seat, Nor spend the after hours in converse sweet. The clock strikes out the long and lingering hours, And seems to sound with more distinctive beat ; The little ones, amidst night's sombre bowers, Like lovely flowers repose in slumbers sweet. Whilst thus I muse on fortune's varied forms, Its trifling bubbles, or its changes vast, — How it has swept its devastating storms, — I wonder, when I view the eventful past, How human nature's stood the withering blast. *B And what fierce strivings unto men belong, And they like stingings of the vengeful wasp ! But oh, how friendship can disarm those wrongs When it doth give the firm and faithful grasp ! Like as the gloomy clouds that roll on high, When pouring forth their spleen in weighty showers ; Then the bright sun bursts through the leaden sky, And smiles o'er fields bestrewn with golden flowers : Thus friendship's sweets re-gild life's darkest hours. PLEASING SCENES. How charming is sweet nature's calm recluse ! AVhat lovely scenes surround the sylvan shade ! What pleasing thoughts inspire the enraptured muse, When wandering 'midst the green and flowery glade ; When silent breezes gently o'er the plains Bear the rich perfumes culled from various flowers, And waft along those sweet melodious strains Which flow exultant from luxuriant bowers ! 12 FIELD FLOWERS. When from the bush the feathered minstrels spring, With merry songs they onward, heavenward, rise; When nature's sweets their opening graces bring The fairest tribute to the morning skies When the red sun illumes the glowing west, And night its solemn splendour doth unfold ; When all the clouds that gird its gorgeous crest Wear their bright evening robes of radiant gold : When all the crystal rivulets appear To stamp its glories on their glassy streams ; When golden spires and lustrous objects wear The peerless grandeur of his parting beams : When the bright moon ascends the silent skies, And stars and planets gild the ethereal dome ; When the fierce world in quiet slumber lies, And strife is buried in its transient tomb ! Such scenes as these possess a quickening power ! They touch the soul and move its purest springs ; They call forth fancy from its secret bower, And bid it soar on its ethereal wings. Such scenes surpass the noblest works of art ; Their living beauty bids man's thoughts aspire ; They swell those fine emotions of the heart ; They wrap and warm the soul with sacred fire. THE FIRST SUIT. My dear little Johnny, In thy suit thou look'st bonny, And may thou have health to enjoy it ; But I'd have thee take pains, Keep from scratches and stains, Or soon, very soon thou'lt destroy it. There are none will dispute That thy neat little suit May teach thee a good moral lesson : FIELD FLOWERS. 43 For how beauteous and bright It appears to the sight, And bears not a mark of transgression. When it thou hast worn, If it's tattered and torn, 'Twill add to thy character, shame : It may be the rude throng, That may do thee such wrong, Yet thou wilt alone bear the blame. If thou dost not abuse it, But carefully use it, Its lustre it long will retain. Its appearance so new Will fade from the view, Yet its beautiful form will remain. So each innocent year Of thine doth appear All radiant with truth's simple beauty ; But brighter to thee Shall declining life be, If thy feet tread the true path of duty. Let an earnest desire Be thine to aspire To all that is noble and jjood ; For oh ! it doth seem That iniquity's stream Doth roll through the earth like a flood. In thine every care, Ask in meek, earnest prayer, Thah fortitude true may be thine ; 'Tis of infinite worth, — 'Tis not of this earth ; It comes from the Giver Divine. Make virtue thy guide, And thy feet shall not slide, And make conscience thy prompter to duty ; Then thy life's pleasant dream, Like a smooth, flowing stream, Shall glow with a radiance of beauty. 14 FIELD FLOWERS. THE CHRISTMAS GOOSE. Friend Jim invited to his house His old friend Sam, to dine off goose ; It was at merry Christmas-tide, When relatives from far and wide Together meet, And kindly greet, Around the homely bright fireside. Now that was Sam's own favourite dish,— A goose was all that he could wish, And very glad was he to spend A day with such a cosy friend ; For scarcely ought Of else he thought, But little knew how it would end ! Sam went, and in the arm-chair sat, Enjoying much of cheerful chat, Until his stomach was set itching,— For perfumes from the cellar kitchen Came up so sweet ; And what a treat He thought was goose ! oh, how bewitching ! And like Paul Pry, our worthy guest His mind for knowledge was in quest, For just as Pry would poke his nose, He peeping o'er the table goes,— When, lo! "Behold." Said he, " I'm sold ! These are the giblets I suppose." There lay the throttle of the goose, With other scraps of little use ; And now the truth upon him stole,— A jest it was, upon the whole, And nothing more ; But he was sour To find it was a I'ullock's soul. FIELD FLOWERS. 45 But what a jewel is content ! For still he thought 'twas kindly meant, So he was not disposed to part With that warm friend, the smoking heart : On such a one Ne'er shone the sun, Not one so graced the shambles mart. "Now 'tis enough," so Jim declares,— And with it mounts the kitchen stairs ; But, oh, that demon of ill luck ! The heart rolled oft' ! — he's thunderstruck ! — And well he might — In such a plight, — For really he had lost his " pluck. 1 ' For down the stairs, with many a bump, Then on the floor with such a thump It went ! but no one could tell where :— That it had vanished, it was clear. They searched the holes, And then the coals, And found it snugly squatted there. The heart by nature is elastic, And how it bounced in leaps fantastic ! Also, the heart's extremely tickle ; But, had they had it in a snickle, In would'nt have left The dish bereft Of heart, nor been in such a pickle. But that is not the worst, because The cook was following with the sauce, And oh ! just listen what befel her, It hit her sent her in the cellar ; And there she lay Beside her tray, And from a goose none scarce could tell her. 4G FIELD FL0WBRS. Yes, there she la}' upon the floor, So richly graced with pantry store, — Clean out of breath, panting and puffing, As flat as any half-split muffin, So humbled now, With such a blow, And plastered o'er with onion stuffing. But Jim was far above abuse, Although he'd neither heart nor goose. Tis strange how some misfortunes skim ! Just such a one was our friend Jim : He made excuse He'd lost his goose, But he had made a goose of him. Yet still, o'er this ill-fated dinner, He seemed a quite repentant sinner, And vowed without another word, He'd give the best he could afford ; So Sam sat down, Nor did he frown Upon that table richly stored : A table that could hold no more, Bearing enough for nearly a score : Rich spice-cake, cheese, and home-brewed beer, That simple, genuine Christmas cheer. So they made the best Of this friendly jest, A jest remembered year by year. THOUGHTLESS WORDS. Think, friend, when wit inspires thy breast, How soon the ties of friendship sever : A word, though simply passed in jest, May pari bhy friend and thee for ever. FIELD FLOWERS. 1" BEESTON HILL. (Reflections during a Spring morning's walk.) 'Twas early on a Sabbath morn, And all around was calm and still, When off I took my favourite walk, To climb the steep of Beeston Hill. Along its narrow, rugged path, With lightsome step I reached the height, And gazed upon the expansive scene With warm emotions of delight. The distant rural plains appeared In clearest outline to the view ; The hills were clothed with olive green, The sky was robed in richest blue. Each song-bird midst the foliage gay Was twittering from its simple nest ; The cattle grazing in the fields Seemed conscious of the day of rest . The dark stern factory chimneys all Disdained to hold their gloomy sway, And seemed to pay, with reverence due, A tribute to the hallowed day. And as I gazed on all around, I thought — how changed the rural scene- — What cots and villas stood on ground Where once was nature's loveliest green ! Bare was the spot on which I stood, Once decked with sweet luxuriant bowers, Where oft in childish mirth and glee I gathered nature's simple fiowers. Of buttercups and daisies too, Scarce one descendant could I trace Of all the myriads that adorned This lovely and sequestered place. 48 FIELD FLOWKKS. The old white house which once did grace The summit of the rural scene, Girt with its noble balustrades, A bold array of poplars green. Its beauteous, dazzling snow-white walls Had changed their garb to shabby gray. And like all other things of earth, They bore the impress of decay. Gone all the hawthorn bushes green, Which decked the pathway up the hill ; Also the tempting blackberries, Which overhung the murmuring rill. Those cottages below had gone, Adorned with flowers and fruitful trees, Which spread their beauties to the view, Their fragrance on the passing breeze. 1 missed the turnstile on the hill, That screeched to every passer-by, And all those tall, majestic trees, Which waved their branches to the sky, — Beneath whose green-leaved canopy I oft have sought the cooling shade, And revelled with supreme delight In the sweet beauties of the glade ; Or gazed upon the soaring lark. Whilst listening to its song on high ; And then with utmost speed I've run And chased the gold-winged butterfly ; Or, o'er the daisied pastures green, I've watched the lambs in artless play, Then 1, as full of sport as they, Have gambolled midst the new-mown hay FIELD FLOWERS. 49 Or, on the soft, luxuriant grass, I've passed away the sunny hours ; I've traced the distant churches round, And counted o'er their spires and towers ; Or plucked the dandelion's stem, When it hath shed its golden flower, And blown away its downy plumes, In simple faith to tell the hour ; Or twined those stems in feeble chains, To hang suspended round the neck ; Or plucked the scented blossoms fair, With other ilowers the hair to deck. Those simple links have often given More joy than golden chains bestow ; Those flowery garlands more delight Than wreaths which grace a monarch's brow. Thus have we spent the genial hours In rural sport and harmless play, Till the red sun sunk in the west, 'Mid glories of departing day. For as he came, e'en so he went, Showing a face of radiant smiles : And then night's empire has revealed Its empress midst her glittering isles. That old delapidated pile, Which overlooked the verdant moor, And sheltered oft in by-gone times, The helpless and the aged poor. That, too, has gone ; but on its site A nobler structure meets the view, With spacious grounds, enclosed in which, Nature its produce there may strew. 50 FIELD FLOWERS. The village church is altered too, Its heauty all will much admire : We see not now the .stunted tower, But in its place a graceful spire Its grounds I thought would be improved Were they with trees and flowers o'erspread, Where birds might sing and zephyrs breathe A fitting requiem to the dead. T thought how strange a few short years Should change the wide extended plain : Tis true familiar scenes are gone, But memory calls them back again. Whilst musing thus, the merry lark Pour'd forth its strains of melody, And kindly woke me from the dream Of memory's pleasing reverie. Then on I wandered further still, Unthinking where my footseps led, Until I found myself amongst The flowery mounds which grace the dead. That sacred spot which crowns the hill, Demands we step with sober tread ; — And who does not a reverence feel When 'mongst the relics of the dead ? There all was hushed in calm repose, No voice was beard from living breath ; A silence, nearing the sublime Reisrned o'er this solemn scene of death. Only at intervals, the calm Was broken by the gentle breeze, That bore the semblance of a sigh Amongst the rustling of the trees. FIELD FLOWERS. 51 There, 'midst those hillocks clustering round, Where grass in rich luxuriance waves, Was one in modest simple form T recognized amongst the graves. No stone or granite marked the spot, But flowers in beauty's garb arrayed, And these with sweet and fragrant breath A tributary incense paid. No glowing epitaph appeared, Such as admirers often frame ;— A few white pebbles, laid with taste, Formed the initials of his name, Decked with a row of snow-white shells, Gathered on Blackpool's wave-washed shore Of warm affection true they tell, And marble urns can do no more. And thus I lingered o'er the grave, So friendly to reflective thought, With deep impressions on my mind, With salutary influence fraught. I then resolved at once to seek The cheerful, animated green, And leave those thoughts, such as befit The stern humiliating scene. Then homeward through the dasied fields And yellow pastures took my way, Charmed with the merry song of birds, Those harbingers of opening day. 52 FIELD FLOWERS. HOLBECK FEAST. About this busy, festive time I'll give in merry easy rhyme, A verse or two at least. Of all the merry festals rare, There's none that can at all compare With far-famed Holbeck Feast. Now visitors on every side, By railway or by carriage ride, Are coming o'er by dozens ; And such nice presents now are made, And such sweet compliments are paid 'Twixt uncles, aunts, and cousins. Then such a string of endless chat About this curious thing and that, All in one lengthy column : On things which Shakespeare never wrote ; And could I every subject note, They'd fill a mighty volume. But there's a bound to folly's tide, The thoughts of all serenely glide Towards another question. The soul for weightier things doth burn, And now things take a solid turn, And end in real digestion. To prove this, simply look around, And what provisions there are found Spread all around the kitchen ! There's almost everything of good, The sweetest and the daintiest food : To see it 'tis bewitching. The kitchen table looks quite smart O'erspread with many a tempting tart, And one enormous custard, And other real, essential things Such as befit the board of kings, As pepper, salt and mustard. FIELD FLOWERS. 53 There is a host of goodly pies, Beseiged by swarms of busy flies — Some over them are creeping ; Some, as if wondering what is hid Beneath the surface of the lid, Are down the vent-hole peeping. And last, but not the least of all, What lately graced the butcher's stall In all its wondrous beauty, With ribbons trimmed so nice and neat, As if't had joined the Spithead fleet, Waiting for active duty. But time is quickly speeding on, And Mary wishes cousin John To bring the three-legged stool ; Then on she steps without much bother, The right foot first and then the other — According to the rule. She tries, but ah, she tries in vain To hang the beef upon the crane : She calls for uncle Sam, A man of all work ready made, A man who gladly gives his aid Without the least of sham. But Mary, with a doubtful look, Fixes her gaze upon the hook, — She thinks it will not bear it. But uncle says it has before, And hopes it will a many more — So now she doesn't fear it. And see, he has it in a crack Suspended to the roasting-jack ; There it is proudly swinging Before the bright and glowing fire, And really never seems to tire, Its sweetest odours flinging. 54 FIELD FLOWERS. The broad square table's now brought out, And other requisites about Prove that the dinner's ready. The beef dish is with gravy filled, And granny thinks it will be spilled, Unless they're very steady. The snow-white cloth is neatly spread And graced with celery and bread, With dishes, plates and glasses ; All is so very bright and clean, The table's fit for any queen, A credit to the lasses ! And everything that can embellish The table's store or give a relish, Such as the stomach tickles. There they are sweetly tempting you, The choicest sours of many a hue, But chiefly blood-red pickles. Now animation cheers the scene, No cankering sorrows intervene, But all in mirth regale ; There's happiness in every sound, Discretion fills the glasses round With simple home-brew'd ale. But see how changed the joint of beef ! The bones stand out in bold relief, The meat sinks in the shade ; Yet still how great are the supplies ! 1 n fact the joint's so large in size Tt braves the knife's keen blade. At last this really goodly show Withdraws its charms, and nothing now To elegance presumes. Not long since, all was chaste profusion, Now, all is mixed in strange confusion,— Still, sweet are its perfumes. FIELD FLOWERS. 55 But see, the active female band, Each busy with a helping hand, Make crockery disappear ; For every want has been supplied, And every guest seems satisfied With Holbeck's generous cheer. Then, circling round the white hearth-stone, The scene presents the liveliest tone Of pure domestic type ; There granny, near the chimney nook, Sends forth her clouds of curling smoke From her old favourite pipe. Whilst Harry, standing in the ring, In simple notes doth sweetly sing His pleasing little verses ; Or else those pretty nursery rhymes, Which he has learnt at school betimes, Again with joy rehearses. And little Willie, too, displays His little tricks in various ways, With eager, artless glee ;— With prattling tongue, untinged with guile, With toddling feet and winning smile, He climbs the welcome knee. But oh, when sweet contentment flings Its flowers, how swift on pleasure's wings Does time exulting fly ! The clock has struck the hour of three, And all with one accord agree That racing time is nigh. Then quick each bonnet, coat and shawl, That's hung so mute against the wall, Appears in rapid motion ; The rattling of the empty chairs, The creaking of the chamber stairs, Proclaim a strange commotion. 56 FIELD FL0WBR8. But granny, firm as any rock, Sits quiet as the old oak clock That's reared up in the corner, Refusing every invitation ; Yet from her cosy, homely station, They fairly would have torn her. And now, from every lane and street, Resounds the tread of busy feet Advancing to the moor ; From every possible direction, Of every shade and every section, They're coming by the score : And wandering o'er the busy moor, Whence comes the fitful din and roar, And never-ceasing hum ; But far above the screeching noise Of organ and of trumpet toys, Resounds the thundering drum. And what a scene the moor presents : The show-folk strut outside their tents In gaudy, spangled dresses ; Kings, queens, and lords are figuring there With crowns and coronets — the hair In long and flowing tresses. But just now take a searching view, By threading every opening through, And prove its real merits ; For young and old laugh merrily, Well pleased with it they seem to be, And in the best of spirits. Be careful as you roam about, A.nd always keep a sharp look out : Now take this good advice, For sharpers, for unwary flats, Are prowling like those wary cats Who're watching for the mice. FIELD FLOWERS. 57 Take care, as through the crowd you pass- Beware of the light-fingered class, Or they will ease your pocket ; For nousrht such villains will retard. They'll take whate'er's linked to your guard, Be it a watch or locket. Take care whilst viewing the bazaars, Or you will leave with many scars, From what hangs in conjunction With mimic drums and cricket bats, Which clatter 'gainst your Sunday hats Without the least compunction. But hark ! the clanging of the bell In shrill and measured notes doth tell The starting of the races : And, bless me ! what a countless host Are looking towards the starting post Of eager, upturned faces. The prize which shortly will be won Is glittering in the summer's sun, With coloured ribbons graced ; Tis hung outside " The Spotted Cow," And gazed upon by all below Who've got the sense of taste. Now night is come, and day retires, With brilliant lamps, and blazing tires, — And merriment increases ; And thus goes on the mirth and fun Until the village clock strikes one, — And not till then it ceases. But there are charms of higher birth : The tea, and concert's pleasing mirth, Might draw the hearts of those Who are possessed of thinking powers, Who'd rather spend the speeding hours Apart from fools and foes. E ■ >S FIELD FLOWERS. O sweet is social intercourse When linked by ties of moral force, Where social pleasures beam, Where kindness moves the happy throng, And chastity the humourous song, And prudence rules supreme. Where round the hearth the temperate glass With toasts and kindly words may pass, And native wit may shine : And should there be no other toast In favour of old England's roast, This surely shall be mine :— That the dark cloud, which hangs o'er all, The sun may pierce, and meat may fall hi price before next year : For each and all may shrewdly guess The joints are cut a great deal less, For beef is very dear. And then shall many a butcher's stall Display its charms to each and all Of many a well-fed beast ; Then friends shall visit friends the more, As they have done in years before, At famous Holbeck Feast. ANGER. Anger, dread monster, sire of darkest crimes, Ah, who shall half thy hideous nature tell 1 Thou breath'st the air of the infernal climes, Hot, fierce and cruel, yea, the fumes of hell; Ah, he's a wretch indeed, who's doomed with thee to dwell LINES WRITTEN AT ILKLEY. Luxuriant vale ! hold and romantic scene ! Thy varied beauties grace the lovely view ; Thy broad expanse of richly shaded green Bears a gay contrast with the ethereal blue. FIELD FLOWERS. ")(( And here what thousands climl> with weary feet To drink these waters issuing from the hill ! Though streaming 'midst the oppressive summer's heat, Yet cold in nature as December's chill. How pleasant seated 'neath these shady trees, Which overlook the white-washed rustic wells, To gaze around and breathe the fragrant breeze Borne from a myriad sweetly-scented bells ! And on the bark of these sequestered trees, What visitors their active zeal have shown '. I scarce can trace, amidst the whole of these, The o'ergrown brief initials of my own. And what a scene of grandeur here is shown ! What ponderous stones in wild profusion lie ! It seems as though stern nature's hand had thrown These surly rocks time's usage to defy. But chiefly to the low, secluded dale Doth nature's lovelier, softer scenes invite ; To bid man all his noblest powers regale, They all in sweetest harmony unite. The river Wharf e, with clear transparent stream, Serenely glides along its grassy way, Each glowing ripple to the sun's bright beam Glances and sparkles in its golden ray. The waving trees bend with delicious fruit ; The distant fields show forth the earth's increase ; The groves invite to study's calm pursuit ; The deep, green woods resound with songs of peace. Fain would I linger midst this loved retreat, Where nature scatters forth its streams and flowers, Where nought is heard but softest whispers sweet, Amidst the foliage of the rose-twined bowers. But duty bids me from these scenes depart To battle with the world's ungenial strife, For ah, too much it rules the human heart, And pours its bitters e'er the sweets of life 6U FIELD FLOWKRS. A CHRISTMAS WELCOME. Thou'rt welcome, gay season of friendship and mirth, With all tin- good things which thou sendeth— To bhose who appreciate I lie beauty and worth Of the pleasing enjoyments encircling the hearth, Which concord so plenteously lendeth. We'll welcome our friends with the warmth of the heart And a true Christmas grip of the hand ; For this is the season when generous men part With all that is rancorous, narrow, and tart, And rise to the noble and grand. We'll hang up the glorious message of old — " Peace on earth and good-will towards men;" Those words, that from legions of angels once roll'd, Are worthy to glitter in letters of gold, Written with an archangel's pen We'll honour thy presence with evergreens now, As our fathers have oft done before us. The holly and laurel their beauties shall show, We'll hang up the white-berried mistletoe bough, And its branches shall gaily spread o'er us. We'll rear the yule-log on the bright cheery tire, Whilst sweet eyes are happily beaming ; As the flames in their frolic leap higher and higher, And the glow on the hearthrug is all we desire, And aH with rich lustre are gleaming. The little ones, too, in their merriest glee, Shall join in our Christmas pleasures ; We'll give them a beautiful Christmas tree, And on its branches suspended shall be Their innocent, glittering treasures. Santa Claus on his wonderful errand will come, Into each little cot he'll be peeping ; With his presents he'll kindly step into each room, And, if there are children, he'll surely leave some, Whilst the dear little creatures are sleeping. FIELD FLOWERS. 61 The table, its time-honoured dainties shall bear, Those dainties which ever must please ; To the little ones chiefly they're ever most dear,— The children would scarcely think Christmas here, If wanting the spicecake and cheese. The goose and the turkey, the juicy sirloin, And such genuine Christmas cheer As the steaming plum-pudding and such things combine To sweeten the temper, and kind hearts incline To give to the needy a share. Amongst the perfumes of such generous cheer Will gather a jovial party ; For Christmas cometh but once in the year, A season that Christendom ever held dear, And always is welcomed most hearty. I love thee, gay Christmas, thou wearest a charm, Replete with the vesture of gladness ; Thy greetings are earnest, familiar and warm, And of all merry festals thou bearest the palm,— Thou scatterest the fetters of sadness ! THE SLANDERER. See'st thou a slanderer ! then thou see'st a foe, A foe to human happiness and love ; Who bears unsheathed the sword of human woe, Where'er his treacherous footsteps chance to rove. He, like a coward acts, for, mean and low, Behind the bush he steals to strike the blow. Or like the serpent, lurking 'neath the grass, Crouching concealed to make its desperate spring At friend or foe, whoe'er may chance to pass, And fix in him its deadly venomed sting ; Though faultless he who groans beneath the wound, Not so the wretch — the reptile of the ground. Spurn thou the slanderer, whosoe'er thou art, Nor let his voice attract thy guileless ear ! 62 FIELJD FLOWERS. Tis the foul rot from Ins polluted heart, Pouring its stench on reputation fair ; Through his cold heart no warm emotions roll, But icy fetters bind his frigid soul. Spurn thou the slanderer ! he would foul the stream That Hows where'er the flowers of peace do bloom; He brings thy failings to the noontide beam, But leaves thy virtues in a midnight gloom ; He in thy presence speaks with flattering guile, But in thy absence burns with rancour vile. Give me the true, the tirm, and honest friend, Who sympathizes with his fellow-man, Whose generous heart does not to slander bend, Who deals with weaknesses the best he can : He is the noblest type of human mould, He's the true man, he bears the stamp of gold. A moral beauty marks his life's career, Bright as the sun along its cloudless way ; A balmy fragrance ever charms his sphere, Sweet as the grove which blooms in gentle May ; Not so the slanderer : with his fceted breath Issue the seeds of pestilence and death. Slander ! foul fiend, when shall thy reign expire, And thou for ever quit thy sable throne ? When shall pure love to its bright seat aspire, And claim the heart's vile empire as its own ? When charity shall rule the hearts of men, Slanders shall cease, and die, and not till then. AN ACROSTIC. (On the death of Mr. George Spence, Nov., 1866.) Go, faithful shepherd ! guardian of the young ! Enter the realms of everlasting rest ! On heavenly strains employ thy hallowed tongue ! Reijm thou for ever w itli the ransomed blest ! Go meet thy scholars who have gone before, Enjoy their presence now for evermore ! FIELD FLOWERS. 63 So shalt thou midst those realms of heavenly love Partake of pleasures hid from mortal eyes ; Enraptured shalt thou tread each sylvan grove, Nor shall a cloud bedim thy glowing skies : Crowned with a wreath whose lustre ne'er shall fade, Eternal glory decks thy sainted head. THE CRIPPLES. (On seeing an old man push some orange peel oft' the causeway with his stick.) A feeble old man, with silver-white hair And tremulous footstep, was passing The street amidst crowds of the thoughtless and gay, When slowly he turned to the opposite way, But could scarcely get over the crossing. His face was the index of serious thought, His eyes with compassion were beaming, As struggling he passed by a lumbering cart, 'Twas easy to see from his innermost heart The warmest emotions were streaming. To push something away with his faltering stick I saw he was anxiously trying ; For his was a heart that for others could feel, — He'd crossed over the way to some treacherous peel That right on the pathway was lying. By the crowds who were passing before and behind, Of the cripple was no notice taken. All, none of those people had suffered like him, None passed through the ordeal of losing a limb, Their keen sense of duty to waken. That instant a maiden in life's tender years Towards the poor aged cripple was walking : She seemed as though bearing a burden of pain, Whilst the sweat on her face stood like great drops of rain, She to the old man began talking. 64 FIELD FLOWERS. Said she, " I'm a sufferer and shall be through life, And my future is shrouded in gloom ; Once I fell o'er some peel and injured my spine, And to reap the sad fruit through a lifetime 'tis mine,- A fearful and terrible doom." The old man replied, "Tis fifty long years Since the same thing occurred unto me ; 1 had then to submit to the surgeon's keen knife, I'd to part with my leg or part with my life, And the loss has been great you'll agree." What folly that people should throw orange peel On the pathway or e'en in the street ; Would they pocket their peel, and carry it home, 'Twould give in return a pleasing perfume, An odour assuredly sweet. For weal or for woe we scatter the seeds, Is a truth should be well understood ; And the most passive being in life's busy scene, However obscure, or his talents how mean, Is a power for evil or good. TO MY RING. Thou little, simple, glittering thing, Though thou ait but a golden ring, What glowing memories thou dost bring Of by-gone pleasures ! Thou hast indeed a secret spring Of sterling treasures. Treasures of far more worth than gold, Or gems that oft are bought and sold : They have their charms, but they are cold, And pass away ; But memories of the heart take hold, And there will stay. FIELD FLOWERS. * 65 Memories of sweet domestic bliss, Those golden fruits of love and peace, That oft have spread their rich increase Around our hearth, And prompted oft the infant kiss Of tenderest birth. On memory's pleasing wings upborne, Thou bring' st to me that joyous morn, When thou my partner did'st adorn With thy bright smile ; But thou wert on her finger worn Too brief a while ! Emblem of never-ending love, Thou dost the tenderest feelings move, Thou dost a spring of comfort prove, And tell'st the heart That one day we may meet above, No more to part. How instinct blends with the sweet thought, By sacred inspiration taught, That we to loved ones shall be brought Who now are blest, — That when we have life's battle fought We, too, shall rest. Where bliss shall in perfection reign, Where family groups shall meet again, And link again the broken chain, No more to sever, And know of sickness, death, and pain, No more forever. That thought is infinitely dear. It makes our partings less severe ; And though all things a coldness wear, And gloomy seem, It can disperse the darkness drear, With heavenly beam. tit! * FIELD FLOWERS. A WISH. When rancourous discord with its foaming tide Pours forth its fury from the sea of strife, And spreads its poisonous waters far and wide, Leaving a stench which taints the breath of life, — The heart revolting from the sickening scene, Yearns with true instinct for some happier clime ; Then fancy paints the never-tiring green, The bowers luxuriant, robed in colours prime, And pours a sunny gleam along the stream of time. Oh, then I long for some more genial spot, Where only love and friendship true are found ; Pleased should I be with but a rustic cot, With nature's gems of beauty spread around ; A leafy porch should grace my cottage door, A garden seat concealed 'midst shady trees, Where I would sit when daily toil was o'er, With Shakespeare, Milton, Burns, and such as these, And sip the nectared sweets as do the honey bees. And i would have an ever-flowing stream, Murmuring and falling from its rocky height, Glittering and smiling to the noontide beam, Singing its song unto the silent night ; A little bridge of simple rustic form Should make a pathway o'er the silvery brook ; I'd have some trees to battle with the storm. And spread their charms above the quiet nook, Where I would sit, and learn from nature's marvellous book. The mirth of children should my car assail, In joyous laughter from the daisied green, And often would I listen to each tale Of what they'd heard, and what their eyes had seen ; Or bind a nosegay of their simple flowers Of yellow buttercups and daisies white : So would I pass the evening's tranquil hours, And drink the cup of joy each livelong night, Springing from loving hearts, glowing with warm delight, FIELD FLOWERS. 67 The song of birds should fill the verdant bowers, Amidst fair nature's vales and choral streams ; And oft I'd hold sweet converse with its flowers, And they should prompt the evening's peaceful dreams : The morning's dawn should break with song's of love ; Grateful I'd hail the noontide's short release ; The evening's sun should set behind the grove, And pour its radiance o'er my cot of peace, God's minister of light, and of the earth's increase. LINES. (Why is the Leeds New Branch Railway most arbitrary and insulting ?) Because it's determined to have its own way, In spite of the bricks so united ; And none need oppose the arch tyrant's proud sway, All hopes are so thoroughly blighted. The grim iron monarch most stern seems to say, "No longer those flowers shall bloom, For oft I intend to pass over that way, And my pathway shall make them a tomb. Those emblems of England and Scotland shall fall, I mean the sweet ' Rose and the Thistle,'* And their recompense really shall be very small, I'll l'eturn a mere puff, spit, and whistle. And further than that I'll carry my train, A majestic and pompous show, Over Stvinegate, a place well-deserving that name, As every Hog(g) surely must know. Then I'll pass over Briggate, and look down below At the horse's poor slow-motioned waddle ; I'll give them a hiss and a snort as I go, And triumphantly ride o'er the ' Saddle.' 'f * An Inn where the Railway Station now stands. t The Saddle Inn besides the Railway Bridge in Briggate. 68 FIELD FLOWERS. And should I the anger of people provoke, I then will their terrors assail : I'll hin-1 in their faces a volume of smoke, And still I shall be on the rail. Then should I be called to explain my designs, Should they term it an insulting matter, I'll send an express (i) on a couple of lines, A sort of ironical clatter. LINES. "I love you, father!" — simple words, Breathed from a little, loving heart, Pure and sweet as summer flowers, Real, without the guile of art. "I love you, father, may I kiss you?" Then he climbs upon my knee, Throws his little arms around me, Steals a kiss with laughing glee. Tells me in his earnest language, All the wonders of the day ; Shews me all his precious treasures, Things which figure in his play. " 1 love you, father," — yes, 'tis earnest, Kindred to the love of heaven, 'Tis a sweet celestial fragrance, Fraught with naught of earthly leaven. When the holy charm of duty Thus its simple lustre throws, VVhat a sweet and radiant beauty Round about the hearthstone glows ! Love is strong in its dominion, Paltry feuds beneath it cower, All the harshness of our nature Seems to yield unto its power. FIELD FLOWERS. 69 THE HEARTH. AN ACROSTIC. Reign thou, fair virtue, o'er this family scene : It waits for thee, then claim it as thy right ! Come with thy smiles, come with thy robe of sheen ; Here hold thy sceptre, rule with power and might : And, oh ! may discord never intervene, Rife with its venom, with its rancourous blight, Dressed in its sombre robes, dark as the starless night. So shall contentment from its green bowers sing, Pouring sweet strains of gladness o'er this hearth ; E'en love shall yield from its own crystal spring New force and hue to flowers of loveliest birth. Come, then, like sunshine, come, and with thee bring Ennobling pleasures fraught with genial mirth, Radiant with all that's pure, and claims the highest worth. AN EVENINC4 PARTY. The evening was cold, and a dull heavy mist Threw a gloom o'er the earth, I remember ; 'Twas really a wonderful contrast to May, But nature we must not expect to be gay In the grim, sullen month of December. O'er a long dreary waste, with scarcely a lamp, Was part of the way we'd to travel ; And often the dirty, detestable splash Seemed to say, with a sneer, — " Now don't be too rash, For you're neither on flagstones nor gravel." The ladies were dressed in their gayest attire, So their silks in their hands had to hold them, But oh, what a pity ! each white figured skirt Was peppered all over with nasty black dirt, — It was vexing enough to behold them. 7U FIELD FLOWERS. Each beautiful boot of superfine kid Was besprinkled all over most shocking, And the vile, vulgar dirt you might easily detect, Had'nt shown the least reverence, or sign of respect, Not e'en to the snowy-white stocking. But though it was dismal and dirty without, 'Twas pleasant and cheerful within ; Not a shadow of sorrow, — all faces were bright, For a rich fund of mirth seemed in store for the night, And eajjer were all to bejrin. "»" The men were all seated and waiting, of course, For they had no sort of undressing; But ladies must bend at the shrine of the graces ; Their curls and gay ribbons must be in their places, Though time and the tea is so pressing. The circle at length grew complete by degrees, As each dress down the staircase did rustle ; And each did her best, I must fairly allow, To mix with the rest in the parlour below, Amongst all the chatter and bustle. What compliments too, and what shaking of hands, And excuses for—" coming before you ! " How politely the gentlemen handed the chairs, — Then, like Adam and Eve, soon were seated in pairs, And not far apart, I'll assure you. The table with sweet-meats invitingly stood, The cloth was of pure, snowy whiteness : And oh, how each teapot, decanter, and spoon, How each teacup and saucer resplendantly shone, With a glitter of exquisite brightness. There was plumcake, and seedcake, on gilt china plates, Nice teacakes, and hot, buttered muffins; But nought out of place, you must with me agree, 'Twas for excellent folks was this excellent tea, And not for a set of low ruffians. FIELD FLOWERS. < i There were spongebuns, and riceloaf , and tine pickled shrimps, Of ham sandwiches, too, a prime lot ; Tea-biscuits, with rich orange marmalade on, And a great many things that I can't dwell upon. And plenty I've really forgot. And time passed most merrily, and lightly along, Intermixed with that sweet conversation In which all young people are happy to join, Except those sour bachelors who're not in the line, Who don't wish to alter their station. They spoke of the time which precedes married life, When the meadows by moonlight are charming, When Romeos and Juliets amongst them are seen Admiring the charms of the beautiful green, Though little is said about farming. The tea being over, cups, saucers and plates, Were like miniature towers of Battel ; And the men, ever ready to do a good turn For the Udies, had quickly disposed of each urn. And shifted away each long table. Then all round the room they arranged the chairs, And soon the whole party were seated ; Except Miss Selina, who'd just left the room To fetch in her lover, outside in the gloom, And the circle of bliss was completed. The Christmas evergreens graced the bright room, The misletoe hung from the ceiling ; And oh ! as it temptingly swung from the hook, At its mystical charms oft' a lingering look. The unmarried ladies were stealing. And under its green leaves, if simply they passed. As very oft' did the young misses, Oh, then, were such bursts of such exquisite fun ; — And I'm sure the young misses got twenty to one Of the tender and charming sweet kisses. 72 FIELD FLOWERS. And now, just to open the budget of mirth Was offered the greatest inducement ; Then such a long list of the various names Of the liveliesl sports and the merriest games To furnish the evening's amusement. We'd the "Postman," and "Trencher," and " Peepshow " likewise, And games in abundance came after ; The kissing through chairs caused many a smile, And love-ribbons, measuring at least half a mile, Made the room fairly echo with laughter. Whilst the gentlemen laden with temperance wines, Appeared most remarkably handy ; And the wines were bepraised for their excellent merit, Which were totally free from the treacherous spirit That animates, rum, gin or brandy. And oft' passed the bright and the good natured joke, And all joined in the business right hearty ; Not a murmur of discord was heard round the hearth, What a glow there was seen in the innocent mirth Which enlivened this gay evening party ; Until Miss Matilda looked up at the clock, That was ticking along nice and even, Then everyone stared with a look of surprise, And wondering, could scarcely believe their own eyes, — The time was just half-past eleven. The party amazed at the time of the night, Instinctly left off their funning ; The gentlemen to put on their great overalls,- The ladies to put on their bonnets and shawls, Were now up the staircase seen running. No time had the ladies to look at the glass, And this to their hopes was a blight ; But that hour of night was no time to be proud, And the adage, that "anything will pass in a crowd,' Applied to the dark hour of night. FIELD FLOWERS. 73 Yet thoughtful and anxious each lacly appeared, For each had a long way to walk ; They thought how the neighbours were ready to jeer, To question their prudence with slanderous sneer, And all sorts of scandalous talk. But soon a bright smile illumined each face, And all seemed as happy as ever ; The gentlemen determined to see them all right, Which, of course, was their duty at that hour of night, A pleasant, agreeable favour. Then the party dispersed with good wishes to all, Each breathing an earnest " Good-night : " But to feel more secure, and to keep themselves warm, Each lady took hold of a gentleman's arm. With feelings approaching delight. The mist by this time was entirely dispersed, And the night scene was lovely and pleasant, So kindly to show us misfortune's dark school, The bright moon had thrown on each treacherous pool Its beautiful silvery crescent But we saw them safe home, and also ourselves. As 'twas just on the verge of the morning, For we scarcely had twisted the key in the lock, When the bell of the town thundered out twelve o'clock, With awful and terrible warning. And ever since then has that jovial night Been a theme for pleasant reflection ; For memory delights o'er the bright past to run. To call forth again all the genial fun Of many a happy connection. 7 I FIELD l-'l.ou EHS. THE SONG OF THE BARBER. Oli what a poor unfortunate trade Is mine, compared with others: For every consequential blade His face with hair now smothers ; Of course, it makes me very sad, And oft' I think of giving The hard word to this scraping trade, Then seek another living. I think I'll put my razors l>y. The lather-box as well ; Or if another one would try, I gladly would then sell. Each day I rear my painted pole, With colours nicely blended ; But ah. as each one takes a stroll, They pass as if offended. My pole declares at once, that 1 For business still am craving ; But ah, of all the passers-by There's scarce a soul wants shaving. To have a clean shave once a week, Was once a sacred duty ; But now, the unshaved mouth and cheek Arc aids to manly beauty. But all with fashion must keep pace, So I don't care a tig- It' I ne'er scrape another face Or make aimt her wig. To yield to sadness would indeed lie nonsense and mere folly ; If men won't shave, I'll never heed. I may as well lie jolly. FIELD FLOWERS. 75 THE LAZY FISHMONGER. Old Tim, the village fishmonger, Was very odd and queer, The l-eason was because he drank A ' fearful ' lot of beer. He'd slip into the alehouse soon As day began to break, For oh, he was a dry old tish. And fond of many a freak. The alehouse just across the street, Was named ''The Wagon Wheels ; : ' There would he sit till buyers came, Then he'd take to his h-eels ; Sometimes they'd flock unto his shop. As herrings go by shoals ; So there's no doubt that he would part With many h-eels and soles. Old Tim had various kinds of tish Spread on his marble slab, On it were sprawling lobsters seen, And many a living crab ; But business he neglected much, So fish was often scarce, A proof at once that often he Was really out of plac(i)ce. 'Mongst kindred mates he'd smoke and sleep, Whilst o'er his pint he sat, And often swear, for business that He didn't " care a sprat." At length the tide of ruin came He might have held in check. — He found his business and himself Thrown on the strand — a wreck. 76 FIELD FLOWERS. The shop now always busy seems, I '.nt bears anol her name ; The owner lias besides t he fish A good brisk t rade in game ; His motto's Perseverance, and Fair dealing too is shown, Where'er straight-forward actions rule, Failures do seldom frown. A DREAM. Now isn't it vexing indeed, to awake And find our fair visions untrue ' To revel in all that is .sweet to the mind, Them all to collapse, now isn't it unkind, heat- reader, I'll put it to you .' I dreamt, as I lav in the bowers of sleep, That a lover nt' pleasing address, Came forth and politely requested my hand ; So earnest was he, I couldn't withstand. For he gave it, oh ! such a sweet press. His step was elastic, and winsome his eye, His form full of beauty and grace, His manners were modest, pure, chaste, and refined, And all those attractions which spring from the mind, Shone in his intelligent face. So I gave him my hand, and he gave me his heart, And 1 gave him my own in return : For he told me he wished to be happy for life, And that never could be without me for wife, So the plight he was in, you may learn. I thought both our homes most pleasantly stood Within sight of the green crested sea : Thai often we walked on the sen beaten shore, When the toils and the tumults of business were o'er, Oh, those evenings were charming to me. FIELD FLOWERS. , 77 And oh, when the placid and beautiful moon Threw its splendour abroad on the ocean, We seated ourselves in the prettiest boat, And o'er the bright ripples did gracefully float, With a calm and agreeable motion. I thought the bright stars, on those beautiful nights, Shone brighter than ever above, As we each in return sweet assurances gave,— As we breathed our sweet vows on the breast of the wave, In the language of innocent love. But that happiest of times, as such ever do, On the swiftest of wings seemed to fly : Still I thought we had time just to get the main thing,— For my lover he bought me a beautiful ring. The brightest and best he could buy. Then I thought that at last came the happiest day When we were forever united ; The table was graced with the flowers of May, With dishes of richest and rarest display, And friends who were kindly invited. Tlie bright cherry sun in its splendour shone forth, And the flowers from the meadows were springing, As gently our carriage rolled through the green grove- All nature seemed wrapped in the vesture of love, Whilst the birds were delightfully singing. And there at the gates of the rustic old church Were maidens with baskets of flowers, And they scattered them forth on the ground as we passed : No scene I am sure could with it contrast In a common-place world such as ours. But we- scarcely had quitted the porch of the church, And the sweetest of voices had said, " Happy's the bride that the sun shines upon." When lo ! in an instant, the vision was gone, With the alarm clock just over my head. 78 FIELD FLOWERS. Now fancy's bright visions had fueled away, Truth scorned the plain facts to conceal ; The rich bridal dress and the bridgroom were gone; I'd no gay orange blossom, my night-cap I'd on ; Ah ! things were too thoroughly real. Around me the essence of darkness appeared, For 'twas just in the midst of December; And the bells of the factories with clamorous sound, Threw tbeir awful detestable music around, That morn I shall ever remember. The cold wind was blowing a hurricane wild, And o'er its dark pathway was moaning ; The shutters and doors on their hinges did srate. Whilst now and then whizzed from the housetops a slate, The chimney tops also were groaning. The boistei'ous hail, with such terrible force, Came rattling against my poor casement, As though winged with hatred, it seemed as 'twould fain Have burst in the window, and broke every pane,— It tilled one with utter amazement. Still the factory bells with their dismal clang, In their tones didn't show the least pity ; But with each fresh gust of the storm seemed to swell, And oh, on the feelings it really did tell — Of myself, and my dear sister Kitty. Besides, they were ringing the very last time, So I jumped on the cold chamber floor ; Whilst shivering and shaking I pulled on each stocking, The thoughts of my vision my feelings seemed mocking, They pierced to my very heart's core. Then right through the splash 1 ran to the mill, And had left the doorstep but a minute, When again a strong gusl of the hurricane Mew, And my nice buttered cake, and my breakfasl can flew, And I myself tumbled right in it. FIELD FLOWERS. 79 And a sorrowful plight I was in to be sure, As again I ran on towards the mill ; But the surly old watchman was closing the gate, Which he slammed in my face, with, "you're rather too late," With all the stern force of ill-will. Thus spoke the rude tyrant, himself hut a slave, Comparing his servile position ; But the fierce spleen of heart, far more tierce than the storm, Pours its rancour and malice in every form, Through every rank and condition. If that wondrous power which ennobles mankind, Would rule in each bosom supreme ; This earth would be turned to a heaven below, — This life like a beautiful streamlet would flow, Reflecting heaven's glorious beam. THE LEEDS INFIRMARY. (On being opened by the Prince of Wales, May 19th, 1868.) Welcome, thrice welcome, our own noble Prince, To our dear native town we all greet you this day ; A deep loyal zeal, each and all will evince By the warm-hearted cheer, and the British huzzah. Rich flowers in our gardens are sweetly in bloom, Which were fondly intended gay garlands to make For the Princess, whose absence has spread forth a gloom, But we'll tend them, and prize them, and keep for her sake. Benign is your missson — exalted the theme, — True, noble, and pure, the events of this day ; Like a bright ray of sunshine on time's flowing stream, Shall this on the pages of history display. Oh, warm were their hearts, and earnest their zeal, Who gave us this building of beauteous design ; It stands something noble, substantial, and real, And the names of its founders for ever shall shine. 80 FIELD FLOWERS. With such grand institutions, what land can compare? To Christian zeal they as monuments stand ; Each owns the possession of genius rare, Which exalts them and makes them the pride of our land. May the Prince whom we welcome and honour to-day, Do honour to parents of world wide renown ; May he to the world an example display, And prove himself worthy of England's bright crown. THE SABBATH. How sweetly calm returns the Sabbath morn ! The busy hum of labour is suppressed ; The only sounds on gentle breezes borne, Are from those bells which speak of earthly rest; Those mellow strains how merrily they roll, They give new vigour to the careworn soul. No frowning clouds of dark and dingy smoke Roll o'er the sky, and veil the azure blue ; The birds are singing to the warbling brook, And lovely nature wears a brighter hue; Well may the Christian hail this day of days, And his full heart rejoice in strains of praise. The family circle now are gathered round, The only morn they can amongst the seven ; And in that circle whal true joys are found, What pleasing foretastes of their future heaven ! A chapter from the sacred Book is read, And all their wants in prayer to < lod are spread. Nor less delightful is the tranquil eve, When old and young meet at devotion's shrine ; Each heart prepared true wisdom to receive, And all the precious promises divine Which cheer the Christian on his rugged way, \nd shed origin sunbeams on his darkest day. FIELD FLOWERS. Though neighbouring friends at various altars meet, Of kindly feeling there should be no loss ; For all are gathering near one mercy seat, And all are circling round one hallowed cross. Oft" to the church with thankful heart I've gone, For all the temples reared to God alone. And oh, how sweetly doth the sabbath close, As gathering darkness holds its peaceful sway ; Then the light heart sinks to its calm repose, Fraught "with the fragrance of the hallowed day ; O'er the whole cottage steals delicious rest, And watched by heaven naught can its peace molest. 81 TO THE TEA KETTLE. Bright, cosy, warm, and faithful friend, Standing upon the old hob end : What pleasing music thou dost send When on the tire ; There's something we can comprehend, In that sweet choir. For when thou dost so sweetly sing, What good things on the table spring : Cups, saucers, and the teaspoons ring With welcome cheer ; And by their wondrous power they bring, Near friends more near. At early morning, night, or noon, Thou'rt ready for a merry tune ; In dark November, or in June, Autumn, or Spring, No bird 'twixt here and Scotia's Doon Can with thee sing. 82 FIELD FLOWBRS. There's nought thy vanity to flatter In thy surroundings, still no matter Thou'lt never shift thy homely quarter With thy consent ; Give thee a belly full of water, And thou'rt content. But there's one feature I love best, And oh, if it were, more possessed, Mankind would surely be more blessed The wide world o'er ; It gives the true and sterling test To the heart's core. 'Tis this, though coldness t hou receives, | Soon with true warmth thy bosom heaves, And kindly of thy substance gives To waiting friends ; And last nor least thou ne'er deceives, And ne'er intends. But there are those who have the power, To cheer with joy dark sorrow's hour. And bend e'en like the springtide bower The empty shelf, But ah, their hearts are cold and sour To all but self. Yes there are those who hold the metal, Who're like the flower with closed petal ; Or like the wayside stinging nettle, In surly mood ; Were they like thee, thou true old kettle, They'd do some good. THE CRUCIFIXION. See, what a crowd of eager Jews, In gaudy robes of varied hues, So early in the morn ; See, how they press at Pilate's gate- And how impatiently they wait ' How full of bitter scorn ! FIELD FLOWERS. 83 In every countenance is seen The index true of cruel spleen ; All are as one agreed To hurl their victim on to death ; The wish comes forth from every breath To do the awful deed. Within is Jesus 'midst His foes, Bearing the worst of human woes, By Herod's stern command ; His tender Hesh is rudely torn, For He a bloody scourge hath borne. Dealt by the fiercest hand. And see Him now serenely sit, Whilst brutal soldiers vilely spit Into His gentle face ! The robe of mockery He wears, And all the unholy taunts He bears Of rancour, mean and base. A crown of thorns He meekly wears, And in His hand a sceptre bears, — A reed of meanest worth ; The crowd around Him bend the knee, And mock His holy dignity, With vile and sinful mirth. Now Pilate, midst his soldiers rude, Leads Him before the multitude, And cries " Behold your King ! " " He's not our King ! " is their reply, " Let's crucify Him ! is their cry, — These words with echoes ring:. '.-■ Yet Pilate, anxious to release The fettered Jesus, and to appease The blood-thirsty appeal : Replies in answer to their call, " I rind no fault in Him at all, His death I dare not seal." M FIELD FLOWERS Still naught Win death can satisfy, For still as ravenous wolves they cry I ' incasiiiiih for Mood, And on the cross He's lifted up,— And lo '. He drinks i he bitter cup, Which mortal never could. Betwixt two wretched thieves He hangs, Enduring death's most cruel pangs, Pale, haggard, and forlorn ; And o'er His head cadi gazer views These spiteful words, " King of the .lews,'' Words of contempt and scorn. There see Him stretched— intense His pain, The quivering nerve and throbbing vein Tell more than words can speak ; And see the anguish of His soul. As down His face the teardrops roll. Yet how Divinely meek ! The mighty conflict almost o er, His sacred voice is heard once more Piercing the sombre skies;— It reaches e'en His Father's Throne, - " Tis finished " the great work is done, The world's Redeemer dies. Above the vivid Lightning's Hash. The ponderous rocks terrific crash,— Thick darkness veils the sun ; His bosom heaves. He gasps for Wreath, His head hangs listlessly in death, — The atoning work is done And o'er the guilty earth a gloom Reigns dismal as the sombre tomb, Shrouded in midnight shade ; Creation seems to groan in pain, The Temple's \ eil is rent in t wain, And with the dust 'tis laid. FIELD FLOWERS. 85 And why these strange mysterious things 1 Why 1 the Almighty ! King of Kings ! The Lord of Nature dies ! And e'en the powers of nature own Their God, and witness to His throne- Yet guilty man denies ! Within the narrow tomb He's laid,— He has His portion with the dead— His sepulchre is sealed : But the third day — that glorious day ' The fetters of the tomb give way,— The ponderous barriers yield. The guardian soldiers, struck with fear, See from the grave their Lord appear, With might and victory crowned ; Aghast they fall with fearful cry, And trembling on the ground they lie In terror most profound. He now reveals Himself to each Of those whom He so oft did teach In many an Eastern vale The follies of the world and strife, The glories of eternal life, Whose joys should never fail. His earthly mission having done, He reascends His glorious throne, Eternally to reign O'er His redeemed ones, in that place Where none will ever the footprints trace Of sorrow, sin and pain. Oh, well may holy raptures swell The souls of those destined to dwell In yonder home above ; Well may they in this cold world sing The charms of their eternal spring, Their paradise of love. 86 FIRLD FLOWERS. WHIT MONDAY. Again returns this festive day,— All arc busy, all arc gay : Early on this joyous mom. What beauteous articles are borne Through the streets with utmost care, Teapots, urns, and chinaware, Jugs of sweet delicious cream Glitter in the sun's bright beam : Great tin boilers you may see, To boil the water for the tea, Arc passing to the schools around, Where young urchins there are found : Some on hands and knees are creeping, Eager through the school door peeping, At the buns and spicecake nice, Each one longing for a slice ; Nor do they care a straw how soon Comes the auspicious afternoon When they expect a glorious treat Of sweets as much as they can cat . Now is heard the welcome sound From the factory bells around, And instantly we're sure to meet In the busy, bustling street, Scores of merry factory girls, With papered hair arranged in curls, Talking, as they pass along, Of schools, to which they all belong ; Whilst time o'er them so quickly steals, They've scarcely time to get their meals,— For oh ! there's so much to Vie done, And they must be at school at one ; And spite of all their busy care, The papers still are in the hair. Then mother says : "This throng Whit-Monday, I'd better call in Mistress Grundy : Perhaps she'll dress my little girls. FIELD FLOWERS. 87 And open out their clustering curls, And I'll attend my little boys, Who're really making such a noise,— Because it's time to be at school. According to the festive rule. *& Now a band parades about, — Bringing all the people out ; They're running up the kitchen stairs, Knocking over stools and chairs ; Pushing on both young and old. As if it were a race for gold, To the mirth-enlivened street, Where all sorts and sizes meet ; Grannies peeping through their glasses, Viewing every child that passes; Black mechanics, jolly brewers, Butchers with their steels and skewers ; Chimney sweepers, peaceful Quakers, White-sleeved bread and biscuit bakers, Lazy cobblers, upstarts bragging, Women's tongues like lamb's tails wagging, Cadgers poor, police inspectors, Rent and rate, and debt collectors :— Tailors too, 'midst the beholders, With their thread hung o'er their shoulders Millers, in their suits of white, All taking an intense delight In seeing scholars neatly dressed In their Sunday's very best. For there and everywhere are lots Running with their little pots ; Little boys with laughing eyes, And little girls like butterflies Fluttering about in silk and muslin, But which looks best it's really puzzling; Yet everybody's quite agreed Thev all look very nice indeed. Though bustle everywhere appears, Each scene the charm of pleasure wears, 88 FIELD FLOWERS. Ami now Is heard a gentle humming From a line of scholars coming : Gracefully the girls are walking — The boys are rather rude and talking ; There are flags and banners streaming, Willi gold and silver mottoes gleaming, And boys and girls are really proud To carry them along the road. Now arc schools of various section-.. Passing on in all directions ; Some in groups are loudlj singing, Others sweetesi strains are hymning; Then on they pass through streets and laics Adorned with orange-stalls and canes. And heaps of variegated spice. All looking very sweet and nice, At which the little ones are peeping, With fingers in their pockets creeping : For some it set ins won't be contenl I ' ntil thai little coin is spent ; But how to spend their Whit tide penny, They scarcely know 'mongsl sorts so many ; And wearily i hey lag behind, But cheered along by teachers kind. Who speak of tea so much desired. They make them quite forget they're tired. Whilst people all along the line Of rOUte are pleased the (lav's Keen line. And e\ en hardened sot^ are led To breathe a blessing on each head, That o'er them happy years may glide, With many a joyous Whitsuntide. KINDNESS. This gentle power has such a moral force, It crumbles rock whilst in its onward course And all its streams with Mich a lustre shine, They prove indeed their origin Divine, FIELD FLOWERS. 89 TO A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. (Presented by a Young Lady.) Sweet scented flowers of many a hue, Enriched with tints of lovliest dyes, Your beauteous forms I love to view, And on you feast my raptured eyes ; Choicest of all the garden flowers, You gaily deck my humble room. You banish all ungenial sours, And till the air with sweet perfume. So human virtues truly give The sweetest charm when thus combined, — What higher gifts can we receive, Nobler than those of heart and mind ? Where'er they are they brightly shine, They charm the solitary hours, And they our atmosphere refine Like perfumes from these lovely flowers. THE SCHOOLBOY TO THE CANE. Co hence, thou bitter looking cane, What schoolboy's felt thee without pain ? If sugar thou did'st once bestow, Thou hast no sweetness in thee now. COME, NELLIE. Come, Nellie, rise, and let us haste Into the meadows green, And pluck the pretty springtide flowers Which everywhere are seen ; The bright rays of the morning sun Are streaming through the trees, The hawthorn blossoms gaily Are swinging in the breeze. G 90 FIELD FLOWERS. The bonny yellow cowslips Are growing near the l>rook, And buttercups and bluebells •lust by the shady nook ; The dandelions, too, appear Arrayed in golden bloom, 0, conic and let us gather them To deck our little room. Conic, let us hear the cuckoo's voice, And hear the woodlark sing : Then 'mongsl the trees we'll tie our cord And have a jolly swing. All is so bright, oh, don't delay, Let's prize these sunny hours ; ( ), I so love the fields and woods, And all the pretty (lowers. PARAPHRASE.— 130th Psalm. ( hit of the depths of sin and woe. Lord, have I cried to Thee, Thou only can'st my sorrows know, And their intensity. O listen to my earnest voice Of supplicating prayer, And bid my languid soul rejoice And nevermore despair. If Thou should'st mark iniquities, Thy vengeance who could stand I Or who could from the dust arise, Beneath Thy crushing hand '. But there's forgiveness with Thee, Lord, That all may Thee revere And trust the promise of Thy word, Wit li holy, humble fear. FIELD FLOWERS. 91 And now my soul doth wait for Thee, As for the morning light, For Thou art ever unto me A radiance in the night. My longing soul at heaven's gate, Doth truly wait for Thee, Yea, more I say than they who wait The morning's beams to see. TO MY DAUHTER, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER BIRTHDAY. Again the flowery month of May, Ushers in thy natal day ; Now are all the springtide 1 towers, Graced with variegated flowers : An oh ! how pleasant 'tis to share Their own balmy atmosphere. Learn thou from these opening flowers, Thus to cultivate thy powers ; As each beauty bears its part, May each virtue grace thy heart ; Know that these sweet gifts are given To charm thy daily path to heaven. Oh, how pleasant 'tis to see Nature's own simplicity : Here a lily — there a rose, — Each a beauteous charm bestows ; They may vie which may be Queen, Yet no envy there is seen. So may sweet humility Of heart and mind thy portion lie ; Thou wilt prize earth's follies less, If thou'rt robed in righteousness ; This fair robe more fair will wear, With each swift revolving year. 92 FIELD FLOWERS. A BIRTHDAY WISH. Bright and beautiful the sun I las again his course begun ; See liim now in splendour rise Through the early morning skies, Scattering far the gloom of earth, Proving his exalted worth. How he in his noble course Shines with unabated force, Giving foliage to the trees, Health with every fragrant breeze; Then in glory seems to resl 'Midst the golden curtained West. So may all thy future years Shine as that bright <>rh appears ; May thy powers of heart and mind, K\ er to goodness be inclined ; Then shall heaven thy path illume. And cheer thy passage to the tomb. Then shall he thy closing scene, Fairer than thy course has been ; Angel hands with thee shall rise, And guard thy passage to the skies, Where in endless happiness, Thou thv natal dav mav'st bless. OLD TIPPLER. The morning was wet, Bui old Tippler was dry, No ale could he gel . Though he made a hard try I le had spent every copper. As he'd oft 1 done before, And like an old toper Was looking for more. FIELD FLOWERS. 93 • He knew every landlord Had stop'd every tap, So no ale could he get On what people call " strap ; " He'd sold everything From the clock to the table, — He'd have sold a whole church If he'd only been able. He was peeping and spying At the end of each street, .Most anxiously trying An old crony to meet ; But from all that he met With his pitiful tale, Not a gill could he get, Not a mouthful of ale. A veteran was he, For to look at his seal's, One plainly might see He'd been oft to the wars : His sottish face truly Bore marks of disgrace, For the prints of tierce ale-storms 'Twas easy to trace. He'd sworn against work And was linn as could be, For no lazy-back 'd Turk, Was more lazy than he ; All the ale that he took Under any pretence, And the 'bacca he smoked Was at others' expense. A lieautiful figure He cut in the street, No stockings had he And scarce shoes on his feet : 94 FIELD FLOWERS. The coal on his back Would be dear at a button, Such is the sad sketch Of this ale-drinking glutton. Poor Tippler, poor Tippler, What a fool thou must be, To have drink for a master, Whilst a slave lie owns thee. Come, throw off his yoke, No more on him wait. Now live like a man, "Pis not yet loo late. HAPPINESS. Ah ! where doth happiness abound. The seat of human Miss '. Oh, tell me where 'tis to be found In such a world as this ? The world its various pleasures yields. The theatre, race, and ball : Satan the Prince of darkness wields His sceptre o'er them all. Some flowery pleasures Mem to be With innocence replete, Yet in tliein often do We mt The essence of deceit. Wealth, dignity, and power, how vain ! Each has its special strife ; Fierce as the stormy hurricane, With all its keenness rife. See yonder glittering carriage gay, Bearing a mighty king ; And vet to him his mighty sway. What pleasure doth it bring ? FIELD FLOWERS. 96 Oh I have seen the millionaire, The man of boundless wealth, Bending beneath a load of care, That's robbed him of his health. His restless, anxious, careworn mein, Told much of sorrow's smart ; A. thousand arrows, sharp and keen Had pierced him to the heart. Fortune may on the palace frown Vehemently severe, The gem may glitter in the crown, But underneath the tear. There have been monarchs who have fled The sceptre and the throne In search of peace, and they have led A life obscure, unknown. The miser's grovelling heart and mind Are centred on his gold, And so his love for human kind Is ever dead, and cold. And see him crouching o'er his till. E'en with his latest breath, And ah, the ruling passion still Is visible in death. Then tis not avarice supplies This gift supremely dear. Far from the sordid wretch it flies To a more generous sphere. Profligate waste, or greediness Of gold are sins indeed, These monster passions bring distress, And kindred passions breed. 96 FIELD FLOWERS. ' These with united voice declare True happiness and peace; The sovereign balm for worldly care, The antidote for ease, Are not in wealth and greatness found, Although they may appear; The charm is only in the sound, And garments that they wear. True happiness exalted sits Above the things of earth, A sacred sphere which well belits Its high and heavenly birth. The noble Prince in palace gay, The peasant in his cot, Must here their equal homage pay, Must in one school be taught. A school of charity and love, And love must lead the strife To lit them for the realms above, The higher, nobler life. THE SPRING-TIME OF YOUTH. Fair and beautiful's the scene ; All is robed in loveliest green, Interspersed with \ aried dyes, From whence the richest odours rise : Music from the crystal rills, — Streams amongst the verbant hills, Thou hear'st in every sylvan grove, Sweetest, purest strains of love. All things with a lustre shine, All things sweet and fair are thine ; Thine's the green and leafy wood, K\ ery flower is in the bud ; FIELD FLOWERS. 97 Tis with thee luxuriant May, Thou know'st nothing of decay. There are mirrors Avhich pourtray The happy heart that's blithe and gay, Revelling in visions bright, Painting scenes of rich delight, Scenes of sweet unclouded bliss, Scenes of future happiness : Thus fond youth in fancy's bowers, Strews the path of life with nowers. Happy, youthful, buoyant heart. Yet unpierced by sorrow's dart, Still upon the glowing wave, Heedless of the storms that rave In the distance, loud and drear — Well may'st thou no danger fear: In thy painted pleasure boat Use thy oars and gaily float, Whilst the golden sunbeams last,— Soon they may be overcast. See yon darksome cloud arise In the distant, gloomy skies' See it gloomily advance, Spreading o'er the vast expanse ; See the forked lightning gleams, Quickly fall the fiery streams, Hear the bellowing thunders roar. Hast thou reached the tranquil shore 1 There unmoved thou canst stand Holding by thy Father's hand, Nor the temptest dost thou fear With thy Father standing near. Happy, blest simplicity, Active faith, how strong in thee ! Oh, when strife's dread bolts are hurled Through the vengeful moral world, May such calmness rule thee still And nerve thy heart for every ill. 98 FIELD FLOWERS. THE SNARES OK LIFE. (To a Youth.) 'Twere a. duty left undone, E'en the most important one If I did not point the way Thou should'st tread from day to day, Through a world beset with strife, To the higher, nobler life. Ah, I would not cast a gloom O'er thy spirits youthful bloom, Nor would I let one passing cloud Once thy joyous heart enshroud ; Yet I must the truth reveal, I must not the snares conceal That are spread on either hand, As the baseless, treacherous sand, On which thou canst never build, Nor thy soul with peace be rilled. Hast thou uii intense desire To man's standard to aspire 1 ? Forward would thy spirit press In the search for happiness ' Turn to duty, lo, 'tis there Thou wilt find that sunny sphere ; All its radiant streams do How High o'er all that's vile and low. "Pis ;t current which doth glide. With flowery banks on either side: It will lead thee in thy youth To the golden fields of truth : Honours and true peace are found, Closely following duty's round ; Though the path with thorns be spread, In the narrow road still tread. Briars and stinging nettles ma\ Oft obstruct t hee in ! he way : FIELD FLOWERS. 99 Tread the right, and then at last Conscience vail sweet roses cast At thy feet ; and o'er thy brow Calm and tranquil thoughts will How, Giving comfort to thy breast, And each evening, peaceful rest. Now thou hast thy course begun, Much, ah, much, hast thou to shun : Shun the theatre's gaudy show Where false streams of virtue flow, For no sterling good is there, Tis a tainted atmosphere : There are scenes more bright and fair,— Go and breathe a purer air ! If its scenes and language be Fraught with high morality ; Graceful, noble, and refined, \ It will charm and bless mankind. I should not call misspent, the hour That's given to witness Shakespear's power ; To that great mind with powers vast, Wisdom, and genius unsurpassed. Shun the ball-room's dazzling scene, — Better if thou ne'er hast been, — Though fair forms of beauty glide In the spring of youthful pride, Though alluring beauty shows Charms more lovely than the rose,— These but on the surface lie, — These but captivate the eye : There the purest passions rove From the seat of virtuous love ; There the fiend doth play his part Through the vile seducer's art ; Ruin follows, linked with pain, And a dark, dishonoured stain Blights the character through life, E'en the sacred name of wife. lOU FIELD FLOWERS. Granting all is pure and chaste, How the young life runs to waste ! Long has past the midnight hour, Morning's beams serenely, pour ! Sec, now homeward they advance All exhausted from the dance, And consumption's fatal blight Is lurking in the chilly night But the harvest is their own, They must reap what they have sown : 80 we see life's opening bloom Laid in spring-tide in the tomb. Often o'er the aspiring soul, Vile and sensual passions rale, Whilst the noblest passions lav- Fettered captives 'neath their sway. Oil, how softly Satan winds His silent cords, and firmly l>inds His victims sure, untii, alas ! From the coil they cannot pass ; Foul as the serpent's cold embrace, Bearing a venom, loathsome, base, Which numbs the man in every part, And blights the powers of mind and hearl Whilst every form of sin appeal's To strengthen with advancing years, I'ntil the best resolves are vain, They're bound with an unyielding chain. Yet often to i he sensual eyes Sin appears in beauteous dyes, Often in the richest bloom Giving forth a sweet perfume. From each sin that doth assail, Could'st thou lift the mystic veil, 'Twere not clad in beauty's bloom, But the vesture of the tomb ; Oould'st thou prove its fragrant breath, Twere the noxious fumes of death ; FIELD FLOWERS. 101 A thing that, revels in the night, — That cowers at morn's approaching light ; A thing that steals life's precious hours,— That lures the man of brilliant powers To such low depths of base pursuit, Below the level of the brute, And holds him there, no more to rise, Who might have soared unto the skies, To heaven's gate a being bright, Endured with strength, and crowned with light. SELFISHNESS. Self, the first of nature's laws, First doth seek its own, because 'Tis by the Divine behest Firmly planted in the breast, And instinctively doth serve All His creatures to preserve : So far well, — 'tis duty's bound, Further, 'tis forbidden ground. Avarice, then, with subtle mien, Clutches, with its ringers keen, Often what is not its own, In spite of justice and its frown ; Then detection follows nigh, Then the tongue gives forth the lie ; Whilst justice, with a face most stern, Pays the wages theft doth earn,— Pays with coin that on its face Bears the impress of disgrace. Selfishness is ever seen With a visage truly keen, Over-reaching, oft we see It trampling on humanity ; Spurning e'en the bitter tear In the lust for golden 2,'ear. 102 FIELD FLOWERS. Let not avarice rule o'er i hee, Stand in thine integrity ; Stand thou firm whate'er betide, Sw rr\ e not to the meaner side ; With those principles ne'er part, Which belong a nobler heart. Sec what joy thou may's! enhance, Through thy kind benevolence ; Tears of sorrow thou inay'st <\v\ Streaming from the mourner's eye ; And it' thou has! nought to give, Sympal hy may still relieve, There are those who of their gain, < rive, hut are not seen of men :- (True sincerity of soul Scorns the gill emblazened scroll)— They are like the modest spark- Giving lustre in the dark, Seeking out the abodes of woe, Doing nood where'er they go : Blessings all around they spread In the path wherein I hey t read BRIGHT AND DARK HOIKS Loud ticks the cluck with measured heat Its voice bespeaks ll<> false deceit. It tells us truly, time is licet, And seasons roll Of bitter griefs, and pleasures sweet I Into the soul. The little hoy, with tearful eye. Looks in its face, and with a sigh Beholds with grief bhe time is nigh For school and hooks : He'd rather bid them both "good-bye," So say liis looks. FIELD FLOWERS. 103 But go he must, with books and slate, Yet loiters at the garden gate, And on his way, until too late: He pleads in vain, — The school clock sternly tells his fate,— He gets the cane. The trouble past, he weeps no more, But ponders over learning's store, Yet eyes the old clock o'er and o'er ; Then sees with glee The clock which tyrant was before Gives liberty. The sprightly youth hails the sweet hour That calls him to his lady's bower ; But soon the bell from the church tower Bids him arise ; Time 'neath the spell of love's sweet power- How swift it Hies ! Time doles the hours in slow array When darkness hides the orb of day, And lingering sufferers waste away On beds of death, Whose only power is power to pray With shortening; breath. '& What joy attends yon marriage bell ! How sweetly sounds each fall and swell ! Yet 'tis the deep-toned funeral knell To some around ; And wise are they who hear it well, Its truthful sound. A father on fair England's strand, Now grasps ;i loved one by the hand ; He hears the captain's stern command, — "The time is come :" And he is boime to some strange land, From friends and home. 104 FIELD FLOWERS. The father on his restless bed Hears the rough wild winds overhead, His heart within him sad as lead, I >ark hour of gloom : He dreams his son sleeps with the dead In ocean's tomb. Hut though huge waves and billows roar Betwixt his dear boy and the shore. Did they not pledge, yea, o'er and o'er, A.s rose i he tide, That they would meet where seas no more Loved hearts divide '. At last he of his welfare hears, Twixt Lingering months and tedious years, The tardy post a Letter bears ; The seal is torn,— And oh, each word, each spirit cheers. lake spring-tide morn. He tells how God has blessed his store,— The time he sails for England's shore,— How he'll support his parents poor;— And more than tins, He says he'll never Leave them more: Sweet hour of l>liss ! 'Idle friendless, helpless orphan casl Alone upon the world's wide waste. Views each dark memory of the past I n fearful form ; But he will brave each future blast, Each furious storm. He minds his parent's dying prayer. He knows his father's God would hear His last request, made with a tear. Yet bright with hope, That God would Mess him; this doth cheer And till his nip. FIELD FLOWERS. 105 He trusts Him who alone can bless, And give sweet peace in his distress, The Father of the fatherless ; He knows he'll prove And guide him through earth's wilderness To heaven above. So trials seen with truthful eyes, Are to the truly good and wise But wholesome blessings in disguise, Though keen their smart ; They draw from earth unto the skies The wayward heart. But bright or dull the fleeting hour, Though darkling clouds still darker lower, — Though wintry earth presents no flower ; The heaven-born soul In faith can bask in heaven's sweet bower Its blissful goal. THE FIFTEENTH PSALM. Lord, who shall in Thy house abide 1 Who shall ascend thy holy hill ? He that doth choose Thee for his guide, — Who loves to do Thy righteous will. Whose earnest heart doth prompt his lips, To breathe the fragrant breath of truth Who ne'er the cup of slander sips, But spurns the venom from his mouth. Who looks with stern contempt upon The works of him who worketh ill ; But gladly gives fair honour's crown To him possessed of righteous zeal. H 106 FIELD FLOWERS. He, who the cause of truth maintains, And nobly dares the right uphold ; Though he .should wear wrong's iron chains. Or sacrifice his hard-earned gold. He, whom no glittering reward Can tempt bhe innocent to harm ; Who pay these things their due regard, The same shall stand for ever firm. TO THE SEA. AN ACROSTIC. Roll on, roll on, thou mighty restless sea, Increase in force thy thunders on the shore ; Calm is the sky, it seems to smile on me ; How strange the contrast — the wild ocean's roar ! Ah ! there's a voice bursts forth from sky and wave. Rich with the tribute nature ever pays, Deep, full and clear, and eloquent with praise ! Sweet are thy strains when calm, green-crested sea, Proudly thy waves roll on the golden strand ; Ever I love to muse and gaze on thee, Xow smooth and still, now exquisitely grand. Cold is thy heart, ah, millions cold in death, Entombed beneath thy treacherous waters lie, Round which no friends are seen, only the night winds sigh. WHAT A BEAUTIFUL WORLD. What a beautiful world is this fair world of ours ! How bright are its streamlets ! how sweet are its flowers ! How majestic its mountains ! how lovely its vales ! How grand are its seas, dotted over with sails ! Where'er we may wander, what charms meet the eye ! They smile on the earth, they glow in the sky ; A generous impulse pervades nature's plan, The. only exception, the self-loving man. FIELD FLOWERS. 107 The fish in the stream, and the birds in the wood, Are sport for the rich, — then, their own dainty food ; Yet who most deserves the sweet fruits of the soil, But the brave honest sweaters, — the brothers of toil 1 But man, toiling man, although noble and brave, In the true scale of being is still but a slave ; Yet go where we will over fertilised soil, We see th° grand work of his genius and toil. More leisure for learning the artisan needs,— His mind is too weary to stretch forth its powers ; How can the plant thrive that's encumbered with weeds, Or give forth its beauty of fragrance and flowers 1 The factory bell rings too soon in the morn, — The factory bell rings too late in the night ; Ah, see its attendants, how weary and worn ! How poor human nature droops under the blight ! Well may the dark scroll of mortality swell In numbers so harrowing to feelings acute ; Long hours and poor fare, they mournfully tell A terrible truth, which 'tis vain to dispute. Oh, is there no remedy fragrant with right, To stay this foul tide which so fiercely doth roll ? Is there no antidote found for the blight That preys on the vitals of body and soul ? If the life-killing hours of toil were cut short, The balance of labour would prove far more true ; Mortality's scroll would present a report Well pleasing alike to the heart and the view. Then, this beautiful world, this fair world of ours, Replete with its music, bright streamlets and flowers, Yea all that is fair, Avould seem still more fair, If all its rich bounties and beauties could share. L08 FIELD FLOWERS. MAN'S INGRATITUDE. God bade the sun to shine,— And instant Iv its beams Threw a rich glory, pure, divine, O'er oceans, lakes, and streams. He hade the stars to lend Their little twinkling light,— And myriads shone at His command Throughout the silent night. He bade the birds to sing, — They gave their richest lays : The vales, and hills all sweetly ring With strains of joyous praise. He hade the Mowers to bloom,— And they sprang into birth, Eacli giving forth a sweet perfume To grace the lovely earth. He bade the streams to How, — They warbling onward rolled, Kach radiant with a crystal glow, Or bright as liquid gold. He asked the love of man,— For it a premium gave, E'en Christ, who wrought redemption's plan, And died vile man to save. All nature at His will, Its various instincts used ; He asked the love of man, but still, 1 l"ngratefu] man refused. FIELD FLOWERS. 109 THE WORTH OF TIME. What is the worth of time 1 I ask the world in vain ; Though 'tis a question great, sublime, No answer can I gain. It counts the hours as dross, And throws them all away ; Yet 'tis a gem, its precious loss The universe can't pay. True, wisdom knows its worth, And counts each hour a prize, Culls heaven's fair treasures whilst on earth, And bears them to the skies. Sweet are the golden hours, — They move on lustrous wings, When the warm soul bestows its powers On higli and heavenly things. Years form life's sturdy tree ; Days are the tender shoots ; Hours bear to all eternity Their sweet or bitter fruits. Life is a battle given, And we its ranks do swell ; We're marshalled on the side of heaven Or on the side of hell. There's much that's to be done, — Do it with all thy might ; Fight 'neath the bright meridian sun, Oh, leave it not till night. The sunny morning is The best part of the day ; Oh, then shines out the golden blaze, — Night has no golden ray ! 10 FIELD FLOWERS. Night has its silver light, — Y-i i is h feeble ray ; Sometimes there's none, — then canst thou fight The enemy in the way ? Thy foe loves darkness well, — To him 'tis more than light ; Oh, in the strife 'twixt heaven and hell, Fight while the sun shines bright '. EDUCATION. AN ACROSTIC. Rise, glorious sun, and with thy golden beams Illumine this, our happy sea-girt isle ; Cast thy bright rays on learning's glowing streams, Here let thy charms in all their graces smile : Already light on the horizon gleams ; Radiant with flowers appears our mental soil, Decked with the sparkling dews of intellectual toil .Soon shall our own amongst the nations rise, — Peerless in strength, and rich in wealth of mind, England is now contending for the prize : Now, shall she lose? shall England lag behind? Come, then, whilst time on rapid pinions flies, Employ your powers ! be lenders of mankind,— Replete in noble works, in purity refined ! AFFLICTION. Affliction, though so seemingly unkind, A tender teacher in its mission proves ; It turns the thoughtless to the sober mind, And checks each passion which so blindly roves. Oh, happy they who in affliction's school Learn, and obey true wisdom's golden rule. FIELD FLOWERS. Ill THE LAST MEETING. Oh ! lovely came the last sweet night When I and Mary met, And all its glowing memories I never can forget, — Where first our sacred pledge was made I promised her to wait, And 'twas beneath the hawthorn ti'ee. Beside her garden gate. The sun had left the scattered clouds In robes of crimson dye, And now the silver moon appeared Bright in the deep blue sky ; And, oh ! it threw a dreamy charm Upon the village green, Whilst rustic beauty spread around Made it a perfect scene. The old church clock, from its square tower, Gave forth our meeting hour, With such a sweetness in its tones I never heard before, — And she, ere died those tones away, Appeared with lightsome glee, Plucking a rosebud as she came. And sweetly gave it me. From the same tree a bud 1 tore, And gave her in return ; And the true meaning of those Mowers, Ah, well could we discern. We vowed those opening buds to keep As tokens of our love, — The gentle moon was witness to This covenant from above We sat within the arbour green, Amidst the bloom of flowers ; Whilst time with rapid wings flew by, So sweetly passed the hours. H2 i [ELD FLOWERS. The moonbeams, amorous at the scone. Peeped through the leafy shade, So gay and wantonly they strove Our love scene to invade. We wandered Heath the leafy shade Of many a spreading tree, For deal' were nature's rural charms To Mary and to me ; The hills, the streams, the village church, Nay, all the moonlit grove, Seemed in celestial glory wrapt, And all perfumed with love. But Mary made the bliss complete Who. pressing on my arm, With her sweet voice and presence dear, Gave nature such a charm ; As on we talked with joyous hearts AUout a future day, We pictured all our live-long path With llowers strewed all the w-ay. We parted but 1 never more Saw her sweet, angel face, Kxcept in death, — yet even there The love-smile I could trace :— The rose-bud T had given her was, By her own last request, Placed, with a few choice garden flowers, Upon her quiet hreast. A month of sorrow s deepest gloom Passed slowly on its way ; I saw the same familiar scene Beneath the moon's bright ray ! The clock gave forth our meeting hour, — But, ah ! I was alone,— The moonbeams fell on Mary's name, < i-raved on the marble stone. FIELD FLOWERS. H : ^ TO A LAMB. ( ( )n seeing a butcher take one from a field. ) Poor, innocent, and helpless lamb, Beautiful, frolicksome, and tame, To take thee from thy bleating dam, In bonny spring, And then to kill thee, — 'tis a shame, Poor little thing ! Oh, why not let thee spend thy hours, Amongst the fields and shady bowers, And crop the little simple flowers That round thee grow, And thus allow thy native powers Their height to know .' But thou wilt ne'er perfection see, Though bhou'rt so full of life and glee : One more short hour, and thou wilt be Stretched out to bleed, And epicures will gloat o'er thee, And on thee feed. To plead thy cause, how vain the appeal ! The death plunge thou wilt shortly feel ! The piercing, sharp, cold, ruthless steel, — The murderous knife, — And down thy snowy breast will steal The stream of life. Thou gav'st to this delicious scene A charm of beauty, now the green Is like a throne without a queen ; No added grace So beautiful as thine has been Can fill thy place. Poor little lamb, though hard's thy fate, Yet viler wrongs mans path await : The monster passions, self and hate. Are rank and vile, And myriads pass through wrong's black gate, — That dark defile. 1 14 FIELD FLOWERS. Oh, there are those on every hand, Foul in themselves, who love to brand The characters of those who stand With spotless fame ; Such are to our dear Fatherland A source of shame. Ah '. oft is noble excellence Outraged by men of vulgar sense ; But cheer up, man, have confidence, Though all seems dearth, Thei'e is a golden recompense For truth and worth. There is an over-ruling power That will sustain thee in that hour When fools thy honour would devour, Or crush thee down ; Fear not, and thou shalt see them cower Like grass new mown. PSALM OXXL I will unto the sacred hills Lift up my suppliant eyes, For oh ! the earnest eye of faith. Lord, thou wilt not despise. My help comes from the Sovereign Lord, Who hath made heaven and earth ; From Him to whom all forms of life Owe sustenance and birth. And He will safely guard my feet From every evil snare, For His all-constant, watchful eye. Shall keep me everywhere. FIELD FLOWERS. 115 Behold, the great Preserver, who Keeps Israel's mighty realm, Shall never slumber, but shall rise And all thy foes o'erwhelm. The Lord Himself, the Mighty One, Shall by thee ever stand ; The Lord is ever thy defence, E'en close by thy right hand. The scorching, fierce, meridian sun, In burning splendour bright, Shall never smite thee with its beams, Nor shall the moon by night. From dangers that surround thy path The Lord shall thee preserve,— Yea, it is He that shall not let Thy soul from virtue swerve. In all thy wanderings to and fro, The Lord shall go before ; He shall preserve thy life e'en now, Yea, and for evermore. SONNET. No grander height the noblest man attains Than England's Premier, when, with earnest zeal He firmly holds the ever-trembling reins, And lends his powers for the vast empire's weal ; Sees through the hazy distances afar. The strife of nations and their secret aims, And holds in check the clamorous fools of war, And proves the folly of their brutal claims ; Towards honour true his noble nature tends, His genius bids the empire's wealth increase ; He makes the peoples of the earth our friends, And all do breathe the fragrant air of peace. Oh, blest are they who 'neath such rulers live ! True happiness is theirs, which peace alone can give. I ll» FIELD FLOWERS. SATAN'S WATCH NIGHT. In Eighteen hundred and seventy-one, 1 )ecember thirty-tirst, There was a council held in hell By Satan and the accursed ; A gloomy cavern, weird and wild, Lit with a ghastly glair, Was the grand council chamber of The demons of despair. For he had summoned all his chiefs, And here were they advancing; The sound of their unearthly feet Was as war horses prancing. The herald of their dread approach Was a deep roll of thunder, And all the infernal doors were quick By lightnings burst asunder. Myriads of hellish chiefs appeared ; Each in his hand a scroll, Which bore the records of the year Of every ruined soul : Whilst Satan, on his sable throne, Sat in his princely pride. And o'er those chiefs of darkness he Was eager to preside. At once he rose midst silent awe, And thus spake to his host : " .My valiant chiefs, I greet you all From every earthly coast,— Come, drink with me the wine of wrath, Our heart's supreme desire ; " And instantly a cup to each Was tilled with liquid tire. Responsive to that dread request, Eacli stood and held his cup, — The living tire that in it burned Was greedily drunk up; FIELD FLOWERS. 117 Then all again resumed their seats, Filled with emotions base ; Each burning cup had done its work, Wrath frowned in every face. "And now,"' said Satan, "we'll proceed To business of the year ; You hold the death scroll of the lost. Through spirits, wines, and beer : Unfurl your scrolls, and instantly The numbers shall be reckoned," — And Satan summed the numbers up Complete in half-a-second. Said Satan, "These, far, far exceed The numbers given by men; Theirs should, to give the true report. Be multiplied by ten. On earth they give those lost through drink,— The indirect don't count : Did they but know the actual sum, They'd stagger at the amount.' " And drink — the harbinger of ill, The greatest upon earth, The gushing fountain of all crimes, Their very life and birth ; Yea, drink, the British nation's curse, As Christian people say, Is, by the British parliament, To be clean swept away." " Within the year what prostitutes, What vagabonds and slaves, What murderers, suicides, and thieves We've sent unto their graves ; The great and mean, the rich and poor Of every rank and grade. Are ruined through the influence Of this our liquor trade." L18 FIELD FLOWERS "Shall it, my chiefs, be swept away, This spring of every vice? Why, England without drink would be An earthly paradise ! No, never, this shall never be— Use your dread powers of might ; And 1 my legions forth will lead Unto l he desperate fight." " We have our agents yet on earth, Still in their mortal clay And by their aid and yours, I still Shall the world's sceptre sway: The pulpit's silence gives consent That it shall run its course, Scarce one persuasive word it breathes To check its mighty force " "The brewers and distillers are On this occasion joined : In fact we are invincible, Our powers are so combined ! And liquor, what a power it hath ! Tts fascinating charms Can even lure the wise and strong And hold them in its arms.'' "Now see OH earth our glowing (-amps Blazing with fiery glare. Thousands from those ere morning dawns We'll plunge into despair; E'en now at this auspicious hour. Whilst Christians on earth Are met in deep solemnity To hail the New Year's birth,"— "E'en now your momentary flight Take through this midnight gloom, Armed with your powers of evil, yet The invisible assume ;— FIELD FLOWERS. 1 19 Go whilst the teeming myriads stand Upon death's gloomy brink, Whilst myriads, and yet myriads more Are on their way through drink." " Go, mingle in the dramshops, Those strongholds we possess ; Our victims you've inspired before, Excite them none the less ! Pour in each cup the subtle charm, And let them have their till, Then through the length and breadth of earth, You'll have them at your will. Then burst one general assent Throughout the sable throng ; The mighty host held with their prince That they were wondrous strong ; They boldly swore their powers to use In tight or hidden snares, To blandly lure the human heart From all its best affairs. Then instantly they disappeared, All was mysterious wonder ; No sounds were heard but hellish laughs Blended with rolling thunder; — The sun saw fetters, pains, and death, With mingled scenes of Avoe Darkening the sacred New Year's morn Of Eighteen seventy-two. THE NARROW PATH. There is a peaceful, narrow path, Trod only by the good and wise ; And he who truly treads it, hath A certain passport to the skies. 120 FIELD FLOWERS Our great Redeemer, whilst on earth, Can i'nt its course, and marked its bounds Beyond its limits all is dearth, All, all beyond arc Satan's grounds. True, there is often barrenness, And rugged rocks stand in the way ; But there are shaded bowers of Miss, And streams whereon the sunbeams play. A pleasant path, — yet there are those Who wander from it far and wide ; They break the fence and let in foes. And so the Master's sheep divide. The love of self, the greed of grain, And all the carnal lusts within, Allure men to the world's broad plain, Which is the rendezvous of sin. 'Tis well to make the happy choice, Tis hard to keep the hallowed track : There is the Siren's witching voice Of worldly pleasure calling hack. Oh, there's no truer test of worth Than duty done from day to day ! By cheering the distressed of earth And helping them along the way. RITUAL POMPS An ancient foe stalks through our land. Dressed in the mystic garb of Rome, Whose forehead bears a, well-earned brand, And, lo, he makes our land his home. Shall lie again our Bible blight, And take that fortress of our strength i Again shall superstition's night Reign over England's breadth and length ' FIELD FLOWERS. 121 Reason, and true religious sense, Combine to spurn the insulting yoke ; Tis Romish on whate'er pretence, Tis sham beneath an English cloke ! 'Tis weakness, which without a blow Will cause the shattered church to fall, Yea ritualism is weaving now With speed its own dark funeral pall. Such error wears a tinsel rolie, The gaudy things but fit for night, Whilst simple truth will stand the probe, And brave the fierce meridian light. The age of mystery is past, — The veil is torn from vain pretence ; Simplicity and truth at last Go hand in hand with common sense. Woe to our land when ritual forms In the ascendancy shall rise ! They're the tierce harbinger of storms, That cloud the Christian's tranquil skies. Why leave the spirit's breathings warm, And follow empty rituals cold ? The gospel needs no gaudy charm, — No gilding needs the sterling gold. Our Lord in simplest costume preached, His soul with holy wisdom rife ; His burning words the masses reached, For they were spirit, they were life. His was a pure transparent creed, No ritual mummeries gave He ; He was Himself in word and deed A pattern of simplicity. Away with all such gilded scenes, — And let us have truth's solid gold ; Truth can alone supply the means To bring the world to Christ's own fold. 122 FIELD FLOWERS. THE TWO GLASSES. "Twas on a sultry summer's noon, When dinner was expected soon. And knives, and forks, and gravy spoon Were ready waiting . 'Two glasses in a spleenish tunc ( 'ommenced their prating. < >i ic glass was filled with Adam's wine, And really sparkled very fine; The other, beer, yet seemed to shine With equal lustre ;— And now all those who were to dine Began to muster. The other glasses, meek and mute, Seemed not disposed to follow suit, Bui left the two to the dispute,— They only heard : The truth or falsehood to refute. ( )h, not a word. The fiery beer commenced the clatter, By spurning the ''insipid" water; And right and left did it bespatter The crystal spa With 1 titter scorn, nor did it flatter One single straw, Twas hardly right for Mister Beer So grossly rude to interfere With neighbour Spa, for 'tis quite clear He's ever quiet, — The other revels in the sphere Of wanton riot. Now Mister Spa, in self-defence, l T sed his cool, sober, common sense. To curh the haughty insolence Of Mister Beer, But not to check his impudence Did he appear. FIELD FLOWERS. 123 Said Spa, " and pray Sir, what do you mean By hurling your uncalled-for spleen At me, who've now, and ever been A friend to all? But to do good I'm ever seen At every call ! " Said Beer, " you're nought but common stuff; You roll through rivers rude and rough ; You're tasteless, poor, not worth a puff : The cadger poor, Scarce thinks you're worth a pinch of snuff If I'm in store." You're tine, but in your common duds You're often graced with soapy suds ; You're in with all the dirty floods Throughout the nation, Spoiling the people's costly goods Of every station. And you're my servant, there's no doubt; You're sent right through the common spout To wash my dirty barrels out, — And then the brewer Drives you right down, with mop and clout, The common sewer." " How dare you here presume to stand, You common offshot of the land 1 How any one would lend a hand To such as you, Is something I can't understand, And that is true ! " Said Spa, " I dare presume to appear In any place, I care not where ; That's more than you dare, Mister Beer, Now think of that ; I always keep a conscience clear, No matter what." FIELD FLOWERS. "And, Sir. I take an honest pride Tn what such tools as you deride; My power lias everywhere been tried, Likewise my worth : I hold a reputation wide, Wide as the earth." "There's not a place beneath the sun, Where aighl sees not some duty done. Or some stupendous task begun By me, Sir Beer ; Bright are the laurels I have won, Such you'll ne'er wear !" •'This morning as I came along The green hanks, and the flowers among, Bach sweet bird hailed me with a song, And I in turn Wail iled to all the feathered throng Midst rock and fern," And as each tree, and flower-crowned stem, And blade of grass, held forth a gem, I gave a kindred glance at them So pure and bright, Each sparkling as a diadem In Sol's clear light/' "To universal nature I Give beauty, tone, and energy ; The world knows well my mission's high. Noble, and good ; My works shall live when yours shall die, Be it understood.'' '• Your mission wins no approbation, You're bhe greal curse of every nation ; Nol one like you since the creation, Excepl the devil, Mas caused such scenes of degradation, Such streams of evil." FIELD FLOWEliS. 125 I with you through the ages steal, And I am able to reveal What you and your companions real, Those kindred "spirits," Have done to scatter human weal, With all your merits. Now after this no more was said, Poor Mister Beer hung down his head, All life and energy had fled ; The sparkling spirit That rose so high, was flat and dead, Poor, short-lived merit. But 1 must not forget to mention A guest who sat in the convention, During this short but sharp contention ; Stood 'twixt each cup, Declaring 'twas his sole intention To squai-e things up. Said he, " the highest honour's due To Mister Spa, and justly, too, Such honours are deserved by few, Though they be watery. All Mister Spa has said is true, Though tinged with flattery." And now respecting our friend Beer, For friend he is, to me 'tis clear ; The worlds great curse should not appear To his account, The vile disgrace vile man should bear, The full amount. For he who heedlessly will pass The limit of a temperate glass, Sinks far below the honoured class, Man's noble race ; Far higher stands the stupid ass, He tills his place. 126 FIELD FL0WER8. And now our honest friend had done He'd finished well what he'd begun ; Each guest's attention he had won ; So there and then, They all resolved the abuse to shun, Like manly men. THE BETTER COUNTRY. There is above a city bright: Strong, and eternal are its walls, God is its sun, so there no might Of sombre darkness ever falls. Its golden gates are open wide, And ransomed souls are entering in ; There they for ever will abide, No more to feel the blight of sin. No flesh and blood can enter there, They're to this lower world confined ; Only to that progressive sphere Is man's true noble self designed. There those of every earthly clime, Hold converse in one common tongue ; And there are found no spoils of time, Eternal things are ever young. All problems shall be there revealed, Which have perplexed us here below ; Truth's volume shall be there unsealed, We all its treasures then shall know. A fragrant atmosphere of love Circles the regions of the blest, And in that glorious realm above Are all tin' charms of heavenly rest. FIELD FLOWEKS. 12i Oh ! there is rapture in the thought, That there's a better world than this, Where no life's battles shall be fought. But all shall live in perfect peace. What sweeter charm can mind conceive Than this with earthly friends to meet ! And through eternity to live. Oh '. this is happiness complete. And yet there is a higher charm That will each soul to rapture raise. 'Tis this, that hearts for ever warm Shall glow with the Redeemer's praise. WHO'S THY .MATE? Who's thy mate, my bonny lad ? Can'st thou give a good report .' There are plenty to be had, Yet how few of sterling sort ! Choose with care a proper friend, Very much depends on this : How thy earthly course will tend, Or thy future woe or bliss. Should his failings lead astray. Show thy friend the better path, Never thou be drawn away To the road that leads to wrath. Now thou'rt just about to mix In the busy treacherous world ; Soon thy principles thou'lt tix, Soon thy flag will be unfurled. 128 FIELD FLOWERS. Then resolve to plant it high Above the reach of fool and knave; To catch the breezes of the sky, And let " Excelsior " on it wave. View the worthies of our land, They who most deserve our praise ; Graced with noble deeds they stand, Beautiful to human gaze. Thou may'st not to greatness rise, Earthly fame may not be thine ; Goodness earns a noble prize, On its scroll thy name may shine. AMBITION. "Pride goeth before a fall." Let thy footsteps ever keep Far from pride's ambitious steep ; 'Tis a rugged mountain pass, Where too oft we find, alas, If we but its regions trace, Bones lay crumbling at its base : From its giddy height they fell, Such is the sad truth they tell. False ambition led them there To that fatal atmosphere, — Still nought could their steps prevent, High and higher still they went; Still more barren grew the way, Still nought could invite their stay; They had left the soft green grass, Now they'd frowning rocks to pass. Flowers none could the scene bestow, They were in the vale below : Yet still upward did they toil, Far beyond the green-robed soil ; Had they reached its lofty brow They'd have found it crowned with snow, A ikI (he cold and fitful storm Rayinu in its keenest form. FIELD FLOWERS. True ambition's ever found Working on the fruitful ground, And with true, well-meaning toil, Breaking up the hardened soil, Making the life-giving earth Ripe to give its glorious birth ; Scattering forth the precious seeds, Pulling up the rancourous weeds, Tending the productive root, Gathering the autumnal fruit. So toil thou in this thy day, After thou shalt have thy pay ; What thou can'st do, who can tell? Serve thy generation well, For in that true wisdom lies, God's own smile, its noblest prize. 129 TO A FOP. See yond conceited, empty fop, With new-shaved chin and barber's crop ; He's peeping o'er a mountain top Of starch and linen, Though but a lackey in a shop 'Mongst pills and quinine. Like some Lord Dundash, how he stares ! He cannot sit without two chairs,— But tho' he gives himself such airs, The fact is this, — For such as him, why, no one cares A penny piece ! He's got a silver-mounted stick, And " Albert " chain three-quarters thick He's given his hat an extra lick And made it smile, And it is one that's "up ta Dick," The newest style. 130 FIELD FLOWERS. Though dressed in his fantastic suit, Still it can never hide the brute,— He'd shine far more if he were mute : To try to pass As one possessed of sense acute ! — A stupid ass. His dreary yarns of senseless dolour Tell every one he is no scholar ; He'd better doff his paper collar And take some pains, Say, spend in books a single dollar, To improve his brains. But still he will be number one, He'll talk when other folks have done, He'll let his silly long tongue run Like streaming water, And then it ends as it begun With empty clatter. The fact is he has nought in store, To men of sense he's but a bore, Nay, as for ordinary lore He'll scarce surpass Those four-legged gentry on the moor Who're nibbling grass. His insolence and pride are both What every honest man would loathe ; In every sentence there's an oath, And what is worse, He'll reap the bitter fruit, forsooth, Of every curse. Would he enjoy the sweets of pleasure, Twere well to use his hours of leisure, By culling intellectual treasure Whilst time flies o'er him, For gems of knowledge without measure, Now lie before him. FIELD FLOWERS. 131 Tis there life's happiest secret lies, None know it but the truly wise, And fools are they who would despise Treasures like these ; Who'd spurn the highest, noblest prize For stupid ease. NIGHT. Oh, how charming is night, When those gems in the height Of the firmament, glitter in splendour ; To tread the green grove, Breathing pei'funies of love, Where the streamlets so gently meander. When the beautiful moon, Shines so sweetly alone In the calm and the peaceful blue sky ; And the rapturous thought With night's beauties fraught, Soars to its Creator on high. How solemn and still Every valley and hill, Each building appears in the gloom, An aspect to wear Like the supulchre drear, With the silence that reigns o'er the tomb. Oh ! lovely is night, 'Tis the lovers delight, Whose feet with fair virtue have trod ; To blend with their love, The sweet smile from above, That proceeds from their Father and God. O pure is the night As the fair spotless white That doth challenge the sun's brightest beams ; To those whose good deeds Scatter generous seeds, Their nights How as peaceable streams. 182 FIELD FLOWERS. At night's silent hour There are many who pour On the wounded the oil and the wine Ah, these, when they've done, Their bright circles have run, In God's kingdom for ever shall shine. AN ACROSTIC. And hast thou e'en whilst yet so young, my boy, Received for conquered tasks this precious prize 'i 'Tis worth far more than gold ; that is a toy (Holding false charms through life) that quickly dies : Unlike the gold, this book shall be to thee Rich beyond thought, through vast eternity. Search well its pages, o'er them meditate, Ponder its precepts with an earnest zeal ; Enter the narrow path, and humbly wait, Nor doubt that God His wisdom will reveal; Come, then, to Him thy powers thus consecrate, E'en give the bud, the blossom, and the fruit; Refreshing streams thou'lt rind will follow its pursuit. THE OLD BIBLE. Dear Volume ! thou dost greet my eyes With all the attractions of a prize, For sweetly didst thou sooth the sighs, The cares and fears Of parents (passed into the skies) Through many year.. Oh ! never could I overlook Thy presence dear, thou time-worn book, Nor cast thee in some obscure nook Of towering height, Like some despised, dismal rook, Clean out of sight. FIELD FLOWERS. May never vain and heartless pride Throw thee with haughty air aside ; Thou compass true, thou only guide O'er life's rough beach, Foremost in rank thou shalt abide First within reach. Too oft we see the heavenly bread In splendour on the table spread, Its golden precepts seldom read : And what is worse,— Vile books are often used instead, Which prove a curse. Though it a dingy garment wears, And marks of earnest usage bears, It has through this cold world of tears And darkness been A guiding light, and still appears Radiant with sheen. Often when foes the heart have vexed, And worldly cares the mind perplexed, The solace from some soothing text, Like sunshine bright, Hath nerved the heart for troubles next With power and might. Often when tierce affliction dread Hath sunk the weary, aching head, Our Lord's own sufferings have been read ;- The atoning plan ; — How Ho wrath's winepress once did tread For guilty man. 133 To sorrowing man it offers bliss, The joys of heaven, eternal peace : What gift can be compared with this— The life divine 1 The glorious life that ne'er shall cease, May this be thine. L34 FIELD FLOWERS. Oh, what, a rich celestial bloom Of Howers it wreathes around the tomb, Through summer's cheer, and winter's gloom, For ever vernal ; And for the sentence of man's doom Gives life eternal. CO-OPERATION. AN ACKOSTIC. Joined heart and hand in one progressive van, Onward and upward all must surely rise ; How weak and vain is isolated man ! Nor can his force avail who such a power deties. How noble, grand Co-operation's scheme ! Oh, what rich blessings ever from it roll ! Lo, how substantial stands the Utopian dream ! Mighty in action, its emblazoned scroll Effulgent shines, bright as the summer's sun, Showing what good is wrought, and what may yet be done. TOWN AND COUNTRY. The evening sun was setting fast Behind the western hills; The birds were mute, no strains were heard, Save from the warbling rills. There nature spread her beauties round, Whilst cooling breezes bore Upon their silent, gentle wings The breath of many a flower. Bright foliage in the rude, green lanes Across the pathway spread ; The quietude was undisturbed Save by the lover's tread : All nature seemed in gentle mood, In twilight charms complete, — So cool, so tranquil, so unlike The town's oppressive heat. FIELD FLOWERS. |M.-, Each humble cottage seemed to be The abode of love and peace ; A contrast to the naming town Where warrings never cease, Where discord, hate, and jealousy, With kindred passions foul, Corrupt and blight the simple heart, And narrow clown the soul. No sound of tiendish discord breaks Upon the quiet vale, — Night only hears the voice of love Breathing its tender tale : It never hears the hasty tread Of avarice chasing wealth ; But calm content each cottage shares, And rosy, blooming health. Give me the country's simple charms, It's homely, social life ; To me 'tis dearer than the town, With all its feverish strife : The moral man is purer far Whilst treading earth's green sod ; The soul 'midst nature's solitude Is nearer to its God. A TOAST. (Given at a Christmas Dinner. ) Long life and health to those who have The board so richly spread With luxuries, so sweet and rare, On which we've just now fed : Yea, may they live and often give, With hearts as warm and hearty, Such tokens sweet of friendship, meet For such a genial party. 136 FIELD FL0WER8. TO A PIECE OF 00 AL. How strange, though from the dismal mine, What gay and brilliant freaks arc thine ! Thou art endowed with gifts which shine In gloomiest hours ; And yet a host of foes combine To dim thy powers. When coldness reigns and we require The blessings of a cosy tire, Thou givest us our heart's desire : And how we dread From thy dear presence to retire To the cold hed That thou art needed everywhere, Earth's various richest fruits declare ; Oh, what would he the sweetest fare Without thy aid? For us no Yorkshire Pudding rare Could e're he made. And yet thy glossy brethren sleep, Far clown in earth's dark caverns deep ; There groveling selfish men them keep : How base ! how cruel ! For thousands round cold hearthstones weep Through want of fuel. Even the nation's pulse doth heat With feebler throb through loss of heat ; Wheels, cranks and cranes, both small and great, Must cease to mo\ e, Unless your kin from their retreal Come up above. 'Tis right and just, my darkey friend, Those who your sombre kindred tend And to the earth's brighl surface send Should have fair pay, — Those who in dreary dungeons spend The hours of day. FIELD FLOWERS. 137 Still, justice e'er should draw the line, Nor men nor masters should combine For selfish ends the screw to twine, Or nip the tongs, Thus causing millions to repine O'er cruel wrongs. Twere well if all men would forbear To grind their fellows whilst they're here ; What, when they reach that unknown sphere, Will be their lot ? I cannot tell ! but, much I fear They'll get it hot. SABBATH MORNING BELLS. How blithe comes the sound Of the village church bells ! How they sweetly rebound From the hills to the dells ; The whole face of nature Seems charmed with their lays, Yea, every dumb creature Seems buoyant with praise. It makes men rejoice As they ring through the air ! For what sweeter voice Can call unto prayer? They are strains of pure mirth, With a rich, hallowed leaven, An emblem on earth Of the music of heaven. Still may their loved strains Gaily float on the air, Healing heart-aching pains, Gently cheering dull care ; Next to nature's grand chorus 'Midst England's green dells, No music steals o'er us Like village church bells. 188 FIELD FLOWERS. HYMN.— Psalm XLIL, 11th verse. Why art thou troubled, my soul, About thy present state 1 Why fearful of the dark unseen, Which future days await 1 Though thou may'st tread through paths of gloom, Through sorrow's wintry night, Hope, thou shalt see the summer's bloom, In sunny splendour bright. Here thou the cup of bliss may'st take, And press it to thy lip ; But ah ! it may be dashed away Ere thou its sweetness sip. Here thou hast friends, but oh, how oft Are earthly friendships riven ! How rich in hallowed friendships firm, Is yonder glorious heaven ! Here, thou the parting hand must grasp, May be with tearful eyes ; Yonder, there are no partings known, But welcomes to the skies. Then why should tears of sorrow hold Posession of thine eyes 1 Or why a speck of dust obscure The splendour of the skies 1 Then be not thou cast down, my soul, Though thou through fire hast trod ; Hope thou with cheerful countenance In thy redeeming God, FIELD FLOWERS. 139 CHRISTMAS HYMN. Hark ! to those celestial strains, Falling on the silent night ; Stealing over Bethlehem's plains, See ! they come from angels bright ; Clad in robes of heavenly sheen, What can all this rapture mean ? Listen to that glorious throng, — Hark ! they hymn a joyful strain ; This, the burden of their song : — " Peace on earth, good will to men," Spread o'er all the sinful earth Tidings of a Saviour's birth. n golden wing, Thou'rl never where dark shadows fling Their sombre gloom ; Thou'rt only where the sweet birds sing And flowers do bloom. I sec thee in the leafy bowers, Nestling amongst the fruits and flowers ; ( ), truly, thine are sunny hours, Thy world is green ; Where art thou 'midst storms and showers? Thou'rt never seen. Where wast thou tnidst the winter scene. When winds and frosts were doubly keen,— When trees were bare, no lent' was green,— All sere and gray ? Thou in thy embryo shell 1 ween Didst snugly lay. Soon autumn winds will howl and whine. And yon bright sun will dimly shine. All nature's energies decline, Then how witli thee When fruits and flowers no more are thine? Ah, thou wilt flee. So. when the sumptuous table's spread, When fame doth crown the honoured head, Where mammon's golden beams are shed All bright and warm ; There friends do throng with ceaseless tread Around the charm. Oh, they will throng the dainty feast. And smiles adorn each eager guest, Long as the golden sun shall last. bet fortune frown. Or the tieice wind blow from the East, And t hey are gone I FIELD FLOWERS. L51 Before the sun begins to rise, When darkling clouds o'erspread the skies, When cold adversity's deep sighs And sorrows blend, Then is the time to know and prize A sterling friend. Ah, such are friends beyond compare, Who come to cheer, and lighten care : Like winter butterflies, they're rare ; Still, now and then, There's one shines as the evening star Mongst servile men. EARLY SCHOOL DAYS. (To the Worshipful The Mayor of Leeds, Hy. Rowland Marsden, Esq.) How bright the scene.-, of early days. Illumined by the golden rays Of memory, oh ! I fondly gaze On many a scene : Though shrouded in time's distant haze. Still they are green. Sweet as the morning's balmy air, Or as the crystal waters clear ; All ! those were days unmixed with care : No withering blight, No sombre cloud, all things shone fair In clearest light. Old Sweet Street School I see again. Its joys and griefs, a varied train: There the reward or smarting cane Hath often told Where lay the dross, and where the grain Of sterling gold. I hear its opening hymns of praise, — I see the examination days ; The huge square table there displays its presents grand, Whilst they attract the youthful gaze On every hand. 158 FIELD FLOWERS. The stove with ruddy glow appears,— The sunshine through each window peers ; Yonder the truant stands in tears- Poor little sinner ' His noontide fate he sadly bears,— Ah 1 there's no dinner. Rogers, the schoolmaster, I see Has got his favourite on his knee,— His bright eyes sparkle with the glee Of the young heart; Now there's a scramble, — all are free, And off' they start. Now Zeeba Sunnier holds the school, And rules it with an iron rule ; So thinks the little careless fool Who's bent on play, Who loves his sport as doth the mule His bit of hay. True, Sumner seemed to love the stick, — Especially if 'twas rather thick, — And used it in arithmetic, Though kind persuasions Would better serve both Joe and Dick On most occasions. But men are only men at West, And Sumner stands amongst the rest;— To rule a school's do little jest ;— Boys unrefined Will put the temper to the test, llowe'er so kind. But since those youthful days have past, How many a cheering sunbeam's cast Its glowing charms behind each blast, Yet the bright sun Oft seems to say to me, " Thou hast But little done." FIELD FLOWERS. 159 Where now is the familiar face 1 AVhere is the teacher and his class? They're gone ! — still I distinctly trace One here and there, Running, with me, in life's strange race, Through each short year. Yea, time between the breach hath made Full many an opening nower to facie ; Rude storms have swept that youthful glade With angry breath, And early buds lie in the shade Of ruthless death Some live high on the mountain's side, — Others on sunny waters glide ; Some drift on life's receding tide Without a sun — Yet the same gate seemed open wide To every one. The sabbath school, like early spring, Round memory's bowers its odours fling ; Like a sweet stream meandering, Within the soul Its prayers and melodies still ring Whilst time doth roll. With it are linked the worthy names Of men inspired by noble aims ; Amongst them shone as radiant flames, Woolley, and Smith ; — Now they are crowned, but not with fame's Poor withering wreath ! They dug deep in this vale below ; They planted much, and much did sow ; They saw much to perfection grow, — But all the increase In ripened charms shall only glow In realms of peace. 160 FIELD FLOWERS. TO A BED OF FLOWERS. Lovely, bright, and charming scene, Thou art fairest of the green ' Here the flora] gems of earth With the springtide spring to liirth. Oh, I love your opening bloom, Well I love your sweet perfume ! W hat rich tints your buds unfold ! Orange, purple, blue, and gold ; Tints of every shade and hue, Ever charming, ever new ; But each dew drop seems a tear Shed because your end is near. Short's vour reign, you gentle flowers, — But a few delightful hours Smiling in the summer's sun And your lifelong mission's done. True, untarnished by deceit, Oh, that ours woe so complete,— Such fair charms your offspring dear Will possess another year. So we'll never more repine When the cold winds howl and whine, Though in wrath they'll not forbear Your lovely silken robes to tear. For we know you'll come again With the sunshine and the rain. With the warm delicious breeze Ere the fruits are on the trees : Perhaps 'tis better that our eyes Lose awhile each flowery prize, For after winter's season drear You will lovlier then appear. Now-, I'll leave you, pretty gems, Smiling on your drooping stems ; To each of you a sweet " Good-bye You have sent my thoughts on high To the great Creative Power Who hath formed each lovely flower. FIELD FLOWERS. 161 A RETROSPECT. AX ACROSTIC. Review, my soul, the paths which thou hast trod In all thy varied wanderings to and fro ! Come to the l>ar of conscience and the rod : Hold thou not hack that would chastise thy foe ! Ah, in those paths that seemed so full of flowers Rank weeds unsightly are to me revealed ! Dread snares appear to view which were before concealed. Sadly I see the rapids of the past,— Pensive I view the wrecks that o'er them roll ; Eager and wild has many a sinful blast Nipped the warm glow of my aspiring soul. Come, sweeter memories, bring your cheerful scenes ! Enough of sadness, bring your sunny hours Replete with noble aims, and duty's fragrant flowers ! TO THE FIK.MA.MENT. Ye glorious orbs in heaven's ethereal ai'ch, Sparkling with life and lustre ever new, Moving along in grand majestic march Through the vast fields of heaven's own royal blue Oh, what a mystery with your silence reigns ! Ye planets, hold your problems unrevealecl ; Not one bright star to man one whisper deigns ; You keep your secret- to all moi'tals sealed ! Oh what a scene, how solemn, deep, and vast ! Even eternal seem your burning spheres; But time will surely wing you with the past,— Your course at most is but a flight of years : But man, progressive future is for thee,- Thy course coeval with eternity ! 162 FIELD PLOWBRS. AN ACROSTIC. (On the death of .1. A. »;. Marshall, Esq., who was killed on Mont Blanc, Sept., 1874.) Join, sons of son*;, cadi bring your sombre wreath, And pay your tribute to departed worth ! Gather your choicest flowers, and strew the shrine of death. Mourn, mourn, alas ! a friend's for ever gone ! A genial friend, though of exalted birth; — Rear o'er his grave the monumental stone, — Show to the world his true and sterling worth ; How much we did expect — we were deceived: Ah, the fair bud ne'er gave its fairer flower ! Lost ! to the world is all we would have lived : Lost, yea, we mourn his death, we mourn that hapless hour. ANOTHER DAY. Another day has quickly flown, And left us on the path of time, Has carved the record of our deeds Upon the eternal scroll sublime. Another day the tyrant's striven To trample on a better man: And still God's tender mercies live As when that tyrant's life began. Another clay with all its joys, Another day with all its cares, With all its soul debasing oaths, With all its supplicating prayers. With its bright list of kindly deeds, With its dark scroll of cruel wrongs, Another day of bitter tears, Another day of cheerful songs. FIELD FLOWERS. 163 Another clay of weary toil To many a weak and weary frame, Another da\ of anguish sore To those who've borne another's blame. 80 days, with all their lights and shades, Pass on and on with rapid flight, Only to usher in, ere long, The day that shall set all things right. The bright stars twinkle in the sky Whilst nature's lovely curtains close, So duty's deeds shine in the soul And yield the doer sweet repose. LINES.— Luke XV, 10th verse. (Written during the great revival, 1875.) Oh ! what mean those rapturous strains Stealing through the heavenly plains ? Angel choirs, what meaneth this, Heaven so jubilant with bliss? Back to me the answer rolls, " Tis the birth of precious souls." There are messengers of love Leaving the bright scenes above, And are hovering o'er the earth, Eager to record the birth Of each new-created soul : Well may heavenly raptures roll ! Heaven hath ope'd its gates of love, Streams are rolling from above ; Streams of love from earth arise, — Lo ! they mingle in the skies : Oh, there's joy in heaven begun O'er the crowns so lately won. 1G4 FIELD FLOWERS. LINES (On seeing ;i child blowing bubble-. | Bright on the air bhe golden bubbles rise, But soon they burst, they never reach the skies ; 80 fancy's dreams in sunny youth ascend,- — They glitter, vanish, and their glories end. ANNIE. Oh, that rapturous hour of meeting '. How 'twas fraught with love's sweet spell ! When I met my Annie's greeting In the sunny, flowery dell. Every bud disclosed a treasure,— Beauty hung on every stem. Whilst I held my sweetest leisure With my Annie, bonny gem ! By the green-robed (lowing riv< r, There's a dear, a hallowed place, Where we parted once for ever Ne'er to see each other's face. 'Twas beneath the hawthorn trees, Where we sat in love's domain. Telling only to the breeze Love's sweet secrets o'er again. There is still the flowery dell,— Youthful lovers tread the same: But the scene has lost its spell. Since it hears not Annie's name. Fate had will'd that we should part, Soon our blissful days were o'er: Still in death, that faithful heart, I shall see her never more. Lover's bowers are sweet and fair, But the blossoms often fade : Adverse storms do not forbear To drive them in the sunless shade. FIELD FLOWERS. 165 FRIENDSHIP. How precious is a friend, A noble, generous heart ! How sweet with such the hours we spend ! With them we're loth to part. The world says they are few And very far between, They're not like buttercups, 'tis true, Strewn thickly on the green. But if we search, we can The mystic cause unfold, Tis the mean selfishness in man Makes friendship's zeal so cold. We sow the precious seeds. We cultivate with care, We tear away the rancourous weeds, Then bloom the flowers most fair. So must those moral ties Which bind the hearts of men Be ever watched with earnest eyes, Or friendship will he vain. See yonder summer's sun, In all its glorious sheen ! It gilds the streamlets as they run ! Joy smiles o'er all the scene. 'Tis so with friendship's charms.— 'Tis so with moral worth; Where'er it lives it glows and warms. Bloom takes the place of dearth. The cold, raw, wintry breeze Creeps through the leafless bowers, But finds no fruit upon the trees, Nor any pretty flowers Nor can we ever find 'Midst icy selfishness, Those noble charms of heart and mind, Charms that alone can bless. 166 FIELD FLOWERS. HOME. If there's a more genial spot, One that I love more than the rest, — Tis the hearth of my own little cot, Oh ! that is the one I love best. No costly adornments are there, 1 hear not the strains of the grove: But pmv is its sweH atmosphere, Tis fraught with the fragrance of love. There's a brightness illumines the hearth, A wholesome agreeable cheer; When the world gives me coldness and dearth, A beautiful sunshine is there. Tis free from the malice of foes, — Tis free from the frown and the sneer, — 'Tis free from the mischief of those Who love tales of mischief to bear. My books on the shelf 'gainst the wall Beside me invitingly stand : They answer my every call, They come by the reach of my hand. Though some are both tattered and old, I value my gems none the less ; The grand thoughts within them are gold, I care not a fig for the dress. Home pleasures, how genial and warm ! How sweetly they glide with the hours ! Around the bright hearth, what a charm Springs from the perfume of its flowers ! Friends courteous and constant there are Willi whom I sweet intercourse hold ; But they differ from home friends, as far As silver doth differ from gold. Oh ! if there's a bright little spot, One more than all others I prize, Tis the hearth of my own humble cot, "I'is a paradise under (he skies. FIELD FLOWERS. 161 THINE INTEGRITY. If thou'rt with paper, pens, and ink Entrusted, then beware : Let not thy meaner passions once Thy nobler self ensnare ; Revere the warning and advice Of parents dear to thee, And value far beyond all price Thine own integrity. Guide thou thy pen that it bring not The crimson to thy face ; Let words and hgures e'er be such As thou would'st ne'er ei*ase. The fraud done in the evil hour Is not wash'd out with tears ; 'Twill haunt thee with a spectral frown Thi-ough all thy future years. Now, in the morning of thy life, Resolve to do the right ; So shall old age, if it be thine, Be tranquil, pure, and bright. There is a force in every life Potent for good or ill, And he lives best who rules his life By a consistent will. EVENTIDE. IN MEMORIAM. — AX ACROSTIC. Evening ! how fair thy fading glories are, Linked with the holy grandeur of the night ! Each deepening fold reveals its trembling star, As the grand orb recedes from mortal sight ; No planet there but circles his bright car ; O'er the same path they move with steady light, Radiaiit with varied hues, yet all serene and bright. 168 FIELD FLOWERS Such is the Christian's glowing eventidd,- Peaceful and calm appear liis native skies ; Even the Sun of Righteousness his guide, Nay, even more, his own denial prize; Close in His path His faithful ones abide. Entering within the veil when nature dies, Reaping the fruits of heaven with all the good and wise. GATHER THE FLOWERS. Gather the (lowers, my lit lie dears, The sun is in t lie sky ; The dark and frowning thunder clouds Are coining by and by. Go, run amongst the leafy groves And variegated (lowers ; Go, laugh, and pluck the pretty gems Now, in the sunny hours. (lather the flowers, aspiring youth, The flowers of knowledge lie Deep in the darksome mines of earth ; They glitter in the sky ; They mingle in the elements, And on the barren heath ; Gather the flowers of truth and make Thyself an honoured wreath. (hither and strew the flowers of good Where'er thou hast to go ; Go, thou, and plant the cheerful rose Amidst 1 he t horns of woe ; Go, strew the flowers of love, and teach M idst mean and selfish strife. The only golden treasures are Linked wit h a noble life. FIELD FLOWERS. 169 Gather and strew celestial flowers Of purity and peace, So shalt thou in thine honoured age Smile o'er thy rich increase : The lovely flowers of thought and deed, Give forth a fragrant breath ; They live and bloom and give perfume, In the cold vale of death. LINES. (Suggested on reading Addison's Hymn.) A noble hymn — a grand effusion line ! Devout — sublime — the breathing of a soul Deep versed in nature's eloquence divine, How dignified the easy numbers roll ! And as we feel the fulness of each line We feel this truth — man has a blissful goal ; And whilst upon those glorious orbs we gaze. We join their silent hymn to the Creator's praise. TO CHILDHOOD. Happy childhood, bright and warm, Glide along thy golden hours ; — Life from thee withholds no charm, — Green are all thy fragrant bowers. Merry in life's rosy morn, All thy streams are clear and bright ; Thine's a rose without a thorn, A sunny day without a night. Pleased with nature's simple gems, Buttercups and daisies white, — More to thee than diadems Flashing with a living light. 170 FIELD FLOWERS. Winning are thy guileless ways, — Truthfulness sits on thy tongue, - O that thou in future days Might retain a heart so young. Unsuspicious, trusting all, Open, keeping nothing back,— Why should'st thou so early fall From thy pure and lofty track 1 Grand and beautiful thy soui Spreads around its mystic charms ; 'Tis not under sin's control, Therefore feels not sin's alarms. that man with brilliant powers, Powers that were ordained to shine, Might to the recording hours Bequeath such innocence as thine. Strange ! that man's exalted soul, Which bears the stamp of the Divine, Should, whilst its ripening seasons roll, Lose that sweet grace which graces thine. AN ACROSTIC. (To my sister.) May the sweet calm, the glow of heavenly peace, Attend and cheer thee all thy earthly days ; Richly and truly may its blest increase Give to thy heart sweet songs of joyous praise : And oh, may faith, the sunshine of the soul, Radiant with light from golden beams of heaven, Ever be thine, — then let life's billows roll, — Thou wilt stand firm, though fierce the tide be driven. Sweet, fresh, and bright, may heaven's eternal flowers Entwine around thy sacred, calm retreat ; Ne'er may the foe invade those peaceful bowers, In which alone should tread the hallowed feet : Only through Christ can we attain such bliss, Receive the bright reward, and walk in paths of peace. FIELD FLOWERS. 171 BEAUTIFUL SCENES. AN ACROSTIC. Beautiful scenes, green hills and pleasant vales, Enrich'd with nature's sweetest, loveliest gems, Nodding and smiling to the gentle gales. Sparkling and bright with dewy diadems, Ennobling scenes, ye lift the soul from earth, Nearer to heaven, and nearer to its God : In raptures warm it feels a heavenly birth, — On wings of bliss it soars from earth's green sod, Reaching celestial groves by mortal feet untrod. LINES. (On the death of Henry Rowland Marsden, Esq. ) Yes, he is gone ! bright eyes are full of tears ; — All hearts are sad, and sunk in sorrow's gloom ; We wished him many, many happy years ; — Alas ! how soon we sorrow o'er his tomb. Yes, he is gone, and left the fogs of earth, For the bright sunshine of the summer land, — For that fair realm, where all of heaven's true worth Are linked together by love's silken band. Among the names I've known far in the past, His is familiar with my earliest years ; Fond memory holds her precious jewels fast, And seems to glow with the bright names she bears. We met together in the same old school, — The starting-point in life's eventful race, But little thought that Providence would rule Or guide his feet to such an honoured place. Great is our loss, but Providence is kind, And justly rules the lights and shades of fate ; Our friend has gone a better world to find, To prove the pleasures of the heavenly state. But not success, no, 'tis his noble heart, And noble acts have won the wreath of fame ; And there are thousands who will do their part To raise a fond memorial to his name. FIELD FLOWERS. THE BETTER PATH. The better path tends upwards, O'er rocks and barren steeps, Where thunders often rumble, Where the fierce storm oft sweeps ; But "learns of sunshine Oft steal between, And smile o'er pastures Of beautiful green. There may steal noxious vapours Where fragrant breezes Mow, But they're the putrid fogs which come From filthy pools below, A.nd mix with (lowers Of priceless worth, Fairer than aught On barren earth. Upon the mountain's summit The glorious morning sun Gives its first rays, and on it smiles When the bright day is done ; So the beams of heaven Both soon and late Smile sweetest on those Nearest heaven's gate. Upwards beyond the stars Is the summerland of rest, Where live those passed away from earth, The dearest and the best. Where vernal groves Know no decay, And night is losf I n endless day. FIELD FLOAVEKS. 173 HOPE. Hope is a gem of matchless worth, A jewel fair and bright ; It, like the lovely stars of heaven, Shines brightest in the night. Tis the bright halo of the soul, That gilds life's cares with gold ; Tis the warm glow that cheers the heart, When all seems dark and cold. 'Tis the grand secret of success, The ladder of the wise : Hope linked with perseverance tends To win the noblest prize. The strong mind hopes, and it resolves Howe'er affairs may tend, To bend the adverse iron lines, And shape them to its end. It stands with manly fortitude, And braves life's fiercest blast, Knowing there is a gentle calm Succeeds each storm that's past. And he alone is truly strong, Though he may often fall, AVho works and rests and trusts in Him Who rules and governs all. Hope mounts aloft on soaring wings, Heavenward it lifts its eyes ; And as it soars, it gaily sings Its song unto the skies. But the poor victim of despair, — He creeps, and crawls, and sighs, And hugs his chains of care, until A coward's death he dies 174 FIELD FLOWERS. EVENING BELLS. AN ACROSTIC. (To the Rev. W. Karnes, M.A., LL.D.) Welcome, sweet bells ! your rich and mellow sound I love to hear swell on the evening breeze ; Long may your music fall on all around — Like wholesome fruits fall from the goodly trees, — Inviting men to tread on sacred ground, And hear of things belonging to their peace, — More to be prized than earth with all its rich increase. Blithe'y and sweetly flows your merry peal, Awakening thoughts adverse to gloomy care ; Replete with mirth and cheerfulness you steal, Night after night, upon the balmy air : England, dear England, may thy evening bells Still roll their charming strains o'er thy green hills and dells. AUTUMN. The gay bloom of summer is gone, The rich golden harvest is past, The Autumn winds ruefully moan Cold and bleak o'er the withering waste. The sky a monotonous gray Seems to mourn over nature's sad blight ; How soon the bright sun quits the clay ! How long seems the lengthening night ! The paths of the woodlands are strewn With leaves from the trees sere and brown ; I see the proud glories of June By the blasts of October cast down. Not a butterfly now ran I rind To greet me as onward I pass ; Scarce a flower of the field's left behind, — How desolate now seems the grass. A sadness prevails everywhere, — Yet still 'tis a sadness I love ; It whispers to me of that sphere Where the flowers never wither, above. FIELD FLOWERS. 175 CHRISTMAS EVE. Tis Christmas Eve, and all things seem A gay and cheerful garb to wear ; It has a charm like some sweet dream Where nought but brilliant scenes appear. 'Tis Christmas Eve,— a solemn air Of glory rules the starry skies ; The very angels might be there, Which once did greet the shepherd's eyes. 'Tis Christmas Eve,— long parted friends Again with warm endearments meet ; Their every pulse in union blends, As round the Christmas fire they greet. 'Tis Christmas Eve, and Christmas cheer The poorest give who can afford ; The season's choicest things appear To grace the simple festive board. 'Tis Christmas Eve, — the walls are hung With evergreens and roses fair : Sweetly are Christmas carols sung ; — Mirth mingles in the very air. 'Tis Christmas Eve, — bright golden hours ! You weave a garland for the year ; You ever bind fair friendship's flowers, Which are to Christian hearts most dear. 'Tis Christmas Eve, and with it seems To mingle a celestial leaven : O there 's a beauty with it beams, A charm that seems to come from heaven. 176 FIELD FLOWERS. ALL IS VANITY. What is the world at best 1 A scene of sad unrest, Whence pleasures quickly fly ; Where scarce one flower attains perfection's bloom ;- They smile and wither, drop into the tomb ; — The cold winds only sigh. Presumptuous Vanity ! Thy transient name I see On all material things ; But the soul's treasures shall survive the tomb, — They are substantial, — they shall live and bloom Fed by unfailing springs. Give us the soul's true gems, Eternal diadems, Faith, hope, and charity, — Those heavenly graces which we so much need ; Then having those we shall be rich indeed Throughout eternity. HYMN, Through the clouds a heavenly sunbeam Gleams upon my way, Cheering me 'midst hours of darkness With its ray. Yet I often feel the presence Of the burden, sin, — Often feel through nature's frailty Sad within. Then 'tis sweet to know the Saviour E'en for me hath died ; That His lovo is like the ocean, Deep and wide. FIELD FLOWERS. 177 Faith believes the price accepted ; (Gold is given for dross,) Sees the sacrifice completed On the cross. Christ hath ope'd a path to heaven,- — Broke all barriers down, — And in wondrous love now offers E'en a crown. All earth's smiling scenes around me, All the orbs above, All His bounties gently whisper God is love. Holy Saviour ! do thou lead me Till this life is o'er, Till within the veil I'm with Thee Evermore. WATCH AND PRAY. Watch, there's danger in the way, Wheresoever thy steps may tend ; In the bright meridian day, Darkness may with sunshine blend. Watch, for many snares abound In the sombre silent night ; Ah ! how often souls have found In those hours a lasting blight ! Watch, e'en in the house of prayer, — Satan there may play his part ; We may know his presence there By the evil of the heart. Not the purest in the land May on his own strength depend ; Who in sin's domain can stand Without his Almighty friend 1 ? Watch and pray, and humbly trust In the strength of God alone ; We frail creatures of the clust Triumph through the Mighty One. 178 FIELD FLOWERS. LINES.— Proverbs X., 7th verse. What sacred perfumes hover round The memories of the just ! Long are their names with honours crowned When low they lie in dust : To them is given heaven's glorious prize, The eternal treasures of the skies. But soon the wicked are forgot, Or, if they leave a name, It lingers but a while to rot Amidst the stench of shame ; They have no prospect bright and fair, — Their's is the gloom of dark despair. CHRISTIAN LOVE. I breathe at early morn The breath of purity ; The varied sweets the hills adorn And give their charms to me ; The dewdrops grace the summer flowers, That glisten from the leafy bowers. But there's a nobler charm, — 'Tis of celestial kind, — It lives in aspirations warm, It lives in heart and mind ; 'Tis Christian love, whose fragrant leaven Unites and blends with that of heaven. Morality may shine With clear, transparent rays, With beams so radiant, so divine, Angels on them may gaze ; Yet bright and lovely as they are, The heaven-born beam outshines them far. FIELD FLOWEKS. Bring every grace of earth, Culled from its varied store, — Bring all that's pure of moral worth, Till you can bring no more : E'en let them wear their richest dress, All pale before its loveliness. 179 TO THE GREAT REFORMER. AN ACROSTIC. Manliest of men ! who by Divine command Arose the gaunt oppressor to o'erthrow ; Rightly did'st thou redeem our fettered land, — 'Twas thy strong arm that gave the crushing blow ; In thine own day the hideous tyrant fell, No more to rule supreme whilst ocean surges swell. Let grateful England cry with earnest voice Unto the nations that in bondage lay ; Tell them how they as freemen may rejoice, How they may smile 'neath truth's effulgent ray : E'en this shall be, — the golden calf shall fall, — Rome ! Rome, herself declares Christ shall be all in all. TO THE BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. Ye buttercups and daisies white, Looking so beautiful and bright, Oft have you charmed with sweet delight My infant hours : Oh ! never, never could I slight You, simple flowers. The garden sweets, in colours gay, Their richer, prouder tints display ; I love them much, and well I may — But you're to me Far more familiar friends than they, Dear though they be. 180 FIELD FLOWERS. For you're on wilds and woodlands free, Where all is pure simplicity, Where children romp with eager glee The summer through ; For where you are they're sure to be, They love you so. Oh ! oft have T in blossom'd May, When trees and fields and streams were gay, Spent the bright season given to play — That happy leisure— With you, and borne your charms away As a sweet treasure. There's not (nor has there ever been) A purer or a happier scene Than children on the meadows green In sunny hours, Each plucking, in the summer sheen, A bunch of flowers. 'Tis sweet and pleasant to allow The memory through the past to go, To revel in life's springtide glow Of sun and tiowers : I hreathe the fragrance even now From its sweet bowers. Fain would I gather, as of yore, A handful from your golden store, With heart as light, — but nevermorr Such bliss can be ; Those sunny, joyous clays are o'er— At least with me. But why, in foolish sadness mourn, For that which never can return 1 The ripening soul should ever yearn For something higher, — Should for its noblesl interests burn, And thus aspire ; FIELD FLOWERS. 181 Should, with the powers of manhood's prime, The rugged hills of knowledge climb, Where, from those towering steeps sublime, The soul may view The flowers and fruits of well-spent time, For ever new ; Should on the side of right engage, And 'gainst life's wrongs a warfare wage, So make each day a brilliant page In life's career, Ever ripening for that glorious age, The eternal year. TO A YOUNG FRIEND. Fearless and bold, go preach a Saviour's love ! Raise high the cross and show the crimson stream, Each sinful stain how powerful to remove, Dead though the soul may be, how mighty to redeem ! With heaven's fair jewels tempt the eager throng, — Those priceless gems the royal casket bears ; Lure them to heaven by charms of simple song, Lead them to that sweet home where there are no more tears. ENGLAND'S GREATNESS. AX ACROSTIC. (To the Right Hon. William Ewart Gladstone, M.P.) "What is the source of England's noble power?" Inquired an Eastern Prince of England's Queen ; Laying her hand on heaven's own Royal dower, — " Lo, here," said she, "the secret may be seen." In its bright beams the powers of darkness cower; Along its path it pours celestial sheen, Making the sterile isles to wave with living green, — 182 MELD FLOWERS. Even as the sun in its ethereal race, Warms and refreshes all the life of earth, And paints the clouds with beauty and with grace, Rich in bright colours of mysterious birth, — Tinges the gentle flowers with dyes of matchless worth. Give to the nations veiled in error's gloom, Light through Thy word, yea, freely let it shine. And each shall rise exalted from its tomb, Decked in a robe more glorious, more divine ! Surely to Thee shall all the nations come ;— Thy word declares the kingdoms shall be Thine ; — O ! bring the heathen to his own true home, Now let Thy truth around the woxdd entwine, Even so shall it prevail for 'tis Thine own design. LINES. (Written in the Low Fields, Holbeck, May 30th, 1880.) The blithesome birds are singing Their sweet and merry strains, And sabbath bells are flinging Their charms o'er smiling plains. The buttercups are bending Their pretty golden heads, And of daisies there's no ending So full are all the meads. All nature is delighting In her bright sunny hours, And me she is inviting To pluck her fragrant flowers. But I can still enjoy them, And on them feast my eyes ; — No, I will not destroy them, The pluck'd flower quickly dies. FIELD FLOWERS. 183 Still give your radiant beauty And perfumes to the plain, And still fulfill your duty In sunshine, storm and rain. Still give your smiling greeting To all that passes by, But tell them— Time is fleeting, — That they like you must die. Now, whilst the world is cheery, Whilst rivulets dance and sing, Tell to the aged and weary, Life has another Spring. A tribute I have paid you, Gems of earth's lovely maze ; You ever to Him that made you Sing hymns of silent praise ! THE WORK-DAY WORLD. The Sabbath's past : The busy hum of the world's begun, — Huge chimneys belch their smoke, And the wheels their endless circles run At the bid of the engine's stroke; The hammers sound And shake the ground, And the world is a world of busy folk. 'Tis Monday morn : — The iron sinews put forth their strength, And rattle the cranks about, — So mighty their power t'would seem no length, Though the day should ne'er run out ; Whilst the weary frame That tends the same Lives to tremble, and suffer, and doubt. HI PIBLD FLOWERS. Hut so it is : How many begin the Hrst working day With weariness, weakness, and pain ! The Sunday has scarcely passed away, — They long for the Sunday again ; But the engine growls, And the wolf-world howl, And treats the heart's sadness with cold disdain. Yes, — 'tis too true That the ^lighted sufferer sighs in vain, And looks at the future through tears ; Whose toil would be pleasure were it not for the pain And the burden of weakness he bears ; But the voice of time Seems to sadly chime, — No power to remove the bane appears. Come then, be brave, And face the world's rumbling, noisy loom! Though the warp is with rottenness rife, There is all that thy soul can wish for at home, To atone for the world's fierce strife. No longer grieve, But smile, and weave The fabric fair of a useful life. Whoe'er thou art, Give forth to the world, like the summer (lowers, The fragrance of thy life ; Though humble may be thy native powers, With good they may be rife ; Love's potent touch Can ever do much To sweeten the sours of the bitterest strife. TO A ROSE. Imperial rose, so full of grace, Though first of all the flowery race, I look into thy lovely face, And there I see The charm that holds the foremost place,— Simplicity. FIELD FLOWERS. 185 Thou, too, hast language, lovers say — A matchless eloquence ; and they Who know thy soft, persuasive sway, Invoke thy powers ; For thou love's potent part can'st play, Sweetest of flowers ! The nosegay fair, in beauty's pride, Of rarest gems from far and wide, If wanting thee, must stand aside As incomplete ; By thee the nosegay's dignified, However sweet. Thy life-pulse throbs deep in the earth, Whilst upwards springs thy modest worth. Those embryo buds will soon give birth To other gems ; Yea, other beauties will come forth And grace those stems. The summer breezes gently rove Along this green, sequestered grove, And they this sunny morning prove A heartfelt treat ; But more thy fragrant breath I love, — 'Tis passing sweet. E'en when thy bloom and beauty dies, When thou no more dost charm our eyes, From thy dead leaves incense shall rise. Yea, thy sweet breath, Like deeds done by the good and wise, Shall outlive death. So human virtues e'en like thine, Give forth a fragrance pure, divine ; They ever with a lustre shine Of simple beauty ; And often by their charms incline More hearts to duty. M 186 FIELD FLOWERS. How many, who, impelled by love, Do through the haunts of misery rove, Who make the wilderness a grove — The sun to shine ; And by their noble actions prove Their work divine ! And now I thank thee, pretty flower, For thy true sermon in thy bower ; Sweet has been the transient hour I've spent with thee ; Thou'st preached with most impressive power And grace to me. TO A YOUNG LADY. ACROSTIC. Ever may the light of truth Lead thee on from day to day ; Even in thy sprightly youth, Ask, and it shall lend its ray : Nor shall the dim mists of earth Overcloud thee in the way, — Round thy path shall sunbeams play. So shalt thou, through fields of time, Ever tread life's cheerful green, N earing that celestial clime In which flowers are ever seen, — On the eternal hill sublime Robed in tints of heavenly sheen. LINES. (To a sceptical friend who said his soul was dark and restless.) Look around thee, look above, Doth not ample nature prove To thy conscience and thy soul There's a God controls the whole? FIELD FLOWERS. 187 Look upon yon grand old sun, Fresh as when he first begun Ruling high in mighty space O'er the planetary race, Holding each with awful force In its everlasting course. See'st thou not through nature's laws A First, and an Existing cause 1 Now, give unto thyself a thought, — Then must thou ask thyself who wrought That wondrous system so combined, With all those powers of heart and mind 1 Who gave those aspirations warm Which give the future such a charm 1 Those longings for a nobler life, Unmixed with sin and worldly strife 1 Those memories sweet, pure, and refined, Bright, golden seasons of the mind, Which throw a radiancy within, When darkly l'oll the clouds of sin 1 ? And who implanted thoughts in thee That reach out to eternity 1 In life's morning, in life's youth, Would'st thou tread the path of truth 1 Would'st thou in that path abide? Take the Bible for thy guide : Then will open to thy view, Heavenly flowers all moist with dew ; Things of wonder, things sublime, Things which have no place in time ; Things which have to do with thee, Things of vast eternity. 'Tis a true, unerring chart, Full and clear in eveiy part : Dark the lines which mark the path, Should'st thou choose the abodes of wrath : Bright the lines which lead to bliss, Should'st thou choose the realms of peace : Mark it well, 'tis clearly seen, — There's no middle path between. 168 FIELD FLOWERS. Tis a bright, celestial ray, Neath which Christians tread their way ; 'Tis their ever-glorious sun, Bright at midnight as at noon, Cheering them through every hour, On their peaceful heavenward tour ; Thus, through life's mysterious maze, They are kept in all their ways. Hast thou in thy terror found Thou hast trod the enemy's ground ? Hast thou found each pleasing snare A tlowery path to deep despair, Leading to the precipice, Hanging o'er life's dark abyss 1 ? Dost thou thy dark path deplore ? Would 'st thou tread that path no more? Would st thou leave the dessert bare? Now yearn'st thou for scenes more fair ? Would'st thou leave the filthy stream, And go where crystal waters gleam ? Say'st thou pure morality Is not quite enough for thee ? They who walk with it alone, Walk beneath a clouded sun ; Whate'er beauties charm their eyes They are seen 'neath twilight skie. . True, morality is good, But it yields no solid food ; It is frail, and can but stand Only by religion's hand, And to every breeze must cower Unless grace supplies the power. Say'st thou in the silent hour Thou hast felt the spirit's power,— Oft in accents still and small, Yet louder than the trumpet's call ; Often with the break of day, Often with the thoughtless gay? Say'st thou conscience to thy soul Holds (he sin licensing scroll? FIELD FLOWERS. 189 That it a idoomv record bears? That it hath aroused thy fears? That it hath thy soul depressed ? That it still disturbs thy breast ? Seek, — there's pardon for all sin ; Stir thyself, at once begin. Though thou art to darkness driven, 'Tis the gate that leads to heaven ; Would'st thou see its portals fair? Enter through the gate of prayer ; — Cross the bridge of faith close by, Forward cast thy steadfast eye : Faith e'en through the darkness drear Looks to Christ, and all is clear ; It sees the blood, in confidence, Streaming from Omnipotence ; It feels and knows that purple wave Is mighty, mighty e'en to save ; And bathes within its streamlet wide, In its full and flowing tide. Now thy path is bright and clear, — Cast behind thee every fear ; Thou art on thy homeward track, Still press forward, look not back : Oft the enemy in the way Will advance and bid thee stay ; Or will whisper, in thine ear, Words to cause thy heart to fear ; Or will challenge thee to fight, — Thou hast weapons keen and bright : Yield not in the desperate feud ; Yield the least and thou'rt subdued : Parley never with the foe, — Give the firm, decided — " No " ; Thus encountered, he will cower, Shrinking 'neath a mightier power, And departing leave with thee The bright palm of victory. As each conquest thou dost gain, Greater strength thou shalt attain 190 FIELD FLOWERS. In contending for the prize Which awaits thee in the skies : Whilst clouds of witnesses above, Are watching o'er thy steps in love, Until thine earthly path thou'st trod, And thou hast reached their bright abode. Oh, what joys shall then await Thee in thine eternal state ! What those rapturous joys will be We can now but dimly see ; But on this we may depend, — Those sweet joys shall never end : There no parting friend shall sigh ; Kindred there shall never die ; Love, the sweetest flower of earth, There shall bloom and know no dearth. Bright beyond those glowing skies Beams heaven's glorious paradise ; There amongst its emerald bowers, Breezes from celestial flowers Steal incessantly along, Rich with strains from harp and song ; There a banquet is prepared, And by all it may be shared. Thou art as an honoured guest Bid e'en to the marriage feast ; Called thou may'st be very soon, — Have thy wedding garment on : Tis the robe thou needs must wear, Yet richer robes are waiting there : Leave thy treasures here below, Yonder, brighter treasures glow ; There, is all thy soul should'st prize In those bright, eternal skies. DELIVER US FROM EVIL. Holy Saviour ! Faithful Guardian ! Whither shall we flee 1 Where for strength and holy guidance, But to thee ? FIELD FLOWERS. 191 Help us in the hour of danger, When to thee we call ; Let Thy mighty arm sustain us Lest we fall. From the blighting powers of evil, Present everywhere, Keep us from their vile dominion, — Hear our prayer ! Vile amusements rule the city With alluring power ; Ever potent, they are blighting Many a flower. Solitude oft prompts the soul to Soar on heavenly wings, Brings before its purer vision Nobler things. Yet the solitudes of nature Are not free from sin ; There it may, midst purest pleasures, Rule within. Without Thee we walk in darkness, Though the sun may shine ; Pour upon our hazy paths Thy Light Divine ! UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. Once, on a sunny morn, I met A youthful couple, fair ; Their marriage bells were pealing through The sweet and fragrant air. They nimbly trod on flowers fair, Strewn on the churchyard green ; And many a happy wish was breathed Amidst that joyous scene. 192 FIELD FLOWERS. The glow of health sat on their cheeks, — True love beamed in their eyes ; They seemed as though they'd just begun To live 'neath sunny skies. An aged couple, who were still In this dark vale of tears,— Who'd seen the changing seasons roll Of nearly four-score years, — Were gazing on this youthful pair, Thinking 'twas life begun, And thinking, too, that their own sands Of life were nearly run. But oh, how vain are human thoughts ! Life's glass, how soon it lowers ! Before the springtide blossoms came, Before the bloom of flowers, Decease had called them both away, Their circle they had run, And short it was, they never saw Another summer's sun. The aged pair with feeble strength Still did life's battle brave, And looked with feelings strange upon That lesson-teaching grave. TO MY CANARY. Sing, pretty bird, within thy cage, Sing e'en the whole day long ; For thou can'st much of grief assuage By thy sweet warbling song ; Still open wide thy little beak, 'Tis pleasant thee to hear ; And hop about from peak to peak, — Thou liv'st to charm and cheer. FIELD FLOWERS. TO A FLY. Now Master Fly, what is't you mean % What is the game you're playing? That you are in for reckless sport Your actions are betraying. You may be laughing to yourself, But that I cannot trace : There, now ! this is the second time You've whizzed against my face. Well, 'pon my word, if you are not An impudent intruder ! To fly in people's faces so, — Why nothing could be ruder. Now, had you ventured such a thing Upon some pretty Miss, I should have understood it well, And that you meant a kiss. But that might have involved you in Some sorrowful contritiop, Unless you'd asked the lady first, And got her kind permission. Now you've insulted Mister Brown, — Well may he be excited ; — I ask, what business have you here 1 You've never been invited. We're here a party taking tea ; We want no teasing flies, Especially of your breed, who all Good manners do despise. Now, o'er the dishes and the plates You're buzzing all about ; I know you mean to have a feed, And pick the choicest out, Now you're upon the apple jam, Making a grand parade ; Now taking a brisk walk right o'er The orange marmalade 193 191 FIELD FLOWERS. There, there you go, howe'er can you A lady so approach 1 You've jumped right from the marmalade Upon Miss Ada's brooch. Such impudence I never saw ! Well, now, I do declare ! With dirty feet you're trampling on The tresses of her hair. There, you are at your favourite game, As usual, sugar stealing ; Again you're sipping of the cream ; Now, mounted on the ceiling. I've seen the death of many a fiy ; Take warning ere too late ; Your rashness surely will urge on Your own impending fate. Then from the ceiling down it came, As fate would have it be, — The silly creature plunged right in A cup of boiling tea. It was the author of its fate ; It hastened on to die : A moral we may gather from The folly of this fly. TRUE NOBILITY. That man has true nobility Who spares his bitter foe, — Who knows he can, and yet disdains To give the crushing blow ; Such power restrained the manliest men admire, Its influences other hearts inspire. So with a nation conscious of its power, — Calm in its strength, it spares its feeble foe, Nor e'er allows its dignity to cower By the half barbarous glory got from woe : Such noble forces kindred ones increase, And spread o'er earth the elements of peace. FIELD FLOWERS. 195 AMBIT LON AND HUMILITY. Once on a time there lived a youth, Ambition was his name, His heai-t and soul within him burned To wear the wreath of fame. His days and nights were ever rife With feverish unrest, For pride, the haughty passion, pride, Was ruling in his breast. He saw the wreath with lustre bright In the far distance glow ; That he would gain the glorious crown He made an earnest vow. O'er deserts bare, 'neath scorching suns, His course did often tend ; He braved the fiercest heats and chills To gain the glorious end. He gained the prize ! alas it proved His happiness to mar ; He was deceived, the glittering thing Seemed brighter from afar. He'd climbed the steep of knowledge high, With fearless step and bold ; But found no sunny breezes warm, The atmosphere was cold. 'Twas cold, because his nature true Had not yet played its part ; He had not felt the glowing warmth, The sunbeams of the heart. The secret true of inward bliss He had not learned to know ; He had not learned the lowliest vales The sweetest flowers bestow. One day whilst treading pride's domain, He happily chance to see A lovely maid — he asked her name, It was Humility. 19fi FIELD FLOWERS. She dwelt amongst sweet rural shades Where summer roses grew, And where the piercing winter storms Never too fiercely blew. Such sweet simplicity of bliss Had been to him unknown; He sought to win her for his bride, That she might be his own. He wooed and won the gentle maid, And when the knot was tied, He found that wisdom's brighter crown Was won with his fair bride. A PARADOX. " Well friend," said Tom, " how are you getting on?" " Well as I can," said simple-minded John ; " Of aches and pains I've had my ample share, But now I think I'm getting nicely Square." In the reply an answer strange is found : — Said Tom, " I'm pleased you're getting nicely Round." LINES. (After reading Cowper's Poems.) Cowper, thy much-loved volume I've perused, And am delighted with its varied themes ; They o'er my soul their fragrance have defused, — They've cheered my heart as do refreshing streams. I love thy sportive fancy, it doth bear The truthful impress of a genial heart ; Thy tenderness calls forth the faithful tear And bids it from its secret fountain start. How strange that gloom and gaiety intense Should'st take in turn possession of thy soul ! A gloom so dark as to dim reason's sense That o'er thy pathway ever seemed to roll. FIELD FLOWERS. 197 There might be those of happier temperament, Who in thy day would cast a sneer at thee, And call thy sadness but a judgment sent, A scourge of conscience by Divine decree. And yet no purer, gentler, truer life Than thine could be in this deceitful sphere, Where, passing current, counterfeits are rife, And hearts are not what often they appear. And thou, amongst the teeming multitude Would'st pass unnoticed, e'en unknown thy name ; For in that age, so ignorant and rude, Few would discern that thou wert given to fame. But time has paid its tribute due to thee ; Thy name and works alike have been caressed ; Thou'st gained the love of all posterity, — Immortal honours and eternal rest. TO A STREAM. Ah ! pretty, bright streamlet, so merry and free, Let me wander with you 'mongst the flowers of the lea ; Perhaps you may lead where impurity's blight Has never offended the sense or the sight. O'er mossy-green pebbles you roll in your course ; No rock in your path can diminish your force ; So sweetly you sing, and your song seems to say, " Ever onward I go, — I've a will and a way." Gaily I traced the clear crystal afar, And nought intervened the bright current to mar ; Rambling still on, I saw many dark streams Dimming its lustre ; — the sun's glowing beams Illumined the streamlet no more with a smile, Now rushing along to the river so vile : Even so have I seen the fair current of youth Running far from the pathway of virtue and truth. 198 PIKLI) FLOVVKKS. THE OLD OAK TABLE. 'Tis but an oak table of ancient design, But I hold it a treasure, I'm bound to confess, For it conies from a long list of kindred of mine, And therefore T prize it — I cannot do Less Oh, there is a reverence, eternally warm, Encircles the relics which friends leave behind ; So simple and earnest, so sacred the charm, - So deep is the spell, it can ne'er be defined. When the quiet evening tire gives its bright, fitful gleams, And I at the hearth am left musing alone, — How often sweet memory prompts me with dreams Of times that are past, and dear friends that are gone. Familiar groups to my vision appear, — They throng round the table the same as of yore ; I view them whose memories I love and revere, And the longer I live, why T love them the more. How often has laughing and life-giving mirth In each of its guests a recipient found ! How oft has it borne the good things of the earth, Or been the mute witness of sorrow profound ! Here friends of the feast of the marriage have been, And here the first beams of the sunshine of life Have poured with profusion their beautiful sheen On the new-married couple, the husband and wife. How often upon it my grandfather, dear, The huge, sacred volume with reverence has spread ; And his face would an aspect of cheerfulness wear Whilst reading the promise of life from the dead. 'Tis but an oak table of simple design, But the love that I bear it 1 cannot express ; 'Tis a sweet satisfaction to know it is mine, And though 'tis old-fashioned, 1 prize it no less. FIELD FLOWERS. 199 SABBATH MORNING. Oh, with what peace and holy calm The Sabbath mom steals on the earth, And brings the sorrowing world a balm CulPd from sweet flowers of heavenly birth. Though changing seasons ever roll, Though sun and clouds alternate reign, 'Tis e'er a radiance to the soul, — It melts the world's cold iron chain. Hoav many, bowed by worldly care, Will greet this day of sacred rest, And haste to join in praise and prayer To Him who is for ever blest. They who have made the happy choice, Though mixed with vileness day by day, Will on this sacred morn rejoice In this pure beam of heavenly ray. The trials in life's changing scene Remind us this is not our home, But Sabbaths sweetly intervene With foretastes of the world to come Those sunbeams on the path of time, Which weekly come with holy cheer, And with a potency sublime Speak of a bright eternal year. It cloth not yet to us appear To what gradations we shall rise, — What nobler sweeter pleasures there Are waiting for us in the skies. 200 FIELD FLOWERS. A PRAYER. Father, to Thee I bow, Oppressed by worldly care, Trusting in Thine unfailing vow That thou wilt answer prayer. Thick clouds of darkness roll Across my mental sight ; Do thou illuminate my soul, Speak, and there shall be light ! O hear my suppliant cry, And help me to believe; For what I rightly ask, shall I Most certainly receive. Often in sorrow's night I've pleaded for a ray To cheer, and Thou hast given the light Of smiling, joyous day. Thou know'st the !>urden, Lord, That weighs upon my breast ; Although T utter not a word To Thee, 'tis all expressed. Therefore my silent prayer I humbly breathe to thee ; Thou wilt not leave me to despair, But give me liberty. Now, 1 leave all with Thee, And on Thy Word I'll rest, Assured that Thou canst give to me More than mine own request. FIELD FLOWERS. 201 TO AN EARTHWORM. ( On seeing one on the pathway on Holbeck Moor. ) What ! up so soon and strolling out,— However has it come about ? Really, you're not a lazy lout, As people say ; But oh be quick and change your route Some other way. Now, from the flags you'd better run, Or else the odds are ten to one You'll ne'er complete (what you've begun) Your morning walk : You will as surely be undone As now I talk. For there's an urchin in the way, And if he sees you, let me say, He'll squash you like the feathery spray Of bottled stout ; — Now, that's the price you'll have to pay For coming out. Now, there's a flock of geese, behold Make haste and get beneath the mould, For if it's true what I've been told, They love you well ; You'll not be long out in the cold, The truth to tell. Soon as your danger I espied, Seeing the rustic pathway wide Enough for both, I stepped aside, To let you live. I fear 'tis but my hopes belied, A short reprieve. I ask what business you have here? You've nought to gain, to me 'tis clear, But really everything to fear, You silly ranger ; You've wandered from your native sphere, Now you're in danger. N 202 FIELD FLOWERS. Why have you left the friendly grass Where busy people seldom pass ? 'Tis safer far, and ever was For such as you. These friendly words I fear, alas, Will prove too true. But ah ! indeed, I often find Thy counterpart in human kind,— Men to their own true interests Mind, Who sadly stray, Who by their talents were designed To lead the way. And when among the human race Such sad discrepancies I trace, I pity and excuse thy case,— But grieve to know That men possessed of many a gi*ace Invite their woe. TEA TIME. Master Kettle on the hob Sits as cosy as can be, Waiting for another job, To boil the water for the tea. Whilst Miss Teapot on the shelf, Midst her kindred chinaware, Musing, thinks that she herself Has really too much time to spare. Teaspoons, plates, and such a throng Of other things, together mingle, — Such as to the tea belong, And its sweet familiar jingle,— Are as bright as bright can be, Full of heauty and attraction ; Each seems eager for the tea, And to be the first in action. FIELD FLOWERS. 203 The table-cloth of diaper white Is now in all its beauty seen, The other's vanished out of sight, As covers should of red and green. & 1 Everything is as it should be — What could mortal more desire % Amy thinks the kettle would be Better if 'twas on the fire. The clock agrees with Amy's notion, And boldly strikes the hour of five ; At once the chinaware's in motion, And the house is all alive. The flames around the kettle seem In merry, playful mood to throng, And now out comes the puffing steam, - The kettle sings its evening song. And each dazzling gem of beauty, Full of prettiness and grace, Soon as it has done its duty, Will be in its proper place. Order, cleanliness, and love, Reigns within our little cot : Oh, that everyone might prove! Mine and Amy's happy lot ! She's my faithful, constant lover, Always cheerful, full of life ; All our courting days are over, — Now my Amy is my wife. NOVEMBER. November's here with little cheer And few inviting graces ; Its sullen gloom destroys the bloom Of bright and smiling faces. The fog's so dense, we can't dispense With radiance from the ceiling ; E'en at noon-day, the gaslight's ray Is often o'er us stealing. 204 FIELD FLOWERS. The orb of day disdains to pay His genial caresses ; So ill he serves the timid nerves, All vigour he represses. There's scarce a gleam from one bright beam, Ami hew the hours diminish '. 'Tis very clear the dying year Is drawing near its finish. No song is heard from forest bird, The lonely hours beguiling ; Nature"s subdued to surly mood,— There's nothing sweetly smiling : The winding streams display no beams Upon their ripples shining ; But on their way they sadly stray And seem forever whining. No lovers rove in yonder grove To pluck the scented blossom ; There's no wild rose its beauty shows, Or flower to grace the bosom : The air is cold, and we can hold Few pleasures truly hearty, Unless we make, for pleasure's sake The fireside's social party. It does seem hard to be debarr'd From things so sweet and pleasant : We miss the moon, but very soon Appears its silver crescent ; And though decay may hold its sway O'er the bright realm of flowers, Their precious seeds are title-deeds That they'll once more be ours. So in life's shades when grief pervades The regions of the soul, With smiling hope, we'll bravely cope With troubles as they roll; And from its store we'll evermore Some sunshine from it borrow, Trusting in Him whose radiant beam Can cheer the night of sorrow. FIELD FLOWERS. 205 GUARDIAN SPIRITS. Oh, there are powers at eventide, When stars their lustre wear, That ever live and love to glide From the celestial sphere. They come, though silent and unseen, From the bright realms above ; There's an unbroken link between Ourselves and those we love, — A link of love's magnetic chain, Enduring ever fast, And that which bears the earth-life's strain For evermore shall last. We cannot see with mortal eye Those forms so bright and fair, Who come with loving hearts to try To soothe each worldly care. Oh, often in the dreamy hours, When tumult is at rest, We mingle with the heavenly powers, The dearest and the best. They hover round us day by day, Those guardian spirits dear, And 'neath night's calm and tranquil sway We know and feel them near. A PRAYER. Father, to Thee I come, Unworthy though I am, Thou wilt receive the wanderer home, In Christ's atoning name. My wayward heart control, Restrain each wrong desire ; So shall each impulse of my soul Be fraught with holy fire. 206 FIELD FLOWERS. Help me to slay the foe That doth subdue me still, That I from strength to strength may go And conquer mine own will. My powers with all their might, May they to goodness tend, — And though 'tis costly to do right, 'Tis profit in the end. Thou biddest me prepare For better things above, And condescends to draw me there By the sweet power of love. A beam from heaven send To guide me on the way, And as my footsteps heavenward tend, May brighter be the ray. So shall my terrors cease, They shall for ever flee ; " Him thou wilt keep in perfect peace Whose mind is stayed on Thee." LINES. (On a young Lady going to Western Africa. Gaily may thy vessel glide, With its timbers safe and strong, And may all the waters wide Charm thee with their pleasant song. May each morning's sun arise To gild thy pathway with its beams, And the stars in cloudless skies Watch thee in thy pleasant dreams. May the breezes, as they blow, Greet thee with a kindly care, Come as kisses to thy brow, Come as answers to each prayer. FIELD FLOWERS. To tell thy errand o'er the waters, Love's sweet herald goes before ; So shall Afric's sons and daughters Greet thee on their sunny shore. And may thy brief sojourn there Bring such pleasure to thy soul As shall banish many a care, Whilst swift time doth o'er thee roll. What could move thy heart but love To sojourn with dark Afric's race 1 Thou'st received from heaven above Thy mission : go, and fill thy place. With the partner of thy choice, Cheer the heathen 'midst his woes ; Make the wilderness rejoice And blossom as the fragrant rose. Whisper to the sable stranger Of the foe that rules within ; Warn him of his present danger And the consequence of sin. Make him wish to know in earnest AVhence thou hast thy peace serene ; Happy thou if him thou turnest By the charm that he has seen. Turn that instinct in his nature, Falsely bowed to gods of stone ; Raise it to the soul's true stature, To the source of peace alone. Then when thy sweet work is o'er, And the appointed time is come To bring thee to thy native shore — To mingle with thy friends at home,- May such blessings thee attend As I now have wished for thee, Even to thy journey's end, Homewards o'er the mighty sea. 207 20)S FIELD FLOWERS. Then if lengthened years be thine, Memory oft shall bring to thee A peace brought from the golden mine Of duty, wrought beyond the sea. HEIRS OF GOD. (Romans viii. 17.) Heirs of God ! O wondrous truth Revealed to those who love Thy law ; Tis witnessed by age and youth Who from their Father 's treasury draw. Heirs of God ! pure, boundless bliss Awaits the future of His child ; The heavenly kingdom, it is his, With all its pleasures undefied. Heirs of God ! yours is the claim To all the stores of heavenly wealth ; Heaven's title deeds shall bear your name, And yours is everlasting health. Heirs of God ! this varied scene Is short, and storms and troubled skies Are God's decrees, which intervene And fit us for the promised prize. Heirs of God ! this wilderness Of lugged paths and twilight drear Leads to the realms of happiness, Where all is beautiful and clear. Heirs of God ! none can conceive The joys of the celestial state, Free from infirmities to live, Free from the scourge of worldly fate. Heirs of God ! the time will come When all our trials will be o'er, And we shall reach our peaceful home And dwell therein for evermore. FIELD FLOWERS. 209 WINTER. The various forms of winter storms — Rain, hail, and fleecy showers — Appear again to entertain This busy world of ours. The cold winds blow, and falling snow Is covering Nature's face ; I look in vain across the plain, — No footpath can I trace On cot and hall, on shed and wall 'Tis silently descending : I hear no tread, — all sounds are dead, — To whiteness all seems tending. Icicles bright shine in the light Of the red noonday sun ; Each crystal rill is standing still, And has refused to run. O'er many a slide the urchins glide With many a hearty fall, And now they roll, with heart and soul, The mighty snowy ball. But, oh ! 'tis wrong to slide along The path where people pass ; The treacherous ice is dangerous thrice When smooth as polished glass. Smiles should adorn life's early morn — Joy's sun shine through it's clay — Nor should care's cloud e'en once enshroud Or dim its mellow ray. Youth is youth still, and ever will Its vigorous powers employ In sport and fun, so let each one His golden hours enjoy. But there are those nearing life's close With whom 'tis different far, For Winter's rage with drooping age Is stern and deadly war. 210 FIELD FLOWERS. Tis then indeed hearts often bleed And cares distress the mind; Cold Winter's chill is colder still, Through hearts that are unkind. The fireside warm gives forth a charm So pleasant and complete, To people old, benumbed with cold, Through loss of nature's heat. Then place with care the cosy chair Beside the glowing fire, And make them feel that their true weal Is your supreme desire. 'Tis only right when nature's blight Is passing to decay, To aid and cheer, to stay the tear, And smooth the rugged way. True kindness pays in endless ways Its little debts of love, Whilst conscience earns such sweet returns Which only love can prove. Age ever needs our kindly deeds Whilst travelling down the hill ; Then be it ours, with all our powers, These duties to fulfil. For such regard there's a reward More precious far than gold, — That inward bliss, that sense of peace, Which never can be told. ON RECEIVING A PRESENT FROM A LADY. And so you've come to me from Brum, A kindly promised present ; A token of esteem and love, With wishes sweet and pleasant 1 Now let me see what there's for me Under the hamper's lid ; Something that's good, some dainty food I know is surely hid. FIELD FLOWERS. 211 Ah ! flowers, I see, and they to me A fragrance sweet bequeath ; And now I ken a duck and hen Are nestling underneath. A.nd they are laid upon a bed Of fresh-plucked kidney beans ; I take the hint ; it, without stint, A sumptuous dinner means. May no worse fare fall to her share, (1 mean the generous sender,) And all through life from want and strife May Providence defend her. LITTLE WILLIE'S KITE. Poor little Willie had a kite, His treasure, and his sole delight ; To see it glide into the height Of heaven's blue Was something pleasing to his sight And always new. The kite was one his father made, — Just Willie's size, so Willie said ; 'Twas all in glittering gold arrayed ; Though made by one Quite unaccustomed to the trade, 'Twas neatly done. The school hours o'er, the lessons done, Homewards with merry heart he'd run, Anticipating all the fun He had in store, When upward towards the evening sun His kite should soar. He'd scarcely time to get his tea, So eager with his mates to be ; For in his pleasures he was free And kind to all, — The first to aid his mate was he If one should fall. 212 FIELD FLOWERS. One day his kite had mounted high, — It seemed a speck up in the sky, And as the bright hours seemed to fly, Our Willie lay Upon a river's bank close by, Happy and gay. While in this zenith of delight, Another boy in cruel spite Cut the frail thread ; the pretty kite Was lost for ever ; It reeled and fell far out of sight, Beyond the river. And oh, what agony extreme Poor Willie suffered, — his bright dream Of pleasure lost ; the mighty stream Would not permit A search his treasure to redeem, So fierce was it. And there are those of riper years Who love to use the keen, cold shears Of cruelty : as hope appears To smile and bloom, They'll cut the flower, and laugh at tears Whene'er they come. Whilst the rude world, with sweeping force, Still rushes on its headlong course, Its billows foaming loud and hoarse, The incessant cry Which drowns with clamorous thunderings coarse, The gentle sigh. THE SONG OF THE CRANKS. One evening, whilst taking a nice country stroll, When all decent engines had left off their growl, I saw in the distance ;i luminous ray, Towards which through the twilight 1 wended my way. FIELD FLOWERS. 213 I found that on nearer approaching it still 'Twas the boiler-fire glow of a neighbouring mill ; It had run all day long, and determined, in spite Of the very bad times, it would run through the night. The engine moved on, as if conscious of might, 'Twas glowing in splendour, all polished and bright ; With action majestic, as if proud of its place, It turned its great crank with a dignified grace. There seemed in its bearings a resolute will As its silent commands were obeyed by the mill, — For every machine, like a slave, seemed to cower, As under the spell of a mightier power. All round seemed a chaos of rubbish to me, 'Twas something in embryo of what was to be ; With this flimsy material, each active machine Seemed to play as a child plays with hay on the green. The treatment, indeed, was most terribly rough ; The tearing and bruising seemed more than enough ; 1 was quite in the dark to the issue, I own, — The wonderful secret to me was unknown. " And what are you doing? I wonder," said I ; But the crafty machine seemed both cautious and shy, Whilst it jingled a tune, and the strain seemed to be, " Mind your own business, and never mind me." And every machine, as 1 passed one by one, Took hold of the thread where the other had done ; Each kept its own secret, whilst singing with glee, " Mind your own business, and never mind me." But to something substantial I saw it would tend, There would surely be something to see in the end ; Each phase of progression I view'd with delight, The triumph was certain, as day follows night. 214 FIELD FLOWERS. So it proved, for at last, when the work was complete, 'Twas a cloth of tine fabric, superb as 'twas neat ; Then, said T, with the song of the cranks 1 agree, " Mind your own business, and never mind me." On leaving, I thought what a lesson for me, And all who should chance the same process to see : The moral declared the grand purpose of life Can alone be attained through the medium of strife. ■•&■ But a sweeter refrain seemed to warble on high, As I gazed on the grandeur o'erspreading the sky ; The stars in these words seemed to sing with delight, " Man, do thy duty, and all will be right." TO A CHRISTMAS HAMPER. (A present from a Lady.) Welcome, Christmas hamper, truly, To our merry festive party ! You've fulfill'd your mission duly, Now accept our greetings hearty. Because you've come straight here from Brum, And passed right by all other stations, Smiles of approval seem to come From the holly decorations. And yet, T think you're rather late, Nine strikes the clock of Holbeck Church ; But here you are, at anyrate, You have not left us in the lurch. I see within this friendly token,— " A merry Christmas to you all ; " Hearty words, and they seem spoken By the good things held in thrall. Let me see what we've got here — A fine fat turkey, graced with holly, And other kinds of Christinas cheer,— Don't she mean us to be jolly ! FIELD FLOWERS. 215 With sober mirth let us enjoy These the good things of the earth ; Let nought profane our thoughts employ, — We celebrate our Saviour's birth. WHAT HAVE I DONE TO-DAY? What have I done to-day In thought, or word, or deed ? Have I strewn tares along the way, Or scattered goodly seed 1 My morning vows have seemed As mist before the sun, Or as the thoughts when one has dreamed Of something never done. My warm desires, how soon They from my bosom strayed ; The blighting storms of earth ere noon Had driven them in the shade. Is there no sunny spot Of green that bears a flower 1 Oh yes, Affliction's darksome cot I cheered for one short hour. The little cripple boy I met along the way ; Those kindly words filled him with joy, Though little I did say. The loaf of bread I gave At misery's gloomy door Seemed as a barrier to the wave That would have whelmed them o'er. He who is throned above Such little acts will see, And kindly say, " Those deeds of love, You 've done them unto Me." 216 FIELD FLOWERS. A SNOW STORM IN MAY. The snow's falling thick from the sky, And hides the bright sun's cheery ray ; The keen, piercing air seems to try To blight the fair beauties of May. The overcoats, wrappers, and gloves, Renew their vocations again ; For prudence such garments approves, Though scorned by the foolish and vain. Our Willy had donned his gay suit, And Polly her light, airy dress ; — It has touched their fine feelings acute, Far more than my pen can express. We were smiling in splendours of May, In its loveliness, beauty, and grace ; But Winter has passed o'er the way, And nought of spring bloom can we trace. We all thought with Winter we'd done, When the flowers in their beauty appeared ; But he, in his old-fashioned fun, Has again shown his snowy -white beard. Like a foe breaking in on the scene Of pleasure, and comfort, and love, — Fair blossoms are strewn on the green, We've lost the blue sky up above. Every bird had been singing its song, And had bathed in the warm, balmy breeze ; But now they are shivering among The wild swaying branches of trees. It seems A r ery much like foul play, To come on his cold icy wing, In the midst of our jubilant .May, And dim the bright glories of spring. FIELD FLOWERS. 217 Such changes in life will appeal* ; — Oft nipped are our blossoms and bloom : Every day the hoarse whisper we hear, " 'Tis folly too much to presume." Yet still let us cherish a hope, E'en though the bright sun is o'ercast ; We then all the better shall cope With the storm that is hurrying past. SUNRISE. See ! from the East a gleam of light appears Behind the ridges of the distant hills ; Each trembling star a feebler lustre wears, While brightly flash ten thousand crystal rills. And now is seen a coronet of gold Resting in splendour on the mountain's brow. The silken flowers their lovely buds unfold, And oceans, rivers, lakes, are all aglow. The clouds in gorgeous robes appear in state; The fields once more their native green display ; All nature seems in earnestness to wait To hail with smiles the glorious orb of day. Great source of life ! what secret power sublime Maintains thy mighty force through the vast rounds of time ? THE WINDS. How bitterly cold ! And the fierce winds are rising, Bleak, restless, and bold ; Yet 'tis nothing surprising, For now is the season They bluster and roar ; If they blow out of reason, They've done so before. 'Tis a way they have got, And they care not a sprat For a fine chimney pot, Or a gentleman's hat : 218 FIELD FLOWERS. No reverence they show To the humble or great, — All mortals below Share the risk of a slate. For they whizz them about, Regardless of cost,— No matter who's out, From the roofs they are toss'd ; Then off on their way, Despising all ills, Leaving people to pay (If they choose) all the bills. Sometimes, brother John, They are kind, let me say, — For they'll help us well on, If we're going their way. So good to befriend us, When the deed they've begun, On our journey they'll send us, And oft with a run. But, oh ! the poor wight That must cope with their power, He's in a sad plight, Yet his pluck must'nt cower ; He must put forth his shoulder, As the case proves to be ; If the storm should grow bolder, Of course, so must he. But let the winds blow, We are cosy and snug In the fire's bright glow. With our feet on the rug ; To heighten the charm, And our spirits to cheer, We'll have (nice and warm) Something pleasant to hear : FIELD FLOWERS. 219 For then Uncle Sandy Shall tell us a tale, He's one always handy, 'Twill fit with the gale ; And you, little Johnny, Shall sit beside me, And hear uncle Sandy Spin yarns of the sea. He's been on the ocean, Where wild billows rave, He's seen their commotion From the top of the wave ; In the deep waters dark, Where huge monsters steal, He's seen the dread shark Looking out for a meal. More than that, he has been, Where to be I've no wish, — He's been saved by the skin From the jaws of that fish : But this you will find In the tales he relates, — Howe'er rough the wind, He's been safe from the slates. Come, Ann, with your knitting, Your needles and ball. — And the playful young kitten, Will be there if't should fall ; And round the bright fire. In a nice circle, neat, We shall get our desire, In the way of a treat. Tis foolish to fret, — Mirth is healthy and cheap ; Care makes up a debt For the doctors to reap ; 220 FIELD FLOWERS. The mirth of the heart Is far 1 tetter than pills, 'Then with fun we'll not part For the long doctor's lulls. Though dismal and drear The uproarious din, We'll have mirth and good cheer As a contrast within ; We'll have comfort and rest While here met together. And so make the best Of ungenial weather. A JUBILEE WELCOME. (June, 1887.) Tis the Jubilee of our Queen ! Shine, fair sun, with golden sheen, On our grand triumphal arch, Reared to time's progressive march. The flower-crowned canopy appears, Which spans her reign of fifty yesrs. Sound your trumpets ! banners wave ! Loud ye ocean-surges rave, As ye thunder on the shore ! Voices grand there seem to be In that vast eternal roar, Rising from the billows free, Singing " we come from the sea To hail Victoria's Jubilee ! " Forests, if you never gave All your grandeur, full and free, Give it now, and let us have Your welcomes to this Jubilee ! Show your native energy, Not a whit behind the wave — Not a whit behind the sea;— All ye green and leafy trees, Swing your branches in the breeze FIELD FLOWERS. 221 Flowers, with your perfumes sweet, Her this joyous morning greet, Give her of your choicest store, As you never gave before ; All your richest tints unfold, All your loveliest charms display ; AH ye buttercups of gold, Grace the fields in bright array, — This is an auspicious day. All along our golden strand ; From workshops, and cathedrals grand ; From every steeple in the land, Let your loyalty be seen ! Let the music from the hills Echo through the rlowery dells ! Let the joy be still increased By the good, substantial feast ! Ye who've plenty and to spare, Let the poor your good things share ! Let your streamers in the air, To the world this truth declare,— How we all one revei'ence share ! Let it everywhere be seen, How we love our noble Queen ! From the empire's wide domains, Far abroad, o'er smiling plains, From Victoria's golden mines, On which the sun for ever shines ; Send the kindly greetings forth From West to East, from South to North, With sweetness, fervency, and grace, As shown by India's loyal race. Ah ! it needs no pen to tell Why we prize our Queen so well : As a Queen, a wife, a mother, England ne'er had such another. She has in her lofty station Shown a pattern to the nation. Often we've had cause to prove The fervour of our Sovereign's love. 222 FIELD FLOWERS. Often by the dying bed From her own Bible she has read, And soothed the weary, aching head ; Whilst of her substance she has given, She's led the weary soul to heaven. We have known her fifty years Through varied scenes of smiles and tears In her deep and weighty cares She has had the nation's prayers ; In her brightest days of bliss We have shared her happiness. May she in the coming years Have no cause for bitter tears ; And when she lays her jewels down, Take up the everlasting crown : All our blessings now as one Meet and mingle at the throne. 'Tis a Jubilee to me, — Back through fifty years I see Myself again a little boy, Bright, and brimming full of joy : In my " Sundays " I was drest, A golden medal on my breast — A yellow ribbon held it there ; Now again such joy I share, And with my fervent bliss I pay My tribute to this glorious day. AN ACROSTIC. (To a Friend.) Just as a token, friend, to you 1 give Of my esteem this tribute, small, yet warm. How self may sink that others may receive, None proves it more than you : we honour such a charm. Bright is the memory of our useful hours ; Unruffled calmness then pervades the soul : Nought is more sweet than to retrace those bowers, Enriched with golden fruit, where streams of crystal roll. FIELD FLOWERS. 223 TO A TOADSTOOL. Foul monster of the mushroom race, Thou'st found a green and flowery place Where thou would'st smile and show thy face And veil thy guile : But something in thy form I trace, Low, mean, and vile. 'Tis true there's a resemblance great In shape and form to mushrooms sweet ; But ah, thy face betrays deceit — That in thee lies ! They'll know thy character complete, Who use their eyes. Some thou'lt deceive — thou canst not me ; — I've seen and known enough of thee, — I'm witness to thy treachery ; And this I know That thou art man's great enemy, — His subtle foe. Thou wretch ! how oft has thou beguiled The innocent, unwary child, Who running 'mongst the sweet flowers wild, Of thee did'st eat ; And thou its life-blood hast defiled With deadly fate. I'll give to thee the fatal blow, — So would I all thy race lay low, And promptly I'll perform my vow ; Thus, with a frown, I'll put my foot upon thee now, And crush thee down. Thus will I make an end of thee And all thy kin, whene'er 1 see Them on the wilds or on the lea, Feigning a charm, So that they can no longer be A source of harm. 224 FIELD FLOWERS. So there are in the human throng Foes ever numerous and strong, Ranged ever on the side of wrong, "Who often blight Those nursery flowers that we so long To train aright. Yes, we may see the toadstool dread E'en mingling in the flowery bed Of social joys, waiting to shed Its venom foul Upon the young and guileless head,— The simple soul. ROBERT BURNS.— ON SEEING HIS STATUE AT GLASGOW. (To Charles F. Forshaw, LL.D.) Ye silent glens ! Ye streams and flowers ! Ye breezes whispering low ! Ye birds that sing to sunny hours ! Ye ploughmen at the plough ! Ye charm my soul, and then it turns In raptures warm to Robert Burns. Sweet bard ! what garlands grace thy brow ! What glory wreathes thy name ! Thou who did'st tend the rustic plough Stand'st on the steep of fame. The tardy world proclaims thy worth, Though it despised thee whilst on earth. Thy genius has enriched the land That gave to thee thy birth, And now it gives with liberal hand The price of mental worth. But for thy fancy's golden store, It might — it might have given thee more. FIELD FLOWERS. 225 Sweet bard, who hast so blithely sung Of Scotia's lovely scenes, And charmed e'en with thy mother tongue The hearts of kings and queens Thy works shall live whilst sunny beams Shall gild with gold the rolling streams. Whilst Scotia's " birdies " chant their lays, — Whilst flows its " bonny Doon," — Whilst flowers bedeck its " banks and braes," And sunbeams flood its noon, — Whilst clown the hills the cascades flow, — So long shall laurels wreathe thy brow. Whilst " crimson tipped " daisies grow, — Whilst nature's beauties charm, — Whilst manly breasts with kindness glow, — Whilst honest hearts beat warm, — Whilst the true man the tyrant spurns, So long shall live the name of Burns ! THE OLD SCHOOL. A RETROSPECT. (To Mr. William N. Hudson, Leeds. ) Having a little leisure time, J've scribbled down a bit of rhyme To you, dear coz, and dearest friend, Something on which our thoughts may blend ; And yet it may be, after all, Why, scarcely worth the ink and scrawl ; Still, if the muse my verse invite, I cannot help it, I must write : And if the theme but cheerful be, 'Tis e'er a pleasing task to me. I often summon many a scene That bears the hue of springtide green, Those oases, so rich and rare, Which beautify this desert bare. 226 FIELD FLOWERS. I often think about the past, When you and I our nets would cast, (Or rather, throw our fishing hooks) Into a sea of slates and books, Hoping to catch some golden tish To grace our intellectual dish. In thought I'm very oft within The old school next the Chequer Inn : I see its massive winter's fire, Protected by its guard of wire ; I see it in the summer's day, When clouds of vapour oft would play, Which from the Chequer's brewhouse stole And tilled the space before the school, — Where streams of it would often pour Through the school window o'er the door, And fall on us like nectar'd dew, With all the fragrance of the brew. Those joyous school days ! I would fain Live the bright season o'er again. In fancy, I'm at school once more Just as I was in days of yore : The morn, with clouds or sunny ray, Has seen the scholars on their way ; Some with light hearts and spirits gay Have played at marbles all the way ; Some few, with dark and clouded brow, ( Of such we've far too many now : ) For there's such harshness in its rule, Few children like to go to school ; But mothers, as they always will, Have sweetened well the bitter pill ; They've told them in the kindliest way Of the approaching holiday ; The chicks, they've given to enhance their bliss A lump of sugar and a kiss. The school has scarcely yet begun, And all the boys are full of fun : There is that strange, conflicting noise Such as alone belongs to boys, — FIELD FLOWERS. The sound of shouts, and stools and forms, - One of those vigorous make-up storms Of rude disorder, deafening din, Which end as quick as they begin ; For he, who'll soon set all things right, Is yet invisible to sight ! The clock, so stern in its commands, Points nine with its slow-motioned hands. Now there's an urchin earnest, fleet, Comes rushing in from Marshall street, — Says Mister Parker's on the way, And here's an end of all the fray ; All is so quiet, calm, and still, You might hear drop a Holloway's Pill ; Of what has been there are no traces, The innocents are in their places ; The morning sunbeams see no more The busy shadows on the floor ; The scene so tranquil, beareth now The semblance of a waxwork show. Quite conscious of this wholesale guile He enters with a pleasing smile ; He knows there's been uproarious riot, Before this calm and breathless quiet : But he has been a boy himself, And puts his scruples on the shelf. Thus little weight it has with him, And he gives out the opening hymn,- — "Awake, my soul, and with the sun," — And the school business is begun. I see him now as lightning quick Throng ruling for arithmetic, — Now on his everlasting stroll Along the mazes of the school, With all the dignity and grace Befitting his peculiar place. Again I see him at his desk, Telling a story picturesque, — 227 228 FIELD FLOWERS. At once there comes it thundering noise Which startles all the little hoys : A hat-peg cord has snapp'd in two, As such things very oft would do, And caps are strewn ahout the floor, Say, at the very least, a score. Now he is at his very hest, And revels in a quiet jest ; But only with a chosen few Of those to whom fair merit's due. I see his kind, approving smile On earnest and devoted toil ; On idlers standing in the rear, I see his frown stern and severe : Adams is there, — that graceless dog- Holding aloft the ponderous log, Perched on a desk to public gaze, — A scene familiar in those days. Now Mister Parker has affairs Which call him for awhile upstairs ; And while he's in the upper room, Adams has made himself at home ; — The log he's using for a seat, And well enjoys the transient treat. He calmly sits with folded arms, (The stolen luxury hath charms — ) While like a conqueror he seems ; — Each face with smiles and laughter beams ;- Courage and will he has, 'tis true, But linked with a vile nature low. But he who's lately absent been, Appears at once' upon the scene ; He's glided down the school-yard stairs, And boldly entered unawares : As quick as " Presto " can be said, Our hero's log's above his head ; But ah, indeed, 'tis all in vain, The act is seen — he gets the cane : The deed is added to his crime ; Now doomed to stand a longer time, FIELD FLOWERS. 229 His boldness reaches the sublime, — He makes an end of all his woes, Springs from the desk, and off he goes ; The log comes thundering on the floor, And Adams' shadow nevermore Darkens the threshold of the door. The living incident appears More vivid by the flight of years. Its discipline, true as the sun, Sees every form of duty done : The clock proclaims the closing day, And books and slates are put away ; Its hands point to that blissful hour, The dial's prettiest number, four ; Its tick more musical appears, Its face a kindlier aspect wears ; And whilst each scholar views its charms, Each stands erect with folded arms, And sings the hymn with sweet delight — " Glory to Thee, my God, this night : " And whilst the benediction's said, Each boy with reverence bows his head ; Then starting with the senior classes, Each out of school in order passes. To use an old familiar phrase, Those were our bright and happy days, When free from learning's iron rule, We played at leap-frog from the school. We felt like butterflies full blown, — The after hours were all our own : Our nights were spent in robust play, And seemed more sunny than the day. No fulsome cramming then, as now, — Light was the heart, serene the brow ; No children then with aching heads, Retiring to their sleepless beds : We knew not then the vital cost Of learning, soon for ever lost ; The lessons learned were solid, rife With oenuine aids to active life, — 280 FIELD FLOWERS. And those who shone as scholars then, Have since proved most efficient men. I'd have the young the school attend, And that should be the aim and end ; The work I'd limit to school hours, A term sufficient for their powers ; Then set the children free to run Amongst the flowers, and in the sun. Where there's the medium, all is right; Where an excess, then conies the blight. But I must now my thoughts re-cast, And leave the present for the past : What changes mark the fleeting years ! How strange the varied scene appears ! Yet long as in the world we've been, How little of it we have seen ! Geography, my favourite theme, I've known it only as a dream ; How often when a boy I've thought — " Well now, if there was really aught Could take my fancy, it would be — The world's great wonders I would see ; The burning mountains I would view ; Niagara's Falls I'd visit too : " But strange, what seemed my happiest goal, A journey to the Northern Pole ; And now I just expect as soon To pay a visit to the moon. But such imaginations wild Were the mere fancies of a child. 'Tis very pleasant now, indeed, Beside the cosy fire to read Of travels in far distant climes, Whilst sitting 'neath the church's chimes. Yet, so it ever is with youth,— It sees the sunny side of truth ; But through its perils it must go, Its sterner, darker side to know. Those strange and distant scenes to view, Is but the privilege of a few ; FIELD FLOWERS. 231 So if it is, I'm not to roam, If foi'tune bids me stay at home, I must submit my humble self (Just like the time-piece on the shelf) To keep within my narrow bounds, And just go on my clockwork rounds. But in our own, our native land, Wonders there are on every hand : Oh ! there is much that grandeur can Show forth to charm the mind of man. But to indulge the warm desire, There's something needful we require, — The pretty coin with yellow tint That's manufactured at the mint : And true it is, with all my care, 'Tis small indeed what I've to spare : But when in thoughtful reverie, I backward look, how much I see Of sunshine bursting through the gloom ! What blossom and fair golden bloom ! Oh, I owe much of thanks and praise To the Great Guardian of my days. Now, my epistle, I suppose, Must have its limit, and must. close : May robust health your life attend, And heaven a load of blessings send ! But this is what I wish you most, — (What millionaires can seldom boast,) A happy and contented mind That leaves all treasures far behind. The consciousness of duty done, Gives to our life a brighter sun ; The retrospect of useful hours Seems as a green path strewn with flowers. WINDERMERE. Charming retreat, how lovely are thy scenes ! Lakes, mountains, woodlands, and the crystal streams Are fringed with flowers ; each in the sunshine seems In beauty robed. Now evening intervenes. 232 FIELD FLOWERS. The peerless sun withdraws his golden ray; The gentle moon comes forth in silver sheen, Like a sweet maid lingering on the green, Watching her faithful lover on his way : The transformation to this mystic light Seems in its dreamy splendour to enshrine In one enchanted circle — pure, divine — Of earth and sky, the beauties of the night. Well might our Wordsworth live with thee and die, And wish in death on thv sweet breast to lie ! TO A LOCOMOTIVE KNOINE. (To Sir James Kitson, Bart.) Sublime, resistless force, Emblem of will and power, 'Tis thine to run an onward course, Though bright or dark the hour. Thy limbs of iron, strong, Thy sinews, brass and steel, Bear thee unweariedly along- Through vale and over hill. Thou bear'st in every place A dignity serene, — A calm and a majestic grace, A firm, commanding mien. And when thy aid we need, We are by thousands hurled With utmost ease, at lightning speed, O'er half the solid world. And yet the living force That moves thv mighty frame, That drives thee on thy daring course, Secret, unseen's the same. FIELD FLOWERS. 233 The aspiring youth in thee May see and truly guess How much of his own energy Is needful to success. Duty has iron lines, And signals here and there : In darkest hours the beacon shines, And warnes us to beware. Daily we must renew The manly heart and soul, And ever keep the end in view, If we would reach the goal. & v MAY BLASTS. The Second of May went out, And the Third of May came in, Swinging the trees about With a terrible, blustering din. The grey clouds in the sky Moved on in shapeless throng ; They really seemed to fly, So swift they whirled along. There was never a cat outside ; All were sleeping, so cosy and snug, With their paws stretched far and wide, In the tire-glow on the rug. Such a force the storm did wield, And such small regard was shown, Poor buttercups in the field Could scarcely hold their own. Each aged and rickety gate Oft swung with an angry groan, And many a housetop slate Down into the street was thrown. 234 FIELD FLOWERS. All things in this vale below That were willing their place to shift, It they really had time to go, 1 t gave them a graceful lift. On the steeple's lofty perch, The cock faced the storm most stern, As if guarding Holbeck Church, Scarcely knowing where to turn ; For it seemed in a sort of doubt, Perplexed with the storm and din, As the blustering night went out, And the blustering morn came in. SEEING THE CUSHIES. Ethel May and I Went to see the cu shies : Soon we did them spy, Grazing near some bushes. Black, and white, and brown- How prettily they stood ! Some were lying down, Busy with their cud. Some did nought but stare, And loudly did they " moo ; " But Ethel did not care, For soon I made them go. They scarcely let us pass, Where lay their dainty meat ; 'Mong buttercups and grass, And daisies, too, they eat. Each yellow buttercup Bowed its golden head, And daisies peeping up, Smiled from their emerald bed. FIELD FLOWERS. 235 We plucked those pretty flowers, A handful, sweet and small : I said, " These shall be ours, You shall not eat them all." So Ethel May and I At once prepared to go ; We bade them all good-bye They only answered " moo." HE STILLETH THE TEMPEST. (Matthew viii. 23—27.) See, o'er the green, unruffled sea, An Eastern vessel glides, Bearing a band of earnest men, A Mighty One besides, Whose wondrous power they've often seen, Whilst standing on the wayside green. See now the clouds o'erspread the sky, — The wind in fury raves, — The ship is tossed on billows high, Now covered o'er with waves ; And whilst loud thunders shake the deep, The Mighty Master lies asleep. Trembling with fear, they run to awake The Master from his sleep; And, "O Lord save us," each one cries, " We perish in the deep ! " He rises, — listen what he saith, — " Why fear, O ye of little faith 1 " " Stay your wild rage, ye boisterous winds They, spell-bound at His word, Are calm, and with a silent voice Own Him their Sovereign Lord : He spake, — the raging billows heard And dropped in silence at His word. 236 FIELD FLOWERS. They marvel at the human form Whom winds and seas obey ; All. now around that form they see The Godhead's glorious ray ! The Man in whom such glories shine Is one with God, He is Divine. ANN IK, AND NIK WILD FLOWERS. AX ACROSTIC. Away she trips along the mead, Near to the copse which skirts the hill, — Now plucking from the flowery bed Its prettiest gems with right good will, Eager her little hands to rill. For there are flowers of every hue, Lovely in form and beauty bright ; On every side they meet the view, Red, blue, and gold, and silver-white: Each flower in sweet contentment lives. Nor lives in selfishness alone, — Careless how much perfume it gives, Each odour tlows and blends in one. And now she has secured her prize, In merry mood she homeward speeds : Radiant with rapture are her eyes E'en so, quite free from life's rank weeds, Young life is seen when on the meads. TO KIRKSTALL ABBEY. Majestic ruin ! lovely in decay, Thy eloquence my raptured fancy fires ; Truly thou tell'st me of thy glorious day Ere thou had'st lost thy pinnacles and spires. And thou complain'st that thou hast not thy due,- That much is hidden neath the grassy plain ! Thou bring'st thy ancient grandeur to my view, The perfect pile, crowned with the golden vane. FIELD FLOWERS. 237 I see the train of monks within thy walls ; I hear the deep tone of the vesper bell ; The solemn chant now rises and now falls — I feel o'erpowered, held by the potent spell. Grand relic of the past, I thee revere ! Thy charms will still increase with each revolving year. TO A STREET LAMP. Old friend, for friend thou art, 'tis true, Whene'er we need thy aid, Thy cheering light appears in view, In golden charms arrayed. Soon as the sun's bright splendour wanes, And twilight shades appear, When darker glow the golden vanes, Thou com'st the gloom to cheer. Thou in thy radiant beauty art The life and soul of men ; We would'nt with thy service part, For all that we can ken. Amid the darksome world of gloom Thou seem'st to reign supreme, And oh, what joys would meet their doom, Wer't not for thy bright gleam ! How oft the bard had for his theme The dawn of brighter days ; Of brighter nights he ne'er did dream, They never graced his lays. Strange that a fluid 'neath the earth, Invisible to sight, Should instantaneously give birth To such a glorious light. And ever hastening to its goal, And eager to be free, To pour the blessings on the soul Of life and liberty. 238 FIELD FLOWERS. One thought, e'en though it may seem stiff, I'll mention whilst T write,— Thy service would be better, if Thy posts were painted white. The man's been from some danger freed, Who can sincerely boast He's never done the serious deed Of bumping 'gainst a post. The colour white, at night or noon Would ever do good duty ; To failing sight 'twould be a boon, And to the post add beauty. In winter's dark and dreary scene We need more earnest light ; And white gives forth a sort of sheen, E'en though it be not bright, IMPROMPTU. ON RECEIVING A PRESENT FROM THE VICAR OF SKIRWITH, CUMBERLAND. — CHRISTMAS EVE, 1888. Beautiful casket, all bordered with gold ! Thy picturesque scenes have a charm ; The more I thy lovely exterior behold, My interest grows more and more warm. And really, I'm thinking, 'tis time to begin. For my raptures are at the full tide To know the mysterious something within, — The secret reposing inside. Now, up comes the lid ! and oh, what a scene ! There are biscuits of every mould ; In Havour and taste they're lit for the Queen, And worthy the casket of gold. FIELD FLOWERS. 239 I'm certain the time would go smoothly and pleasant, — At least for a fleeting half-hour, — To nibble a few from this kind Christmas present, — To watch them how nicely they'll lower. So thinking, the very best thing seems to me To eat them, and not think to save them ; And so they shall figure in honour at tea, And we'll think of the giver who gave them. CHRISTMAS AT SKIRWITH. (December 29th, 1888.) Safely I've left the whirling train. And reached my home once more ; The Christmas festival is past, The joyous season's o'er. The evergreens still grace the wall, And still their charms display, With all the glow they gave upon The morn of Christmas day. But memory takes me far away Amongst the hills and dells ; Again I hear the mellow sound Of Skirwith's Christmas bells. I hear the rapid mountain stream Winding its rugged way, Laughing to scorn the boulders huge That would its progress stay. Again I view the Pennine Range, — Old Crossfell, crowned with snow, And shining bright as silver, in The winter's sunny glow. Again I'm seated at the hearth, 'Mongst Skirwith's kindly friends, And taste the good things of the earth, Whilst all to sweetness tends. 240 FIELD FLOWERS. Often in memory sweet shall I Those pleasant hours review, And they will e'er seem fresh and green, All bright and sunny too. A WEDDING RETROSPECT. (St. Peter's Church, Hunslet.) Oh, well do 1 remember The thirteenth of September ! The sun in glorious splendour shone above ; The trees in gold and green Were in summer beauty seen, And the breezes bore a fragrance fraught with love. That day seemed to appear The loveliest in the year, — All nature seemed determined to be gay ; Whilst a certain pretty church Had received within its porch A pair of lovers, who were happy as the day. From its rich stained windows bright Streamed a Hood of coloured light, All the tints of rainbow beauty were displayed : Whilst they at the altar stood, And their new life appeared in bud, The church in sunny splendour was arrayed. Outside were maidens fair, Who had bid good bye to care, All so jubilant and happy, looking nice ; From the church door to the gate These maidens fair did wait, Holding something looking very much like rice. The bridegroom and the bride Had scarcely stepped outside, When a bustle past description might be seen : Just over was the marriage, And whilst rushing to their carriage, There was something like a hailstorm on the green. FIELD FLOWERS. 241 As the carriage rolled away, The sunbeams seemed to play And dance in sparkling lustre on the wheels ; And gay were those inside, For bliss was at full tide — Such happiness as true love ever feels. Oh, 'twas a happy time : All nature seemed to rhyme,- — Life's pathway looked so pleasant, smooth, and straight, When the marriage rite was done, And the two were joined in one, On the thirteenth of September, eighty-eight. LIFE'S CHANGES " All things work together for good/' Is there a golden chain Of good runs through the whole Of life's events, the varied train Which persecute the soul ? Can anguish, pain, and death, Conflicting cares and fears, When all things breathe as in one breath • ' This is a vale of tears f " When fiercest storms bequeath But ruin unto man, And everything seems dark beneath Life's strange, mysterious plan ? Linked with these stern decrees, Can the aspiring soul Pierce through the gloomy, sombre haze And see its brilliant goal 1 c What more need we desire With this assurance driven 1 This life is the refining fire Which fits the soul for heaven. 242 FIELD FLOWERS. I [ere the rude marble takes Its shape, true and refined ; Stern tribulation's chisel makes The godly, perfect mind. Yes, there's a golden chain Of good runs through the whole Of life's events, to those who gain The sunshine of the. soul. EASTER HYMN. Bright the sun with cheerful ray O'er the plains of Judah shone, When arose the Lord of day, When the glorious work was done. E're the morning beams were shed, Mary wandered through the gloom To the grave where Christ was laid, But to find an empty tomb. Whilst she weeps, two angels bright On the darksome scene appear, — Beings from the realms of light, Comfort her with words of cheer : — " He is risen," the angels say,— " He who died for sinful man; Death and hell now own His sway, Wrought is the redeeming plan." Pour your strains, you Easter bells. Angels strike your heavenly lyres ; Each who in the earth now dwells, Come and join its earthly choirs : Let your songs of praise ascend, Sweetly mingling in one leaven; All your love in raptures send To the glorious King of heaven. FIELD FLOWERS. 243 A REFLECTION. ON SEEING A GARLAND OF FLOWERS ON A TOMBSTONE IN HOLBECK CHURCHYARD. Again I see on yonder tomb. Cull'd from the garden, sweet and new, A garland fair of flowers in bloom, All sparkling bright with drops of dew. How beautiful ! but soon they fade And die, yet others take their place : Those gems by loving hands are laid, Fraught with the simplest, noblest grace. Stranger or strangers they're to me Who bring the flowers — who sleep within ; But when such tender deeds I see, I feel that I and they are kin. THE OCEAN. AN ACROSTIC. (To the Right Hon. W. H. Smith, M.P.) Wide waste of waters, circling our fair isle, In all your grandeur, smooth and tempest-toss'd, Lend your great aid ! Still let your billows smile, Lit with a sun-glow all around our coast ! In peace and plenty on your breast the while Allow the welcome messengers of peace More, even more, to bring fruits of the earth's increase. Hither by thee all tribes of earth shall come, — E'en barbarous nations shall our empire greet : Near draws the time when peace shall thwart the gloom, Ruling supreme ; and not one warlike fleet Yon glorious sun shall see, when friendship is complete. So shall the holy fire of Christian love Mix and diffuse its blessings through the earth : In peace and safety, then, all men may rove Through darkest regions, for that glorious birth Has yet to give true life, where now is nought but dearth. 244 FIELD FLOWERS. THOUGHTS IN SKIRWITH CHURCHYARD, CUMBERLAND. (To E. \V. Parker, Esq., Skirwith Abbey, Cumberland.— Christmas-clay, 1889.) Whilst treading Skirwith's Churchyard green, Alone at Christmas-tide, I saw amidst the tranquil scene, . A grave-plot, fair and wide. Twas guarded by a low stone fence, Distinct from all around : The conseci-ation seemed intense Of this neat space of ground. Two marble crosses graced the spot, A token true of love ; They told of children not forgot, Whose home was up above, I thought, so short a time on earth, How small the earthy leaven ! How fair and pure their second birth, Which knows no death, in heaven ! TO THE MEMORY OF SIR EDWARD BAINES. AN ACROSTIC. Endeared to all by silken bonds of love ( Death ! thou alone dost prove how strong those ties). Where shall we find who in our ranks doth move Another friend we so revere and prize 1 Rich in those charms which grace the heart and mind, Dear to us all, for he to all was kind. Bright was his sun through his long summer's day, And all his path was graced with fruits and flowers In rich luxuriance all along the way ; Nor did he waste his sunny, golden hours. Each of those flowers he trained ; the same shall bloom, Shall breathe their hallowed fragrance o'er his tomb. YORKSHIRE DIALECT POEMS, -^-oXKoo- " Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short but simple annals of the poor." — Gray. YORKSHIRE DIALECT POEMS. — ♦E* — T'YORKSHIRE PUDDIN ■ OR, ROBERT LEE AN T'WIFE. A fearful storm wun daay began 'Tween Robert Lee an t'wife, Fer they, like moast o' fowk ya naw, Heel little bits o' strife. Nah Missis Lee an t'dowters three, Gat nicely on tagether ; Bud offen fer poor Robert Lee 'Twer varry stormy weather. Sum wimmin mack ta mich ta dew Abaght a little thing, He'd neer lied sich a bitter doas Sin he bowt t'weddin l'ing ; Az t'heat an t'thunner varry oft Turns t'beer i' t'barrels sour Soa luv's sweet cream did Lizzy change I' monny a evil hour. Ya'll wonder wat 'twer all abaght, Ah '11 tell ya varry sooin ; They'd all agree'd ta hev a off, Ta get back hoani at nooin ; An soa they wanted Robert Lee Ta staay at hoam an cook ; Bud Robert blew t'idea awaay Along wi't bacca smook. 248 DIALECT POEMS. Nah Robert kep' a huckster shop, An soa thear'z net mich daght At sha'd be often kep' at hoam, An he'd be often aght. Ov course it wern't hiz job ta cook, That Lizzy Lee weel knew ; Yet still he cud av dun fer wunce, But that he wodn't dew. Then Lizzy in a tiff began To cry an show a tear : Sha sed " Wha Robert, nah, alive neer Been aght this monny a year. Hah can ta fashun ta refuse Ta staay at hoam fer wunce 1 Tha'z nivver made a dinner yet, Tha silly, stupid dunce. Tha nivver gav a helpin hand, Same az another man ; Ah think another sich as thee Ther wern't sin t'world began. Aye duzn't ta like thi pleasures, lad ? Tha likes ta be at ease,— Tha owt ta hev a coach an four, An dine on ducks an peas. Ah cudn't trust t'dinner i' thi hands, Ah really dew confess, Ah'm refght weel sewer tha'd spoil it all Yes, it ud be a mess. Soa tha can goa, ah'll staay at hoam, A/ ah hev alius dun ; Bud tha'll be back wen t'dinner's cook'd, Yes, tha'll mind number wun. Thee frame ta mack a puddin ! wha ! Tha'rt like soft Billy Bates, Fer deary me, tha duzn't naw hah To scrape a few potaits. DIALECT POEMS. 249 Naay really ! ah'm sa vex'd ta think Hah silly ah hev been, I' spendin all mi bit o' wind, An noa good to be seen." Sez Robert, " nah, it's time tha'd dun, — Ah've taen it varry cooil, I' all this temper at tha's shown, An nock'd me off" o' t'stooil. Wha lass, ah'm reight asham'd o' thee, — All t'fowk i' t'street can hear ; Tha raves an storms at sich a rate Az if tha wern't all thear. Ah think a temper sich az thine Ah nivver met afoar, Wha, they can hear thi screamin voice At t'other side o' t'moar. An wen tha'z up wate'er tha sez, Tha duzn't care a tig, Nah that's t'warst fault tha hez, nah Lizz, If it izn't, clash mi wig. Tha naws wen t'parson ax'd tha, Lizz, Wen we wer gettin wed, ' ' Wilt thou luv, honour, an obaay " 1 " Ah will," tha sharply sed. Wen duz ta luv an honour show 1 An wen duz ta obaay 1 Wha lass, i' o'mast ivvery thing Tha will hev thi awn waay. It's t'britches lass tha wants to wear, Bud them ah'll ne'er tack off, Ah naw a better trick than that, T'britches ah'll nivver doff. Noa Lizz, tha'll ne'er be t'maister here Nah try az best tha can, Tha'll alius find in Robert Lee The stuff that makes the man." Q 250 DIALECT POEMS. Sez Lizz, "a man at's nivver eook'd A dinner caan't be wun." "Just let me hev a word," sez Bol), " Ah licvn't gotten dun ; Nah then, fer peace an quietness Ah'll staay at hoam fer wunce, Ah'll cook ya t'dinner an ya'll see Ah'm noan sa mich a dunce. An nah tha'z hed a deal ta saay Baght cookin t'bit o' stuff, Bud nivver mind, ah'll manage, tho" It maay be rayther ruff. Ah'll boil t'potaits, rost t'joint o' beef, Mack t'Yorkshire puddin tew : Wha, bless mi life, ower cookin, Lizz, Tha macks sa mich ta dew. 'Tween one cook an another, wha Thear'z net a pin ta chews, It's net i' t'skill o' t'cook, net it, It's hevin t'stuff ta use. Wha onny wun ma mack a cook, That's if thear'z owt abaght,— If he'z good things ta mack it ov, — He'll net mack wun withaght." o* " Bud Robert, really thear'z sum art I' cookin joints o' meit, Bud after all ah've sed an dun, Ah'm sewer tha'll dew it reight. An wat ah've sed, wha, nivver heed, Tha naws ah meant nowt in it ; Tha naws wen ivver mi temper'z up, It's daan in hauf a mi nit. An tha'z sa varry sooin put rong, Tha sooin tacks things amiss, - Tha naws ah luv tha, that tha duz, — Robert ! ah'll gie tha a kiss.' DIALECT POEMS. 251 Then raand hiz neck her arms sha threw, An gav him wun on t'cheek, An such a sweet un, it wer worth All t'fratchin ov a week. " Az usual, flighty still, sez Bob, Tha'z alius all or noan ; Ah wish tha'd lewk sharp aght o' t'haase, Ah want ta be aloan." " Fer all ah've shown such luv," sez Lizz, " Robert, tha'z hard az flint, — Bud ah nobbut want mi bonnet on, An improver on behint." " An then tha'U tack an haar, at least, Ta square thisen i' t'glass ; Bud wun like thee, at'z wed, ah think, Wha onny waay tha'd pass. Be t'waay tha'rt fraimin 't seems ta me Tha'll net get off till nooin, — Peakin thisen i' t'glass like that, Ah sal be jealous sooin." " Naay, Robert, doant saay soa, nah doant, Its nobbut a bit o' pride ; Ah dress'd az smart, tha naws ah did Afore ah wer thi bride. An nah ah'm baan a shopin lad, Ah'll show tha summat sooin, — Ah'll let tha see a nice silk dress, Wen ah cum hoam at nooin. Yes lad, ah'm bahn ta Leeds, bi t'bus, Ta buy a new silk dress, — Ah've a few goldies i' mi purse, An ah'll think o' thee, ah guess. Ah'll buy a new silk henkitcher, Sum collars, gluvs, an scarves, An other little things ah'll buy At really tha desarves." 252 DIALECT POEMS. " Bud really, Lizz, nah after all Tha hezn't been dewin reight ; Tha naws i' all my dealins at Ah like ta hev weight fer weight. Tha naws thear'z nowt 'tween thee an me, At ah keep aght o' t'seet, An that's t'waay man an wife sxid dew Ta act up honour breel. Tha naws ah like ta see tha smart,— Tha can hev owt ta wants ; What macks tha keep all t'brass sa sly 1 Ah'm net a chap at rants. Nah tha'rt a reight, good careful lass, An aims at honour's mark ; Bud tha'z a fault i' t'brass affairs, I' keepin me i' t'dark. Ah'm noan wun o' theas niggard soarts At caants up ivvery coin; Ah like a good broad oppen purse An boath ov uz ta join : An owt i' reason tha ma spend, — Ah's nivver care a straw, An here tha'z saved ten golden sovs, An nivver let ma naw." " It's true, lad, what tha'z sed," sez Lizz, " Thear sud noa secrets be ; Thear'z net a hawpenny tha keeps back, Nah ah'll act t'same ta thee. .Mi conscience tells ma plain cnufi' Tha sud av nawn afoar; Ah'll mack a faithful promise, lad, Ah'll sarve tha soa na moar. An lad, ah naw ah'd ne'er na need To keep tins brass sa squat; Tha ne'er begrudges nowt ah get, Tt duz'nt matter wat. DIALECT POEMS 253 A better-hearted man than thee, More honest, straight, an true, Ah cudn't fin', if ah began An search'd all England throo. '.-■ An t'best o' names ta other fowk Baght thee ah alius giv ; An ah'll neer blaw tha up na more Az long az ivver ah live. Nah arn't all these grand promises 1 Ah feel sa full o' bliss, Ah really cannot help it lad, Ah'll gie tha another kiss. Nah then, ah'll goa ! stop, let ma see, Ah'll tell tha whear t 'things ar, An then tha'll net mack noa mistack, At least net varry far. Thear'z t'seck o' flaar on t'cellar stairs, Taaties i' t'owd oak chist, Thear'z t'eggs an t'milk on t'pantry shelf,- Nah mind ther iz nowt miss'd. An Robert lad, thear'z t'egg paacler, 1' t'pantry in a jar ; Just put a touch o' that in it, It'll mack it better far. An nah tha naws wat tha'z ta dew, Soa lad, ah mun be goin, An wen tha mixes t'puddin up, Mix it wi that wooden spooin. Bud deary me, ha t'time duz rly, An all mi lasses waitin, An here ah'm spendin all mi time I' all this soart o' pratin. Nah Robert lad, tha'z aar heead cook, An bud a new beginner, Yet ah believe lad, after all, Tha'll mack a reight nice dinner." 254 DIALECT POEMS. " Good-bye," sez Lizz ; " Good-bye," sez Bob ; " Well ! really ! it's a rumman, Wen wun just fairly reckons up That luvly creatur' woman ; Thear'z far moar saars than sweets fra em, 'T least moar than foak suppoases ; My share's a quate o' vinegar, Ta a smell ov oil o' roases. Bud still, wi all theas sweets an saars, Ah'll giv aar Lizz her due, A warmer, truer-hearted lass Than her, ah nivver knew. I' all theas dusts tween me an Lizz, Ah naw ah'm oft i' t'rong, — If thear'z noa kindness, thear'z noa luv, An peace can ne'er last long. Poor Lizz, an nah sha's made a vow, Sha'll blow ma up na moar ; — Ah sud av hed moar faith if sha'd Ne'er made a vow befoar. Bud that's enuff, nah ah mun frame An get on wi mi wark ; It's t'first attempt, bud nivver mind, Ah'll hev it up ta t'mark. Well cum, here goas, ah'll scraip t'potaits, An that sal be t'first job ; Ah'll hev a pan o' watter on t'fire, Or let it stan on t'hob ; Then wen ah've gotten t'taaties dun, Theas marra peys ah'll sheel ; An t'taaits they lewk sa nice an fresh, They'll all scraip varry weel. Well ! ah neer hed a nicer job Afoar i' all mi life ; Wha t'hardest job theaz wimmin hez Iz just ta hannal a nife ; DIALECT POEMS. 255 That iz, ah mean i' t'cookin job, — Wat t'noise hez been abaght ; Nah, after this, ah'll neer refuse Wen Lizz wants ta goa aght. Nah, ah mun hev a roarin tire, Ah'll fetch sum lumps o' coil ; Ah'll net put peys an taaits on yet, They'll net tack long ta boil. Bud ah'm az weel hev t'beef hung daan, It's net a bit ta sooin, That iz, ta hev it nicely cook'd Bi hauf-past twelve at nooin. Thear, t'beef 's hung daan, t'potaaits ar scraip'd, Thear'z net a pey ta sheel ; My stars ! soa far, all goas first-rait, All things lewks varry weel. Nah then, ah think it's nearly time At t'taaits an peys wer on, — If ah boil em all tagether, wha, T'job al be sooinest dun. Thay're boath tagether wen on t'plate, Ah think thay'll boath agree ; Nah that's a point ah'll leearn aar Lizz, T'idea belongs ta me ; An' here's a pan at's big enuff, — A reight un, this al dew ' Nah if wun pan al hod em all, Wat's fuse o' hevin two ? An nah fer t'puddin ! t'puddin aye ! That's t'craanin job ov all ; If that's a mess, all else ah've dun Iz sewer ta goa ta t'wall. An ah doant understand this job, This mixtur ov a mess ; An Lizz sed nowt baght t'quantities, Well ! them ah's'll hev ta guess. 256 DIALECT POEMS. Well cum, let's see, whear'z t'puddin bowl, Ah'll fill 't hauf full o' flaar; An ah moant ferget that egg paader It pantry in a jar ; An ha much o' this egg paader 1 Aar Lizz sed just a touch, — If ah put a table spooinful in It al noan be ower mich. An then a couple o' eggs, beside, An that al sattle t'job ; Bud stop ! thear'z t'quart o' milk an salt ; Nah mind ! be careful, Bob ! Fer tha mun watch this puddin, at It duzn't goa amiss,— If tha'z ta prove thysen a cook, Wha, it al be i' this. An ah've ta use this wooden spooin, Thear'z sum mat here ta feel, Thear must be magic in't, or else Another ud dew az weel. Ah see, it's heavy wark ta dew, T'stufF's ta be nock'd abaght ! An ah mun use boath arm an spooin, It weant be reight withaght. Bud after all ! nah, this iz wark ! Ah pity aar poor Lizz ! Thear hezn't been a sweatin job, Bud ah mean ta saay, this iz. Be heng'd, thear'z summat rong i' this, It's awther i' me or t'flaar ; Wha ah've been standin smackin this At leeast fer hauf an haar. An still it's lumpy, wha, thear'z lumps Az big az a wallnut shell ; Wativver's thear amiss wi it, Naay, really ! ah caan't tell. DIALECT POEMS. 257 Nah then, ah see, wen ah hev geen Mi brains a extra squeeze, Ah've geen it t'quate o' milk at wunce Astead o' bi degrees. Ah's nivver get it fine, ah'm sewer, Ta t'fineness ov a cream, — Noa, wen ah teem it aght o' t'bowl, Oh ! wat a trubled stream. But az it iz, it'll hev ta goa, Ah'll batter it na moar ; It's net sa mich amiss ! heigh up ! Thear daan it goas on t'floar. Well ! well ! i' t'ups an daans o' life, Thear iz a mony turns, — Soa offen thowt the ploughman bard, Ah'm meanin Bobby Burns. " The best laid schemes o' mice an men," Sez he, " Gang aft a gley." An he wer reight i' wat he sed, — Things oft goa rong wi me. Bud ah man try an mack t'best on't, Ah munnat let it ligj Ah'll scrape it up az weel'z ah can, An tack it aght fer t'pig : Then ah mun frame an start agean, Fer Lizz al be here sooin ; Ah daght thear'll be az far az ah see, A thunderstorm at nooin. Ah'll try an square things up agean, Az Lizz al nivver naw ; Bud then thear'z t'brocken bowl, that thing Al gie ma t'length o' t'law. Ah'm reight weel sewer sha'll fin' ma aght, Ah maay az weel confess ; Ah've wiped all t'floar wi t'dishclaat, still It lewks a bonny mess. 258 DIALECT POEMS. Well, ah mun try mi hand agean, Ah hope wi better luck ; This time ah hope wi far moar ease, An less than hauf o' t'muck. Av sich a job i' hand ta daay Az ah ne'er hed afoar ; Oh ! ah mun mind wativver ah dew At this duzn't goa on t'floar. Nah ah's get better on wi this, Ah've gotten moar i' t'waay, — I' all degrees o' larnin, wha Fowk moastly hev ta paay. Nah this goas on i' better style, It's really fine an thin, It's yolla az a marrigow], Lewks beautiful i' t'tin. Well nah, ah think all t'job al dew, Except this kitchin tloar, Ah hev wunce tried ta clean it, bud 'Twer warse ner 'twer afoar. An wat a smell thear iz i' t'haase, A fizzick soart o' smell, — Bud wat it iz, or ha it cums, Ah'm blest if ha can tell. Bi gum, thear'z Lizz an t'lasses here, They're cummin ower t'moar, — They're ower fine fer fc'kitchin, soa They're goin ta t'front doar ; They've sich a load o' bundles tew Az ivver ah did see, — Ah'U goa an oppen t'doar fer em, Thear'z summat thear fer me." " Nah Robert, here we ar," sed Lizz, " Wi sich a load o' stuff; Tha seems ta lewk ! ah spose tha thinks This time we've bowt enuff. DIALECT POEMS. 259 An deary me, wi carryin theas Ah'm ommost fit ta drop ; Oh ! what a horrid smell i' t'haase, It's like a doctor's shop. Hez ta been tackin med'cine lad 1 Izn't ta sa varry weel 1 Thear'z summat rong, tha lewks sa flat, Ha duz ta really feel 1 " "Thear'z nowt amiss wi me," sed Bob, " Ah'm capt wi t'job mesell ; Ivver sin ah put that puddin daan, Thear'z been this fizziky smell." " It's strange," sez Lizz, " bud nivver mind, Cum lewk at mi silk dress, — A bigger beauty than it iz, Tha nivver saw, ah guess ; Aye izn't it a nice un, lad 1 It al stand up bi itsen ! An it's a bargain tew, its cost, Wha, nobbut two paand ten. An this iz mi new bonnet, lad, Tha'll hev ta lewk at all ; An this iz wat ah've bowt beside, A handsome Paisley shawl. Nah, theaz ar good substantial things, Yes, theaz ar things at wears Wi wun at's careful, sich az me, Wha lad, they'll last fer years. Nah lad, we'll hev a lewk at thine ; Thear'z summat grand fer thee, — A new silk pocket henkitcher, 'Twer t'best at ah cud see. A box o' fine linn collars tew, — Noan o' them paper things, Whear t'button hoils split whene'er ya sneeze, An fends stick aght like wings. 260 DIALECT POEMS. An here's a pair o' nice kid gl'uvs, An two blue satin ties ; Here'z a gold albert guard an pin, Nah, duzn't theas dazzle thi eyes 1 But deary me ! that nasty stink ! Thear'z summat rong ah daght, Let's goa i' t'kitchin, lad, an see If we can mack it aght. Cum oil ! nay ! nay ! fer goodness sake, Wat ivver's ta been abaght 1 Wha t'kitchin's like a pig-sty At's nivver been cleaned aght. An hez ta brocken mi puddin bowl ? Hez t'puddin gon on t'floor 1 An then, tha mucky thing tha, hez Ta swept it aght o' t'doar?" " Nah thear tha goas agean," sez Bob, " Gunpaader ! fire ! and tow ! If thear's a midge cuius i' thi road, Tha'rt ready fer a row." " Wha, drat thi silly heead," sez Lizz, " Wat woman ud dew less, When sha'd left a nice clean kitchin, fer Ta find it sich a mess ? Hez ta been usin beesam tu't 1 Wat's ta been dewin wee't? Fer ah declare ah nivver saw A haase i' sich a seet. Well naay, ah think ov all the hoils, Aye, wat ah've lived ta see — Wha Jimmy Johnson's donkey 'ud Ave framed az weel az thee. An this iz t'puddin number two, Az yolla az a guinea ; Wat ivver hez ta putten in't ? Wer thear ivver sich a ninny ? DIALECT POEMS. 261 Wat ivver hez ta putten in't 1 Be sharp an let ma see ; Yes, that's whear all this stench cums throo, Aye deary, deary me !" " Ah've just dun wat tha sed," sez Bob, " Ah've neer dun nowt na moar, Exceptin thrawin t'puddin daan At top o' t'kitchin floar. Thear'z flaar, an eggs, an milk in it, Egg paader, just a touch ; Bud still ah think bi t'colour on't, Ah've geen it ower much. An lewk nah, here'z t'egg paader jar, It's labePd, lewk tha, Lizz ; Ah must hev put ta mich on't in, Thear'z whear all t'mischief iz." " That's t'Turkey rheubub jar," sez Lizz; " Hez ta been usin that 1 ? Ah think ov all the stupid men, Tha'z noa moar sense ner t'cat." " Thear'z truth i' wat tha sez," sez Bob, " T'cat fun it aght foar me ; Ah really caan't help laffin nah, Wen t'thing ah just nah see. Az sooin az ivver it went on t'floar, It cum an gat a lick ; It did'nt get a second, noa, It bolted varry quick." "Yes, tha ma laff an chaff," sez Lizz, " Yes, tha ma think tha shines, Ta mack two Yorkshur puddins, An boath net fit fer swines. An' this, the varry smell ov it Iz fit ta stop mi breeath ; An oh ! aar bonny pig, ah'm fear'd That stuff al be its deeath." 262 DIALECT POEMS. " Aar pig al tack na harm," sez Bob, " It's reckoned good fer t'blood ; Tha'z aght o' soarts, tack mi advice, Hev sum, ta dew tha good." " Naay, net a touch fer me," sez Lizz, " Duz ta want ta hev ma deead, Tha owt ta ho\ ii all bhisen— A powltis raand thi heead. Nah all aar bit o" dinner's spoil'd, Whear'z been thi ees an brains? Afoar ah'd dine on pouce like that, Ah'd dine on brewer's grains. Ah cucln't touch a taste o' that Fer all thear iz i' t'taan ; An still ah feel sa faint, wha naay, Ah'm fit to tumal daan." "Cum nah," sez Bob, " who'z moast ta blame? That label led ma rong, Ah thowt mi wark wer goin reight, Till t'puddin smelt sa strong. Bud lass, we'll dine on wat thear'z left, T'green peys and taaits ar boil'd : Soa Lizz, tha sees, nah after all, All t'dinner izn't spoiled. Ah've boil'd em all together, lass, They're all thear i' that pan ; Ah think it's an improvement, Lizz, Upon t'owd fashond plan. T'owd style thear'd been two hoilins, — This way, wha, nobbut wun : Bi gum, bud theas potaits ar 'ard, An t'green peys ower mich dun." " Dun ! tha sez reight ! they're dun !" sez Lizz, "Wat's this tha'z puttan in't?" Sez Bob, " Wod ta hev me boil t'green peys Withaght a sprig o' mint ?" DIALECT POEMS, 263 :' Naay, that's no sprig o' mint," sez Lizz, — Well ! if ah ma nivver bite, If it izn't bitter buckbean at Ah've gotten fer t'appetite ! Wha, it ud mack a dummy speik Ta lewk at sich a job ; Whoe'er saw sich a mess az this? Tha'z cook'd uz t'dinner, Bob !" " Nah Lizz," sez Bob, "Wat can ta expect 1 ? Tha naws we've all ta leearn ; Nah all theaz little faults ah'st mend Wen ah'm made cook agean. Bud lass, let's try an mack t'best on't, It's noa use deein ower t'job, It's reight, ah've made a mess ov it, Az sewar az my name's Bob. Ah see nah whear ah've made t'mistack, Fer want o' prudent thowt, Throo careless, stupid self-consate, This dinner'z cum ta nowt. Bud Lizz, tha naws, we're boath i' t'fault, Tha caan't bud saay we ar ; T'egg paader label spoil'd all t'job On t'Turkey rheubub jar. This Yorkshire puddin, Lizz, beats owt, — Yet who's i' t'fault bud thee 1 Bud az fer spoilin t'peys an taaits, Wha t'blame belongs ta me. An nah, i' this spoiled dinner, Lizz, Ah really think ah see Sum points in moral aspect, at Resemble thee an me. Tho' mich good stuff wer in that bowl, This truth we must confess, That Turkey rheubub made it all A nasty, nawshus mess. That spi'ig ov bitter herb, ta me A truthful hint conveys, 264 DIALECT POEMS. It's spoiled theaz dainties at we luv, Aar new potaits an peys. So bitter tempers mar life's sweets, An olFen thraws a gloom Whear luv'z breet sunshine owt ta be, An kindness owt ta bloom. Wat sultry haars aar haarthston's seen, It minds me o' them lands Whear t'fiery winds sa offen sweep Cross t'dreary lmrnin sands. Bud if tha hez a temper, Lizz, Fur it ah'm oft ta blame ; A breath al feed the slumberin fire, An raise it ta a Hame." "It's true lad, ivvery word," sez Lizz, " Nah, ah can see it all, My temper'z marr'd arr wedded life Wi bitters warse ner gall. All t'words ah've used, an t'airs ah've shown, Ah shame ta think ov now, Bud we'll renew aar marriage pledge Wi a moar sacred vow. An wat's appeared ta goa amiss, Nah seems a lucky hit ; Thear'z good sprung aght ov it, soa nah Ah doan't regret a bit. Nah lad, throo life we've boath ta walk 'Men" t'stoans or t'bloomin flowers : Cum then, let's tread on t'bonny green, Neath t'honey-suckled bowers." Such iz the power ov passion's fire, All pleasures it consumes, Thear'z mony a sweet domestic flower It withers, ere it blooms. Wat moral lessons we may learn From ivvery page ov life, An they'll dew weel who think an act Like Robert Lee an t'wife. DIALECT POEMS. 265 JOHNNY GREEN'S COARTIN AFFAIR; OR, T'ENGAGEMENT RING. A widdower nawn az Farmer Green, Lived in a far-off place, Soa far, hiz sons hed nivver seen A woman's form or face ; Fer t'mother died wen they wer young, An on he went throo life, Ne'er thinkin in a serious waay Abaght another wife. Ta t'market he went ivvery week, A taan sum miles a waay, Bud nivver tewk hiz lads wi him, Net even fer a daay. Year in, year aght, he alius kep' Em toilin on at t'farm, Fer wi sich wark he thowt they'd cum Ta varry little harm. He tewk ther weshin cloas i' t'trap, — An wen he went agean On t'market daay, he browt em back All mengled nice an clean ; T'same time he browt a lot o' stuff, An it wer really good, It made hiz pantry shelf ta groan Wi rich an dainty food. At t'last he promised t'owdest lad, A man nah nearly grown, He'd let him goa ta t'statty fair When t'grass hed gotten mown. An t'farmer man sud goa wi him Who'd wunce ta t'statty been ; This farmer man wer Billy Brown, An t'son wer Johnny Green. Johnny sooin hed hiz mowin dun, Then off he went wi glee Ta dress him in hiz better duds, This statty fair ta see ; R 266 DIALECT POEMS. T'pony wer yoked, then off they went — An in a couple ov haars They'd landed at ther journey's end, At t'sign o' "T' Jolly Tars." Then Billy tewk him weel abaght, An made him gape an stare ; He showed him all t'bazaars an stalls, Belongin t'statty fair ; A l)it o' reight good horsmanship He saw i' t'rider's show, All t'horsmanship at Johnny'd seen Wer wen he'd folla'd t'plough. At t'statty thear wer country lads An lasses in a raw, All rosy cheek'd an bloomin Az t'morning sun ere saw ; I' corderoys an gaudy prints, T' simple country beauty : All seemin willin ta be hired, An ready all fer duty. An what strange seets did Johnny see, Wonder on ivvery hand, — Bud thear wer summat tewk hiz ee, He cudn't understand : Young fellows wi ther sweethearts Wer walking up an daan, — He'd ne'er seen owt like that afoar, He'd nivver seen a taan. He asked Billy wat they wer, Walkin abaght wi t'men, — " Theaz luvly things," he called em, He cudn't tell hizsen ; " Wat ivver ar they ? Ah'm aloan — They all hev wun bud me ! " " Wha, deary me, they're sweethearts, lad," Sed Billy, " duzn't ta see." DIALECT POEMS. 267 Ther wer a glow ov genuine luv At Johnny cudn't disguise, An he wer all t'young man he thowt At hedn't got a prize. I' ivvery couple at he met, He seemed ta see a charm ; He liked theaz sweethearts, an he long'd Ta hev wun on hiz arm. "Hah do they get theaz sweethearts? Fer goodness tell ma, dew ! They lewk sa nice an luvin, an Ta me they're summat new." — " They fall i' luv," sed Billy, " an Call wun another dears, An then start coartin az tha sees, Fer months, may be fer years. Then he buys summat at sha wears, A bonny little thing ; — Ah think they call it, — let ma see, — Aw, an engagement ring ! An this engagement ring, tha knaws, It means he'll nivver leave her, It means he'll luv her till he dees, An nivver wunce deceave her. Then sha'll buy him a pair o ! gluvs, Or summat varry nice, Fer wen they're ower t'heead i' luv, They nivver think o' t'price ; They tack ther quiet walks at neet, An offen squeeze an kiss, It's all i' t'coartin bizness that — In it thear'z nowt amiss. Sumtimes they fratch, an then they pairt, Throo little bits o' rows. Then all t'nice stuff tha hears em talk, They call it " brocken vows." •_m;n dialect poems. An then sha'll in a soart ov huff, Call him a faithless thing ; An send him back vri scorn an pvide, This fine engagement ring. Then hack ta her this pair o' gloves, He in a passion sends,— Noa matter if they're split up t'hack, Or aght o' t'finger ends : An t'letters at they've written 'haght Ther happy neets an daays, They thraw em ov a heap on t'fire, An finish in a Maze. Soa nah tha naws if tha hegins, T'warst hez ta goa \vi t'hest ; Tween t 'kisses thear iz mony a sigh, An mony a neet's unrest : Tha sleeps just like a farmer nah. Ah nivver hear tha moan ; .lohnny, if tha'll tack my advice, Tha'll let theas girls aloan. An t'coartin time iz all a dream, — Ah've off en heeard em saay, They nivver fairly wacken up Till after fcVeddin daay ; Thea'z plenty o' time ta think haght them, Soa cooil tha daan an wait ; Sooin az tha'z shuv'd on t'weddin ring, Ta rew it's ower late." Sed .lohnny, " Wha tha'rt tawkin soft ! Ah'd stick ta her like glew ! Naay that's a thing ah'm reight weel sewer At ah sal nivver dew ; If wun o' them wer really mine. Or wod lie varry soin, Me heart ud be az leet, ah cud, Wha, nearly jump ower t'mooin." DIALECT POEMS. " Johnny, theas luvers oft get warm ; They tell em at they'll dee, Or they'll commit a sewicide, — It's silly, duzn't ta see ; — That iz, if they weant hev em, fer Luv iz sa varry strong, It offen gies ther heeads a twist, An sumtimes sends em rong. An sum ar tickle, — ah knew wun, — Ta luv her he hed vow'd ; Bud t'luv wer just like hot peys soup, It vari-y sooin went cowd. O mony a time an oft he'd sed At sha wer hiz fer ivver, — Bud Johnny, wat's ta think sha did ? Sha did'nt jump it rivver. noa, ther wer another chap, On her he'd cast hiz eye, Who'd ax'd her wunce, an nah sha smiled On him wen passin by ; That witchin smile made all things reight, Sha tewk this sweetheart, John ; Sweethearts, like her improvers, Sha put em off an on. Within a fortnit fra that time, Sha wed this other chap ; O bosh to sich like luv az that, It izn't worth a rap. Nah Johnny, wat's ta think ta that 1 Wha bless mi life, t'idea, Sha thowt na moar abaght her chap Ner 'baght a cup o' tea." Sed Johnny, " nah ah've listened we^l Ta all tha's hed ta saay, Bud ah sal hev a sweetheart, lad, Wat ivver stands i' t'waay ; 269 !7U DIALECT P0EM8. Ah'll nivver sattle dahn agean Ta sow, or reap, or plough, Until ah hev wun o' me awn ! Billy, tha hearz that vow." But they'd a niony miles ta goa, An t'sun wer goin dahn : They yoked ther pony, crack'd ther whip, An bad good-bye ta t'tahn. Bud Johnny's heart wer all aglow, Hiz brain wer in a whirl, Az passin by a bonny farm He saw a luvly girl. Sha sat beneath a apple tree, Upon a rustic seat, An just beyond it, smilin, stood A field o' golden wheat. He'd oft admired hiz fayther's stock, Hiz orchard an hiz farm, Bud this wun show'd an extra grace, — This maiden gav the charm. Johnny pull'd up, — ta'ards her he went, Wi ray ther bashful face, — A simple country lad, bud still Hiz heart wer in t'reight place. "Ah just wer driving hoam," sed he, " Bud really cudn't pass A yard beyond this orchard gate,— Excuse me, bonny lass ! Excuse me axin yer sweet name ; " Sed she, " it's Annie White, Bud really wat iz that ta you ? Just drive off home, — good-night ! Sha turned awaay ; he seized her hand ; " Nay, net sa sooin ta part ! If ah've made free ta seize yer hand, Dear lass, ya've stown mi heart." DIALECT P0EM8. 271 " Ah doant naw you, young man," sed she, Wi modest, crimson blush ; " Bud oh, mi fayther'z cumin, see, He'z just behint that bush." Sha'd hardlins whisper'd t'warnin words, Wen t'owd man popt i' sight, — Wi cheery, honest, full, rahnd face, Thear stood owd Farmer White. " Hollou ! hollou," sed he, " wat nah ? Young man, ah saay, wat's this ? " Fer he wer just on t'spot i' time, Ta see him steil a kiss ; " It seems ta me az if ah'd cum Ta sooin upon this scene, An who ar't tha, an wat'z thi name ? " Sed he, " Ah'm Johnny Green. Mi fayther hez a goodly farm,— He lives sum miles awaay, An ah've neer been sa far fra hoam Afore this varry daay. Well, nah, ah luv yaar Annie, an Ah naw at sha luvs me, Ah naw be t'waay sha'z squeazed mi hand, Sa sweet, sa luvinly." A shrewd owd man wer Farmer White, An he at wunce cud trace The features ov a dear owd friend I' Johnny'z youthful face : " Wha tha'rt a lad o' Amos Green's, A honest man an trew, An if tha'rt owt at all like him, Wha Johnny, lad, tha'll dew ! Bud wen thi fayther gets ta naw, Wativver will he saay 1 Bud he'z been guilty o' t'same thing, An luv will hev its swaay." 272 DIAL ROT POEMS. " Saay wat he will," sed Johnny Green, " Sewer az ah stand on t'grass, Thear'z nowt i' t'world can cum between Me an this bonny lass." He'd grown quite cute an shrewd, sin he Hiz mornin trip began : Bud woman's luv, wen true, it macks A quicker, nobler man. He'd got her fayther'z kind consent, Then happy az a king, He aght ov hiz breast-pocket browt A nice engagement ring. Fer durin t'daay he'd slipt awaay, Unnawn ta Billy Brown, An bowt this varry bonny ring, At a jeweller's shop i' t'taan ; Fer he'd resolved wen t'time sud come, Ta be at wunce prepared Ta show hiz earnestness an luv Ta t'girl fer whom he cared. Bud, doan't think Johnny Green wer rash, Although he seemed ta be ; Annie wer plyin t'needle weel Wen under t'apple tree ; He'd seen this specimen ov thowt, Ov management an care, — " Ah want a sweetheart an a wife," Sed Johnny, "an sha'z thear." He asked Annie wat it wer ; Sha wanted him ta " guess ; " He cudn't ; — "deary me," sed she, " It's a new Sunda dress ; Ah've finished t' waist, an glad ah am, An nah ah'm on wi t'skirt ; " Sed he, " Ah hope afoar owt's long, Ta see ya mack a shirt." DIALECT POEMS. 273 An soa sha did wi willin heart,— Sha hed'nt long ta wait ; Bud Billy wer i' t'trap aghtside, An t'neet wer growin late. Fer ivvery bird hed fun its nest, An noa sweet song wer heeard ; An t'big-, full mooin ower t'distant hills I' luvly form appeared. " Good-neet, sweet Annie, dear," sed he, " Tho' ah live far awaay, Ah'll be upon this spot agean Wen cums t'next market daay ; Wear that breet gem at sparkles soa Wi sich a pleasin hue, An naw az sewer az that iz gold At ah sal be az trew. An may aar cummin union be Withaght a flaw or blight, — Just like that bonny hawthorn tree, At blooms wi green an white ; Fer i' that hawthorn tree is seen An emblem ov luv'z power, Like aar'z it hez a sturdy green, At bears a fair white flower. At t'last cam t'weddin daay, wen he Call'd her hiz " bonny queen ; " Afoar t'next statty fair cum raand, Her name wer Mistress Green. He nivver wunce hed cause ta rew, All throo hiz varied life He found in her a source ov help, A faithful, luvin' wife. 274 DIALECT POEMS. T'HAIR O' T'HEEAD CLOCK. At t'faandry, we'd a strange owcl clock Hung up bi t'hair o' t'heead,- T'owd face wer daub'd wi t'black leead brush An t'figurs chawk'd on t'leead ; Ya naw, all t'paint wer rubb'd awaay, Wi scrubbin t'owd thing clean, An that wer t'waay they used ta dew Ta square it up agean. Bud nah, it used ta goa az weel Az onny clock o' t'soart, An wen they doctored it, wha thear Wer mony a bit o' sport. They tewk it daan wun daay, an fun It nearly red wi rust, An aght ov it they omast shack'd A shuval full o' dust. An wat did t'rust an dust all mean ? Ther nobbut wer wun ineanin, — An that wer plain enuff ta see, — It wanted reight weel cleanin. An soa ta save boath time an brass, They did it i' this waay, — Bi givin it a boilin dose Fer summat like a daay. Tho sum objected, an sed wat Wer t'use o' dewin soa, Sa long az t'clock wer willin They owt ta let it goa ; They didn't want ta tack it daan, It nobbut wanted oilin, But t'wiseheads wer determined T'owd thing sud hev a boilin. Soa they slung it inta t'boiler, An thear they let it staay ; They didn't tack it aght agean Till varry late next day ; DIALECT POEMS. 275 An then they wiped an rubbed it weel, Bud ta mack it rayther dryer, They hung it up just like a gooise Afront o' t'engine tire. Agean they hung it up on t'wall, Swung t'pendill too an fro ; They spent two full clock haars, an then They cudn't mack it goa : They tried all waays, they packed it weel Ta mack it square, an streight ; Bud noa, it wornt a bit ov use, Sumhow it wodn't goa reight. Owd Sam sed " T'clock went weel enuff Wen it wer red wi rust, An wen all t'warks wer covered wi This shuval full o' dust ;" Owd Charlie sed, " Then ah propoas We pitch t'muck in agean ; — Wen it wer full o' muck it went, It wean't goa wen it's clean." " Agreed," sed all, an in it went, An t'shuval chonced ta hit, — It made t'poor owd clock dither Az if t'wer in a fit ; Fer t'weights ran daan, an t'hands spun raand, An t'bell struck nearly a score ; T'owd clock seemed moar i' earnest then Than ivver it wer before. They coaxed it weel ; at last it went Wi a bolder, truer tick ; Nah t'Taan Hall clock keeps time wi it, — It goas, yes like a brick ; An ivvery haar i' t'daay it tells Wi a ringin, cheery nock ; Nah it's a gem, an noa mistack, Iz aar owd faandry clock. 276 DIALECT POEMS. GATHERIN NETTLES. " Here, Boh, bring aght that henkitcher, Thear'z plenty o' nettles here ; They're here az thick az they can grow, An reight uns, tew, fer beer. They're grown az rank az rank can be, They'll reaich up t;i mi chin; Ah wish we'd browt t'gert cloas basket, Ta put theas big uns in." "Nah, Boh," sez Joe, "let's boat* begin, We'll sooin hev this job settled." " Ah hevn't browt a knife," sez Bob, "An' ah cloant nieaii ta be nettled. Thee spreid rhi henkitcher on t 'grass, An cut an put cm in it ; Wha, tha can hev a donkey load I' less than haul' a niinit. An ah'll goa lig ma daan on t'grass,— Thear needs na fuss an stew Ower croppin a few nettles daan, — Ah'll leave thee t'job ta dew." " Ta hev all t' job ta dew,'' sez Joe, " Ah doant see ony fun, An thee laid sculkin on thi back. An starin up at t'sun." Sez Bob, "Bud Joe, t'sun 's varry boat. An net a bit o' breeze ; Ta mack it rayther pleasanter Ah'll lig daan under fc'trees. By Jove, it's pleasant here i' t 'shade; It's cosy, Hggin here ; This bacca's nice, nah all ah want 's A sup o' n«ttle beer. An tha'z a rattlin 'and at t'job, Tha duz it nice and clean ; T'next time ah cum a nettlin, Joe, Tha'st cum wi me agean. DIALECT POEMS. Tha might hev sarv'd tlii time ta t'job ! Just lewk, thear, claan they pop ! Aar Sally an yaar Poll al smile, Ta see uz wi that crop." " It's more ner ah can stand," sez Joe, " Ah'm reight dun up wi t'heeat, — Mi shirt's az weet az t'dishclaat, Bob, An ah'm runnin daan \vi sweeat. Ne'er mind if theas arn't prickly dogs, — Ah call em regular stingers ; Ah'm blister'd hauf way up mi arm, An reight daan ta mi fingers." An Bob, ah think ah'll drop it nah, — Ah've gotten a tidy load : An nah, ah think tha caan't dew less Than carry it on t'road." " Ah cudn't dew nowt o' t'soart," sez Bob : " Nah, doant get in a passion ! Ta hug that load upon mi rig, Ah'm sewer ah cudn't fashon." " Ah'll finish t'job compleat," sez Joe, " Ah'll carry it misell ; Bud az fer hevin a share o' theas, Tha duzn't get a smell : Soa nab tha naws, tha hez it streight ; Nah, that affair iz settled, Abaght this job, ah'll tell tha plain, — Nah Bob, ah'm reight weel nettled. Bud then, thear'z thaasands just like thee, At's fond ov earthly treasures. At ligs an lolls wal others sweeat, An they enjoy all t' pleasures ; At cares fer nowt, bud they will hev All at ther hearts desire ; They'll seize a rose, bud nivver touch A nettle or a briar." 277 278 DIALECT POEMS. OWD FARMER SCRUB. Wi wat contempt we alius think Abaght the man ov self, Who shuts hiz purse ta ivvery wun, An bars hiz dairy shelf. No warm emotions ivver roll Throo hiz contracted heart ; - He feels noa glow ov- sympathy Fer hunger's piercin dart. Just sich a wun wer farmer Scrub ; He'd lots ov golden pelf ; He'd a x*are store ov this world's goods, Bud cared fer noan bud self. Whoivver cam ta him fer help, They stung him like a wasp ; The moar they tried ta oppen hiz hand, The tighter wer hiz grasp. The worthy poor who craved hiz alms, He classed among the prigs ; So he'd noa crusts ner cowd potaits Fer them, — all went fer t'pigs ;— Fer he hed gert fat pigs i' t'sty, Ther swill tubs tilled ta t'brim, An they in moral stature seemed Ta stand az heigh az him. Wun daay conversin wi a friend, — Ther talk wer all on wines ; Owd Scrub declared hiz wer " the cream Ov all the choicest vines.'" He sed he'd tasted noan "sich like, — They wer sa rich an nice," — An fer this darlin grand owd stuff, He'd paid a deacent price. Hiz friend more modestly replied He thowt he'd some az good, Bud az fer testin owd Scrub's wines He thowt he nivver sud. DIALECT POEMS. 279 Haivver throo fields an gates they went, An raony a mansion past, Till 'midst the trees, owd Scrub's domain Stood in full view at last. *' Nah," sez owd Scrub, "just step inside An give my wines a test." Soa in he popt, withaght a word, He wer sa kindly prest. An capt he wer at thear wer owt Fer him inside in stoar, Fer sich a thing, naay, noabody knew Hed ivver occurred afoar. Owd Scrub wi eager footsteps then Dahn t'cellar stairs did goa, He drew a cork, an fill'd a glass, Bud t'bottle wer left below. An ov this wondrous wine hiz friend In fancy fairly sips, Fer oh, he heeard owd Scrub on t'stairs, Did fairly smack hiz lips. Then he appeared top full o' glee ; He'd filled a brimmin glass, — An now its charms he praised, an showed Afoar the glitterin gas. An, sewer enuff, hiz friend agreed Owd Scrub hed spokken t'truth Az far az t'lewk went, bud he wished Ta test it wi hiz mouth. Bud instantly this generous wine Most merrily did float ; — Owd Scrub hed raised it ta hiz mouth, An gulp'd it down hiz throat : Then turned wi nearly chokin voice, An stared wi a face o' brass ; Sed he, " Nah, if tha wants more proof, Tack hod an smell o' t'glass ! " 280 01 A I, EOT POKMS. T'TWO GAFFERS. Two gaffers lived not long ago I' t'neighhourhood o' Leeds, An oh, they differed varry mich, Especially i' tlier deeds : Nah, wun wer a praad, haughty fooil, T'other a man o' sense ; An different memories they hev left, Fer they hev boath gon hence. Wun alius hed a pleasant lewk, An all hiz words wer kind,— He wer a true, a genuine man. Upright in heart an mind ; He knew the power o' kindness weel, An did it weel apply : Soa t'workin haars did glide alon<>- Like t'summer claads i' t'sky. Nah t'other chap tried all he cud Ta cause a soart ov fear, T'fact iz he wish'd em all ta naw That he hissen wer thear ; He'd scowl an growl az if he lived On vinegar an gall, An tyrant-like he'd folt ta fin' Whear thear wer noan at all. At length a sickness cam ta boath,— Ther pale an shrunken cheeks Tel I'd ivverv wun at t'end wer near, An they might caant ther weeks. The manly friend, the tyrant foe Caan't reckon on an haar, Then izn't it best fer t'good ov all Ta dew all in wer paar? Fer wun a heart-felt sympathy Wer felt throughaght the trade, In ivvery shop abaght hiz health Inquiries oft wer made : DIALECT POEMS. 281 Baght t'other chap t'wer different far, Soa ah hev heeard em saay, — When t'news hez cum at he'z been warse, They've shaated aght " Hurray ! " At last ta boath cam t'deein daay, — Fer good an bad mun dee : Fer wun wer touched the tenderest chord Ov human sympathy ; Vast numbers follow'd hiz remains, Ther griefs in wun did blend ; They sorra'd ovver hiz deep-dug grave, Fer they hed lost a friend. A cowd indifference, truly cowd, Cam wi the news o' t'other, Fer noan hed ivver faand in him A kindly friend or brother. Like t'rest o' fowks they berried him, — Ah cannot tell ya whear, Fer noan at ah hev met wi yet Cud tell ma they wer thear. The seeds ov kindness or ov hate Ar equally az cheap ; Theaz men did sow, an ov their kind Soa each ov em did reap ; The name ov wun iz honoured still, An wreathed wi memory 'z tiaars, — The other'z nivver mentioned bud Amidst contemptuous shaars. The law ov kindness iz divine,- An sacred writ it stands, An he who violates that law Breaks the divine commands : That wretch who wod a tyrant l>e Desarves ta hev hiz name Erased clean from the list ov men, An covered ower wi shame. •28'-' DIALECT POEMS. DEWS BURY SAMMY. When Dewsbury Sammy cam ta Leeds, T'first time i' all hiz life, He'd ninepence in hiz pocket just, Besides hiz pocket knife. Hiz mother trusted him fra hoam Cos he'd suinmat in hiz heead, Tho he'd far more in hiz henkitcher, Bud that wrr cheese an hreead. He went ta t'Railwav Station first, An ax'd cm what wer t'fare,— "Tenpence," they sed, an nivver mind, It made him gape and stare, He pulled hiz pipe an hacca aght, Then ax'd em fer a leet, He sed he thowt at trains wer cheap At ten o'clock o' t'neet. Sed Sammy. " Then ah'll goa back hoam, An borra mi fayther's stick, Ah'll walk all t'way an save mi brass, Aye, like a Dewsbury brick ; " Wen just abaat hauf way ta Leeds, Poor Sammy felt quite dry, Then lewkin raand he varry soin A huckster shop did spy. T'shutters wer up an t'door wer fast, Ov course they'd gon ta bed, Soa Sammy thundered wi hiz stick, T'owd man popt aght hiz head,— " Hollow ! hollow ! " t'owd man roared aght, "Ah want ta naw who'z there?" Sed Sammy, " Lewk sharp daan, ah want A hawperth o' treacle beer." T'owd man popt inta bed agean, Poor Sammy walked away, For a hawperth o' treacle beer he thowt It really wodn't pay : DIALECT POEMS. 283 Ha ivver, Sammy gat ta Leeds Az t'Taan Hall clock struck wun, An rarely he did pant an sweeat, Fer rarely he hed run. Ya naw, i' Dewsbury, fowks hed sed, (Aar friend hed offen heeard), At neet when t'Duke heeard t'clock strike wun He boldly drew his sword, Bud deary me, he wer ta late, He didn't naw what ta dew, Soa he tell'd a Bobby, an he sed He just did t'same at two. So Sammy under t'monument Sat daan fer just an haar, An blew hiz bacca quite content Till t'rain began ta paar. Then up he jumped, an stained abaght, Wal t'rain wer rattlin daan, Thear wern't a soul, — he wondered if Fowk lived i' this big taau. A " Bobby " seized him then, an he Cud hardly speik a word : Sed he, " Ah've cum fra Dewsbury, Sir, Ta see t'Duke draw hiz sword,'' Then " t' Bobby " sed, " Tha rascal, tha, Tha'rt after sum dark deeds ; " So Sammy ran wi all hiz might, An bad good-bye ta Leeds. AAR POLLY. That mornin wen me an aar Polly wer wed. Aye ! wern't Polly up T rare time aght o' bed ! Sha'd ne'er lewk'd sa shifty all t'daays ov her life, Az sha did o' that daav at ah made her mi wife. 284 DIALECT POEMS. T'brass nop upon t'door wer t'hreetost i' t'street, T'wer az breet az if t'sarvant hed rubb'd it all t'neet ; Boath inside an aght t'baasc wer tit fer a Queen, Az fer t' breakfast a better ther nivver wer seen. Sha wer dress'd in her muslin, an didn't sha lewk smart, Soa ah cudn't bud kiss her, this sweet o' mi heart; Her bonny brown hair lied sum tine ribbins on it, An sweet orange blossoms gav charms ta her bonnet. After breakfast ta church went aar Polly an me, An az nimbly sha tript ower b'graand, do ya see, Ah happen'd ta glance at her bonny, smart fooit, — Poor Polly hed nobhut hauf fassen'd wun booit. Ah excused her, fer t'weddin daay's pleasant confusion, Fer thear'z extras ov all soarts i' endless profusion ; Soa ah ax'd if sha'd thowt o' that breet little thing, Wen sha modestly sed, " Ah've net fergOt t'ring." Thear'z a deal at'z fergotten, its true, on that daay, Soa numerous ta mention, soa wat ah weant saay ; Bud leave it ta t'bride jusl ta think o' t'uiain thing, Ah'll warrant shall nivver fergel t;i bring t'ring. Bud ivver sin me an aar Polly wer wed, Ta t'jingle ov music we've each tried ta tread ; Sha'z mi tea alius made wen ah cum hoam at neet, — Mi harston lewks pleasant, an t 'tire's alius breet. Thear'z nobhut wun thing givs ma cause to fin' fault, Bud ah'll sprinkle it gently, az t'brewers duz t'malt, An its this, ah ma talk, bud wativver ah saay, Aar Polly, -- ah'll buck her, sha'll hev her awn waay. Bud ah've ta mind hah mi notes o' mi music ah pitch, Fer Polly's behint ma — sha'll gie ma a switch; Bud ah've noa more ta saay 'baght her unruly waays. All else ah've ta saay ah've ta saay in her praise. Sha can mack, sha can mend, sha can brew, sha can baake ; Sha can cook a fat Turkey, or grid a beef staake ; It's a good deal ta saay, bud ah'll back at it's trew,— Ah doan't naw wat ther iz at aar Polly caan't dew. DIALKCT POEMS. 285 An sunny or claady, or wativver weather, Aar Polly an me get on nicely tagether ; Sal ah tell ya the secret ? it's this, do ya see — Ah dearly luv Polly, an Pollv luvs me. TA A COOK SHOP PIE. Soa tha'rt a meit an taaty pie, Naay niwer that, it's all mi eye, Bud cum, fair play, ah will just try Ta fin' sum meit ; It's true ther iz sum thear, ah spy, Aw yes, it's reight ! Aw yes, ther iz sum, bud, ah naw, Like needles in a stack o' straw, Or paartridges i' t 'dreary snaw O' t'Polar regions, Ther had ta tin', but taaties, aw Mi eye, thear'z legions An wat a curious, strange surmise Crops up abaght theaz cook shop pies, Fer who can tell wat in em lies ? T'inside's all mystery ; A t'ella fails, haivver he tries, Ta naw ther history. If t'scraps o' fc'dinner plates they've been, It matters nowt, — it caan't be seen, — Thear'z no eonnectin link between, — An az fer t'gravy, Ta analize it ud puzzle e'en Sir Humphrey Davy. Bud cum nah, it's a genuine treat, Ta see wun wen it's just compleat, Pantin an puffin up wi t'heat, Sweeatin an greasy, Az if 't hed run a race, an beat, — Tho net sa easy. 286 DIALECT P0E.M8. Thear'z this wun blaws az t'wod appear Ta Hay fowk wal they darn't goa near ; Bud bless yer life, ther'z nowt ta fear, T'vent boil's at t'top : It's safe, az sewer az ivver yer here I' this cook shop ! A thing like that'll nivver brust, Fer lewk, uah, at that strong, toff crust, — Hah t'maister hez ta gern an thrust Wi t'carvin knife : He hez ta cut it, he caan't trust Ta t'strength o' t'wife. Bud nivver mind, it's meant fer use, An duzn't desarve the least abuse ; Sum hungry chaps ud play the deuce Wi it, ah naw ; An wat its made on, t'best excuse Wodn't matter a straw. Bud soa it iz sum fowk despise, Wat other fowk ud really prize : That poor chap lewks at t'cook shop pies, Bud hez ta pass ; An az he lewks he deeply sighs, Cos he'z na brass. Poor fellow, he'z unluckilly starr'd, Hiz fate iz really varry hard, 'Midst loads o' plenty he'z debarr'd, The coarsest fare ; Whilst past him rolls, within a yard, The millionaire. It's hard, bud oft we find that even The man who'z toiled and bravely striven, Iz by rude circumstances driven Bang agean t'wall : T'same time the Great Creator's given Enuff" fer all. DIALECT POEMS. 2*7 A TRUE MAN. Whear duz ta live? it matters nowt — In cot or palace grand, If tha'rt an upright, honest man, Ah'll grasp tha bi thi hand. Tha maay be shunned bi wun who wears A diamond ring an pin ; — Bi wun who weighs the worth ov man Just bi hiz weight ov tin. Bud ah wod spurn that same praad fooil At wod turn up hiz noaz, An pass wi scorn a honest man, Cos dress'd i' shabby cloaz. T'world gies uz plenty o' starchy fooils, They're here ov ivvery kind, An they who dress, hah few possess The noble heart an mind ! Give me a man at's blest wi sense, Truth beamin in hiz ee, Tho poor an friendless, wat o' that 1 He iz the man fer me. Give me at peaceful eventide The swift-wing'd haars ta spend, Ta gleam in fields ov golden truth Wi such a <>enial friend. & v Wheare'er tha lives it matters nowt, Thi hoam bi 't mean or grand, If, wen tha'rt measured, tha'rt a man, Ah'll shak tha bi thi hand. ARD AN SHARP. This iz a real owd Yorkshire fraize, Bud ya mun bear i' mind, Az common az it really iz, It's nivver been defin'd 288 DIALECT POEMS. Bi Johnson, Walker, an sich like, — Theaz clickshunary men, — Soa az they've ne'er explained this term, Ah'll hev a try niisen. Thear'z mony a wun heigh up i' t'world At understands it weel, At hez a store ov golden gear, An hez a heart ta feel ; All honour ta sich noble fowk, Each ov em iz a gem ; They naw the term in iwery point, Ah don't explain ta them. An then thear'z them o' t' seltish soart, Theaz straight-back'd, lazy droins ; At lives bud just ta eit an sup Ther soup wi silver spooins ; At drinks an eits o' t'fat o' t'land, An sees a haul -starved sinner Toilin fra morn ta neet, wi bud A heerin fer hiz dinner. A poor owd nag at's yoaked i' t'shafts, At can hardlins ti-ail its feet, An t'awner keeps it workin, till T'poor thing it drops i' t'street : A chap at sits an spends hiz brass Till late at Setterda neet, Then t'lanlord shoulders him ta t'door, Or kicks him inta t'street ;— Wen Dinah's mackin fatty cakes, An'z ham an eggs fer tea; Bud wen poor Joss cuius hoam at neet, Ther'z nowt o' t'soart ta see ; An yet he ne'er can mack it aght Hah ivver all t'money goas ; An then wen Sunda mornin cums He cannot fin' hiz cloaze : DIALECT POEMS. 289 A pie wen t'crust iz scarce o' fat, An t'same like in t'interior, Wen t'taaits caant ten ta wun ta t'beef, Tho fifty times inferior : A winda curtail at t'full stretch, At izn't worth a fiddle, At'z pulled sa tight ta mack it reich Wal it's splitting daan i' t'middle : Or owt, it duzn't matter wat, At's wrong, or dun i' t'dark, At will net bear inspection, cos It izn't up ta t'mark. Ah cud saay more upon this fraize, Bud wat ah've sed'z sufficient Ta mack ya fairly understand, An leave ya quite proficient. SALLY SNAGGS. " Ah'll gie tha't lad," sed Sally Snaggs, " Ah'll gie tha't lad, ah will, This pint o' beer, tha's slapt it soa, Wha, naay, ther izn't a gill : Nah, hez ta supt it, or tha's slapt ? Nah, if ah thowt tha lied, Ah'd warm tha az tha ne'er wer warmed, An drive tha off ta bed." " That treacle tha fetch'd yesternooin, Tha cudn't dew but lick it ; Owd Polly Pry wer watchin tha Wen sha wer daan i' t'snickit. This mornin wen tha went ta t'stye Wi t'dish o' tatty pillins, Tha tumald inta t'pigtub, an Wer nearly draand i' t'swillins." " Them cloas tha tewk ta t'pawnshop, wha, Tha tumald em inta t'street, An then they'd hardly tak em, they Wer sich a mucky seet ; 290 DIALECT POEM8. An wen wi t'brass tha gat on em Ah sent tha fer sum gin, Tha clumsey thing, tha fell wi t'pot, An ther worn't a drop left in." " Tha little careless monkey, tha, Tha neer does nowt at's reight, Tha'rt good fer nowt, withaght it he Ta roll i' t'muck an eit. Nah scrape them feet, cum inta t'haase, Tha little mucky pig ! Or else ah'll reich this horsewhip daan. An lay it ower thi rig." " Ah feel i' sich a passhun, lad, Wha, ah cud jowl the heead ; Ah wish fer sewer wi all mi heart, Ah wish at tha wer deead ; Bud then its noa use wishin, fer Ah naw there'z noan sich luck, There'z lot o' bother yet fer me Throo thee an all thi muck." Soa Sally screamed wi furious rage, Ta hear her t'wer a shame, Fer if t'poor barn wer full o' faults, T'wer her at wer ta blame : A thorn still bears a prickly thorn, An we expect na other, An sich a barn we maay expect Fra sich a worthless mother. LEWK AT HOAM. Busy-body, lewk at hoam ! Ov thi tales thear'z ne'er na endin ; Let thi naybours faults aloan ; Mind thi awn, thay'll dew wi mendin. If thear'z ony scandal brewin, Tha'rt ameng it, ah'll bet owt ; Bitter hops in tha'll be thrawin, Aye ! tha nasty good-fer-nowt. DIALECT POEMS. 291 If thear'z one moar than another, It's a longtongue ah detest ; An thee, tha'rt up ta neck i' bother, Ommast afore tha's gotten dress'd. Alius provin, alius fendin, Full ov other folks consarns : Mind thi mackin an thi mendin Fer thi husband an thi barns ! Simperin wi a sainted face, Tellin fowk tha wants na bother, Heapin on ta folks disgrace, Deceitful huzzy, tha'rt na other ! Caan't ta fin' a better job Than pullin deacent fowk ta pieces? Start an clean thi door's brass nob, — Then goa in an scrape thi taaties. Goa an wesh thi mucky barns, — Coam ther heeads wi t'small tooith coara, — If tha'U mind thi awn consarns, Tha'U fin' plenty o' wark at hoam. This iz a pictur true enuff Ov what we often hear an see, — A sample ov the hateful stuff We get wen naybours disagree. CHEER UP. Cum chear up, mi hearty, an nivver be daan, An lewk at t'black side fer a minit na more, Or tha'll get niony a kick an mony a black fraan, T'world cares net a straw fer a fella on t'floar. Ar ta daan i' thi spirits cos times ar sa bad, An tha hezn't a chonce a breet shillin ta am 1 Cum show a good heart, lad, wat's t'use o' being sad, It's nobbut a rest fer another good turn. An nivver mind sighin an freatin ower t'past, — Live an hoap an a sunbeam will burst on thi view ; Ther ne'er wer bud once an owd woman stuck fast, Bud they pull'd, an they shoved t'poor owd woman reight throo. 292 DIALECT POBMI. A man ta lie able ta get throo at all, O' fc'best Indi rubber he owl ta be made At wen he'z t brawn daan he'll baauee up like a ball, Or hev az inieh spring az a polished steel blade. Tha may hev ta dine on plain Tommy an cheese, Or tha may net be able ta get even that, Bud keep up thi cowk, lad, an doant let it freeze, Tha'll weather t'storm, dance a jig ta t'Tom cat. They saay Fortun's tickle ; ah've oft proved it tiue ! Ah've seen hei - distribute abundance of gear; Then back sha hez Btown it. az t sun duz the dew ; Bud still he iz rich who'z a conscience that's clear. An chear up, mi hearty, though calumny foul Hez branded its mark on thi innocent name, Ne'er tack the least notice, ne'er wimper ner growl, Thear'z thaasands before thee been branded tha same. Soa lad, thee be merry, thee whistle an sing; Be determined ov mirth at tha'll hev a good share ; We can mack dull November az jolly az spring Be laughin, an hopin, an smilin at care. Then cum, mi good fella, lewk alive, breeten up ; A hearty good laugh, wha its worth hauf-a-craan ; Bud nivver get merry \\ i drainin a cup, Fer that's the false thing at will drag tha reight daan. TAPPIN T'BAKRKL Poor owd mother Dunn lied a tine strapping son, An he wer at age, that iz, just twenty wun ; An ov course, az iz t'custom, sha'd promised a neet Wen shad give her son Tommy an friends a good treat. Sha'd been lewking an longin, an wishin fer t daay, Bud it cam, az daays will cum, i' t'owd fashioned waay ; An oh, t'were a season delicious fer her, Sha wer full o' sweet smiles wal providin fer t'stir. DIALECT POEMS. 293 Fer sha thowt all the world ov her Tommy, ya see, 'Twer fitting sha sud dew, we all can agree ; An sha didn't believe in a thing ov pretence, — Sha wer really determined ta spare noa expense. Sha'd lots o' good things all laid ready i' store, The best sha cud get,-— noa wun else cud dew more ; But sha'd gotten na spirits, fer sha wanted na quarrel, Soa i' t'place o' sich stuff sha'd a six-gallon barrel. Sha'd ne'er in her life hed a barrel afoar, Tho her fayther sha knew he'd hed monny a score ; An t'owd wooden spicket an fawcet sha knew They'd sumwhear i' t'haase, an sha thowt at they'd dew : Soa they fun em, bud Tommy ner t'mother darn't tap it, Fer they thowt if they did they'd boath mess it an slap it ; Soa at wunce they agreed at they'd leave it aloan, Az t'drayman hed left it i' t'celkr, on t'stoan. Bud t'best plan they thowt wer ta leave it till t'neet Wen t'party ov friends fer this supper ud meet, An they thowt among theaz they'd fin' a reight chap, At ud giv ther beer barrel a reight soart ov a tap. T'neet cam, soa they mentioned this tappin affair, — In a second ther worn't a chap left on his chair ; Theaz hearty, good fellows were all in a band, They wer ivery wun ready ta giv em a hand. On t'cellar-stone table t'beer barrel wer laid, — Ready packed on its belly fer tappin 'twer made : " We want a reight chap at can hit it," sed Nat, " An drive it reight up inta t'hoil at wun bat." Nat saw at a glance at they'd wun ready made ; Sed he, " Lads, there'z Bob, he'z a striker bi trade ; " Sed Bob, " Well, ah ne'er tapt a barrel afoar, Bud ah'll tap wun to-neet, if ah tap wun na moar.'' Soa he up wi t'coil hammer an gav it a hit, Bud t'owd wooden thing wodn't stand it a bit, It crush'd up like paader an t'barley-juice flew. It capt t'poor owd woman wat ivver ta dew. 294 DIALECT POEMS. It squirted and Hew ivvery bit ower t'place, An blinded em all, fer it went i' ther face ; They popt a big bowl underneath in a nack,— 'Twer noa use, fer it ran throo a hoil in a crack. They saw varry plain 'twer beginnin ta spend ; Nat seized it an reared it streight up on wun end ; An they all gav him praise, fer 'twer t'varry best shift, Bud didn't thpy lewk blue, — 'twer sa easy ta lift ! Sed Nat, " Doan't be daan, lads, thear'z plenty o' moar : ' Bud then, doan't ya see, it wer swimming on t'floar, An all t'blame wer laid on that rotten owd tap, At wer dun fifty year sin an wern't worth a rap. Bud teetotal George thowt it didn't mich matter, Fer they'd monny a gallon o' sparkling spaw watter It wer just the reight stuff fer a hearty good meal, An he thowt, fer wun, it ud dew varry week T'owd lass didn't think soa, az sha lean'd on her crutch ; Sed she, " Lads, ya've tap'd it, bud tap'd it ta mich ; " Then sha sed wi a sigh, az sha lewk'd on ta t'floar,— " Its first at ya've tap'd, bud ya'll tap ma na moar ! " Soa teetotal drinks hed this party asteead, An at last ther wern't wun bud wer reight in biz heead ; An ivver sin then thear'z been plenty o' fun, Abaght t'six-gallon-barrel an owd Mother Dunn. OWD GOULD1E. Just lewk at owd Gouldie, he'z cummin along, — Hah hiz knees bend wi t'load, fer he'z net varry strong ; He'z a seek ov owd rubbish he'z picked up i' t'street, Sich az cinders an bones, or owt else he cud meet. T'owd sinner, he lives in a cot hi hizsen, An he naws weel az moast ha monny soverins caant ten, Fer he'z just like all t'rest ov hiz niizerly class, Hiz happiest haars ar i' caantin hiz brass. DIALECT POEMS. 295 An they saay at t'owd wretch iz az rich az a Jew ; Hah sich get it, its cappin, bud sumhah they dew : An still its quite clear, fer they hunger an slave, They'll nip, an they'll scrat, an they'll pine, but they'll save. It's all varry weel ta put summat awaay, Ta hev a fund ready agean a wet daay, Bud az fer owd Gouldie, he goaz ta extreams, T'owd miser, he'z heapin it up in hiz dreams. He cadges owd crusts an potaaties ta heit, So it ne'er costs t ( owd rascal a coin fer hiz meit ; He'd begrudge a poor dog at wer pickin a boan, An hev it hizsen if 't ud leave it aloan. He'z ne'er fer t'last twenty years bowt onny shoes, Fer he picks up owd pushers at others weant use ; An cloaz at he wears, wha they fit whear they touch, Sum fit him ta little, sum fit him ta mich. Bud he'z noan varry nice abaght wat he can get, All'z fish ta owd Gouldie at curns ta hiz net ; Soa wi wat he gets geen, wha, he nivver fins fault, T'breead's nivver ta mouldy, ner t'beer short o' malt He'z nivver a penny ta give ta a friend, — He nivver did give wun, an duzn't intend ; He'll hev a glass wi ya, an fill it ta t'brim, If its cheap it al dew, its the ticket fer him. It ud cap ya ta rob him, bud t'secret iz this, Thear'z noan bud owd Gouldie can tell whear it iz ; Fer he leaves nowt abaght, net a crumal o' cheese, — He'd sum mice, bud they left him wi t'tears i' ther ees. Wat a mean an contemptable wretch ta behold, Iz the mizer, who lives bud ta hoard up hiz gold, Who grasps it, an hods it, an fain wod wen deead Hev it put in hiz coffin just under hiz heead. No beauties ta him do the seasons unfold, Hiz heart's nobbut charmed wi hiz silver an yold, Fer the cowd winds ov avarice eternally howl Throo the dark frozzen chinks ov hiz heart an hiz soul. 296 dialbot pokms. T'(iOOT) OWD TIMES. Baght theaz wonderful times at ar past Thear'z nff'cn been plenty ta saay, Yet fowk at hez lived in em, thinks They're luckier at's livin ta daay. A soart ov a glimmer thear seems The farther we lewk inta t'past, Bud oh, wat a lot o' dark haze Raand t'bit ov a glimmer iz east ! Who iz thear among uz ta daay, ITd like ta goa hack fifty years'? [f it wer at the thing wer ta l»e, It ud variv near bring uz ta tears. Wat a difference i' things thear wod be ! Wat a change we sud all ov uz see ! Theaz fowk at's complainin soa nab Ud be varry near ready ta dee. Fowk nah-a-daays doan't naw they're born : Just fancy t'owd tinder l>ox age, — T'flint an steel an a cowd winter's morn, An a poor fella tewin wi rage. He'd be strikin agean an agean Az t'tinder ud ofFen l>e damp, Fer thear wern't sich a thing ta hi seen Az a match or a paraffin lamp. Who'd like on a dark winter's neet Ta be stumblin an groapin on t'waay, An nivver a gas-lamp i' t'street,— Fer it wer soa at that time o' t'daay : An t'streets they wer moastly unpaved, An knee deep i' muck here an thear ; An odd rainy daay wer euuff, Thear wer muddle an splash ivverywhear. Sum at'/, livin remember t'owd pumps, — Hah offen they've bed a good douse, An t'watter cans, t'buckets, an hoops, An t'watter pots rear'd up i' t'haase ; DIALECT POEMS. 297 Hah hundreds wer waiting o' turns I' different places i' t'taan ; Hah a extra good thump nah an then, Ud cause t'poor owd pump ta breck daan. T'stage coaches wer runnin 'baght then ; Wat a blessin it iz at they've gon ! We've dun wi that donkey trot rate, — Wen we travel we want ta get on. Hah expensive it wer ta goa off! Fowk nah, they can form noa idea ; A varry rare thing wer a trip, Net wun i' ten thaasand saw t'sea. Just think ova cowd winter's neet, An a fifty mile journey ta goa, An a storm o' detestable sleet Oumin fierce az the cruellest foa. Bud we're net on the top o' t'stage coach, Bud inside ov a carriage quite warm, An the varry ruff weather aghtside Gies ta t'snug cosy carriage a charm. Noa busses wer thear at that time, Exceptin fer them at hed coin ; T'common fowk hed ta fooit it ta t'inch Ta wativver pairt they wer agoin. Few dainties thear wer at that daay, Noa tins label 'd beef, fruit, or fish ; We've plenty they cudn't get then, Fowk dined ov a commoner dish. Bud theaz wonderful times ar gon by ; Let's hoap we sal see sich na moar ; We've hed plenty far better sin then, An we hoap we've far better i' stoar. The further we lewk inta t'past Moar sombre an thick seems its haaze, Bud t'glass, ta the futur it points Ta sunnier an happier daays. T 298 DIALECT POEMS. NINAVEE BRIG. Thear'z an owd saying, " Praise the brig At gets ya safely ower ; " An ah saay, " Praise the " Nellie," tew, At shields ya fra a shower : " Mud smash the thing at wunce, saay I, Tf t'rain comes rattlin throo ; Or mend it wi a new un,— that's The best thing ya can dew. Bud then a brig'z anuther thing At (jives uz this idea, A yood strong wind ud cure it best Ta lift it inta t'sea. Saay sich a thing az Ninavee Brig, At hezn't a single charm, At's even shun VI be t'sparras, fer Thay fly off in alarm. A black, ill-lewkin, treacherous thing, Wi ower-reaching top, [yver ready ov a darksome neet, Sum passenger to cop. Fer if ta near ta t'side he goas, I' passin fowk on t'waay, It's ten to wun he gets a gash, Ta last him monny a daay Well, nah, who'd hev a word to saay Agean such ugly brigs? Thear'z noabody ud tin fault wi em Tf they wer made fer t'pigs ; Bud even pigs at t'varry seet, — Wha, nobbut t'other daay, — Turn'd raand i' freet an scampered off Like leetnin t'other waay. Thear'z them at can remember weel, 'Fori- tfrailway cross'd this waay, Ha t'sweet green fields on awther side Bloom'd fresh az bonny Maay : DIALECT POEMS. 299 An fowk trudged on besides a neat An inoffensive wall Ov friendly height ta fowk i' years,- 'Twer nobbut four feet tall, — Whear monny a poor owd man hez lean'd Az on a trusted friend. Wen heavy breathin'z warn'd hini at He'z near'd life's journey'z end : An that were i' t'owd coachin daays, Wen few ud ivver dreeani At t'saand o' t'bugle ud giv place Ta t'engine's yell an screeam. Nah, ah admire theaz railwaays, weel, Its fittin at ah sud, Fer doant they help uz on i' t'world, Really they're varry good : Ah'm nobbut tindin fault wi t'bria' At's thear, az Hobson's choice, At sticks on t'stumach just az bad Az t'twenty-year-owd-gooise. Thear'z hardlins owt at all we see I' onny line o' trade, Bud wat's a gert improvement on The last thing at wer made ; Bud this owd freet, its shap an mack, Sa ruff an ready dun, Seems if they'd taen a pattren fra The ugliest under t'sun. Ta'ards Leeds a noble ingine quick Wer cumin t'other daay ; At t'varry seet o' t'brig it seem'd Inclined ta run awaay. It spit an snorted at the thing, An claaded it wi steeam ; Bud bein forced to yoa reieht throo. It gav a fearful screeam. 300 DIALECT POEMS. Rud after all, its nohhut fair, Tf, wen ta suit ther ends, They spoil a pleasant scene, they sud \' sum waay mack amends. Ah wunce heard an owd woman saay At "t'better seldom (aims," Soa we niun try an fancy it Az t'lad did sugar plums. T'SPAW WAITER MAN. T'owd watter man, he'z here agean, He'z cummin inta t'street, An t'same time at he alius cuius, Late on at Setterda neet. He'z cumin creepin on, shig shog, W'i t'jinglin cans on fc'barrel : Sum hlaw the lazy fella up, Bud ah doan't like ta quarrel. Ah doan't think lie can suit all fowks, Ah ammat sich a dunce : Ah doant think t'chap can witch things, An lie ivvery whear at wunce ; Bud this ah naw : he might begin, Wha, sooiner on i' t'daay ; Bud he'll goa on hiz stupid road, Wativver fowk ma saay. Ya naw he spends t'most ov hiz time At t'puh called "T'Leg o' Mutton ; " An thear he sits, an spends his brass — A nasty, idle glutton. Ya naw we've nowt ta dew wi t'chap Wen e'er he goas on t'rant ; Bud he sud sarve his customers An let's hev wat we want. Still b'brass he spends belongs ta home. An nali that izn't reight. An that poor boany horse ov hiz, Wants summat moar ta heit, DIALECT POEMS. 3(Jl Bud wat a body sez ta him 'Baght drinkin, its noa matter ; An wat caps me, ta other fowks He recommends spa watter. An izn't it vexin wen wun'z tired, An made all nice an clean, Ta hev all splashed wi watter, Then hev ta start agean Aar Lizzy cried last Setterda, til Her ees wer fairly soar ; T'door step an t'flags wer nearly swum, An soa wer t'kitchin floar. Ah like wen fowk av dun ther wark Ta hev a bit o' pleasure ; An then he needn't slap it soa, He duzn't give ower good measure : T'can boddom's nearly hauf way up, An t'cans arn't worth a riddle, Fer thear'z sum hoils i' t'boddom an They run just like a riddle. Ah fcell'd aar Sam, they owt ta mack A reservoy on t'nioar, Then fill it wi spa watter, an Bring t'watter pipes ta t'doar : He brust r eight aght o' lariin, An sed he liked t'idea, Fer it ud save uz punds o' soap, An mack uz better tea. Ya naw ah sudn't care a hg, T'least ah can saay fer wun, If wen ah'd dun mi cleanin, then Ah knew ah'd really dun ; Bud aw this dewin ower agean, We t'splash an mucky feet, Ah'm sewer thear'z nowt al vex ma moar Than this at Setterda neet. 302 DIALECT POEMS. HAH IZ TA? Well Rewben, mi hearty, hah iz ta, mi lad? Here, giv uz thi fist, lad, a true grip ta feel ; It's long sin ah saw tha, an really ah'ni glad Ta see tha sa jolly, an lewkin sa weel. Bud tha'rt wun o' theaz soai't at tacks care o' thersels ; Tha'll get thi milk porridge az usual at neet ; A good wholesome supper o' that soart it tells, An ah think thear iz nowt soa delicious an sweet. Duz ta live i' t'owd haase yet, at t'boddom o' t'hill ? A thaasand ta wun tha'll ne'er leave that owd spot ; It's reight we're awaay, bud we think ov ya still, An fancy we're near ya i' t'ivy-grown cot. Iz t'pear tree i' blossom, an t'daffies i' bloom ? An t'marrigowls, Rewben, tha'rt fond o' them rlaars : Aar Annie an Lizzy ar wantin ta cum, Soa we sal bi wi ya ta spend a few haars. Hah'z t'wife an all t'barns, ar they all varry weel ? That's reight, well, ah'm glad ta hear tell o' sich news ; Hah's Sandy, an Charley, an owd Granny Steel ? A better than her can ne'er stand in her shoes. An hah'z that good naybor, aar friend, Ellen Graylin? Sich a naybor, wha Rewben, ah call her a jewel ; Fer sha hez it an gives it if ony wun's ailin,— Sich az tasty bits, chicken-broth, brandy, or gruel. Hah'z mi cheery owd crony, mi friend Natty Briggs? Duz he still keep tetootal ''. iz he still at t'owd shop? He wer praad az a lord ov biz hoam an hiz pigs, An ne'er ov a neet fer a gill called ta stop. Iz owd Nanny Longtongue next door ta ya yet? Wat a dolly fer breedin disturbance an bother ! Theaz good deeds an bad uns, we caan't weel ferget, They crop up i' t'memorv wun waay or t'other. DIALECT POEMS 303 Bud lad, ahm'n be goin, fer ah'm reight in a fuss, Ah've ta t'market ta goa ta buy t'barn a new chair, An ah want ta get back ta catch t'hve o'clock bus, Soa Rewben, ah hevn't a minit ta spare. An wen ar ya cumin ta spend a daay vvi uz ? Bring t'wife an all t'barns up at Easter, nah dew ; Aar Ann'z alius pleased wen owd friends cum ta see uz ; Fowk alius respect them at's honest an true. Soa cum nah, an gie mi respects ta yaar Mary, Ah naw varry weel ya can get, if ya try ; Ah can trust ta thi promise, ah ne'er knew tha varey, Soa here's mi hand, Rewben, good-bye, lad ! good-bye ! USED UP. Aye deary me, ah feel sa tired, Ah dew wish it wer neet ; Ah've hardly strength ta walk abaght, Or stand upon mi feet ; Ah've struggled throo this mornin, lass. An ah hev wished fer nooin, Oh ! ah dew wish ther wer a change, An that tew varry sooin. Ah nivver like ta tell bad news, At least, ah doan't ta thee ; Bud then, ah caan't bud let tha naw, An then it weant ease me : Ah call'd at t'doctor's yesterneet Wen cummin fra mi wark, He sed, ah nivver sud be aght A minit after dark. He sed, mine wer a serious case, An gav ma little hoap, He sed, at ah hed nearly gon Az far az t'length o' t'roap ; M04 DIALECT POEMS. Bud t 'doctors, lass, ar varry near Az offen rong az reight ; Oh ! if this cough ud goa awaay, An ah cud nobbat heit ! Ah try ta keep mi spirits up Az weel az ivvt'v all can ; Bud wen ah lewk at t'tiine ta cum, Ah loise mi > >it o' man, Oh ! ah cud gladly work fer ya An battle wi all care, Bud weakness wean't allow ma, then Ah sink inta despair. Tha sees we've spent all t'hit o' brass In fizzick an sich stuff, Bud ah've resolved ta tack na more, Ah think ah've hed enuff : Nah, t'doctor sez hizsen, ah want Less fizzick an moar food : Bud wheal- ar we ta get it throo, Fer it's ta be reight good. That good owd Quaker lady oft Hez help'd uz in aar need, An maay a blessin rest upon Her ivvery act an deed : They're nobly good who help poor fowk, Sich like ar varry rare ; Mi brother John hez lots o' brass, Bud net a coin ta spare. Bud lass thear'z alius suui waay dun, We've nivver yet stuck fast, Thear iz a kindly providence Hez helped uz in the past. They ar best help'd at help thersels ; We've offen proved it true, An if we caan't, His word declares At He will help em throo. DIALECT POEMS. 305 A DREARY DAAY. It's dreary, cowd, an damp ; Thear'z net a gleam i' t'sky ; Thear'z ne'er a saand, but t'heavy tramp Ov doleful passers by. This fog's sa thick, it hides, Wha ivvery wun we meet ; We pass a friend— a couple o' strides, — He'z vanished aght o' t'seet. All t'trees lewk black an bare ; Ah hear na sweet birds sing ; Thear'z mournful silence everywhere ; H ah different tis ta spring ! All t'cocks an hens i' t'street Are standin on wun leg, Wal under t'feathers they warm ther feet, An shelter seem ta beg. T'poor sparra's up aloft Ar shiverin cowd on t'spaat, An daan below ar peepin oft Fer crums or owt abaght. Tim Connor's owd gray ass Lewks duller nah than ivver, Fer nah it gets noa nice green grass On t'benks o' t'frozen river. Thear'z poor owd Billy Booze, That thorough veteran sot, Wi drinkin rum ta warm hiz noaz, It fairly seems red hot. Sin its begun ta thaw, Thear'z nowt bud muck an splash ; An t'lads, they nivver care a straw, — Throo thick an thin they dash. 306 DIALECT POEMS. It's trew enutf it's dreary I t'street, an country wide ; Bud oh, mi hearth looks bright an cheery, Thear'z sunshine 1 at t'fireside. Fer all at hoam ar met, A group ov happy faces ; O, ah hev cause ta thenk Him yet Fer all His gifts an graces. Yes t'world duz uz entice, Fer thear iz mich ta luv, Still t'world iz net a paradise, Noa, that iz up abuv. AH FEEL SA VEXED. Aye, deary me, ah feel sa vex'd, Ah'm ommast fit ta roar, Ah wonder wat al happen next, Ah wer ne'er sa plagued afoar : Aar Bob an Sam hed gon ta t'schooil, (At least fer owt ah knew,) An nah ther boath up stairs i' bed, They've been i' sich a stew. Thear'z Bob, he'z been a fishin, an lie'/, tumald inta t'becfe ; Thear'z Sam been climbin up a tree, An nearly brocken hiz neck : Ah've geen Bob such a hidin, — aye ! Fer he wer sich a seet ! An then he'll get ;i good deal moar Wen t'fayther cums at neet. Ta daay, ah've brew'd a peck o' malt, Twer put aghtside ta cooil ; A donkey's been an supt it all, It sarves ma reight, a fooil ! DIALECT POEMS. 307 Fer if ah'd hed a grain o' sense, Ah sudn't av been put thear, Fer t'same thing net a week sin supt All Sally Thompson's beer. T'wer nobbut yester afternooin, Sa throng ah wer wi t'wai'k, Ah wanted ta get t'cloaz i' t'haase, Afoar it cum in dark ; Ah ax'd aar Sam ta mash ma t'tea, Az he'd nowt else ta dew, — It's reight, he did, an moar than that, He mash'd ma t'teapot tew. Nah t'cat's been jumpin up at t'bird An freeten'd it i' fits, Bud if it cuius within mi reich Ah'll pause it all ta bits ; It's upset gravy pot, an thear Thear'z sich a nasty stream, It's bi'ocken mi cheany cream jug, an It's spilt mi sup o' cream. It's been i' t'pantry tew, an seized A rare nice joint o' mutton, An eaten t'biggest pairt ov it, — A nasty greedy glutton. Ah'm sewer t'thing's gotten plenty o' leets It needn't fer ta thieve ; Bud if it hed a whole ship load, It ud steil, ah dew believe. Ah've just been makin a sup o' broth, An putten dumplins to it, — Ah've hardlins gotten away fra t'fire, Nah t'pan iz filled wi sooit, An ivvery bit o' t'dinner's spoil'd, — Ah doant naw wat ta dew : Ah think it's t'moast unlucky daay At ivver mortal knew. 308 DIALECT POBMB. Mi pour owd granny used La saay, "111 luck iz ne'er ta seek. An things al l)o na better, it' We grummel fer a week." Sumtimes, won brabbles cum, we .seem Ta hev aboon aar share; Ken then its wise)' far ta 1 1\ Ta rise abuv dull care. (IOIN TA LONDON. Well, friends ! an hev ya heeard the news i Owd Tommy at's sa fond o' booze Iz really baan ta hev a cruise ! He iz ! az far az London. Bud oh, wen Bossy gets ta naw, Wat a tierce hurricane al blaw,— Sha'll moar than whisper length o' t'law Afoai' ho goas ta London. Sum saay at he'll be short o' gear,— Ho hez been soa fer mony a year : Nah t'fact iz ho'z ta fond o' beer Ta get az far az London. A craan at least goas iwery week, I' pots o' beer an bacca reek ; An often lie'z sum coin ta seek, Altho ho'z baan ta London. An yet ho vows an swears he'll goa ;— Ah daght it whether he will or noa ;— Ah'd guess lie went ta Jerico, Ah wod, az sooin az London. Bud if it iz at Tommy goas, He'll want now riggin aght i' cloaz ; T'daayleet iz peopin at hiz toas, Nah that's the man for London ! DIALECT POEMS. 309 Wim friend hez promised him a hat, Another britches, wat o' that ! Owd Tommy dnzn't care a sprat, He wants ta peep at London. He means ta see this Exhibition, If its by other fowks' permission ; An t' Times maay print a third edition, To saay he'z thear, i' London. He'd better leave off " heavy wets," An start an pay hiz honest debts, An all sich like az him, at sets Ther hearts on goin ta London. Poor Tommy's toil'd hard for hiz brass, Bud'z alius spent it like a ass ; He might av gon in a first class, Yes, like a man, ta London. MARY'S ORINALIN. A worthy couple cozily sat Drinkin ther tea, wi chearful chat, Quite pleasantly, in luv's sweet waay, Layin ther plans fer t'market daay ; Fer John an Mary boath wer baan I' t'cover'd cart ta Leeds big taan, An they hed lots o' things ta buy, A list az long az mi arm varry nigh ; Fer things will wear, an things will tear, An fowk raiin hev em, cheap or dear ; An soa t'next daay i' t'cart they went, An lots o' brass i' Leeds they spent, An thear they'd gotten such a load, Az mich az t'nag cud pool on t'road ; Bud t'main thing wer a crinolin, A reight un tew, cost four-an-nine. Nah Mary hed a bit o' pride, Alltho sha wer a farmer's bride ; — An nivver mind, it wer a grand un Az ivver Mary clapt her hand on ! 310 DIALECT POEMS. An soa ta keep it streight an smart, Sha hung it up inside o' t'cart, An sha hed gotten her heart's desire, Fer a bonnier thing John eudn't buy her. Nah, John, ta keep hiz promised word, Hed liowt a little cage an bird. An in a bit ov numerous fun, Hiz cage ta t'wires o' t'crinolin hung ; Bud bless ya, Mary didn't naw it, Till t'whistlin wind began ta blaw it : Thay cozily sat fer two or three miles, Passin cornfields, gates, an stiles, Wen sich a gust, wi envious rage, Blew t'crinolin, along wi t'cage, Bang aght o' t'end o' t'cover cart, An up i' fair 't went like a dart. Poor Mary screamed, John gav a sigh, Ta see boath t'cage an t'crinolin fly ; They shaated wal ther breeath wer spent, Bud 'twer noa use — up, up they went. Fowk stared an wondered at this thing, Sum sed, " Wha it's a crinolin !" Sum sed, " It's a baloon, begow ! Wi a burd an cage hung daan below ! " Bud wat they thowt, it made na matter, Ower t'trees an t'steeples didn't it clatter, An lots o' fowk this thing did folia, Sa bonnily striped wi green an yolla. Still on it went an nivver heed If it didn't goa at a rattlin speed, Yes, on it went like a Hash o' leet, A few moar seconds 'twer aght o' t'seet. Then this good pair wi real good sense, Tho fowk hed laff'd at ther expense, Agreed ta think na m oar abaght it ; They'd leearn'd a lesson, who can daght it. John luved a bird, an vow'd ta Mary, lie buy hiz naybor's green canary ; An Mary pledged her word ta John T'next crinolin sha'd put it on. DIALECT POEMS. 311 TURNIN T'PANCAKES, Owd Sammy, t'snob, wer set bi t'fire, A buffit fer hiz seat, Hiz noaze wer varry near i' t'ribs, An t'fire wer sich a treat ; Fer he'd declared he'd nivver wunce Been warm that blessed daay, An Dinah grumm'ld varry mich Cos he wer in her waay. Ta coax him ta sit farther back It wern't a bit o' use, — Her kind persuazions all wer lost, Sha gat nowt bud abuse ; An sha wer throng az throng cud be Fer dinner time wer near, — Sha cudn't get ta t'fire ta cook, Fer he wer alus thear. 'Twer .Pancake Tuesda, understand, An they wer boath agreed Ta hev a pancake feast fer wunce, A reight good jolly feed. T'wer five-an-twenty year or moar, Az near az sha cud tell, Sin sha hed onny pancakes made ; — Sha thowt sha'd hev a spell. Sha'd made a gert big basin full Ov really genuine stuff, An Sammy cudn't help bud think Sha'd made moar than enuff ; Bud sumhah, he wer cross an queer, Fer nowt sha did wer reight. He wer i' that bad humour, he'd Av fratched e'en wi hiz meit. Bud tho he wer sa awkward, still Sha cudn't bud admire Hiz smooth bald heead, sa breet it shone Af oar that rosy fire ; 312 DIALBOT POKMS. An nah sha'd putten t'eollops on. An t'frizzlin, sprentin fat Flew all abaght : sha warned him he'd Be safer wi hi/ hat. An soa it proved, fer in a nack Mr new wlic.ir t'fat hed gon, He rubbed hi/, heead, an sooin he lied A extra polish on. Bud Sammy didn't seem at all Ta like this extra grace, T'wer plain ta see hi t'waay he stormed, An tVolour ov hi/ face. Bud sich disasters will occur, They're linked wi t'chain ov life, — Hot, frizzlin bacon fat will fly, Tho guarded weel wi t'knife. An Dinah wern't the least i' t'fault, Fer sha'd used Lvvery care, Sha'd fain ov kept all t'fat i' t'pan, Fer sha hed noun ta spare. Bud Dinah, like a woman true, Wer sorry ; sewer enull'. In hauf a minit, ta that place Sha hed applied sum stuff. Oh, net a hair ov Sammy's heead, If he'd hed onny on, Wod sha hev hurt, ah'll tell ya that Ya maay depend upon. Nah that wer t 'means o' shiftin him 'Baght t 'distance ov a yard, Fer he began ta think t'wer time At he wer on hi/ guard ; Fer sha'd begun wi t'pancakes, an Sha'd gotten wun i' t'pan, An, oh it lewked sa nice, slia t howt 'Twer tit fer onny man. DIALECT POEMS. 313 Sha thowt this first un at sha'd made Her Sammy sud hev it, An he wer willin, fer hiz maath Wer watterin fer a bit. Sha thowt az he wer varry starved, Wlia, it ud warm him weel, An sattisfy hiz hunger till They boath sat daan ta t'meal. Bud nah, ta turn it, that wer t'job, Sha seemed ta hev lost her nack ; Sha wunce cud thraw a pancake up An catch it cumin back. T'wer nerve sha wanted, Sammy sed, Ta giv it a good chuck, — He wer sewer sha cud thraw wun yet, Sha nobbut wanted pluck. Then up it went an daan it cum, Bud deary me, asteead 0' droppin inta t'pan agean, It dropped on Sammy's heead. T'poor fella roared an danced wi pain, Poor Dinah dropped her pan, — Ta get it off they tried i' vain, Then aght o' t'haase he ran. Thear t'barns wer playin shuttlecock Wen he gat inta t'street, Soa inta t'haase agean he ran, Fer he wer sich a seet ! He didn't naw whear ta put hizsen, Bud Dinah soothed hiz pain Wi lovin words, an tellin him It sudn't occur again. At last sha gat it off, bud, oh, A blister it hed raised, An wen he saw hizsen i' t'fflasa, It nearly sent him crazed. D 314 DIALECT POKiMS. Sha wrapp'd hiz heead i' cotton cloths All wet, sa nice an cooil, Hud Sammy sed sha'd made him lewk Just like a real Tom-fooil. Ov courBe sha'd plenty o' moar ta mack ; Bud Sammy wern't i' t'waay, He'd gotten i' t'farest newk o' t'haase Ta let her hev fair plaay. An iwciv time sha chuck'd wun up, He lewk'd wi a curious eye, Fer he didn't naw wat pairt o' t'haase The thing wer goinin ta fly. Bud az it happened all went reight, - They all dropt inta t'pan ; Sha turned em all sa nice at he Fergav her like a man. Bud Sammy vow'd e er after that, Wen Pancake Tuesda's cum, He'd hev a good long country walk Ta let her hev all t'room T'WRINGIN MAOHEEN. Tha'rt a gert ugly thing, ah must saay, An whene'er tha gets inta mi seet, Wha, ah'm toilin an sweatin all t'daay, An thear'z aivver na cumfert till neet. Thear'z niwer a Monda cums raand, Bud tha'rt here lewkin surly an grim, Wal wi steeam an soap suds ah'm hauf draand, An mi Hoar, wha, it's all ov a swim. Ah cud shuv tha night ower, hud then, Thear'z this ah can see varry plain, Fer ta dr.v^ tha reighl up bi misen, It ud goa varry mich agean t'grain. DIALECT POEMS. 315 It's a lady ah owt ta hev been, — Wat a pity ah niiss'd sich a mark ! Oh, weshin theaz mucky things clean, Ah hate sich laborious wark. Noa use, ah sal hev ta tack stock ; Ah've a rare load o' weshin ta dew ; Thear'z Sam's greasy britches an smock, An they'll cause a bit ov a stew. Thear'z five pair o' fronts, ah can see, An a lot o' mechanics' black shirts, Thear'z three pair o' sheets, deary me, An two ov aar Mary's new skirts. Thear'z t'winda blinds upstairs an daan, An t'cuvvers belongin ta t'chairs, Besides mi new pink printed gaan ; — Ov stockins thear's eight or nine pairs. Thear'z a bundil o' cradle things, tew, — Thear'z Polly's an Annie's white frocks ; Wha a woman at's all theaz ta dew, Sha owt ta bi strong az a ox. It's high time mi blenkits wer dun, Bud owd Nancy ma help ma wi them, — Besides they want plenty o' sun, An thear'z wun it's sa thin, it's a gem. Ov collars an cuffs thear'z a lot, An ov henkitchers tew a good share ; Bud it's time ah'd mi watter i' t'pot, An ah hevn't a minit ta spare. An then cums all t'rubbin an mess, All t'growlin fra t'wringin macheen, Still it ud been awkard, ah guess, If sich a consarn thear'd ne'er been. Fer ah've heeard mi owd granmother saay, An it's really a serious point, I' t'owd style ov wringin all t'daay, They've twisted ther arms aght o' t 'joint. 31 G DIALECT POEMS. Soa al tin' na moar fault wi t'consarn ; Bud if it cud manige all t'wark, An me sit an watch it, wha barn, All sud call it a thing up ta t'mark. Bud it's plain az mi noaz on mi face, Ah nivver wer meant fer a queen, Soa ah '11 mack t'best ah can o' mi place, An ah'll prize mi owd wringin macheen. T'MOTHEE AN T BABBY Wha then, it's a grand 1111 Az ivver wer seen, Wi its little plump face, An its bonny blue een : Thear, nah then, it's puttin Its face all awry, Wha, wat did em to it? Bonny babby, doan't pry. I z it wantin sum titty 1 Or wantin sum pobbs? It sal hev wun or t'tother, If ah leave all mi jobs ; Then luvvy, ah'll sing it An rock it ta sleep, An t'pussy saan't get Lnta t 'cradle ta peep. If it duz nivver mind, Ah'll giv it sum odd ; Ah'll let pussy feel At mi shoes ar weel shod. We'll put it i' t'cradle, Sa cosy an warm, An we'll watch it an see At it cuius ta noa harm. DIALECT POEMS. 317 We'll kiss it an squeaze it, An luv it, ya naw, An wat we dew fer it, — We doan't care a pfcraw. Naay ! really ther ne'er wer A grander then this ! Aye bless it, ah luv it, Ah'll giv it a kiss. LABOUR'S REWARD. Tha'rt nivver ashamed ta confess Tha'rt wun o' the labourin class ; It's true the world lewks at the dress Bud if tha'rt a workman tha'll pass. Tha owt ta feel praad ta lewk raand At the wonderful things tha can see ; Wha, all at's worth owt aboon t'graand Iz dun bi sich workers az thee. Tha'z no costly jewels or lands ; No wines i' store fifteen year owd ; Bud tha'z ruff, honest, hard-workin hands, Soa tha'rt noan sa badly endowed. A man wi a w r eel - balanced mind, An a trade in hiz fingers beside, Iz worth all the gentry combined, An a loin full o' lords i' ther pride. Hev courage, tho t'world duzn't mind Thi labours an merit ta see ; Use thi powers fer its good, an tha'll find A reward al bi waitin fer thee. Tho it offen seems sullen an cowd, An long upon worth seems ta fraan ; In copper, or silver, or gold, It moastly pays t'true value daan. 318 DIALECT POEMS. Then roll up thi sleeves an bi brave, An battle wi t'world like a man, Yes, fearlessly breast ivvery wave ! It's t'wisest an t'far better plan. A STORMY DAAY. O Willie, wat a fearful storm ! Just hear tha lad, hah t'wind duz roar ! An lewk, thear'z poor owd Nancy Brown Can hardlins get across o' t'moar ; T'owd lass, sha'z ommast aght o' breeath,— Lewk, hah it's nock in her abaght ! An nah a gust o' wind hez turned Her umbrella inside aght. Wha who'd turn aght a daay like this 1 It's nayther fit fer dog ner cat. An see tha, lad, who'z cummin nah — Thear'z Billy Blawpobs lost hiz hat. An aye, bi all at ah can hear, Its dun sum damage up i' t'taan ; Its turned owd Fizzgig's fish cart ower, An blawn hiz donkey's stable daan. An aw, wern't it a fearful neet, — Ah tried ta rouse tha mony a time ; Bud noa, tha thowt at tha wer safe An snug aback o' t'bricks an lime; Bud ah ne'er gat a wink o' sleep, Ah offen thowt abaght aar Fred, — Fer he'z i' t'garret up aloft, Wi a stack o' chimleys ower hiz bed. Thear'z owd 8am Swallow, drucken Sam,- Aar Mary sez he'z copt it hot, Wen leavin t'door o' " t'Gaapin Gooise " Daan tumals t'brewus chimley pot. DIALECT POEMS. 319 Az luck ud hev it. he'z na warse ; All t'fowk abaght did laff an grin ; It drave hiz hat reight ower hiz ees, An jam'd it daan below hiz chin. Thear'z fine Miss Lucy up at t'hall, They saay its used her rayther ruff,— Her fine new bonnet's blawn i' t'beck,— Sha'z lost her bran new sable muff ; Bud sich az them they've plenty o' brass,— Wha they can laff an call it fun ; Ah hoap thear'z sum poor lass abaght Al pick it up at hezn't wun. Wun chap wer leavin t'baker's shop Wi hot pork pies upon hiz tray, Wen off they flew at sich a speed Az if they hedn't time ta staay : Away they rolPcl, him after em, Fer aw, nah, didn't he giv em chase, An wern't it nah a treat ta see Three score o' pork pies hevin a race. Bud soa it iz, theaz raagin storms They offen cause fowk mich alarm, Fer in ther wild an furious pranks They dew a gert amount ov harm ; Bud wen theaz winds ar on the spree Wha they ar mostly full o' fun ; Thear'z monny a wun picks up a prize At bud fer f.hem ne'er wod hev dun. Then let uz tin noa fault wi em, Fer sum good end they cum fer sewer ; An let uz hoap wene'er they cum They'll tack fra t'rich an gie ta t'poor. The trees, ah luv ta see em swaay Ther fury alius pleases me Oh, ah cud sit wi calm delight Wen t'boisterous winds ar on the spree. J 320 DIALECT POEMS. SETTERDA NEET. Hei-e, Lizzy, cum an sit tlia daan, Ah'll gie tha t'bit o' brass; It izn't mich ah've browt tha hoani, Bud mack t'best ov it, lass. Tha naws, at t'trade iz varry bad, Bud cum an sit tha daan, — Ah'll tell tha hah av mendid fcTril Bi varry near a craan. Ah hevn't lied a gill o ! ale At t'Golden Fleece this week, Ah've nivver wunce seen t'glitterin taps, Ner wunce smell'd t'bacca reek. Tha naws ah gat a pint at nooin, An then a quate at neet ; — Nah, here's mi ale an bacca brass, Hah nice it lewks ! hah breet ! Just lewk inta that henkitcher, Ah've bowt live ribs o' t'crop, — A nicer bit o' meit ah'm sewer Thear wern't i' t'butcher's shop ! Ah've bowt a peck o' nice green peys, Sum new potaaits az weel ; Ah've bowt a carvin knife an fork, An a spankin butcher's steel. Thear nivver wer a week cum raand, Hud, sewer az Setterda cum, That bottle thear at stands on t'shelf, Ah hed it tilled wi rum. Nah, lewk, wi t'brass ah spent on it, Wha Lizz, ah'll goa ta sea, If ah aint bowt a cod fish, lass, An hauf-a-pund o' tea ! Ah nobbut thowt last Setterda neet, Wal ah sat i' mi chair, Ta spend that brass i' t'Jerry shop, Ah wern't dewin fair. DIALECT POEMS. 321 Poor, little Joe wer sat bi t'tire, His jacket full o' hoils ; Hiz toes wer peepin throo hiz shoes, An they wer off o' t'soils. An little Jinny, tew, wer sat, Her cloaz wer all i' regs, An shoo'd na booits upon her feet, Ner stockins on her legs. An then ah lewk'd at thee, Lizzy, All tattered an forlorn, An oh, t'idea t'wer all mi fault, It pricked ma like a thorn. Ah went wi heavy heart, an lewk'd At Willie in hiz bed, Poor barn, he'd hardlins onny cloaz, — Na pillow fer hiz head ; Ah asked God ta gie ma strength The tempter ta resist, An then hiz bonny little cheek Moast tenderly ah kissed. Ah made a vow just thear an then, Yes, wi a bitter tear, Ta bi teetootal, cum wat wod, Fra bacca an fra beer. Fer oh ! that appetite fer drink Hez oft led me astray, Asteead o' gooin hoam at neets Ah've gon another waay. Nah this iz t'first week's fruit, tha sees ; Hah happy we sal be ! An this iz t'best week's wa^e ah'm sewer Ah ivver browt ta thee. Jinny an Joe sal hev sum cloaz, An they sal goa ta t'schooil, — Az ah've begun soa ah'll goa on, Ah've been ta long a fooil. 322 DIALECT POEMS An tha sal hev a nice new dress, — Ah mean all wat :ih saay,— •Fust sieh a wun, lass, az tha ware Upon aar weddin daay. Ah'll chop t'owd furnitur fer chips At ah've hrocken i' mi airs, We'll hev a nice new sofa, lass, An deacent-lewkin chairs. Soa ah'm resolved, bi heaven's help, Ta dew all t'good ah can, Ah'll strive fra t'bitter lessons past, Ta be a happier man. We'll hev that big owd Bible daan, An read it daay bi daay, Fer ah believe thear rests a curse Whear families nivver praay. [f ivvery coin wer fairly spent At's thrawn awaay in ale, Wha we sud hev a roarin trade,— Yes, it ud tell a tale ! If men ud tak ther wages hoani, Wat smiles their steps ud greet ! Oh ! it ud bring ta mony a hoam A happier Setterda neet. •JIMMY'S SUPPER. A party fer supper assembled at Wren's, Ta hev just fer wunce a whole neet ta thersens, An sooin az they landed the frolic begun, Bud Jimmy wer mainly the cause o' the fun. Cabbage an taaties, Calibage an taaties, Cabbage an taaties, Diddle em dum ! DIALECT POEMS. 323 Fer turkey an geese he'd an excellent taste, Bud ta help hizsen to em he wer rayther shamefaced ; Yet 'mong this good party he fun a reight mate, Who promised he'd duly lewk after hiz plate. Cabbage an taaties, &c. That instant, that instant the supper began, This mate set ta work like a genuine man ; Bud cabbage an tataies he piled sich a height, Wha thear wern't the least room fer a morsel o' meit. Cabbage an taaties, &c. An still on hiz plate he kept heapin on moar, Though Jimmy hed hetten — wha hardlins a scoar ; Bud all will agree at the thing wern't reight, Fer he did it ta dew Jimmy aght ov hiz meit. Cabbage an taaties, &c. Nah he thowt it disgraceful ta leave a ruff plate, Soa he fell'd ivvery bit at wer gien bi hiz mate ; He begun an he finished an ne'er did he stop, Till he'd landed all t'pile safely inta hiz crop. Cabbage an taaties, &c. After supper t'poor fella felt varry uneasy, Bud net wi fat turkey or owt at wer greasy ; Bud wi the same stuff at ah mentioned at first, Poor Jimmy wer varry near ready ta burst. Cabbage an taaties, &c. Bud music an mirth, hah it sets fowk i' tune ! Varry sooin he wer blithe az the cuckoo i' June ! I' less than an haar he wer reight az a top, Then agean he wer ready fer owt he cud cop. Cabbage an taaties, &c. Nah fer singin a song he'd an excellent voice, Soa wen he stood up ivvery wun did rejoice, — An the song at he sung, wha, ah saan't bi far rong, If ah saay at it measured a quarter yard long. Cabbage an taaties, &c. 324 DIALECT POEMS Bud doan't ya think Jimmy wer rayther ta nice? Fer sooiner than sing the same verse ower twice, He marked wi a pencil az lie wenl along, Ya ma venture ta guess at he didn't get rong Cabbage an taaties, etc. Bud nah, after all, he'z a good-natured chap ; He'z wun failin, it's true, he'z ta fond ov hiz lap ; An he'll hi remembered, an that varry long, Wi hiz cabbage an taaties, an pencil niark'd song. Cabbage an taaties, ne'er wer a coward, Bud, like a true man, Hiz actions wer based On a streight-forrad plan. A merry owd blacksmith. A jolly owd chap, He pays az he goas, Net a hawperth on t'strap. Fra mornin ta neet He'll whistle an sing, He'/, az merry in winter Az in the bright spring. An wen iz wark's dun, It's hiz pleasure ta spend An haar or two's chat Wi a cosy owd friend. An thear'z soa mich abaght him At's pleasant an good, Naay, who cud dislike him 1 Wha noabody cud ! He'z a word ov good chear, If ivver he sud meet A poor little urchin at's Roarin i' t'street ; Wheare'er he ma goa, or Wate'er hiz consarns, Thear's alius a smile, an A hawpenny fer t 'barns. If ivver a tell-tale sud Cum \\i hiz clack, He turns on hiz heel an He shows hini hiz hack ; DIALECT POEMS. 333 He'll tell him, ta notice Sich tales he ne'er cud,— He'll tell him a slanderer Iz nivver na good. He'll stand up fer reight Throo thick an throo thin, — A braver than him ya'd Be bother'd ta fin' : He'z a man ivvery inch Ta hiz varry heart's core ; Ov hiz soart they're ta scarce, — Ah wish thear wer moar. Sich az him ar respected, Boath livin an deead ; Yes, long after t'grass Waves i' t'breeze ower ther heead. T'wurld values noa man Fer hiz budget o' creeds, It weighs an it measures A man by hiz deeds. A COUNTRY STROWL. Wun daay i' June, wen t'fields wer strewn Wi white an yolla poases, Ah fun a shade, a leafy glade, Owerhung wi sweet wild roases ; Thear underneath this naary wreath, Sa nicely screened fra t'sun, Ah sat an mused, wal t'rlaars defused Their endless charms i' wun. T'green hills an t'tlaars an t'blossomed bowers Seemed full o' cheerful life, An net a saand fra all araand Wer thear ov rancourous strife. 334 DIALECT POEMS. Ah thowt ta misen, if selfish men Wod in sich bonds unite, Yon grand owd sun ud see bud wun Rich held withaght a blight, OH © Nowt ah cud trace i' Nature's face Wer marred wi t'least ov wrong ; Thear fc'birds on t'trees ta t'passin breeze Gav wun grand choral song. Ah thowt ta misen, if surly men, Like t'songsters, cud agree, Wha fair ud ring, like t'bonny spring, Wi strains ov harmony. A tumblin stream, wi lustrous gleam, Wer singin at mi feet ; Then on it went, calm an content, Sum other wun ta greet. Ah thowt, nah, here'z enuff ta cheer An bid uz net despair ; Theaz mossy stoans hear noa deep groans, Bud wun melodious air. Anuther charm, a little farm Clois bi a deep, green wood ; Thear spades, an hows, an rakes, an ploughs I' rustic beauty stood : T'young folks quite gaay wer mackin haay, All full o' fun an mirth ; Ah thowt, whear's bliss ta equal this, Mixed up wi t'toils ov earth. On t'meadow grass a country lass Wei- busy milkin t'kine, An just beyond, on t'cattle pond, Did t'golden sunbeams shine ; Where t'ducks did glide fra side ta side I' merry wanton plaay ; An t'cocks an hens among thersens Wer happy az the daay. DIALECT POEMS. 335 An near this spot, a whitewashed cot Stood wi its oppen doar ; A humble hoam, fer ivvery room Wer on wun common fioar ; Bud cleanliness an happiness Ah saw did thear reside, It seemed ta me entirely free Fra vanity an pride. An ah cud hear, tho faint yet clear, A youthful mother's voice, Az to her young sha talked an sung, — It made mi heart rejoice ; Her words wer wise, 'twer t'best advice Fer t'body an fer t'soul ; This charm mong t'rest it pleased ma best I' all mi country strowl. THECKMONDWIKE PIE. Mister Bluster went ta Blackpool, An tewk wi him a pie ; He tewk it reight fra Heckmondwike An this wer t'reason why : Ta live on t'cheap an save expense, An hev noa stuff ta seek, — Soa it wer manufactured fer Ta last at least a week. Bud tho it wer sa big i' size, He gat it in at t'doar, An sich a monster fer wun man Wer nivver seen afoar. The thing 'd av stood the brunt at least Ov twenty hearty men, That made noa matter, it wer meant Fer noabody but hizsen. 336 DIALECT POEMS. Three times a daay it cam ta t'front, At t'breakfast, dinner, tea, Az trew on b'table it wer seen Az t'tide cuius in t'ra t'sea ; A strange, mysterious mess it seemed, Wuii cudn't understand ; Noa daaght bud Mister Bluster knew, At bed the tiling i' hand. We wonder'd who'd be t'maister, Mister Bluster or hiz pie, — He sed at he'd be t'maister on't, Or else he sed he'd try. Bud tho t'wer far advanced i' age, A part did he devour ; At last the bloomin thing lied turned Green-mould, an dry, an sour '. Nah he'd declared nowt else he'd hev Until the thing wer dun ; He tried, bud failed, fer fain wod he The victory hev won. Bud tho he'd lived on humble pie, Noa peacock wer moar proud, Fer full n' blusterin talk wer he. An it wer long an loud. Sich a noisy empty upstart, We varry offen ken. Bud t'wisest plan's ta let him hev All t'talkin ta hizsen. Noa daght i' hiz awn measurement, He'd fancy lie wer tall, Bud others wiaght specks cud see At he wer varry small. They hoped if e'er he went agean, He'd nivver gi\ offence Ta fowk ov better manners, an Ta fnwk ov better sense. DIALECT POEMS. 337 They'll think ov Mister Bluster oft, Sa hauty, vain, an high ; T'same time wene'er they think ov him, They'll noan ferget hiz pie. T'OWD MAN'S LAST ADVICE. Cum here, mi lad, an sit tha claan, Ah've mich ta saay ta thee, Bud little strength ta saay mich, fer It's nearly ower wi me. Full four-score years ah've spent on earth, T'last twenty-fourt o' May ; Bud ah sal be i' heaven, mi lad, Afoar another daay. Bud tho ah've measured four-score years, Ah've nobbud lived bud ten, — Fer seventy years ah caant az lost I' trespasses an sin. A heavenly tire — ah oft hed quenched — Drew me,— ah followed on : Sin then it's warmed this wunce cowd heart, An will till I am gon. Oh, capt ah am at ah've been spared, A wretch az bad az me, Fer deep i' sin wi wicked mates Ah've gon wi eager glee. It wer a neet ov age an guilt, Wen ah fun t'narra waay ; Throo t'dark thear shon a feeble gleam, Bud it wer t'breck ov daay. Nah ah am passin death's dark vale, Ah hev noa fear or dread ; Tho Jordan's stream feels cowd an strange, Thear 'z rock at ivvery tread : 338 DIALECT POEMS. Oh, ah sal sooin change wintry earth Fer nivver-endin spring, An then i' heaven's grand chorus, lad, Ah'll let em hear ma sing. Thee mack thi choice i' earnest, lad, Nah, wal tha'rt i' thi youth ; Tha'll find it iz a pleasant thing, Ta tread the path ov truth. Oh it's a paar at bears wun up Abuv life's troubled wave, It thraws a pleasin radiance raand The dark an gloomy grave. It givs a steady energy Ta mind, az weel az heart, An if thear'z onny cuttin cares, It's cure fer ivvery smart. It givs a charm at early morn, Wen labour you've ta meet ; In sivs a soft an soothin calm Wen ya lie daan at neet. It givs a healthy stimulant Ta ivvery honest plan, An cum wat will i' this false world, It macks a happy man. An nah, mi bit o' strength iz gon ; Good bye, mi lad, good-bye ; Tha'll find tha'rt best prepared fer life, Wen tha'rt prepared ta die. T'OWD FORGEMAN. T'owd forgeman's tired wi heavy wark, An t'neet iz wearin late ; T'breet porrige pan iz weel cleaned aght, An soa iz ivvery plate. DIALECT POEMS. 339 Raand t'fire hiz sons an dowters sit, Bud t'scene iz net compleat, Fer thear'z a vacant rockin chair, — A sacred treasured seat. T'owd forgeman's wife used thear ta sit, An from that easy chair Hez passed ta heaven, on silent wing, The voice ov praise an prayer. Fer sha hed trod the better path, An loved its sweet consarns, An i' that path throo prayer shad led Her husband an her barns. An nah they sit an cheerily chat 'Baght t'ups an daans o' t'daay, Bah God hez i' perplexin straits Made aght fer each a waay, — Wat trials they hev hed ta bear Throo selfishness an hate, Bud sich they naw their Master bore, An sich will be their fate. They tell hah oft across ther path Hez stood the tempter, vile ; Hah God hez gien em strength ta stand, An saved em from hiz guile : An monny a bit o' caancil, wise, Ther poor owd fay ther givs, An tells wat haars ov bliss ar hiz Who ta hiz Maker lives. Nah t'owdest lass spreads t'table cloth, Fer all this talk iz dun, An wi a graceful, serious air, Lays t'family Bible on. An here t'owd man a passage reads Weel suited ta each case, — An wat a holy calmness nah Beams up i' ivvery face ! 340 DIALKCT POEMS. This dun they all raand t'haarthston kneel, An earnest prayers ascend ; Thear iz a sweet communion held Wi their eternal Friend. An midst that simple, earnest band, Thear iz a sweet increase Ov sacred luv an humble faith, A sense ov inward peace ; — Ov strength ta meet ta-morrow's toil, Wi breet an chearful face ; Ov hope an trust, an quite enuff Ta meet ther ivvery case. Ah, here iz whear t'grand secret lies, Here'z whear all t'paar iz given, Here showers ov blessins fall, an mack T'owd foreman's hoam a heaven. 1 b HOAM AGEAN. Tha sees, lass, ah've cum hoam agean, Mi Scarbro' trip's ower at last, All t'pleasures ah've tawked ov sa mich Ar driftin awaay wi the past. It's varry nice goin aght ta t'spaws, An livin on extras an sitch, Bud sooin among strangers, hah sooin, Fer hoam thear'z a soart ov a hitch. Thear'z Sally an Fred at mi box,— Fer bheaz presents huh eager they ar ! Ah've hardlins lied time fer ta breathe, Or sit misen daan i' mi chair ; Well cum, let ma see wat ther iz ; Ah've promised an dun wat ah sed ; — Thear'z a fine, spankin dolly fer Sal, An a big hummin top fer aar Fred. DIALECT POEMS. 341 Ah've browt a big lobster an crab, An a hamper ov beautiful fish, An finer an fresher, ah'm sewer, Ther nivver wer laid on a dish. They nobbut wer catched yesterneet,— Just lewk, lass, wat grand uns they ar ; We'll hev sum fer t'supper ta neet, If thear'z onny beef drip left i' t'jar. • An here's a nice broach, lass, fer thee, An a pair o' gold earrings besides, Hah t'bit o' brass goas wen yer off ! Aght o' t'pocket hah nicely it glides ! Bud then, it's noa use wen awaay, Withaght ya've sum money ta spend, Fer we want ta see all at ther iz, — Az fer me, lass, ah alius intend. It's a grand seet ta see t'hig red sun Rise up in a morn aght o' t'ocean ; — It's grand wen t'full mooin's up i' t'sky Ta see t'wattery world i' commotion : It's grand, lass, ta stand on t'sea shore, An hear t'big waves roar at wer feet, — If we live fer a hundred year moar, Sich a seet we'st ne'er see i' aar street. It's pleasant ta see t'little things Wi ther spades an ther buckets on t'sands ; Hah busy they ar at ther plaay ! Hah active ther sweet little hands ! It's amusin ta see t'ladies bathe F ther sea-robes, i' groups, hod ov hands ; Who'd think wen they're drippin wi wet They're t'hutterflees they seem wen on t'sands. ■ It's sport ta see t'donkeys on t'trot, Wi t'lasses an t'lads on ther backs, An t'young Arabs runnin behint, — Fer they'll net goa withaght sum sharp whacks. 342 DIALECT PORMB. It's jolly ta he at t'sea-side, Fer t 'mealtimes, hah ready we ar ! Mi checks ar az red az a rose, An ah've hetten like onny owd tar. Ah ne'er think it's thrawn awaay brass Ta hev an odd week' at t'sea-side ; Thear'z monny a long doctor hill saved Wen a change ov sea-air hez heen tried. Soa, lass, if we've nobbu< good luck, An thear'z nowt cums across, nivver fear, Thee an me, an all t'kit, ivvery wun, We'll pack off ta Scarhro' next year. T'LIJTLE BRITCHES. Aye lad, ah'm soa pleased tha'z cum hoam, Fer oh ! it's a terrible neet ; Tha must hi hauf draancled, ah'm sewer, Wi this nasty, this drizzly cowd sleet. Bi sharp, lad, an chainge thi wet cloaze, An get theaz nice warm dry uns on ; Aar Sam, he hez neet shifts ta work, Poor fella, he'z nobbut just gon. Poor lad, he'z a nasty, had cough, An this neet wark al dew it na good ; He'z noan varry strong, an ah'd fain Goa work in hiz place if ah cud : A daay iz enuff, ah 'in weel sewer, Fer onny poor fella ta slave ; Theaz long haars o' worry an wark Sends monny a poor fella ta t'grave. Aar Jinny an Fred's gon ta bed, Ta see tha thay wanted ta staay ; Bud ah'd little Fred's hritches ta mend, An lad, he'z a real tear-a-waay : DIALECT POEMS. 343 Wi hardlins can keep him i' cloaze ; Wi tawin an climbin up t'trees, He'z gotten hiz jacket i' hoils, An hiz britches ar aght at boath knees. An nobbut just lewk wat ah've fun In hiz pockets ah've just nah turn'd aght : Thear'z a cassaltop been in each wun ; Fer a henkitcher, he'z an owd claat ; Thear'z a lashcomb, withaght onny teeth, — A baancin-taw an an owd crust ; Thear'z glass ov all colours, an pots, An a knife ommast covered wi rust. Thear'z a lot ov owd buttons an pipes, A lot o' slate pencils an chawk, — Wha, if they wer nobbut owt worth We cud start a poor fella ta hawk. Thear'z a lot o' crabclaws, an a ball, An five or six pieces o' tin, — Nay, really, its cappin ta me Hah ivver t'barn's cramm'd em all in. Aye, bless him, ah love him, ah dew ; Bud then, ah darn't show it sa mich ; He'z wun at caan't stand it, tha naws, He'll walk t'best withaght onny crutch. Ah sumtimes goa up ta hiz bed, Ta get a sly kiss an a peep, Fer ah nobbut daar giv him a kiss, An that's wen he'z ard fast asleep. Fer he'z varry unruly at times, Bud ah correct him az weel az ah can ; — Ah can manage him best wi kind words, An ah find at it's t'far better plan. He hez all hiz schooil lessons ta dew, He sud dun em, bud neet wer sa late ; He'z been drawin a lot o' queer things, An varry near filled hiz new slate. 344 DIALECT POEMS. But nah, wen ah think o' t'poor bams, We're net a l>it better aarsels, — Wat Quggets <>' gold we hey left Ta pick up vain pebbles an shells : The true path ov life we nah tread, Tho sooiner we might hev begun ; Wat folly, ta leave till the last The first thing at owl ta be dun ! DARK DA AYS. O ! Mary, theaz ar chearless daays, Boath t'sky an t'hearth seem dark, An ivvery vvun .seems cowd an shy Sin ah fell aght o' wark : Net long sin ah wer dewin weel, Then ah bed lots o' friends, Bud soa it iz, wen t'coin runs aght, This so-called friendship ends. Cowd, drizzly, dull November's here, An winter's cloise at hand, An oh its hitter, bitin frosts Ah'ni feared we ne'er can stand. Poor barns, ther shoes ar gettin thin, Polly's ar off o' t 'soils, T'owd taaty chist iz empty, an We've nearly dun wer coils. They'll bring uz nah uoa seek o' flaar, Ner hardlins lewk this waay, An t'bit we've left al barely fit Another baakin daay. Ah'vejust nah cum fra t'butcher's shop ; He showed a sullen face, Net e'en a jimmy wod he trust, He wish'd ma aght o' t'place. DIALECT POEMS. 845 Wi t'thowts o' theaz, ah cannot sleep, T'last neet ah laid awake An heeard aar little Polly dream, — Sha ax'd, an cried fer cake. Poor barns, they hedn't niich ta heit, Especially little Fred ; Ah brack t'last crust we hed i' four, Afoar they went ta bed. Aar Tom an Joe ar tender lads, Ah noticed yester nooin, Wat bit o' dinner t'poor lads hed They'd dun it varry sooin ; Soa then, ah ax'd em hah it wer, They sed they'd t'biggest shares, An on ta Fred an Polly's plate They'd slipt em pairt o' theirs. That wer a touch o' nature true ; 'Twer real, noa soart o' cant ; An oh ! ah hoap sich generous hearts Al nivver hev ta want. O ! ah cud work wi cheerful heart Fra morn till late at neet, Ta giv em bread an cloas ta wear, An shoes ta warm ther feet. Blithe Christmas time iz drawin near Wi all its jovial mirth, Bud lass, ah fear i' aar poor cot Thear'll be but scant an dearth. An t'barns ar offen teazin uz 'Baght t'cheese an t'Christmas loaf ; Bud deary me, we hardlins rise A bit o' common doaf . We hed a little fund i' store Afoar that sickness cam At tewk all t'bit o' brass we'd saved, Then tewk poor little Sam ; w 34G DIALECT POEMS. Tt's net becos i' better times We've squandered tfbrass awaay, Xoa hiss, we've alius tried ta square A bit fer t'rainy daay. Bud tbo we're nah i' poverty An sorra meekly l>owed, Still ah believe t'breet sunshine ye1 Al peep throo this dark cloud ; Soa we will struggle still, Mary, An trust i' Him abuv, Who orders all aar little cares, Bud orders em i' luv. T'DINNER HAAR. "Lizzy, thear'z t'faandry bell ringin,- Clear t'table an spread t'cloth, Tlii fayther's cumin ower t'nioar, Get t'basins aght fer t'broth ; Poor fella, he lewks weary, he Can hardlins get along ; He sed he'd heavy wark on hand, An he iz noan sa strong." " Polly, thee shack hiz cushin up, An send t'cat aght o' t'chair ; An, Lizzy, mind wat tha'rt abaght, — Doan't breck that crockery- ware : Tha brock that pitcher yester-nooin, A thing ah soa mich prized, — Thi granny hed it fifty years, An soa it wern't despised." "Nah, lad, hah iz ta cummin on? Tha sed tha'd just begun A varry ard an dangerous job ; Ah hoap it's gotten dun. DIALECT POEMS. 347 Oh, ah hev wish'd, an hoaped, an pray'd At tha'd cum safely throo, An tried ta keep mi cowk up weel, 'Twer t'best thing ah cud dew." "Yes, lass, yon dreadful job iz dun, It nearly cost mi life ; A sad affair ; ah thowt abayht Mi bonny barns an wife : Nah, lass, ah see hah Providence Hez kept ma fra all harm ; Ah've offen thowt abaght that text We read i' t'last neet's psalm." "Bud whear iz little Bob, ah saay? We want him ta saay t'grace ; Ah wonder he hezn't met ma wi Hiz bonny, smilin face " " He'z gotted hid i' t'pantry, lad, He'z peepin nah throo t'doar, He seel tha'd think at he wer lost, An tha'd begin an roar." " Treacher's sa fond a little Bob, Becos he tries ta please, — Sha's geen him a nice pictur book Fer say in hiz A B C's. An tha'z ta mack a little boat Aght o' this bit o' wood ; An ah've baaked him a little cake Becos he'z been sa good." " An t'doaf hez rizen beautiful Az ivver ah did see, Soa tha sal hev sum nice new cake Wen tha cuius hoam ta tea. Ah've gotten tha sum watter-cress An wesh'd em nice an clean ; Ah've pick'd all t'bits o' grass awaay An they lewk fresh an green." .'MJS DIALECT POEMS. " Bud nah ah'll hev mi bacca, lass, Ah've a minit or soa ta spare,— It's pleasant iz a bit o' ease I' t'cosy owd arm-chair." " Bud, lad, aar Bobby's brock thi pipe, An he did fret an ci*y, — Hi- thowt at tha'd l>i cross wi him Fer be\ in moar ta buy." " He'/, nivver aght o' mischief, lad, Wether i' t'haase or t'street ; Ah alius feel uneasy wen He'z reight aght o' mi seet. Wi mackin on him soa, ah hoap We'st nivver hev ta rew ; Bud then he'z t'youngest, an he'z t'pet, An wat else can we dew?" " Tha naws he hez na harm in him, It's just hiz funny tricks ; I le'z oft i' Robin's stable, an Tha naws their donkey kicks : He sumtimes tacks thi walkin-stick, An tries ta mack it goa, — Then wen ah'm forced ta chide him fer 't, He sez at t'man duz soa." " Bud, lass, it's time fer me ta goa, — Ah see it's nearly wun ; Aar faandry clock's a bit ta fast, An t'engine's just begun. Cum, Bobby, luv, an let ma hev A kiss afoar we part, An mind an alius keep awaay Fra ivvery horse an cart." "An thee mind, lad, wat tha'/ abaght, An thee bi careful tew ; Oh lad ! if owt sud happen thee Wat ivver sud we dew." DIALECT POEMS. 349 " Ah'm alius varry careful, lass, An tries ta dew mi best, An then ah hoap an calmly leave Ta Providence all t'rest." T'OWD BECK. (Low Fields, Holbeck.) Wunce moar, cwd beck, duz nature deck Thy banks wi grass an rlaars, Wal on ta'ards Leeds tha onward speeds Wi unabated paars; Fer heavy rains hev drenched the plains, An wat they dunnot need, Wi life an force they tin' thy course, Thy rapid stream ta feed. Thy cheerful lewks wen passing newks All fringed wi bonny green, Minds me ov mich ov tender touch, Ov monny a happy scene. Sumtimes tha'rt slow an winnat goa At onny deacent pan'. Like sum cross barn at's mich ta larn. Tha shows a sullen face. Hah long hez thou flowed on az now ? Fer ages ah sud saay ! O monny a sun on thee hez shone Wi breet an cheary raay, An tiaars fair wer mirror'd thear I' rustic beauty fine : It's different now — dark iz thy brow, An yet the fault's net thine. No record bears the length ov years Sin thy strange path wer made ; It's rude an rufl', an sewer enuff 'Twer nivver touched wi t' spade : ;i5U DIALECT POEMS. A craan ah'd geen the thing ta hev seen, If sich lied been the case, Az a relic owd 't ud been allowed Ta stand i' t'forenioast place. Yet sich a prize sum ud despise, An treat it wi disdain, E'en tho that spade wer t'tirst 'twer made, An hed belong' d ta (Jain ; Sich relics rare, sum, ah declare, Cud ne'er appreciate ; Sich things they'd doom ta t'lumber room, Az suminat aght o' date. Bud on that scoar, ah'll saay na inoar, Ah'll turn ta thee, owd stream ; Thy warblius soft hez blended oft Wi the young lover's dream ; Wen they, like thee, wer young an free Ta chuse an mack ther waay, Az still they tread the grassy mead, E'en ta this varry daay. It's clearly seen, tha'z luv'd thi green, An net a little bit ; Fer in an aght, an raand abaght, Tha'z made the inoaat ov it. Naay, ah can trace a cloas embrace, At tha wod fain hev geen, Bud sturdy fate on thee did wait, An drove tha from the green. Leavin this spot, who cares a jot, Thy random course ta trace, Theaz bonny farms giv thee thy charms, The beauty an the grace. Thear duz appear, in thy career, A lesson fer uz all, Thy infant creep wer surface deep, T'bejmmin wer bud small. DIALECT POEMS. Az tha begun, soa hez tha run, A wanderin course tha'z led, An monny a flood i' deeper mud Hez fixed thee ta thy bed ; Soa wanderin wide withaght a guide, Beset wi ills an strife, Duz monny a wun hiz short race run, A vain an crooked life. 351 OWD ROBIN T'GARDINER. Owd Robin lives i' t'little cot At fend ov Cherry Loin, Hiz hoamstead, plain an simple, shows He'z net ower flush o' coin ; Bud goa an see him wen ya will, He'z nivver dull an flat,— Naay, he iz alius brimmin full O' comfortable chat. The reasons this, becos he works, An spends noa lazy haars ; He'z throng i' t'kitchen garden, or He'z throng among hiz flaars. It's nivver in hiz workin daay He'z onny time ta spend, Bud wen hiz daay's wark's ower, then He'll converse wi a friend. Hiz garden stock iz choice an good, An sum ar varry rare, Cos wen he goas ta chuse hiz seed, He uses ivvery care. An all hiz produce alius wears A healthy-lewkin green, He lets noa varment liv on em, Thear'z noa ill weeds between. 352 DIALECT POEMS. He hez a little summer-haase, All trellised, painted green ; An ya ma goa fer miles afoar A bonnier can be seen : It lewks sa cosy an sa gaay, Wi runnin flaars entwined, An thear'z a little singirj brook Iz stream in just behind. On summer neets he smooks hiz pipe Within this leafy shade, Wen he hez laid aside hiz hoe, His garden-rake an spade ; An thear he reads hiz newspaper 'Baght all t'consarns o' t'daay, — Wat t'men ov note i' t'Parliament Hez hed ta dew an saay. His little orchard's neat an trim Az va cud wish ta see : Thear'z soa mich fruit on ivvery bough, It's bendin ivvery tree; An t'apples, cherries, plums, an pears, Ar lewkin sweet an nice, — An t'rosy apples, temptin ya, 'Minds wun ov Paradise. An beds ov strawberries an rasps Ar smilin at yer feet, — It matters net which waay ya turn, All's beautiful an sweet ; An he hez lots o' curious plants. Each wi a Latin name, An a bed ov tine, rare cucumbers Within a crystal frame Then ther'z a shed fer poultry, an A little bit beyond, Ya ma see a lot o' yolla ducks Ar glidin ower a pond. DIALECT POEMS. 353 An he'z a bonny pig i' t'sty, — He kills wun ivvery year, — An that's a thing at helps him mich Throo t'Winter season drear. He alius seems fca work upon A safe an thrifty plan ; Bi dewin soa, it macks him feel A chearful, happy man. Ah offen think within misen, Wat scores ov happy haars Ah've spent i' pleasant converse Wi Robin 'niong hiz iiaars ! UNCLE BEN ON T'JUBILEE. Thear'z a gert deal o' tawkin just now, 'Baght t'Queen an her fifty years' reign ; It's ivvery daay seemin ta grow, An runnin i' t'Jubilee vein. Ivverywhere thear iz gladness, an t'daay At iz cummin al see sich a scene — Sich a grand, sich a hearty displaay, An all fer the luv ov aar Queen. Av heeard mi owcl granfayther saay, 'Baght honest owcl King George the Third — Wen hiz sceptre'd hed fifty years' swaay, An he'd England's "ood wish an s^ood word — At London made sich a grand show Wi various soarts o' displaays ; T'street windas wer all in a glow, An t'city wer all in a blaze. An offen wi glee wod he tell Hah t'festoons fra t'windas wer hingin ; An he'z sed thear wer nivver a bell At hed gotten a tongue bud wer ringin. 354 DIALECT POEMS. T'cliurch bells boath at hoam an abroad Wer tryin ta beat wun another, An t'cannons they thunner'd an roar d Fra wun end o' t'kingdom ta t'other. Hah oxen an sheep ivverywhear They wer roastin an giving ta t'poar ; Wat welcomes an greetings an chear Wer echoed at ivvery doar. Ah'm net ower loaden'd wi gowd, Bud ta hev a ox roasted, az then, Ta'ards feedin the poar an the owd, Ah'd stan em five shillin misen. Mi awn humble cot on that daay Al speik fer the warm hearts within, Ta mack trimmin's an festoons sa gaay Aar Mary's just bahn ta begin. An aar little village, ah naw, Reight weel it al figure wi t'Kest, Fer loyalty's fervour al draw Responses fra ivvery breast. Already the tide hez begun — Aar India hez taken the lead— An on its gaay course it al run Till t'summer Haars grace ivvery mead. Theaz Jubilee festals ar rare — Sich a sovereign we've ne'er befoar seen,- The varry perfumes i' the air Ar mingled wi blessins on t'Quein. THOWTS ABAGIJT GRANMUTHER, .'vh think ah can see her just now, Tho fifty long years hev gon by, Wi a calm settled peace on her brow, Wi kindness an luv in her eye ; DIALECT POEMS. 355 Ah just can remember the joy Ah used ta goa wi her ta church, Wen sha'cl tell ma ta be a good boy, An sha'd whisper it softly i' t'porch. Sha wore a long cloak tied wi strings, At reach'd reight fra t'boddom ta t'top, They've been long aght o' date, hez sich things, Bud t'fashuns o' t'world duzn't stop ; They cum an they hasten awaay, An we, like theaz fashuns, dew t'same ; Then let uz act true in aar daay, An link summat good to aar name. Then sha'd tell ma i' tones low an sweet, At little good girls and good boys, Ne'er shuffled abaght wi ther feet, Wod ne'er mack the least ov a noise. Sha'd put on her glasses, an glance Wi reverence at wat sha cud see, An offen sha'd giv wun askance, Sa kindly an sweetly on me. Then sha'd gie ma a hym book an smile Ta see ma wi t'book upside daan ; Bud simplicity, different fra guile, Al nivver encourage a fraan. A paper ov humbugs sha tewk, An ud gie ma a sweet nah an then, An offen sha'd think bi mi lewk Ah wer longin fer t'parson's amen. Ah offen lewk back inta t'past, Ta her cottage, owd-fashiun'd an trim, Bud time rushes onward sa fast It seems nowt na moar than a dream. Wen ah used ta goa toddlin in Sha'd alius some stuff at wer nice, If noa tarts, or plumcake sha cud tin', Ah ne'er cam awaay wiaght spice. 356 DIALECT POEMS Ah can dimly remember at she Invited her kin ta a feast, Ther faces wxmce moar fer ta see, Altagether fra t'biggest ta t'least. Thear wer uncles an aunts ta bi seen, An granbarns, wha nearly a scoar, Fer sha knew at this life's fallin screen Wer low, sha'd sooin see em na moar. Bud sha wer quite ready fer t'change, Fer sha'd led a good Christian life, Her kindess hed hed a wide range, Sha'd help'd other fowks i' ther strife. Her memory will ivver bi dear Ta all at sha left daan below, Bud sha'll luv and bi luv'd moar up thear, Whear sha wears a bright wreath on her brow. In Holbeck Church graveyard sha sleeps, An hez throo theaz fifty long years; A fiatstone her fond memory keeps, An it's offen been wetted wi tears. Ah nivver can pass t'owd churchyard, An that crumlin memorial ah see, Bud ah think wi affectionate regard, Hha wer all wat a woman sud be. TO A PENNY. (On finding one in the Street.) Wativver ar ta dewin heir, Liggin i' t'mucky street '.' Ar ta na better worth than ta Bi trampled under t'feet? All covered ower wi muck an splash Tha'rt net fit ta bi seen, An tha'rt a coin o' t'realm at bears The image ov aar Queen. DIALECT POEMS. 357 Tha naws tha'z lots o' wark ta dew, An this iz time misspent ; This izn't actin fair an square Ta t'wark ta which tha'rt sent; Tha'd been far better in a till Waitin fer duty's call ; Or on streightforud bizness, then Tha'd saved this nasty fall. An here tha liggs wiaght a friend Sa abject, vile, an mean : Cum, then, here iz a helpin hand, Ah'll gie tha a start agean ; Bud ah sal like tha better if Ah wipe thi mucky face ; Thear, nah, tha lewks az nice an breet Az onny o' thi race. Sumdy al fin' a loss o' thee, Thear'z net a bit o' claght ; E'en them at's lots o' brass, they doant Thraw sich az thee abaght : Tha maay av been fer t'breakfast meant Ta get a bit o' cake ; Or sumdy maay be soa mich short Ov hauf a pund o' steak. Hez ta been dropp'd bi sum owd man At'z used hiz bacca up 1 Or sum owd woman short o' tea Wantin anuther cup 1 Well really ! nah it's sad enuff At sich a thing sud be, Bud oh, hah monny poor owd fowk Ar short o' sich az thee ! If tha'z been dropp'd bi sich a wun, T'poor thing hez lost a prize ; Tho tha'rt a trifle, tha maay cause A monny heavy sighs. 358 DIALECT POEMS. Tf sum poor fowk hed pick'd tha up, Ther hearts ud danced vri glee ; An ah wod rayther t'hed been soa, Than tha'd been left fer me. .Maav be, sum urchins meant t;i buy Sum goodies Eer hiz minis, Sich az a Long roll sucker stick, Toffee, or sugar plums. Bud then, it really mutters nowt, Even if ah cud guess, Ah hoap i t'time ta cum tha'll strive Ta shun a similiar mess. It's trew, wen at tin \ airy hest Tha eaan't dew varry niich, Tha izn't like a golden sov., T'fackt iz, tha izn't rich. Tha ne'er wer meant ta dew gert things, Still, wen thi daay's wark's dun, Tha maay hev help'd a thaasand fowk Whear t'sov. hez ne'er help'd wun. Tho tha'rt a coin o' t'lowest class, Whi tha can breeten woa, Thee an thy kin can hlessins strew Whearivver, ya maay goa ; Or tha can We a bitter foe Wen tha might ne'er intend. Mud oh, ah hoap ta all tha meets Tha'll prove thisen a friend. Bud friends boath new an owd mini pairt, Soa here'/, ta thee, good luck : Ah'll y;ie tha a clean start airean,— An mind, keep aghi o t'muck. We pairted, an fer t'kindness dun, Ah'd owl ah'd like ta chews Within a certain limit, soa All < f at a Set tenia's news. DIALECT POEMS. 359 T'OHRISTMAS PUDDIN. Wun Christmas Eve, friend Sam an t'wife Wer cozily sat bi t'fire ; All wer sa nice, sa neat an clean, 'Twer all they cud desire. T'picturs wer hung wi evergreens, An roases, red an white, An t'compliments o' t'season seem'd Sa sweetly ta invite. Nah that wer just on t'edge o' dark, An t'stars 'd begun ta glow j T'full mooin, wi breet an chearful face, Wer peepin daan below. Fer t'world wer full o' busy fowk, An bustle ivvery whear ; T'shop windas they were all ablaaze, An full o' Christmas chear. Turkeys, an suckin-pigs, an geese Wer plentiful enuff ; An all at thear wer wanted wer That white an yolla stuff. Tho Sam wer net wiaght sum coin, An he'd just made hiz choice, He'd been ta t'market, an he'd bowt A fine, plump Yorkshur gooise. Thear raizins, curns, an lemon peel, Quite fill'd a ample traay, Fer t'Christmas puddin they'd ta boil That neet fer Christmas daay ; An varry sooin 'twer nicely shaped, Then inta t'pot it went ; Wal t'bubblin, steamin watter show'd 'Twer hizness at it meant. Nah, genuine Christmas puddins need Sum haars, they saay, ta boil, Soa Sam fetch'd up, wha, nearly hauf A hundredweight o' coil, 360 DIALECT POEMS. Fer he'd agreed ta mind this thing Wal t'wife retired ta rest ; Hiz joh wor simple, an he thowt He'd manage it wi t'best. Well, t'puddin heaved an rolFd i' t'pot ; He'd sich a roarin fire, Fer feedin it wi extra coils He nivver seem'd ta tire: He vow'd if keepin t'heat up weel Wi t'joli hed onny weight, He'd mack that Christmas puddin dance ; He'd dew hiz duty reight. He, at hiz post, az true az t' clock, A faithful watch did keep, Bud midneet fun him varry tired; Poor Sam, he fell asleep. He slept an dream'd till he wer roos'd Wi "Christians awake ;" He fun all t'watter'd boil'd awaay, An t'thing 'd begun ta baake. Fer wen he mustered courage up Ta lewk inta t'set-pot, He hardline cud believe hiz ees, He fun the thing red-hot. They might az weel at t'first i' t'oven Av baaked that dainty doaf, They ne'er dreamt Christmas puddin ud Turn aght a Christmas loaf. A BUTTON'S CUM OFF. Naay. drat it, a button's cum off! Nah this iz a awkard affair ; A hit ov a sneeze nn a cough Hez fetched the thing off, ah declare. DIALECT POEMS. 361 Beheng'd ta the button, saay I ! Ta treat ma sa bad iz unkind ! It's enuff a chap's temper ta try, Fer the bloomin thing's cum off behind ! Ah'm in a nice pickle, it's trew, Just bussalin off ta catch t' train, — Then miles ov hard walkin ta dew, An it's pourin i' torrents iz t'rain : Ah'v mi nelly, bud then it's noa use, Fer t'wind iz sa strong, ah declare ; It's eager, like Owd Mother Gooise, Ta hev a free jaunt up i' t'air. It's enuff, sich bad weather ta face, — Leave aloan this affair ah hev here ; Ah sal feel like a horse ower t'trace, Soa far, ah'st bi thrawn aght o' gear. Ah ne'er wer sa sick i' mi life ; Ah've hauf a good mind ta goa back ; — If ah'd just mentioned t'button ta t'wife, Sha'd hev sown the thing on in a crack. It's been lows long enuff, ah've nawn weel At t'threads wer fast wearin awaay ; It wer varry near off, ah cud feel, — Still ah thowt it ud last ma ta-daay. Ah might av expected this mess, — Its just sarved ma reight, ah agree, — Bud another misfortun like this Al ne'er agean happen ta me. Wi a button, just soa wi a friend : Owd ties breck awaay wun bi wun, Till snap goas the last i' the end, An all ov trew friendship iz gon. Sich ties we sud seek ta renew, Fer t'world iz wi fickleness rife : Wi a friend at iz honest an trew, Thear'z nowt ta compare i' this life. x H62 DIALECT POEMS. TO A REDBREAST. (Written at Skirwith, Cumberland, Dec. 25th, 1889.) Tha'rt alius welcome, bonny bird, Wi pretty scarlet breast, — Fer thee, ov all the feather'd race, Ah think ah luv the best, Whear iz thi hoam wen t'frost iz keen, An t'bitter North winds blaw,— Wen we enjoy aar cosy hearth, An tha sees nowt bud snaw ; Wen t'sky shows net a patch o' blue, An t'tields noa bit o' green ; An owt ta chear thy lonesome life, Iz noawhear ta bi seen 1 Yet the Great Author ov thy fate Hez blessins geen ta thee, An richly tha enjoys em, tho They're quite unknown ta me. Poor little Robin ! ivvery morn, Az true az t'sun tha cums, An up at t'winda peeps, az if Tha'rt askin fer sum crums. Thy simple trust an confidence Tha seems ta hev i' me, Creates fer thee i' my awn breast A kindred sympathy. This Christinas morn sum Christmas loaf Ah'll gie tha wi good will : Here then'z a lot o' dainty crums, A handful, — tack thi fill. DIALECT POEMS. 363 Hah hurridly tha picks, az if Tha hedn't time ta staay ; An nah the biggest piece tha'z seized, An off tha'z flown awaay. Hez ta a family at hoam, An thay ther breakfast need ? An hez ta taen that piece o' cake, Thi little uns ta feed 1 The truest specimen ov life Hahe'er hiz virtues shine I' luv, an purity an truth, Can ne'er compare wi thine. Net sin creation first began, Thy ancestors hev err'd : Tha puts ta shame the creature man, Tha little bonny bird. INDEX. FIELD FLOWERS. A Birthday Wish A Christmas Welcome A Dream A Jubilee Welcome .. A Moonlight Scene A Mother's Prayer A Paradox A Prayer A Prayer A Prayer A Reflection ... A Retrospect ... A Snow Storm in May A Tear A Toast A Wedding Retrospect A Wish A Wish Affliction All is Vanity . . . Ambition Ambition and Humility An Acrostic An Acrostic An Acrostic An Acrostic An Acrostic An Acrostic An Evening Party Anger ... Another Day ... Annie ... Annie, and the Wild Flowers Autumn Beautiful Scenes Beeston Hill ... Bright and Dark Hours 366 INDEX. — FIELD FLOWERS. PAGE. Charms of Nature ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 31 Christian Love ... ... ... ... ... ... • •■ 178 Christmas at Skirwith ... ... ••■ ••• ••• 239 Christmas Eve... ... ... ... ... ... ••• ••■ 175 Christmas Hymn ... ... ... ... ... ■•• ■•• 139 Co-operation ... ... ... ... ... ... ••• ••• 134 Come, Nellie ... ... ... ... ... ... ••■ ••• 89 Deliver us from Evil ... ... ... ... ... ••• 190 Early School Days 157 Easter Hymn 242 Education 110 Elegy 141 England's Greatness ... ... ... ... ... ••• 181 Evening Bells 174 Eventide ••• 167 Fireside Thoughts ■•• 140 Friendship ... 165 Gather the Flowers 168 Guardian Spirits ■■• 205 Happiness 94 Harvest... ... ... ... ... •■• ••■ ■■• 24 He is Faithful 153 Heirs of God 208 He Stilleth the Tempest 235 Holbeck Feast 52 Home 166 Hope ... 173 Hymn 176 Hymn — 1'salm xlii., 11th verse ... ... ... ••• •■■ 138 Impromptu ... ... ... ... ... ■•■ ■•• 238 Kindness ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ••• 88 Life's Changes 241 Life's Second Spring .. . ... ... ... ... ... ... 146 Lines 12 Linos ... . . ... ... ... ... ... ■ • • ■ 34 INDEX. — FIELD FLOWERS. 367 Lines Liues (Addison's Hymn) Lines (After reading Cowper's Poems) Lines (Bubbles) Lines (Death of Prince Consort) ... Lines (Given at a Wedding) Lines (Laying foundation stone of Leeds Infirmary) Lines (Leeds New Branch Railway) Lines — Luke xv. , 10th verse Lines (On a young Lady going to Western Africa) Lines (On the death of H. R. Marsden, Esq.) ... Lines — Proverbs x. , 7th verse Lines (To a Sceptical Friend) Lines Written at Ilkley Lines (Written in Low Fields, Holbeck) Lines (Written in Roundhay Park) Little Willie's Kite ... Look Up Man's Ingratitude May Blasts Meditation Moonlight New Year's Eve Thoughts Night November O come to the Bowers Old Tippler On Laying the Foundation Stone Institute On Presenting a Prayer Book On Receiving a Book-mark from a Lady On Receiving a Present from a Lady On the Death of Richard Cobden . . . On the Green ... Our Tea Party Paraphrase — 130th Psalm ... Pleasing Scenes Psalm cxxi of the Leeds Mechanics PAGE. 68 169 196 164 21 13 30 67 163 206 171 178 186 58 182 142 211 20 108 233 23 18 40 131 203 19 92 38 39 11 210 38 144 26 90 41 114 36S INDEX. FIELD FLOWERS. PAGE. Ritual Pomps 120 Robert Burns — On seeing his Statue at Glasgow ... ... 224 Sabbath Morning ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 199 Sabbath Morning Bells 137 Satan's Watch Night 116 Seeing the Cushies ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 234 Selfishness ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 101 Shakespeare's Tercentenary Festival ... ... ... ... 33 Slavery 10 Sonnet ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 115 Sunrise 217 Tea Time 202 The Better Country ... 126 The Better Path 172 The Captive Jews — Psalm cxxxvii . . ... ... ... ... 143 The Christmas Goose... ... ... ... ... .. ... 44 The Cripples 63 The Crown of Thorns ... 37 The Crucifixion ... ... .. ... ... ... 82 The Departed Year 29 The Drooping Year ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 25 The Fifteenth Psalm 105 The First Suit 42 The Hearth ... 69 The Lancashire Distress ... ... ... ... 28 The Last Meeting ... Ill The Lazy Fishmonger ... ... ... ... 75 The Leeds Infirmary .. . ... ... ... ... ... 79 The Narrow Path ... ... ... 119 The Ocean 243 The Old Bible 132 The Old Coin and the New ... 15 The Old Oak Table ... 198 The Old School ... .225 The Parlour Clock and the Lady's Gold Watch ... ... ... 147 The Reformation ... ... ... ... ... ... 32 The Sabbath 80 The Schoolboy to the Cane .. . 89 The Slanderer... ... ... ... ... ... 61 The Snares of Life 98 INDEX. FIELD FLOWERS. 369 PAGE. The Song of the Barber 74 The Song of the Cranks 212 The Spring-time of Youth 96 The Thunderstorm ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 13 The Two Glasses 122 The Two Paths 152 The Winds 217 The Work-day World 183 The Worth of Time ... 109 Thine Integrity ••• 167 Thoughtless Words 46 Thoughts in Skirwith Churchyard, Cumberland 244 To a Bed of Flowers 160 To a Bunch of Flowers 89 To a Butterfly 156 To a Christmas Hamper ... ... ... ... ... 214 ToaFly 193 ToaFop 129 To a Lamb 113 To a Little Boy 37 To a Locomotive Engine ... ... ... .. ... 232 To a Piece of Coal 136 To a Rose 184 To a Stream 197 To a Street Lamp 237 To a Toadstool 223 To a Young Friend 181 To a Y r oung Lady ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 186 To an Earthworm 201 To Childhood 169 To Ink, on receiving the Present of an Inkstand .. ... 12 To Kirkstall Abbey 236 To Memory 153 To Mr. J. H. Eccles, on returning a Book he had lent me ... 36 To my Canary... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 192 To my Daughter, on the Anniversary of her Birthday... ... 91 To my Ring 64 To the Buttercups and Daisies ... ... ... ... ... 179 To the Cuckoo 14 To the Firmament ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 161 To the Great Reformer 179 To the Memory of Sir Edward Baines 244 370 INDEX. — DIALECT POEMS. PAGE. To the Reader 9 To the Sea 106 To the Tea Kettle 81 Town and Country ••• 134 True Nobility 194 Uncertainty of Life 191 War 22 Watch and Pray ••• 177 What a Beautiful World ... 106 What have I done to-day ? ••• 215 Who's thy Mate ? 127 Whilst the Moon's Silver Rays ... 14 Whit-Monday ■•• 86 Windermere 231 Winter ••• 209 333 305 DIALECT POEMS. Aar Polly ••• 283 A Button's cum off 360 A Country Strowl A Dreary Daay Ah feel sa vexed ...... • • • 306 Ard an Sharp • ■ 287 A Stormy Daay 318 A True Man ••■ 287 Cheer Up ■■• 291 Dark Daays ••• 344 Dewsbury Sammy 282 Gatherin Nettles ... 276 Coin ta London • • • 308 Hahizta? • ■■ ■•■ 302 Hoam Agean 340 Jimmy's Supper 322 Johnny Green's Coartin Affair ; or, t' Engagement Ring ... 265 INDEX. DIALECT POEMS. 371 PAGE. Labour's Reward ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 317 Lewk at Hoam ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 290 Mary's Crinalin 309 Ninavee Brig ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 298 Owd Farmer Scrub 278 Owd Goodwin . . ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 332 OwdGouldie 294 Owd Robin t'Gardiner ... ... ... ... ... ... 351 Reflections ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 327 Sally Snaggs 289 SetterdaNeet 320 Ta a Cook Shop Pie 285 Ta Bolton Woods an t'Strid 328 Tappin t'Barrel 292 T'BaakinDaay 325 T'Christmas Puddin 359 T'DinnerHaar 346 T'Good Owd Times 296 T'Hair o' t'Heead Clock 274 T'Heckmondwike Pie ... ... 335 T'Little Britches 342 T'Motherant'Babby.. 316 T'OwdBeck 349 T'Owd Forgeman 338 T'Owd Man's Last Advice 337 T'Spaw Watter Man 300 T'Two Gaffers 280 T'Wringin Macheen 314 T' Yorkshire Puddin ; or, Robert Lee an t'Wife.. ... 247 Thowts abaght Granmuther 354 To a Donkey 324 To a Penny ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 356 To a Redbreast 362 Turnin t'Pancakes 311 Uncle Ben on t' Jubilee 353 Used Up 303 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. North, Colonel J. T., Eltham, Kent. Ashton, William, Flanshaw Lane, Alverthorpe. Atkinson, William, Holbeck Lane, Leeds. Balfour, Gerald W., M.P. , 67, Addison Road, Kensington, W. Banks, Kirby, Rose Villa, Beeston Hill. (4 copies.) Barker, Arthur, Mill Green, Holbeck. Batley, E. W., .Sunny Hill, Halton, Leeds. Beevers, John, Mint, Holbeck. Boyd, Thomas, Victoria Mills, Holbeck. Boyes, George, Burley Road, Leeds. Boston, Richard, The Mount, Burley, Leeds. Brown, William, Elm Grove, Bramley. Brown, Rev. Provost, The Cathedral, Leeds. Bune, John, Pemberton Terrace, Dewsbury Road, Leeds. Burnley, Mrs. James, North Park Road, Manningham. (2 copies.) Butler, M. J., Grove Cottage, Norristhorpe, Liversedge. Byles, Mrs. W. P., Oakfield, Manningham. Carr, Mrs., Moorside, Holbeck. Carr, Miss, Moorside, Holbeck. Cawtheray, George, Whitehall Road, Leeds. Childerson, Alfred, Derby Crescent, Hunslet. Clark, Stephen, Headingley, Leeds. Clayton, Dan, Box Tree Cottage, Allerton. Cooke, John, Moor Road, Headingley, Leeds. Craven, Joseph, Beech Grove Terrace, Leeds. Crossley, J., Park Place, Leeds. Crossley, S., Conduit Street, Manningham. Crothers, Montague, Caledonia Road, Batley. LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 373 Dawson, S. H., Waverley Street, Beeston Hill. Dawson, Thomas, Caledonia Road, Leeds. Dickinson, J. N. , Ash Grove, Headingley. Dobson, Thomas, M.D., Green Cottage, Holbeck. Dove, Christopher John, Hillam Street, Holbeck. Dovenor, James, Aire Street, Whitehall Road, Leeds. Driver, Bentley, Abbot Terrace, Armley Road, Leeds. Duthoit, Alfred, Rothsay Street, Elland Road, Holbeck. Ellis, Thomas Walker, Water Lane, Leeds. Elliott, George W. , Greaves Street, Sheffield. England, Rev. Charles F., Beeston Hill. Flather, David, Endcliffe Mount, Sheffield. (2 copies.) Forshaw, Charles F., LL.D., Bradford. Gallaher, J., Horsforth. Garnett, John, Aviary Street, Canal Road. Armley. Gladstone, Herbert J., M.P., Hawarden Castle, Chester. Greenwood, Arthur, J. P., 8, Cavendish Road, Leeds. Greenwood, William, Field Hill. Batley. Hainsworth, John, Balm Walk, Holbeck. Harding, Colonel T. W. , Leeds. Hartley, William, Tempest Road, Beeston Hill. (2 copies.) Hepworth, Joseph, Wellington Street, Leeds. Henry, Joseph. Manor Road, Leeds. Howgate, Charles, Gleadless Road, Sheffield. Hudson, William N., Water Hall, Leeds. (2 copies.) Hudson, J. W., Malvern Road, Beeston Hill. Ingleson, Thomas, Queen Street, Westgate, Bradford. Jessop, W. S., Green Mount Road, Beeston Hill. Kelley, George, Crystal Mills, Heckmondwike. Kilburn, F., Elland Road, Holbeck. Knowles, A. J., Albion House, New Leeds. Kitson, Sir James, Bart., (lledhow Hall, Leeds. 374 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Lloyd, Edward, Parkrield Street, Dewsbury Road, Leeds. Marshall, Samuel, Fawcett Street, Sheffield. Mathers, John S., J. P., Hanover House, Leeds. Maude, J., Green Mount Terrace, Beeston Hill. McDougall, Joseph, Chelsea Street, Holbeck. Miller, E. , North Street, Leeds. Moore, Joseph, Shafton House, Holbeck, Leeds. Morrel, J. W., Wicker Lane, Sheffield. Morrison, Sir George W., Kirkstall Lane, Leeds. Newsome, James Spencer, Woodland View, Caledonia Road, Batley. (4 copies. ) Newsome, John, Marriner's Place, Hunslet. Newsome, Squire, Warwick Mount, Batley. Nichols, John, Sweet Street, Holbeck. Nickson, William, Malvern Road, Holbeck. Oddy, J. R. , Elder Road, Bramley. Othick, Samuel, Sydenham Place, Mill Green, Holbeck. Padgett, Thomas, Malvern Terrace, Holbeck. Park, William, Dewsbury Road, Leeds. Parker, E. W., Skirwith Abbey, Skirwith, Cumberland. Peacock, J. H, Church Street, Hunslet. Playfair, Right Hon. Sir Lyon, M.P., 68, Onslow Gardens, South Kensington, London. Pratt, C. H, Shafton Lane, Holbeck. Pratt, J. E., Chester Place, Hunslet. Preston, Harry, Shafton Lane, Holbeck. Pyrah, Kitson, Batley. Rhodes, Mrs., Shafton Lane, Holbeck. Richardson, J. D., Railway Street, Hull. Rowley, Mis. E. A., Franchise Street, Leeds. Si-holetield, Thomas. Jack Lane. Hunslet. Scholefield, Walter, Hunslet. Scholefield, John, Meadow Lane, Leeds, LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 375 Scholefield, Fred, Swinegate, Leeds. Scott, William, Annie Street, Mill Green, Holbeck. Senior, Ben, Bath Street, Batley. Senior, George S., Flanshaw Lane, Alverthorpe. Seel, John, Disraeli Street, Hunslet. Spencer, Arthur, Skirwith, Cumberland. (2 copies.) Spencer, George, Gainsborough. Spencer, J. H., Coupland Street, Beeston Hill (2 copies.) Spencer, J. W., Holbeck. Spencer, Thomas, Holbeck. (2 copies.) Spencer, William, Adderley Road, Birmingham. (6 copies.) Stansfeld, John, Woodville, Leeds. Stead, Arthur, Beeston Hill. Stead, William, Cavendish Road, Leeds. Tannett, John T., Chapel Allerton. Tannett, Robert, Rose Mount, Chapel Allerton. Tetley, John, Joseph Street, Hunslet. (2 copies. ) Thackeray, Joseph, All Saints' Street, Hull. Tiffany, George J., Sholebroke Avenue, Chapeltown Road, Leeds. Towler, W., Adwalton, near Bradford. Towler, W. H., Adwalton, near Bradford. Wade, Garnet, South Mount Street, Beeston Hill. Walker, Richard, Ingram Place, Holbeck. Whitehead, H. W., St. Mark's Villas, Leeds. Whitehead, John, Green Mount TeiTace, Holbeck. Whiteley, Joseph, Stratford Street, Dewsbury Road, Leeds. Whiteley, William, Domestic Street, Holbeck. Wilkinson, Thomas Garforth, Garforth House, Domestic Street, Holbeck. Wilson, Edmund, J. P., Red Hall, Leeds. Wood, George, Manor Road, Leeds. Woolley, Jabez, The Hollies, Garforth. Zossenheim, M., St. Paul Street, Leeds. TESTIMONIALS. Mayor's Rooms, Town Hall, Leeds, April 15th, 1875. M v dear Sir, Many thanks for the compliments yon have paid me in dedicating the lines relating to our dear " Old School." I think them very good, and am glad to see that the School lias produced a poet amongst its many worthy offspring. Yours very respectfully, H. R. MARSDEN. Mr. Richard Spencer. The Vicarage, Little Holbeck, Leeds, 20th July, 1876. Dear Sir, I desire to thank you for your Acrostic. I shall value the lines as well for their own beauty as for the kindly feeing which they are intended to express towards me. Believe me, yours faithfully, W. BARNES, M.A., LL.B. Mr. Richard Spencer. December 31st, 1878. Sir, I beg to thank you for the honour you have done me in the composition of the verses which reached me by the post of to-day. Your faithful Servant, W. E. GLADSTONE. Mr. Richard Spencer. Oledhow Hall, Leeds, Dec. 18th, 1887. Dear Sir, I thank you for the verses on the Locomotive, which I have read with great pleasure and interest. I very gladly accept the dedication. Yours very truly. .IAMES KITSON. Mr. Richard Spencer. " Our local readers will be pleased to learn that Mr. Richard SPENCER, of Holbeck, has been prevailed upon to publish a volume of his poems. Some excellent specimens of Mr. Spencer's muse have appeared from time to time in the Weekly Supplement, and these and others will have a place in the forthcoming work." — Gossip on Books, heeds Mercury Supplement, Jan. 11th, ISUO. i. s. NEWSOME, PRINTER, COMMERCIAL STREET, BATLEY. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. •'orm J, <.)-:;, 111 :;,■;, 7 (C5424s4)444 3 R Spencer - ■ ?U70 Field flowers 369 If - PR 5U70 S691f ■^■mm?&3